Episode 26

(London, August 6, 1887)

[Author’s note: We now are in the late 1800’s]

Could they be any more indiscreet than this? Rin could not help but laugh as she read the monograph. She only had a passing familiarity with the latest advances in science, though not from lack of curiosity. She knew all too well the danger of prematurely devoting time to what could be nothing more than a passing fad. Ninety percent of the things written were wrong. Some were interesting theories but nothing more, while others were complete fabrications. Only time could tell, if it chose to.

Though Rin wasn’t concerned about wasting effort per se, she lacked the wherewithal to keep up with the recent proliferation of claims. She preferred to wait a few decades before troubling to study those which endured.

The present monograph was an exception. It contained an interesting account, published in the latest Transactions of the Royal Exploratory Society, of the African travels of one Constantine Devlin of Hereford. This particular piece had been brought to Rin’s attention by a member of the network of spies she’d cultivated since her arrival in London sixty-odd years earlier. Each informant monitored certain avenues. Some worked in taverns frequented by key personages, some were employed within the judiciary, and others kept watchful eyes on the major purveyors of news.

In addition to receiving regular summaries of general happenings, Rin also was kept apprised of anything out of the ordinary. Her informants had been led to believe she spearheaded a secret government agency specializing in paranormal phenomena. This fit with the ethos of the era, and nobody considered it implausible. In fact, most were flattered to be part of such cutting-edge work.

This wasn’t strictly a lie. Rin actually did run a secret venture, just of a slightly different nature. Its ties to the government were strong, if less pronounced. She managed much of the City’s Opium trade, deriving influence and income from this and various other less-than-reputable sources. She was known in this capacity as a generous mistress, though not a particularly forgiving one.

However, she never used the informants for this side of things. They existed solely to detect the presence of immortals. Surely, they qualified as paranormal phenomena. As for the government, it was a poorly-kept secret that they countenanced Rin’s pecuniary endeavors. For all intents she was a partner, just not one they cared to acknowledge.

When instructing her informants, Rin emphasized that she was interested in certain things but not others. Her concern was with Proteges and anything likely to help locate them. Politics and wars and foreign affairs did not matter to her unless reports of the supernatural were involved. Of course, her employees were kept in the dark about Proteges and her true purpose. They were provided with carefully-crafted orders which ensured that, individually or en masse, they could not glean the bigger picture.

While she still had to tiptoe around the Church of England, Rin already was benefiting from the speculative spirit and fervor for knowledge which had begun to engulf the nation. Exploration was one area of potential interest to her. In theory it could disclose Proteges who had fled to lands unknown, but in practice the field was so infested with quackery that she paid it little mind. As with science, she preferred to wait and let time separate the wheat from the chaff. Although this particular monograph was different, its discovery had been entirely fortuitous.

Malcolm Thatcher’s duties did not include monitoring reports of exploration. In fact, he was not tasked with monitoring reports of any sort. Malcolm was a junior barrister and had been asked to take note of cases involving apparent resurrection or other impossibilities. Whether or not he actually believed in such things was both unclear and irrelevant. He executed his duty with the punctilious devotion one would expect of an aspiring lawyer.

He already had reported several cases of potential interest, though none proved significant. Most likely he would have continued in this vein, earning a convenient stipend while furnishing little of worth. However, Malcolm happened to have a personal passion for exploration. He was not so foolhardy as to imagine himself an explorer or wish to dash off and pursue a career as one, but he did avidly follow the accounts of others, reveling in tales filled with adventure and hyperbole. It was one of these which caught his professional attention.

Mr. Devlin’s account was unexceptional in both content and form. In keeping with custom, the monograph was replete with personal observations, religious and philosophical speculations, and a few detailed anthropological descriptions. The style was more reminiscent of puerile adventure than sober science, and the resulting portrait was more than a little self-aggrandizing.

Whether the narrative of a brave if egotistical explorer or the fanciful invention of a braggart and liar, the report contained nothing overtly implausible. However, as one conversant with the genre, Malcolm was well equipped to spot subtle discrepancies. For example some of the place names seemed inconsistent with the route navigated, and Devlin required only a week to travel between regions known to be two thousand miles apart.

Of course, these could have been artifacts of nomenclature rather than signs of deception. Names were subject to the vagaries of translation and often were based on common geological features. The precise identification of places was notoriously difficult to get right, and many explorers took liberties.

But this wasn’t the only problem. As he explained it, Malcolm also was struck by certain linguistic oddities. Devlin had chronicled some fragments of speech, presumably from an indigenous tribe he encountered. Something about them bothered Malcolm, though he had trouble pinning down what. Transcription was a common enough practice, and the words themselves were unremarkable. It took some time before he realized that this itself was the issue. The words were unremarkable. In fact, they looked European.

Malcolm was no linguist, but it seemed improbable that a newly-discovered tribe’s native language would bear such a strong resemblance to his own. The simplest explanation was that Devlin was a fraud. Disappointing, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was easy to concoct a fiction from existing reports by adopting stylistic elements, recombining major features, and adjusting details appropriately. He wouldn’t be the first impostor to do so.

But something still bothered Malcolm. Why leave a glaring inconsistency? It was difficult to believe that Devlin went to such trouble, yet committed so egregious an oversight. Malcolm was tempted to ascribe it to laziness, but this didn’t feel right either. It could just as well have been deliberate. Or perhaps the author underestimated his audience.

It wasn’t until two days later that Malcolm realized the language seemed familiar not because it was European, but because he had seen it recently. The words bore a striking similarity to something on Rin’s desk when she hired him.

Rin listened attentively as Malcolm related all this, but did not expect it to amount to much. Patience was an unfortunate necessity in her pursuit. As in all things, most words she heard were empty ones. This wouldn’t be the first time an overly eager sentry imagined things, but she preferred that to the alternative. It just was one of the costs of proper vigilance. Rin stifled a yawn.

That indifference vanished the moment Malcolm showed her the suspect words. Rin laughed aloud as she read them. She could see the disappointment on Malcolm’s face when she did not explain what they meant. To his credit, he did not press the matter — though Rin smiled at his ill-concealed effort not to.

Rin wasn’t just being mean; it would have been unwise to tell him. Her approbation would have to suffice. That and some extra money. He would have found the translation unenlightening anyway. Even she was unsure of the true intent behind the message.

However, the words were clear enough. They specified a location, a day of the week, and a time of day. This was a common device of old to enable a meeting between two parties who were unknown to one another.

Presumably, the author of the message could be found at that place on that day of the week at that time, give or take a little. If no contact was made, they would repeat the appearance the following week, and so on. Rin was not sure how long they would keep this up, or how long they already had been at it. And there always was the question of who wished to make contact and with whom.

Rin found the conduct of the affair amusingly inept, if inept it was. Was this by design? If so, it had worked. For her, not the sender. Some poor Protege would soon learn that the message had landed in the one lap it shouldn’t have, another sad example of the proverbial wages of folly.

Unless it was meant for her. But this seemed unlikely. Why would anybody seek her out? She had no dealings with Proteges except in furtherance of her calling. If they knew about that, they surely would hide. Either way, nobody would advertise themself to her.

Rin wondered if someone wished to negotiate with her, maybe plead their case in the hope of a reprieve. Jumping to the top of her target list seemed an odd way to gain more time. Who would voluntarily submit themselves to a judge that only ever issued one verdict?

Were there even any Proteges in London? Her spies would have noticed them unless they were extremely discreet, and the author of this message was far from that.

The whole thing made no sense, and this pleased Rin. So few things did. The world was boring that way. This would be a welcome diversion from her ordinary pursuits. With a little luck, it even would be one of those pursuits. Perhaps it would reveal a Protege who, but for this single error, would have survived a great deal longer. Or better yet, two. Yes, that had to be it. Nobody would seek her out.

The only logical conclusion was that this message was meant for somebody else. She hoped it wasn’t somebody she already had destroyed. Two would be better than one. Perhaps she could take the first, then wait for the second. No, that would be too risky. It was better if she took them both at once. She would go to the place and wait and watch. Nobody would recognize her, and at worst she would be another shiftless character in a city full of them.

As for Malcolm, she would amply reward him. A man with such an eye for detail could be quite useful. He also could be a problem. Perhaps one day he would draw some inconvenient conclusion about Rin from many small observations. Most likely he would suspect her of being a foreign spy but say nothing for lack of certainty and spine.

It could prove troublesome if he did say something, though. The present government was strongly inclined toward paranoia, and she had no desire to become an object of suspicion. As always, the difficulty with maintaining a fiction was keeping control of it. She either would have to tailor the lie or dispose of Malcolm. It was obvious which was easier.

But there was no need to act prematurely. Lawyers were cumbersome and predictable, and a government comprised of them even more so. There would be sufficient warning, and Rin had no doubt she could attenuate any danger before it became too bothersome.

However, she did decide to stop using the old language. It had seemed a safe way to record personal observations, an easy code. Now she realized how foolish that had been. She was hunting Proteges, and they were precisely the people who could read it.

Unfortunately, none of the other languages she spoke were well-suited to subterfuge. Most were widespread, and the others were familiar antecedents. This wasn’t accidental. Rin didn’t expend the effort to learn a language unless it promised great utility, and such languages necessarily had broad adoption.

She simply would have to hide her notes. Or maybe memorize them. But that was a comparably minor matter. It too could wait.