Tristan nods, mulling over a glass of wine as the Rippers discuss what to do. "No, Victoria, I find myself quite agreeing with you and Miss Xie Xiu. Am I saying that right, dear?" The man waits for her response, attempts it again, and lets out a chuckle. "Damned if I didn't try my best, but I never could quite pick up the finer notes of your homeland's language. In any case, while I should certainly like to aid Nicola--that is, Missus Wicks--it does seem we have more pressing matters at hand. The needs of the many, as it were, you know." He turns to scratch Ajax's chin. "And we certainly wouldn't want the word getting out on our little operation, now, would we? Ajax agrees, and so do I--we should investigate the Strand if there's even the slightest chance it could cause greater trouble down the road."
"I suppose the secrecy of our organization is of the utmost importance, though I am reluctant to turn aside someone in need. Hopefully it won't be too late for Missus Wicks' husband by the time we're done."
"Frankly, I'd like to do all three. Perhaps if time permits, it won't be too late later."
On the other hand, while some of the others try to work their ways more inconspicuously, Tristan does indeed just walk through the front doors--albeit with something of a plan in mind. He presents himself as an interested party and potential investor in the magazine, particularly intrigued by these devilish new tales about the Night Guard by Mister Rose. "I say, they do bring me back to my days in the Queen's Finest, traveling about to meet the foes of civilization and justice. Of course, I did a little less mucking about with ghouls and the like, you know!" He chuckles at his own apparent wit as he banters with... whoever he can speak to, really.
"I should be truly grateful if I could perchance have a look at the process by which these marvels are concocted, so to speak, which is to say, if I could get in touch with Mister Rose, or see the offices where the stories are put together and written or edited or published, what have you, or really any and all of these, what?" Here he positively beams. "I should certainly be obliged to commit some funds to maintaining your fine establishment."
Carl is happy to come with Tristan. He had wanted to try the direct approach himself, but he didn't really have a good excuse like the rather... eccentric noble man could concoct.
Victoria learns some mundane information about the Strand Magazine.
Mei learns that "Algernon Rose" has been publishing for only a few short months, and there are no other articles in any publication she can find with that author. Mei is pretty sure that "Algernon Rose" is a pseudonym, for who she cannot tell.
Tristan and Carl head to the Strand's offices where Tristan proposes that he meet with the author of the new serial. The editor, Herbert Smith, sighs as he has to deal with "another member of the peerage". The studious looking man explains that most of the submissions to the Strand are received via Post and are then edited and published without much contact with the author. However, he will send "Mr. Rose" a message inquiring if he would meet with Lord Tristan. It might take some time though...
"Bah! Stuff and nonsense. You receive the stories through the post? Then surely you have a return address available. I'll meet with him myself." Tristan arcs one regal eyebrow. "Unless you have some good reason why I might not?"
Mr. Smith assures Lord Thornton that there's nothing untoward going on, however journalistic integrity requires he keep his authors privacy. In his own words If we gave out our writer's addresses, we might not get such wonderful submissions in the future!
"Look," Victoria says, planting both her hands on the table as he finishes telling Tristan about his journalistic integrity. "We're not here to cause you, or this 'Algernon' character, any problems. Still, we need to meet with him as soon as possible, d'you understand? It's about a..." Victoria pauses, unsure of how to cover their tracks until her eyes flick over towards Tristan. "It's a business opportunity, understand? Lord Colborne wishes t'speak with him about the stories he's been publishing. Nothing that wouldn't let him write for you, mind. Still, he's quite eager to meet with them and hash out the details, and he isn't the kind of man who has the time nor patience for delays... isn't that right, m'lord?" Victoria looks back at Tristan with an unsure expression, hoping the older Ripper can lend some credence to her lie.
Rasheed reads through the half dozen stories in the Strand Magazine and while there is a coherent story, the setting seems to bounce between England and Egypt. Rasheed doesn't see anything in the stories that he has either experienced or heard of...
Rasheed gets the following information
1) The characters in the story's vary, but no names or close descriptions match anyone he knows.
2) The locations are England, Egypt, Bulgaria, England, England, Paris, Egypt
3) Rasheed catches various inconsistencies in the tale, a few things that he thinks might be pure fantasy and not really connected with anything the Rippers might have faced.
Victoria hasn't swayed the man Look. I understand Lord Thornton's eagerness, but a little patience might be advised yes. I will send word to Mister Rose this very day, I'll beg a response forthwith. and Mr. Herbert Smith walks over to his desk and goes through a short file. He finds what he was looking for and begins writing a letter. I'll send this in the Post today, I should receive a response by Wednesday. If that's all I'm very busy, we have a deadline to meet.
Victoria fumes for a moment, but she gives a glance towards Tristan before giving a huff and folding her arms across her chest. "By Wednesday? I... well, I don't want to speak for Lord Thornton, but if that's the best you're willing to do I suppose it's acceptable." Victoria sighs, and as the man turns back to his work she heads for the door with the others--assuming they don't have any more questions, at any rate. Once they leave the building, she grumbles a bit. "Lousy jackass," she says, a scowl on her face. "Y'know I probably could've just stolen that address? He's lucky I ever bothered to talk to 'im." While still a little irritated, Victoria still seems willing to wait the two days even if she'd rather get it over with today.
Tristan chews on his thoughts when the man suggests sending a post, and he nods as Victoria responds. "If that's all there is, it'll have to do," he says, tapping his cane on the floor. "My thanks to you, sir. Have a pleasant day."
Outside, he chuckles at the young woman's grumbling and clicks his tongue. "Now, now, Miss Lawson. We may have important work, but that doesn't give us the right to go traipsing about on the wrong side of the law whenever we choose. Best to keep things clean when they can, you know. And if we'd stolen the address, I've no doubt they'd make a fuss, and our Mister Rose might well disappear as well."
"I wouldn't be surprised if he refuses to speak with you. So we might want to come up with a solid back-up plan. Perhaps we could follow whoever carries the letter..."
Victoria grumbles as Tristan tells her they shouldn't have stolen the address--she knew it well enough, but that didn't mean she'd admit it--just as Carl suggests they follow the man carrying the letter to Algernon Rose. Her head perks up at that comment, and she grins. "Now that's a plan I can get behind, Carl. Of course... how good are the two of you at skulkin' around? I, uh... y'know, you get pretty good at it bein' one of the common folk--there're plenty of times you gotta be unseen and unheard but you've still got business t'do an' all--but you two don't seem much like the type." She scratches the back of her head, then shrugs her shoulders. "I mean, Carl, you're a mighty fine doctor for sure, but how often does workin' with people's heads require to sneak around? And Tristan..." she looks at the old man with his sword cane, leaning on it as he walks. "Actually, I've got nothin' to say 'bout you; you're full of surprises, you crazy old man."
"Not good," Carl admits. "I would probably be more of a hindrance than a help."
"Oh, I know a little of the ways to move unseen and unheard." Tristan smiles as though recalling a distant memory. "Never know when it'll be useful to catch a chap unawares, I'm sure you know. But I'd just as soon leave tailing a messenger to you, my dear. Not only am I certain you're more gifted in such arts, but the old legs aren't what they used to be, and I'm not sure I'd be able to keep up. I'll hope for a positive return message, and a bountiful report from you."
Victoria suppresses a grin when Tristan mentions leaving the tailing to her. "Sure, I'll camp out outside the place and wait for them to send their messenger. I'll meet you back at the Lodge; you two have fun, now." With a bit of hop in her step, Victoria takes up watching for the Strand's messenger in the least conspicuous spot she can find. "Now, let's see if we can't find ourselves a postman, shall we?" Assuming she spots the man carrying the letter, she'll tail him as best she can while avoiding being seen; if he delivers it to a house she'll grab the address, and if he drops off the letter for the post she'll simply do her best to steal it for the address written on the letter.
"Best of luck to you Miss Lawson." Carl tips his hat as he and Tristan head back to the lodge.
Mei was in the middle of going over some of her findings with Rasheed when the door opening catches her attention, accidentally dropping her book in brief surprise. "Ah! Nǐ hǎo, Misters Jung and Tristan. I trust you come with news? ...And where is Miss Lawson? Tā bùshì gēn nǐ zài yīqǐ ma- Ah, She is not with you, I mean?"
Victoria follows the messenger unseen as watches as he heads to the General Post Office . She follows the man until he deposits the letter into a large bin. Victoria surreptitiously closes in and spies the address, 145 Swan Walk, Chelsea. . Victoria knows that Chelsea is a very affluent part of London.
"145 Swan Walk, Chelsea!" Victoria exclaims the address like a prize when she gets back to the Lodge, looking mighty pleased with herself to boot. "That's his address, I managed to spot it when he dropped the letter off. It seems our friend Algernon's living the good life, as far as I can tell."
"The editor was less than eager to share the source of the stories, but he sent a letter to the author. Miss Lawson is tailing him so we can track down our mysterious writer and hopefully get a meeting with him."
He smiles as Victoria finally returns. "Excellent work Miss Lawson. It seems that our plan has worked out exactly how we hoped."
"Well, we've got the address. Now what?" Victoria sits down, stretching her arms out. "I mean, I guess we could just head there now and see if we can talk with the guy. Alternately," she says, leaning forward in her seat, "We could stake out the place until our friend Algernon leaves, and then investigate the place on our own time. Of course, who knows when he might decide to head out for a walk... we could be waiting for a while. What do you all think?"
"We could always simply attempt to talk to the man now that we know what he lives," Carl points out.
Rousing himself from the brown study that had consumed him since his injury and convalescence, Andrej ponders the matter. "Are you knowing what Gospodin Algernon is looking like? Perhaps is being better to start with finding out who is living at fine Chelsea house. Or if manuscripts are delivered to fine Chelsea house from somewhere in Whitecastle?"
She pushes her spectacles back up her nose from where they had slid down. "Truly? Well done indeed, Mrs. Lawson. I had only been able to deduce that the name we know them by is most certainly a false one, and they have yet to publicize anything outside of The Strand."
After some thought, Tristan decides that the direct approach is, as always, probably the best. "Nearly all of the time, it works all of the time," he says with a chuckle. He decides to embark for the address post-haste, with Ajax and any other members of the team in tow if they're so inclined, prepared to meet Mister Rose as a fan of his work and a potential patron--having dusted up on the writing itself as part of his preparation, of course.
Mei sputters as the elder man starts off without even waiting for input, but can't bring herself to try and dissuade the man to try a more tactful approach. She instead quickly gathers her things and rushes after him and any of the others, with hopes that this dosn't go horribly wrong. Knowing their past luck with these affairs, she's not quite keen on things going smoothly.
|
Rasheed decides to tag along, having wrote down what he gathered from reading the stories while Victoria did the real work.
This time, the sikh decides only to carry his ceremonial dagger, not to appear at Mister Rose's door carrying far more steel than should be responsible.
"Curiously, I found the stories entertaining and lacking in details." he comments as they walk there "While there is indeed some resemblance to our most sacred duty, Mister Rose seems to have added his own touch of classical fantasy tales, and his characters aren't ones that I recognised among our peers."
The sikh smiles as he remembers the second and last stories "I've yet to visit Egypt, but his depictions of their arcane lore and mystical traditions are quite delighting."
Tristan leads the Ripper ensemble to the address in Chelsea. The entire Chelsea district is famous for its opulence, it's known as the "Village of Palaces" 145 Swan Walk is no exception.
Tristan knocks on the door, with Rasheed and Mei in tow. A manservant that Tristan recognizes as a Butler answers the door.
Yes? Might I help you. Sir. the butler adds, spotting Mei and Rasheed behind Tristan and assuming that they are Tristan's bodyservants.
The others having left in a hurry, Andrej declines to follow directly. "Gospozha Lawson, maybe we are to be going to Post Office? Ask who is living at fine address?"
"Yeah, we might have better luck with that. If nothing else, it might net us, y'know, an actual name for whoever's been writin' these things," she says, heading out the door with her fellow Ripper. While she knows Andrej is in good enough shape to be out in the field, she's unsure of how well he is otherwise and does her best to keep her pace in check just in case. Assuming they arrive unimpeded, she heads inside and looks for a clerk to ask about the address. Once she does, she taps them on the shoulder and waits for them to turn around.
"'Scuse me, love," she says, exaggerating her accent just a bit. "We were wonderin' if you couldn't either find out who lives at an address for us, or tell us where we might be able t'look it up. It's... 145 Swan Walk, Chelsea. Any chance y'might be able to help us out?"
Tristan positively beams at the butler and taps his cane on the step. "Oh yes, I believe you might, my good man. I've taken it upon myself to attempt to contact one Mister Algernon Rose, or perhaps Master Rose, and I believe he resides at this address? I'm quite the fan of his literary works, fanciful tales of adventure and excitement, in fact we all three are quite delighted by their twists and turns. The wonders of the continent and the ancient world, the danger that lurks in the dark and the heart of man, and the cunning and bravery by which great heroes overcome, you know!" He chuckles and kneads his hands on the cane as if nervous. "I'd hope to speak with Mister Rose, as a potential patron and a delighted reader."
The Russian still walks with a slight limp, but seems otherwise hale. "It is being good for me to walk outside. Fool doctors do not understand healing power of outdoors and vodka, ha!" He keeps back and does not interrupt the conversation between Victoria and the postal worker.
Carl stays quiet and lets Tristan do the talking.
Victoria gets a silence followed by a curt Well, not that this is my place. It's highly irregular to speak on such matters BUT that home belongs to Master Watts the solicitor. However, Mister Watts isn't home, he had me file for a forwarding to Hunstanton,East Anglia.
Tristan gets a grunt and a As you wish Sir. But there is no Master Rose present. This is the home of Master Theodore Watts. Currently, Master Watts is not home.
"Oh?" Tristan blinks several times, not really having to feign surprise. His curiosity isn't so much piqued by the fact of the alias--they were already suspicious of such--as the ease of discovery. In any case, he recovers quickly, the smile coming back to his face in but a moment. "In that case, fellow, would you be so kind as to offer his whereabouts? Or failing that, if I might inquire as to when he'll be returning home, I should speak with him then."