Penny #30
Title: “Diary #3 ”
Author/Artist: Scriptator
Fandom: Concarnadine (original)
Rating: Probably PG
Prompt: - #015 “Haunted”
Warnings:
Disclaimer: Everyone in here is an Original Character. Please ask before borrowing.
The idea, it transpired, was for me to go touring round London and the Home Counties, and see if Circe Botulbruss, or any of her coven, turned up to keep and eye on me, or to interfere in any way.
To minimise the watch Concarnadine and Elizabeth would be keeping on me, I was going still to be living in Shadwell and coming and going from there.
And the Michael I had met (who was otherwise ‘Overpass’) was going to have a network of people on whose help I could call at need.
Monday: Not a day in the routine, but a day to go in to the office, download (or upload, depending on which side of the fence you were on) the completed work I had, collect two more assignments, one urgent, one not-so, and, having checked that Nanesha was all right - Hallie had two days off, for personal reasons - walk down via Solme to the International Business Library to get a start on the research, and keep my eyes open in case Whoever (we’d decided to accommodate all possibilities inside a portmanteau phrase, whenever we couldn’t be certain that we would be overheard, by any means) decided to watch me even in the City.
In the event I saw no-one untoward, and got the urgent analysis done well before closing time, and was able to send it to Adrian before I went home.
Tuesday: Used the DLR to go to the Bank, and the Tube to go out to Clapham. There’s a Common there, round which I mooched, in semi-drizzle, for about an hour, before walking down the hill to Clapham Junction and a dinner in a department store. Didn’t see anyone watching me, but had the distinct feeling that someone was, as it were, looking over my shoulder. In the afternoon, I caught a train to Willesden, and had a “secret rendezvous” with Concarnadine, who wanted to make sure I wasn’t being freaked out, and then caught another back home, on the Overground train, direct to Shadwell. I’d known that there was an Overground station there, but it had never occurred to me to find out where the trains went - I had my DLR into the City, and Tiger for walks … what more did I need ?
Got home, and found a phone message from Emma to say that the Rosethorn woman had been back. I told her to e-mail Max Levin about it, and made a mental note to keep my eyes open.
Wednesday: The day started with a discussion with Sandy Miniver about Tiger’s feeding. I found out that she’d been feeding the cat extra because Tiger had been pretending to be starved. Result: one seriously overfed cat. She said that she had no problem with the idea of two meals per day, of limited amount, and that being enough for any cat, but that she didn’t see me anything like as regularly as before, and so she had no way of knowing if I was keeping up my side of the nutrition cycle. Perhaps I over-reacted, but things went down hill from there.
Finally, having had enough, and not seeing the discussion going anywhere useful, I went out (perhaps with a little storming, in retrospect), and went to the tobacconist’s in Waterloo to leave instructions for Solme, with a message, to pass to Adrian, saying I was okay. Then off to one of Adrian’s little hide-aways, an art gallery on the South Bank which has a roof garden where he can dine clients (food brought in from a local restaurant), and a basement which extends under the terrace house next door, and holds a high-tech computer installation, used to sell art-works round the world, but also available to LeGrange Associates. With that I finished off my second assignment, and e-mailed the result to Nanesha, for onward transmission to Eleanor Copressley.
I came out again well on in the afternoon, and almost at once felt that someone was watching me. I strolled back towards Waterloo, to get the Tube, and found a stick-thin girl following me, dressed in basic blacks, looking like an L.S. Lowry. I managed to dodge her for a second, and ducked into the Underground ticket hall. Then, rather than getting on, I walked straight through and up the escalator to the old railway terminus. At the top of the escalator, if you know where to look, there is a narrow stairway up to what, I suppose, was going to be an upper level of offices which never got used. The balcony runs along the full sweep of the station, but goes nowhere. But, on this day, it gave me the ideal viewpoint from which to watch as she ran onto the concourse and looked around for me. At one point she looked up towards the balcony, but she did it from one end to the other, giving me time to duck back into the shadows before she saw me.
When I was sure that she’d gone, I went down, and took a train to Vauxhall, to get back onto the Tube and go home. Tiger was there, and there was a brief message from Sandy Miniver to say that he had behaved himself. I made a mental note to thank her, effusively, when next i saw her.
Thursday: I was supposed to go in to the office again, but as soon as I stepped out of the door I could tell that I was being watched. Another skinny girl (I wondered whether it was something that was obligatory for them), dressed in subdued grey and purple, lurking in the newsagent’s, watching me to Shadwell station. I had my PDA out and was composing a text to Hallie, explaining I wouldn’t be in, when I noticed that she had a cell-phone out, and suddenly had suspicions about being hacked, jacked, or whatever.
On the other hand … I took the DLR right into Bank, and immediately switched to the old direct line to Waterloo. If I had gone there yesterday, I reasoned this might give the impression that there was something significant about it. At the same time I reached into my bag and found one of the little gadgets Borin had lent me.
“This will let you attract our attention,” he had told me. “Just be careful - it may make you dizzy.”
Thankfully I used it when I was sitting down, because it did. But I had recovered by the time the ‘Drain” (as the line used to be known) reached Waterloo.
“What is the matter ?” Urtu-Ab asked, inside my head.
“I am being followed - or I was until the Bank, and I’m expecting … yes,” I added, seeing the huddled figure on a seat, “I am being watched at the moment.”
There was a brief delay and then: “Head for Brentford, and you’ll be met.”
Brentford was thirty-five minutes by train, and while Lowry-girl didn’t approach me, nor did she shift from her corner seat. She had ducked aboard the train at the last second, as though fearing that, having got on, I would get off again. So I hadn’t had time to consider her in detail, but I was satisfied it was the same girl as on Wednesday. And I noticed that she did look more concerned the closer we got to Brentford, as though having me walk into, as it were, the she-leopard’s lair, was not what had been intended.
I got off the train at Brentford, Lowry-girl deigning to follow once she felt sure I wasn’t going to duck back aboard. But her delay meant that I had time to see the lanky man get up from his seat on the pub forecourt, and amble towards the road north. I followed him along the road and through the gate onto the footpath through the park. Lowry-girl dropped off, but I had the impression that I was still being watched.
“I’m Lockgate,” the man said, as I dropped onto the far end of the park bench. “Eloise Elder-root has dropped off. But one of her sisters - I’m not sure which - was set to watch for you from the train. Unfortunately,” and he opened his hand to show me a twisted knot of dried herb, “she’s a little distracted right now, and Eloise has lost track of you.” He pulled another herbal knot out of a pocket.
“Take this, go back to the road, and walk north. Dabney will meet you, and get you to safety at the Bush. You can make your own way from there, I’m sure.”
I did as I was advised. Dabney, when I met him, was a scruffy little man, driving a scruffy little van, with some wooden pallets in the back, covered in tarpaulin.
“If anyone arsks, these come from a site in ‘Ahrnsloh, orright ?”
He took me back into Central London, and to a caravan encampment beneath a fly-over, just north of Shepherds Bush (who Mr. Shepherd had been, and the exact significance of one bush among (presumably) many, were matters which had always escaped me). We got there, and Dabney introduced me to a silver-haired ancient called M D (for ‘Military Discipline’) Smith; I was just going to thank him for hospitality when we were interrupted.
“Miss Mortenson - there are enemies gathering.”
Apparently I had been tracked down, despite Lockgate’s herbal amulet, and several young women had been seen, closing in, dressed in the sort of goth-ette fashion I was coming to associate with my … well, enemies.
I reached for Borin’s device again, but Dabney checked my hand.
“It won’t work - not ‘ere. Yer need t’be away.”
“Can’t you help me ?”
“They knows me - ‘m a limp curtain for you now.”
It was time for serious action - or re-action.
The encampment had only two exits, one for vehicles, onto a rough road that led into the White City complex, the other a narrow gate in the surrounding concrete walls, which led under the fly-over to an exercise ring for horses. That looked to be the better choice and I took it, gripping Borin’s knickknack (a metal thing a little like a miniature old-time telephone) in my hand.
“I need help,” I told it, ducking behind a wrecked car-body as I glimpsed two goth-girls coming towards the gateway to the encampment.
“I need help,” I repeated, once they were past and I was heading towards Latimer Grove.
There was another girl watching the entrance to the Tube station, but then, suddenly, Concarnadine was there, couching my shoulder in his hand, and stretching his other arm up, towards the sun. I didn’t hear what he said; it might just have been as a focus, I don’t know, but suddenly light haloed the girl and she covered her eyes, and we ran past her, and up the stairs to the platform.
Even then I was worried that the train might not come soon enough, but he just ran me along and then we were … well, flying … along the lines and to the next station.
And Elizabeth was there, with a translocation gate, and we went direct back to Chelsea, before any of the girls had chance to zero in on where we were, though, frankly, by that stage I was limp as a dish-rag, between the tension and the exertion.
Author/Artist: Scriptator
Fandom: Concarnadine (original)
Rating: Probably PG
Prompt: - #015 “Haunted”
Warnings:
Disclaimer: Everyone in here is an Original Character. Please ask before borrowing.
The idea, it transpired, was for me to go touring round London and the Home Counties, and see if Circe Botulbruss, or any of her coven, turned up to keep and eye on me, or to interfere in any way.
To minimise the watch Concarnadine and Elizabeth would be keeping on me, I was going still to be living in Shadwell and coming and going from there.
And the Michael I had met (who was otherwise ‘Overpass’) was going to have a network of people on whose help I could call at need.
Monday: Not a day in the routine, but a day to go in to the office, download (or upload, depending on which side of the fence you were on) the completed work I had, collect two more assignments, one urgent, one not-so, and, having checked that Nanesha was all right - Hallie had two days off, for personal reasons - walk down via Solme to the International Business Library to get a start on the research, and keep my eyes open in case Whoever (we’d decided to accommodate all possibilities inside a portmanteau phrase, whenever we couldn’t be certain that we would be overheard, by any means) decided to watch me even in the City.
In the event I saw no-one untoward, and got the urgent analysis done well before closing time, and was able to send it to Adrian before I went home.
Tuesday: Used the DLR to go to the Bank, and the Tube to go out to Clapham. There’s a Common there, round which I mooched, in semi-drizzle, for about an hour, before walking down the hill to Clapham Junction and a dinner in a department store. Didn’t see anyone watching me, but had the distinct feeling that someone was, as it were, looking over my shoulder. In the afternoon, I caught a train to Willesden, and had a “secret rendezvous” with Concarnadine, who wanted to make sure I wasn’t being freaked out, and then caught another back home, on the Overground train, direct to Shadwell. I’d known that there was an Overground station there, but it had never occurred to me to find out where the trains went - I had my DLR into the City, and Tiger for walks … what more did I need ?
Got home, and found a phone message from Emma to say that the Rosethorn woman had been back. I told her to e-mail Max Levin about it, and made a mental note to keep my eyes open.
Wednesday: The day started with a discussion with Sandy Miniver about Tiger’s feeding. I found out that she’d been feeding the cat extra because Tiger had been pretending to be starved. Result: one seriously overfed cat. She said that she had no problem with the idea of two meals per day, of limited amount, and that being enough for any cat, but that she didn’t see me anything like as regularly as before, and so she had no way of knowing if I was keeping up my side of the nutrition cycle. Perhaps I over-reacted, but things went down hill from there.
Finally, having had enough, and not seeing the discussion going anywhere useful, I went out (perhaps with a little storming, in retrospect), and went to the tobacconist’s in Waterloo to leave instructions for Solme, with a message, to pass to Adrian, saying I was okay. Then off to one of Adrian’s little hide-aways, an art gallery on the South Bank which has a roof garden where he can dine clients (food brought in from a local restaurant), and a basement which extends under the terrace house next door, and holds a high-tech computer installation, used to sell art-works round the world, but also available to LeGrange Associates. With that I finished off my second assignment, and e-mailed the result to Nanesha, for onward transmission to Eleanor Copressley.
I came out again well on in the afternoon, and almost at once felt that someone was watching me. I strolled back towards Waterloo, to get the Tube, and found a stick-thin girl following me, dressed in basic blacks, looking like an L.S. Lowry. I managed to dodge her for a second, and ducked into the Underground ticket hall. Then, rather than getting on, I walked straight through and up the escalator to the old railway terminus. At the top of the escalator, if you know where to look, there is a narrow stairway up to what, I suppose, was going to be an upper level of offices which never got used. The balcony runs along the full sweep of the station, but goes nowhere. But, on this day, it gave me the ideal viewpoint from which to watch as she ran onto the concourse and looked around for me. At one point she looked up towards the balcony, but she did it from one end to the other, giving me time to duck back into the shadows before she saw me.
When I was sure that she’d gone, I went down, and took a train to Vauxhall, to get back onto the Tube and go home. Tiger was there, and there was a brief message from Sandy Miniver to say that he had behaved himself. I made a mental note to thank her, effusively, when next i saw her.
Thursday: I was supposed to go in to the office again, but as soon as I stepped out of the door I could tell that I was being watched. Another skinny girl (I wondered whether it was something that was obligatory for them), dressed in subdued grey and purple, lurking in the newsagent’s, watching me to Shadwell station. I had my PDA out and was composing a text to Hallie, explaining I wouldn’t be in, when I noticed that she had a cell-phone out, and suddenly had suspicions about being hacked, jacked, or whatever.
On the other hand … I took the DLR right into Bank, and immediately switched to the old direct line to Waterloo. If I had gone there yesterday, I reasoned this might give the impression that there was something significant about it. At the same time I reached into my bag and found one of the little gadgets Borin had lent me.
“This will let you attract our attention,” he had told me. “Just be careful - it may make you dizzy.”
Thankfully I used it when I was sitting down, because it did. But I had recovered by the time the ‘Drain” (as the line used to be known) reached Waterloo.
“What is the matter ?” Urtu-Ab asked, inside my head.
“I am being followed - or I was until the Bank, and I’m expecting … yes,” I added, seeing the huddled figure on a seat, “I am being watched at the moment.”
There was a brief delay and then: “Head for Brentford, and you’ll be met.”
Brentford was thirty-five minutes by train, and while Lowry-girl didn’t approach me, nor did she shift from her corner seat. She had ducked aboard the train at the last second, as though fearing that, having got on, I would get off again. So I hadn’t had time to consider her in detail, but I was satisfied it was the same girl as on Wednesday. And I noticed that she did look more concerned the closer we got to Brentford, as though having me walk into, as it were, the she-leopard’s lair, was not what had been intended.
I got off the train at Brentford, Lowry-girl deigning to follow once she felt sure I wasn’t going to duck back aboard. But her delay meant that I had time to see the lanky man get up from his seat on the pub forecourt, and amble towards the road north. I followed him along the road and through the gate onto the footpath through the park. Lowry-girl dropped off, but I had the impression that I was still being watched.
“I’m Lockgate,” the man said, as I dropped onto the far end of the park bench. “Eloise Elder-root has dropped off. But one of her sisters - I’m not sure which - was set to watch for you from the train. Unfortunately,” and he opened his hand to show me a twisted knot of dried herb, “she’s a little distracted right now, and Eloise has lost track of you.” He pulled another herbal knot out of a pocket.
“Take this, go back to the road, and walk north. Dabney will meet you, and get you to safety at the Bush. You can make your own way from there, I’m sure.”
I did as I was advised. Dabney, when I met him, was a scruffy little man, driving a scruffy little van, with some wooden pallets in the back, covered in tarpaulin.
“If anyone arsks, these come from a site in ‘Ahrnsloh, orright ?”
He took me back into Central London, and to a caravan encampment beneath a fly-over, just north of Shepherds Bush (who Mr. Shepherd had been, and the exact significance of one bush among (presumably) many, were matters which had always escaped me). We got there, and Dabney introduced me to a silver-haired ancient called M D (for ‘Military Discipline’) Smith; I was just going to thank him for hospitality when we were interrupted.
“Miss Mortenson - there are enemies gathering.”
Apparently I had been tracked down, despite Lockgate’s herbal amulet, and several young women had been seen, closing in, dressed in the sort of goth-ette fashion I was coming to associate with my … well, enemies.
I reached for Borin’s device again, but Dabney checked my hand.
“It won’t work - not ‘ere. Yer need t’be away.”
“Can’t you help me ?”
“They knows me - ‘m a limp curtain for you now.”
It was time for serious action - or re-action.
The encampment had only two exits, one for vehicles, onto a rough road that led into the White City complex, the other a narrow gate in the surrounding concrete walls, which led under the fly-over to an exercise ring for horses. That looked to be the better choice and I took it, gripping Borin’s knickknack (a metal thing a little like a miniature old-time telephone) in my hand.
“I need help,” I told it, ducking behind a wrecked car-body as I glimpsed two goth-girls coming towards the gateway to the encampment.
“I need help,” I repeated, once they were past and I was heading towards Latimer Grove.
There was another girl watching the entrance to the Tube station, but then, suddenly, Concarnadine was there, couching my shoulder in his hand, and stretching his other arm up, towards the sun. I didn’t hear what he said; it might just have been as a focus, I don’t know, but suddenly light haloed the girl and she covered her eyes, and we ran past her, and up the stairs to the platform.
Even then I was worried that the train might not come soon enough, but he just ran me along and then we were … well, flying … along the lines and to the next station.
And Elizabeth was there, with a translocation gate, and we went direct back to Chelsea, before any of the girls had chance to zero in on where we were, though, frankly, by that stage I was limp as a dish-rag, between the tension and the exertion.