Last post by Johan - December 19, 2017, 01:02:27 PM
Cameran made a slight meal for himself and ate of it absently as he considered the game.
Fitzsimmons was greatly troubled...tonight's meeting was evidence of that: the worst of the worst in attendance, no escorts, all clearly put out.
These iron men was shaken because of Sayer's inquiries into the mail delivery. The Arch Duke's mail delivery to be specific. And to Threshold, to be more specific still. It seemed clear to Cameran that the mechanisms that these men had in place were in clear danger by virtue of Sayer's investigation. Else, why the long faces?
By now, Cameran was sure, Sayer must be at Kelvin's Bridge; he would return no sooner than tomorrow evening.
Sayer would no doubt figure out what was going on, and no doubt soon. How would he prove it?
The story would unfold from here with the questioning of Farkus as well as the Courier Master and the suspicious youth. This would yield the ultimate manner in which the mail was being tampered with, and possibly implicate Fitzsimmons.
There was no way that Cameran could help with the actual questioning, but it was clear to him that the weak link in these suspects was the youth. The Courier Master would admit nothing initially...Fitzsimmons and Farkus had something on him. What, exactly, Cameran couldn't tell. Possibly just the promise of a Xanthakain death, but possibly more. Family, past indiscretions...who knew? Something physical though, from the looks of how Farkus handled the matter.
Farkus would never admit anything, as he was too stupid and confident in his shield - Fitzsimmons. Cameran wondered for a moment whether Farkus understood that Fitzsimmons would abandon Farkus when it was convenient. Not likely; the sergeant didn't have that sort of forethought in his skill set.
Back to the youth. Cameran thought that if he could rattle the lad's mind a little, without being obvious, then when it came time for Sayer to question the lad, he would be primed. Cameran could do that. There were many old stories about what happens to expendables when they at last become uncovered. Cameran would go to the Courier's Post in the morning to tell such tales to the children. The boy was always there, and Cameran would make sure that he heard.
Then there would be the eventual search of Fitzsimmons' estate. It would be easy enough for Cameran to leave evidence of the Headmaster's schemes. Fitzsimmons kept most of his secrets stashed away under the floor in his study, the panel covered under an expensive carpet. Cameran could easily make it obvious that the carpet had been moved recently and leave it to Sayer's Trailmaster to spot.
Thirdly, a note to reach Sabine about a day or two after Fitzsimmons was finally unmasked. Cameran determined to write the names of Fitzsimmons' allies - easy enough to disguise the handwriting - and have a lame old woman deliver it to the mail in timely fashion. There was plenty of time, and with the Northguild Theater's makeup and wardrobe producing such an old woman would be easy.
Finally, there would be leaving Kurr.
THIS story would continue in Threshold, he was sure.
They arrived one by one and departed in much the same way while Cameran paced the gardens waving his arms ludicrously and mumbling to himself nonsensically. Anything that would make the meeting-goers think that Cameran was quite distant. No one brought wives, daughters, or nieces from whom Cameran might otherwise glean a clue.
As Kossuth dipped low in the sky they all left in a group, somber and dark. Cameran made a few inarticulate shouts in mock frustration as he stomped about the gardens. Fitzsimmons eyed him, seeming to try to decide whether to approach or not. Ultimately the Headmaster climbed into his hansom and swept out of the estate gate.
Whatever should happen, these were names that the Archduke Vallensun should know a thing or two about.
Cameran went into the house after the clatter of Fitzsimmon's horse could be heard no more. All was quiet.
Last post by Johan - January 22, 2017, 04:31:32 PM
For some time now Cameran had been feigning the writing of a play: The story of Mad Dog McGee was based on story he had heard in Rhohannus and he used the writing of the work from time to time when he wanted to be in places that might be inconvenient to Fitzsimmons.
Today was just such a day. Cameran returned to Fitzsimmon's home with the goal of being slightly inconvenient. He might not be able to hear anything, but he would certainly better learn the players.
Cameran's guess had been good: Fitzsimmons was home when the bard arrived. Cameran decided to enter the viper's den glibly. "My dear Frederick," he drawled. "I wonder if you could listen to the next piece of my play. You see..." but it was Cameran who could see: Frederick Fitzsimmons was in no mood to listen to the thespian's childish pursuits.
Fitzsimmons was in his office with two of his frequent accomplices: Mr. Rubious, whose wife was nearly as heinous as he himself was, and Mr. Channing, whose rather homely daughter was more interested in creature comforts than anyone Cameran had ever known.
Cameran stopped rather short in the entrance to the office. "Ah, I see that you are busy though. My abject apologies." He quieted and backed out. "I will retire to the gardens to think on my developments...we can discuss it as we sup tonight." He said. Fitzsimmons and his guests only glared at him.
Cameran went to walk the gardens and see if anyone else showed up, and when who left. It would be a long evening, it seemed.