The fic is done!
Dec. 10th, 2004 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
miss_ytAlso, I appreciate any constructive criticism to make this fic better. Thanks.
“Case Closed”
Summary: Simon and Emma are faced with a series of bizarre robberies and a gruesome murder – and the truth behind a mystery that has haunted them both for years.
Ruse was authored by Mark Waid and Scott Beatty (not at the same time, mostly) and published by CrossGen comics. The setting and most of the characters are theirs; I’m just borrowing them. Any characters who aren’t in the Ruse or larger CrossGen canon are mine.
Though the Ruse series uses American spelling, I’ve decided to use British spelling and punctuation for this fic. Time – and reviewers – will tell if this is a good idea.
If you want to post this story in whole or in part somewhere else, please e-mail me first.
Now that that’s out of the way, please read and enjoy…
“A confederate who foresees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate.”
-- Sherlock Holmes
~Chapter One~
In the week since we got back from Chaff, my joy at our triumphant return home has almost completely evaporated – in part because I have spent far too much time these past few days engaged in the tedious work of helping Simon put his library back together. It’s a task we’ve neglected for too long: the books we’ve recovered, and the replacements for some of the ones we haven’t, lie about in great mountainous piles waiting to be shelved by Simon and yours truly. Far too much of my time in recent days has been spent perched precariously atop a ladder while shelving heavy books, a task made all the more unpleasant by the current heat wave sweeping through the city. The fact that this work needs to be done does not make me feel any less miserable doing it.
I don’t even have the minor consolation of seeing Ophelia endure the same dull work: shortly after we embarked upon this project, she received word that her friend Vashti – who is still with the circus troupe she left to join us, and is apparently an acquaintance of Simon’s as well – suffered some kind of injury. The only details I know of the aforesaid injury is that it is serious and elephant-related. Within a few hours of receiving this notice of Vashti’s misfortune, Ophelia was off to visit him. She will, unfortunately, return in a few days.
So I must endure this hardship more or less on my own. Well, every cloud has a silver lining. At least I have managed to convince Simon to organize the library according to a system I can understand.
I finish writing cards for some newly purchased books to enter into the library catalogue. Simon remarked to me that there are a number of public libraries smaller than ours that use such a catalogue, and that as long as we were reorganizing our books, we might as well institute one ourselves. It is a good idea, I suppose, but writing out so many cards has made my fingers stiff.
Looking at the watch that hangs from my waistband, I see that it is half past five now. Supper is not for another hour and a half. If Simon expects me to continue with this drudgery after seven o’clock, he is going to be disappointed.
The sound of the front-door bell echoing throughout the Residence startles me – but it also lifts my sprits, because it is an excuse to get away from the library for a few minutes at least. Since I am closest to the door (Simon is lost among the myriad shelves, nowhere to be seen), I leave the catalogue cards on the table instead of filing them and slip out through the library doors. From there I run the maze of halls and passages to the vestibule. Perhaps, I think – I hope – this will be a case! With the rise in temperatures came a drop in business; though the occurrence of muggings and petty thefts always rises with the temperature, uncommon crimes of the sort we are called in for generally dwindle. Nobody has the energy to think them up, I suppose. This means, in short, that we have had only one case since we returned home, and that took no more than half an hour to solve. Please, let this be something to save me from slaving amongst the bookshelves!
Also, though I don’t like to think about it, ennui is the smallest of our problems right now. The Prism may be gone, but the damage Lightbourne did to Partington and Simon’s reputation still lingers. The city is recovering rapidly; my partner’s status is not. A new case will do him a world of good in more ways than one.
Since the “screening system” can only be used in the forbidden (or at least forbidding) main laboratory in the catacombs below or the upper reaches of the inner Residence far above, I do the simplest thing and use a mundane peephole to examine our caller. The young man standing on the doorstep has sandy, tonsured hair, and wears the black robe and white sash of a brother of the Epiphanic Church. I notice that he is trying very hard not to look nervous, though I cannot determine whether his state of mind or the heat wave is responsible for the sheen of sweat on his skin. He must be bringing a case to us – that’s the only possible reason for him to be here. I take a deep breath to calm myself, push some unruly strands of hair out of my face, and open the door.
“Good afternoon, Brother,” I greet him with a curtsey. “What can I do for you?”
The brother blinks at me, clasps his hands at the level of his waist and bows politely. “M-Miss Bishop,” he addresses me nervously, “I am Brother Anselm, of the Church of the Epiphany. His Eminence the Cardinal has sent me here on a most urgent matter…” He trails off with a shudder. “If I could speak to Mr. Archard…”
So it is a case, then. “Come in,” I say, stepping back and gesturing for him to enter. He approaches tentatively and steps through the door. I close it behind him, watching as his eyes rove around the pillars and high, vaulted ceiling of the vestibule. This was once a cathedral – I wonder if he finds it awkward to be here. I lead him up the stairs and along the central corridor to the parlour.
“Please wait here,” I instruct him, speaking as gently as I can. It’s obvious that he’s just suffered a bad shock, no doubt caused by the event that the Cardinal wishes us to investigate. “I shall fetch my partner directly.” Brother Anselm nods, looking slightly less nervous than he did when he came in.
I leave the room and close the door behind me. As soon as I am far enough from the door to be out of Brother Anselm’s hearing range, I dash to the library, my shoes setting off staccato echoes from the walls. I skid to a stop, pull open one of the great double doors, and poke my head inside, looking for Simon. He’s nowhere in evidence. I sigh and step through, letting the door swing closed behind me.
“Simon!” The echoes of my call fade quickly into silence, and I receive no answer. Frustrated, I march down one of the great avenues between the bookshelves and scan for him. Still nothing. I put my hands around my mouth and call again, louder this time. “SIMON! Where are you?”
Again, no reply. I wonder if he’s even still in the library? If he isn’t, where else could he be?… Though I dread the prospect of having to search around the Residence for him – nor would I like to let poor Brother Anselm wait for so long while I do it – I seem to have no other option. I turn around to head back out of the library and nearly jump out of my skin when I see Simon standing not four feet from me, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, holding some books in the crook of one arm.
He looks at me with that interrogative expression he wears when questioning suspects or witnesses. “Well? What is it?”
My surprise quickly turns into irritation. “You could have had the decency to answer me, Simon.” I glare at him, though I know it will have no effect.
“I wasn’t that far away; I thought it would be more expedient to simply find you.”
“In this case, courtesy would have been more valuable than expediency.”
“Courtesy is overrated.”
“And that’s the philosophy you live by, isn’t it?”
“One of them. Now, why were you calling for me?”
Though Simon’s character has shown some improvement since the incident three weeks ago, he is still, for the most part, much as he ever was. I sigh, deciding that it is best to drop this argument and get down to business. “We have a case,” I inform him.
His expression changes from one of mild irritation to the beginnings of a smile. “Then we shall leave these” – he adjusts the books he is carrying – “for later.”
How about “never?” I almost say as I follow him back to the library door.
We ride to the Cathedral of the Epiphany in the small one-horse carriage that Brother Anselm drove down in to see us. It is a relatively short trip, which is a fortuitous thing, because it is also a very unpleasant one. Even inside the Residence, where the temperature is always cooler than it is outside, the heat was uncomfortable; outside, under the glare of the pitiless sun in a cloudless sky, it is nearly unbearable. Brother Anselm, in his black monk’s robe, is suffering just that much more from the oven-hot air. My partner, though he is as usual wearing his cloak, does not seem to notice the temperature. Perhaps Simon’s perpetual sang-froid makes him immune to the effects of the heat wave.
We stop on a circular gravel driveway downhill from the cathedral itself, a great stone building with glittering mullioned windows and a massive bell tower at its centre.
My first thought, when we come to a halt, is that I am relieved for the ocean breeze here that takes the edge off the heat wave. But when I take a closer look at the cathedral, I see something startling enough to drive all thought of my discomfort away.
The window on the uppermost storey at the corner of the building, towards the seaward side, has been completely shattered. All that remains of the glass and the frame are a few jagged bits of wood and glazing round the edges. I know better than to ask my partner if he’s noticed this as well.
A boy seated on a bench beside the gravel circle springs to his feet and jogs up to our carriage. Brother Anselm slides out of the driver’s seat as the boy opens the door to let us disembark. Once we are both out of the carriage, he closes the door again and runs up to the horse, takes it by the halter and leads it away, presumably to the stables.
Brother Anselm beckons for us to follow him. He leads us to a flagstone path that winds its way up to the cathedral’s entrance. “I cannot see the seaward wall from here,” Simon remarks to Brother Anselm as he points at the broken corner window with the end of his cane. “Are the upper windows along that side broken as well?”
Brother Anselm wrings his hands. “Not all of them, sir, just the ones that…oh! I’m sorry, I can’t say more than that at the moment. I’ve told you all that His Eminence asked me to.” And the information he gave us was rather vague: there had been a robbery, and a murder committed in the course thereof. We would be told more upon our arrival, he had said. “My apologies, sir,” Brother Anselm finishes lamely.
Simon does not seem as frustrated as I thought he would. He drops back from Brother Anselm’s side to walk along with me and offers me his arm, as if for support to help me up the inclined path. But I know better – this gesture simply gives him an excuse to speak quietly to me. As I take his arm, he leans over and says in a near-whisper, “You see the broken windows. That is where the Church’s Museum Obscura is located. They must have repaired it, though I do not know if they managed to recover all the artefacts.”
The Museum Obscura. I feel a particularly nasty chill run up my spine. “Simon,” I whisper back, “Isn’t that where…”
“That has no bearing on the current situation,” he tells me. Though I cannot say I detect a hint of anger or fear in his voice, there is something about his words that puts me in mind of a thick metal door slamming shut. “Keep your mind on the present,” he says in something closer to his normal tone, “where it may be of some practical use.”
“May be?” I hiss at him.
“It was a piece of advice, not an insult.”
“With you it is difficult to tell the difference.”
Simon’s smile betrays amusement tinged with mockery. “So I keep you guessing. Good. Anything to exercise your own powers of deduction.”
“You mean anything to vex me.”
“Miss Bishop, how could you imply such a thing?”
“That you’ll make all possible efforts to drive me to distraction?” I say sourly.
“No, that I have to make any effort at all.”
Before I have a chance to retaliate we reach the front steps of the cathedral. The great vestibule beyond is mercifully dim and cool. Since few outsiders are given the privilege of entering this place, I try to take in as much of my surroundings as I can. I find myself comparing the elaborate architecture and stonework of this cathedral to their equivalents in the Residence.
Brother Anselm closes the front door and moves quickly to take up the lead once more. “Follow me, please,” he says. There are two matched stone staircases that wind upwards from the vestibule – one on the right and one on the left. Brother Anselm guides us to the one on the right. A three-storey climb takes us to a landing, from which we emerge into a long, wide, tiled corridor. Here there are other monks darting here and there, attending to various tasks. They look upon Simon and myself with a great deal of interest and curiosity. Some nod in greeting as we pass by, but none of them speak to us at all.
When we are near the end of the corridor Brother Anselm leads us to a large mahogany door on the left side. His loud knock is quickly answered by another monk who pushes open the door and looks us over carefully. This man’s weathered countenance and build remind me of Peter Grimes, although Peter never wore this monk’s solemn expression.
“The detectives are here to see the Cardinal,” Brother Anselm says. The large monk nods silently and stands aside while still holding the door open. Brother Anselm enters first, and Simon and I follow. We find ourselves in a spacious but sparsely furnished office – the Cardinal’s office. There is a row of windows high in the wall directly before us. To our right, a little forward of the wall, there is a long desk with naught but an inkstand, candle, and book placed on it. Behind it is a thronelike chair, and facing it are two smaller, simpler chairs.
I risk a quick glance at Simon to see if I can detect any signs of uneasiness, but his countenance is completely impassive. Though his memories of this place may haunt him all the more for his visiting it again, he will never show it.
The monk who let us in closes the door. He walks over to Brother Anselm, moving very quietly for a man of his size, and says something to him that I cannot hear. Then he walks towards another door in the far corner that I did not notice before.
Brother Anselm wrings his hands and bobs his head apologetically. “His Eminence will be here in a moment,” he assures us. I watch the other monk open the door, allowing me a glimpse of shelves full of books. The monk closes the door behind him. A few moments later, he emerges again, followed by another similar to him in size and build. Behind them follows Cardinal Invictus himself, a stout and dignified old man clad in white and gold vestments and a skullcap. Brother Anselm bows respectfully, as does Simon, who can do a fine job of being polite when he cares to make the effort.
As I curtsey, my eyes are drawn to the rear door, which should be swinging shut but is still slightly ajar – because it is being held open by a woman who is surreptitiously sneaking a look at my partner and myself. She is a thin, pale woman with a pointed chin and an aristocratic nose, on which is perched a pair of wire-rim glasses with oval lenses. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun. I can discern no more of her before she retreats, shutting the door quietly behind her.
The Cardinal stands before his seat behind the desk; each of the two monks takes up a position beside his chair. His Eminence nods to us, and with a wave of his hand sends Brother Anselm scurrying to take up a position by the main door. That done, Cardinal Invictus lowers himself into his chair. “Please be seated,” he says in a low, rumbling voice.
Simon and I each take one of the chairs in front of his desk. The Cardinal steeples his fingers, clears his throat and addresses Simon. “Mr. Archard, Miss Bishop, thank you for coming so promptly. I am sorry that I could not let Brother Anselm explain the particulars of the problem at hand, but I wish to keep this discreet – so I must take certain precautions.” He folds his hands on the desk, lowers his chin and fixes us with a deadly serious look. “Of course I will appreciate it if you take similar precautions, at least until this is over.” In other words, he wants us to keep mum about this whole affair. I expected as much.
“Rest assured, Your Worship, that we will exercise the utmost discretion,” Simon says.
Cardinal Invictus nods. “Brother Anselm has already told you that there was a robbery, and…that someone was killed.” He sighs wearily and leans back in his chair. “Let me explain. Since the incident ten years ago – the nature of which you are well aware – we have kept a sentry in the museum at all times.”
Did I just see a flicker of fear on Simon’s face? Or was it only my imagination?
“During Vespers earlier this evening, the Museum Obscura was ransacked. I assume you saw the windows outside.” At Simon’s nod, Cardinal Invictus continues. “Brother Mallory, the sentry at that time, was savaged by the robber, who left as quickly as he came.”
“You said the Museum was ransacked,” Simon points out. “Were all the artefacts stolen?”
Cardinal Invictus shakes his head. “No, not all. Some items are still there, whole or in pieces. With the state of the room, it is difficult to tell exactly what was stolen. I have had people searching for the Museum’s inventory list, but it seems to have been misplaced.” At this the Cardinal frowns in irritation. “When we find it, we will see exactly what has been stolen.” He sits forward again and clasps his hands on the desktop. “Until then, the investigation is left up to you. Nothing in the room has been touched since the incident occurred – I made sure that it is all as the thief left it.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence. There is something else I wish to ask you. I understand from what you have said that there were no witnesses, but is there anyone who heard or saw anything out of the ordinary?”
Cardinal Invictus gestures at Brother Anselm. Simon and I both look at him – the poor man cringes a little under the weight of so much attention. “Brother Anselm heard what happened, though he did not see it – he was working near the Museum at the time. It was he who called the incident to our attention.”
Brother Anselm swallows nervously. “I’ll help you in any way I can, sir.”
“Is there anything else?” the Cardinal asks Simon.
“No, Your Worship. Not at the moment.”
The Cardinal nods and stands up. “Very well, then. Brother Anselm will take you to the Museum and he will, as he said, assist you in any way possible. Let me know when you are finished,” he says.
“We shall, Your Eminence. Thank you.”
Simon and I stand up. We exchange bows once more before leaving the office with Brother Anselm. I put my hat back on as soon as we are out the door.
Once again Brother Anselm takes the lead – although this time I walk beside him. He is already very nervous, and if I do not question him, Simon will. I fear that if he does he may unsettle Brother Anselm even further.
“The Cardinal said that you were nearby when the Museum was robbed,” I begin.
Brother Anselm nods eagerly. “Yes, Miss Bishop. I was cleaning some of the upstairs rooms. Truth be told, I should have had it done by Vespers, but I forgot it was my turn.” He colours a little with embarrassment. “In any case…I was almost through when the Vespers bell rang, so I stayed to finish my work. Everyone else went to the Cathedral for services. When I was done and about to leave, I heard some strange sounds coming from the Museum room. Er, this way, please.”
We turn right onto a narrower hall. Brother Anselm continues his story, this time with a somewhat haunted look. “The first thing I heard was a loud crash, and then screeching and more crashes and things falling down. I banged on the door to see if the sentry was all right – not the smartest thing to do, I know, but I was alarmed and not thinking quite clearly.”
I nod sympathetically. “I see. What happened then?”
“Well, the door was locked and I had no key, so I ran down the stairs and into the cathedral – burst in on the service, but I’m sure the Lord will excuse it since it was an emergency and…”
“Please, Brother Anselm,” Simon interrupts, startling both of us. “Just tell us what happened.” I would glare at Simon if I could be assured that Brother Anselm would not see me doing so.
“Right sir. Sorry sir.” At this point we reach the end of the small corridor, which Brother Anselm opens to reveal a narrow flight of wooden stairs. “I thought we’d take this way. Less traffic and it comes out closer to the Museum,” he explains. There is only room for us to go single file on the stairway, so I follow behind Brother Anselm and Simon follows behind me.
“Where was I?” Brother Anselm muses. “Oh yes. I shouted that something was amiss in the Museum, and some of the others followed me – including someone in possession of a key, of course. By the time we got up there, though, the noises had stopped. Whatever had happened, we were too late to do anything about it.”
Then he falls quiet, and for a few moments we continue up the stairs in silence. When he speaks again, he does so gravely. “It was a terrible sight – well, you’ll soon see yourself. Everything was wrecked, and Mallory…he was practically cut to ribbons.” Brother Anselm shudders, and though the light is dim and I cannot see his face full on, I can see well enough that his skin has gone ashen. “His Eminence told us to clear out so that you could examine everything properly, and he sent me to fetch you. The rest you know.”
We reach the topmost landing of the staircase. Before us is a small wooden door, which Anselm opens. He waves us through, and we emerge into yet another hallway. The wall along one side is set with windows that look out on the cathedral proper. There is a single large door in the opposite wall. Brother Anselm scurries to it, removes a key from his sash, and unlocks it. He then takes hold of the handle to pull the door open.
“Wait,” Simon says. Brother Anselm stops and looks up at him. “I saw someone in the back room of the Cardinal’s offices downstairs. Who is she?” I feel a little silly for not asking that question myself – after all, I am curious about who she is and what she is doing here – but since she did not seem relevant to the case, I forgot to inquire.
“Miss Romanelli, sir. I don’t know her first name. She’s here doing research for something, but I’m afraid I don’t know any more about that, either.” He shrugs. “I believe she’s His Eminence’s cousin, or perhaps his niece...one or the other. My apologies, but that’s all I can tell you.”
“Hmm.” Simon looks intensely thoughtful for a moment. He shakes his head. “I shall ask His Eminence about her when we see him downstairs,” he decides. Brother Anselm nods and pulls open the door to the Museum Obscura.
Simon goes through immediately, but I do not. There is something I have to take care of. “Brother Anselm,” I say, “Can you please bring a basin, pitcher, soap and a hand towel?”
“Certainly ma’am,” Brother Anselm replies. “But…if you don’t mind, may I ask what…oh.” All the colour drains from his face as comprehension dawns. “I see,” he says quietly. “I shall fetch the items you requested.”
