A Well Misspent Youth

Part 7

Well wonders never cease: a commission! During a routine visit to the Guildhouse I am invited to an audience with Lord Snaphaunce. It appears a certain Commander Tyne (I don't recall the name; before my time) was once in charge of the rudimentary Penharrow navy and proved himself a miracle of incompetence. Luckily for him, the high connections who gained him his appointment also protected him from the backlash of popular wrath and he was effectively exiled to distant diplomatic posts suitable to his ability.

Alas (for us all, but particularly for him) he has chosen to return. Despite hints, warnings and, so I'm told, outright threats, he has neither kept quiet nor made any effort to leave our shores. Instead he takes great delight in informing everyone how badly he was treated and that had he been given enough ships he could have won the wars he provoked. (A statement which is almost certainly true – for all wars!)

Patience having run out, it seems Commander Tyne must be shown the error of his ways in as terminal fashion as possible. However, since the man is paranoid and thinks people want to kill him (you will recall the 'hints, warnings and threats' mentioned above?) it is a little tricky to separate him from his bodyguards.

For some reason, despite several guild-masters being well able to take commissions better guarded than Commander Tyne, the task has been given to me. Do I detect a test? I have completed a sufficient time as a journeyman and perhaps Lord Snaphaunce, who I have always thought was as fond of me as anyone, is considering promotion to master? Of course it will go to a vote and obviously a few recent high-profile commissions are to the fore. I am not the best qualified to kill Commander Tyne, but I am the most qualified to kill him in the place and manner requested: at Lady Gilcrest's Charity Ball at the Guildhall. Lord Snaphaunce gives me a personal gilt invitation to the ball and clothes are to be provided both for my guest and I, made to measure of suitable quality for our stations. Inwardly I rub my hands with glee: this reeks of lucre and frankly I need rather more than I have to pursue my ambitions.

And this is where the story becomes a little disappointing. It appears the Guild is short of currency and my payment is to be in 'kind'. You would think that 'kindness' would be a rare thing among assassins, wouldn't you? But I cannot escape it, so it seems. My remuneration is to be a sword. I am shown it: a rapier of surpassing quality and workmanship; a blade of history and utility if my eye is any judge and as good as any I've heard of, certainly better than any I've handled. It will no doubt lend an air of panache when hung at my side. Of course, we must hope that no one recognises it as once having belonged to another as it doubtless has a lineage and any previous owner must have possessed both wealth and prowess.

The hilt is to be altered to suit my hand and will be decorated with my monogram and the Varanus crest but had I but the merest fraction of the coin which it is worth, I could afford to retrieve my own humble blade from Leering & Sons, Pawnbrokers, and also purchase clothes less threadbare. Oh well! The saying, 'beggars cannot be choosers' never rang so true. I depart to give Estelle the good news that she shall go to the ball and that a frock shall be provided for the purpose. She probably thinks I'm paying for it and I see no reason to be so cruel as to disabuse her illusions. She and Sister Domenica, our worldly little nun, make gleeful plans for the fitting on the morrow.

All I am told of Commander Tyne indicates he will be easy to dispose of. The twin difficulties will be finding a place of relative privacy and leaving no overt evidence of murder. Apparently provoking the man into fighting a duel will not work as he is a coward and would choose a champion; pity, it would serve several excellent purposes. The method will therefore probably involve a fall or poison. I think poison should be a last resort but last resorts are all too often necessary so I pay a visit to Dr Gloster and he provides a powder which promises to be efficacious if the somewhat bitter taste is hidden by spicy food or strong drink.

I also take the opportunity to broach the subject of Horatio viewing the University's copy of the Ak' Kahla tome and dear Emil, who rarely takes his nose from some work on the occult and who has never impressed me as being scrupulous (not an advantage in either of our professions), suddenly comes over quite…coy! He says the book is 'dangerous' and is unsatisfied with my description of Horatio. (Well I did consider lying outright but I'm afraid even Emil would probably notice any deviation from reality wide enough to render Horatio a reassuring personality.) I offered to send Horatio along for an interview – I realise this was probably an error but luckily Emil demurred and said he would think about it. Oh dear! And Horatio was so looking forward to it…perhaps Emil is afflicted with wisdom after all?

With the powder in my pocket I visit the Guildhall and manage to find a clerk willing to effervesce regarding the architecture. Actually it is rather magnificent. Unfortunately, being centred principally around a single very large chamber, privacy will not be easy to find. The balconies are all a little exposed and the grand stair too shallow to be reliably lethal.

I find the stairs to the wine cellars more appropriate to the purpose and the cellars themselves wonderfully dark. Although not exactly a gentleman's place, no servant would be at all surprised to find a gentleman or two in the wine cellars, particularly one with the Commander's reputation. Lured down, he could be offered copious quantities of alcohol before being pushed down the stairs or slipped a judiciously lethal dose of Dr Gloster's concoction.

So it is in a suitably merry mood that I hand Estelle up in to the carriage. She has acquired a dress of excellent material and a cut appropriate to fashion if not propriety and I make a point of complimenting her on it before reminding her of our ostensible purpose – to survey the guests and possibly identify our cryptic patron.

It is after we arrive that I am reminded why I have not missed polite society since Daddy and I had our disagreement. I wasn't expecting him to be there; he's not fond of society events that don't involve killing something or someone and I trust no one has informed him of Commander Tyne's imminent demise.

In truth there are only a handful of people of prior acquaintance but it is remarkable how much embarrassment can be experienced through the chance meeting with such.

First it is Estelle's turn: a couple named Rupert and Constance. Rupert claims Estelle as an old flame. Estelle turns a remarkable colour, introduces me as her 'fiancé' and promptly vanishes toward the card tables. (Actually I do not know where she went but I assumed she would find the card tables eventually.)

Rupert proves to be the archetype of inanity; his conversation is remarkable for its puerility. It turns out we have vaguely known each other since childhood and he asks after the family: he floundered wonderfully when I told him Cuthbert had died in a hunting accident two years ago but recovered when it occurred to him that he was now talking to the Varanus heir. Eventually it occurs to me that we must part or I will have to find someone to pay me to kill him so I make some excuse and depart – but not before disabusing him of Estelle's little fib regarding our non-existent betrothal. He seems immensely cheered and I am happy to have spread a little joy in the world.

Having procured two drinks, I then encounter Dr Cornelius, a lecturer from the University who also knows Horatio. Quite mad! Utterly obsessed with rats, but his conversation is wonderfully stimulating…or perhaps it is the juxtaposition to Rupert? Such a shame I was not able to plumb the depths of his intellect regarding the insidious threat of the rodent to public health and the very fabric of society – however I do recall sitting through two of his lectures so perhaps I didn't miss that much after all.

Eventually I find Estelle in conversation with Adele d'Amoire: I should perhaps mention that Adele was once (and for all I know may still be) one of Daddy's mistresses. A professional mistress, if I may make so bold. Estelle repeats her little fiction regarding betrothals; Adele responds quite gleefully and I have no doubt this little canard will quickly find it's way back to our respective families. I see repercussions for both of us but we shall have to deal with that in the future.

At last, the three of us encounter Commander Tyne and he proves quite as flatulent as I had hoped. Already well in his cups, he is expectorating about his mistreatment over his unfortunate naval defeats. I confess I warm to him; it's always a pleasure to find a co-operative victim. His self-pitying conversation proves the perfect foil with which to parry probing importunations by gold-digging debutants and I find it a simple matter to ensure we remain alone despite his attempts to introduce me as his 'special friend'. Neither does he require much persuasion to visit the cellars, where he proceeds to imbibe a phenomenal amount of very expensive wines and spirits while quite failing to notice that I restrict myself to a single glass.

I had hoped to induce him in to precipitous flight and thereby let him expire in an 'accident' on the stairs, possibly a coronary. It would have been far more elegant and would have left no traces by which to trace third party intent. However, my attempts to induce paranoid fear fall on wine-soaked ears, deaf to all but his own pathos. So, as I had expected from the first, I have little recourse but to resort to Dr Gloster's medical intervention.

The Commander comments on the bitterness, which surprises me, but still quaffs the lot. It begins to take effect within a minute. Complaining of stomach pains, he seeks support and I gently help him up the stairs. Of course he is violently ill before we reach the top. Despite my best footwork, some of his projectile excretions wind up on me; mostly on my cloak. Our joint cries quickly summon assistance from the kitchens and Commander Tyne is carried in to the gardens where various persons minister to him, myself wringing my hands in concern, but all to no avail.

He has few or no friends and I doubt anyone will seek a full examination in to his death. He was an embarrassment to too many. Now everyone can make the usual eulogies over his selfless dedication to duty and his many other virtues while glossing over his colossal incompetence, as is usual with the recently dead.

After cleaning myself up, I rejoin the party and enjoy several dances with a Miss Farnsworth, a young debutant of more than passing loveliness and blissfully free of the curse of intellect. She should marry nobility and clearly has aspirations in my direction but I need someone with specific connections and rather more between the ears.

At last, I collect Estelle from the gaming tables and we go home. Both of us seem to have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and, while we cannot be said to have secured our lesser objectives of locating our cryptic patron, I have achieved my main goal and Estelle claims to have made a profit at the tables. Remarkable! I look forward to receiving my 'payment' from Lord Snaphaunce. Money would be nice but I shall be suitably gracious to receive the blade. If this is a test, I trust I have passed.

On returning home, I brake the news to Horatio regarding Emil's refusal to allow him access to the Book of Ak' Kahla. He takes it very philosophically and announces an intent to break in to the University Library, which might be a remarkable adventure in itself.