Author's Note: This is the first chapter in a story that I was challenged to write by a fellow writer in the CSI Fandom. Many thanks go out to Lauri, Angie, and Laeta for their paitence, information and beta skills. Feedback is always appreciated.
Chapter One
The board was set. The master had selected the players and knew who would be sacrificed to attain the goal- the ultimate prize. The Queen that he regarded so highly was nearly within his grasp. All he had to do was make the first move and take full advantage of it.
He stepped out into the street amidst the hustle and bustle of tourists and natives. The honking horns and shouts from people faded into the background as he walked. Daylight streamed in around him as the cloud cover broke overhead and he smiled. The first sacrifice had been marked months earlier. Everything was known about him. Habits, favorite activities, medical history- everything. All of which was known by only two people, except the date of his expiration. There just had not been time to figure out when the time was right. At least not until last night.
He watched silently as a man of athletic build cheerfully tipped his bowler hat and greeted a woman entering the hotel as he exited. It was easy to keep track of his pawn. The decidedly English manner in which he carried himself, the bowler, and the umbrella that he swung as he walked were a dead give away; all clues that this man was indeed the one the master was after.
Whistling a light tune, he moved through the throng with ease and observed his prey entering a shop.
The smell of fine leather and wood wafted about the store, giving the store a feel of comfort and hospitality. There was also a quality to the main area of the costumer's place- one that was of an era not so long forgotten. The walls were charmingly decorated with turn of the century outfits. The costumes along the far wall screamed of the modern styles and tastes of many members considered the youth of the day. Period costumes seemed to be the main focus with jewelry, wigs, and walking sticks creating a meandering timeline within the store.
"Hello, welcome to Morphy's. May I help you find something?" an overly eager teen asked.
"I'm looking for a special outfit."
"What is the theme you're looking for?"
"To tell you the truth I haven't a clue. Freddie forgot to mention any theme. I assumed that it was anything goes." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I was supposed to meet Freddie here, but I was delayed and couldn't get a hold of him. Oh dear, I do hope I didn't miss him."
"I don't recall any customer by the name of 'Freddie', sir."
The man laughed heartily. "Of course you wouldn't. Freddie is just a nickname. His real name is Timothy Marks. He's about my height, sandy brown hair, wears wire-rimmed glasses, and always has an umbrella with him. He might've been wearing a bowler that matched his umbrella."
"Then you just missed him, sir. Mr. Marks left about twelve minutes ago."
"Damn! I'm just going to have to take a stab in the dark then. What type of costume did he choose?"
The clerk led him toward the back of the store to a rack of normal clothing. "Mr. Marks said that the theme was British television shows. I believe that he said something about finally getting a chance to dress like his hero."
"John Steed, yes, of course. You wouldn't by any chance have anything more," he paused for a second trying to find the appropriate word. "More bohemian? But also fits the theme."
"Bohemian? I'm not sure, but I can check with the owner. He might know of something that would be more to your liking."
The clerk left him to gander at the rack of costumes. A couple of minutes later, he was approached by an elderly gentleman wearing a black velvet smoking jacket over a white shirt with a ruffled front and sleeves. The younger man stood back observing the two.
"I apologize for the delay. My assistant wasn't sure what you meant by 'bohemian,' Mister-"
"Carrados, Herbert Carrados."
"The event's theme is British Television, correct?"
"Indeed. My friend, Mr. Marks, was in a short time ago and selected something from over here."
"Ah yes, the Avengers enthusiast. Which genre would you like to be cast into?"
"I was thinking of something a little more recent than the 1960s, but not too recent. Maybe something in science-fiction?"
"With a bohemian twist? Hmm. Ah, I know just the costume, Mr. Carrados. This way please." The owner waved his hand as he walked to the other side of the store. He opened a battered blue door and escorted Carrados inside. "James, mind the front, will you?"
"Yes, sir." James started to salute when the bell jangled again as another customer entered. James rushed to greet the newcomer.
Turning back to Carrados, the owner rubbed his chin. "Now, where is that dummy? Ah, yes." He strode to one of the changing rooms and pulled out a tall dummy wearing a brown fedora, long, brown, bohemian style coat, and dark brown, knee high leather boots. "How does this strike you?"
"That is exactly what I was looking for, but there's something missing, isn't there?"
"Quite. Yes, you're right. The scarf is missing. We have various lengths and patterns, of course, on the shelves behind you. I recommend the earth tones, myself."
"That will do nicely. What's the longest one I can get?"
"Eighteen feet in earth tones. The shades of purple goes as far up as twenty-four feet."
"Very well, I'll take it and the eighteen foot scarf. I'll also take the Dalek, if that is possible."
"Trying to win the best costume contest?"
"Of course," Carrados smiled broadly. "Besides, what would the Doctor do if one of his arch enemies wasn't chasing after him?"
They laughed and the owner drew up the sale and Mr. Herbert Carrados left the store after arranging for the Dalek to be delivered to his hotel room the next day.