"Good evening!" I said, holding out my hand.\n\nThere wasn't much room in the closet, and it looked like what little there was had been accounted for by the two grown adults crouched inside it. Incredibly, though, Maximilian Hargrove actually managed to extract his hand from the tangled mess, and accepted mine with a confused expression. I shook vigorously, and introduced myself, "I'm Jack Silver, and this man over here," I gestured with my free hand and turned to look at Young Man, "Is..." I dropped my hands and furrowed my brow, "Was sent here to kill you. Sir, why don't you sit down before you bleed all over the curtains there." I finished, addressing Young Man. He had been using the window curtains to stay steady, and it looked like they might be a bit redder than when we had both entered the room.\n\nYoung Man was getting a bit pale, actually. I'd only given him a flesh wound, but it looked like he'd never been shot before. Hurts, don't it, kid? I turned back to Maximilian, now offering him a hand out of the closet. "I'm just here to ask you a few questions, if'n you don't mind."\n\nThe Hargroves tumbled out of the closet, and while they got dressed I borrowed some spare cloth to patch up Young Man, who informed me (against my wishes) his name was Ethan. He was seventeen (also against my wishes) and his mother was expecting him home tomorrow (Christ, kid, shut up) and his sister was ten, and apparently I had to shake him enough to bother his injury to make him stop talking. I had a whole host of questions to ask him later, and none of them would have made it harder for me to put a bullet through his eye. I decided to lock him in the pantry for the time being; I had more important problems.\n\nI met up with the Hargroves in the parlor, which had been cheerfully lit by some candle lamps. The rain pounded away on the window, through which streamed a little pale light from the gaslamps on the street. The Hargroves themselves looked tired, beaten, and cold, and I felt a pang of sympathy then.\n\nFortunately, they had not investigated the guest bedrooms just yet, and had not discovered the mess I had left them.\n\nI took off my hat and hung it off the back of the chair opposite them, and sat down. "I'm sure you are desperate for some explinations. To start us off, my name's Jack Silver, I'm a private investigator working for Lord Blackwillow. I came by tonight to talk about the Wells and Harvey Lockford, hoping y'all were still awake. I saw your door all busted in back there, and figured you'd be in need of some assistance. Turns out I was right."\n\nIn the dimness, I could make out the two exchange glances. I didn't blame them for being nervous, but I couldn't think of anything to do about it. So I continued, "Anyway, two bullets and a locked-up killer-to-be later, here we are. The only way to call this night a better success would be if you'd tell me you still have that letter one of the Wells sent you."\n\nMaximilian blinked twice. "Well, sir, no. I do not. I burned the letter."\n\nOkay, not bad yet. "Can you tell me what it said, then?"\n\n"No."\n\nNo. Okay, now it was bad. "Did...did you forget?"\n\nMaximilian took a deep breath before he continued, "How well do you know William Wells?"\n\n"He's been described to me."\n\n"Described how? As a philosopher? An archaeologist? A friend, perhaps? An honorable man? A leader?"\n\n"I heard all those things, sure."\n\n"How about a criminal? A liar? A thief? How about rude? Crass? A man of loose morals?"\n\nHe was getting heated up now, but I was in no mood. "Where are you going with this."\n\nHe threw hands upward, "None! Nobody says those things about William! Because. They. Would. Be. Lying!"\n\nNext to him, his wife--Christine--said Max's name softly. He seemed to remember himself, and sat back down heavily in the chair. After a moment he continued, "People speak of William Wells with reverence because he was what few men are: a good man. And no, Jack Silver, I can't show you the letter, because I burned it. I burned it because, in that same letter, William asked me to. And in that same letter he swore me to secrecy, against an enemy he did not name. And against an unknown enemy, at the request of a friend who I owe everything, I have no choice but to stand against all."\n\nHe must be a professional poet. I secretly wondered what on earth his job was at the Natural Philosopher's Club. Maybe he wrote their newsletter. I sighed, and leaned forward to rub my eyes. "Including me, I take it."\n\n"I'm sorry sir, but yes. Including you."\n\nI could probably torture it out of him. Max had a high opinion of his tenacity, but I had seen stronger men betray themselves in the face of pain and death. Mortality overrules morality so easily in human kind; so much it has come to define us. Maximilian was no different.\n\nBut the thought made me tired, and thirsty. Instead, I said, "Fair enough, then. Just one question, if you don't mind: who knew you were in contact with William?"\n\nMax blinked a few times. Perhaps he had expected defending his virtue would be harder. "No-one. Who told you?"\n\n"Man at the Natural Philosopher's Club. He didn't give me the impression he had told anyone else, though."\n\nChristine coughed. "Ah, I mentioned it to the police. Yesterday, when they came asking around for information."\n\nMax turned to look at her, but his face in the light was inscrutible. I wasn't sure if he was blaming her, or chastising, or just wanted to see how she felt about it. It got me curious, and I asked, "Did the police ever come around to talk to you, Maximilian?"\n\nMax turned back to me. "No, they most certainly did not."\n\nAn evil feeling began to well up in my gut. "Max. Do you know who sent Ethan and--...who sent men to your home to kill you?"\n\nThe evil feeling strengthened and grew as Max and Christina's heads shook back and forth. I stood up from the chair. "Max, Christine, I suggest you pack a few things and find somewhere safe to hide for the next little while. I'll try and put whoever is after you off the scent, but I don't rightly know if it will work." I grabbed my hat off the back of the chair, and secured it on my head. "And if I were you, I wouldn't trust the police."\n\n\nThey left back upstairs, rushing about as fast as they could in the dim. I watched them go silently from the parlor, then, once they were safely up on the second floor, I turned toward the kitchen, and the pantry beyond.\n\nI unlocked the pantry and opened the door, to the sight of Ethan eating an old loaf of bread. I blinked a bit in the light of the candle I held, but otherwise met my stern gaze with a blank one of his own. "Out."\n\nEthan followed me to the front hall. I pushed the broken door all the way open, letting the rain wash onto my shoes. "Before you go, son, you tell me something, and I tell you something. First thing is this: who hired you?"\n\n"Dunno."\n\nI sighed, reached into my coat, withdrew my revolver, and pulled back the hammer with an echoing click. "You're not following the rules, Ethan."\n\nHe looked at me. He looked down at the pistol I had leveled at his sternum. He looked back at me, a sad expression on his face. "They'll kill me."\n\n"I'll kill you, boy. You tell me their names, you might have time to go get laid first."\n\nAn eternity passed. The sound of rain filled the stretching silence, as the cogs whirred and spun in Ethan's head. "Jamison. Alfred Jamison."\n\n"Who is he?"\n\nEthan curled his lip. "Nuh-uh. You gotta follow the rules."\n\nA rewarded him with a rare genunine grin. "Fine. Alright then, Ethan. You told me what I wanted. I'll tell you something, then, and you can go. You tell Alfred Jamison I know about the letter, and I know what's in it. The Hargroves can't help him anymore, and he had best not take chase. Because God only knows where they're going, but I'm staying right here in London."\n\nIt was a lie, in several parts. But hopefully one with enough truth that this Jamison character would believe it wholecloth. I didn't have to save Max and Christian. I just had to give them a head start. "Go on, Ethan. You're momma's gonna miss you."\n\nEthan hesitated only a fraction of a second, then dove into the deluge and out into the dark. Ten seconds later, he was gone.\n\nA promise, fired out into the night like a bullet from a gun. I just hoped I hit my mark.\n\n[[The day was long over. There was nowhere else to be. It was time for bed. |The First Night]]
<<if $clubid == "American">>\s\nOn my way out I stopped by the coatrack, and heard the sound of someone coming up behind me. Turning around, I was faced with the same bespectacled man that had 'welcomed' me into the Club in the first place; I vaguely recalled his name was Nicholas. He must have followed me out of the Club proper when I left; he had rejoined the crowd perhaps five minutes after I had arrived, but had spoken only a few words to me during my stay.\n\nIt looked like he had more than a few more words now. "Mr, ah, Silver, was it?"\n\nI met his gaze, as he spoke from halfway down the staircase. "Yes sir, Jack Silver."\n<<else if $clubid == "Brit">>\s\nNicholas, kind man that he was, offered to show me to the door. He seemed to lose his nerve, or attention, or something, at about the top of the stairs, but I didn't much mind. I was pretending to be drunker than I was--though, let's be clear, I was much drunker than I would have liked--so I felt confident I could reach the door just fine.\n\nNicholas cleared his throat expressively and excessively. I turned back up to him, and met his gaze from halfway down the stairs. When he didn't say anything right away, I asked, "What's wrong, Nick?"\n<<endif>>\s\n\n"The police came by yesterday, to ask us about William, Sabrina, and Harvey."\n\nNobody had mentioned that. Still, perhaps there was nothing to--but Nicholas continued, "They, ah, asked the same questions you did, and mostly they were told the same things, the things you were. Told. But, nobody knew, or, ah, hm. Yesterday Lady Hargrove mentioned that her husband--ah, Maximilian--he had been in contact, with William. A letter, I think. Recently."\n\nI let a single eyebrow raise. "How recently?"\n\n"A few weeks ago, she said."\n\n"There a reason nobody mentioned it?"\n\nNicholas hesitated a moment, thinking to himself. "I don't think, hmm, no, nobody was there. Different people. Only a few in yesterday."\n\nAnd that looked like all Nicholas had to say. He sort of stood there, fidgiting, as though there was something else I was supposed to do in response to this. I waited a beat, then said, "Well, thank you," then turned and left.\n\nI stepped out onto the rainy street. The downpour had kept steady through the evening, but without thunder. No drama. Just darkness. I shifted my hat on my head, looked out over the street, and thought.\n\n[[It was getting late, and I felt tired and drunk. It was time for home. |The First Night]]\n\n<<if $clubid == "American">>\s\n[[Maximilian Hargove sounded like he might have been involved. It was late, but he might be willing to stay up for this. |The Hargrove House]]\n\n[[I was more curious than ever about Blackwillow. My lady friend would know more; better yet, she'd still be up. Not that she'd be happy to see me. |The Spider's Web]]\n<<endif>>\s
I shook my head. "No deal. I don't even know who you are."\n\nShe cocked her head a little to the side. "Would it help if'n you did?"\n\nI blinked once or twice. "No."\n\nShe adopted an expression I could have sworn I'd seen on a puppy one time. I felt unmoved, and turned to go. She called out after me, "What if I asked nicely?"\n\nAsked nicely. I thought about what it was she was asking me to tell her, and shivered from the passing of the memory. "Not even then, Curious. I'll see you around."\n\nI turned away from the Spider's Web, and walked out into the rain.\n\n[[Maybe the Spider would be in a better mood tomorrow.|The First Night]]
It was about time for dinner when I arrived at the address written on the letter of introduction from Blackwillow. The building itself was probably a nice and respectable place, in a good part of town, but in the rain it just looked like another town house. I folded the paper up before it could get soaked, stepped up to the door, and rang the bell.\n\nI'd only been in a staring contest with the knocker for about a minute before I heard thumping on the other side and the door swung open. Behind it was a thin bespectacled man, perhaps in his late fourties. Well dressed, but didn't have the "butler" vibe about him. Maybe the Natural Philosophers are less monied than I thought.\n\nHe didn't recognize me, and wasn't about to. Something told me that would only make things complicated.\n\n[[Better stick with what they're familiar with. I'd be a polite Brit while I was here. |Inside the Club][$clubid = "Brit"]]\n[[I didn't have long. I'd be a brash American for these folks. |Inside the Club][$clubid = "American"]]\n\n\n\n
<<if $time == "Night 1">>\s\nAfter a quick stop back in the Club to get the address, I started my walk through the rainy streets of nighttime London. I hadn't expected a long walk, and I was right; most people who were are part of that particular Natural Philosopher's Club didn't travel far to get there. It was less then twenty minutes before I stood at the iron fence protecting the yard of Maximilian Hargrove and his wife. \n\nThe townhouse beyond was dark; unsurprising, considering the time. The gate was also locked, and it looked like nobody was going to answer any time soon. Perhaps going here was a bad idea. I could always come back tomo--\n\nThe front door was open.\n\nWhy was the front door open?\n\nI took a deep breath, watched the mist pour out of my mouth into the cold rain. In I go.\n\nI gripped the gate, gave it a shake and found it strong. My gaze shifted upward, at the line of dull iron spikes that adorned the fence's top. Eight feet up. Even standing at a meager five four, it was within my reach.\n\nI jumped up, grabbed the top posts, and slammed my feet high on the poles. It was an awkward moment, my boots slipping in the rain, but I hauled myself over the spikes--\n\nPain lanced through my side. I snapped into the fetal position involuntarily, only barely able to avoid impaling myself as I fell. A bullet had torn through my rib, and I could feel the blood pouring through my fingers. I opened my eyes, frantically looking around for the shooter, but...\n\n...but there was no shooter. The pain faded. The blood was just rain, soaking into my shirt. There had been a bullet, sure; but not here, not now. I pressed my hand to the scar on my side, waiting for my chest to ease up. I needed to get out more. This happened too often.\n\nI looked around once again. My coat had gotten stuck on the spikes on my way down and left me exposed to the elements, but in my frantic flailing I had at least managed to land on the right side of the fence. I pulled my coat off the fence and put it on, then turned to face the dark house. The rain was so heavy I was sure nobody had heard me, even if I had cried out from the shock. But that went both ways; there could be ten guys in there, and I'd have no idea.\n\nDidn't much matter to me. I drew my pistol, checked if it was loaded, and pulled back the hammer. \n\n[[In I go. |High Noon in Hargrove House]]\n<<endif>>
March 15th, 1870. London.\n\n\n\n"What were their full names? The people you want me to find?"\n\nThat double-nested question was the first I had asked in nearly half an hour, as I waited for my client to finish telling me his story. It was a story full a twists and bends and tangents, but I wasn't in much of a rush; he was paying me by the hour. But now it was done, and a silence had begun to drape itself around the gaudy parlor room, broken only by the scritching and scratching of my pencil. My client looked relieved to answer me, if he could look like anything at all.\n\n"The older man was William Wells, and the woman his wife, Sabrina. The younger man was Harvey Lockford."\n\nI nodded, and the slightly broken silence descended once again. For as much as Lord John Blackwillow seemed to like to talk, he didn't like to express much. His face maintained a stiffly neutral expression, with his eyes half-open and his body sunk into his chair. He was a fat bastard, maybe three hundred stone, and it was like the weight drained all the energy out of his face. I spent most of the interview looking at the coffee table.\n\nWhen I had first stepped into his London flat and Lord John had begun to explain himself, I very badly wanted to jump out a window. Everything about the man had set me off, from the drapes to the chairs to the rolls of his chin. The case itself looked no better: three missing persons in a city like London was like three grains of ash on a beach. But Lord John, as repugnant as he might be, held the keys to Golden Opportunity, and I had turned that fickle lady down too many times already. It wasn't just that the man was rich--which he was, let us be clear--it was that he knew people. So many goddamn people. He knew enough people that when he wanted someone found who had gone missing, he was pointed to me.\n\nI finished my scratching and looked back up at Blackwillow. "Alright, one last thing. They have any friends? Compatriots? Other than yourself, of course."\n\nIt came out "yerself, a'course". These Brits love a cowboy, and a gentleman like Blackwillow was no exception. I could have stamped down the Kansas heritage so completely the man would've thought I'd been born in the merry hills of England, but I found that people were more willing to talk if they thought you were a novelty. That, and I liked it when people believed things about me that were far from the truth. Think of it as a public sort of privacy.\n\nBlackwillow's placid face was jumping and leaping at the opportunity to put more words in the air. "Yes, indeed, they do at that. They are well liked at the Natural Philosophy Club down on Baker street, and I believe they maintain ties to several fellows from their Oxford days. I can supply you an address and invitation to the Club if you so desire, but I'm afraid you will have to speak to the faculty of Oxford for more information there. I met them after they left University."\n\n"What are the chances they know someone you don't know about?"\n\nAs much as he likes to talk, his answer was terse. "Low."\n\nLow, eh? And he was similing when he said it. There was something more than he was telling me about his relationship with these three missing souls. I asked him, "How about enemies?"\n\nHe grumped at that, and took a sip of his tea. "They are well-liked, but even the well-liked have enemies. Lockford especially has a tendency to anger his lessers, and William is fircely opinionated. Sabrina, though, she is an angel. If they have any true enemies, it would be born from jealousy for her company." He grinned here a little bit again, as though to say, 'har har including me har har'. Keep laughing, you fat bastard. "Public or private, however, I know of none who wish them ill."\n\nNo enemies and a weird lord looking over their shoulders. It didn't look good, but at least there were plenty of places I could go to get it looking better.\n\n[[I wanted out, and not just to escape Blackwillow's odiferous presence. I needed space to think. | Walking Home from Blackwillow's Flat]]
I flipped closed my little book, made my excuses, and left. Blackwillow might have been sad to see me go, but I couldn't tell. I just wanted out.\n\nThe sky outside was letting loose, and I pulled my hat down onto my head to keep the rain off my neck. Cold and wet and windy, it still beat that damn parlor. I hated it in there. Too hot, too...too much color. Wealth. It reminded me of people I knew in America, and didn't care to. I pulled the raincoat tighter and tried to focus on the case.\n\nThree people, missing since a month ago. The three of them worked as Natural Philosophers; some kind of British mechanics, but instead of machines they worked on...everything, from the sound of it. It was one of those things that Blackwillow had sort of assumed I knew about and hadn't gone into detail. The missing folks were all diggers of some kind, looking for historical artifacts from long ago. Archaeologists, he called them. They had just returned from some adventure, empty-handed in their quest to find...whatever it was that an archaeologist looks for. Bones, I guess. They got real private for a few weeks, until Blackwillow returned from a trip to Scotland. Vacation, he called it. He was meeting the rest of the other Natural Philosiphers at the Club talking about his trip, and he spotted William and Sabrina off in the corner talking real quiet-like. He thought it was weird, but kept on going, and when he tried to find them later they were gone. Apparently they had left in a real hurry. It was the last time he had seen them.\n\nAfter a month of silence, missing appointments, and letting their mail pile up, the police had entered their flat to find it abandoned. That was yesterday. Today, Blackwillow gets my name through a mutual aquantance, and decides I can do what Scotland Yard can't. Or won't; he didn't go much into detail, but Blackwillow didn't give the Yard long to do their work, and he seems confident that it won't pan out.\n\nAnd now I was marching home in the London rain, feeling small. It was a familiar feeling, and not a welcome one. It brought back memories of war; of fire, of death beyond imagining. I shook my head, trying to clear it. This was a case. Just a case. I would go and look for these three little philosophers with their little secrets, and I would find them, or I wouldn't. Then I'd get paid, and go back to drinking all the liquor in England. The sun would rise, and then it would set, and all the way through it wouldn't give a damn. Neither would I.\n\nNeither would I.\n\nI straightened my back, and glaced up into the sky. I've got places to look, and a little daylight left; at least, that's what Big Ben tells me. I felt the Colt on my hip, and the introduction to that fancy club in my pocket. Everything I need. Time to hit the street.\n\n<<set $time = "Evening 1">>\s\n[[The Club was where they were last seen, and it's got most of their friends. Even if they don't know where the three are, I could answer a few questions there first. |The Natural Philosopher's Club]]\n\n[[I have a...friend...that knows people. She's not really very happy with me, but she might be able to tell me some more about this Lord Blackwillow. |The Spider's Web]]
When I reached the door, I saw my suspicions confirmed: the lock had been forced, with a big bootprint next to the splintered doorknob. Something told me a Natural Philosopher was unlikely to kick their own door down if they lost their keys. When I entered the house, I did so with my cannon leading the way.\n\nThe interior was dark, and the rain created a perfect white noise. I was blind and deaf. It might rule out the 'ten men' scenario, but I would have to be careful; a loner isn't hard to outnumber. If I was lucky, the intruders were interested in keeping things quiet, and I had just brought a gun to a knife fight. If I was unlucky, then...then I'd think of something clever.\n\nThe front hall had a staircase to the second floor, a kitchen down at the end, and a parlor off to my right. All dark, and only the parlor well-lit enough by streetlamps to see anything at all. I started up the stairs. I wanted Hargrove, and if this was just a robbery Max could talk and be poor at the same time. Not so much if they were after the man himself.\n\nThere was no reason to believe someone would be after Hargrove's life. As far as I'd heard, nothing had happened worth killing over.\n\nYeah, right. My gun led the way up those stairs.\n\nI was near the top of the stairs when I heard a voice right around the corner. Male, young, asking, "Jack?"\n\nI flinched so hard I nearly shot the wall, but then another man, right around the other corner, said, "What?"\n\nThe first voice continued, "I found the silver collection."\n\nThe second man replied, "We'll grab it after. You see Hargrove?"\n\n"Nah. Guest rooms, I think."\n\n"Well, keep looking."\n\nA door closed, followed by some footsteps and the sound of a door opening, then closing a moment later. Another door closed, and now all the footsteps were muffled by the rain.\n\nI permitted myself to breathe again.\n\nThe entire point of cynicism is the expectation that you will be pleasently surprised when you are proven wrong. It's not so you can be right all the time. Someone needed to let God know.\n\n'Jack' was to the left of me, Young Man to the right. Jack was older sounding, more experienced, probably in charge. More likely to resist interrogation. I took a left at the top of the stairs.\n\nIt felt like my boots were loud as thunder and the boards creaked like roaring lions, but somehow the doors stayed shut, and I heard no mad dash in the rooms. Carefully, I reached out and turned the knob on the first door, and silently gave the door a push.\n\nThe door drifted open with languid solemnity, and revealed to me a broad-shouldered back. It was bent over, looking under a bed on the far side of the room. The shirt was soaked with rain, and his huge boots looked like perfect door-kickers. In his hand was a revolver.\n\nHuh. Well, so much for luck.\n\nThe walls, curtains, and bedspread soaked up the echo, but the sound of the shot reverberated through my whole body: an impossible THUMP of incredibly intensity, shaking my hand and setting my pulse racing. In the wake of it, the world felt dead silent even through the sound of the man collapsing to the floor; a hole carved through the back of his skull and out the front.\n\nOne down. I pivoted to face down the hallway, waiting for Young Man to investigate.\n\nI didn't wait long. Muffled by closed doors, I heard him shout, "Jack! You found him?"\n\nYoung Man yanked open the door to the room he was exploring and wheeled directly into the sights of my cannon. I answered, "No, he did not."\n\nA second impossible sound joined the first, gone almost before it had started.\n\nYoung Man wordlessly collapsed to the floorboards. He made a sort of half-hearted cry of pain once he got there, which was too mixed with confusion to sound genuine. He sat up and looked down at his side, as though he expected a tree to be growing out of his torso. "Holy Shite!"\n\nIndeed. I took a step forward and pulled the hammer back with a deafening *click*. I instantly had the man's attention, and said, "You have any more friends here?"\n\nHis eyes grew to the size of teacups. "Ah, no, ah, no it was just me an' Jack."\n\nHe was starting to bleed from the wound in his side, but it didn't seem to have ocurred to him to pay much mind to it. Next, I ordered, "Drop your gun."\n\n"What?"\n\nMy eyes narrowed, and he worked it out. "Oh! Ah, here..." he twisted around, and then his body finally informed him he had been shot. He cried out, for real this time, then kept screaming and swearing as he fished the gun out of his pocket and threw it toward me, his hands immediately flying to the bleeding hole in his chest.\n\nThe gun clattered around the floor and I did what any sane man would do: I jumped away from it like it was a goddamn bomb, shouting "Jesus shit!" about as loud as I could. By the time I had composed myself again, he had calmed down, and was looking at me with a perplexed--if also pained--expression. Well, there was no salvaging that. I bent over and picked up the gun, and said, "I told you to drop it, not throw it. You ever used a goddamn gun before?"\n\nHe expression said no, and then he said, "No."\n\nOf course not. Whatever. As I emptied the chambers of his revolver and the bullets clattered onto the floor, I laid down my ground rules: "If you try to run, I'll shoot you. If you try to fight, I'll shoot you a lot. We clear?"\n\nHe nodded. I pocketed his empty pistol and then released the hammer on my own, flipping it into its holster. "Get up. We've got to find Hargrove. And if you try and kill him, I won't shoot you." I let that sink in as I leaned over him. "Believe me when I say this is the worst option of the three."\n\nHe got up. I guess he believed me.\n\n[[It took us ten minutes to find Hargrove and his wife, locked in a closet in the master bedroom. |Midnight Chat with Max Hargrove]]
I sighed. "Fine."\n\nCurious released a low hissing sound that might have been a cheer of some kind, and proceeded to pull up a nearby barrel and sit atop it. She sat there, staring expectently, for several seconds. "Well, go on, then."\n\nMy brain finally caught up, and I began having second thoughts. She certainly didn't look like she was twelve, but by God did she...well, look like a twelve-year old. She was even idly kicking her feet. Wearing a pistol. With a chest that could...well. It wouldn't have been so bad if she had been flirting with me, let's put it that way.\n\nI shook my head to clear it. This was going to be a very strange night. With no way out of it now, I began. "So, back in the day, the Spider and I were, uh. Hm. Do you know her real name?"\n\n"'Course I do."\n\n"Alright, that makes this easier. My name is Jack Silver. Right? And her name is Agatha..."\n\nI waited for her to fill in the rest. Eventually she did, with an uncomprehending expression. "...Miller?"\n\nI blinked, several times. "She...changed her name?"\n\nCurious had an expression that suggested she was picking up on what I was trying to tell her, but she didn't say it. Instead, she said, "Always been Miller to me."\n\n"How long have you known her?"\n\n"About five months now, then, I think?"\n\nI rubbed my eyes, trying to wipe away the sleep and the drink. Five months ago...when was the last time I'd spoken to her? Really spoken? Had it already been five months? I could have sworn...but no. All winter. In through the fall, too. I'd found other places to drown myself than the Spider's Web. Then there was that job up by Dunwich, and the other near Oxford...five months, at least. Curious' voice was soft when she said, "She was your wife, then?"\n\nIt must have been several minutes of silence. Just the sound of rain between the two of us. "Yeah."\n\nI let the silence stretch for a little while longer. Curious didn't look fully satisfied, though, so I continued. "She wanted us to move to her old home in London after the War ended. It beat postwar Atlanta, so I agreed. I sort of hoped it would...it..." \n\nI sighed. Didn't have the words for all of it. Just going to have to skip to the end. "I cheated on her. A few...a lot. Got drunk, all the time. She kicked me out of the house, threw away her ring. Tried to get a divorce. I don't remember most of it."\n\nEven that brief and incomplete summary was hard. I could feel the shame of it, burning like a nugget of coal in the center of my chest. I'm not sure what Curious did or said for the next several minutes; my eyes were locked on the Thames, watching the rain make endless ripples on the water. Staring out over the river, I felt a pull to quench that nugget in the waves. Just leap off this wall and into the shit and the brine, and let the cold current pull me down. I never learned to swim. It might even be an alright way to go.\n\nBut I didn't do that. Couldn't. If the Civil War had taught me anything at all, it taught me that I was afraid to die.\n\nInstead, I stood up, until I was eye to eye with Curious and her barrel. "Now you know. Satisfied?"\n\nShe crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "Mmmmmno I'm not. But it's explanation enough, and the most I think I'll get."\n\n"Then you'll pass on my business?"\n\nThere was a joke in there. I could tell Curious was dying to make the joke. Every fiber of her twelve-year-old-but-not being cried out to make it. But--and this was perhaps the most impressive thing she'd done so far--she did not. Instead she calmly nodded and said, "Indeed I will."\n\n"First, I'm looking for three people. A man names William Wells, and his wife, Sabrina Wells. Also their mutual friend, Harvey Lockford. Second, I've been hired by Lord John Blackwillow, and he's not telling me everything. I want to know his relationship with those three, in detail, and everything else there is to know about him. If she wants it, tell her the coin is good, since it's coming from Blackwillow's purse. And if she says it's immoral to make a man pay for his own audit, then tell her I'm Hell-bound already."\n\n"That's all?"\n\nTell her I still think about her. "Yeah. That's all."\n\nI gathered myself, and stalked past Curious and into the storm.\n\n[[Enough of this. I need a bed. |The First Night]]
This tale is a mystery, and over the course of the story you will be given pieces of information.\nYou may wish to retreive a pad of paper and a pencil now, and record information you feel to be important as you go. \nAt points, you may be required to make decisions based on that information. It would be useful to have it on hand.\n\n[[Begin | Introduction]]
This is the end of part one! The next few days would have been spent covering the territory you didn't have time for on Day 1, before moving on to Oxford University and some discoveries about the present state of William Wells, and the past of Sabrina. If you'd like to see how things could go differently, feel free to hit restart and run through Day 1 again.\n\nOtherwise, thank you for reading the first section of the interactive novel Brass Promises, and I hope you enjoyed it!\n\n-Eric Steigerwald
Five minutes later, I was standing outside the Spider's Web, slightly bruised in the pride and face.\n\nI wandered over to the Thames, my path a little curvier than I had intended. The rain was blocked by an outcropping of building above me, keeping me blissfully dry in my contemplations. I reached the wall down to the water below, and sat down heavily.\n\nThat had been really, really stupid. It vaguely occurred to me in my slightly drunken and slightly concussed mind that she probably wasn't going to shoot me. But 'not going to shoot you' is a far cry from 'willing to talk to you' or 'willing to forgive you.' I took a deep breath and blew it out in coughs; the Thames smelled about as good as it had last time I had visited it.\n\n"Y'know, friend, I've never seen her kick out a man when he says he's there on business."\n\nI stumbled to my feet and whirled around, barely catching myself before falling right into the Thames. Facing me was an Irish woman just over five feet tall, dressed too decently to be a prostitute but too shabbily to be proper society. Also she was wearing a cute little revolver, and I had never seen a society woman wear a gun in public. Unfortunately, that left me with no clue what to do next. I stared at her blankly for maybe a minute, as she stared back with a more analytical expression. "Mmm, I suppose she might have made an exception for you. I'm pretty sure she works with idiots all the time, though."\n\n"Excuse me?"\n\n"Oh! You do talk, then. I was wondering if you'd left your senses at the bar."\n\nI just could not keep up with this conversation. "Excuse me?"\n\nShe tisked a few times. "Alright, let's start with something simpler. What's your name?"\n\nIt didn't occur to me to lie. "Jack Silver."\n\n"Nice to meet you, Jack. They call me Curious."\n\nCurious was not a name. It was a tag, like you'd see on a box. It was the kind of name I gave people when I didn't know their names. Actually, come to think of it, it was perfect. Provided she was actually curious, but something told me she was. "Is there something you want, Curious?"\n\n"Well, the namesake sort of says it for me, y'know. I was wonderin' why our fair Spider had thrown money on the street, for just anyone to pick up."\n\nThe way she said that made me think she might be flirting with me. I gave her a quick glance up and down, and decided to play this subtle. I gave her a half-grin, and said, "Are you flirting with me?"\n\nShe proceeded to laugh in my face. Honestly, it was probably for the best. I only started to get a little offended when, as she recovered from her hysterics, she said, "...oh, men."\n\nWith a small giggle, she continued, "No, no Jackie, I'm not here for that. I was wonderin' what happened between you and the Spider."\n\nAs I took a seat leaning against the brick of the Spider's Web, mumbled, "That's private."\n\nCurious stamped her foot. "That's what she kept saying! C'mon, how private could it really be? Really really?"\n\nI looked up at her with one eyebrow raised, sharing her gaze for a moment, before I answered, "Really private."\n\nCurious walked over and settled into a frankly quite unladylike squat, so she could look me eye-to-eye. "Tell you what. She and I, we still talk to each other. We're good friends, right? She kicks you out, sure, but not me. You tell me what happened, and I'll play messenger. You get to talk her business, I get to know stuff. Everyone wins!"\n\nThis woman was crazy, and she had an unhealthy curiosity about my private life. But then, that was her name.\n\n[[Absolutely not. Who knows what this woman would do with information like that. I would just talk to the Spider tomorrow. |Leaving the Spider's Web][set $curious = "Rejected"]]\n\n[[Well, it might actually simplify things, depending on how mad at me the Spider stayed. And if Curious was as her namesake implied, then she might find out from someone else if not from me. Perhaps even the Spider herself, which would be much worse. |The Tale of the Spider][set $curious = "Friends"]]
The Spider's Web was a public house near the banks of the Thames, looming next to of one of the canals deeper into the city. It was also more than that: it was the home to the Spider Woman, one of the most notorious information mongers in the city. She also happened to be a good friend of mine; both of us were strong believers in the idea of having useful friends, and I like to think I held up my end of the bargin.\nIt was a bit of a hike, but the rain kept the streets clear and I made good time. <<if $time == "Evening 1">> I arrived right at the height of business hours, when the factory crowds came to drink away the day. <<endif>>\n\n<<if $time == "Evening 1">>/\nIf I wanted to talk to the Spider, I'd need to wait until there were fewer people around. I got the sense most illicit operations would treat a dive bar like a cover, but not her. Not sure why she gave a damn about it, but she refused to do her real business while the bar was open.\n\nHopefully she didn't think of talking to me as business.\n\nI stepped into the bar, out of the rain and into the crowd. I slipped up the stairs onto the balcony overlooking the bar, and found a booth near the back that was only occupied by a couple that would have been better suited to a bedroom. I thoroughly convinced them to leave, sat down, and waited for time to pass.\n\nIt wasn't a complete waste, though. I waited, sure, but I also listened. I wasn't the only one just sitting around the back, out of sight, just waiting for everyone to leave; and some of my company had stories to tell. Rumor had it a gang down by Southwark was rolling over most of its neighbors, and the police were talking about cracking down. There was talk that Colt had signed a contract with the East India Company to try and sell some of the surplus after the Civil War ended, and that a lot of the guns would be coming through London. That tickled me a bit, until they mentioned that some of those guns had gone missing. Prussia and France had reopened hostilities after the winter, even though the cold had barely left the fields. Something was going on in Africa, and a lot of people were dying over it.\n\nThe news trickled on.\n\nFinally, after listening for nearly two hours--and sipping a bit of brandy--the crowd had begun to thin. I sat up, even while the rest of the curious remained behind. They were here for business. I was here for...well, the same thing they were, but I had privileged access.\n<<endif>>/\n\nThe bar itself was nearly empty. The Spider had a bartender, but she liked to sit back there anyway, keep her eyes on the ground or some other bullshit. I spotted her immediately, smoking a cigarette and ignoring attention. It was no surprise she was getting so much of it; the Spider was a gorgeous woman of Arab descent, with eyes that could cut glass and grace like a savannah cat.\n\nShe wouldn't ignore attention from me, though.\n\nShe wasn't ignoring attention from me.\n\nShe stood up as soon as we made eye contact, in fact. I couldn't help but smile, old memories flooding back. Why had I stopped coming here?\n\nThere was a loud thump on the bar right as I reached it. I glanced down, and saw a shotgun resting on the counter, with a graceful hand resting on the trigger. I looked back up, and met eyes that could cut glass. And they were cutting, all right.\n\nOh yeah. That's why. "Out."\n\nJust the one word from her, but everyone next to us turned the other direction. "If I go outside, can I talk to you?"\n\nShe squinted. "No. If you go outside you can live. Out."\n\n"It's business."\n\n"If it's business you can write a letter or something. I don't want to look at you."\n\nI wasn't sure what to say to that. I settled for, "Uhm."\n\n[[To make a long story short, "uhm" was not a compelling argument. |Outside the Spider's Web]]
Brass Promises (Day 1)
<<if $clubid == "American">>\s\nI rolled my shoulders back and met him square in the eyes, taking a moment to compose myself.\n\n"I-I'm sorry, who--"\n\nOnly a moment. I stepped forward, and the man, probably in fear of getting wet, stepped back. Inside the hallway beyond the threshold, I began to take off my coat, shaking the rain off of it with violent gestures. "Shit, it rains like like a hurricane in this country."\n\nThe doorman wasn't all there yet, having been driven futher back by my coat-shaking, so I kept going. "Y'all should just start tent'n up th' streets, keep a man dry. Anyhow, this the philo-sophy club, right?"\n\nI had my coat all the way off at this point, and the doorman had begun to get a bit bug-eyed. I traced his gaze down to my hip, where my massive service pistol glittered brightly from the humidity. Oh. Whoops. I looked back up and smiled a big toothy grin at him, and kept on like nothing was wrong. "If'n it is, I've got some folk to talk to. I'm here," and at this point I retreived the introduction and held it out, "on the word of Lord Blackwillow to come and find some people what gone missing. I understand the people upstairs would be some 'ssociates of theirs."\n\nNow he had the most furrowed brow I'd seen on a man, and still wasn't talking. The stairs were right next to him, though, so I rested the letter on his unmoving head and started up. I left my coat draped over the banister.\n<<else if $clubid == "Brit">>\s\nI gave him a friendly grin and a slight wave. "Evenin', friend. Can I come in?"\n\nSpectacles furrowed his brow and tilted his head. "I-I'm sorry, who, who are you? I believe you might have the w-wrong address."\n\nI shook my head. "No, I don't believe. This here is a Natural Philosopher society, right? I've got an invitation right here."\n\nSpectacles looked properly shocked at that. I knew I wasn't the type who got invited to fancy clubs, but I guess I didn't look like the type, either. I offered Blackwillow's letter as proof, and Spectacles took it eagerly. He read it right there in the doorway, oblivious to the frankly insulting amount of rain pouring down on my head. I covertly attempted to cough and get his attention, but apparently he's the kind of man who does one thing at a time, and that thing right now was reading.\n\n"Y-you're Jack Silver, then?"\n\nI nodded, slightly, but said, "I'm also a tad bit wet at the moment."\n\nSpectacles was very surprised to notice that it was raining. Or, maybe, that I was upset it was raining on me. He backed up from the door and made space for me to enter, which I did gratefully. I removed my coat, and hung it up where indicated. The hallway looked to be for nothing but hanging coats or leaving umbrellas the dry, and a staircase dominated the right half of the room. Spectacles led the way up the stairs, presumably to the Club proper.\n<<endif>>\s\n\nThe door at the top of the stairwell led to a large and smokey room filled with tables and armchairs, with maybe ten or eleven well-dressed men and women scatteed among them. A huge fireplace stood at the far side of the room, dominating the area and revealing countless small portraits on the wall. The meager light coming in from outside did little to fully illuminate the room, but even in the dingy atmosphere, my entrance had not gone unremarked.\n\n<<if $clubid == "American">>\s\nI held up a hand and waved. About six people were looking either at me or at my gun, and the remaining five people were starting to notice something was going on. I was going to have their attention whether I wanted it or not. I might as well want it. "Evenin' folks."\nBefore I could really get started, a large man near the door stood up and looked like he was about to start getting hostile. "Excuse me, this is a private--"\nI took his hand by the accusing finger and shook it up and down, hard, with a big grin on my face. "Name's Jack, Jack Silver, good to meet you. I'm here on the word of Lord John Blackwillow to look for, uh, Willy and Sabrina Wells. And their friend, Harvey. I was wondering if I could ask you nice folks a few questions."\n\nThis guy was going to decide the mood of the room for me. Everyone was watching, nobody was speaking, I had said my piece; hopefully he wasn't a blustery son of a bitch or this evening was going to get--\n\n"William and Sabrina?" It was the other man at the table that Mr This Is A Private Something had been sitting at. He looked older, maybe in his mid to late seventies, with a cresfallen expression. He was sad about something, and it didn't take much to guess what about. "So John hired a private detective."\n\n"Yes sir, he did. That's me."\n\nThe old man nodded, then beckoned me over with a gesture. "Let him sit, Markus. If John sent him, he's on our side. Let him sit."\n\nMarkus 'This Is Private' gave me a glance, frowned a tad, then decided it wasn't worth getting worked up over. He walked over to the table and sat down, as expectant as the old man. The rest of the room went back to their business. I was in.\n\nI pulled up a chair and sat down myself, across from Old Man, Markus Private, and an older woman that looked to be Old Man's Wife. Upon taking my seat, I started out, "Sorry about the interruption," but from the looks of it they had already forgiven the brash American cowboy for his quaintness, so I got down to business.\n<<else if $clubid == "Brit">>\s\nSpectacles had led the way into the room, and upon the clearing of this throat what little attention I lacked I quickly obtained. "This is, ah," he checked the letter again, "Jack Silver. He's not a Natural P-philosopher, but a p-private detective hired by, mm, Lord Blackwillow."\n\nI waved a little bit, trying to avoid just talking directly over him. Spectacles continued, "He's, eh, he's looking for our missing friends, the Wells. And Lockford. Harvey."\n\nNot interrupting this man should have won me a medal. My fingers twitched wildly. Still, Spectacles continued, "I encourage, eh, I should say, you should speak with him. If you know something. That--that could help."\n\nYes. Please Lord, let him be done. I stepped forward to begin my own introduction, but Spectacles remained oblivious to my overwhelming desire for him to shut up and continued, "I know, that we are all very...very sad that, mm, William and S-Sabrina are missing, and we all w-wish their swift, swift swift return."\n\n"If I could step in, yes, sorry, yes, hello! Everyone, I'm pleased to meet you all, and sorry to intrude on your evening. I'll only have a few questions before I go, if you're all so patient with me, and thank you for your time."\n\nTo my immediate left, there was a table occupied by two gentlemen and a lady. The man sitting furthest from me, who looked to be pushing eighty years old, spoke first, "Please, Mr. Silver, take a seat. I would be happy to answer to answer some of your questions. Markus, make room for him."\n\nMarkus was sitting closer, and he stood briskly, offering his seat and preparing to sit opposite me. There were a lot of people in the room to talk to, but a friendly face was a friendly face. I might as well start off with Old Man, Markus, and Unknown Woman. I walked over and took a seat.\n<<endif>>\s\n\nFirst off was their names: Old Man was Sir Aaron Cresten, and the woman his wife, Mary. Markus was Sir Markus Woolford. All three of them dedicated Natural Philosophers, all focused on what they called "physics" and I called "waste of my time." It wasn't the topic of the conversation, thank God, so I didn't have to chat with them about it for long before we began to talk about my quarry. When the introductions were finished (which included the arrival of a glass of Irish whiskey and a set of cigars), I asked, "When did you last see any of them?"\n\nAaron was the first to answer, "Ooh. The meeting, a month ago, when Lord Blackwillow returned from Scotland, I believe."\n\nMarkus frowned and nodded, "Yes, the little sandwiches he served. With the sausage."\n\nAaron smiled, apparently remembering, "Yes, of course, and the olives from--"\n\n<<if $clubid == "American">>\s\n"What were they doing?"\n\nSir Aaron reacted as though he had suddenly stepped in something, "Ah, of course. They were huddled off in a corner, looking busy, I think. I should have spoken to them..."\n<<else if $clubid == "Brit">>\s\nThis began a conversation of food, which was spearheaded by Markus. Getting them back on to the topic of my quarry was ludicrously difficult and took the better part of fifteen minutes, but eventually I managed to ask, "So, that meeting a month ago, when Blackwillow got back from Scotland. You said you saw William and Sabrina and Harvey?"\n\nSir Aaron nodded in agreement, taking a sip from his drink. "Indeed, I did. Sabrina was beautiful that night, I remember it like it was yesterday..."\n\nFearing another tangent, I was a bit quick on the draw, "What were they doing?"\n\nMary was the one to answer. "They were huddled in a corner, dear. Looked very busy, but I don't know what about."\n\nAaron hadn't actually come back to the moment, yet, and the hint of a tear began to appear in his eye.<<endif>> Mary reached over and took his hand, and just shook her head. He cleared up after a moment, and explained, "Sorry, I was a dear friend to them. William was my student of many years, and a close confidant. Their disappearance has been...hard."\n\nI tried to look sympathetic. I probably managed interested, which was close enough. Eventually Aaron continued, "In any case, they looked busy that whole night, not talking to anyone but each other. It was only the third time in the last three weeks they had been at the Club, and we were dying to hear the results of their expidition near Hadrian's Wall. Apparently it had been a, well, miserable failure, but that was all they wanted to say about it." He sighed. "When they left, they hadn't spoken to anyone."\n\nMarkus perked up at this point. "Well, that's not quite true. When John showed up they listened to his story, right along the rest of us."\n\n"Oh, I suppose they did. It is sort of tradition, though. Everyone listens to John's stories. I suppose I forgot."\n\nI privately wondered how that could possibly be so, but I didn't mention it. Instead, I asked, "What story was this?"\n\nMarkus answered, "His trip to Scotland. Just a vacation, but he always does do strange things to relax. Poke around in caves, or dig holes on the beach. It's riviting stuff."\n\nMust be. "What did he do this time?"\n\n"Caves, mostly. He brought back a few pieces of pottery to show around, beautiful things. Also a recipe for--"\n\nI tuned him out as he began to talk about sausages. Hadrian's Wall was basically Scotland, and Blackwillow had just returned from there the night the three disappeared. Part of me sensed a connection. "Who is Blackwillow to those three?"\n\nThey all exchanged a glance, but Aaron was the one to answer. "He didn't explain to you? How unusual...he's their patron. He finances their projects."\n\nReally.\n\n\n<<if $clubid == "American">>\s\nUnfortunately, things got a lot less interesting from there. I had apparently gotten them talking about their favorite things, which in Markus' case was food, and in Aaron's it was remembering stuff. Fortunately, I managed to keep the topic on the people I was looking for by interrupting constantly and without hesitation, which might have ground through my goodwill a bit quickly.\n\nNobody there had known them much before they arrived at the Club perhaps ten years ago, after they began to make names for themselves in Oxford. Once a part of the Club, however, they quickly became highly regarded, both as students and as friends; several members of the Club had been present for the wedding between Sabrina and William, and everyone I spoke to seemed worried about what had become of them.\n\nAccording to Aaron, the three had been an adventurous bunch, William in particular. He was a gregarious lad, full of ideas and opinions. He pushed them forward, always, and Sabrina had been pulled into his wake. She was quietly brilliant, and graceful, and beautiful, and several other things that one would expect a woman in high regard to be. Harvey was different, though: more analytical, less paitent. Also apparently somewhat scandalous, though nobody wanted to talk about what he had done to produce such scandal.\nUnfortunately, by the time I got to that part of the conversation, everyone looked drunk, tired, or annoyed, and the American had lost his charm on them. I said my goodbyes, finished off my scotch, and headed for the door.\n<<set $time = "Night 1">>\s\n<<else if $clubid == "Brit">>\s\nUnfortunately, things got a lot less interesting from there. I had apparently gotten them talking about their favorite things, which in Markus' case was food, and in Aaron's it was remembering stuff. I lost control of the conversation very fast, and spent the rest of the night making a lot of friends, and getting perhaps bit drunker than I had intended. I did, however, manage to learn a few more things about my quarry.\n\nobody there had known them much before they arrived at the Club perhaps ten years ago, after they began to make names for themselves in Oxford. Once a part of the Club, however, they quickly became highly regarded, both as students and as friends; several members of the Club had been present for the wedding between Sabrina and William, and everyone I spoke to seemed worried about what had become of them.\n\nAccording to Aaron, the three had been an adventurous bunch, William in particular. He was a gregarious lad, full of ideas and opinions. He pushed them forward, always, and Sabrina had been pulled into his wake. She was quietly brilliant, and graceful, and beautiful, and several other things that one would expect a woman in high regard to be. Harvey was different, though: more analytical, less paitent. Also apparently somewhat scandalous, and after enough drinks had gone around, I managed to discover the nature of this supposed scandal.\n\nHarvey Lockford was not a married man, but his attachment to women of the night was perhaps overzealous for even a bachelor, especially one of high society. There was some mention of drinking and gambling as well, as well as spectacularly poor judgement concerning combinations of the three. The circumstance reminded me of fellow soldiers I had known in the war, and not a one of them were happy fellows. Henrey apparently was also not a particularly happy drunk, which the high society folks of the Natural Philosopher's Club were unwilling to discuss even while intoxicated late at night. Nobody wanted to speak ill of Harvey after that, and it became clear to me that most of the people here considered the three to be dead already.\n\nGone for a month and you're already dead? It had to be more than that. Was it Blackwillow's choice to hire me? Was it their personalities, their histories? Why had everyone decided they were gone forever?\n\nPerhaps I was digging too far into it, and the reality was that people expected bad news. As though expecting it made the bad news better.\n\nBy the time I had learned all that, though, I had let the evening go on until night had well past fallen. There were only the five of us left in the Club--me, Markus, Aaron, Mary, and Spectacles (who I later discovered was named Nicholas)--and we were either drunk or sleeping. I took unsteadily to my feet, brushed off the drunken compliments of the group, and stumbled to the door.\n<<set $time = "Late Night 1">>\s\n<<endif>>\s\n\n[[If I thought of something new, I could always come back later. |Leaving the Club]]\n
Eric Steigerwald