Fic: Underland (Sherlock Holmes / Neverwhere), PG-13 (11/17)
I HAVE MY COMPUTER BAAAACK! OH GOD SO EXCITED. It's been out for repairs for the last week because like a genius I spilled water on it. It was expensive, but so worth it, 'cause now it's back to warranty, AND they FIXED MY SOUND! :D
So, to celebrate, a chapter.
Title: Underland
Author: crimson_adder
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (ACD) / Neverwhere (Gaiman!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing / Characters: Holmes/Watson (getting there); Watson, Holmes, and the Earl's Court and courtiers.
Word Count: ~ 2600
Summary: John Watson loses a bet, grants a favour, and finds himself in a world unlike anything he has ever seen before. Except for how it's all the same.
Notes / Warnings: So this started with my own prompt on shkinkmeme which never got filled, so I decided to do it myself. :D If you see issues with anything, please feel free to tell me.
And we've hit 20,000 words! :D Also 40 pages. Also Watson's apparently a Time Lord in this for a bit. >< And PLOOOOOOOOT. FINALLY. It's exciting.
Underland - Part XI
I woke alone and in silence.
If not for the cool brush of air against my exposed throat I would have easily believed that the past several days had been a dream. There was nothing though, to convince me that the night before had not been as such.
I sat up with a bolt of horror to find my self abandoned on the rooftop, no trace of either Holmes or the marquis apparent, though the blankets were still bundled beneath me, and my bag and accoutrements were where I had left them the night before.
I was nearly prepared to give my self over to despair and hopelessness, when I heard an inquisitive squawk behind me, and turned in bewilderment to see a small rook flutter silently to the roof. It hopped, twice, picking around the edges of the blanket like a fussy child, before delicately leaning forwards to deposit something beside my knee.
It was a small, fine emerald tie pin, the same one I knew to be dear to my companion's heart - a gift from a specifically remarkable lady. It was no trinket that he wore on any occasion, more special even than the diamond ring he had received from the Dutch royal family.
And he had left it for me. I shall come back for you, dear Watson.
Whatever rush of adrenaline had launched me so abruptly into the waking world slipped off me as easily as water off a mallard's back, and I rubbed the bleariness from my face with tired hands and grimaced when I encountered at least two days worth of stubble on my cheeks.
I had no mirror with me, though my razor and shaving kit were packed away in my medical bag, so I stripped to my undershirt and worked as carefully and meticulously as I could, smoothing my fingers over the newly-shaven skin to make sure there were no overlooked patches.
My moustache however, was not something I wished to attempt without the ability to see what I was doing - odd though it may seem, I would rather nick my self shaving than venture into the day lopsided, my limp does that well enough on its own - and could wait a few more days before needing attention.
The rook alighted on a ledge in front of me and cocked its head to the side.
"Well? Does it meet your approval?" I called to it, laughingly.
And then I saw, within the bead of the rook's black eye, a glint of silver, the very selfsame shine that made my companion's eyes so very remarkable - and much to my amazement and amusement, the bird gave what was distinctly a very human nod, and cawed in approbation.
I was suddenly self-conscious as I had not been before, bare-chested on top of the roof for all the world - and Holmes, apparently - to see. The mass of scar tissue on my shoulder was not exactly a source of contrition to me, but it was also not something I wished to display, even knowing that Holmes must have witnessed it at some time before.
Even though he was not there, I felt the weight of his stare on my figure, and it brought with it a fluttering sensation, as of moths in my stomach. I stood, holding my old shirt in front of my waist like a shield, and contemplating the power that he commanded over my emotions, for quite some time.
How long, I do not know.
When I moved to redress my self I saw that the rook, while it was still present, had turned its back on me, in an obvious display of granting me privacy from the only prying eyes I truly wished to gaze upon my body.
But because while I might be in love, I am not a love-sick fool, I dismissed the feeling. I pulled on a new shirt and replaced my tie and collar, so that I might fasten the tie pin, for I wished it to be as secure as possible. Then I felt remarkably foolish wearing a stiff collar and no shirt cuffs, so I added them as well, even though I had decided the night before that no one would actually care what precisely I wore in this world.
I was running my hands over my hair, trying to create order from chaos, when I heard Holmes' step on the rooftop.
The thing that struck me as odd was that, when I turned to look, he was standing on the far side of the roof, away from the door, but I would most certainly have noticed his moving past me. The night before, as well, he had simply appeared in the darkness, without even a breath of wind to announce his presence.
"Well, you certainly look dashing this morning, Watson," he said.
-
We ate the food Holmes had brought, and I repacked my bag. I moved to return his tie pin, but he waved me off, saying, "Keep it for now, Watson, and be assured I'll always come for you." He laid a hand on my shoulder with a tight, reassuring grip, and squeezed. "It's only temporary though," he clarified loftily, sticking his long nose into the air in a mockery of snobbish distaste, "I cannot allow just anyone to parade about wearing the fruits of my labour."
I was still chuckling when he led the way, a small smile lingering at the corners of his lips, to the door that would take us back to the sewers.
We had no candle to light the way, and I admittedly was not looking forwards to gallivanting about the sewers again, so it was with some trepidation that I followed Holmes onto the narrow platform, but he stepped around the opening for the ladder and stood before another narrow door that I had not seen previously. It was barely lit from the ambient light streaming in behind me, but it was there none-the-less.
He gave me an impish smile, and motioned me to close the door behind me. It was pitch black, so dark that I could not see my hand in front of my face, and I dared not move in case I stepped wrongly.
Then there was light streaming in as Holmes opened the second door directly into a small and dingy room that I had seen before. It was one of Holmes' many hideouts.
"What on Earth -?" I exclaimed, almost jostling my friend out the door so I could look closer. Upon turning back to the tunnel entrance I saw only a small closet, empty save a dirty set of clothes and a mass of what seemed to be human hair. I was horrified until I realised with a sigh of relief that it was a wig - one of Holmes' disguises.
"Come, now, Watson. There's little time for idle delays," Holmes said, pulling me, still gaping, out of the room.
We existed the decrepit house onto Cromwell Road, near the intersection to Earl's Court Road. Holmes took my arm and we strolled as we used to down the pavement.
"Where are we going, Holmes?"
"We are going to see the earl, my dear boy. I have a question to ask him - there is someone I need to find. As he is the lord of the Underground - the trains at least - he will undoubtedly have knowledge that is useful to me."
"The earl - there's actually an earl's at Earl's Court? How can that be? Where? Is it like the circus?"
He shook his head and patted my hand condescendingly. I was quite tempted to take it back and smack him with my cane, but I knew that would get me no more answers. The fact that he had told me anything was unusual in and of itself.
We entered the above-ground station to find several other patrons waiting on the platform, mingling in silence as befits public transportation for the most part. They mostly men, and all well dressed, and I felt slovenly in my day old trousers and no waistcoat, my hat set precariously on my head, until I remembered that none of them would notice me.
One man, an off-duty constable by his bearing, looked up suddenly, and gave Holmes a cursory nod, though his eyes flitted past me without even a jot of interest, and I recalled as well that Holmes did live in the real London as well. Here was the proof of it. There was no real interaction, but the men who needed to know Holmes obviously knew him, and those who had no business knowing him paid no attention to his very existence.
Holmes repaid the officer a slight acknowledgement and pulled me closer to the platform's edge.
"Watson, our train is arriving soon, whatever are you doing?"
For I was drawing back, resisting his inexorable pull, my eyes fixed on the gap and what I knew to live down there.
"Mind the Gap," I said, not looking at him.
His posture at once stiffened, and he stared at me in abject horror. "Watson, tell me they did not harm you?"
I shook my head, and stepped into his side, torn between keeping my self as far away as possible from those terrible creatures and making sure I was between them and Holmes. "A black man, in monk's robes, they took him right in front of his peers. It was awful to watch."
"The Black Friars," said Holmes, nodding sadly. "They are righteous men, ancient protectors of an unholy secret. I am sorry you had to see that."
"What - are they all real? All the stations and such?"
There was a gust of warm wind that heralded the approach of a train.
"My dear boy," said Holmes, "you are in the Underground."
The train came rattling to a halt in place before the platform, but to me the car that pulled up to us seemed out of service. The lights were extinguished, and it appeared empty in the deep shadows. Other passengers moved on and off the other train cars, but the one Holmes was apparently aiming for remained closed. Holmes knocked on the door with a rhythmic rap, and the door opened silently, pushed from the inside.
A young man wearing spectacles peered out.
"Who knocks?"
"Sherry Vernet, and his companion," announced Holmes.
I could see a fire burning and sever people behind the man, but a glance at the outer windows still displayed a dark and empty carriage.
The man backed away and bowed deeply to admit us entrance into the car. It was indeed a full court, complete with courtiers right out of a medieval manuscript. There were rushes layered on the floor and an Irish wolfhound sprawled across them before the open log fire. All the passengers were decked out in period costumes like actors in a play, or what seemed the nearest they could manage with scraps and tin.
The earl himself, I assumed, was seated in a carved, throne-like wooden chair at one end of the carriage. He was roughly fifty and enormous, wearing an immense fur-lined dressing gown. His eyes peered out short-sightedly, and he blinked when he recognised my companion.
"Lord Sherringford Vernet, of the Ravens Court," proclaimed the herald that saw us in, entirely too loudly for such close quarters, "and companion."
"Raven's Court?" I hissed in Holmes' ear, and he batted me away, looking amused.
"It had to come from somewhere, did it not?" he murmured in return, before focusing the intensity of his attention to the bemused earl.
"A raven, eh?" rumbled the earl. His face darkened in consternation, and a few of the courtiers rustled in their makeshift ensembles uneasily.
"Yes. We seek audience with Your Grace," he said, and gave a little deferential bow.
"A raven," repeated the earl. He sat up straighter, and watched us warily. "And your companion? Who is he?"
"He is -"
"Aah!" cried the herald, practically jumping about in agitation. "He must introduce himself! Keep it short though, not too long."
I hesitated, but stepped forward, leaning heavily on my cane. "I am - I am the Doctor," I called, keeping to what Hammersmith had called me.
By this time the courtiers were far more interested in us than in the darkness streaking by the windows, and a small, awkwardly gangly jester leapt forwards.
"The Limping Doctor, I should say! How can ye be a man of medicine when ye cannot walk? Physician, heal thyself!" He laughed a high, nasal laugh, and pranced about for a moment before tumbling to the ground in an ungainly heap with a loud "Oomph!"
Holmes was apparently less amused by his jokes than I was.
"In light of our recent truce," Holmes called over the scrambling of the jester to get out of his way, "I have come to encourage the active exchange of information."
The earl perked up. "And what, exactly do you need from me, that you cannot find yourself? I have heard many things about you, Lord Vernet. You do not strike me as the kind of man who seeks help."
Holmes bowed again. "I thank Your Grace for your confidence in me. But I believe you have garnered information regarding the whereabouts of the Professor. Do you not?"
The court flew into a veritable frenzy at these words, one particularly faint-hearted damsel swooned immediately into the grasp of a man-at-arms, who looked shocked and bewildered, and promptly dropped her to the floor, apparently for lack of anything better to do with her.
The earl erupted from his throne and howled in anguish.
"Do not attempt to take that man on, Vernet! You shall bring yourself unending torment, for he is a dark and dangerous creature. I shall not let a word pass my lips about such an abominable man as that!"
Holmes stepped forwards, and his presence seemed to grow within the small compartment. I could have sword I heard the sudden flapping of a thousand crows taking off, a thunderous, malevolent noise, and I was almost afraid of my friend.
"The marquis has facilitated our peace treaty on your behest and I should hate to ruin such good work so soon. You know of my name, you know of my duty, and you are required by the laws of London Below to aid me in my obligation. Now, I ask you again, Your Grace, what do you know of the Professor?"
"He lives Above," squeaked the earl. I rushed to placed a hand on Holmes' shoulder, pulling him back and away from the pitiable, cowering man. Holmes' anger was not something I saw often, and rarely in such blatant displays, especially when I felt it so unwarranted, so I was thankful when I felt my friend physically relax beneath my touch.
"I am aware of that. What else do you know?" he said in a much more subdued tone, though a thread of warning leaked through.
"He is building his forces. Masters Croup and Vandemar, you know them - I have heard they are under his employ at the moment, and are working to recruit more."
It was apparently all Holmes had come for.
I bowed as well, without a single ounce of Holmes' sheer unpractised grace, when the herald signalled for the train to stop, which was less a signal indeed and more of a shriek, and we exited onto a grey and unused platform.
-
| Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X |
|| Part XI || Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII |
So, to celebrate, a chapter.
Title: Underland
Author: crimson_adder
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (ACD) / Neverwhere (Gaiman!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing / Characters: Holmes/Watson (getting there); Watson, Holmes, and the Earl's Court and courtiers.
Word Count: ~ 2600
Summary: John Watson loses a bet, grants a favour, and finds himself in a world unlike anything he has ever seen before. Except for how it's all the same.
Notes / Warnings: So this started with my own prompt on shkinkmeme which never got filled, so I decided to do it myself. :D If you see issues with anything, please feel free to tell me.
And we've hit 20,000 words! :D Also 40 pages. Also Watson's apparently a Time Lord in this for a bit. >< And PLOOOOOOOOT. FINALLY. It's exciting.
Underland - Part XI
I woke alone and in silence.
If not for the cool brush of air against my exposed throat I would have easily believed that the past several days had been a dream. There was nothing though, to convince me that the night before had not been as such.
I sat up with a bolt of horror to find my self abandoned on the rooftop, no trace of either Holmes or the marquis apparent, though the blankets were still bundled beneath me, and my bag and accoutrements were where I had left them the night before.
I was nearly prepared to give my self over to despair and hopelessness, when I heard an inquisitive squawk behind me, and turned in bewilderment to see a small rook flutter silently to the roof. It hopped, twice, picking around the edges of the blanket like a fussy child, before delicately leaning forwards to deposit something beside my knee.
It was a small, fine emerald tie pin, the same one I knew to be dear to my companion's heart - a gift from a specifically remarkable lady. It was no trinket that he wore on any occasion, more special even than the diamond ring he had received from the Dutch royal family.
And he had left it for me. I shall come back for you, dear Watson.
Whatever rush of adrenaline had launched me so abruptly into the waking world slipped off me as easily as water off a mallard's back, and I rubbed the bleariness from my face with tired hands and grimaced when I encountered at least two days worth of stubble on my cheeks.
I had no mirror with me, though my razor and shaving kit were packed away in my medical bag, so I stripped to my undershirt and worked as carefully and meticulously as I could, smoothing my fingers over the newly-shaven skin to make sure there were no overlooked patches.
My moustache however, was not something I wished to attempt without the ability to see what I was doing - odd though it may seem, I would rather nick my self shaving than venture into the day lopsided, my limp does that well enough on its own - and could wait a few more days before needing attention.
The rook alighted on a ledge in front of me and cocked its head to the side.
"Well? Does it meet your approval?" I called to it, laughingly.
And then I saw, within the bead of the rook's black eye, a glint of silver, the very selfsame shine that made my companion's eyes so very remarkable - and much to my amazement and amusement, the bird gave what was distinctly a very human nod, and cawed in approbation.
I was suddenly self-conscious as I had not been before, bare-chested on top of the roof for all the world - and Holmes, apparently - to see. The mass of scar tissue on my shoulder was not exactly a source of contrition to me, but it was also not something I wished to display, even knowing that Holmes must have witnessed it at some time before.
Even though he was not there, I felt the weight of his stare on my figure, and it brought with it a fluttering sensation, as of moths in my stomach. I stood, holding my old shirt in front of my waist like a shield, and contemplating the power that he commanded over my emotions, for quite some time.
How long, I do not know.
When I moved to redress my self I saw that the rook, while it was still present, had turned its back on me, in an obvious display of granting me privacy from the only prying eyes I truly wished to gaze upon my body.
But because while I might be in love, I am not a love-sick fool, I dismissed the feeling. I pulled on a new shirt and replaced my tie and collar, so that I might fasten the tie pin, for I wished it to be as secure as possible. Then I felt remarkably foolish wearing a stiff collar and no shirt cuffs, so I added them as well, even though I had decided the night before that no one would actually care what precisely I wore in this world.
I was running my hands over my hair, trying to create order from chaos, when I heard Holmes' step on the rooftop.
The thing that struck me as odd was that, when I turned to look, he was standing on the far side of the roof, away from the door, but I would most certainly have noticed his moving past me. The night before, as well, he had simply appeared in the darkness, without even a breath of wind to announce his presence.
"Well, you certainly look dashing this morning, Watson," he said.
-
We ate the food Holmes had brought, and I repacked my bag. I moved to return his tie pin, but he waved me off, saying, "Keep it for now, Watson, and be assured I'll always come for you." He laid a hand on my shoulder with a tight, reassuring grip, and squeezed. "It's only temporary though," he clarified loftily, sticking his long nose into the air in a mockery of snobbish distaste, "I cannot allow just anyone to parade about wearing the fruits of my labour."
I was still chuckling when he led the way, a small smile lingering at the corners of his lips, to the door that would take us back to the sewers.
We had no candle to light the way, and I admittedly was not looking forwards to gallivanting about the sewers again, so it was with some trepidation that I followed Holmes onto the narrow platform, but he stepped around the opening for the ladder and stood before another narrow door that I had not seen previously. It was barely lit from the ambient light streaming in behind me, but it was there none-the-less.
He gave me an impish smile, and motioned me to close the door behind me. It was pitch black, so dark that I could not see my hand in front of my face, and I dared not move in case I stepped wrongly.
Then there was light streaming in as Holmes opened the second door directly into a small and dingy room that I had seen before. It was one of Holmes' many hideouts.
"What on Earth -?" I exclaimed, almost jostling my friend out the door so I could look closer. Upon turning back to the tunnel entrance I saw only a small closet, empty save a dirty set of clothes and a mass of what seemed to be human hair. I was horrified until I realised with a sigh of relief that it was a wig - one of Holmes' disguises.
"Come, now, Watson. There's little time for idle delays," Holmes said, pulling me, still gaping, out of the room.
We existed the decrepit house onto Cromwell Road, near the intersection to Earl's Court Road. Holmes took my arm and we strolled as we used to down the pavement.
"Where are we going, Holmes?"
"We are going to see the earl, my dear boy. I have a question to ask him - there is someone I need to find. As he is the lord of the Underground - the trains at least - he will undoubtedly have knowledge that is useful to me."
"The earl - there's actually an earl's at Earl's Court? How can that be? Where? Is it like the circus?"
He shook his head and patted my hand condescendingly. I was quite tempted to take it back and smack him with my cane, but I knew that would get me no more answers. The fact that he had told me anything was unusual in and of itself.
We entered the above-ground station to find several other patrons waiting on the platform, mingling in silence as befits public transportation for the most part. They mostly men, and all well dressed, and I felt slovenly in my day old trousers and no waistcoat, my hat set precariously on my head, until I remembered that none of them would notice me.
One man, an off-duty constable by his bearing, looked up suddenly, and gave Holmes a cursory nod, though his eyes flitted past me without even a jot of interest, and I recalled as well that Holmes did live in the real London as well. Here was the proof of it. There was no real interaction, but the men who needed to know Holmes obviously knew him, and those who had no business knowing him paid no attention to his very existence.
Holmes repaid the officer a slight acknowledgement and pulled me closer to the platform's edge.
"Watson, our train is arriving soon, whatever are you doing?"
For I was drawing back, resisting his inexorable pull, my eyes fixed on the gap and what I knew to live down there.
"Mind the Gap," I said, not looking at him.
His posture at once stiffened, and he stared at me in abject horror. "Watson, tell me they did not harm you?"
I shook my head, and stepped into his side, torn between keeping my self as far away as possible from those terrible creatures and making sure I was between them and Holmes. "A black man, in monk's robes, they took him right in front of his peers. It was awful to watch."
"The Black Friars," said Holmes, nodding sadly. "They are righteous men, ancient protectors of an unholy secret. I am sorry you had to see that."
"What - are they all real? All the stations and such?"
There was a gust of warm wind that heralded the approach of a train.
"My dear boy," said Holmes, "you are in the Underground."
The train came rattling to a halt in place before the platform, but to me the car that pulled up to us seemed out of service. The lights were extinguished, and it appeared empty in the deep shadows. Other passengers moved on and off the other train cars, but the one Holmes was apparently aiming for remained closed. Holmes knocked on the door with a rhythmic rap, and the door opened silently, pushed from the inside.
A young man wearing spectacles peered out.
"Who knocks?"
"Sherry Vernet, and his companion," announced Holmes.
I could see a fire burning and sever people behind the man, but a glance at the outer windows still displayed a dark and empty carriage.
The man backed away and bowed deeply to admit us entrance into the car. It was indeed a full court, complete with courtiers right out of a medieval manuscript. There were rushes layered on the floor and an Irish wolfhound sprawled across them before the open log fire. All the passengers were decked out in period costumes like actors in a play, or what seemed the nearest they could manage with scraps and tin.
The earl himself, I assumed, was seated in a carved, throne-like wooden chair at one end of the carriage. He was roughly fifty and enormous, wearing an immense fur-lined dressing gown. His eyes peered out short-sightedly, and he blinked when he recognised my companion.
"Lord Sherringford Vernet, of the Ravens Court," proclaimed the herald that saw us in, entirely too loudly for such close quarters, "and companion."
"Raven's Court?" I hissed in Holmes' ear, and he batted me away, looking amused.
"It had to come from somewhere, did it not?" he murmured in return, before focusing the intensity of his attention to the bemused earl.
"A raven, eh?" rumbled the earl. His face darkened in consternation, and a few of the courtiers rustled in their makeshift ensembles uneasily.
"Yes. We seek audience with Your Grace," he said, and gave a little deferential bow.
"A raven," repeated the earl. He sat up straighter, and watched us warily. "And your companion? Who is he?"
"He is -"
"Aah!" cried the herald, practically jumping about in agitation. "He must introduce himself! Keep it short though, not too long."
I hesitated, but stepped forward, leaning heavily on my cane. "I am - I am the Doctor," I called, keeping to what Hammersmith had called me.
By this time the courtiers were far more interested in us than in the darkness streaking by the windows, and a small, awkwardly gangly jester leapt forwards.
"The Limping Doctor, I should say! How can ye be a man of medicine when ye cannot walk? Physician, heal thyself!" He laughed a high, nasal laugh, and pranced about for a moment before tumbling to the ground in an ungainly heap with a loud "Oomph!"
Holmes was apparently less amused by his jokes than I was.
"In light of our recent truce," Holmes called over the scrambling of the jester to get out of his way, "I have come to encourage the active exchange of information."
The earl perked up. "And what, exactly do you need from me, that you cannot find yourself? I have heard many things about you, Lord Vernet. You do not strike me as the kind of man who seeks help."
Holmes bowed again. "I thank Your Grace for your confidence in me. But I believe you have garnered information regarding the whereabouts of the Professor. Do you not?"
The court flew into a veritable frenzy at these words, one particularly faint-hearted damsel swooned immediately into the grasp of a man-at-arms, who looked shocked and bewildered, and promptly dropped her to the floor, apparently for lack of anything better to do with her.
The earl erupted from his throne and howled in anguish.
"Do not attempt to take that man on, Vernet! You shall bring yourself unending torment, for he is a dark and dangerous creature. I shall not let a word pass my lips about such an abominable man as that!"
Holmes stepped forwards, and his presence seemed to grow within the small compartment. I could have sword I heard the sudden flapping of a thousand crows taking off, a thunderous, malevolent noise, and I was almost afraid of my friend.
"The marquis has facilitated our peace treaty on your behest and I should hate to ruin such good work so soon. You know of my name, you know of my duty, and you are required by the laws of London Below to aid me in my obligation. Now, I ask you again, Your Grace, what do you know of the Professor?"
"He lives Above," squeaked the earl. I rushed to placed a hand on Holmes' shoulder, pulling him back and away from the pitiable, cowering man. Holmes' anger was not something I saw often, and rarely in such blatant displays, especially when I felt it so unwarranted, so I was thankful when I felt my friend physically relax beneath my touch.
"I am aware of that. What else do you know?" he said in a much more subdued tone, though a thread of warning leaked through.
"He is building his forces. Masters Croup and Vandemar, you know them - I have heard they are under his employ at the moment, and are working to recruit more."
It was apparently all Holmes had come for.
I bowed as well, without a single ounce of Holmes' sheer unpractised grace, when the herald signalled for the train to stop, which was less a signal indeed and more of a shriek, and we exited onto a grey and unused platform.
-
| Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X |
|| Part XI || Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII |