Penny Blood (R)

[The Commodore]

31st August 1895, Paris, France

A chilling fog had spread throughout Paris, enshrouding the opulent capital city in a thick white mist. A lone prostitute watched people and hansom carriages emerge from the fog bank, and pulled her own threadbare shawl tighter around her slight frame, yearning for the warm comfort of the inn. A further nights stay in the hotel required francs, and she had already spent the last of her meager earnings on food and medicine for the baby a few days prior.

The thought of her infant son brought her warmth, as she imagined his tiny form nestling among the careful arrangement of blankets back in her simple dwellings at the hotel. Julien was her world and she had made a vow from the moment of his birth that she would afford him every comfort, even when it required her to spend these cold lonely nights in back alleys giving herself in body and soul to strange men. Raised a Catholic, she felt herself mired in sin each time she allowed these strangers to take her, swearing she could almost feel God’s baleful gaze boring into her very soul.

A few tendrils of mist caressed her pale skin, sending a smattering of gooseflesh running down her flesh and sending the young prostitute out of her silent revery. She needed to find a customer and quickly, the miserly owner of the hotel expected payment and had already made threats to turn her and the baby out if he didn’t receive proper payment. She couldn’t allow herself and the baby to wind up on the streets, little Julien had developed a horrible cough that the kindly doctor at the clinic had prescribed as croup. The medicine he had given to treat the croup had done wonders, but she didn’t dare take any chances exposing him to a cold night out on the streets.

In a further attempt to ward away the cold she began stamping her barefeet upon the cobbles and weakly blew air into her cupped hands. She wasn’t certain how much longer she could bear to be out in these conditions without catching some form of malady herself, but she continued to steel herself, clinging to her promise to little Julien. She still wore a set of rosary beads belonging to her mother which she began to tighten around her slender wrists, whispering a silent plea between numb lips. Then came a set of footsteps echoing down the alley, and she realized that God was still listening, he hadn’t abandoned her and had answered her desperate call.

As the footsteps grew closer, she began to make out a figure cutting through the blanket of fog at the back of the alleyway. She could distinctly make out a tophat and a billowing cloak, the garb of a gentleman who was perhaps making a return from the opera she presumed. As though following a set of stage directions, the prostitute made a few small adjustments to her ragged garb and slipped herself into the practised role of a sensual and seductive woman.

“Greetings Monsieur, it’s a cold night and perhaps you require company to keep yourself warm?” she purred, tracing a hand down her slim neck and quirking her red painted lips into a semblance of a smirk. She posed herself against the brick exterior in such a way that allowed her body to be placed on full display to tantalize.

The prospective customer came to a halt, the fog and dim lighting in the alley casting his features into shadows beneath the wide brim of his hat. A strange odor seemed to be exuding off the man, a musky scent she associated with cages in which they kept the creatures at a zoo she had visited with her father in what felt like centuries ago. There was also another odour underlying the animal odour, a sharp pungent smell that took her back to the birth of Julien, the smell of afterbirth.

The man hadn’t spoken a word, and an uncomfortable gulf of silence stretched between them. Sensing there was something terribly wrong and began to slowly inch towards the mouth of the alley, confident she would be safe once she reached the open thoroughfare. She kept her eyes locked on the ominous figure, who remained firmly rooted among the fog like the emerging prow of a ship. Her foot came down on a discarded bottle and she slipped, causing her to rip her gaze away and in that moment he struck. Like an adder he pounced forward, affording the prostitute her first sight of the terrifying visage. A scream ripped from her lips and then transformed into a wet gurgle as the man shaped thing shredded her slender throat. Blood bubbled forth from the ragged hole and ran down her front, she clawed at the wound and fell against the wall, all her strength fled from her mortal body. This was only a precursor to the true horror in watched in silent agony as he tore into her body with obvious relish. She made a plea to God to allow this fleshrending agony to end, but another part of her only dwelt on little Julien and how he would survive without her.

Only after what seemed an age of pain and torment, her life was finally extinguished and her assailant slipped silently back into the fog. It wasn’t until the following morning the dissected corpse of Jeanne Bisset was discovered by the owner of a butcher shop next door to the alley, and soon the word was spread across Paris and beyond to the distant shores of London.

The Ripper had returned.

[The Commodore]

Act 1:
The Murders in the Rue Morgue


Chapter 1:
The Doctor


Victor awoke with a violent start, his clothing soaked with sweat and his heart hammering frantically. He recognized he was sitting at his desk and dawned on him that he must have lost his battle with sleep while reviewing the journals that contained his old research that was open before him. His copious notes were the source of the continued nightmares he experienced each night, and logic would dictate he should either destroy the journals or lock them beyond reach. Yet, there was something that drew him to the cursed research time and time again, almost like a tantalizing whisper in the back of his mind that told Victor he perfect the process and try again.

“Never again.” Victor growled, ignoring the persistent whisper and rising to his feet. His entire body felt stiff as he hobbled to the window of his office. His room afforded him a perfect view of the sluggish moving Seine river, and especially during the past summer months the stink of raw sewage would fill the entire clinic. His patients never voiced complaints, as many who came to him were destitute too desperate to pass off his services when they came cheaply and with a strict level of confidentiality.

The fact that his services were cheap enough for even the lowliest of beggars had its obvious drawbacks. Victor’s quarters were cramped, and furniture such as the desk and chair were secondhand pieces he had scrounged from trash piles. The only item top of the line item in his possession was his safe, as he needed to ensure his journals lay secure; if such work wound up in the wrong hands, the results could be devastating for all mankind.

“Doctor, are you awake?” he heard a soft lisping voice meekly inquire from behind the door.

“One moment, Igor.” Victor crossed the small space, the old floorboards squealing beneath his barefeet. When he unlatched the door he found the familiar misshapen face of his young assist dolefully looking up at him. Igor was a strange case, a large collection of tumors had left his face horribly misshapen, only a beady eye and lumpy nose remained discernible, and a harelip only added to the hideous visage. His body was weighed down by the mass of growths that grew at one shoulder, leading to a hunched over posture that hid his true height. The creature had been rejected and forced to scrounge up a living on the streets. It was happenstance that Victor came across him, and it had worked to the benefit of both that he had taken the unfortunate hunchback into his employ. Igor had proven to be quite an asset, Victor had a difficulty mastering the French language and Igor could translate and transcribe. He didn’t make any demands of Victor aside from lodgings and meals, and in the latter the hunchback displayed a proficiency in transforming the most meager of ingredients into a truly appetizing dish.

“I am loathe to disturb you, but we have visitors.” the hunchback appeared nervous, his eye darted around the room and his fingers were fidgeting.

“Did you tell them we don’t open for another few hours?” Victor followed a strict schedule and only allowed an exception in the case of an emergency, and both he and Igor were well aware of this.

“Yes, but they stated it was urgent and refused to be turned away.” Igor appealed to the doctor, his large watery eye pleading for some form of forgiveness.

“Very well,” Victor conceded with a heavy sigh. “I will be down straight away, just keep a watchful eye on them, we can’t afford another incident of a thief making off with our supplies.”

“I don’t think that should be an issue, this gentleman was well dressed and had mannerisms far above that of the sort we often service.” Victor found this added detail odd, as no one from the upper echelons of French society would have reason to seek his services, especially when the clinic was located in one of the more rundown slums of the city. He didn’t press Igor for further details, allowing the hunchback to shuffle off and keep the potential patient entertained while he made himself more presentable.

There was a small cracked basin of water he used to wash his face, and he exchanged his sweat soaked shirt for something fresh, yet unfortunately no less threadbare. His shoes were coming apart at the seams, but were stills serviceable. He used a dust smeared mirror as he tied back his long wild locks of dark brown hair with its streaks of white, while also assessing the fresh sets of wrinkles around his flinty blue eyes. He was only thirty years, and yet his weathered features spoke of a man who had faced intense hardship. He didn’t share a particular affinity for the scruffy goatee and wanted to shave the thing, but he didn’t want to create further delay.

As he tied his cravat, Victor noticed in his reflection the journals that were still arranged haphazardly around the desk. With a few muttered curses, he piled them into his arms and carried them to the safe he kept hidden behind the reproduction of a popular Monet piece depicting the Rouen Cathedral. As he was stashing away his research, he dropped one of the journals and the booklet fell open on a series of diagrams of a developing human fetus in the womb.

Victor stooped to grab the journal, and noticed the pair of polished leather boots standing at attention. His eyes traveled upward and saw the shoes belonged to an elderly gentleman dressed in a custom fit dark brown waistcoat and trousers, with a bowler hat perched on his head and a willow cane clutched in one clawed hand. His craggy face was lined with a myriad of wrinkles, and the only hair he still possessed came in the form of a curling white beard and a set of tufted eyebrows. Despite his old and fragile appearance, the old man had rich blue eyes that gleamed intelligently. Victor knew the man well, as he was one of the few alive who knew of Victor’s sordid history and also one of the few that the doctor afforded his trust.

“Chief Inspector Dupin.” Victor noticed the old inspector’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

“Please Victor, I am long retired and we are well acquainted as friends, call me Auguste.” Igor loped up the stairs behind the Inspector, he appeared out of breath.

“I’m sorry doctor, I tried to tell him you were only getting prepared--” His assistant began in a quavering voice.

“It’s fine Igor, why don’t you run along and prepare us a Apéritif.” Victor interrupted, before the hunchback could continue to lament in his perceived failures.

“Don’t put your assistant to the trouble, I actually have come on urgent business” Dupin admitted, his eyes appearing to appraise Victor and his shabby surroundings. He had never had the inspector visit his clinic, and neither had he delivered his place of residence in their past encounters. It led the doctor to wondering what could be so urgent as to lead the inspector to tracking him down and at such an inconvenient hour.

“I’m always at your service, Auguste.” Victor made a silent motion to the hunchback to leave, and the creature faithfully compiled by disappearing from sight down the staircase again.

“I’m glad to hear you say that, as your medical expertise is desperately needed.” Victor noticed how the inspector eyed the open diagram, and he hoped the Inspector was no here to ask for the one thing that Victor could not abide by.

“So long as it stands within reason.” Victor said as he retrieved the open journal and tucked it back into the safe.

“I cannot go into all the details, time is of the essence and we need to gather as many clues before he strikes again.” He was relieved to hear Dupin confirm against his worst fears, but now he also found himself curious.

“Before who strikes again?” the Inspector peered wide eyed over his shoulder in a manner that was decidedly unlike him. Victor could see there was a fear gripping Auguste, the only question was fear of what?

“It appears you aren’t the only newcomer in the city, my friend,” he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “Jack is back, and it appears the Ripper has staked his claim on Paris.”

[The Commodore]

Chapter 2:
The Morgue


The carriage had been waiting outside the clinic, with its polished blackwood exterior and plush leather interior, it looked far too opulent to be sitting in the slums. The inspector either had quite an accumulation of wealth, or a few prosperous friends. The driver of the carriage had appeared uneasy about being stopped in such a rough area of the city, and kept his hand resting on the pistol at his belt. Victor recognized the man as an officer of the gendarme, even without a uniform his mannerisms and the particular way he eyed all who passed by with suspicion spoke volumes.

Victor had entrusted Igor to watch over things at the clinic until he made his return. The young hunchback had agreed without fuss, Victor had known he wasn’t comfortable venturing out into public spaces due to the looks and jeers he received. Igor still seemed wary about Dupin, but that was expected behavior out of the hunchback.

The inspector hadn’t revealed where they were traveling to, but Victor had his suspicions. If the Ripper had struck, the gendarmerie would have worked quickly to move all evidence away from the prying eye of the public, and there was only one place for it: The Paris Morgue. Victor had heard countless stories about the cities most morbid attraction, and thought it piqued his curiosity, he had never ventured out due to his distaste for heavy crowds.

A heavy silence had hung between Victor and Auguste since they entered the carriage, which presently navigated its way through the busy parisian streets. Several shops were beginning to open for the day, and throngs of people and carts clogged the cobblestone roads. The fog had cleared, but there was still a chill in the air around the city.

“Do you really think you can hide something of this caliber from the public?” Victor chose to finally break the silence, taking his gaze off the activity on the streets.

“We must take every measure available to us, and prevent panic from breaking out in the streets.” Dupin muttered, his words coming across as hollow and rehearsed.

“I’m afraid it may be a bit too late for that, my friend.” Victor gestured out the carriage window to a small boy holding up newsprint, plain for all passerby to see in bold script was the headline:


Darkness descends on the city of lights: The Ripper resurfaces

Auguste let loose a string of curses as the paperboy faded from sight. “I told the fools to keep that damned butcher in custody, no doubt he was the one who began spreading these tales.”

“Perhaps before pointing fingers, you should look within your own forces for a culprit; it could easily have been an officer of the gendarme who started such talk.” Victor gently chided.

“If I do discover that it leaks came from within the gendarme, that officer will be lucky to scrape away with a dismissal.” Auguste hissed.

“I thought you said you were retired, old friend?” Victor said with a smirk.

“Indeed I am and glad for it, but I still have available pull in the gendarme, how else do you expect I convinced them to allow you to join me in my investigation?” Auguste retorted with a slight nod of his head in the doctor’s direction.

“So that is what all this is about, I don’t recollect making any agreement to join you in an investigation, I only agreed to act as a medical consultant in this instance.” Victor spluttered, the words coming fast and heated. He didn’t crave the same kind of attention that Auguste sought, that was his entire reason for fleeing from London and building a new life and identity in Paris.

“Easy Victor, I’m not attempting to push you into anything.” Auguste tried to softly soothe the flustered scientist, but Victor was already in the throes of another hysterical fit. He had grown more aware of the confining nature of the carriage, and also the press of the crowd that could easily disguise an approaching assassin.

“I need to return to the clinic, I have patients in urgent need of my services.” Victor babbled excitedly, already eyeing the door as though he planned to hurl himself from the carriage, regardless of any injury to himself.

“Victor, my friend. You must calm yourself, look at me.” Auguste pleaded with him, seizing Victor’s arm in the hope that the contact might snap him out of his paranoid reverie.

“You have placed us in peril, it will find and murder us both.” Victor was now seeing flashes of the nightmare. He found himself transported away from the interior of the carriage and the bustling city of Paris, instead he was back in the dark forests outside his ancestral estate. He was running and calling out the name of his beloved Elizabeth, her screams were echoing all around him, taunting him. He had thought he was safe, he had thought that part of his past was buried and dead.

“Listen to my voice, you are safe here, no harm will come to you or I.” the voice of Dupin seemed to sound from a great distance, but Victor hung onto the words like a man who clinging to a log to avoid being swept away by a raging river. He was able to pull himself out of that haunting forest and it felt as though he entered back into his own body in the carriage.

His eyes snapped open and he recognized the ancient face of the inspector hovering over him. “What happened?” Victor’s mouth felt dry as chalk and it was difficult to speak.

“You were trapped in another of your paranoid delusions, mon amie.” Auguste eyed him with concern.

“I’m sorry, I am not sure what came over me.” Victor flushed with embarrassment. He thought he might have finally gained some semblance of control, he couldn’t even recall the last time he had broken into hysterics. Igor was usually on hand when he was overtaken by the nightmares, and the hunchback never asked questions.

“You are haunted by your past, and you’re not alone.” Auguste assured him, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. Victor appreciated the sentiment, but wondered what kind of demons the inspector could possibly be plagued by.

“Where are we now? I can detect the carriage has stopped.” Victor peered out the window and noticed a crowd that was being barricaded by officers of the gendarme.

“We have arrived at our destination. The Paris Morgue.” Auguste confirmed as he was assisted out of the carriage by his driver. “Let’s move quickly, the crowd appears unruly.” Victor awkwardly hobbled out of the carriage and tried to keep pace with the inspector, who moved nimbly for a man reliant upon a cane.

“I have always had the impulse to visit the Morgue.” Victor confided in Auguste, as they were escorted past by a pair of burly officers.

“Well now you finally have your chance, mon amie.” the pair entered a foyer, and the door was firmly bolted behind them, though Victor could still hear the restless crowd outside. Immediately the doctor noted the cold, the air on the streets was chilly, but the air inside the morgue was glacial. He could see the air misting every time he took a breath, and his fingers and toes were already beginning to tingle unpleasantly.

“This way, Victor.” the tapping of Auguste’s cane on the polished linoleum floor was the only sound in the eerie silence as the two moved further inside.

“I know you have seen plenty of gristly sights, but I still grant you a word of warning.” Auguste passed into a room that was removed from the Exhibition Space that gave the crowd a ghoulish sight of the corpses on marble slabs. This space, as Victor recalled, was an operating theater where autopsies and dissections were held. He had found himself in plenty of similar stages as a passionate young student attending the University of Ingolstadt.

The tiered seats around the theater was empty, but there was a body draped beneath a white sheet on the central stage. The gendarmerie had been careful to arrange the body of the Ripper’s latest purported victim, aside from one pale slender arm that had somehow managed to escape from the sheet.

“I hope you didn’t have a heavy breakfast.” Auguste japed, before he dramatically pulled back the sheet to reveal the mangled remains of a young woman. Victor could see why the gendarmerie had assumed it to be the work of the Ripper, it showed all the telltale signs with the throat and abdomen slashed open and the guts splayed about, however that was not what elicited a cloying terror in Victor.

“I know this woman.” Victor’s said huskily.

“Pardon?” the inspector looked at Victor with confusion arrayed across his hoary features.

“I helped to treat the infant child of this young woman, her name was Jeanne Bisset.”

[The Commodore]

Chapter 3:
Igor


“I’m entrusting you to watch over things in my absence, turn away anyone who comes seeking services until I have made my return.” the doctor had pulled Igor aside to deliver his set of instructions, and the hunchback listened intently.

“Understood, sir.” Igor replied, adopting a sober countenance.

“I trust you completely, and I shan't be gone long.” Victor knelt down so that their eyes were level, and Igor felt his spirit lift, knowing the doctor held such rigid faith in him.

“I won’t disappoint you.” Igor blinked rapidly through a film of tears, he was almost ashamed to have the doctor see him overcome by such fragile emotions. His father would have been outraged by such a feeble display, and would have surely given him a whipping, but Victor only gave him an affectionate smile.

“I know.” with those final words of confidence towards Igor, the doctor stepped into the back of the carriage with his mysterious past acquaintance, the former chief inspector. Igor had only heard a snatch of conversation between the two, and thought he had heard whispers of the Ripper. Saucy Jack, as the English called him, had made his mark butchering prostitutes on the London east end and leaving the authorities thoroughly baffled. Igor had heard rumor that Scotland Yard had even recruited the likes of the brilliant detective, Sherlock Holmes, but to no avail as the identity of the killer still remained one of the greatest mysteries of the age. There hadn’t been a slaying attributed to the Ripper in half a decade, but there were plenty who believed he would turn up again and renew his grisly crimes.

“London is practically a world away, and Jack is a page in the history books far as your concerned.” Igor quietly admonished himself, still he took extra precautions with bolting the front door. He planned to tidy up the clinic while the doctor was away, and perhaps if he had the time he would also prepare a stew as he expected Victor would be famished upon his return.

The clinic was such a small ramshackle space, and the doctor and he made do with the few tools and supplies they could afford. The ground level was where Victor attended to his patients, and upstairs was where Victor kept his office that doubled as his living quarters. Igor made do with lodgings in a pantry cupboard beneath the stairs, it was a bit tight and Igor had to share the space with a few spiders, but he had no complaints after coming off the streets.

The hunchback hadn’t told Victor much about his personal history, not that he had anything to hide, but rather because it was all too painful and many of the scars still fresh. In the same manner he afforded the doctor his privacy regarding his own past, although Igor had seen Victor enter a state in which he seemed to be reliving pieces of his past and it often came down to him to break the doctor out of his terrifying reverie. There were times where Igor was awakened in the middle of the night by the sounds of the doctor screaming in his sleep, and this had taken some getting used to in the beginning.

Igor could still recollect when he first met Victor. The hunchback had been living on the streets for quite some time, and he had all the alleys and corridors mapped out in his head. He used this critical information to plan his escape after he stole what little food he needed for survival, and despite his deformity he was surprisingly agile and capable of ascending rooftops after he lured his pursuers into a dead end. Yet all these skills couldn’t bring him allies, as his appearance led to rejection and often outright hostility from others.

Despite the harsh nature of life in the city, Igor had refused to return home and in tough times he often reminded himself that there was nothing awaiting him there. On that particular day, Igor had been thoroughly tested as winter was well underway in Paris and he was having a difficult time of it escaping the arctic chill. He had blundered in his retrieval of supplies, making a misstep on a patch of ice and given a vicious beating by the angry shop vendor. He had sat on a veranda, his bruised body aching and his hunger gnawing away inside of him. The position had given him a perfect view of the chase taking place, a thin and slightly bookish fellow in hot pursuit of a ragged pickpocket. Igor still was unsure what prompted it, but he had felt drawn to the plight of the scholar and had chosen to intercede.

Navigating across the rooftops, Igor was able to intercept the would be thief. The man hadn’t even put up a struggle, he had taken one look at Igor’s twisted features and fled in absolute terror. To his surprise and disappointment, the stolen goods were not consumables, but rather a series of journals that as far as Igor could tell had no outright value. He had found the victim of the theft some ways back, out of breath and looking despondent until he recognized the napsack Igor carried. His intention had been to hand over the items and depart before the man could make out his malformations in the low lighting, but he was grateful that Igor had come to his aid and had proven insistent that he show his gratitude.

“You looked starved and cold, why don’t you come with me. I have a set of modest lodgings close by.” Igor had been trained to be mistrustful, but there had been something in the man’s expression that told him that he was someone to be trusted. He had been right to place his confidence in Doctor Victor Shelley, as it had changed Igor’s life for the better. Victor treated him like a human being, and made him feel whole.

“I don’t believe I ever caught your name.” Victor had sat watching him eat. Igor had been barely mindful of the way he was eating, like a some half starved ravenous animal.

“That’s because I don’t have one.” he had managed to grumble between bites and spraying crumbs, though the doctor had hardly seemed to care in his lack of food etiquette.

“We must remedy that straight away,” Victor had then sat back in contemplating and Igor could swear he had felt his powerful penetrating gaze peering into his very soul. “Henceforth, you will be Igor.” He had treasured his name from that day forth, and never again thought of himself as abomination, the cruel title his father had bestowed on him when issuing commands.

The thought of his father still filled him with dread even knowing that he was dead, the memory still tormented him in those quiet moments of self reflection. Perhaps that explained why he was always busying himself around the clinic. Lately there hadn’t been too much of an influx in patients, aside from the occasion upon which a rather pretty young woman with an ill child appeared. Victor had done what he could in that case, prescribing medication to soothe the croup cough afflicting the infant.

“I do hope both the mother and child are well.” Igor mused to himself, as he set about scrubbing away the dried bloodstain he had found upon the weathered floorboards. There came a series of urgent pounding knocks on the front door. Igor put his work aside and hobbled towards the door, recalling the doctor’s special instruction to keep any potential patients out of the clinic until his return.

“I’m sorry, but we are temporarily closed, the physician is currently out.” Igor called out, trying to keep the usual quavering pitch out of his voice.

“We are in urgent need of your services, this woman may die if she doesn’t receive services.” came the pleading response on the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry, but I had my orders from the physician himself and no one is allowed inside the clinic until his point of return.” Igor would keep Victor’s trust and follow his direct command.

“Verdammt your orders, this woman has been attacked. She needs immediate medical attention.” Igor could now hear the groaning of the wounded.

“Merde.” Igor felt torn, as he didn’t want to betray Victor, but on the other hand he couldn’t imagine abandoning someone in crisis.

“Are you still there? Please, she needs your help.” the voice called out desperately.

“Please, forgive me Victor.” Igor hissed, making his decision and choosing to live with the consequences. The hunchback unbolted the door and moved aside to admit the pair, he could tell straight away they were a couple of vagrants. The man looked a bit battered and bloodied, but he was much better off than the woman he dragged in. She was clutching at her abdomen and Igor could see the red stain growing beneath her ragged garments.

“Je vous remercie.” the man said breathlessly, as he hauled his companion through the entryway, a trail of blood smeared footprints marking his passage inside.

“Set her on the examination table, I must warn you I’m only an assistant, but I can try to at least locate the wound and stop most of the bleeding.” Igor motioned to the table and busied himself pulling out the equipment he would need. He had worked alongside the doctor on plenty of occasions, and knew the basic procedures, but this would mark the first time that Igor lent his assistance to a patient.

“Things are going to be okay, we are now in the clinic.” the man was clutching her hand and whispering reassurances. The woman mumbled unintelligibly beneath her breath, as Igor cut away at the fabric around the sight of the potential wound.

“You said she was attacked?” Igor tried piecing together events as he removed strips of the blood soaked garment, but he noticed something was wrong. The woman had no visible wounds across the pale stretch of skin on her stomach, the source of the bleeding was red juice that still dribbled from a slab of raw meat.

“Merci encore.” the man replied with a cold smile, delivering a backhanded blow with a mallet that knocked the hunchback unconscious.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 4:
The Journals


Igor was hunkered in his customary spot in the corner, out of the sight of his father, who occupied the sole seat at the low wood table. His father, still dressed in his black clergy cassock, was deep in prayer with his hands folded over his paltry dinner. While he waited for his father to finish his prayers, Igor let his gaze wander around the bleak interior of the cabin. Anyone who ventured inside the tiny cottage tucked behind the church would have been hard pressed to find any signs that the space contained two occupants, his father kept no personal furnishings. Igor wasn’t even given a bed to sleep in, instead he would curl up each night on the dirt floor. He was only provided a single set of clothes, and these were worn through and no matter how many times he washed them they would retain the smell of filth.

“Amen.” his father concluded offering up his prayers and began to eat. Igor took this as the cue that it was okay for him to beginning eating as well from the bowl set on the floor. He wasn’t provided with a spoon, and had to make due shoveling the porridge into his mouth by hand. The two continued to eat in their traditional silence, until his Father began a cough that rapidly transformed into a splutter. The man reached for the bottle of wine that sat next to his plate, but his fumbling fingers only caused the bottle to topple over and release a steady stream of the red liquid.

Igor grew anxious and crawled towards his father, breaking the one rule that was rigorously maintained at supper. He reached towards the man with trembling fingers, noticing the flecks of red that had already appeared in his grey beard. “Don’t you dare lay your filthy claws on me, abomination.” His father roared, knocking back his chair and turning on Igor in fury. The malformed boy scurried back into his corner in fright, unable to tear his eyes away from the righteous anger that burned in his father’s baleful gaze.

“I’m sorry, I thought you needed help.” Igor stammered, but this only drove his father into further rage.

“What did I tell you about speaking, mongrel.” he punctuated his words with a vicious backhand that cracked back Igor’s head and split open his lip. Igor wanted to cry out, but he knew that any further sounds would only anger him further.

“Sixteen years I have been forced to contend with your wretched existence, the product of my greatest shame.” His father entered another of his familiar rantings that usually came after he had downed several bottles of wine, his only indulgence. Igor began to rhythmically rock himself in place, covering his ears and trying to stifle his whimpers. “The Lord sent you to punish me for my misdeeds, and I accepted it with all the good grace I could muster.”

“I thought God was still wroth with me, why else would he see fit to punish me further with the disease that has eaten away at me.” Igor looked at his father with recognition, understanding now the reason for the painful body wracking coughing fits that had descended on his Father of late, along with the blood and bile that he expelled.

“I can travel to town and find a doctor who can--” Igor began in earnest, finding the chance to finally prove himself to his father and be more than a burden.

“You will never set foot into town and besides that I don’t need any doctor, It is clear to me now that this wasn’t a punishment, but a blessing.” A look of tranquility and rest passed over his Father’s features. “God has finally relieved me of my obligation to you, I have been accepted among his flock.” His Father raised his hands as though he was in the midst of bestowing a blessing upon his modest congregation at the church. Igor had never been allowed into the church, but he had clambered up onto the roof and peaked it to watch his father speak of God’s glory, while also giving fiery condemnation of the devil and all his temptations.

“What about me?” Igor mewled in a small voice, which brought his father’s attention back onto him. He expected the man would resume his tirade, but instead his Father fixed him with a cold smile that Igor found more terrifying than the promise of more beatings.

“When I am dead and buried, you will be left here alone to rot. Afterall, who could ever love such a hideous twisted creature.” The words sank in like knives, cutting deep into his soul.

His Father began to cackle, and as he did blood poured freely from his mouth, staining the front of his cassock. The thought of dying alone and forgotten in the small cabin played itself out in Igor’s thoughts; he could imagine his father’s skeletal remains still seated at the table, while Igor’s remained hunched in the corner, cold, starved, and deprived of all outside human contact.

“Awaken creature.” a voice pulled him out of the nightmare. It didn’t belong to his father, but he had only a vague recollection where he had last heard it.

“Merci encore.” the man replied with a cold smile


Igor was filled with a flood of memories. The vagrants at the door demanding to be let inside, the discovery that there was no wound at all, and the last words to leave the man’s lips. He must have been knocked unconscious somehow, out of the corner of his eye he had seen the man fiddling with tools on the tray beside him. Igor admonished himself for being such a fool and playing into the charade, he should have realized something was wrong from the moment the man spoke. His dialect didn’t belong on any destitute living in the slums, and then there had been a moment when his disguise had slipped.

“Verdammt your orders,”

That was German, Igor recognized it as he had heard Victor cursing in it on plenty of occasions. Which only led to the question of why two Germans would appear in Paris disguised as homeless Parisians, seeking out this specific clinic. Were they after Victor, were they the reason the doctor had fled and what drove him into hysterical fits of paranoia?

“You struck him too hard, Fritz.” a feminine voice joined the first, it had to belong to the woman who had been dragged into the clinic. She had never been injured, it had all been a bit of cheap theatrics using the piece of raw meat to give the appearance she was bleeding profusely.

“Stille, keep searching.” he heard the man, Fritz, bark at her, and then the sound of retreating footsteps. So the two were thieves, the only problem was that the clinic had nothing of intrinsic value inside. “I see his eyelids fluttering, the wretch is coming back into consciousness.” the man called back to his partner, as Igor opened his eyes to find the man’s face peering down at him. At this angle it became even more abundantly clear that the effect of dirt on his face was achieved through practical makeup, and what he had assumed were missing teeth were only blackened.

“About time, I’ve turned this rubbish heap over trying to find it.” the woman’s face appeared beside him. Igor tried moving, but found his arms and legs had been restrained to the examination table. “Let’s get the answers out of him, and be on our way. The sight of this cretin is making me ill.” she spat.

“We have nothing. What could you want from us?” Igor tried to reason with them, realizing he was in no position to show resistance of any kind.

“Don’t play coy, your master keeps journals and we won’t be leaving until we have them.” the woman hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Igor insisted, at a loss when it came to the journals the woman mentioned. He doubted she could be referring to the same journals that Igor had helped to retrieve for the doctor.

“Lying for your master won’t help you, ingrate.” the woman snapped at him, Fritz stepped in to calm her.

“Allow me to handle this interrogation, you just keep watch.” Fritz ordered, and she acquiesced. “Our first approach failed, so I suppose it’s time we did things my way.” Igor couldn’t move his head, but he heard the man rooting around on the tray beside them until he reappeared with a scalping knife in hand.

“I too was trained in the medical field, but I always found my true gift didn’t lay in healing the sick. Nein, my true talent lay in the retrieval of answers that the brass needed,” Fritz callously informed Igor, admiring the scalpel like an old friend. “You will tell me where Frankenstein keeps his research, that much is a certainty. Whether you are alive by the time I am through, that is entirely up to you.”

[The Commodore]

Chapter 5:
The Autopsy


Victor converged his focus on the desecrated remains of Jeane Bisset, but was aware of Auguste standing to the side watching him work with rapt attention. The inspector had yet to question him about his relationship to the woman, but he expected the inquiry would come much later. Auguste knew him well enough to know Victor needed to work without distraction, and thus kept himself silent and at a respectable distance.

Jeane Bisset had died in a truly gruesome fashion, Victor could only hope the woman had expired before she her lower body had been gutted open like a fish by her killer. Great loops of intestines had hung from the corpse like sausage links, but her internal organs seemed otherwise intact, all except one. “Did the gendarme do a clean sweep of the alley, no traces of anything scattered about?” Victor asked, continuing his close examination of the unfortunate young victim.

“A few shreds of clothing belonging to the victim and a set of rosary beads, but nothing else.” the inspector recounted. “Have you found something?” Auguste sounded eager to hear Victor’s results.

“I have found several things, first and foremost is the the way these wounds were opened. The theory has always gone that the Ripper worked with a knife or surgical tools, but the wounds that Jeane Bisset received don’t support.” Victor gestured to the torn flesh at her throat and abdomen. “These cuts I recognize as the work of claws, in my travels I have treated enough victims of wild animal attacks to recognize the signs, but that is not all.” the doctor reached to a metal bowl and with a pair of tweezers plucked an object from its confines.

“I found this embedded in a flap of skin on Bisset’s neck, it’s part of a claw that likely chipped off in the attack,” Auguste studied the curved blood encrusted claw with a look of wonder. “I also located tufts of what is likely fur within the abdomen.”

“This evidence leads me to conclude that Jean Bisset was not the victim of your fabled Ripper, but rather the victim of some wild animal, the most probable case being a wild hound of some kind,” Victor blithely concluded, taking off his blood splattered smock and peeling off his gloves. “I’m sure the papers in Paris will be disappointed, but the gendarmerie should be most pleased.”

“There was something else you said you found, something to do with the internal organs?” Auguste didn’t look quite as satisfied as Victor had hoped, but he imagined the inspector had probably anticipated succeeding where scotland yard and the great detective had failed and thereby boost him into an international celebrity.

“Oh that bit, not of terrible importance for the sake of the investigation at this point, but Jeane Bisset was lacking a uterus. I expect that the wild creature responsible for the attack could easily have removed or consumed it at the scene, as corroborated by the hair samples,” Victor appeared smug, but his smile fell when he noticed the downcast expression on the face of the inspector. “I expected you to be elated at the news that Paris isn’t the Ripper’s new hunting ground.”

“This only confirms my worst suspicions, mon amie.” Auguste was visibly shaken and had to take a seat.

“A wild dog with a taste for human flesh worse than the Ripper? You’re being dramatic, Auguste.” Victor countered good naturedly.

“There is quite a bit I haven’t been telling you, Victor.” the inspector seemed to be waging an internal conflict.

“Jeane Bisset isn’t the first victim of this new brand of so called Ripper killings, is she?” the inspector smiled grimly up at him.

“You were always quick to catch on.” Victor took a seat beside Auguste.

“The only thing I still don’t grasp is how Mademoiselle Bisset was the first to receive such notoriety in such a short time, any murder in the city that closely resembled the Ripper’s work would have grabbed the public’s attention.” the doctor openly voiced his line of reasoning, and the inspector listened attentively.

“That’s because you assume the killings started in Paris, but in actuality Bisset is only the latest in a line of distinct murders that can have their point of origin traced into the surrounding countryside.” Auguste advised him, blue eyes twinkling with insight.

“That doesn’t fit into the Ripper’s pre established pattern. I had other focuses at the time of the last series of murders, but I know enough that he kept his concentration in a specific geographical area, London’s east end,” Victor looked at the inspector with a sudden realization. “You were lying to me, you knew this wasn’t the Ripper’s work before you even arrived at my clinic to ask for aid.” Auguste looked a bit ashamed by his deception, as his gaze wavered.

“I didn’t want to deceive you, I was under stringent orders that prevented me from revealing everything I knew.” the inspector confessed, twisting his haury fingers around the silver pommel of his cane.

“So why reveal it to me now, aren’t you directly breaching the orders you recieved?” Victor scrutinized.

“Indeed, but I say to enfer with them. You are a brilliant man, and I can personally confirm that your mind may prove the greatest asset within this investigation.” Victor was flattered and knew his face was probably flushed with color. He wasn’t custom to receiving such compliments, there were only two other people in his life who had ever recognized his potential; one had been his own Mother and the other was Professor M. Waldman from his time at the University of Ingolstadt, both however were long dead and perhaps that was fortunate. When he closed his eyes, he could picture both of them looking down at him with disappointment at what he had become, and the ills he had wrought.

“The other killings, you say they all bear a close resemblance, the murder of Jean Bisset included?” the doctor replied quickly, returning them back to the subject at hand.

“That is correct, all were young women of around the age of fifteen years. All lived in relative seclusion, not too many close relations to speak of--” the inspector began to recite the facts as if he reading from a series of reports.

“Were they all prostitutes?” Victor interrupted.

“Some of them, but not all. None of them were unblooded virgins however, each had born a child or several,” Auguste then added with reluctance. “One of the victims, the first of them in fact, was even pregnant with child at the time of murder.”

“Fascinating, I would be greatly interested in examining the other victims, I expect the bodies are still available for study?” the inspector seemed lost in thought for a moment, and it took him a moment to recognize Victor’s request.

“Erm, yes. We were able to transport some of the bodies here without arousing suspicion. Unfortunately some of the bodies were not instantly discovered, and thus were susceptible to the elements and scavengers.” his report elicited a frown from Victor.

“A shame, but what can be done. Shall we pull out the rest, I would like to get to work as soon as possible.” He looked at the inspector expectantly.

“Certainly, I would be more than happy to oblige.” the inspector seemed ready to rush off, but Victor stopped him.

“There is still one thing bothering me most of all, earlier you were saying that you suspected we had something far worse than the Ripper on our hands,” the doctor tightened his grip on Auguste’s sleeve. “I intend to confirm it myself with the others, but when I found the evidence that pointed toward Jean being the victim of a wild animal, you didn’t seem surprised.”

“Truly nothing can escape your notice. It’s true, I wasn’t in the least surprised by this latest revelation you’ve brought to my attention,” Auguste conceded. “It only leads to further complications however.”

“The suggestion that our reported Ripper is actually some kind of wild beast that coincidentally targeted a rather specific set of women, not a behavior trait typically associated with your average predator,” Victor adopted a sagacious look. “These crimes show a level of premeditation and cunning that could only belong to the apex predator, man.”

“How do you figure in the claw and fur samples?” Auguste probed, his eyes quietly assessing Victor.

“I expect you formed the same possible conclusion as I?” Victor appraised the inspector, awaiting his answer.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.” the inspector confessed.

“These may not be wild creatures at all, but rather beasts that have been expertly trained and are on some level under the control of a human master.” the inspector hesitated a moment, before he conceded to Victor’s theory with a nod of his head. Victor wondered if the man was perhaps tired or merely distracted, and the inspector took notice of the doctor’s penetrating gaze.

“My thoughts precisely, forgive me I still overcoming the exhaustion this investigation has brought.” Auguste assured him.

“Fair enough, though I am sure the gendarme wouldn’t be too despondent if you were to retire from the investigation. You’re supposed to be in a well earned retirement.” Victor gently chided.

“Too right, but I am too involved for me to back out of it now, which leads me to my next bit of inquiry,” the inspector now had his turn to look at Victor rather expectantly. “Can we count on you to continue to work with us?” the doctor had been expecting this question to come up from the moment he took a step into the carriage and road with the inspector to the Morgue, and yet he still felt ill prepared to answer.

“I have my work with the clinic to consider, I cannot abandon the obligations I have to my patients.” there was a flash of disappointment in Auguste’s eyes, but the inspector quickly recovered.

“Very well, I will honor your decision. I’ll still be glad to hear your further assessment with the other corpses recovered.” Victor was relieved that Auguste didn’t press further.

“Gladly, my friend.” Victor knew his assistant was still awaiting his return, but he was certain Igor could hold out for a few more hours.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 6:
Question and Answer


Igor screamed in agony as the serrated blade of the scalpel knife flayed another digit, this time taking the skin from the pinky on his right hand. “We are only beginning, haustier. I have made some sessions last for days on end.” Fritz softly muttered by his ear.

“I have told you all I know, the doctor never made mention of any journals under the name of Frankenstein, I swear it.” Igor moaned, he was already feeling woozy and light headed from the blood loss and was having a difficult time keeping his thoughts straight. It felt like they had kept him strapped to the table for weeks on end, asking him repeatedly about Victor and the journals.

“What if the creature truly knows nothing after all?” the woman, whose name he had learned was Elsa, suggested. Igor knew it was not out of any sense of compassion, rather she was growing weary of acting as a lookout for Victor’s return.

“He knows enough, the wretch is only holding back out of a sense of misguided loyalty to the resurrectionist.” Fritz countered her dismissively.

“He didn’t even recognize that Shelley was a pseudonym, and the man is really Victor Frankenstein, so can we truly be so sure?” Fritz sighed dejectedly.

“I must concede, you bring up a fair point,” Igor could hear Fritz shuffle around the examination table, but he was too weak to lift his head enough to watch him. “So it was a waste of time torturing this misshapen lump, better make short work of it then.” Igor could hazily make out Fritz’s hovering over him and could see the knife poised and prepared to plunge it into his heart.

“Mercy.” Igor pleaded weakly, tears streaming down his tumorous cheeks.

“I am putting you out of your miserable existence, that is a mercy.” Fritz scoffed, his eyes filled with loathing and disgust for Igor’s pitiful display. Igor closed his eyes and winced in anticipation of the killing strike. His life had been a difficult one from birth, but he had finally found his sense of comfort and purpose working alongside Victor at the clinic. He would have prayed for divine intervention, but his Father had convinced him that God couldn’t extend his love to such an abomination.

“What was that?” Elsa screeched in alarm, as a series of heavy bangs echoed from the upper level of the clinic.

“It sounded like footfalls, I thought you said that the doctor had departed from the premises?” Fritz demanded, and Igor breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the man move away from the examination table.

“I did, staked the place out and ensured that the only one here would be the so called assistant of his.” Elsa assured her partner.

“We may have unexpected company then, go investigate.” Fritz sounded irritated, Igor could tell he clearly wasn’t a man who enjoyed surprises.

“Why must I do it?” Elsa complained, sounding like a spoiled child denied her pick of sweets.

“Because I give the orders,” Fritz growled, giving her a rough shove in the direction of the staircase. “Find whatever is causing that disturbance and don’t you dare to show your face down here until it has been dealt with, or you’ll be the next one I flay alive.” he ordered, waving the scalpel in a threatening fashion.

Fritz stomped back over to Igor, and the hunchback could here his interrogator grumbling under his breath. Igor shrank within himself and kept silent, hoping against all odds that the man would forget him or ignore him altogether. Several agonizing moments of silence passed, there was no further sound from upstairs and Igor could tell Fritz was growing impatient as the man had begun to pace.

“What is taking that stupid bitch so long,” with a sound of frustration, Fritz started moving towards the staircase. “When I get up there, I’m going to cut off yours nose and ears.” Igor heard each step groan.

“Elsa!” Igor heard Fritz screamed in horror. Then came the sound of a body toppling down the stairs, though Igor couldn’t turn his head to mark the passage, but the soft yet unmistakable sound of low moaning reached him.

“Please, I can explain,” Fritz voice came from the bottom of the staircase, pleading to someone or something, as there were another set of footfalls slowly moving down the steps. “We were given special instruction from the--” his words tapered off into a gurgle as he could hear the sound of the man’s face being smashed to a pulp by his mysterious assailant. Igor wanted to cry out in terror, as he expected he would be the next one with nowhere to run nor hide while he was still restrained to the examination table.

The beating ended, as silence descended over the clinic again. Igor could only hear his own heart hammering a staccato in his chest, and once again take notice of the painful throbbing that echoed in his fingers and toes. There was no approach of footsteps, he seemed to be alone once again, and his mind chose that moment to slump itself back into the familiarity of complete unconsciousness.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 7:
The Great Game


A solitary figure sat at a bustling café, enjoying a coffee and admiring the way the sun reflected off the steel structure of the Eiffel tower. With his blond wavy hair that was light enough to appear almost white, cool blue eyes, and a grey tailored suit he was able to blend in amongst the cafe’s other patrons as some wealthy foreign dignitary. Upon closer inspection the only oddity one might discern would be the way his left hand remained stiffly pressed to his side, which could have spoken of an injury or in his particular case a prosthetic limb. What no one knew was that this man was possibly the most powerful man within all of Germany, barring the Kaiser.

“I expect the house cleaning went well, no surprises?” he asked with casual indifference as a stunning young woman with plaited blond hair and dazzling blue eyes strolled over, drawing a few lingering stares before she seated herself at his table.

“It’s been taken care of, the vermin were exactly where you expected I would find them.” the woman’s face was expressionless and her voice remained flat as she began to converse with the man in German. She wore a form fitting black gown that accentuated her curves, and left little to the imagination, and a wide brimmed hat and a fringed parasol held in one dainty gloved hand; the other hand was carrying a hatbox in the crook of her arm.

“Excellent, could either be identified?” He took another sip of his coffee only using his black gloved right hand.

“I anticipated that and ensured they would remain unrecognizable upon further investigation.” as she spoke she pulled out out a simple hatbox from beside her and unclasped it, affording him a view of the severed head of a woman with short dark hair and pox scarred cheeks, the expression across her face suggested her death had been met with a mixture of surprise and horror. A waiter began making his approach toward the table, and the woman quickly snapped the box close and pushed it back beneath the table before he could catch a glimpse of its horrifying contents.

“Anything for you mademoiselle?” the waiter asked, his eyes passing over the woman with obvious hunger.

“My daughter isn’t feeling too famished at the moment, perhaps you can come back later.” the man switched to flawless French to communicate to the waiter, while the woman remained impassively staring ahead without acknowledging the waiter’s presence.

“Of course, Monsieur.” the waiter retreated, with a quick glance back that nearly sent him careening into another waiter holding a tray. The man watched all this unfold with a smirk playing across his lips.

“I should have made you more friendly, your cold and unyielding countenance is too off putting to most.” he said with a chuckle, returning to German.

“The torturer was attempting to pry answers out of the assistant, he also claimed he was following your orders before I terminated him.” the woman ignored his observation and returned to delivering her report in a deadpan manner.

“A shame, he was a fairly skilled interrogator and came highly recommended, but alas I cannot abide by traitors,” the man replied with a heavy sigh. “Especially those who sell their services to that over bloated spider back in London.”

“He was only after the journals, he and his partner tore apart the entire clinic from bottom to top searching for them.” his eyes flickered with interest as she continued her report.

“This indicates that the fat man doesn’t know everything after all, otherwise he would know the journals are meaningless compared to the doctor himself.” he replied gleefully, glad to finally have the opportunity to hold a powerful secret over his bitter rival.

“There is another, an inspector within the gendarme, who appears to be keeping close watch over the doctor. I saw the two of them leaving by carriage.” the man nodded and gently set down his cup.

“Detective C. Auguste Dupin, former Chief Inspector and a past associate of Sherlock Holmes,” the man picked up on a small smatter of blood on her chin, and he leaned forward to wipe it away with his napkin like a dutiful father cleaning up after his beloved child. “I believe he is attempting to draw the doctor into his recent murder investigation.”

“I saw several papers that claim Jack the Ripper is directly responsible for the death of this prostitute.” her response led the man to scoff.

“The Ripper hasn’t been active for some time, I am confident that there is something else going on, but whatever it is remains none of our concern.” she remained silent for a moment, processing his words.

“If the doctor is working with the inspector, shouldn’t we keep a close tab on the case, especially if it should place him in danger?” she had brought up a fair point, though he didn’t particularly care to admit it.

“Very well, I give you leave to keep a close observation of the doctor and Dupin, but it’s paramount that you don’t reveal yourself.” he warned.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just pull the doctor now?” the woman suggested after quickly running the scenarios through her head.

“To do so would risk drawing the attention of Dupin, and that isn’t something we can afford.” she silently contemplated his answer and quickly formed a rebuttal.

“Then why not execute the inspector, take him out of the equation entirely.” this prompted the man to smile at her ruthlessness. He had truly crafted a master assassin, cold and utterly efficient. Now he only needed to work on crafting a personality that would put men at ease, thankfully most didn’t look beyond a pretty face.

“Tempting, but I fear that this would only create an uproar that would make it difficult for us to escape unnoticed within, as Dupin is already celebrated as a hero among the Parisians.” She didn’t display any sign of disappointment, merely accepted his judgement.

“The Kaiser won’t grow impatient?” he hated to be reminded of the rigorous time tables and demands that were made of his continuing operation in Paris.

“He knows the doctor is key to Germany becoming a power large enough to rival the British Empire, so I don’t expect he will put up much resistance when I explain the present situation over our next transpondence and if not I can always rely on Mabuse to smooth matters over.”

“Mabuse is dangerous, you should remain weary.”

“I’m perfectly aware, and I have kept vigilant.” he was reluctant to admit that she was correct in her assessment, Mabuse was about as deadly as a cobra and twice as slippery. Mabuse was a criminal genius to rival even the late Professor Moriarty. “You understand your orders?”

“My directives are clear, Director.” he smiled fondly at his creation. He hoped the Kaiser would soon approve his project to develop more just like her, the Kaiser could disperse them as he saw fit; spying on his enemies under the guise of a mistress or in the same motion utilizing them as assassins.

“Wunderbar, I expect you can handle yourself and keep the doctor out of harm’s way until then.” She nodded and moved to take back the hatbox, but the man interceded. “I will hold onto this, I still have my own matters to attend to and this may be of some benefit.” there was no objection or question on her part, she left him to his mysterious errand and stride away from the café as quickly as she had arrived. The time was fast approaching for him to now complete the exchange, and in the process send a message back to the fat man that his interference wouldn’t be tolerated.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 8:
Elizabeth


Noon had rolled around by the time Victor and Auguste had emerged from the Paris Morgue, most of the crowd that he had seen in the morning had dispersed from the scene. The cab was still tucked away on a sidestreet, and the driver was enjoying a smoke while the horses feasted on bags of oats.

“Straight back to the clinic, Victor?” Auguste inquired.

“Yes, I believe I left my assistant waiting in the wings for long enough.” Victor could already imagine Igor fretting and wondering what was keeping him.

Auguste looked to the driver, who gave a nod of affirmation and began making preparations to the pair of horses. “I truly appreciate all the help you have given me, Victor.” the inspector confided to him as they ducked into the back of the carriage.

“I only confirmed what you already knew, nothing more.” Victor retorted.

“Perhaps, but no one else was able to locate evidence like that claw you discovered on the latest victim.” Auguste gently reminded him with a grin.

“I couldn’t even confirm the type of animal it originated from.” Victor replied glumly.

“You are brilliant, but I don’t expect you to know everything. I have a contact staying here in Paris who can help with identifying it.” Victor recognized the gears turning in the old detective’s head and knew Auguste was already forming a plan in classic fashion.

“Anyone I might know?” Even though Victor now kept himself quite isolated, he had once kept a rather extensive list of contacts within the scientific community; many of them had of course held a dismissive attitude towards him and his theories, but there were a few who had been supportive. He longed to send out letters to find out how some of them were coming along, but the fear of being found prevented it.

“His name is Dr. Moreau, he was a rather celebrated physiologist back in London, but some controversial stirrings forced him to relocate and settle here in Paris where he has taken up zoology.” Victor could already feel himself resonating with the plight of this Dr. Moreau, although the doctor was entirely unfamiliar with him or his research.

“What sort of controversy?” Victor asked, curious about what could possibly force a man at the height of his field to leave the country.

“Reportedly he was a vivisectionist, but I didn’t broach the subject with him, as I could sense he wasn’t too keen on this portion of his past.” Victor had heard of the vivisectionists, but he found it paled next to what he had done over the course of his own research; cutting open animals was one thing, but exhuming human corpses and piecing them together was another thing entirely.

“We tend to sacrifice much in the name of advancing scientific knowledge, even when it may cost us our reputations.” Victor remarked, imagining the kind of condemnation that would have been heaped upon him had his experiments ever come to light among the public.

“So did you learn much examining the other victims? I did notice you were lingering over the remains of Louise Beaumont.” Auguste was quick to change the subject when he noticed Victor growing sullen.

“Which one?” Victor asked, drawn out of his self reflection.

“She was the first reported victim, and was also pregnant with child at the time of her death.” Auguste prompted with a hint of impatience.

“Oh yes, that one.” Victor had hoped the inspector hadn’t noticed his prolonged examination of her corpse, but Auguste had dogged him the entire time and the detective was thoroughly capable at reading people. “Her face was just familiar to me, nothing that would impact the investigation.” Victor didn’t want to tell the inspector that the young woman had born an uncanny resemblance to his Elizabeth, who in a chilling coincidence had also been murdered at the age of seventeen years and while she too carried his child.

Victor had never expected he would see the face of his beloved again in this life except in his daily nightmares, and yet here she was in the Paris Morgue of all places. This woman, who he had to reminded himself was not Elizabeth, had broken him out of his autonomy as he moved down the line of corpses. There had been nothing that made her stand out from the other murders otherwise, she bore the same set of gashes at her throat, stomach torn open and the uterus removed. It had been her face though, with its bone structure and the natural set of its mouth, that made his hairs stand on end and his blood run cold.

“Very well then,” the inspector didn’t sound wholly convinced, but he didn’t broach the subject further. “Appears we have also arrived back at the clinic.” Auguste was correct, as the carriage glided to a stop beside the crumbling structure, Victor felt a bit relieved to be back. He enjoyed the company of the inspector, but he couldn’t completely contain his weariness when he was out on the streets.

“Join me inside, we can get refreshed after spending all morning locked up in the cold with the corpses.” Victor offered hospitably as he exited the carriage.

“I can spare a few minutes, but I must return to the investigation, many preparations.” Auguste accepted, winking slyly at him.

“Of course.” Victor said as he walked up to the clinic, but immediately he could sense something was wrong. The door was ajar, and Igor would never miss a detail such as that, he was always meticulous in everything he did.

“Something wrong?” the inspector noticed him hesitating outside the doorway.

“I have a sudden sense of foreboding.” Victor didn’t place much stock in the realm of the parapsychology and regarded most in that field of study to be charlatans, but he couldn’t deny what he felt might have been some form of precognition as they called it. There was something in the clinic that wasn’t sitting right with him, and he didn’t feel it was just his innate paranoia playing havoc with his senses again.

“Wait here.” the inspector didn’t question him, instead he drew a revolver from his coat pocket and edged into the building cautiously. He didn’t hear anything for a few moments and it made him anxious, he didn’t like standing alone and out in the open like this. “Victor, come quickly.” Auguste urged, and Victor immediately complied without preparation for the horror that awaited him inside.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 9:
Truth and Lies


The clinic had been ransacked, entire drawers lay upended on the floor and a variety of tonics and instruments lay broken or discarded. Blood was smeared across the floor and walls, giving the clinic the appearance of a murder scene. The level of destruction while shocking was quickly forgotten however, Victor quickly spotted Igor’s misshapen form strapped down to the examination table and covered in a fair amount of blood . He rushed over, shards of glass crunching beneath his feet as he cut a path through the chaos to his assistant, fearing the man dead.

“Igor.” Victor wailed in despair, ripping away the restraints and taking his motionless body into his arms. Despite only having known the hunchback for the span of two years, he had come to admire the spirit and determination he shown despite the difficulties nature had thrown in his path from birth. It reminded him fondly of his younger brother, William, who had went through a similar struggle with his own set of disabilities. Victor had long ago put William to the back of his mind, along with Elizabeth and more recently his dear friend Henry Clerval. All three had their lives cut abruptly short due to their association with him, as Victor was cursed by his own creation.

“Victor, there is something else you should see.” Auguste urged behind him, but he ignored the inspector and searched for a sign of life in his assistant and dear friend. To his immediate relief he could feel and hear that Igor was still drawing breath, although he could see the man had a ghostly pallor that denoted an exceptional amount of blood loss.

“Hang on, I’m here now.” the doctor assured, looking around for anything he could use to try and staunch the bleeding, it was difficult to locate anything in the wreckage. The skin on some of Igor’s fingers and toes had been peeled away, and blood still dribbled from a few of the raw wounds. He felt some relief in the certainty that this was not the work of the demon that dogged him, as that fiend didn’t have the capability of handling something as delicate as a knife, it only recognized its own innate brute strength as a weapon. Regardless, someone had harmed his assistant, and the doctor felt a stirring motivation to find whoever was responsible and deal out his own justice. Auguste might not like it, but Victor wanted to see the perpetrator suffer a slow and agonizing punishment; Perhaps flay them as they had Igor, afterall he had the medical knowhow and the experience working with corpses to manage that much at the very least.

“Victor.” he spun around to face the inspector, his eyes blazing and his teeth gnashing. He had lost too many friends and family in such a short time, and he refused to allow death to claim another from him.

“I need to attend to Igor, he has lost a concerning amount of blood.” he snarled at Auguste, his vision then cleared and he realized what the inspector had been pressingly trying to show him. In all his haste to help Igor, Victor had completely ignored the battered corpse lying facedown on the bottom of the stairwell, a puddle of blood surrounding its blond head.

“There is a scalpel clasped in their hand, I don’t doubt that this was the person responsible for the injury done to your assistant.” Auguste openly theorized, gesturing to the blood smeared knife clutched in their left hand. Victor felt some relief to see they hadn’t escaped with their crime, but now he was left with many unanswered questions.

“How did they die? Missed a step and smashed their head?” Victor watched Auguste turn over the corpse, and was startled by the extensive facial damage. He could hardly make out any distinguishing features, the face had been smashed into red pulp and only the white of a shattered jawbone could be distinguished. As the inspector had turned it over, an eyeball had dislodged from the socket and Victor had an eerie sense like it was watching him.

“This kind of injury is too severe for that, this looks like they were bludgeoned to death.” Victor noted that the corpse was clad in ragged threadbare garments that he recognized from most of the vagrant and homeless patients he would regularly attend. The build of the body also told him that it had been an adult male with an unusual amount of muscle mass he didn’t usually find among the destitute, who were starved and malnourished.

“By whom though? Igor was restrained to the table, and even then I could never imagine him attacking anyone so savagely.” Victor had never heard the hunchback talk of violent vengeance upon those who had mistreated him, nor did he ever snap into sudden fits of destructive rage. Igor was a gentle soul, Victor could see it in the way he approached some of their patients, even those who initially displayed horror and disgust towards him. That had been Victor’s impression from the start, and where he had derived the name for his assistant which translated loosely into “warrior of peace”.

“Perhaps we may find our answer further upstairs.” Victor had forgotten about his office, and he dreaded what they might find. The way the clinic had been torn apart suggested that Igor’s mysterious and rather dead assailant had been trying to search for something, and Victor already had the firm sense it had been the journals. He had prepared himself for such an occasion with the inclusion of the safe, though he always told himself that no one would come for them; he had been so careful to ensure no one knew about the journals.

“Let me take the lead and you can keep watch from down here.” Victor insisted, drawing an expression of surprise from the inspector.

“Too dangerous, the killer may still be lurking in your office.” Auguste answered dismissively.

“Then hand me your gun, I know how to use one.” Victor urged desperately. He trusted the inspector, as the man knew his tale and the demon that had pursued him across half of europe, but what he didn’t know was that all the research that had gone into birthing the fiend still existed. It had been painful yet necessary to lie and tell him that all the research was gone, burned up in the fire that claimed his ancestral estate.

“You told me you loathed firearms.” Auguste said with wonder, stroking his beard.

“I do, however I saw it as a necessity I had the knowledge to defend myself.” This was true, Victor had made many preparations should the abortion rear its hideous visage again, but he still felt ill equipped to face it.

“Very well then,” Auguste held out the revolver, and Victor eagerly seized the weapon. “Please be careful though and shout if you find anything.” the inspector’s words went ignored as Victor hastened up the steps with only the safe and its contents occupying his mind. A part of him said he was acting paranoid, the body of the man downstairs could easily have been a thief who cased the clinic expecting to find something of value and taken his mounting frustration out on a restrained Igor. Yes, that made perfect and logical sense to Victor.

“The question only remains how he turned up as a--” his thought process was cut off as he stumbled over a set of legs that were outstretched across the door into his office. His eyes followed the legs to the corpse it lay attached to, one which he could clearly see had once been an adult female dressed in a blood soaked and tattered dress. Like the corpse downstairs it was unidentifiable, but in this case the head was gone completely and all that remained was the neck stump with a piece of bone jutting forth.

“Victor, have you found anyone or anything up there?” Auguste called up with concern.

“I found another corpse, this one is female and lacking a head.” Victor had seen so many bodies that the sight of the headless corpse didn’t phase him and he was able to quickly tear his gaze away to look about the rest of his office. It was a similar scene to the one downstairs, as his desk had been completely upended and its drawers with its contents thrown onto the floor.

His personal stock of medication kept inside his desk, which he had used for treating himself in the moments he felt a fit of hysteria overcoming him, were likewise smashed and broken. That medicine hadn’t come cheap, and yet the thief (or thieves in suspect of the second corpse) had carelessly thrown them aside. The safe and the picture frame which disguised it remained untouched, much to his relief. Victor still made a quick check inside, but everything remained in order and just as he had left it before his departure with Auguste for the Paris Morgue.

“What a gruesome display, ironic that it should remind me of an early case of mine that also occurred here in the Rue Morgue.” Victor had closed the safe just in time, as Auguste had come in to kneel beside the second corpse.

“Yes you told me that over a drink when we were both back in London, the work of an escaped gorilla as I recall.” Victor moved away from the painting and knelt beside the inspector.

“Probably among the strangest things I have encountered in all my years of detective work.” Auguste said with a shake of his head.

“See the way that the spine has been curved, it suggests the head was twisted off not unlike a bottle cap.” Victor informed the detective.

“That would have taken considerable strength, more than most men possess.” Auguste mused quietly.

“What if it wasn’t a man at all.” Victor was reluctant to voice the nagging thought that this might be the work of the demon. He had been lucky for the past four years, but perhaps that bout of luck had finally run out.

“Question of an entry point,” Auguste scanned the room and located a broken window with fragments of the glass littering the floor. “This window was smashed in from the outside, you can tell by the way the glass shattered.” the inspector had already begun to make recordings in the small notebook that Victor had seen him scribbling within on their travel back from the Paris Morgue.

“Perhaps this corpse belonged to an accomplice who tried making their way into the clinic from my office?” Victor suggested, but Auguste shook his head.

“I had seen two sets of bloody footprints that entered the clinic through the front door, which wasn’t forced and leads me to suspect that your eager young assistant allowed them inside.” Victor would have been angry with Igor for going against his instruction, but he felt the hunchback had suffered too much already for him to subject him to his own disappointment.

“Igor must have been duped, he is kind hearted and it is perfectly fathomable he was taken advantage of by a pair of thieves playing the part of the homeless in urgent need of aid.” he didn’t even need to entertain the idea of Igor having involvement, the hunchback rarely even left the clinic and had no contacts aside from that.

“Perhaps we should both go down to check on him, he is our only witness to what happened.” Victor had to agree with his logic and together the detective and the doctor exited the office and made their way back downstairs to the ground floor.

The hunchback was beginning to stir, much to the satisfaction of both. A plea for water were the first words to come from his assistant and Victor quickly went off in search of a mug that had survived relatively intact. When he returned he assisted Igor with the drink, as his hands were trembling so violently it threatened to upset the mug.

“I disobeyed you.” Igor croaked, his eyes met Victor’s only briefly before the hunchback turned his face in shame.

“Indeed, but I’m far more concerned about you.” Victor assured him, resting a hand on his arm.

“They started by taking the skin from my fingers, and then they moved to my toes when they didn’t find my answers satisfactory.” Igor’s entire body quaked and Victor could see the terror shining in his doleful eye.

“How many of them did you see, what did they look like, and what were they demanding?” Auguste hammered the questions into the shaken hunchback without mercy, and Victor could plainly recognize his assistant’s discomfort at being placed under such scrutiny.

“Auguste please, Igor has been through severe trauma. He needs to rest, not be interrogated like some larcener dragged off the streets.” Victor interceded.

“We need answers, and he may be the only one who can provide them with the others quite assuredly dead.” Auguste punctuated his words by thrusting his cane into the floor.

“I want answers just as much as you, but I would rather keep my assistant first and foremost.” Victor could see the detective was wrestling with his impatience.

“There were two of them that I saw, and both were Germans pretending they were street dwellers.” Igor broke into the conversation, drawing both the detective and the doctor to face him at full attention.

“Just as I told you, Auguste.” Victor chimed in.

“Yes, yes, but what were they after? Money, medicine, valuables?” the detective demanded roughly.

“They were asking me about journals, that was all they were concerned with.” Victor felt his heart sink and when he risked a glance at Auguste he could see the inspector was struggling to come to terms with this newest revelation.

“What sort of journals?” Auguste’s asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Research journals they said, belonging to Frankenstein. I didn’t have any clue who or what they were talking about.” Victor suddenly found himself confronting Auguste, cold fury gripping the detective as his eyes pierced into Victor like knives.

“You told me back in London that you destroyed those journals.” Auguste seethed.

“I tried, Lord only knows I dreamed of burning those cursed books.” Victor tried to temper Auguste, but the detective wasn’t satisfied by his reply.

“You loathe what you spawned, you told me as such in our past discussion. What could possibly have prevented you from ensuring nothing else akin to it could be created?”

“I’m not certain, a part of me cannot part from research that took years, it would feel like a betrayal of all I set out to do.” Victor confessed to him, not daring to tell him about the voices that plagued his waking thoughts and advised him to try again to make it right.

“Look at what it cost you, Victor.” Auguste’s voice softened somewhat, but he was still shattered at the knowledge that Victor had betrayed his trust. Had he known that the doctor was smuggling those cursed tomes into France, he couldn’t say with certainty he would have lent Victor aid instead of leaving him to rot in a prison cell back in London.

“Don’t quote to me about the cost, I have felt each of those deaths and been forced to live with the fact that I was in some ways directly responsible.”

“What is he talking about Victor, what have you done?” Igor had kept silent for most of the conversation, but he couldn’t hold back any longer and felt he was owed some kind of answer after all he had experienced.

“I will leave you to speak with your assistant, I still have my own investigation to handle while there is still a few hours of daylight remaining.” Auguste turned his back on the doctor and crossed to the clinic door.

“Please wait, Auguste.” Victor ignored Igor and pursued after the detective, who had already pushed his way out the door and was back out on the street. The detective wanted to forget he had ever met the doctor, but he found himself reluctant to abandon him and with a sigh he stopped long enough to allow Victor to reach him before he stepped back into the carriage.

“You’re lucky I’m the honorable sort, as I recognize how you aided me a great deal today with those autopsies.” Auguste acknowledged, inclining his head to watch Victor come to a halt before him.

“I know I betrayed your trust, but there is a way I know I can make it up to you,” Victor spoke quickly, knowing he would need to act fast before he lost his nerve completely and retreated back into the clinic. “You wanted me to join your investigation, done.”

Auguste couldn’t mask his surprise and pleasure at those words, and it did help to alleviate the anger that Victor betrayal’s had left inside him. “I’ll accept that, though you must promise there will be no more lies. We need to work as a team, and that means placing complete trust in each other.”

“Of course, I only make one request.” Auguste had expected this, he knew Victor well enough to know he wouldn’t have volunteered his services for nothing in return.

“Name it, and I will do what is within my power to fulfill it.”

“You and I both appeared to reach the same conclusion regarding those bodies inside the clinic,” Victor paused, battling his reluctance to admit to the fear that filled him to his very core and even now threatened to send him fleeing from the country without recourse. “I want you to move me and my assistant to a place of safety, clearly my identity at the clinic has become compromised as today’s events have revealed to both of us.” Auguste could see the doctor was desperate, and he agreed that if his demon was on the loose and indeed responsible, then he would have to take the necessary steps to ensure the doctor was kept safe and secure.

“I make only one condition to your request and that is the journals don’t come with you.” Victor heard a chorus of voices inside him telling him to reject Auguste, but he knew he needed the inspector now more than ever. He had no one else left to turn to, he was quite alone in this country and with Igor incapacitated for the time being he would have difficulty securing anything for himself.

“I cannot leave them behind, those two were likely not the only ones and there are possibly others out there.” Victor was still unsure how the existence of the journals had spread, but he had to come to grips with the truth of the matter and make the necessary steps available to him now.

“Then destroy them, as you should have done years ago and be done with that business,” Auguste told him flatly, reentering the carriage. “I will spare some gendarme to watch over the clinic tonight, as well as retrieve the bodies. Tomorrow have yourself and your assistant prepared to be relocated.”

Victor seemed pleased with this, and he gave a final grateful nod over his shoulder before he disappeared from the inspector’s sight back inside the clinic. Some of the tension finally leaving his old and weary bones as he breathed a heavy sigh and settled back into his seat. He had known Victor would bring along some baggage if he allowed him into this investigation, but he had never imagined it would have lead to this. It was inconvenient timing if Victor’s undead spawn had made its way to Paris, but Auguste would find a way to manage it, but for now his main priority had to remain the Ripper murders; he hated referring to these murders as such, but it was necessary to retain the veil of secrecy.

“You aren’t the only one with secrets, Victor.” Auguste quietly commented to himself, as he drew out a small locket that he opened to reveal a lock of strawberry blond hair alongside a small photograph that captured the likeness of the first victim, Louise Beaumont. In the picture she was posed alongside two figures, one of them was an older woman who bore a passing resemblance that indicated she was close kin. The third figure in the photograph who beamed proudly behind them was Auguste Dupin himself, though he looked much younger in the photograph and was dressed in a crisp uniform.

Auguste felt his resolve harden looking upon the young face of Louise. He had made a solemn oath to track down her killer, he wouldn’t allow them to escape him again. He had taken himself out of retirement for this one final case, and he would be damned before he didn’t see it through to its end. Detective C. Auguste Dupin didn’t fear death as his close associate Victor Frankenstein did, instead he embraced it.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 10:
The Exchange


From atop the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower the English agent who went exclusively as Mr. Smith was afforded a view of all Paris as the sun slowly began its descent, heralding the arrival of the evening. It was a truly beautiful sight that most might have found inspiration from, however in Mr. Smith’s case he wasn’t here to take in the splendor and was here solely on business. He was running on a fairly tight schedule and was already anticipating taking the next dirigible back to London, and from there going straight to the Diogenes Club; although he missed his wife and daughters terribly, he first had to fulfill his duty to the British Empire.

In the distance he could hear the bells atop Notre Dame ringing, sending a scattering of birds squawking towards the sluggish moving seine. “Those damned Germans turncoats are running late.” Mr. Smith consulted his pocket watch and impatiently drummed his fingers upon the railing. With his round spectacles, bowler hat, and dark suit he easily could fit into the mold of a banker or mercantile businessman, allowing him to blend among the crowds who had come to visit the wrought iron lattice tower that dominated over Paris. The crowds had filed out, and none of them paid heed to the English agent who remained behind.

“Mr. Smith, I presume.” he spun around to locate the source of the voice, but found the deck lay deserted and not a soul in sight. His pale pinched face darkened and his brown eyes narrowed.

“I won’t conduct the business transaction until I can see you and your accomplice.” Mr. Smith sniffed, his eyes trying to detect any figures lurking among the shadows produced by the twisting lattice.

“I’m afraid you may have me confused with someone else, as I have come alone.” a man materialized as if stepping from thin air, alarming the English agent. Mr. Smith instantly recognized the beaming man in the neat grey suit, he had studied this man’s file closely and had shared Mycroft’s conclusion that the diminutive German scientist was currently the most powerful man in Germany behind the Kaiser himself.

“Rotwang.” the English agent hissed, finding himself a bit surprised by how ordinary the man seemed in person. There was no powerful presence as he might have expected, and like himself wouldn’t have looked all that remarkable when placed in a crowd. As Mr. Smith knew too well, looks could be deceiving and he knew that beneath the exterior was the cunning and ruthless strategist that had somehow managed to influence the Kaiser; It was still baffling, and there was still a scramble to assemble the pieces of Rotwang’s past in some attempt to understand how such a thing had occurred.

“Director, actually, although I am sure you and the fat man were already aware of my latest appointment.” Rotwang casually lit a cigarette with his remaining right hand, the other was a metal prosthetic used to replace the limb he had lost in some undefined accident according to the files.

“You were foolish to come here alone, killing you now would be a boon to the British Empire and a crippling blow to whatever schemes you and your Kaiser have cooked up in his bid to become the next dominating world power.” Mr. Smith knew he couldn’t realistically kill Rotwang without inciting a diplomat incident, but he wanted to see the German squirm where he stood.

“And you were foolish to think I wouldn’t catch on to the traitors you planted in my midst, I control everything, just as that bloated spider pulls the strings that keeps the British Government ticking.” He had suspected that Rotwang’s unexpected appearance signalled that the cover for their double agents had been blown and now he confirmed it himself.

“You won’t get uncover any state secrets from those two, we ensured that upon capture and threat of torture that neither would prove of much worth.” He wouldn’t tell Rotwang how he had fed them both misinformation, better to let the German discover that for himself.

“I expected as much, hence why I had them killed.” Rotwang then drew a hatbox and from it he pulled the severed head of one of the agents, Elsa Weber, and tossed it at the agent’s feet. Mr. Smith was trained to hide discomfort and kept his expression neutral, however he was repulsed and horrified that Weber had been so brutally murdered and could only imagine a similar savagery that had been enacted on Friedrich. Mr. Smith never felt any personal connection to the two double agents, and had actually found their flippant attitude towards betraying their own country quite disagreeable, but he never would have condoned such brutality.

“Was the point of all this to prevent us from continuing our pursuit of Frankenstein’s research, because I can assure you that we won’t rest until we have wrested such knowledge out of German hands.” Mr. Smith responded cooly, locking eyes with Rotwang so that the man knew he was being completely forward.

“No, that was just the prelude, your corpse send back to the fat man should provide a clear warning.” Rotwang retorted with a cold smile that was suddenly displaced by the evening air as the man simply evaporated, leaving only the smoldering cigarette on the ground. Mr. Smith drew a gun concealed in his coat and began to search for the man, his mind still reeling and trying to figure out how the man had managed to disappear while standing in full view of him. The English agent had heard that Germany was striving to develop new technological advances under Rotwang’s direction, but this was ludicrous and didn’t match with any of the reports.

“Simple parlor tricks won’t transform Germany into an Empire to rival Britain.” Mr. Smith goaded, examining every shadow where he expected to find Rotwang lurking.

“These are not illusions contrived by a master magician, what you’ve been made witness to are one of the many assets that Germany now commands under my direction of the Coalition.” he heard Rotwang’s mocking voice, but couldn’t place it’s location when it seemed to bounce in the air around the metal structure. An unseen hand dealt a right hook that sent the agent reeling, and another blow landed on his stomach doubling him over.

“So a Germanic Empire will be created by cowards who must resort to cloaking themselves in invisibility.” Mr. Smith coughed, wiping away the blood that dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t understand this technology, but he had to admit it was impressive and he could see it serving their agents in the field quite well. Perhaps he could somehow salvage this mess and return to Mycroft with this invisible tech, surely that would be more practical than holding journals that outlined the assembly of a shambling corpse.

“This is just one of the tools I have assembled, allow me to show you another that has been of some personal benefit to me.” Rotwang materialized before Mr. Smith, but before the agent could get off a shot he felt something thin pierce his chest and lift him past the railing, giving him a dizzying view of the ground looming far below between his dangling feet. He found himself clutching at something akin to a tree root that had coalesced into a point that penetrated through his body. His eyes were able to see that the point of origin for the plant like matter was the space previously occupied by Rotwang’s left arm. The German scientist had created a new hand, but not one made from a metal prosthetic as the reports claimed. It seemed that they had truly underestimated what Rotwang and his Coalition could accomplish, and unfortunately Mr. Smith knew he wouldn’t live long enough to send out a warning.

“God save the Queen, and God save the Empire.” were the last words to pass from Mr. Smith before Rotwang released the English agent, the root like extension slithered back and once again formed itself into an approximate duplication of a human hand. Rotwang bent to retrieve the head he had earlier discarded, he would have it disposed of later. The remains of Mr. Smith at the foot of the tower he would leave for the authorities to discover, this way it would be guaranteed to reach the ear of that meddler, Mycroft Holmes.

[Lovetheangelshadow]

Well this puts my Splinterbark to shame, don't it?

[The Commodore]

Act II:
Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 11:
Moreau

“You may be pleased to know to learn that the Ripper is no longer captivating the attention of the Parisian public.” Victor address Dupin, as he read over the morning paper he had purchased as the two made their journey by foot to meet with the inspector’s special contact, Dr. Moreau. It was now September, and the air was cold and crisp, yet bearable. Victor actually enjoyed the cool air outside, as opposed to being closed up inside a stuffy carriage that felt indistinguishable from a funeral casket. Come to think of it, he also found it alot more freeing than stayed closed up in the safehouse, where there was little to mark the passage of time with him no longer having any patients to care for.

The Inspector had made true to his promise and settled Victor and and Igor in a place that was removed from any prying eyes. The safehouse had been contained in a wine cellar, a large barrel disguised a doorway that led to a bunker containing multiple chambers. The space was mostly bare, but held signs of decadence. A crystal chandelier could be found in the min foyer, and one of the adjoining chambers held an ornate fireplace adorned with the carved likenesses of a dozen mythological creatures. According to the inspector at one time the space had been filled with priceless artifacts and treasures stolen by the gentleman thief, Arsene Lupin. This was just one of boltholes that had once been utilized by Lupin to store his stolen goods before his eventual capture by Dupin; The inspector claimed there were others spread all over Paris, and the gendarmes were racing to uncover more.

Auguste had assured him there were relatively few who were even aware about the safehouse, the gendarmes who had worked with Dupin prior had been toiling in prison after they attempted to bring some of the jewels and diamonds home to their wives and selling off the rest of the loot. Dupin couldn’t blame some of them, France was going through an economical crisis as evident from the rampant poverty, but the detective had to remain firm while he had been acting as Chief Inspector.

Igor was remaining at the safehouse, the hunchback was still recovering and could still hardly walk. His assistant had always possessed a strange gait due to his deformity, but now with the added injuries he might be left with even more of a pronounced limp in each step. The doctor had almost expected Igor would demand to be brought along on this outing, considering the events of the last time, but the hunchback had been too dulled by the medication to put up a fuss. The boy had shown initial curiosity toward Victor’s past, but he had kept it at a respectful distance after Victor promised to tell him the full tale soon. He knew that giving his assistant the truth was probably the least he could do, as he truly trusted Igor like a brother, but he felt it needed a proper time and place; Victor wasn’t a fan of dredging up his past, and the only other time had done it had been Dupin, and that had been when he was trapped in a jail cell with little recourse.

He had done as Dupin commanded, though it had been a painful ordeal, like amputating a limb. Victor had held the journals in his hands and considered the flames stirring hungrily in the fireplace, and that whispering needling voice had seemed to grow into a chorus inside his skull. Images had come to the forefront of his thoughts, the face of his darling Elizabeth as he remembered her, with a dimpled smile and a laugh like tinkling glass. He had told himself that she was gone, buried back in Geneva, but then his thoughts had turned to the corpse in the Morgue; the one that bore Elizabeth’s likeness. He had held in his hands the means to reversing death’s cruel touch, he only had to apply that knowledge and he would have his Elizabeth again. No, she wasn’t Elizabeth, she was Louise Beaumont. He had kept repeating that name over and over aloud, drawing the concern of Igor, who had offered his aid upon recognizing Victor’s apparent struggle to do away with the journals.

Victor had conceded, and passed over his curse, and it had felt as though a burden was lifted, like Atlas removing the mantle of Heaven off his shoulders. Igor wasn’t privy to the temptation of that wicked knowledge, and cast the journals into the flames without ceremony. As Victor had sat in one of the comfy high back chairs watching the fire consume and char the journals, he had noticed how this thoughts remained eerily silent and already the face of Elizabeth and Louise Beaumont were fading as well.

He was almost free, all that remained was the demon those books had spawned and perhaps when the Ripper business was concluded he would approach Dupin about tracking the creature. He was growing weary of running and hiding, and if his creation was here in Paris hunting him, perhaps it was time he turned the tables now that he had trusted allies. Strange allies they were in consideration: deformed hunchback, a retired detective past his prime, and the coward who tried to defy death and only personified it.

Victor chuckled thinking about it, drawing a few strange look from some passer-biers, but this only brought a smile to split his face. He was going mad, or perhaps he had always been mad and never recognized it until now.

“What are the papers saying now?” Dupin took a puff from his pipe. His cane clacked on the cobblestone as he managed to match pace with Victor, despite being a man that was now well into his seventies; It was as though the man had become reinvigorated overnight.

“They report on the death of Phileas Fogg, the famed entrepreneur passed away between the hours of five and ten at his chateau in the south of France.” Even though Victor had lived in relative isolation without much outside contact the last few years, he was well aware of Phileas Fogg, as were most average citizens throughout Europe. The man was hailed as “The Father of Aero-Transit” with the construction of his sleek line of dirigibles that drastically cut down on travel time; including the catchphrase that a man could journey around the span of the globe in less than eighty days. He had created an entirely new industry that transformed the world, and had made him among the richest men alive, although he had close competition for that title from an American business mogul, Charles Foster Kane.

“I knew that Fogg hadn’t been seen much outside his chateau for at least the last decade since he made his retirement in France, rumors began that he was too ill to even leave his bed and a rotation of personal doctors were seen coming and going.” Dupin remarked, his eyes misting over in thought.

“Now that he’s dead, who will attain the wealth and control his vast empire of the skyways?” Victor questioned aloud, avoiding the mud that was flung up by the wheels of a few carriages and wagons that trundled by.

“I’m sure that is the very question being fought by armies of lawyers back in England as we speak, as it is a known fact that Fogg and his late wife Aouda had no offspring. Phileas was also an orphan, so that removes the question of blood relations.”

“Whatever the case, at least the man actually took the time to retire before he died, do you plan to take on more cases after this current business is concluded, I think I read in here that there is some new master criminal they call Fantômas, the sinister leader of a vicious gang of apaches.” Victor displayed a picture of the thief in question, who was portrayed in a rough sketch garbed in black with a hood that veiled his features apart from his eyes. "There was also a dead man found at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, some speculate he jumped to his death--"

“I have heard of this Fantômas, but he is the current obsession and quarry of my protege Inspector Juve. My only intention is to track down the latest incarnation of the Ripper and avenge those young women slaughtered, beginning with Louise Beaumont.” Dupin hardly acknowledged Victor’s playful jab, he seemed to grow colder, yet the doctor could sense a hatred that burned hot and fierce within Auguste.

“Why are you so dogged in your determination to find our so called Ripper, is it to recapture your faded glory as the premier detective of Paris? Solving the one case that even the great detective of baker street failed to crack.” Victor asked, finding himself struggling to catch up as Auguste steamed ahead, cutting a swathe through the milling crowds.

“This isn’t about glory, I don’t need further recognition of my past work and I’m perfectly content remaining unrecognized beside the memory of my old friend Shirley.” Auguste muttered irritably.

“Then what is it about this case, we know this isn’t that Ripper, that much is apparent to us both in light of the evidence. I can’t possibly imagine how a few prostitutes being mauled could drive you out of retirement.” Victor could sense that Dupin was guarding something, but he recalled the man saying only a few nights prior that there could be no secrets standing between them.

“I already told you they weren’t all prostitutes, in fact only a few were even accounted as such, the majority were women of low birth living on the fringes of society.”

“That is a matter of semantics, I want to know your personal stake in this bloody business.” Dupin slowed his pace and considered Victor’s inquiry before producing a response.

“I want revenge, that is my personal stake in all this. Revenge for my murdered granddaughter, Louise Beaumont.” Victor couldn’t mask his surprise as the inspector was forthright in his answer.

“Your granddaughter?” he thought again of the face, and the memory of Elizabeth again sprang to mind laughing and smiling and holding her belly where the life of their child, Victor’s mortal child, quickened.

“We were estranged, but I still loved and cared for her. I found her body and I even caught a glimpse of the monster that so cruelly savaged her and the unborn child.” Dupin’s hand tightened on the pommel of his cane until Victor could see his veins standing taught beneath the liver spotted flesh.

“You saw the Ripper.” Victor was further taken back by this most recent revelation.

“Only from a distance, I fired at it six times, but the beast escaped me then.”

“So we even have you as witness that it isn’t human, but some kind of animal then.”

“Certainly not human, but I’m uncertain what it was exactly. That is why I am hoping those samples you retrieved can shed some further light on the subject.” Victor noticed that the two had arrived at the Menageries du Jardin Des Plantes, also known commonly as the Menagerie by most Parisians and located in the heart of Paris. It was another landmark of the city that attracted a multitude of visitors both local and foreign and unlike the Morgue it didn’t display death, but rather it celebrated the very bounty of life. Victor had remained relatively uninterested in the nature preserve as it remained so removed from his field of study.

“I expected we would be meeting this Dr. Moreau in his home or laboratory, particularly with such subject matter.” Victor mused, as the pair moved into the Menagerie, which had stunning architecture that served as an expression of France’s Imperial power.
“I have found Moreau is a lot like yourself Victor, he affords himself a great deal of privacy and I’m certain that is attributed to his past. All of my meetings, including my first, have taken place here in the Menagerie.” Dupin admired a few of the exhibits they passed, particularly the Voleries which were translated into the birdhouses. The name fit this particular enclosure, as various predatory birds wheeled about the interior and occasionally one would land upon the rooftop of the constructed huts within the enclosure. Victor silently considered how one falcon in particular reminded him of Dupin, with its sharp eyes and a curved beak that resembled the inspector’s hooked nose. “You could claim it has become something of a tradition for us to meet here.”

“I do wonder how a man goes from being a renowned physiologist, to studying caged mammals.” Victor wondered aloud, a bit alarmed when a reply came from a fellow who had otherwise appeared engaged in the open sketchbook on his lap to pay the pair any mind.

“Simple answer, I don’t limit my study solely to mammals, and upon further examination I have found that humans don’t pay much difference in most respects to animals.” the man was seated in a wheelchair and had a parasol propped up behind him to remove the glare of the sun overhead. He was a rather portly fellow, with a jowled face framed by bushy sideburns and thinning hair combed across a gleaming scalp. His eyes were magnified by round spectacles that gave an expression of perplexion, but he otherwise looked kindly.

“Victor, allow me to introduce my contact, Dr. Antoine Moreau.” Moreau put aside the sketchbook and delivered a handshake more firm than Victor had expected, as the wheelchair had led the doctor to think the man to be a weak invalid.

“A pleasure, Auguste has told me much about you.” the wheelchair bound doctor extended a look with the inspector.

“I hope Chevalier only told you good things, and none of those foul rumours about vivisection.” Dupin had a flush in his cheeks and he tapped his cane nervously.

“I might have made some mention of that.” Dupin admitted.

“I will clear the air to remove any preconceptions about me, I did partake in vivisection, but the rumours were greatly exaggerated. On the occasion that I used live specimens, I only selected those that were near dead or terminally ill.” there was a hint of annoyance in Moreau’s tone, as though he had argued this same point many times over, and he seemed to expect Victor would show disdain or alarm. Victor displayed neither, and his face remained neutral.

“I faced criticism myself when I took dead bodies for study in my own research.” Victor wasn’t certain how much Dupin had told Moreau ahead of the meeting, and would rather refrain from revealing what was unnecessary to the investigation.

“We men of science are often looked down upon with vehemence by the ignorant populace. You would think they might be reminded that we are the ones who have birthed the marvels of this age, the medicine that heals their aches and pains and the transportation that carries them across continents.” Moreau languished, and Victor could sense by Dupin’s worn expression that he was often submitted to these long winded sololiques by the disgraced physiologist turned zoologist.

“I could let the two of you have your conversations about the misrepresentation of your research some other time, for now we must conduct business.” Dupin chided.

“Always so impatient, Chevalier. I did take the time to study your samples, just as you requested.” Moreau acquiesced, puffing out his cheeks.

“What were you able to discover for us?”

“The claw belonged to the species you find behind me, carnivoran mammals of the family Ursidae.” he gestured to a great pit behind him that housed a large shaggy furred brown bear that was currently occupying its time by tearing into a fish with its yellow fanged snout, a great clawed forepaw resting on the carcass.

“A bear?” Victor exclaimed, such a creature wasn’t suited to the urban sprawl of Paris, it would have been next to impossible for someone to ignore such a ferocious carnivore roaming freely about.

“That is precisely what I said.” Moreau sniffed.

“You only mentioned the claw, what about the fur?” Dupin pressed on, ignoring the incredulous look from Victor.

“Those were simple enough, canis familiaris.” Moreau drawled, sounding almost bored at the result himself.

“So the claw came from a bear, and the fur was produced by a dog.” Dupin considered aloud to himself, tugging at his beard.

“That makes absolutely no sense, dogs are seen plenty around Paris wandering freely and one might have happened across the corpse to scavenge, but a bear on the streets of Paris?” Victor shook his head.

“I didn’t promise the results would make sense.” Moreau replied with agitation at perceiving doubt at his ability to form distinct classifications.

“Victor didn’t mean any offense, he is just puzzled by the results, as am I.” Dupin assured Moreau, soothing his growing temper. “We will need to assess the information you’ve provided, thank you for your help Antoine.” this seemed to mollify the wheelchair bound doctor somewhat.

“Of course, now if I may be allowed to resume my research.” Moreau turned back to the sketchbook, which had the carefully rendered depiction of the brown bear before them, alongside copious notes written in Moreau’s spidery hand.

“Come my friend, we have much to dwell on.” the inspector strode away and Victor followed close at his heels, leaving Dr. Moreau with his caged mammals.

[The Commodore]

This Chapter contains some explicit content, for those of a more delicate sensibilities you are free to skip over it without missing anything too crucial to the main plot, though you will miss out on some cool little references, along with a bit of characterization and world building


Chapter 12:
At the House of The Black Rose

A black hansom carriage bearing the monogram RF arrived without fanfare before the maison de la rose noire, and from it exited a tall thin figure who surveyed the building with a sneer of distaste. The House of The Black Rose had a distinguished appearance, its architecture was a symbol of absolute decadence; wide steps that led to a portico surrounded by white marble pillars that held aloft a pediment containing a relief of half clothed Goddesses entangled in compromising positions with lecherous looking satyrs and other lusting mythological beasts. Vines crept over the entire structure, coiling around pillars, and from them sprang dozens of black roses in full bloom that gave the building its name. The beautiful facade was only a prelude, within was a world of carnal pleasures that catered exclusively to the rich and the powerful, meeting their particular taste with its assortment of courtesans both male and female.

The man ascended the steps, fur coat sweeping behind him and cane clacking upon the polished stonework. He agreed with the Council’s overall assessment of prostitution as a necessary evil, but it by no means softened his aversion to it, unfortunately his half brother was not of the same mind otherwise he wouldn’t be seen entering this den of sin. “Good evening Monsieur.” a broad shouldered man with a twisting scar that bisected his rough hewn face greeted him, he moved aside with a bow and opened the black lacquer door to admit him, handing him a black domino mask as he made his passage inside.

The air within was thick with the sickly sweet smell of the roses mixed with perfume and nearly overwhelmed his senses, but beyond that his eyes were only beginning to adjust to the dim lighting given off by the wall sconces when his eyes followed the passage of a passing woman who was completely nude aside from a pair of lacy stockings and a towering powdered wig adorned with peacock feathers balanced atop her head. She disappeared into one of the side alcoves, where a great many of the clients were quite engaged with men and women in all states of dress or undress and ranging across a multitude of periods. A cloud of vapor hung like mist over the scene, as some of the clients smoked from thin stemmed pipes, eyes glazed over behind the domino masks that adorned their faces to provide a measure of privacy only they could afford. The air buzzed with the sounds of hushed conversations that was occasionally punctuated by the low moans or high shrieks of persons caught in a moment of pure ecstasy. A staircase leading to the upper stories curved around a monumental statue sculpted into a resemblance of the Goddess Aphrodite, who seemed to survey the sordid scene before her with a smile of contentment. His mind was too busy processing all of this to notice as one of the servants came up behind him to take his hat, coat, and cane.


“Champagne, Monsieur.” a youth approached him holding a tray of fluted cups, and to his shock and dismay he found the boy was nude and covered in budding black roses roses that emerged from the vines contorted around his shapely lithe body and even tangled through his curly blond hair.

He found himself at a loss for words, only capable of producing a small croak that the serving boy took as a sign of confirmation. The youth disappeared from sight, but he could see others like him moving among the crowd and offering up food and drink, their supple bodies on display beneath the covering of cultivated plant life. The next to approach him on soft footsteps was a young woman dressed in a loosely flowing toga that exposed a breast and displayed an ample portion of skin stretching to her navel, giving her a close resemblance to the dominating sculpture of Aphrodite. Long curling tresses of red hair reached to the small of her back, pearly white teeth dazzled from full lips, and bright green eyes seemed to echo invitation. He was too enraptured to even catch what she said, he barely felt himself taking her hand as she led him further inside, rose petals crunching beneath her softly treading barefeet.

He followed her obediently and without question, his original mission to the House of The Black Rose forgotten. She pulled him gently into an aclove and pulled the heavy black curtain, granting them further privacy. Without words she demonstrated to him how to smoke from one of the thin pipes, and he took in the details of her lips wrapping around the stem and the way her back arched and her eyes became alight as she inhaled. She settled back with a soft keening moan, white smoke drifting from her lips and nostrils, and her fingers trailed along her breast. He took the offering of the pipe and repeated her motion, but he found the smoke too cloying and began to cough and splutter, drawing a small giggle from the courtesan which she attempted to mask with her hand, though he could still see her eyes twinkling with amusement.

The small space suddenly seemed to be filled with bright light and every movement felt heavy, as though he were moving through a viscous liquid. He was becoming only vaguely aware of her guiding his hand over the smooth pale expanse of her lightly perspiring body, just as the curtain was drawn back and an imperious woman interrupted the rapturous scene. The woman examined him under dark heavy lidded eyes, and pursed bee stung lips covered in a black gloss. She appeared to be much older than many of the courtesans he had seen, and dressed far more modestly in an opulent black silk mantua gown that had brocaded patterns of silver spiderwebs. Her hands were clad in a long black mesh that exposed slender white fingers, one of them adorned with a peculiar ring displaying a snake devouring its own tail. Around her slender throat was wound a choker that dripped with precious stones and housed one of the signature black roses. Her dark choice of wardrobe made her alabaster white skin appear to glow under the low lighting.

“Valentine, leave us.” the interloper demanded, closing the fan she carried with a snap. The young woman, Valentine, obeyed and scurried away and leaving him with only the final glimpse of a slender ankle clad in a bangle disappearing past the curtain.

“I don’t believe we have ever had the pleasure of the Minister of the Interior, Alexandre Chauvelin.” She spoke softly in a voice barely above a whisper, brushing aside a piece of dark curling hair that escaped the tight coif of hair piled atop her head.

“How did you--” He began, beginning to finally come back into his senses and feeling strangely exposed once he noticed the lingering tightness in his trousers.

“It is one of the conditions that I know each and every person who passes through as proprietor, you may call me Lady Clarick.” she gave a small curtsy that would have been more appropriate for a monarch’s court, though it had been centuries since France had a true monarch. As she curtsied he noticed his eyes drawn to her heaving breasts, and felt his cheeks warming. Silently he admonished himself, only a few minutes spent in this brothel and he was already behaving like a depraved animal.

“I haven’t come to partake in the depravity on offer, Lady Clarick.” the minister tried to regain some ounce of dignity, but he could sense the woman was laughing at him behind the fan.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy the brief time you spent with Valentine, she is quite popular among the other Councilors as well.” he felt himself blanche, and he tried to recover before the fiendish woman noticed his surprise and outrage.

“I’ve only come to retrieve my brother.” Chauvelin spoke hastily.

“Ah yes, the man who signs himself under Citizen Chauvelin.” she tittered. Alexandre inwardly cursed his brother for acting as such a fool, taking the name of their grandfather and sullying it here in this house of ill repute; it didn’t even serve as a proper disguise for his questionable activities, it wouldn’t take the great detective of baker street to trace it back to the source.

“You must take me to him immediately, it is a matter of national concern.” Lady Clarick’s dark eyes gleamed at the mention of this.

“How exciting, reminds me of my participation in the Great Game.” he was surprised to hear a brothel madame speak of the political espionage and subterfuge between competing European powers, few knew of its existence and even fewer could claim to be a participant.

“You were a spy?” he supposed it made some sense, as brothels were notorious for hoarding secrets, it was their greatest income next to the monetary gains they received from clients.

“A long time ago, and of course back then it wasn’t coined that and the lines on the map weren’t quite what they are today.” she seemed to drift in the bittersweet memories of her past life.

“Just how old are you, Lady Clarick.” Alexandre couldn’t see her being well past her forties, her body didn’t seem warped or wrinkled by age like most women of that age, that including his own wife.

“It isn’t polite to ask a woman her age as I’m sure you’re well aware, Minister Chauvelin.” she clucked, but said nothing further on the subject as she motioned with her fan for him to follow. “Citizen Chauvelin is upstairs in one of the chambers we reserve for our clients of unique taste.”

As they crossed the room, he caught the eye of Valentine sitting on the lap of a large gentlemen sporting a bristling mustache. She flashed him a devious little smile, and leaned over to whisper something into the man’s ear that had him laughing so hard that his multitude of chins began wobbling wildly. He tried to put the little harlot out of his thoughts and think instead of his wife, but the red haired harlot’s face and her shapely body kept returning. There was also thoughts running through his head of him throttling the fat gentlemen, his chins wobbling as he strangled the life out of his fleshy body.
“My little Valentine has quite an effect on both men and women, we had two gentlemen slay each other in a duel whilst competing for the girl’s affections.” Lady Clarick commented offhand, seeming to read the dark thoughts playing across his imagination. Alexandre realized he had also been clenching his fists hard enough to draw blood, and he had hardly noticed it while wrapped in his thoughts.

“My Lady,” a young woman stumbled into their path, her velvet gown had been torn and ripped, but she appeared otherwise fine. The young man she supported was in far worse shape, he was completely nude and Chauvelin could see a number of black and red bruises standing out lividly upon his ribs and much of his arms and legs. “Philippe needs a doctor.” the girl seemed close to tears, and the boy’s could only keep his head down and retch blood and bile over the carpets.

“What happened to him, Marie?” Lady Clarick demanded, gently tipping back his chin to examine his face closely and tutting as she made note of the swelling along his jawline and ruined cartilage of his nose. Despite his injuries, there was enough similarity between their faces and the blond hair to mark the two as twins.

“The German Ambassador, he became raucously drunk and took things too far with Philippe. He ripped off his clothing and began to beat him bloody with his cane, and when it snapped he began to use his fists. I tried to stop him--” the girl began to weep dejectedly, which drew a few eyes across the room.

“Where is he now?” she interrupted.

“I locked him in the room, I couldn’t understand much of what he said, but he sounded furious and ready to smash down the door.” Marie hiccuped.

“I will handle the Ambassador, take Philippe to the back and tell someone to fetch a doctor at once,” Lady Clarick gripped the girl’s shoulder and delivered a reassuring squeeze. “You performed admirably, I’ll personally ensure you and your brother receive retribution.” Marie’s tear streaked face broke into a weak smile, and she thanked her graciously before departing with her beaten brother in tow.

“Damn those Germans, the savages truly believe they can walk over us after the War of 1870.” Alexandre heard Lady Clarick hiss, and he could tell by the steely determination in her eyes that she would certainly see the Ambassador pay for his assault upon poor Philippe. The Minister made note never to cross this woman, as she didn’t seem the type who would bow before the powerful or privileged when it came to protecting her brood, she would only find retribution in blood.

“Does this happen frequently?” she looked back as if she had forgotten he was still there.

“No, most know and obey the House rules, it’s connards such as this who believe it’s an open invitation for them to sate their lust.” she lifted her voluminous skirts to ascend the winding staircase to the upper levels.

“I will never forgive the seizure of Alsace and Lorraine, I would see it seized back if I had the power and political backing to do so.” Minister Chauvelin confessed, recalling with loathing the foul treaty that had allowed the Germans possession of the two territories to add to their growing empire. It had all been an orchestration by Otto Von Bismarck, who until recently had been second to the Kaiser, but things had changed and now he heard rumors that it was some toymaker from a backwater province had managed to supplant Bismark; it was all preposterous drivel he supposed was being pumped out by the rags, just like the Ripper business that was growing steadily out of proportion.

“Our time may come, the people just need to be prepared and ever vigilant.” Lady Clarick said with an eerie sense of foreboding. He had become so wrapped in their conversation he noticed they had come to a stop before a door marked with the number 13, and he could only suppose his idiot half brother was behind it.

“Shall I do the honors, or you?” the Minister asked, already he could hear keening wails that were punctuated by the sound of a switch striking flesh. He was feeling reluctant, this was the last place he wanted to be holding a conversation with the fool, but his hand had practically been forced after he learned of the latest killing by this supposed Ripper. He hadn’t even received the chance to change out of his evening formal wear, excusing himself from an dinner with one of the former leading Physiologist’s of Britain, a Dr. Antoine Moreau, and some representative of the late Phileas Fogg, it was embarrassing to say he couldn’t quite recollect the french gentleman’s name, he believed it may have been Jean.

“I have other business that calls my attention, perhaps we may count on seeing you again, Minister.” she again gave him a curtsy, before turning on her heel without further course for formality. A strange woman indeed, and yet a dangerous one without a doubt, but she seemed to share common ground with him at least concerning those horrible Germans. He almost wished he could see the kind of punishment she had in store for their Ambassador, he could hardly tolerate any and all presence of them in France, though he wasn’t quite ready to go to war. Alexandre had fought and been wounded at the culminating Battle of Sedan, and recognized German forces were superior in their training and leadership, also much more effective use of modern technology.

“Matters for another time and place, more pressing concerns to attend to.” the Minister reminded himself as he unlatched the door and stumbled onto an alarming and concerning scene. The wails had been hearing outside were coming from his half brother, Pierre Caron, who was kneeling before a tall domineering woman wielding a switch which she delivered with sharp forceful strokes to his buttocks. Pierre prostate before her naked, his rear bobbing in the air and covered with numerous red welts.

“Squeal for me, porc.” the woman roared, Chauvelin noticed she was dressed like one of the infantry of La Grande Armee, except she bore her bare breasts beneath the open coat and she wore no breeches. She punctuated her words with a vicious strike to his backside, eliciting a pained howl that transformed into a gratifying moan from Pierre.

“Pierre Caron, or would you prefer I call you Citizen Chauvelin.” both turned their heads in alarm, finally taking notice of Alexandre leaning against the backwall, his bloodless lips twisted into a sneer.

“Alexandre, what are you doing--” Pierre rose unsteadily to his feet, his round face glowing bright red and his thin mustache quivering pitifully. He was anxious, Chauvelier could practically smell the fear emanating off his soft blubbery body. His younger half brother had always been a craven idiot, and he had only granted him his post as the Director General of the Surete because of their shared blood, thankfully few knew the two were linked because they had shared the same father. Neither of them even looked remotely similar, Alexandre was almost an exact replica of his grandfather, down to the same pale angular face, piercing grey eyes, and sharp nose. Pierre had always been short and tubby, and that hadn’t changed with age, only now he thinning hair and his paunch expanded past his groin.

“Tell your whore to leave us, then I’ll deem to speak with you.” the Minister ordered, refusing to even acknowledge her presence, he kept his eyes firmly locked with Pierre.

“Rose, give us a moment.” the woman acquiesced, eyeing Chauvelier as she marched past, silent aside from the click of her boot heels and the sound of her coattails slapping against her thighs.

“You have much to explain, I always knew you were as soft in the body as you were in the mind, but I never expected such gross negligence even from you.” Alexandre hissed, removing his domino mask and tossing it aside in disgust.

“I don’t understand, what has happened?” Pierre implored, his mask still plastered to his shining sweaty face. Chauvelier stepped forward to rip away the mask, as the mere sight of it only aggravated him further.

“Much has happened while you were here acting out these deplorable little fantasies with your whore.” He allowed Pierre to collect his articles of clothing strewn around the chamber, as he had honestly grown tired of looking upon his fat fleshy form.

“How did you find this place, have you been following me? I thought--” Chauvelin picked up the discarded switch and delivered a savage backstroke that ended his brother’s question in a mewling cry and left him with a crescent shaped cut along his cheek.

“You’re not listening to me, we have a growing problem, you told me you had the Ripper business in check,” the Minister’s eyes flashed, and he increased his grip on the leather switch. “Just tonight I received a report that there was another slaying, only this time it was a pair of prostitutes.”

“I already handed the entire case over to Dupin, he should be the one you're taking your anger out on, not me.” Pierre whined, clasping his bleeding cheek.

“Detective Chevalier Auguste Dupin? He is retired, living out in the countryside sipping the wine from his personal vineyard.” Chauvelin said dismissively, trying to detect if he was being fed lies.

“He came straight to me and demanded I release the whole thing over to him, he claimed he was already tracking the Ripper and would need access to our resources.” Chauvelin was disgusted, Pierre was supposed to be the Director General and yet he bowed to the wishes of a man who was no longer connected to the Surete.

“You allowed a mere civilian to walk in and bully you into handing over control of an entire investigation?” the Minister growled, his displeasure only growing the more words that left Pierre’s mouth.

“What else was I expected to do, the man still carries considerable weight, the gendarme practically worship him and loathe me. Most of them were probably hoping he had come back to replace me.” Alexandre couldn’t deny this, Dupin was well regarded by the populace and there were whispers about Pierre being unfit for his post and only receiving it through well placed connections. Alexandre could hardly fault the hate leveled against Pierre if this was how he spent most of his time, neglecting duty to spend it in the company of painted trollops.

“Clean yourself up, then you will take me straight to Dupin.” Pierre knew better than to argue with the Minister of the Interior, they may have been blood, but Alexandre would easily remove him the moment he proved too much of a liability. After today, Pierre worried he had already pushed Alexandre and didn’t wish to give him further reason for recourse.

[Lovetheangelshadow]

"small croak that the serving boy for acceptance"
This sounds odd for some reason.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 13:
The Beast of Gevaudan


Laughter floated from the sitting room, as Dupin came to the conclusion of retelling one of his more scandalous cases involving a purloined letter. The French detective and the doctor were both well into their sixth cup of wine, and were feeling the effects of the alcohol; Victor, normally reserved and anxious, couldn’t stop himself from grinning and chuckling along as Dupin delivered his tale in a rather animated and exaggerated fashion. The wine bottles came from Dupin’s own personal stache, he had only intended for a bit of mild drinking to help them along in their assessment of the evidence on hand, but the drinks kept flowing until the two of them were rip roaring drunk.

Igor was thankfully still on hand, as he staunchly refused to partake in their alcohol consumption. The hunchback actually seemed a bit weary when he retrieved the wine bottles that Dupin had squirrelled away. Victor had always noticed Igor’s apprehension when they had dealt with drunks at the clinic. The doctor admitted he did drink on occasion, but due to Igor’s visible discomfort he would do so behind the closed door of his office; particularly this happened on the anniversary of his marriage to Elizabeth, which Victor found himself only capable of handling after he had drank himself into a stupor.

“Sitting like this, swapping stories and drinks reminds me of my days at the University.” Victor admitted in the ensuing lull of the conversation.
“I thought it was all work and no play for you?” Dupin questioned, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Oh no, there were many times when me, Henry, and a few of the other lads would travel down to the village for a pint. We often got caught up in some wild happenstance, on one occasion the village even organized a mob against us.” Victor recounted the memories of better times, ignoring how this occurred only weeks before he received letter of his mother’s passing, the moment that truly set his life on its destructive course and led to the birth of the demon.

“A bunch of medical students managed to rile up that much trouble?” Dupin said with an echo of disbelief.

“We needed the chance to unwind after all the hours we spent with our noses in mildewy tomes and locked away in the lab,” Victor took another swallow of red wine mid sentence. “You would especially need a strong drink if you had been forced to deal with Dr. Krempe, he had an absolutely repulsive countenance and almost put me off natural philosophy entirely.” he could still perfectly recall the squat little man with his gruff voice perfectly in his mind.

“My granddaughter, Louise, she was determined to become a female doctor even though it’s entirely unheard of.” the inspector gently ran his finger around the rim of his glass, his eyes had a glazed over quality as he spoke of his late granddaughter with loving admiration.

“Is that what opened the rift between the both of you, I know you had mentioned the two of you were somewhat estranged.” Victor knew that Dupin had a difficult time discussing his granddaughter, but the alcohol had seemed to loosen the detective’s inhibition on the subject. The doctor also couldn’t deny he was somewhat curious about the past of Louise Beaumont, the dead woman had captured his attention from the moment he laid eyes on her. Despite her being a mauled corpse, Victor still brought to mind the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty, as he imagined himself kissing her cold lifeless lips and freeing her from the enchanted slumber.

“It played some part in it, Louise was always rather stubborn and she was a difficult child for my wife to raise after her mother’s sudden passing. I was the Chief Inspector of the Surete, my duties prevented me from aiding my poor harassed wife as I should have. There was many a time when I did return home and find the two caught in a vicious squabble, with neither side refusing to give an inch.” the doctor could certainly see where the girl had gotten her stubborn streak from, as this investigation had already proven that Dupin wouldn’t rest until he had a culprit locked tightly in the Bastille, whether they be man or beast.

“And then what happened?” Victor said, gently urging the inspector on.

“Louise ran away from home, I still remember distinctly how my wife marched into our headquarters in fitful tears telling me she had run off. It wasn’t the first time something like this had occurred, frequently Louise would escape the house and hide away for a few hours, enough to upset her grandmother and send the woman into a fit of panic. She always returned unharmed, so I wasn’t in a terrible rush when she brought me the news. When hours passed into days, I knew something was wrong and I dropped everything to find Louise, unfortunately she had gotten quite a head start and knew ways to cover her tracks.” the detective seemed to sag, looking old and worn, nothing like the lively figure he had cut earlier in the day during their foray to meet Moreau.

“You found her though.” Victor interjected, and Auguste only responded with a terse nod.

“Indeed, but it wasn’t until a year and several months later in a small village in the region of Haute-Loire, by which point Louise was quite changed. I’m not certain what happened to her, she refused to mention it and any attempts to press her for information failed. She was pregnant, so I could only imagine she had been jilted by a lover or been raped somewhere along her travels. In either scenario, I had a mind to track the one responsible and submit him to the guillotine, but unfortunately Louise refused to name the father of the unborn child. Strangely, my granddaughter had every intention of bearing the babe and raising it, and made it clear she wouldn’t require anything else from me.” the doctor had been tasked with performing on occasion an abortion at the clinic, some of them were the poor and destitute women living on the streets of Paris begot with child after they were ravaged and others were among the fertile young class of prostitutes so prevalent in the lower quarters of the City of Lights. Victor could however recall an instance where there had been a young woman dragged in by her mother, the former had wanted to carry the child to term, but her mother remained staunch in her resolve; she had coldly told her weeping and pleading child that the babe wouldn’t return the same john that had filled her belly, it would only remain a reminder of her foolish naivety.

“That seems particularly ungrateful, she would be so openly dismissive towards you when you were responsible for her upbringing and even tracked her over an extended period.” Dupin shook his head firmly and sipped from the wine bottle itself, forgoing the glass.

“She was always fiercely independent, she hated to be coddled. I can only imagine she expected that if she were to return with me, she would find herself suffocating under the fierce attentions of her grandmother. No, I remained respectful of her wishes, but continued keeping close watch nevertheless. She lived modestly, and supported herself through a knowledge of herbs of a medicinal quality. This was the closest she got to her original ambition of becoming a female doctor, the village was grateful to have her; often giving her things like food and supplies when they otherwise couldn’t afford to give her much in terms of money. Louise mostly kept to herself, though I did notice she drew the attention of a lovesick suitor wishing for her hand in marriage, but she refused them and those who required further persuading I dealt with.” Victor could just imagine Dupin frightening off some poor dumb shepherd boy with a cocked revolver and a verbal threat whispered in his ear.

“And then our beast found her, and you also caught that glimpse that has haunted you ever since.” He still was trying to piece together what Moreau had presented, while the wounds on all the women could be perfectly matched to a mauling by a bear, there was the issue of how such a creature could possibly be controlled and in addition to that how it could move so covertly as to not draw attention. There was also the matter of one of the constants across all the murders, the removal of the victim’s uterus. There was never a report of any bear that feasted exclusively on the female reproductive organ, which created the odd suggestion that perhaps whoever controlled the beast was somehow harvesting the organs.

“I remember Louise entering the nearby forest, she made the trip frequently to collect the herbs she needed. She was only a few months from giving birth, so naturally I felt a protective inclination and chose to keep back a distance to watch her. Louise was out there for a few hours, and admittedly I began to doze and that was when the beast struck. I only remember hearing her screaming and pleading, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I bounded through the trees in the direction of her cries.” Victor was uncomfortably reminded of his recurring nightmares about Elizabeth in the forest, it struck an eerie sense of similarity to his own personal tragedy. He still remembered how it first began innocently enough with him and his new bride Elizabeth fancying a jaunt into the surrounding forest on his family’s sprawling country estate. The two hadn’t traveled far, and they stopped to sup in a clearing, and it was also there that they also made passionate love surrounded in the splendor of nature’s bounty.

Unfortunately, neither had known that something unnatural was lurking in the forest grove, watching the two of them with jealousy and hatred, yearning no doubt to experience the same intimacy that Victor and Elizabeth shared. Victor remembered looking up at the blanket of stars above their heads, Elizabeth curled next to him and the soothing sounds of the forest lulling him to sleep. When he awakened next, Victor found Elizabeth was gone, but she had left behind articles of clothing as an indicator that she had made for the natural pool that formed at the center of the forest. He had made his way there softly, intending to come across the prone Elizabeth while she bathed under the moonlight like a mythological Naiad. The mad dash began only when he heard her terrifying shrieks echoing in the distance, he ran without care for the stones and roots that shredded his barefeet nor for the briars that tore through his fine clothes. The screams stopped before he reached the pool, and he could still recall how his heart seemed to miss a beat and thoughts crowded in his brain of the horrible fate that had befallen his bride. None of it prepared him for the sight of his hated creation standing waist deep, his horrible yellow claws molesting the vulnerable pale unmoving body of Elizabeth, her head lolling on her neck as her empty eyes gazing back. All the while, the demon only regarded him with eyes that were of the same venomous yellow hue as his mortifying flesh, and the shriveled black lips lifted into a triumphant sneer.

“Did the beast match with Moreau’s conclusion?” the doctor banished the face of the fiend with another drink of wine, mimicking Dupin as he drank directly from the bottle.

“It was too dark, shadows lay across the path and obscured much of the beast. I only caught sight of its great furry form hunkered over the body of Louise, her dress torn from her shoulders and a great gash in her stomach. There was so much blood, and I could see the beast had ripped open her throat, making it obvious she was beyond saving. None of that prevented me from opening fire with my revolver, some of my shots did find a mark. The thing roared in agony, but it didn’t come after me as I expected, the monster turned tale and lopped off through the trees.” there was a period of silence, as Victor wasn’t able to find the words to comfort Dupin, as the old man’s shoulders shook and his body was wracked by deep sobs.

“I failed her Victor, I couldn’t save her. This body of mine, it was too old and infirm to do much of anything in that moment when it most counted.” Dupin flung the empty bottle into the flames of the fireplace in the peak of his despair.
“You couldn’t have done anything to prevent that.” Victor rose from his seat to give the detective some comfort, but Dupin lifted his eyes and those tears were replaced by a savage rage.

“I should have listened, you see there were tales passed around that entire region. I was naturally dismissive, as much of it sounded like the simple minded blathering of the small country folk, but looking back I was arrogant.” the inspector smashed his hand on the small coffee table, upsetting the glass. “The people in the village mentioned how once the region was terrorized by a creature in centuries past they called the Beast of Gevaudan. The beast stalked the region and was rumoured to be responsible for numerous attacks on the locals, it grew into such a problem that the legend goes Louis XV placed a bounty on it. Eventually it was slain supposedly by Jean Chastel, using silver bullets.”

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with our Ripper, you’re talking about some local legend of a creature centuries past.” Victor thought that made the alcohol had dulled Dupin’s particularly sharp senses.

“Allow me to finish, the village that Louise lived in for a time had persisting stories among the locals of a new beast taking up residence in the region. I spent time among the men, and heard them drinking over shared stories of sighting a large ferocious creature stalking through the untamed forests and mountains. One man even claimed he stumbled across the lair of something, he found the carcasses of everything there that ranged from foxes to wolves, and supposedly what might have been some human remains.” Dupin’s eyed glowed ferociously by the light of the flames.

“No one could gave a detailed description of this beast though?” Victor felt like this case was growing stranger, now Dupin seemed to believe they were actually tracking some reemergence of an old folktale around the region that was somehow being controlled by someone with twisted purpose.

“The accounts are all conflicting, some did say they thought it was some kind of bear, though a strange looking one at that. Others even said it was closer to the original beast of legend, some strange hybrid that crossed between a dog and a wolf. I recall one fellow even said it had a set of curving horns and moved on cloven hooves like an ox.” the doctor shook his head, he had heard enough of this nonsense and he felt the need to set the detective straight before he had them chasing after myths.

“None of this sounds remotely pertinent, and furthermore it wouldn’t have had any bearing on you stopping Louise from facing her death in that forest grove.” Victor advised, his headache from the alcohol worsening with all this talk of hearsay and rumor.

“Perhaps your right, maybe I am just so desperate that I am now hoping to find connections to our Ripper in every shadow.” Dupin admitted with some reluctance.

“I hope that isn’t an indicator that France great detective is surrendering.” came the unexpected response of the Minister of the Interior, Alexandre Chauvelin. Only a few steps behind him was also the elect Director General, Pierre Caron, looking like a beaten dog being dragged behind by its master on a leash.

“Minister Chauvelin.” Dupin was startled by the man’s appearance in the safehouse, and Victor was a bit stunned as well. The detective had claimed the place was secure and very few remained aware of it remaining in use.

“Detective Dupin, we have much to discuss, and time is fleeting.”

[The Commodore]

Chapter 14:
The Minister’s Decree

The Minister of the Interior had seated himself, his pale pinched face drawn into frown of disapproval as he regarded the empty wine bottles. Victor had heard of Armand Chauvelin, chief agent of the Committee of Public Safety and avowed enemy to the Scarlet Pimpernel, and Alexandre was seemed a near replica of his infamous grandfather. It was a wonder how he had managed to gain such a powerful post, but Victor had never claimed to follow French politics, though he knew it always seemed in a constant state of fluctuation; a man hated one day, might be praised and raised as a national hero the next.

The other man who had joined the Minister was introduced as the Director General. He hardly seemed the man you would place in charge of any kind of authority. Small watery eyes darted nervously from the Minister to Dupin, and a heavy paunch strained at the buttons holding together his black uniform. A crescent shaped cut marred his jowly left cheek, and it was fresh enough to require him to blot it with an embroidered kerchief, all while he stood at attention next to Minister Chauvelin with his cap in hand.

“When I was told you had seized the investigation, I didn’t expect to find you here with this peculiar set of company.” The Minister fixed his attention on Dupin.

“Dr. Victor Shelley is assisting me.” the detective’s voice remained steady and didn’t flinch beneath Chauvelin’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Assisting you how, to drink yourself into the grave?” the Minister gave a humorless little chuckle as he gestured to the assembly of empty bottles.

“He knows a good deal about the human anatomy, and has provided a medical assessment on those bodies recovered.” Victor felt as though he were watching a dueling match commence between the Minister and the inspector, only their words served as their weapons. He didn’t particular enjoy being entered into their conversation, but Chauvelin ignored him entirely; he might as well have been a chair or a painting the way he overlooked him, not that he minded being sidelined.

“Rather interesting that you have taken that authority upon yourself, as last I recall you turned in your badge and became another civilian.” the Minister was testing the detective, like the cat toying with a mouse after it was cornered.

“I felt the need to step in, I was most qualified and had the experience needed to carry this investigation to its natural conclusion.”
“Then why is the Ripper still an active threat, just tonight another two women were slain.”

“I wasn’t aware of this.” Dupin couldn’t disguise his shock and dismay.

“I came here tonight to set some things straight. I don’t intend to block your continuing investigation as you might have assumed.” the Minister’s eyes glittered.

“The thought may have crossed my mind.” the detective confessed with a small smile.

“We may have been at odds, detective. However on the matter of the Ripper, we must be unified if we are to secure safety for the public again. I can’t deny you are skilled and your methods perfectly sound.” Chauvelin continued.

“I’m appreciative of the complement and your good faith in me, Minister.” Dupin said, bowing his wizened head.

“The unauthorized seizure of the investigation however, that is something I cannot abide as Minister of the Interior. Henceforth I must reestablish the Director General’s command, and you will comply with him if you intend to remain a part of these proceedings.” the Minister delivered his ultimatum flatly, there was no sense of triumphant over the detective, this was only formality. Though Victor sensed some history wrought between these two men that bordered on rivalry, it was tempered by a sense of mutual respect for each other as well.

“With all due respect, I felt it a necessity due to the investigation’s neglect and poor handling by the Director General--” Dupin began to argue, his cool facade showing some cracks. Victor could sympathize, as just one look at the Director General spoke volumes, and when he opened his mouth next it only confirmed the worst suspicions about the man being an utter bumbler.

“You overstep yourself, I was elected by the Minister--” the Director General piped up, his voice a mere squeak next to the resounding drone of the Minister and the strident proclamations of Dupin. The short and stout gendarme was making the attempt to worm his way back into a position of authority and redeem himself before the Minister, particularly after the way Dupin especially had brushed him aside like another greenhorn.

“That is precisely my point, others may be duped, but I know all about your close relation to the Minister; I’m a detective need I remind you.” Dupin interrupted him before he could go any further.

“Assez, that is quite enough.” Chauvelin snapped, and both parties fell silent. The Director General lamely fell silent continued to glower at Dupin like some over-sized tubby toddler in costume; his face went a deep cherry red, though the puckered scar shone a bright white. “The Director General will still report directly to me throughout the remainder of the investigation, and I will draft up whatever resources deemed necessary, national debt be damned.”

“If the Council heard such a statement leave your lips, they would you see you guillotined without a proper trial and I would hardly expect the Parisian populace to step-in.” Dupin responded rather boldly to the Minister’s proclamation.

“The Council understands the gravity of this matter and will stand behind my decisions. The Sausages already view us as weak after the war, delivering this Ripper trussed up and awaiting sentence will prove we aren’t to be trifled with.” Victor should have known that the Minister’s entire stake in this went beyond preserving innocent lives, it was a matter of politics like all things.

“It may not so simple, thus far the investigation indicates our Ripper may not even be human.” now it was the Minister who appeared caught off guard.

“Preposterous.” harrumphed the Director General.

“The evidence says otherwise.” the inspector countered without missing a beat.

“Deliver the Ripper, human or otherwise, that is my only concern,” the Minister said with a sigh, massaging his temples as he spoke. “Can we expect you to comply with the Director General?”

“I wouldn’t disobey a direct order from the Minister of the Interior.” Dupin wasn’t pleased with the decision, but he wasn’t going to risk being removed from the investigation entirely either.

“Good, I have wasted enough of my night and have other pressing errands that need my attention. I would suggest you continue your investigation with the recent slayings, but I leave that to the discretion of you and the Director General,” the Minister rose to his feet and strode across the room, but paused at the threshold. “Don’t disappoint me.”

The Director General adopted a smarmy smile as he circled around the chair. “I’m now in control.”

“Indeed, shall we make our way to the crime scene, Victor.” Dupin turned on his heel, and the smile quickly fell from the Director General’s face and was replaced by a deep scowl.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man’s moment of triumph had fled, and now he was left alone by the hearth.

“As I said, I am going to the crime scene. You’re free to remain here with Victor’s assistant, Igor, if you like.” on cue, the deformed hunchback emerged and startled the Director General, who recoiled in horror and placed the chair like a barrier between him and Igor. Victor held back a laugh, and accompanied Dupin from the safehouse.

[The Commodore]

Chapter 15:
Demon, Witch, and Hunter

The German Ambassador was doused with a bucket of freezing water, prompting the man to gasp and sputter. His eyes were still adjusting to the dim lighting of the dank cellar, and found his movement was restricted. “Wo bin ich hier?” the Ambassador hissed, he felt disoriented and there was a painful throbbing behind his eyes.

“There will be none of that barbaric chatter tolerated here, Monsieur Von Eberhard.” a young woman, still practically a girl by his approximation, crept closer. Valentine had swapped her toga for rich crimson robes that covered her from head to ankle, a dented metal bucket swung at her side. She was confident the Ambassador couldn’t escape the robes that bound his hands and feet to the wooden chair, she had seen to them herself and learned the trick to tying a sailor’s knot from one of her beau's, a magician traveling the European circuit calling himself “the handcuff king”.

“I recognize you, you’re one of the girls from the House of the Black Rose.” He had switched to french, though his pronunciations were rough. He loathed speaking the language, it felt like he was talking through a mouthful of mud every time he was forced to adopt it for conversation. The Ambassador hated everything about the French and their customs, but could at least enjoy the feeling of towering over the craven frenchies. This one however didn’t seem scared or intimidated, the others were too afraid to speak up or fight back after the Siege of Paris, but this trollop was either brave or foolish enough to restrain him.

“You may call Valentine, I expected we may get to know each other quite well before this night is through, Eric.” she spoke in such a playful manner, but her eyes remained purely predatory. He might have been wrong to assess this girl as another dull dolly in Clarick’s employ, this one was a danger unto herself and surprising in one so young. He didn’t want to admit it almost gave him a thrill to meet another like himself, another wolf among the herd of sheep.

“You will release me at once, or things may end badly for you.”

“I have my orders, you of all people must sympathize with that Lieutenant.” Valentine small lips quirked into a smile, and her eyes shined mischievously within the shadow of her hood. He was surprised and concerned that she knew about his past, as it was true he had served as Lieutenant during the War of 1870 and been an active participant during the Siege of Paris. The Ambassador preferred to keep his past shrouded, as his actions during the war had originally brought him up on charges before a military tribunal. Eric might still have been serving out a lengthy prison sentence, if not for the intervention of a certain crime lord with significant pull.

“Whose orders?” the Ambassador spat, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the way his soaked suit seemed to cling to his flesh in the frigid underground air.

“Surely you remember the Lady Clarick, she certainly hasn’t forgotten you, Ambassador.” Valentine’s mocking tone stirred the memory of the brothel madame with her outdated mannerisms. It had been the Siege of Paris, he and some troops had seized the House of the Black Rose as their temporary quarters while waiting for the French to pay the war indemnity. Lady Clarick still looked the same as she did then, and she had been just as furious admitting the Prussians into her parlor, but was unable to act against them. In the few days they spent there, the soldiers ate through her larder, and enjoyed all the pleasures on offer without charge. Eric had even enjoyed the company of some of Lady Clarick’s finest specimens, and enjoyed beating them into bloody submission without recourse. There had been some strangeness though, a few of the boys had disappeared that night with a red head who he now recalled paying an impossibly close resemblance to Valentine; those soldiers were never seen from nor heard from again, and further investigation had been prevented, as the Prussian army was recalled that next day.

Returning to his latest confrontation with Lady Clarick, he had a vague recollection of being driven back by a door opening with the force of a storm gale, and Lady Clarick herself appearing in outline with her expression dark and then he remembered waking up here in this dank cellar. Von Eberhard was unsure how she could have subdued him, he was a man of military training and she was just another woman, a strange one though she may be. He should have known to keep away, especially after the events of the Siege, but he had drawn a sick pleasure returning to the place of his crimes; believing himself practically immune from vengeful reparation due to his new status as the Ambassador to the newly unified German Empire.

“Tell that primping bitch that if she frees me now, I may refrain from razing her brothel to the ground.” the Ambassador threatened in a low voice, glaring at Valentine through slender eyes. Valentine couldn’t shake Eric Von Eberhard’s resemblance to a snake, with his narrow face and unblinking eyes. He was still a newcomer to the House, yet he already carried a dark reputation that preceded him. A man of sadistic appetite, finding pleasure in the measure of pain he inflicted on others; those selected to entertain the Ambassador came back beaten and battered. Valentine hadn’t been among his selection fortunately, he seemed resistant to her feminine wiles and preferred those of a weaker temperament that he could break. The twins, Marie and Philippe, were recent additions and had been unfortunate enough to gain notice, and it had ended badly for poor pretty boy Philippe. Valentine wondered if the boy would ever be able to entertain again after the damage he endured, scars of the body could heal with time, but what of the mental scarring from his encounter?

“I warn you, the Lady Clarick doesn’t take kindly to threats.” Valentine chided, like a schoolmarm reprimanding a reprehensible student. Her voice held a sing song quality that the Ambassador found equal part grating and mocking, and he wished he could take the time to beat that attitude out of her with a flail; Who knew, perhaps after all this, he might still be able to arrange some time with the girl, he already felt himself warming at the prospect of putting some stripes on her smooth silky flesh.

“And I am not a man who bows to some painted trollop and the troop of whores and rent boys hiding beneath her petticoats.” Von Eberhard sneered, as he continued to converse he slipped out the knife he had managed to keep hidden in his coat sleeve. The Ambassador still retained the knowledge his criminal mentor had taught him in prison and outside it, he may have been caught unaware once, but he would have the final laugh this night. He would deal with the harlots on his own terms, make them scream and weep for mercy like those he had taken during the Siege.

“Quite the savage, you remind me of a wolf that used to prowl on the edge of the village,” Valentine edged closer to him and ran a tantalizing finger across his cheek, tracing an old knife wound left by one of his prospects; when he subdued that bitch, her screams had been like the sweet sound of Herr Wagner to his ears. “A dangerous and mad creature that took a few of the children before it was finally subdued by a force of some locals.” the girl straddled him in the chair, and he felt himself grow a bit intoxicated at the smell of her. The scent she gave off reminded him of his home, a small town beside the Rhine, particularly the smell after a cleansing rain had passed through. He shook off the feeling, reminding himself that the girl was his acting jailer acting on the intention of her mysterious mistress in black.

“I would hardly call myself a wolf.” Von Eberhard leaned in to brush his lips against her slender neck, worrying at the last knot binding his wrist as he did so. The silly girl appeared smitten with him, which was unusual, but the girl seemed a bit strange herself. When she had spoken of her wolf, he had noticed the way her eyes shined and the perspiration on her upper lip, as though the mere thought of the beast served as a sensual awakening.

“So what would you see yourself as, Ambassador.” Valentine asked softly, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as he nibbled at her throat.

“Before my present career, I ran with a group and they likened me to a snake, calling me the Adder.” he felt the rope come free, and he didn’t hesitate to stab her afterwards. The girl was a bit slow to react, her eyes caught the flash of the knife as it began its descent. She grabbed at his wrists and began a struggle, and he found her considerably stronger than he had imagined. The knife found its mark, though the struggle ensured he planted it to the hilt in her chest, instead of a shoulder as he had been intending. Blood oozed from her nose and mouth, and her lithe little body began to quake and shudder as death took her in his pale embrace. Von Eberhard slid the knife free, and tossed her body to the dirt without ceremony; he had hoped to keep the little vixen alive, he wanted to break her wings and hear her sweet crooning. “Such a waste, but perhaps before your fresh cools I might still leave a mark.” he hungrily considered the body, licking his lips and flicking the knife.

Von Eberhard worked quickly and without his usual finesse, he was working on a schedule and owed a visit to the Lady Clarick before this night was through. He cut away the robes, exposing an expanse of pale milky flesh down her back, and trailing a finger down the ridges of her spine. He noticed she bore a tattoo on her shoulder, a snake devouring its tail, the ouroboros; an unusual tattoo he wouldn’t expect to find upon a prostitute, the ouroboros was more traditionally associated with alchemists and one in particular who hailed from France, Nicolas Flamel. There were rumors of some secret societies operating in Paris, attempting to imitate the famous alchemist after the legends of his success achieving immortality. He ripped his gaze from the alchemist’s mark and focused himself on cutting a series of weeping red cuts,forming them into an approximation of the roman numeral representing the number thirteen. With each new prospect he left his signature scored into their flesh, though most were alive when he made his mark; most artists required musical inspiration, and their screams provided just that. The Ambassador’s brow furrowed as he considered his work, not his best, the cuts were not clean enough for his liking. Von Eberhard promised himself he could correct it once he took the Lady Clarick, perhaps consider the Valentine child just a warm up exercise.

The Ambassador abandoned the marred corpse and moved through the only exit out of the cellar space. As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, he recognized he was in some kind of sewer structure, much further from the House as he had thought. Perhaps the Lady Clarick didn’t want her intentions to reach back, which made sense when the House was frequented by lawmakers and magistrates; though the French harbored a grudge towards Germany after their terrible defeat, it would be difficult to ignore the kidnapping and likely torture of the foreign emissary in their plain sight.

The rank smell of the sewer assaulted his nostrils, and so much human refuse and garbage flowed through the channel. He was careful to maintain his footing and avoid plunging into the rushing stream of filth, but it was difficult to find his footing when there was such little lighting, and the cobblestones were slippery. Somewhere above he could still hear the rattle of passing carriages and somewhere someone played a violin accompanied by low mournful singing; he took it as a sign he wasn’t too far from the surface. As he passed a wall with a strange phosphorescent red paint that read “Les Vampires” he heard panicked squeaks, and was nearly swept off his feet by the furry tide of rats that emerged from the bend of the tunnel. The scavenging vermin were as large as a small cat, and he imagined they could have swarmed him, but he was ignored. He was wondering what could have sent the rats into a panic, and believed he had discovered his answer when he nearly stumbled across the crouching figure.

It was difficult to place their exact size, but he appeared to have a heavy build beneath the tattered cloak that spilled from sloping shoulders. He couldn’t see the features, as he had his back to him, but he could make out a wide brimmed top hat perched atop their head. A low snuffling and chewing came from the mystery figure, the same sounds Von Eberhard would have expected to hear within one of France’s premier dining halls, but not down here in the fetid sewers surrounded by the disease and excrement. A strange smell also wafted from the behemoth, like a mixture between a sodden animal and something too difficult for him to place a name to. The general feeling of wrongness exuding from the gargantuan sewer dweller, and he began to back away slowly, but not slow enough to avoid slipping. His fall caused the figure to twitch, and Von Eberhard felt himself caught in a paralyzing fear as it twisted its head back and he caught the unnatural glow of its green iridescent eyes. “I didn’t mean to disturb your--” his words trailed off, as he recognized the carcass had been human, though all that remained was part of an upper torso. Not much of the torso remained intact, one of the arms ended in a ragged stump, and all that remained of the face was a ghastly red skull.

A hand poked from the swollen misshapen jaws of the feasting behemoth, and any semblance of this thing being human was ruined by the snout like proboscis and the curved black horns that framed its deformed head. Beneath the cloak, he could make out that the creature was covered in a large swathe of black fur that had the odd bald patches marked by a puckered white scar; someone had performed surgery, but how or why was difficult to fathom. Perhaps the most peculiar thing were its feet, as he realized the creature twisted legs ended in a pair of hooves. Von Eberhard wasn’t sure what to make of the abomination, he had never encountered anything like it, it stood like the demon Baphomet made flesh; a creature that only hell could possibly conceive.

“Mein gott.” Von Eberhard found himself suddenly feeling repentant at the sight of the fiendish thing. He recalled all the crimes laid against him, the assaults and murders he had committed without any of the trappings of guilt hanging heavy on his consciousness. One of the foulest crimes brought up during the tribunal hearings had been the murder of the infant, as he admitted to tossing the squalling babe out a window as the keening wails were a source of disruption to his work. He had hardly contemplated his actions afterward, as he hardly accounted for human lives, they were such fleeting things in this changing world. Facing his own death was another matter entirely, he still felt his work here on earth was not quite done; he had been promised a great place among the machinations of his savior to whom he owed his life and freedom after all.

The chimeric beast raised a hand ending in wicked six inch claws and ripped through the German Ambassador like tissue paper, splashing the walls with his blood and surrounding the dying Von Eberhard in his spilled own entrails. The abomination heard a tinkling bell in the far distance, and like clockwork it capered off towards the source of the sound, knowing its master awaited. As the massive cantering shape disappeared into the gloom, Valentine trudged down the tunnel clutching the torn remnant of her crimson robes. The stab wound to her chest was already just a small scar, she remained more concerned about the state of her robes.

“When I find that Sausage.” she growled under her breath, treading through the mud and filth as she searched for the Ambassador. He couldn’t have gotten far, but it was important she find and restrain him before Lady Clarick got wind of his escape. Valentine had been entrusted to watch him while the Lady made the necessary preparations, whatever that meant. Valentine wasn’t in any place to question Lady Clarick, she was still only an apprentice, though she had been training under Lady Clarick for at least a century’s time; that was nothing compared to several century’s worth of training that Lady Clarick could boast.

The man was hardly dangerous, not to her or Lady Clarick anyways, but Valentine still reproached herself for being careless. She should have known to check him for a knife, considering his criminal background and his hallmark for carving up the flesh of any victim’s that befell him. The slashes on her back were already fading, but the blood would need to be washed clean, though she imagined there would be plenty at the House she could simply compel to lick it clean. Lady Clarick was not too fond of her mastery of mesmerism, especially after that incident with the Vicomte and the duel, but she found it to be one of her core strengths. There was also the pure enjoyment of making men into her playthings, such as that Minister of the Interior, with just a touch she had turned the man into her lap dog, willing to murder anyone if it brought her attention onto him. She was clearly not quite as powerful or adept as initially believed though, as the Ambassador had broken free of her spell, at least enough to stab her to death. She had only wanted to have a bit of fun with the man, and she did have to admit an odd attraction to any man or woman who might allow themselves to be consumed by savagery and violence.

Valentine nearly trod upon the remains of Eric Von Eberhard as she rounded the bend. Her reaction was less of shock and terror, and one more composed of disappointment with the thought that Lady Clarick wouldn’t be pleased. She needed the Ambassador alive for whatever foulness the Lady had planned, but it appeared something powerful and vicious had reached the sadistic Sausage first and made mincemeat out of him. There was another body close by, but it was only a badly mangled upper torso that looked like something had been chewing away it, and she had doubts it was the local rat population.

“Merde.” Valentine hissed.

[Lovetheangelshadow]

she is’t the kind you forget easily

[The Commodore]

Chapter 16:
Visions of the Apocalypse

Although the Lady didn’t lay a hand on her, she felt the force strike her cheek as she prostrated herself before the centuries old sorceress. “You foolish child, how could you fail at such a trivial task?” Lady Clarick glared daggers from beneath the fan, while her free hand clacked its nails on the surface of a desk occupying the center of the room. She and Valentine were alone in the woman’s boudoir, which had all the trappings of one of the bourgeoisie; the walls were patterned after a picturesque garden scene, sconces sculpted into the shape of roses filled the space with enough light for Valentine to pick out the collection of painted fans adorning the walls, along with a phonograph that sat in a corner softly playing a recording of Au clair de la lune. Very few were admitted inside Lady Clarick’s personal chambers, Valentine however presented a special case due to her apprenticeship to the High Priestess of the Paris Coven.

Valentine was still dressed in the scraps of robe she was left after her tussle in the cellar with the German Ambassador. She hadn’t been given any time to wash the stench of the sewer off her body or change into fresh clothes, upon re entry into the House via one of the old passageways she was given immediate summons to meet with Lady Clarick. She wasn’t certain how the woman was already aware about the escape of Von Eberhard, but Lady Clarick was always full of surprises and secrets, even after Valentine had spent almost a century serving under her tutelage in the arcane arts.

“I became careless, M’Lady.” Valentine was loathe to admit it, as she hated admitting to weakness, especially to the High Priestess. Her cheek burned where it had been struck, but it didn’t burn as fierce as the secret enmity she held towards Lady Clarick. It was strange in all consideration, as Valentine and she were almost like a mother and daughter, as Valentine was still barely a child when the Lady (back then calling herself Anne de Breuil) had stolen her away from the harsh existence that awaited her in the Balkans. Valentine had been well provided for, and the Lady had helped to temper the latent magical ability coursing in her veins, as she traced the girl’s ancestry back to the legendary slavic witch, Baba Yaga. When she had reached her sixteenth birthday, Valentine had found herself admitted into the Coven and granted the same immortality passed down generation to generation beginning with the first High Priestess of the order, Perenelle Flamel. Despite all the things she owed to the High Priestess, she felt compelled to resent the woman all the same because of it. Lady Clarick had guided the Paris Coven for several centuries since Perenelle’s death, her reign would likely persist for several more, and this was a source of frustration to Valentine. She wanted to take up the mantle and lead the Coven into the next century, but that was an impossibility while Lady Clarick still breathed.

“Centuries have taught me that carelessness leads to one’s own downfall, I thought that by now you would have grasped that chief among everything else I have taught you.” she loomed over Valentine like the huge marble statue of Aphrodite down in the atrium. Valentine directed her glare at the carpet, but kept her expression neutral.

“The Ambassador was only a mortal man--” Valentine began in earnest, keeping her voice controlled and level and falling into obedient silence after the High Priestess cut her off mid sentence.

“Mortal men are the ones who’ve controlled society since before either you or me were whelped, and Eric Von Eberhard belonged to that same patriarchal caste. His kind would see us destroyed, they fear us because of our power.”

“Great power indeed, yet here we sit inside a brothel, allowing these idiot men to use us as their personal playthings.” Valentine whispered beneath her breath, but Lady Clarick heard her grumblings as clearly as though she had shouted them. It was said not a secret passed in the House without the Lady hearing it, she possessed eyes and ears everywhere and at all times.

“Those men don’t realize they surrender their power and prestige at the door, here they dance on our strings and surrender secrets that could topple nations.” The Lady’s eyes shone with a bright hunger, the eyes of a spider stringing politicians and industrialists along in her tangled web.

“We have the power of the arcane at our command, we could use that to simply reshape society as we saw fit, no more skulking in the shadows and tugging at strings,” Valentine had made this appeal before to the High Priestess. “If we were to unite our Coven with others--”

“Each Coven is like its own sovereign nation, each guided by its own set of principles and politics, to unite them in a common cause would be next to impossible. It would be sure to end in a bloodbath that would bring us dangerously close to extinction, and those with an ounce of arcane magic in their blood is vastly depleted as it stands after centuries of witch hunts.” Lady Clarick snapped her fan, and Valentine was impelled to cease further discussion on the subject, despite her better intentions. “Let us return to the matter of the German Ambassador.”

“I found his remains in the sewers, it looked like the work of a wild animal and there were other remains nearby.” Valentine recounted her discovery quickly, eager to return to her own quarters.

“This was unforeseen and I sense something foul and unnatural was behind the death.” Lady Clarick’s nose wrinkled in disgust, as though she could smell the entity responsible, though Valentine suspected what the High Priestess actually detected was all the filth that she had managed to collect on her brief tour of the sewers.

“You didn’t plan to kill the Ambassador yourself to avenge young Philippe, or better yet as revenge for the events of almost twenty five years ago?” She and the Lady were well familiar with the Ambassador before he had turned up again at the House like a noxious smell. Valentine herself had been responsible for luring a few of his soldiers to a painful end, and had always wished she had managed Lieutenant Von Eberhard in the taking too.

As for Philippe, Valentine had seen the state of the boy. Though he may lucky to survive without Von Eberhard’s signature mark, he was still in terrible shape and it was doubtful if anyone would want to receive him after the injury done to his face and body. Philippe was about as dull as the silverware, and his only appeal had been his physical attractiveness. His sister Marie was a bit brighter, but she was still a dim flighty creature from Valentine’s point of view.

“Killing the Ambassador was never part of my intentions, I intended to make Eric Von Eberhard my puppet using a rose I have cultivated over the past several months.” Lady Clarick had a special greenhouse where she grew a variety of plants and herbs, most of them serving a purpose in the rituals and incantations she secretly performed, but others had more mundane applications. The signature black roses of the House for instance were personally cultivated by the Lady, possessing a unique property when burned that lowered a man’s inhibitors; it was smoked by the unassuming clients that entered the House, making them more susceptible on the whole. There was a herb based concoction that Lady Clarick would brew, claiming the substance could prevent against pregnancy.

“To what end, might I ask M’Lady?” Valentine worried that the High Priestess might feel she was prying, and hoped the formality might offset any suspicion. Lady Clarick was notorious for her adherence to pomp and ceremony, as Valentine had already deduced the woman at some point had been the mistress to some noble in the royal court centuries past and still retained all the characteristics.

“There is something brewing in Germany, I planned to use the Ambassador as my personal scrying lens to peer through the veil.”

“Germany is still so far away, and they seem perfectly satiated after the acquisition of French territories after the terms set-down by that abhorrent treaty.” Valentine didn’t care much for politics, but recognized how the loss of land had affected the populace, and caused a great many to grow dissatisfied with their leaders and to hold hostility towards the Germans. She expected Lady Clarick had lived long enough to see territory trade hands many times over, so she couldn’t quite fathom why the High Priestess appeared so troubled by all this.

“Their Kaiser is a greedy little boy who is never satisfied with what he has been given. He wants to turn Germany into a true Empire, he has long since cast a jealous eye over the large swathe of territory controlled by the British. He was ruled by caution with his Chancellor, Otto Von Bismarck, by his side, but I fear that has ended after Bismarck's sudden dismissal and with the shadow council that now presides over Germany.”

“You think that there may be a war on the horizon?”

“Perhaps it is better if I show you.” Lady Clarick pulled open a drawer in her desk and pulled out a misshapen skull, setting it down on the surface of the desk delicately. Valentine recognized the artifact, it had belonged to the Paris Coven for several centuries, a requisition made by Perenelle Flamel. The skull came from the island of Delphi, and had once belonged to the famed Oracle that would spin prophecies from the visions she received in her drug induced stupors. She had never used the item herself, as it was a treasure onto itself that only the High Priestess herself could access unchallenged. “Come forward and place your hand upon mine, this will allow us to share in the wisdom of the Oracle.” Lady Clarick placed her hand upon the cracked cranium of the grinning idol, her eyes closed in reverence.

Valentine cautiously approached, she wasn’t sure what to expect in these “vision”. She slipped her hand atop the Lady’s, and closed her eyes in imitation of the High Priestess. The phonograph had switched to a new record, and the sinister stirrings of the second movement in Beethoven’s seventh symphony filled her ears. The private chambers of Lady Clarick had slipped away, replaced by a blighted war torn landscape, bright explosions lit the predawn sky and revealed the terrible scene. Men lay dead or dying everywhere, most from egregious wounds inflicted by weapons unlike anything that Valentine had ever seen before; guns that could shred a man down to scraps of skin and clothing, and clouds of toxins that could rip the last breath from his blistering throat. These horrors were nothing though compared to the sight of men charging through the wall of thorny plant matter that stretched across the landscape, ensnaring these men after only a few steps. She could hear the chorus of pained screams, as the unlucky ones were left to bleed to death impaled at every angle, the others had their torture put to a quick end with a bullet (often than not from a comrade, eager to put their friend out of his misery).

Aside from the deadly wall of plant life that seemed to impossibly be growing in the midst of the wasteland, there was also an army of abominations that were creeping across the battlefield, passing through the field of thorns with ease and laying into soldiers like butchers at the chopping block. Valentine only picked out a few among the bunch, one of them she saw was barely more than a corpse, only a bit of sharpened bone remained of its hands and it used these to slice through its foes like some whirling dervish. Another was more akin to a centipede, as its body was just a mass of limbs that it used to scuttle about as it tore men limb from limb. There were others that used more conventional weaponry, but appeared modified to suit it, like the towering grotesque wielding a Gatling gun with its four appendages.

A shadow fell over the picture of carnage as a massive airship passed overhead, dumping a payload of bombs that scattered the remainder of soldiers. The army of abominations were caught in the blast as well, but continued to fight unimpeded, many of their number wrapped in flames as they did so. Valentine had seen enough, she forced open her eyes and was gladdened to be away from the battlefield and the sight of those hellish fiends on the march. The stench of burnt flesh still lingered, a reminder of the death and devastation


“Now you understand that this won’t just be a simple clash between competing empires, this will be a war of proportions unlike anything that has come before it. Conventional weaponry abandoned, it will be a war fought with terrible new armaments that will lead to the death of millions, soldier and civilian alike.” Lady Clarick had to seat herself at the desk, the act of sharing the vision of the Oracle had drained her of strength.

“Those things that were moving across the battlefield undisturbed, they hardly seemed human.” Valentine muttered.

“That’s because they weren’t, those things were an army of the undead. You saw how violent and ravenous they were, I don’t think they can be controlled, they are like a fire and will only spread and consume everything in their path.” Valentine could see all of the centuries seem to suddenly weigh on the High Priestess, her skin sagged on her bones and her eyes glazed over.

“There must be a way to stop all of this, you were surely given these visions for a reason?” Valentine was surprised to find herself crossing the room and taking the High Priestess’s hand, passing her strength onto this woman she had secretly despised for so long.

“Things are already in motion, but there is still time to make all the necessary preparations.” Lady Clarick looked up at her with a rare smile that showed her gratefulness towards Valentine’s support. The young apprentice meanwhile could only wonder how much longer the Coven must endure under her, especially if time was finally a factor for the cabal of immortals.


************

Only a short time later after her secret meeting had concluded, Valentine was enjoying the creature comforts of a warm bath. As she soaked in the rather austere claw-foot tub, she went over the events of her long discussion with the High Priestess. Lady Clarick had been scared by what she saw in the Oracle’s vision, and Valentine had never seen the Lady Clarick frightened before by anything or anyone; the woman was made of an iron will, and that was something Valentine had to admit she had always admired about her.

The High Priestess spoke of preparations, but Valentine couldn’t fathom how one might prepare for a horde of the undead. The House had withstood for more than a few centuries under Lady Clarick, through the events of the Reign of Terror and the Siege, and even the bloody Commune, but could it withstand the war to end all wars?

As Valentine considered this, she heard a door squeak open and heard the tread of soft footsteps behind her. She found herself reaching for a candelabra to use as a weapon, as the events down in the cavern with Von Eberhard had certainly taught her to keep vigilant, the remains of the scars down her back remained testament to that. “Who's there?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to startle you.” Marie’s soft fluttery voice answered. Valentine was surprised, she had expected Marie would remain tethered to her twin brother’s side until he made his recovery, as the two were exceptionally close.

“What are you doing here, has Philippe already made a recovery that quickly?” Valentine glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye as she wrung water out of her hair. She wasn’t sure one bath would be enough to rid herself of the fetid stench of the sewers, she couldn’t understand how certain Apache bandits like the Les Vampires could stand to scurry about in the underground.

“No, Philippe is still unconscious and his wounds severe, but he will certainly live,” she shifted uncomfortably, eyes firmly downcast and cheeks burning brightly. “I wanted to show my gratitude for what you did.”

“For what?” Valentine felt confused, she had barely ever spoke to Marie or her brother. Valentine barely mingled with anyone at the House, as she saw so many pass through and never felt any attachment to any of them when the only constants were her and Lady Clarick.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I did hear you talking to Lady Clarick, and I heard mention of that frightful Ambassador being dead.” Valentine began to rise from the tub in alarm. Just how much had the silly little trollop heard she and the High Priestess discussing? Particularly after Valentine could have sworn that there was a warding spell to prevent anyone hearing the discussions that went on in the room.

“I didn’t--” Valentine began to argue, but Marie quickly crossed the room and gently eased her back into the tub with a plaintive cluck.

“Say no more, I understand completely. I won’t whisper to anyone about what you did to him, it can remain a secret between sisters.” Marie beamed at her.

“Sisters?” Valentine thought she might have misheard her, as she was still busy trying to figure out how the girl had managed to break through the ward.

“Yes, you helped protect Philippe and me, and that’s what exactly what a big sister does.” Marie seemed quite proud about this, and a bit excited as well, as though the concept of having Valentine as an elder sister brought her happiness. Valentine meanwhile was wondering what she had been drawn into, and if it was still too late to drag the girl before the High Priestess and have her confess to everything she had heard. “I can help you scrub your back if you like, it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

Before Valentine could say another word, the girl popped into the tub with her and began to croon out some childish melody while she washed Valentine’s back with a hand brush. Marie had removed her gown before entering the tub, but Valentine noticed a necklace was still looped around her slender neck. “That necklace--” Valentine reached back to take it in her hand, on closer inspection she could recognize that it was the ouroboros, just like the tattoo on her shoulder that showed her allegiance to the Paris Coven.

“It belonged to my mother, I never met her. She abandoned me and Philippe when we were only newborns supposedly, but our father claims she left this behind too.” Marie clearly didn’t think much of the trinket, only thought of it as a heirloom of her errant mother, but Valentine had other thoughts. It suddenly became clear why the girl had managed to break the ward and hear their private conversation, she was one of them, a full blooded witch. The only question was if Lady Clarick had also been aware of this, but if that were the case surely she would have already initiated Marie and begun her training; there was so few of them, they couldn’t overlook even those who had a hint of magic flowing through them. A new thought went into Valentine’s head. Perhaps this was a solution to the problem Lady Clarick posed on her path to ruling over the Paris Coven. If there were girls like Marie out there, unclaimed and unaware of their potential, Valentine could set them on the path herself and with time build her own Coven. No more orders or commands taken from the Lady of the House of Black. Valentine smiled a Cheshire grin and eased back, content to allow her first convert to scrub away.