A Children's Tale Read online

  "Now, Doctor," Hunter began with a sigh.

  Interrupting any further conversation aboard the boat, Miles shouted, scrambling over the side of the longskiff to the grass. "Mother!"

  Angela, farther back in the boat, cheered for joy and jumped out after him once she saw the pair of adults.

  Moira stepped out of the boat and paused next to Hunter, curious to see if her captain needed any help. He noticed her look and shook his head.

  "I'll be fine Moira." Hunter explained. "However, I really do appreciate everyone's concern."

  Moira shrugged, then turned back to watch the homecoming between Angela, Miles and their parents. It was too far for her to make out what they were saying, but to her, the children were retelling their adventure. The parents looked simply relieved to see their family back together and safe.

  "It be good ta see 'em with their ma' and da'." Moira said while she put her hands on her hips. "Good ta have 'em outta harm's way, too."

  Captain Hunter steadied himself with his cane and looked over at the scene as Moira watched. "Agreed."

  "What of RiBeld?" Tonks asked, joining them. "Ya said he'd vanished before the ship was turned."

  Hunter nodded. "That he did."

  Thorias snorted in disgust. "Hrmph. Some 'Flower of nobility' RiBeld is. More like 'Rat of the Sewers'. These days, most of the older noble families have squandered anything of value be it money, morality or a sense of honor."

  Hunter chuckled, then winced when one of the bullet wounds reminded him he was not fully healed. "He'll return. He may have found a hole to crawl away to, but he'll venture forth when he thinks the storm has passed. The crimes he's committed will not quickly be forgotten. I doubt the Royal Navy will take the charges of murder and piracy against him lightly." The captain sighed. "Either way, he's little more than a nightmare Angela and Miles would do well to forget."

  The crew slowly crossed the distance to the campsite. The tent village lay clustered in a wide ring beneath the shelter of birch, pine and popular trees that gave some shelter from the ever-present snow. The tents were canvas with rope bindings that held the tent down at wooden tent pegs driven in through the icy ground. A wide fire pit with a makeshift metal spit dominated the space in the middle of the tents.

  At the edge of the tents, a man - in appearance an older version of Miles - tried to wipe soot and dirt from his hands on his brown canvas work trousers. Satisfied most of the grime was gone, he stepped forward and shook hands with each of the crew vigorously. He was easily six feet tall with a thin frame that looked even lankier in his slightly too-large overcoat, white shirt and worn leather shoes.

  "It is capital to meet each and all of you. I'm Doctor James Von Patterson. Angela and Miles were just telling us some of what transpired! It's quite the relief they are unharmed! We'd no idea. Not a single page of correspondence mentioned their flight." The doctor brushed a few stray brown hairs from in front of his eyes.

  As Hunter shifted his. The wounds in his side throbbed, leaving him uncomfortable. "Any of your correspondence from an Ian Von Patterson?"

  Von Patterson nodded. "Why yes, my brother. He's been looking in upon the family's affairs while I've been away."

  Tonks and Moira exchanged a knowing glance. Tonks folded his arms over his chest. "Well then, he's been overseein' things? Your family holds much in the way of property?"

  "Just a shipping and trade business. Airship commerce, mind you. Some waterborne travel also." Von Patterson explained. "But what has that got to do with this RiBeld chap?"

  The crew exchanged a second glance for a moment. Thorias looked around and sighed. "If none of you speak up, I will. The man has a right to know. It's his own family, after all."

  Dr. Von Patterson looked from one crew member to the other. "Would someone please enlighten me. If this involves my family, I daresay it's my right to know."

  Hunter cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to say Dr. Von Patterson, that we all have come to believe that your brother, Ian, means your children nothing but harm."

  Von Patterson looked stunned, as surely as if physically struck. "What? My brother? I know he can be rather ... harsh ... in his personal affairs but to take action against my children, his own niece and nephew ... it's unthinkable!"

  Tonks stepped forward a bit to get Dr. Von Patterson's attention. "Doctor, if ya'll let us, we can explain."

  "Please do! I'll have my wife find someone to start tea for us. The conference tent should hold us all." Still shaken by the news, James turned away to speak quietly with his wife, who took the news just as poorly. While she went to locate one of the porters for the expedition, Dr. Von Patterson led the group towards what he considered the 'conference tent'. Near the fire, Hunter paused to catch his breath. Dr. Von Patterson looked back in concern, as did Thorias.

  "He's lost a touch of his wind," Thorias explained. "I, too, am a doctor, though more a physician than archeologist. We'll be along in a moment. Tonks, our pilot, knows most of what you need to be told. We'll come to fill in the gaps presently."

  "I understand." Dr. Von Patterson replied. "Well then, your tea will be waiting for you."

  There by the fire pit, Hunter looked over the ruins and then the mountains beyond. Clouds drifted across the sky, touching the white mountain tops and drawing lazy gray shadows along the snow-covered ground at their feet.

  "You appear as a man who wrestles with a quandary," Thorias said idly, pulling his pipe from a coat pocket. Arcady returned from his exploratory flight to land on the doctor's shoulder.

  Hunter looked over at the doctor and smiled thinly. He retrieved a worn, soot-stained yellow swatch of cloth from his coat pocket. One side of the cloth was littered with tiny characters in a foreign language and faded ink drawings. "I was reflecting."

  "I see." Thorias commented before he withdrew a small pouch of chicory root from another pocket. Deftly, he filled his pipe then put the pouch away. Using a small twig, he knelt and caught it ablaze using what few hot coals remained in the fire pit. He lit his pipe and tossed the twig onto the coals to be consumed.

  "A 'prayer flag' is what I'm told this is. It was a gift from the Yeti chieftain, Utawah. It was one of the ones that had hung in his home before we arrived. He said that this one represented long life and good fortune." Captain Hunter explained and showed the cloth to the doctor.

  Thorias took a slow puff of his pipe, then exhaled, allowing the smoke to drift upwards in a lazy ring. "Since the chieftain survived, I'd wager they might work."

  "I wonder. There were so many that did not. All from one man. Just one single soul." Hunter sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled on his shoulders.

  "RiBeld?" Thorias asked casually.

  Hunter shook his head slightly. "No, RiBeld is at best a footnote or epilogue to any tale. A war dog off his leash. I mean Ian Von Patterson."

  The doctor nodded, then took another pull on his pipe. The embers in the bowl glowed a gentle orange, casting a warm reflection against Thorias' face. "Anthony, evil ... real evil - not those tawdry tales from the dime novels - doesn't know a number. Some call it a 'bitter fruit' and weed. I daresay 'constrictor vine' or 'inferno' is more spot-on. If left unchecked, it will take hold and consume anything in its path. Often for the most useless or selfish of goals. Against that, good men and women can only do one thing: stand against it no matter the cost to protect the innocent. Even if it is only one woman, or man."

  The sound of laughter rose from off to their right. Twenty feet away Angela and Miles, bundled in warm coats, had tumbled outside in the snow to play and chase each other. Hunter looked at the flag again and smiled. "For the children ... ever vigilant then?"

  Thorias smiled slightly. "Unless we wish to be under the heel of the Ian Von Patterson's of the world, I say indeed yes."

  Captain Hunter slipped the flag back into his coat pocket and took another deep breath. "We should catch up to the others. Dr. Von Patterson likely might wish to speak to the Royal Navy wit
h us about his brother."

  The doctor smiled, and emptied his pipe on the dying coals of the fire pit. "So the hunt is on?"

  A shadow of a smile caressed the captain's face. "That is the business of the Royal Navy. However, I'd not be against any consultation they might need."

  Epilogue

  Evening arrived in London as quietly as an airship drifting into port. The ever famous London fog rose with the evening chill, mingling on the streets with the old soot and smoke of occasional gas lanterns in windows. Clockwork-powered electric street lamps grew obscured, their light diffused and muted, while the fog swirled slowly, methodically among the tight cobblestone streets and few evening pedestrians.

  Along the waterfront, the fog held greater reign. There it played madly about, reducing most travelers' visibility to only a few feet along many a winding, twisted 'close' that sat between buildings. Down one of these narrow alleyways a lone figure, dressed in a fine, dark, long wool coat, trousers and shoes paused at an intersection. A cat, startled by the man's sudden appearance, gave a sudden yowl of displeasure and raced off into the night. Similarly startled, the man let out a deep breath, and with shaking hands adjusted his navy blue bowler before he resumed his hurry.

  He chose a turn to his right. Ahead, he could make out the dim lanterns of a seedy waterfront pub known locally as Smithy's. The man looked around once more, then confident he had not been observed, slipped around to a side door and inside.

  The pub was crowded for a Thursday evening along the waterfront, but not so much that it worried the man. He had greater worries on his mind at that moment. He started to remove his bowler, an automatic reaction to being inside a building, but stopped himself. Others in the pub had not seen fit to do as such, and given his own need for secrecy, he followed their lead. Instead, he unbuttoned his long coat against the comforting warmth of the room and looked around. Across the establishment from him, the person he sought, his longtime business partner, was sitting at a table with a pint of some brewed beverage in front of him. Another pint glass, untouched, was in front of the empty chair there as well. The man who had just entered gently cleared his throat from a bout of nerves, then quietly wound his way through the crowd to the table.

  At the table, the man seated there noticed the newcomer, but kept his eye averted. Instead he took a drink and winced. His lip was bruised, eye blackened, and days-old cuts adorned one side of his thin, aristocratic face. A fresh bandage was wrapped around his right hand and wrist, secured tight enough to protect at least one fractured bone or two. Despite the wounds and bandages, he was still well groomed and dressed with a linen shirt, fine captain's coat and well-oiled boots. However, the shirt showed some signs of wear and it hung just a bit loose on his thin frame. It was as if he had lost weight recently due to some malady.

  "I thought we intended to meet alone, RiBeld?" The finely dressed man whispered angrily with a sharp, British high-born accent. Even though it was a whisper, his anger made it sound more like a furious hiss.

  RiBeld turned a hard and icy stare at the newcomer. "I felt it was prudent to seek out a more public venue. Especially in light of how unexpected our little venture turned out." RiBeld motioned to the chair with the drink in front of it. "Sit down, Ian, you're making a spectacle of yourself, even for this place."

  Ian Von Patterson looked around the room nervously, then sat as RiBeld instructed. He returned his angry look to RiBeld. "I am not accustomed to being summoned at your whim like some scullery maid." Von Patterson frowned at RiBeld. "Is there something wrong with you? You look thinner."

  RiBeld ignored the comment, took a drink of his ale, and winced again at the dark bruise around his left eye and on his lip that still pained him. With a sigh, he set down the glass and leveled an ugly look at Von Patterson. "Are you bloody well done with your whining? The plan failed. By now I suspect your brother's delightful little spawn are back in his care."

  "What?" Von Patterson looked aghast. "Didn't those people I hired locate the wreck? I was assured ..."

  "You were assured they were competent at their jobs!" RiBeld interrupted. "Oh and they were. They found the wreck right square away, but then they just wouldn't roll over and die like you assumed. They were a tough lot, tougher than anyone imagined." A faint smirk dashed across RiBeld's face for a moment. "You have to give them at least that, I expect."

  "No!" Von Patterson choked on the word as much as he tried not to choke on the explanation given. "I've debts! Mountains of them. With those children dead, my brother would've been held accountable. His shipping business would've come fully under my name. The children's trust fund would've easily covered my debts. Now, I've nothing! I'm ruined! There'll be scandal! Do you know how much I had to pay to bribe the dock-master for the flight plans? What shall I tell my creditors? The Blackheart League! The money I've borrowed from them isn't a small sum."

  RiBeld gripped Von Patterson's left arm tight with his own bandaged right hand. Von Patterson whimpered in pain. The mercenary captain pulled the man closer. "Get a hold of yourself and keep your voice down! Now let me make this perfectly and completely clear. Forget about your creditors. They are sheep among the flock. Men hang for what we've done. You have to leave London. Tonight. Take an extended sabbatical. The reach of the Royal Navy and Scotland Yard only goes so far. There are places even they dare not tread."

  His thin face ashen, eyes wide with fear, Von Patterson nodded glumly. "Yes, I have to leave... wait, what about the Blackheart League?"

  RiBeld released his vice grip on the terrified man next to him. "They'll follow you to the ends of the earth." He said quietly, coldly. "From what I've heard, be of use, and they'll overlook mistakes. While abroad, find some new opportunity for them."

  Von Patterson clutched the pint glass in front of him, still full with ale, out of need to hold on to something solid. "And then?"

  RiBeld shrugged. "Then if you're lucky, they'll not skin you ... or worse."

  Von Patterson swallowed in an attempt to control his heartbeat, which had long ago raced away with itself. He finally nodded silently and stared at the dark, amber-colored drink in front of him.

  Just then, a barmaid stopped by their table with a thin smile. She wore her long tresses of brown hair gathered in the back with only a few strands askew to attest to her hours at work. Tired though she was, her eyes lingered on the glowering form of RiBeld and the pale, thin, terrified looks of Von Patterson. She had worked at Smithy's for many years. Enough to know dark dealings when she saw them. Especially when it was dark dealings gone horribly awry. Those were sights one never spoke about, that is, if one wished to continue to draw breath another day.

  "'Ere now. A right smart stout for ya both." She set down two pint glasses filled with a charcoal-dark stout covered atop with a rich white foam.

  The two men exchanged a glance. RiBeld was the first to look up.

  "These are not ours. You're at the wrong table." He said flatly.

  The barmaid shrugged. "Nevva said ya did, 'guv. Drinks are from the guvnor o'er in the corner." She nodded in the direction of the far corner of the room.

  RiBeld's eyes darted to where she indicated, but the corner was dark and the room crowded. For Von Patterson, however, that was the breaking point. He rose quickly, nearly spilling both ale and stout over the table and bumping into the barmaid. RiBeld had been so intent on looking for who their mysterious benefactor was he missed his chance to grab the panicked Von Patterson.

  "Von Patterson! Sit down! You're making a spectacle!" RiBeld hissed furiously.

  Von Patterson backed away from the table. "You're quite right you know, a long trip. A quite long one. It will do the nerves good." The man stammered. His hands shook uncontrollably while he pushed his way for the door. RiBeld rose and took one last look at the corner.

  There, from the gloom, a figure rose from its chair. Dressed in a worn leather long coat, hair cropped neat and short in the Royal Navy style, Captain Anthony Hunter leaned on his cane a moment
before taking a step forward into the lamp light. A small smile crossed his face as he inclined his head slightly to RiBeld in a silent greeting.

  The mercenary captain spun about in a panic to grab Von Patterson, but the man was nearly to the door. He pushed the barmaid aside and shoved his way after Von Patterson before things could grow worse.

  Ian Von Patterson almost laughed nervously to himself. He would get away and hide. No one would find him. He would be safe. He reached for the front door just as a broad-shouldered man dressed in brown tweed trousers, jacket and cream linen shirt stepped up in front of him.

  "Ian Von Patterson, I presume?" The man asked curtly.

  an paused, his thoughts derailed. The man's manner of dress fit that of a common dock worker. His speech was anything but. "Yes?" He stammered to reply through his fog of confusion.

  The man nodded to someone outside of Von Patterson's view. "You'll come with us now, Sirrah." Behind Von Patterson another man, similarly dressed, stepped up.

  Panic suddenly galvanized Ian's thoughts. "Wait, no! What is this?"

  RiBeld appeared next to the trio at that moment. "Back off. Find someone else to pinch for money!" He growled at the two men.

  The man at the door was not in the least flustered. He looked over at RiBeld with a raised eyebrow. "That's 'Constable' to you ... Archibald RiBeld is it?"

  It was RiBeld's turn to grow pale when the other constable, similarly disguised, grabbed onto both RiBeld and Von Patterson. "Come along quiet now. There's an Inspector quite anxious to have a bit of a chat with the two of you over the matter of a shipwreck."

  Von Patterson went limp, whimpering, but RiBeld was not so easily taken. Immediately, he punched the constable in front of him, then turned on the one behind. Quickly, the door burst open and four more constables, dressed in uniform rushed into the panic of the pub to lunge for RiBeld. Behind them walked two men in suits and long coats. Hunter limped slowly over to one these, a man in his late forties with short graying hair and a stout frame that filled his brown tweed suit.