Engines of Obsession: Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Devil You Know

The first day of hunting for information turned out to be more successful than Turner had hoped. Only one day in, and they had managed to find out some important details. Now, he just had to share them with the rest of the team.

"That was the worst experience we've ever had," Milo opened up, slumping in the chair with a defeated, heavy sigh. "We found no leads at all, and the whole thing was so tiring."

Martin grumbled, "As soon as we catch up, I'm going to bed."

The common area the group was in was meant for the servants to relax and socialize, kept largely out of sight from the main house. It was still pleasant enough... the furniture more aged than what Byron let them use when visiting him in Sparston, and the fireplace more simple and weathered. Yet it was comfortable, and sizable enough for them, if not compared to the main house. It also had some level of privacy at this hour, with the staff mostly busy with cleanup after dinner and preparing the bedrooms.

Turner shook his head, "Sorry, we were going about it all wrong. You didn't find anything about her because you didn't ask the right people. Or person, rather."

Seeing Milo's confusion, Nora added, "We assumed that because she looked only a little older than me, according to Gretchen, that she would have been a recent student. We were wrong. You didn't ask anyone old enough to remember her."

"The way that old guy went on about women, I find that hard to believe," Martin grumbled, but he also shook off some of his fatigue in curiosity. "You found something?"

Turner sipped his tea. Even in the servant's wing, this was much better than the muddy water his usual haunts provided. "Something, yeah. A lead, but it doesn't make much sense. She was a student here... last century."

Milo's education wasn't the best, but he knew dates... and he knew basic math. "But that would make her..."

"In her eighties, at least, yes," Turner finished the thought. "There's a possibility she's a descendant who shares a similar appearance, but both the description and the skills match up. The only thing that doesn't is creating these monstrosities. Every lead we've gotten, even Gretchen, points to her being a pleasant and kind woman. Only Reginald and the creations he's with are different."

Again, Martin spoke up, his fatigue brushed away in the face of this new information. "You think we're after the wrong person?"

It was Nora who shook her head and replied, "No... well, maybe. I have some thoughts. At the very least we know she's linked to all this. She may not be the culprit, but this 'Blakely' woman is involved."

"Is it even possible for her to look that young? You did say her witchcraft was uh..." Milo asked, then stumbled in his words. The implication was there. Better than Nora's.

Nora just smiled, "She's definitely more skilled than I am, but I don't know of any way to extend your youth, not without paying a price that she seems too clever to risk. It... may be a powerful illusion of some kind, or even... Turner, tell them the rest, first."

Turner set down his teacup and crossed his arms. "Yeah, the big news isn't even the time period. It's who she was with. She was apparently one of the original companions of James Middleton. The few people who knew her assumed she died on his first outing." He paused, then added the important part. "His fiancée, in fact."

To no one's surprise, this pulled Milo and Martin's attention fully to wakefulness. Milo stared at Turner, and then clarified, "You mean... THE Middleton? Our dad told us stories about his adventures when we were kids."

"Yeah," Turner affirmed with a tired sigh. "Same guy. I think everyone in the Commonwealth does. Maybe a few people outside, too. They've written books about him, but none of them mentioned he was engaged before he married Isabetta."

Martin's interest must have been high, because he was talking a lot more. It was he who pointed out, "Maybe the ones telling the stories did like the idea that his romance with Isabetta was a second romance. It would make him seem like less of a stalwart, unless she died. And obviously she didn't."

"Not so obvious," Nora broke in, drumming fingers on her own teacup's rim. "Everyone presumed she died, yet we're seeing the exact same description, and the exact same skills, just taken to a higher level. As I said, it could be an illusion, either by an aged Blakely or someone who for some reason wants everyone to think she's alive. But there is another option."

Milo groaned, "This is all getting too weird for me. Only a few weeks ago you were saying real magic may not exist, but isn't that what we're talking about here?"

Nora nodded, swirling her tea and looking down into the cup. "I did. And that's still... kind of true. I said there were unexplainable things in this world, but controlling them was beyond the ability of most humans." She looked up, eyes focused on Milo, then Turner. "But what if she isn't human? Not any more. Thorpe thought she died. Maybe she did. An eager, enthusiastic young genius, devoted to her beloved, dying tragically on her first adventure?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment before Nora finished her thought. "Those are all the conditions for a White Lady. Or I guess, Red Lady in this case."

It was Turner who grimaced now, shaking his head, "There's a huge flaw in that..."

Before Turner could continue, Milo raised his hand. "Uh... I've heard the term before. Some kind of ghost? But I don't know anything more than that."

Turner gestured to Nora, letting her give the summary.

"A White Lady is more a... type of folk tale. A ghost, to be specific," explained Nora. "Usually tied to a traumatic death... especially one that includes a betrayal or lost love. They often retain some ability to manipulate the world around them, cause confusion and muddle the senses... all things we've seen associated with Blakely. What's more, they aren't always malicious, but legend has it misfortune happens when they appear.

"And..." she continued, "Anne was from the Tinar Islands. I've never seen an actual White Lady... ghosts are real, but far less common than you'd think from the stories. I won't go into what I know, it's complicated, but Turner and I have run into a real one before."

Turner nodded, giving some weight to Nora's words. He opened his mouth again, but Nora cut him off to finish her theory.

"PLUS," she added loudly, "Most people blame any weird thing that happens on various fae, which is... stupid. That doesn't mean the fae don't exist, though. I've never seen one, but my mentor did. One of the few places in the modern world that still has stories of them? The Tinar Isles, especially last century. If she has part fae blood in her, Blakely's ghost could be stronger somehow."

Milo grumbled, "This is all way over my head, and I'd call it a prank if I hadn't seen a talking puppet carve you up like a Long Night Feast roast."

Turner finally managed to interject, "A White Lady is tied to a single place. I know a lot of this is myth and muddled folklore, but that's pretty consistent. You think her fae blood managed to break that rule?"

To that, Nora merely shrugged and waved her hand in the air, westward toward Sparston. "No, she's bound. To the shop. It's the shop that moves, and she's carried with it. That's the trick."

A groan slid from Turner as he slumped forward. "Right. A haunted house on wheels. Figuratively. That's the worst idea ever." He said that, but from his resigned sigh, everyone could tell he was seriously considering it.

Martin broke the whole train of thought. "That all seems pretty far-fetched. There's probably a much simpler explanation." He scowled, "I get that there's some weird stuff going on like the puppet you talked about, and the weird thing we fought, but I don't think we know enough to guess."

It was a good point. So good that Turner had to massage his temples and grumble, "Yeah... you're right. We have another lead with the Stoneman family. They're descendants of Edgar Stoneman, who actually was a known member of the Middleton group. His kids and nephew and nieces settled down to become pretty famous blacksmiths. Supposedly use techniques from the East that are still a mystery here... at least people believe that to be so."

Milo shook his head, dismissing the surprise at his little brother's sudden verbosity. "Uh... well that's something, but if they're that famous, I doubt they'll want to see us."

Turner chuckled tiredly. "Get some sleep and leave that to me."

Unsurprisingly for a highly-successful blacksmithing business, the Stoneman family shop was at the upper end of the Crafts District. Large shops made of mortared stonework, some aged and some recently renovated, dominated this part of the district. The prices here were generally out of the range of Turner and his group, but it was probably the only place Milo would be able to find someone who could reliably service that fancy rifle.

This early in the morning, it wasn't bustling on the streets, but the shop had a line to see the clerk anyway. Turner hadn't been in town in years, and hadn't really wandered into this area often, but now he could see that 'successful' was a modest statement.

The fact that they had a clerk was statement enough of the success of the shop. It was more like a small guild of its own, with clerks, order processing, and a whole array of apprentices set up to handle simpler requests. Turner doubted the Stoneman family themselves did much actual blacksmithing work, which made his plan a little risky.

"I'd like to speak to the Stonemans personally," he said, after finally getting to the front of the line. He didn't expect this to work, not without a little nudge.

As Turner had anticipated, the clerk looked him up and down without much enthusiasm. "The Stonemans are out until noon. If you have an appointment, we can reschedule." He looked up from where he was scribbling a note. "You do have an appointment, right?"

"I don't," Turner replied, "But I think they'll want to speak to me. My name is Turner, and I need to speak to them about the source of this item." He slid the small wrapped bundle across the counter, letting the leather fall away enough to show the gleam of metal within.

The clerk sighed, "No appointment, no meeting." He picked up the bundle, then hesitated. Turner had bet on apprentices doing a lot of the scheduling... it was important to know a little about what the client wanted. His gamble had paid off, because said clerk was now squinting at the steel rod, running a finger along it. It was one of the rods from the first construct they'd fought, and Turner knew that level of precision and purity was unnatural even for machined steel.

"Just give them that and let them know," Turner offered. "I'll be back after noon, and if they want to see me you can tell me when there's a good time." In this case, his direct nature helped, as Turner had no problem just turning around and walking out without further pleasantries. Kept the conversation memorable.

"Did you get an appointment?" Nora asked when Turner stepped out of the crowded lobby.

"They aren't in until this afternoon," he answered. "So until then we can run some errands." He dug into the purse and counted out a few coins. "Nora, you go with Milo to see if he can get his rifle checked out. Better to have someone used to the city with him. Martin, you head back to the house, see about loading up that remnant into a pack. I don't think the university will get to it very soon, and we might want to show it to these if they really do know something."

Milo perked up and nodded. Even Turner had managed to pick up on his crush on Nora, might as well throw the guy a bone. But he still asked, "What will you be doing?"

Turner shrugged and jerked a thumb toward a side street. "Your rifle needs a specialist, but I know someone down there a few blocks that can get me some good ammunition for cheap. I'm just going to run by there and restock, then meet Martin back at the house to pack up the construct. I won't be long."

Martin nodded, walking back toward the residence while the others split away. Turner sighed and trudged over toward one of his old haunts. This part of the district he knew much better.

This street in particular he knew well. The apothecary, the pawnshop, a cobbler, and a tinker all had a bit of a friendly and supportive network going. The (five) shops were all genial and had known Turner since he was a ruffian tearing through the streets.

He paused at the entrance to the alley. His head throbbed. "Mn..." No, that was right. Those were the shops. One, two, three, four... (five). Yeah.

Turner shook his head and walked onward, only to pause again, staring at the street. All (five) shops were there, looking a little more weathered but just as he remembered them. He knew each intimately... except the one right in the middle. The third one down in either direction. He (knew) it had been here for years, but he'd never set foot inside.

Which made no sense.

"You have to be kidding me," Turner breathed, rubbing his forehead as the growing headache dissipated abruptly, and the strange mystical effect was broken by his sheer familiarity.

Right in front of him lay the sign of that fifth shop, a fancy and rare glass window below displaying the wares inside.

Potions and Puppets