The Concarnadine Chronicles #057 -- "Lunch"
Title: "Lunch"
'Fandom': The Concarnadine Chronicles
Claim: General; Characters
Prompt: #057 :: "Lunch"
Word Count: c. 1800
Rating: PG (for weirdness)
Summary: The aftermath to "Smell"
Author's Notes: The post-mission de-briefing, as I start to shed the sub-plots
“Lunch”
“Rejker couldn’t make it,” Shareya announced, dropping into one of the vacant chairs: “There’s a situation going on, in Antwerp, and he needs to be there. And I’m not really here - Barnaby simply doesn’t want anyone to be able to say he dropped the ball after the Hertfordshire raid.”
Concarnadine looked across: “I hope that you can still stay for lunch.” Shareya smiled and nodded. “Good. We’re just waiting for Mr. Fitz-Lawrence, then.”
They were in Alsatia, in one of the Honourable Society’s dining rooms. Gabriel Ruthven looked a little stunned to have been invited, but he was technically in sole charge of the collection of cardboard, wooden and metal boxes which were ranged along one side of the room, a custody in which he was being assisted by Gwen Rundle, one of the civilian support officers from the station, who worked on the Records side. Barratt and Flavour were there, too, fresh from a brief but trenchant chat with DCS Medallion at Scotland Yard, and with a commitment that one or both of them would return to report once the lunchtime meeting was done. Concarnadine was there, for once out of his stage attire, and in a workman-like pair of denims and a donkey jacket. And Elizabeth Stellamer, in a smarter and more chic version of the same. And on the table in the centre of the room was an excellent finger-buffet, catering for both vegetarians and non, which was already showing signs of attrition, together with a selection of drinks, for the company.
The door opened and Borin entered, preceding Septimus Fitz-Lawrence.
“Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen.”
“Thank you for coming over, Septimus,” Concarnadine said, while Borin searched the buffet for sandwiches of weasel or rat.
“How can I be of help ?”
“I did explain,” Borin said, around a mouthful of spiced pork and chilli sauce.
“We wanted you to oversee our review of some material which the police recently confiscated, and about which they have asked for advice.”
“Oh - right - well - I see - ”
Concarnadine gently led him over to the buffet and allowed him time to settle his thoughts. While that process was on-going he turned to Barratt.
“I assume, from what Mr. Ruthven said, that everything went well ?”
“Well enough,” Barratt allowed, the burr of his Scots accept accentuating the caution he was applying to his words. “We got a drum-load of gear - ” he pointed to Ruthven’s boxes “ - but most of the ring-leaders legged it through one of your portal-things. Which, thankfully, I was able to have sealed.
“Yes, I know - ” Barratt went on, as Concarnadine’s mouth opened: “You’d have liked to have been there, and find out where they went. Which was why I had it closed up - ask Shareya: her experts reckoned it was dangerous, and I wasn’t going to risk innocent lives.”
“All right,” Concarnadine said: “So what did we get ?”
“Four teenagers held in an attic - Hertfordshire interviewed them all, none of them had any idea what was going on, all of them were virgins, and therefore potential sacrifices, and they gave us three names of people we either missed or they weren’t there that day. Anyway, their ‘usual haunts’ are being watched, and as soon as any of them surface ….
“We also arrested about twenty low-level members of the cult - and please remember, if you talk to anyone else, these were members of an eccentric cult revolving round a 1930’s noire author, who were taking some role playing a little - or a lot - too far.”
Concarnadine nodded and Barratt went on: “We also ‘acquired’ a very large amount of paperwork - given that you say you’re looking for a demon-type-thing from another dimension, I didn’t think there’d be likely to be anything written down, so I’ve left that to us mortals to decipher.”
“Barnaby’s had a team on it, ever since,” Shareya said, coming over: “We haven’t taken direct action yet, but indications are that we’ll be able to wrap up a large-ish number of people who’ve had various involvements, most of them criminal one way or another.”
Concarnadine nodded again: “It’s no part of my … what you do to people who’ve broken the law is your business. As you say, it’s Jovimort who’s my concern.”
“We’ll start with the books, if we may, then,” Barratt said, and led the way over to the large lead box which stood apart from the others. “This one was … opened … prematurely.”
Concarnadine extended a hand toward the box, then withdrew it. “Did anyone notice a title ?” he asked.
“One of my people called it the Condemned Tome - does that help ?”
“Enough to know I don’t want to go closer.” He turned to Barratt: “You might want to sink that in the Thames - a deep bit, where no-one can get it back from. It’s bad mojo, and nothing to do with Jo -- Him.”
“The rest probably aren’t as … explosive,” Barratt said, with a heart-felt hope.
Ruthven pulled out three more crates and Concarnadine started going through the books, with Fitz-Lawrence coming to stand at his shoulder.
“Rissingleigh’s Pikedox Annotata; Polpaton De Libram Jordanis; de Vashkin on the White Tower myth; Borradine’s Treatise; the McCarthy and Kitson redactions of the Scriptator Epic - no, there’s nothing there that affects my work. Mind you, there’s a deal there that could do to be kept locked up.”
“Indeed,” Septimus Fitz-Lawrence concurred: “Although I should be grateful for the opportunity to study certain texts, not least the de Vashkin, which is extremely rare. Oh, and Borradine - I have a copy of the London edition, but I see that that was the Vienna printing … ”
Ruthven and Gwen Rundle, meanwhile, had been pulling out a series of cardboard boxes, containing all sorts of miscellaneous items removed from the Hertfordshire house. Most of them it took Concarnadine little time to dismiss (Gwen Rundle making meticulous notes as he went through them) - they were either ordinary items dressed up to look impressive (a pair of salad servers converted into alchemical tongs, for example), or were esoteric but without any arcane power (the Mongolian lemming-skin Masonic-type aprons were a case in point).
However, it was when Ruthven carefully removed something which looked like a cross between a hookah and a Van der Graaf generator from one box that Concarnadine’s eyes narrowed.
“Careful with that - where was it found ?”
Robin Flavour consulted her notebook: “Upstairs, in what appears to have been the library. Between a defaced icon of the Virgin, and a statuette of what I think was Ganesh, the elephant-headed Indian deity.”
“It’s what passes for an energy extractor - you said there were hostages being held ? This would - probably - have been used to draw vital energy from them without actually leaving any marks on their bodies.”
“Is it safe ?”
“Without the right incantation, probably. Shareya - you might want to recommend Barnaby has someone look at this: if there’s a way to use it properly, it might serve as a restraint tool.”
He broke off as another artefact caught his eye.
“This was in the basement, near that portal, wasn’t it ?”
“Yes.”
“It’s something that will be very useful: may I have it ?”
“Suppose you tell us what it is first, for the records ?” Barratt asked, while Gwen Rundle moved closer, with her notebook and pen.
“It’s the anchor for the portal. Without knowing it, you’ve prevented the portal for being re-established for the other side at the house. What I can do, is to use this to fish round for any attempt to re-connect to it, and back-trace that.”
“You’re sure no-one can just … well, pop through, and attack you ?”
“Not unless I’m standing at a portal. This is an anchor - it isn’t a portal itself.”
Barratt nodded, trying to look as if he understood.
“This is fascinating,” Fitz-Lawrence said: “Did you see the klystron-amplifier ? With that, we could talk - ”
“Not now, Doctor,” Concarnadine said, softly: “There are some things with which it would be better that our friends here don’t have to trouble themselves, perhaps ?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
“You’ll want these, too,” Elizabeth said, retrieving a pair of bracelets from the last of Ruthven’s boxes. She held them up and Concarnadine blanched slightly.
“Where were those ?”
Elizabeth pointed to the box.
“I ought to have seen them at once.”
“I suspect that they were shielded - the Jewel drew me to them, though.”
“What are they ?” Barratt asked. He didn’t remember having seen the bracelets before: now that they had been drawn to his attention, though, he saw that they seemed to have a black, inlaid, pattern of waves or flames on their surface.
“They’re … ” Concarnadine paused: how much ought he to tell these people ? How much would they be able to understand ?
“They’re a mystical means of controlling people,” Elizabeth said: “A little like handcuffs, but these are sentient.”
“You mean they think for themselves ?” Gwen Rundle asked, pulling away from the things.
“Not on their own,” Elizabeth reassured her: “They’re a little like the energy extractor: they only have the intelligence they can borrow - or steal. But once they’re, as it were, awake, they can react for themselves. So, if the person they’re on is planning an escape, the bracelets themselves can take action to stop them.”
“Very dangerous in the wrong hands,” Concarnadine said.
Shareya stood up: “Perhaps I ought to take these to Barnaby, too.”
“I think not - these really are - ”
“They’re police evidence,” Barratt said, flatly.
Concarnadine quirked an eyebrow at him, but Barratt’s expression didn’t alter, and after a second or two the illusionist nodded (although Elizabeth did not return the bracelets to the box).
“I must be going, dear boy.”
“Thank you for coming over, Doctor Fitz-Lawrence,” Concarnadine said suavely. “And perhaps we should vacate the room, and let the staff clear up the chaos which we’ve left.”
The dinner tables had indeed been devastated, and most of the drinks containers were also almost empty.
“I’d better be getting back to … ” Shareya started to say, but Robin Flavour cut in: “I could do to discuss something with you - shall we go out together ?”
Ruthven busied himself with tidying up the boxes, with Gwen Rundle’s help. Within a few minutes everything was ready to be taken away again.
“I’ll give you a hand, Gabe,” Barratt said, studiously ignoring the fact that Elizabeth Stellamer was still holding on to the disputed bracelets.
“Thanks, guv’nor, but with the exception of the lead-casket job, I can cope.”
Barratt nodded: “Very well. Miss Rundle - would you lend me your notebook for one moment, please ?”
He took it, struck through one item, initialled the change, and returned it to her. And he ignored both the startled look on her face, and the fact that, once again, Concarnadine and Elizabeth had left by … unconventional … means.
'Fandom': The Concarnadine Chronicles
Claim: General; Characters
Prompt: #057 :: "Lunch"
Word Count: c. 1800
Rating: PG (for weirdness)
Summary: The aftermath to "Smell"
Author's Notes: The post-mission de-briefing, as I start to shed the sub-plots
“Lunch”
“Rejker couldn’t make it,” Shareya announced, dropping into one of the vacant chairs: “There’s a situation going on, in Antwerp, and he needs to be there. And I’m not really here - Barnaby simply doesn’t want anyone to be able to say he dropped the ball after the Hertfordshire raid.”
Concarnadine looked across: “I hope that you can still stay for lunch.” Shareya smiled and nodded. “Good. We’re just waiting for Mr. Fitz-Lawrence, then.”
They were in Alsatia, in one of the Honourable Society’s dining rooms. Gabriel Ruthven looked a little stunned to have been invited, but he was technically in sole charge of the collection of cardboard, wooden and metal boxes which were ranged along one side of the room, a custody in which he was being assisted by Gwen Rundle, one of the civilian support officers from the station, who worked on the Records side. Barratt and Flavour were there, too, fresh from a brief but trenchant chat with DCS Medallion at Scotland Yard, and with a commitment that one or both of them would return to report once the lunchtime meeting was done. Concarnadine was there, for once out of his stage attire, and in a workman-like pair of denims and a donkey jacket. And Elizabeth Stellamer, in a smarter and more chic version of the same. And on the table in the centre of the room was an excellent finger-buffet, catering for both vegetarians and non, which was already showing signs of attrition, together with a selection of drinks, for the company.
The door opened and Borin entered, preceding Septimus Fitz-Lawrence.
“Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen.”
“Thank you for coming over, Septimus,” Concarnadine said, while Borin searched the buffet for sandwiches of weasel or rat.
“How can I be of help ?”
“I did explain,” Borin said, around a mouthful of spiced pork and chilli sauce.
“We wanted you to oversee our review of some material which the police recently confiscated, and about which they have asked for advice.”
“Oh - right - well - I see - ”
Concarnadine gently led him over to the buffet and allowed him time to settle his thoughts. While that process was on-going he turned to Barratt.
“I assume, from what Mr. Ruthven said, that everything went well ?”
“Well enough,” Barratt allowed, the burr of his Scots accept accentuating the caution he was applying to his words. “We got a drum-load of gear - ” he pointed to Ruthven’s boxes “ - but most of the ring-leaders legged it through one of your portal-things. Which, thankfully, I was able to have sealed.
“Yes, I know - ” Barratt went on, as Concarnadine’s mouth opened: “You’d have liked to have been there, and find out where they went. Which was why I had it closed up - ask Shareya: her experts reckoned it was dangerous, and I wasn’t going to risk innocent lives.”
“All right,” Concarnadine said: “So what did we get ?”
“Four teenagers held in an attic - Hertfordshire interviewed them all, none of them had any idea what was going on, all of them were virgins, and therefore potential sacrifices, and they gave us three names of people we either missed or they weren’t there that day. Anyway, their ‘usual haunts’ are being watched, and as soon as any of them surface ….
“We also arrested about twenty low-level members of the cult - and please remember, if you talk to anyone else, these were members of an eccentric cult revolving round a 1930’s noire author, who were taking some role playing a little - or a lot - too far.”
Concarnadine nodded and Barratt went on: “We also ‘acquired’ a very large amount of paperwork - given that you say you’re looking for a demon-type-thing from another dimension, I didn’t think there’d be likely to be anything written down, so I’ve left that to us mortals to decipher.”
“Barnaby’s had a team on it, ever since,” Shareya said, coming over: “We haven’t taken direct action yet, but indications are that we’ll be able to wrap up a large-ish number of people who’ve had various involvements, most of them criminal one way or another.”
Concarnadine nodded again: “It’s no part of my … what you do to people who’ve broken the law is your business. As you say, it’s Jovimort who’s my concern.”
“We’ll start with the books, if we may, then,” Barratt said, and led the way over to the large lead box which stood apart from the others. “This one was … opened … prematurely.”
Concarnadine extended a hand toward the box, then withdrew it. “Did anyone notice a title ?” he asked.
“One of my people called it the Condemned Tome - does that help ?”
“Enough to know I don’t want to go closer.” He turned to Barratt: “You might want to sink that in the Thames - a deep bit, where no-one can get it back from. It’s bad mojo, and nothing to do with Jo -- Him.”
“The rest probably aren’t as … explosive,” Barratt said, with a heart-felt hope.
Ruthven pulled out three more crates and Concarnadine started going through the books, with Fitz-Lawrence coming to stand at his shoulder.
“Rissingleigh’s Pikedox Annotata; Polpaton De Libram Jordanis; de Vashkin on the White Tower myth; Borradine’s Treatise; the McCarthy and Kitson redactions of the Scriptator Epic - no, there’s nothing there that affects my work. Mind you, there’s a deal there that could do to be kept locked up.”
“Indeed,” Septimus Fitz-Lawrence concurred: “Although I should be grateful for the opportunity to study certain texts, not least the de Vashkin, which is extremely rare. Oh, and Borradine - I have a copy of the London edition, but I see that that was the Vienna printing … ”
Ruthven and Gwen Rundle, meanwhile, had been pulling out a series of cardboard boxes, containing all sorts of miscellaneous items removed from the Hertfordshire house. Most of them it took Concarnadine little time to dismiss (Gwen Rundle making meticulous notes as he went through them) - they were either ordinary items dressed up to look impressive (a pair of salad servers converted into alchemical tongs, for example), or were esoteric but without any arcane power (the Mongolian lemming-skin Masonic-type aprons were a case in point).
However, it was when Ruthven carefully removed something which looked like a cross between a hookah and a Van der Graaf generator from one box that Concarnadine’s eyes narrowed.
“Careful with that - where was it found ?”
Robin Flavour consulted her notebook: “Upstairs, in what appears to have been the library. Between a defaced icon of the Virgin, and a statuette of what I think was Ganesh, the elephant-headed Indian deity.”
“It’s what passes for an energy extractor - you said there were hostages being held ? This would - probably - have been used to draw vital energy from them without actually leaving any marks on their bodies.”
“Is it safe ?”
“Without the right incantation, probably. Shareya - you might want to recommend Barnaby has someone look at this: if there’s a way to use it properly, it might serve as a restraint tool.”
He broke off as another artefact caught his eye.
“This was in the basement, near that portal, wasn’t it ?”
“Yes.”
“It’s something that will be very useful: may I have it ?”
“Suppose you tell us what it is first, for the records ?” Barratt asked, while Gwen Rundle moved closer, with her notebook and pen.
“It’s the anchor for the portal. Without knowing it, you’ve prevented the portal for being re-established for the other side at the house. What I can do, is to use this to fish round for any attempt to re-connect to it, and back-trace that.”
“You’re sure no-one can just … well, pop through, and attack you ?”
“Not unless I’m standing at a portal. This is an anchor - it isn’t a portal itself.”
Barratt nodded, trying to look as if he understood.
“This is fascinating,” Fitz-Lawrence said: “Did you see the klystron-amplifier ? With that, we could talk - ”
“Not now, Doctor,” Concarnadine said, softly: “There are some things with which it would be better that our friends here don’t have to trouble themselves, perhaps ?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
“You’ll want these, too,” Elizabeth said, retrieving a pair of bracelets from the last of Ruthven’s boxes. She held them up and Concarnadine blanched slightly.
“Where were those ?”
Elizabeth pointed to the box.
“I ought to have seen them at once.”
“I suspect that they were shielded - the Jewel drew me to them, though.”
“What are they ?” Barratt asked. He didn’t remember having seen the bracelets before: now that they had been drawn to his attention, though, he saw that they seemed to have a black, inlaid, pattern of waves or flames on their surface.
“They’re … ” Concarnadine paused: how much ought he to tell these people ? How much would they be able to understand ?
“They’re a mystical means of controlling people,” Elizabeth said: “A little like handcuffs, but these are sentient.”
“You mean they think for themselves ?” Gwen Rundle asked, pulling away from the things.
“Not on their own,” Elizabeth reassured her: “They’re a little like the energy extractor: they only have the intelligence they can borrow - or steal. But once they’re, as it were, awake, they can react for themselves. So, if the person they’re on is planning an escape, the bracelets themselves can take action to stop them.”
“Very dangerous in the wrong hands,” Concarnadine said.
Shareya stood up: “Perhaps I ought to take these to Barnaby, too.”
“I think not - these really are - ”
“They’re police evidence,” Barratt said, flatly.
Concarnadine quirked an eyebrow at him, but Barratt’s expression didn’t alter, and after a second or two the illusionist nodded (although Elizabeth did not return the bracelets to the box).
“I must be going, dear boy.”
“Thank you for coming over, Doctor Fitz-Lawrence,” Concarnadine said suavely. “And perhaps we should vacate the room, and let the staff clear up the chaos which we’ve left.”
The dinner tables had indeed been devastated, and most of the drinks containers were also almost empty.
“I’d better be getting back to … ” Shareya started to say, but Robin Flavour cut in: “I could do to discuss something with you - shall we go out together ?”
Ruthven busied himself with tidying up the boxes, with Gwen Rundle’s help. Within a few minutes everything was ready to be taken away again.
“I’ll give you a hand, Gabe,” Barratt said, studiously ignoring the fact that Elizabeth Stellamer was still holding on to the disputed bracelets.
“Thanks, guv’nor, but with the exception of the lead-casket job, I can cope.”
Barratt nodded: “Very well. Miss Rundle - would you lend me your notebook for one moment, please ?”
He took it, struck through one item, initialled the change, and returned it to her. And he ignored both the startled look on her face, and the fact that, once again, Concarnadine and Elizabeth had left by … unconventional … means.