Chapter 14

In Which Legends Turn Out to Have Some Fact to Them

The young Shackleton set out through the crowd in no particular hurry, for to rush anywhere in an establishment of this sort was to attract attention to oneself, and Hagen was not eager to draw eyes of any kind. That there were several stools empty of occupants round where Bruno Drake had seated himself was hardly strange: he was a singularly fearsome individual when the fit took him, more to the apoplectic rages of a pirate captain twice his age than a soldier of fortune who had barely passed thirty. Of course, it was hardly within the sprightly nature of Hagen Shackleton to heed such an unspoken warning, and he settled himself boldly on a stool one removed from Drake's.

"Not much safe here save the ale," said the lad, peering with a judicious eye into his mug. By this he intended to discover whether Drake was in a loquacious mood; if the man wished, he might take the opening provided and begin conversation.

"Salad's alright for twopenny," Drake offered in a rather generous flattery of the bit of greenery on his tin plate. "Barkeep's a mumbling cove, though. Mind yore purse, boy."

Even three sheets to the wind as he was, Bruno Drake was no fool. He recognized about the Irish lad beside him the manner of one who had been in contact with, or served under, the House of Primes. There was a certain quality of moral courage in his demeanor that seemed ready to square shoulders and face the world despite - or more precisely in spite of - the terrible darkness that Drake had seen and had long since been inadvertently drawn into. In the certain softening of his general aspect that followed naturally as the consequence of having been generously plied with drink, Drake felt a certain sentiment regarding the bold lad that was near to tenderness. He'd never had family of his own, he told himself in the gentled musings of his stupor, but he supposed if ever he had a brother or a son, he'd take care to impart a word of wisdom here and there.

"Far from the slums, ain't ye now?" The man turned a fraction so that he peered over his own broad shoulder at young Shackleton. "And Mayfair, as I reckon it."

Hagen had not reckoned on Drake deducing his identity, and it did catch him rather badly off-guard at first. But it soon became clear that the mercenary was in no disposition to cause a disturbance, nor was Hagen entirely certain that the inebriated Kaon man would have been in any fit state to catch him regardless. Determined that he would at the least discover whether Drake was aware of the presence of his companions, the lad settled more firmly in his seat and clutched at his mug with a disaffected air.

"Aye, s'pose I am," he answered carelessly. "So are you, unless I miss my guess. I reckon your masters'll be missing you before long?"

Drake scoffed into his own mug, kept carefully full by the barkeep, and shook his shaggy head. "Not 'ardly, lad," he grunted in a voice as soaked in bitterness as it was in whiskey. "You an' me, we ain't the highborn kind, with the afternoonified talk and the posh accents and the master plans. Just there t'git our hands dirty, we are."

"Sure enough, sure enough," Hagen said thoughtfully, and patted the man's back in a conciliatory manner. He felt no need to mention that he'd often had such thoughts himself, wondering whether his opportunities and those of his family might change were he to put on the airs of an educated man, the way the Foiche family had. "We dirty-handed errand boys ought to watch out for each other, like."

At this, Drake pulled back and fixed Hagen with a hazy eye. "Bricky little man, ain't ye?" he said at last, "I'll not pretend I ain't had my share of problems with Irishmen - yore Mr. Foiche from Mayfair, like - but ye ain't sich a bad fellow, are ye?" In a show of whiskey-inspired camaraderie, he thumped the lad's shoulder and nodded.

What followed was an almost companionable exchange of words and grievances, flowing primarily from a growing frustration with those occupying the upper classes, who tended to hold a rather poor estimate of the intelligence of men like Hagen or Bruno, based solely upon things like regional accent and place of residence. In his effluent turn of mood, Drake admitted most candidly that the House of Prime was thus far exempt from such complaints, as Lord Prime and his people had always taken every courtesy with everyone they met regardless of station. Not in the gentled-superiority that some were wont to exhibit, nor the barely tolerable impatience of dealing with one hardly worth conversing with, but the manners of a man who, by good breeding and good intentions in turn, hopes to find a friend wherever he goes.

"And 'e ain't even the patronizing sort," Drake mused. "Not many nobles as I can say that of." After a second's thought, he screwed up his face and conceded, "Not many nobles as I've met face to face, like, either. Kristoff don't count, his family were never a noble one, just rich, if ye follow."

"Can't say as I've met your Dr. Ottenwilder enough to get an idea of his way of talking," Hagen said, which was half true, "But he does seem decent enough to our lot."

Drake nodded and drained another mug. "He's a good mate, blasted good mate," he said, almost jovially. "Been watching out for his high-and-mightiness's nephew these days though, keepin' him out from underfoot when he could be working his experiments - he hates that, poor Kristoff."

Now this was something unexpected. A nephew? To Hagen's knowledge, Lord Kaon had no living relatives. He cast his mind back to what Dr. Rach had said before they'd left the Manor, regarding the possibility of Lord Prime being under a spell, and a dark suspicion took hold of him. It was rather more hopeful, he supposed, than if the man had simply been dead or a prisoner, but knowing how loyal to the idea of family his employer was by his very nature, this boded ill.

"Ah, noble nephews," Hagen bobbed his head just as though he knew precisely what Drake was talking about. "Those little nobles can be as bad as the big 'uns, can't they?"

Drake made an uncomfortable sort of motion at this, beginning to recognize that he was talking too much. "He's a decent fellow," he said grudgingly, "Don't leave the library most days. Not that it's any o' yore business."

"None at all," the lad said agreeably. "No harm done, eh?" He peered with one eye at the bottom of his glass, then rolled it upward in a lazy approximation of thinking. "Ah well, I'd best stop killing the canary and pull my socks up. Still got errands to run, y'know."

"Mind you stay out 'o my way next time we meet," Drake growled as sleep began to color his voice. "We dirty-handed errand boys ought to look out for each other, right enough, but ye can't do that when there's bosses t'breath down yer neck."

Hagen made some sort of vague salute and made for the door in a jaunty stride. No sooner had he exited than he doubled back to the side of the inn housing his companions and climbed up the siding as agile as a monkey. He rapped twice upon the shutters of the nearest window, hoping his unbelievable luck would hold. It did not. The window led not to one of the rooms of his companions, but to the drink-flushed face of a portly woman who began to loudly howl about ghosts at the windows. Hagen leapt from the sill and caught hold of the bars the next window over just as the woman's husband came to the casement with a lamp.

"Now look 'ere, lass," the man grunted, "There ain't sich things as sperrits! You been at the drink too long, sez I."

Hagen scarcely contained his sigh of relief and eased along to the next window with lamplight streaming out between the shutters. When the bars creaked beneath his hands, he froze. All at once the shutters opened outward and young Shackleton was obliged to swing out of the way or else lose his fingers.

"Ah, Mr. Shackleton," said Miss d'Iacon with an amused look, "I did begin to wonder when you would rejoin us." With a strength that belied her small frame, the woman reached out over the sill and took hold of the lad's collar, hoisting him through the window before he'd time to protest.

Within, Jack and Mo Li sat at a very small table next to an even smaller fire in the grate. Both made inquiring glances, then looked away as though there was nothing particularly unusual about the sight of Miss d'Iacon pulling a man in through a window.

"Well, my dotes," said Shackleton as he brushed his jacket down, "At any rate, you'll be pleased to know our Kaon man down there hasn't the faintest idea you're all here. He's ossified to kingdom come, that one."

Upon catching sight of a puckish twinkle in the lad's eye, Arcee met him arms akimbo and sternly said, "How now, spirit, just you tell us what you're so pleased about!"

So delighted was he with the nature of the news he'd procured that Hagen was unable to stop himself from performing a little caper there on the carpet. With a cackle, he rubbed his hands together and said he thought someone ought to have warned Bruno Drake of the consequences of speaking too freely when drinking.

"It ain't so very much to go on if you consider it one way," said he, "But it's hope enough for us poor chancers. Lord Prime's alive, and what's more Lord Kaon's passing him off as a nephew!"

"A nephew?!" exclaimed Mo Li, who was suitably appalled, "What possible resemblance could anyone see between the two?"

"I expect they simply won't think to question it, or rather, they won't question Megatron," Arcee answered. "Well, there's a point in our favor, at least. Dr. Rach predicted something of this nature. Can you tell us anything else, Hagen?"

While they prepared for the morning's journey, Hagen related to them what Drake had said about Prime rarely leaving the library. This did not sit well with any of them, considering that books in the House of Kaon were nearly always of a wickedly sinister nature, and to keep Optimus around them suggested some wider plot at hand. After agreeing that no more could be done about it that night, the four retired to their respective rooms until dawn, at which time Hagen resolved to go back to the Manor and deliver the news.

Such information was too sensitive to entrust to a telegram, and one young man traveling alone would not attract nearly as much attention as the four traveling together had.

Interlude:
A series of telegrams between one Mme. Estella Clamat and a certain "LFA"

Telegram addressed to "La Femme Airagnée"

Message for LFA -(STOP)- Suggestion of business opportunity -(STOP)- Details to follow if interested -(STOP)-

Business related to House -(STOP)- Possibility of new Heir -(STOP)- Discover identity and remove -(STOP)- Terms agreeable? -(STOP)-

Telegram addressed to Mme. Clamat:

Unable to come at once -(STOP)- Provide description of heir, will see what I can do -(STOP)-

Telegram addressed to "La Femme Airagnée":

Boy, sixteen or seventeen -(STOP)- Black hair, blue eyes -(STOP)- Unassuming -(STOP)- Remove discreetly if convenient -(STOP)- If inconvenient, make it public -(STOP)- Be sure to remove Prime Ring and return to Kaon -(STOP)-

Telegram addressed to Mme. Clamat:

Expect to be paid extra for this -(STOP)- Will be en route from Alps by Friday -(STOP)- Have money ready before arrival -(STOP)- Expect further diversions -(STOP)-

The Mere was vast, and as a heavy fog not unlike that which the city was so known for hung over all, the travelers found themselves faced with considerable difficulty in determining just where to begin their search. Though the sun had not quite managed to find its way out of the mist, the calls of waterfowl and frogs echoed, which made for a more sinister aspect than a sunny morning would have presented.

Jack now found himself sitting atop the coach, lending an extra pair of eyes to the driver, who was displeased to be so far from the city. They had scarcely gone a mile when something altogether unlike the cries of the birds and insects rang across the water.

"Ho! Did you mark that?" asked the driver. He pulled the coach to a stop and leaned out, a hand to his ear like a pantomime performer. "There, did you hear?"

Jack squinted into the fog, as though this might help him hear better, and nodded. "It sounded like a voice, sir, but I cannot distinguish what it said."

A third time the voice called, a bit louder now, with the unmistakable ring of desperation. Miss d'Iacon threw open the carriage window and called up, "That is a cry for help, or I am very much mistaken!"

The driver and young Darby each drew a pistol and stepped down from the coach. "Won't be a minute, ma'am," the driver assured Miss d'Iacon and Mo Li, and then they were off. The ground was soft, and though the water should have provided some amplification of the sound of their walking, they found instead that all noise as they moved was curiously muffled. The driver put it down to the thick fog, but Jack was not quite so certain of the fact.

The farther they walked, the clearer the cries for help became. As they went, the men perceived that there were two voices rather than one that called: a man and a young woman. Upon the water's edge about half a mile from their coach, Jack found an overturned cart with neither horse nor harness. The rig was stuck deeply in the mud and the mud equally covered a bedraggled man doing his best to heave it out, though his best efforts only served to mire it more thoroughly. Balanced precariously on the upper wheel of the cart was a young woman no older than Jack or Mo Li. Her yellow dress had been soiled with a mixture of mud and grease from the wheels, but she bore a determined air about her as though this were only a mild inconvenience.

"Papa, try one more time," the girl urged, "I'm certain we can tip it back upright!"

"Hello there," the driver announced their presence loudly, "Need a helping hand?"

The girl - American, Jack guessed by her accent - started wildly and tipped off the back of the cart with a cry. Hardly thinking, Jack darted forward, heedless of the mud, caught her.

"Oh!" A scarlet flush spread across the girl's freckled cheeks and she coughed delicately. "Well, I….oh my, but this is discombobulating."

"My apologies, miss, that was a little forward of me," Jack found that his own face had grown warm and he made an effort to find a dry patch of ground to set her down on.

"Not at all, young fellow," the man who had been trying to lift the cart paused and leaned an elbow on it, the very picture of relief. "And you've got my thanks, and my Charlotte's no doubt, for catching my daughter. That would've been a nasty landing, wouldn't it, Lottie?"

Charlotte made some mumbled reply as Jack set her back on the cart, for lack of a drier place to put her. "Obliged to you, I'm sure."

The driver stepped forward now and rolled his sleeves past the elbow, intending to help. "Now what's a couple foreigners - meanin' no offense, sir, none at all - doing out here without so much as an old nag to pull your rig?"

"You know, it's the strangest thing?" said the American, "We'd come to the Mere in hopes of seeing some of the birds - your Mere is supposed to have such a wonderful variety of birds! - and Charlotte mentioned to me that the horse did not seem at ease. We thought it odd, but continued on our way. But the closer we got to the water - indeed, to this very spot - the more nervous our poor old beast became. It was a tired, wretched thing scarce capable of more than a plodding gait but by thunder did it put up a fight when we got near the edge!"

Charlotte nodded with a thoughtful look and remarked that something had seemed to frighten the old mare dreadfully, but that neither of them were able to detect anything particularly unusual. "With a burst of brute strength, the horse snapped the harness and fled. I've never seen the like! Our cart got the worst of it, more's the pity."

Jack thought this very odd, but resolved to make no mention of any of the legends surrounding the place lest he frighten the travelers. By and by, they got it out of the man that he was a Pinkerton Detective visiting from Kansas, and his name was William Engle. A widower with an interest in birds, he'd taken his daughter with him to help him organize his notes on waterfowl.

"My secretary, she is," Engle said rather proudly, indicating Charlotte, "Why, half my cases would've taken twice as long to solve if it wasn't that she keeps my files in such good order!"

It was discovered shortly after this that righting the cart was a task better suited to a team of men than to two or three, and without a horse, the Engles were well and truly stranded. At the driver's suggestion, the Engles followed him and Jack back to the coach higher up, with Jack carrying Charlotte's bag. Miss d'Iacon was a little bemused, but soon extended her sympathies on the loss of their horse. And of course they must take the coach back to town, she insisted, she wouldn't dream of leaving them alone on the Mere.

"Driver, if you would be so kind as to take Detective Engle and his daughter back to town?" Arcee said pleasantly, "I believe we are near enough to our destination that the three of us may walk the rest of the way. I know how to keep dry. You may return for us in two hours, and I shall pay an extra two pounds for the favor."

The driver was of the amiable sort that looked as though no favor was too great nor inconvenient, and he tipped his hat to the ladies. "At yer service, marm," said he, "I'll be back by noon at the latest."

"We couldn't possibly turn you out of your carriage!" Charlotte protested.

"My dear young lady," said Miss d'Iacon, "This was our destination to begin with. You must hurry back and change out of those wet clothes before you catch your death. I daresay you aren't used to such a climate, and I won't have it on my conscience if you take sick!"

"Our hearty thanks to you all," said Engle, "I do hope we meet again."

"Yes," said Jack, "That would be very agreeable to us all, I think."

He made a fine show of ignoring the knowing smile that passed between Arcee and Mo Li, even after the coach had departed.

"Now then, my lad," said Arcee, "Show me where their horse took fright. Animals are clever things, and they so often seem to know when something unseen and dangerous is about."

"And if it is the Lady of the Lake, would she be dangerous?" Mo Li asked.

"Aye, my girl, very dangerous. All beautiful things have a kind of danger to them," said Arcee. "Be very mindful of the way you speak, even if we do not encounter one of the Gentry, and do take care that you do not reveal your true name. Merely as a precaution."

The three found their way to the edge of the water, where the fog had begun to draw away. Almost it seemed that a sigh rippled across the surface of the Mere to clear away the mist. Arcee closed her eyes and stood as though listening, the tips of her shoes sinking into the mud, and when she had been silent for several seconds, she gestured to Jack.

"Come, lad. Hold up the ring and let us see what happens."

Carefully, Jack did as he was bidden and drew the Ring of Dispel from his jacket pocket. His fingers were stiff with the chill and the damp and he curled them tightly around the ring lest he drop it. With hand extended out over the water, he stood beside Miss d'Iacon and waited. For a time, all was still, and he began to feel singularly foolish.

"How long shall we wait?" Mo Li asked in a breathless whisper.

"That will depend greatly upon what it is you are waiting for," answered a voice seemingly from the air. "You are very bold, I think, to wittingly disturb my slumber when so few credit my existence anymore."

A chill unlike that of the fog settled heavily upon them all and the fog drew in tightly again as though it would like to squeeze the life from them. Mo Li found that she could neither see nor hear her companions, and she turned about, seeking them. It came to her then to recall some of the English fairytales that the Foiche girls had read to her, and she understood that to move from that spot would have been a very dangerous thing. For one wrong move might find her following a trail of false lights into the heart of the Mere, where she might drown.

Arcee could see Mo Li turning about in a circle, but she could not move to help her. The mist wove around her like a cloak, and proved to be as unyielding as iron when she struggled against it. For the second time in as many months, Arcee felt the presence of something wholly uncanny and at odds with rational thought and existence. Her eyes turned to Jack, but found that his gaze was fixed on the lake.

A figure stood in the water, though Jack did not know his companions did not see it. It wore the shape of a woman, beautiful and yet frightening, an unearthly being. She stretched out her arms to him and the fog around him receded. By this, Jack understood that he was meant to go to her.

"Please," he began, "We only came to ask-"

The woman stretched out her arms again and smiled sweetly. "Come, child," she called out, "Do not be afraid. As long as you bear my Lancelot's ring, no harm will come to you."

Jack meant to hesitate, to look to Miss d'Iacon and Mo Li, but he was compelled to walk.

"Come," Nyneve said again, and her cold hand closed over his as the water rose around him.