The Dandy Boys Mysteries (Vengeance Book 0)

by Peter J. Wacks

  As such, the demand for coastal sky-ports was rather limited. The exception to this being that there were some rare cases in which seasonal winds conspired to temporarily reroute a landlocked skyway to a coastal counterpart.

  It was for these reasons that the members of the Fellowship of Adventurer Scholars took note when they arrived in such a village. It was less than two weeks following the events in Liverpool, when they came upon the seaside fishing community.

  Subsequent to the events two weeks prior, in which they uncovered the true nature of the Magi, the Fellowship of Adventurer Scholars for the Revelation of Mythology and the Advancement of Natural Philosophy had assumed a less precise approach to their travels. Lacking a specific objective, they instead traveled at their leisure and had taken to inquiring about new subjects of investigation at public houses and couching inns. This is not to say that the Fellows did not maintain communication with certain individuals who were even then keeping an ear for intriguing rumors, but lacking any immediate investigation, they had taken to inquiring locally at inns, and the like, in the hopes that something noteworthy might be encountered.

  None of the gentlemen would have claimed these efforts were generally well received. More often than not the offer of a free drink would result in raised pints and a collective toast of appreciation. But that was as far as their coin was expected to walk. The common folk had a tendency toward privacy, and few men were interested in ending a hard day’s labor by telling ghost stories to a group of rich dandies who didn’t know the value of an honest day’s work.

  However, most towns possessed at least one gregarious old-timer who enjoyed the opportunity to tell a story or two, and who also enjoyed their ales.

  William Owen Wilson and Friedrich von Helsing were particular in their appreciation of these stories, even if they did little to reveal potential subjects of investigation. Friedrich, more so than his colleague, was drawn to and intrigued by the different facets of local and folk tales. What he found most interesting was the way in which a story could change from one location to another, and he occasionally found himself drawing mental connections between interrelated narratives in an effort to identify the common threads and—hopefully—establish a basis for identifying the truth and origins of the narrative.

  Aside from those who refused to speak, and those who spoke meaningfully, there were those men who acted upon the opportunity to invent a story in exchange for a pint, or worse, the fools who thought that an early frost meant that an evil spirit was trying to destroy their farm.

  The Fellowship had, by this time, met them all, and they had started to exercise a selective process when setting about their inquiries on the grounds that some efforts were simply wasted. On nights such as this, the Fellows quickly set aside their questions and focused, instead, upon taking in the local color and enjoying the evening as best as they could. It ought to be noted, however, that not all nights of revelry were equal and that not all ended as they began.

  Entry Two

  This night in particular started as many had, before and since. Having situated matters with the local coaching inn, the Fellows set out on foot to take in what sights the town had to offer. When they arrived at the public house, which sat not far from and certainly within the shadow of the mooring tower, they were inundated by the sound of joyous bolster and raucous laughter. The music had a quick tempo, and even Niles was moved to tap his foot, if just a little. The pub itself reflected the town in that it was far from quality. The establishment had stood for many a year, and even when the town had been young it had likely lacked the stability that one would have expected in a city.

  The patrons were very much the same. They were—to a man—soiled, disheveled, and carried with them the scent of the nets. They were in a word, salty, and not a one of them was without drink in his eyes or on his breath.

  As was their fashion, the Fellows had begun by buying a round for the locals and then proceeded to ask questions about local legends or strange occurrences. Despite the tact which they had begun to develop, it was immediately evident that the men in this town had little concern for such fancies and were instead focused upon the very real task of catching enough fish to feed their family, and finding opportunities where it was possible to earn a spot of coin on top. In short order, the gentlemen had made their rounds of the room and settled in to absorb as much of the cheer as they were able. But as has been previously mentioned, some nights are destined for a dark turn.

  Not long after the gentlemen had settled upon an evening of entertainment, Niles was confronted by a conversation with a man of much the same age as his own. Not only did this man share the odor of his fellow laborers, but he had a mouth full of crooked teeth, which had been yellowed and stained by the regular use of cheap tobacco.

  Although none of the gentlemen could recall precisely how it had occurred—and the event was later the topic of interest on several occasions—this conversation between Niles and the unnamed fisherman had turned rather sour and inflammatory.

  “I am merely saying,” Niles said, jabbing at the air with the stem of his pipe, “that the poor house, as it exists in its present manifestation, is a draw upon the commonwealth as a whole, and that it does precious little to produce any degree of social productivity.”

  The fisherman shook his head. “Social productivity, says he, social productivity? And tell me, mister fancy words, how are ye—how do ye put it—socially productive like?”

  Niles leaned in towards the fisherman, taller than him even seated on his stool. “We are not talking about me, sir—although I should say that I contribute substantially to the commonwealth in many ways—what we are talking about is an institution which rewards and encourages slothfulness among the weak-willed.”

  The fisherman spat. “I hardly know what ye says, and I know I dislike it. Weak-willed ye say, weak-willed and slothful?”

  “Yes,” said Niles, warming to the subject. “You see, by supplying these so called basics needs, members of the collective body are rewarded for mediocrity or worse. They are told that economic failure is not only forgivable but wholly acceptable.”

  “And what would ye prefer then,” the fisherman asked, “the incarceration of vagrants and debtors, whose only crime is being a victim of the landowners and their machinery?”

  Niles reached for his drink. “Ha, victim is a bit much, don’t you think? There is work to be had for those who are willing do what must be done; but instead of putting forth the effort, these people sit down and place the burden of their own failures upon the civic authority. They do minimal work for minimal compensation, and in the process, they are a draw upon the commonwealth and reduce the quality and standards of labor for all other citizens.”

  The fisherman looked around the crowd, noting how many eyes intently regarded the two of them as they conversed. “Well that is a bit cheeky coming from a soft-skinned dandy. I knows people in the poor house, and I knows what they be willing to do to get back to what they had. It ain’t easy, not a lick. What they does is hard, unforgiving, and they get nothin’ for it. What’s more, is that their lot does a far cry more to contribute to our community than do a bunch o’ rich lads who sit about drinking ale and talking ’bout fairies.”

  Shaking his head, Niles set down his drink and leaned on the bar. “That is not fair, sir, not fair at all. It is also uninformed, and ill conceived. You have no comprehension of how I contribute to the commonwealth. Not the least of which is the fact that I, and others of my station, are a vital part of the economy, without which you would have no one to whom to sell your fish. This is to say nothing for the dozens of men and women who are directly employed by my estate or the dozens more who are granted tenancy on our lands in exchange for minimal compensation.”

  The fisherman put up his hands and drew back in mock reverence. “Oh, well aren’t ye all high and mighty. Pardon my lordship’s favor, but down here among the common folk, we don’t walk around with sticks up our arses.” This drew a wave
of titters and guffaws from the crowd.

  Standing up and drawing himself to his full height, Niles positively towered over the fisherman. Speaking in his deepest and most commanding voice, he said, “I am the Honorable Niles Bartholomew Byron. Since you can recognize the quality when you see it, you ought to have a mind for how you speak.”

  The local was un-phased, and if anything, encouraged by this response. “Byron, eh? Byron, Byron … now why do I know that name? Ah right … ain’t that the name o’ the one what buggers boys and made fruit with his sister?”

  “Watch your words!” Niles’ hands curled into fists.

  “Oh! Did I strike upon it then? So what is he to ye? Yer uncle? No … no. You wouldna’ be so touched by that now, would ye? No, no … me thinks it be a mite closer to home. Yer da’ perhaps? Ho ho boys, we have a winner!”

  At this, Niles, stepped forward, his temperament making the worst of him, and removed his jacket. It was obvious to all assembled that his mind was set to settling this matter with a dual of fists.

  “So I have it then, I think,” said the fisherman with a grin. “Yer da is a bum humper and sister squeezer. Eh?”

  Having removed his jacket, Niles adjusted his cuffs as he stated sternly, “You have been warned, sir. You will keep a civil tongue, or I will cut it from your mouth.”

  Rufus stepped up and pushed him gently back towards the bar, speaking softly into his ear. “Do not engage with the locals, my dear boy. It is not wise; nor is it remotely sanitary.”

  Niles glowered, but followed his friend’s advice and turned away with effort.

  But the fisherman was not finished. “Will ye now,” he called. “Well, I would like to see that. What about ye boys?” said the local as he turned slightly to speak to the crowd behind him. “Would ye like to see this dandy cut me tongue from me mouth? Aye, they do. Well, let me see it then, you son of a sister …”

  Despite having his back to the subject of his attention, Niles had prepared himself and quickly turned to face the local as he effortlessly assumed the Mendoza Profile. In short order, he delivered a rounding blow, a chop, and rear lead. The local returned with a series unrefined, yet no less effective, strikes which were either deflected with an elbow guard or evaded entirely. Niles then delivered a shovel hook following a duck, and continued with a series of body blows.

  The majority of Niles’ attacks landed soundly upon the foul-mouthed local, and it was soon clear that he had the distinct advantage. When the local attempted to take this advantage by closing the distance, his stratagem led to a rather short exchange of a standing grapple, the result of which was that he found the floor by means of a nearby table.

  As Niles tossed the man aside, another local—presumably a friend—stepped out as though to strike the gentleman from behind. Friedrich was quick to intervene, and the Fellows made it clear that any man who interfered would be dealt with most harshly. Fortunately for the gentlemen—who were greatly outnumbered—this did not become an issue as the majority of the spectators were content to merely observe a brawl which had, by that point, acquired a degree of commentary representative of the class struggle, which was very much real to their daily lives.

  Whether it was by stratagem or merely a gentleman showing sport, the Fellows could not say, but Niles allowed the man a brief moment to regain his feet and composure before unleashing a swarm of chops upon his face and shoulders. The local was then able to put space between himself and the gentleman, to which Niles responded by preparing for a combination. This was a choice he soon regretted as the local man brought his foot upward and into the gentleman’s tender middle.

  This led to an approving uproar among the locals, while Wilson denounced this act to be “unsporting.” Yet, notwithstanding this temporary victory, it was quite clear that the local man was outmatched, and Niles had in short order taken him to the ground, whereupon he knocked the man to a near stupor. When finally he stopped his flurry of strikes, the crowd was silent … at least until the heir of Newstead Abbey reached for the small knife that he maintained at his hip. Sliding the knife from its sheath with one hand, Niles worked at the fisherman’s jaw with the other, forcing his mouth open to expose his tongue.

  Intending to be true to his word, it was with some effort of force that his Fellows were able to remove the young noble from the stupefied ruffian—which was achieved as Friedrich emphatically and with great interest, made an effort of keeping the local crowd at bay with promises that the gentlemen were self-regulating and that they need not rise to the defense of their neighbor.

  Frothing with anger, it took the remaining three Fellows to guide Niles to the door and away from the scene of the affair.

  Entry Three

  Once outside, the cool night air quickly worked upon Niles, abating his flush, and his fever began to diminish. When it was clear that he was no longer a threat to himself or others, the gentlemen set about tending to his ego and assuring him of his efforts to defend his family’s honor.

  “Quite good, my boy, quite good,” began Wilson, slapping him on the back. “You have shown that ruffian how a gentleman fights, and you stood your ground as a gentleman ought.”

  “That scoundrel had no cause to treat you so, no cause I say!” interjected Weyland.

  “Your form was superb, dear boy, simply excellent. You truly are the pride of Cambridge,” continued Wilson.

  Rufus frowned, obviously displeased with the situation. “I, for one, do not share in this revelry. We ought to apply anti-septic to that bite of yours. That lout seemed of a rather unclean sort, if you ask me, and it simply would not do to allow the wound to fester. Who knows what contaminants he may have passed along.”

  Wilson shot Rufus a reproving glare and attempted once more to lift his wounded colleague from what may well have been a darkening mood. “That fellow was not so clever, was he? Once you brought him to the ground, you gave a right good thrashing.”

  “A good thrashing indeed,” seconded Weyland. After a moment’s hesitation and a glance at Rufus, he added, “But regardless of the cause, you of all people should know when to show restraint. It is one thing to defend the honor of one’s House; it is another altogether to place a blade upon a helpless man, as you well know. As a practitioner of the law, are you not an expert on such matters?”

  Niles’ response was for all appearances calculated and stoic. “I do not practice law, my dear boy. I am a Gentleman.”

  “Call it what you will,” said Weyland, soldiering on. “You know full well that doing as you intended would have justified, and perhaps even demanded, that charges be brought against your person. The times have changed, and are changing still. A member of the aristocracy can no longer do as he pleases without fear of repercussion.”

  “What would you know of such things, Weyland? Your people are little more than glorified merchants. You are practically laborers!”

  Weyland drew away, visibly stung by the remark. “You are out of line.”

  “Am I … really?” asked a heated Niles Byron as he stopped fast in the middle of the roadway. “Do you think that because we associate and speak with familiarity that we are equals? You are smarter than this. The only man here who has the right to such a claim is Friedrich, and he is a German!”

  “Your words cut deep, and they are unfair …” Wilson began in a measured tone.

  “None of you," roared Niles, "not one of you are my equal. I am the best among you. I am better than this whole damned village! I am …”

  Having stepped forward, Friedrich placed his hand across Niles’ face and stated calmly, “You are an English Gentleman, sir. It is high time that you behaved as such. Compose yourself and—if you must—pretend to be the gentleman for which you claim to be. Truly, my dear boy, if you keep about this behavior, then I might have cause to mistake you for a colonial. We are your compatriots.”

  Niles stood straight and tall as he addressed Friedrich with what he intended to be the full weight of his station, “Lay a hand on m
e again and …”

  “And what?” asked Friedrich, the picture of calm incarnate. “Will you take me to account? There is not a man here who doubts your abilities; you are the better pugilist. But remember this; striking a man does not make you his better. I may be a foreigner—as you are all so fond of reminding me—but I at least have the good sense to act as my station demands. You have allowed yourself to be offended by a commoner who spoke of that which is known to all. What’s worse is that you belittled yourself—and by extension your colleagues—by fighting with him as though you are a common thug.”

  Friedrich allowed a moment of silence for this settle upon the mind of his friend before continuing. “And then you made the affair worse by baring steel against a helpless man against whom you had struck the first blow. Are you too simple to recognize the position in which you have placed us all, or was your blood merely too thick for the situation to register properly? You are indeed a talented and skilled pugilist, but not even you can fend off an entire village of angry men who are set upon the task of protecting one of their own from a profligate fool! If you are indeed so offended by your father’s actions, then why do you not seek to change your own behavior instead striving to emulate that of his?”

  These words struck Niles dumb. They were harsher than any which he could recall having been spoken to him before, and yet he knew them to be true and fair. With difficulty, he mustered the strength to respond. “It takes a gentleman to speak such truths to a friend, especially when that friend can deliver the pounding of which I am capable.”

  Niles exhaled heavily. “I thank you, Friedrich, and I apologize to you all. You have done me a great service this evening, and I have done little to deserve it. It is as you say, a well-known fact that my father is a libertine in the truest sense. I take no joy in saying so, but it is true. And yes, I hold no small degree of resentment for how this fact colors other’s perceptions of myself; and perhaps you are correct in noting that I ought to take care to curb my own indulgences …” Niles then broke this stoic shell with a wry grin. “But I do so enjoy indulging.”