Episode XLI - Fleet Footed

            The Former Baron’s eyes widened more and more as he listened to Siren (and, in parts, to Gulliver) explaining the situation with the Ebony Crest and their plan to claim it back.  It brought a smile to Ellis’ lips as he watched.  The sheer joy of invention was glimmering in those ancient eyes and, bit by bit, the hollow look that he had taken on whilst he told the story of Tiberius faded away.

            “This is perfect!” he said at last, leaping from his chair in excitement, “I’ve wanted a project like this for ages, something to really sink my teeth into!  And a deadline of a week?  Even better!  There’s nothing quite like working under pressure!”  He raised an arm as if about to make a point, and then swung it to his side instead and ran out into the hallway.

            Siren, Gulliver and Ellis stared at each other in the dust-filled silence of the dining room and listened to the sound of the Former Baron’s footsteps petering out in the hall, then growing slowly louder.  They weren’t surprised when his head appeared around the dining room door.

            “Actually, to organise something to successfully attack two pirate ships within the week…” he trailed off and scratched his chin, then said, “it is just possible I might need some help.”

            It was Siren who laughed first, with Ellis joining in soon after.  Gulliver, as always, just looked confused, but when the other two stood and followed the Former Baron down into the basement laboratory, he wasted no time in doing the same.

            Franck was already frantically rummaging through old plans spread out across one of his workbenches by the time Siren reached the bottom step of the basement stairs.  How he had gotten there so quickly without even looking out of breath, she had no idea, but it didn’t really surprise her.  She had learnt over the last couple of days that Franck seemed to obey his own set of rules and that, mostly, it was better that way.

            “So, how do we begin?” Ellis asked enthusiastically, brushing past Siren to peer at the delicate parchments.

            “Well, I have a few sketches here of ideas I’ve had in the past which might be appropriate,” Franck replied, gesturing at the papers vaguely.  “They would need some modification of course – they are quite out of date in terms of technology and were really designed for storming the sewers beneath Mistsrise – but that’s quite a trifling matter, really.”

            Ellis nodded as if he actually understood and Siren suppressed the urge to laugh at him.  Gulliver slumped into place against a wall somewhere behind them.

            “We’re going to need quite a lot of force to take on Harker’s little fleet,” she said, “are you sure we have everything we need here?”

            Franck froze for a second, clearly deep in thought.  Siren watched him, wondering when he might re-animate and was surprised when he suddenly buzzed into life and skipped across the laboratory floor towards a shelf of notebooks.

            “I’m going to have to call in a few favours,” he said, pulling out notebook after notebook before flipping through each quickly and discarding them in a heap on the floor.  Eventually he seemed to find what he was looking for and he carried the open notebook over to the workbench.  “This is a list of some of my old contacts.  Some of them are mad, many of them may be dead and there are at least a few to whom  I owe exorbitant amounts of money.  Perhaps you two could hunt them down whilst Gulliver and I start working on the design alterations?”

            “Me?” Gulliver asked, stepping away from the wall in surprise, “what do you want my ‘elp for?”

            Franck smiled, “Because, my dear boy, you have that amulet and it’s going to do a lot of work this evening!”  He turned back towards Siren and Ellis, “So, are you up to a little expedition?”

            Ellis gave Siren a sideways glance, conveying his usual sense of confusion and uncertainty in the face of Franck’s eccentricities.  She smiled at him and then turned back to the inventor and nodded.

            “We’ll get right on it,” she said.

            335 Mouldthicket Avenue was a more grand destination than Ellis had anticipated.  It was a fairly large detached house, although not quite large enough to be called a mansion, the gothic-style windows of which looked in on opulent interiors devoid of the dust and chaos which Ellis had come to associate with the Former Baron and all his endeavours.  This was not to say that the house lacked any kind of dishevelment.  There were a few slates missing from the roof and the upper storey windows were encrusted with cobwebs.  A plant resembling a twisted distortion of ivy, painted blood red, covered the northernmost wing.

            Ellis followed Siren along a narrow path between two small, overgrown patches to the front door of the building, where she knocked using the wrought iron tail of some mysterious dragon.

            “So, dead, deranged or debt-collector, which do you reckon this one will be?”  Ellis asked in the silence that followed.

            “Let’s hope none of the above,” Siren whispered back as they heard footsteps in the hall beyond.

            The house on Mouldthicket was the fifth location they had visited so far that evening, taking a cab between each one, and not a single one of them so far had been in the least bit encouraging.  Engelbert Messerschmidt had proven to be one of the mad ones.  He had barricaded his door against them with dead cats, had shouted obscenities in what Siren determined was the ancient language of the Cult of Profane Scribes and then, when they had tried once more to get him to listen, had run out into his back garden in nothing but a waistcoat and had proceeded to do a surprisingly convincing impression of a sheep, presumably as some kind of disguise.

            Their quarry at the second location, one Lady Julianne Guardhouse, was deceased, albeit only recently.  Siren and Ellis had been permitted by her grieving relatives to come in and view the corpse, but they politely declined.

            At the third house, another madman, Professor Nihilus Kranium had been obsessed with introducing them to his apparently invisible lover, Marius, who he described in a furtive aside as ‘a real cold one, watch out for his eyes!’

            The fourth house, which they had barely escaped alive, was inhabited by a decrepit old harridan by the name of Anastacia Grulenkov, who, as soon as she realised she was faced with representatives of the Former Baron, sealed the door with some kind of hypostatick locking mechanism and had them chased through the labyrinthine corridors of her manor by a horde of animals which resembled a cross between dogs, bats and Ellis’ worst nightmares.  Siren had named them as leatherwinged barrowhounds, which he had not found comforting at all.  When at last they had found a way to escape they could only assume that she was one of the nobles to whom the Former Baron owed some terrible sum.

            So, it was with some trepidation that they awaited the opening of the door to 335 Mouldthicket Avenue as the long Shadow sunset faded steadily into night.  The footsteps pattered closer, there was a creak and then the door opened wide upon a tiny old lady with a warm, but confused smile.

            “Hello,” she said, “are you looking for someone?”  Her voice was cracked, but soft and friendly.  Siren stepped forward.

            “Are you, perhaps, Felicity Barkcastle?” she asked.

            “Yes.  How can I help you, my dear?”

            “We’ve come at the request of the Former Baron Von-”

            “Oh, Franck!”  She was nearly glowing with sudden enthusiasm.  “Yes, yes, do come in.”  She turned around much more quickly than Ellis had expected and began to lead the way into her hallway, gesturing for them to follow.  “Do you like tea?”

            The elderly Miss Backcastle was not the last person on the list to offer her assistance.  There was also a young man called Toby who was the son of the late Dr. Pontificus and who seemed to believe he held a family debt of honour to the Former Baron; there was a short stocky little man with glasses called M. Marveille who seemed to speak solely in strangely accented rhyming couplets, but who was otherwise every bit as enthusiastic as Miss Barkcastle; and finally, much to the surprise of both Ellis and Siren, there was a lanky, red-eyed Spiketail Shaman by the name of Rockspark, who lived in strangely decorated little hovel near the harbour and who seemed deeply distrusting of the two humans until they mentioned the Former Baron’s name.

            Tea was offered at each location, although Rockspark’s tea was served still boiling and giving off some unsettling orange fumes.  Siren and Ellis accepted it warily, but, once it cooled enough for human consumption, it turned out to be quite pleasant with a spicy, citrus flavour.

            “So, Von Spektr needs help with some inventions, does he?” The Spiketail asked as they sat in his cluttered little home, surrounded by handmade trinkets of stone and wood and bone and feather.  His voice was both sibilant and gravely and his burning eyes had the deep-earth glow of a volcano.

           

            “We’re basically trying to build an automated fleet… I think,” Siren replied.

            “Yes, yes, yes,” he responded vaguely, stroking his slate-scaled lizard chin, “who else has he asked for help?”

            Ellis produced the list and read out the names upon it, explaining in each case who had volunteered their services and who had not and leaving out all details of violence, threats and insanity which might otherwise have made it more colourful.  Rockspark listened attentively and then returned to stroking his chin.

            “And how soon would he need this help?”

            “As soon as possible,” Siren said, “right away, even.”

            Rockspark looked thoughtful a moment longer and then he rose, revealing his intimidating height and wiry musculature, before saying, “Alright, then.  Let’s go.”

            The Spiketail had been the last on the Former Baron’s list and Ellis was relieved to be able to go out onto the lamplit streets of Shalereef harbour and call a cab to take them back to Tentacle Lane.  The driver was a little alarmed to be transporting a Stoneskin, but Siren reassured him with plenty of coin and they were back at the Chateau in next to no time.

            The Former Baron was, predictably, in his basement, mulling over plans which were becoming ever more complicated with revisions, additions and scribbled notes.  Gulliver was sleeping in a corner, next to a stack of large glass and metal tubes which looked a little like giant capacitors.  His amulet glowed strongly through his shirt, so it was obvious that both he and it had been put to work throughout the evening.

            Siren, Ellis and Rockspark made their way over to the Former Baron’s workbench and stood, waiting, whilst the old man continued to examine his blueprints.  Eventually Ellis coughed.

            “Oh,” the Former Baron said, not looking up, “you’re back!  Good, good.  Any success?”

            Ellis coughed again.

            “Is that a yes?”

            Ellis put his hand to his mouth in an exaggerated gesture and was about to cough once more when Siren took a slight step forward and spoke.

            “We have a visitor for you, Franck.  You might wasn’t to pay him some attention.  And stop that Ellis,” she added, glancing over her shoulder, “it’s really quite annoying.”

            At last the Former Baron raised his head, saw Rockspark and beamed.

            “You came, you came!” He said, making his way around the bench towards the lanky Spiketail.  “You know, I thought you would, but I just couldn’t be sure after the rumours I had heard.   Did you really go to Frostwood?  I heard that you fought an ice daemon!  Is it true that they can form out of snow whilst it’s still falling?  What happened?  How did you survive?  Oh listen to me waffling on – you’ll want to know why I need you – come see!”

            Taking a deep breath he gestured for Rockspark to follow him around the workbench and then began a complicated discussion about the plans, which the Spiketail seemed to absorb with a granite-like stoicism.

            Ellis turned to Siren.

            “Do you understand any of this?”

            “Some of it, I think.  We had better see how best we can help?”

            Ellis yawned, then nodded, “Yep, it’s going to be a long, long night.”

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