Weeks later, and now May was coming to an end. A new organization sprung up, inspired or not by the Red Circle, they called themselves the 'Gold Circle'. Individuals who whispered, 'rum is gold' as a secret password, were spotted gathering behind rum houses up north in Aimland for a few days and grumbling that there was not enough rum. But no one shared their sentiments. Not even the alcohol-loving Montgomerians deep down south.
Despite being a bit of an abyss of a southern state, Montgomery was sneakily divided. The northern half, especially along the coastal town of Bayland, was strangely progressive, but the southern bit was proslavery. Once one headed into the corn fields and sugar plantations, they would find themselves in Sawyer. Between coastal and field, was the grassy outskirts of Bayland called Bayland Cusp. Within a cozy community of just ten progressive little families sat an ancient cottage overlooking the ocean.
Connie House, with it's thatched roof and stone walls, might be reminiscent of an Evrenland-type architecture. In fact, Patrick O'Conner, the founder, was from Evrenland. The inn dated back a hundred years, surviving a couple onsets of wars. It was here that Anastasia Nikolaeva found work cleaning and sometimes singing in Roktion for the travelers or local patrons.
"Ah Vy, Seni, Moi Seni" was a popular song for visitors. It was about a girl in love with a young brewer that her father forbade her to be with. Upbeat, it put a smile on people's face. Such a contrast to working as a slave where not a single word of Roktion had been allowed. Here it wasn't only welcomed but encouraged. People loved Anastasia. Her long black hair, fierce eyes, and snow-white skin. A rarity and beautiful she was among the tanned fishers or farmers of Bayland Cusp.
Day in and day out she cleaned or sang. She borrowed an empty room to sleep in. She cooked her meals. But most of all she waited. When Anastasia arrived here, there was no news of the Florence or when it would come. After saying goodbye to Allen and Owen, she had found a newer newspaper with a column on the Florence. It was advertised as a ship for slave trade, but Anastasia knew there was something more.
She had gotten the help of a nosey gossiper, but kind old woman called Mary Smith. She was a fisher's wife, but her fish was gossip, rumors, and news from the north where her sons worked.
One day she came to Connie House after closing hours as usual, but with a cheeky grin upon her wrinkled face. "The Heather Hero, have you heard? Ani, come here my dear, you must hear this."
"Is it good news?"
"Mallord Beagle!" Mary declared and slapped a newspaper on the table. It was a copy of the Westerfield Gazette from a few weeks ago. Headlines about the Heather Hero filled the front page.
Mary went on. "Bandits swarmed the little café in Old Quarrie State and killed all of the people that were standing. The sitting ones, some of them got down to save themselves, but it was looking very grim indeed! It was looking like a warzone with all the bodies on the floor, and tables and chairs crushed! The bodies were so bloody you couldn't tell apart man from woman. Can you just imagine?" Her voice rose and she flapped her hands. "And you know who swooped in to save them? None other than the Great Detective Mallord Beagle. Oh," She gave a giddy smile, "his wife must be so lucky to have such a heroic, handsome man as a husband."
Anastasia was transfixed to the article. She repeated the name over and over in her head, making sure it was the right one and that she wasn't dreaming. After all this time, she had finally found him, and he would help her find her husband.
"Kostya," she whispered, clasping her hands. "I need to get in touch. A telegraph."
"Pray to the Lord," Mary said, "that old detective's been in hiding for decades."
Anastasia's heart sank, but not for long. "Your husband, Mary, he used to be a policeman. Wouldn't he still know someone?"
Mary's husband had retired twenty years ago, and it would be a stretch, but soon it was decided to somehow find someone who knew police in Old Quarrie. From there, they would have to find a link to the next person and the next.
"Spasiba!" Anastasia beamed, filled with joy to the brim. It had been such a long time coming for her. "Thank you, so, so much! You are very kind."
"These past weeks, you've become like my granddaughter," Mary said with smile and hugged Anastasia around the waist for she was considerably shorter than the Roktion woman.
"Come to think of it, I think it was Reed."
"Reed?"
"My husband's acquaintance even after leaving the job. But they stopped correspondin' who knows why, oh why men. But I'll get in touch one way or another. You'll find Kostya, Ani."
Anastasia hugged Mary again. "Thank you, Mary. Really," she said.
And that was how Mary Smith, out of the two-hundred-thousand Smiths that lived in United Arcan, would be remembered, and never forgotten.
* * *
A week later, it was found out that indeed Mallord Beagle lived in Old Quarrie State but did not wish to be contacted. Mary waved the telegram from Albert Reed in the air.
"Said refuses to do cases and gave the name of his office, but there's a problem. Mallord Beagle's old office—Hound & Duck – Detective Service, is closed. No directories I have, not even the latest, have the address."
The dead end was gutting. In a room Anastasia and Mary sat on chair and bed. At the sound of tippy-tappy on the ceiling, they both looked up. A mouse ran across the wooden beams and disappeared in the shadows. Anastasia was not going to give up. Not even if she had to walk there herself. But that would be ridiculous when she didn't even know exactly where Mallord was. She only had Albert who knew Mallord. It was achingly close. She chewed on her lip.
Mary sighed. When she was grinning, she looked fifty. But when she frowned, she looked her age, sixty-eight. She had befriended Anastasia first out of curiosity, but now she loved this woman as if she were family. Mary lived in Bayland Cusp. If she had lived slightly south, she would have enslaved Anastasia on the spot. The little bit of land made a huge difference.
"Maybe I should contact him," Anastasia said, thinking out loud. Her thought process was that she could contact Mallord through Albert. She would write to Mallord, but it would send to Albert who would give it Mallord. It was quite smart of her. There was no way for her to know, but Albert Reed did succumb often to favors. Even if it put him in unfavorable positions.
After telling of her plan, Anastasia blushed a little when she realized she would have to write a telegram. "Can you help me craft it? I have never written one before."
"Of course, Ani dear. You should probably meet him somewhere private. Perhaps here. Connie House."
With Mary's help, Anastasia asked the keeper of the inn if it was alright, and the keeper suggested the tenth of June. Sunday, when most everyone was away to church. On those days, a different keeper came in to take care while the owner was away, the inn would be near to empty. It was perfect.
"Spasiba!" Anastasia covered her face as the tears of joy came. Her heart filled with happiness, now one step closer to finding Kostya. Soon, she would be in his arms and hold him tight, never letting go. Never again.
And so, the next few days, Anastasia and Mary crafted the telegram on a separate piece of paper. It was a lot of thinking and deciding to put so few words in to make Mallord Beagle come down here and see her, but soon they got it. Anastasia filled the form.
Detective Beagle
Help me find my husband Stop Will pay Stop
Meet me Stop Connie House Bayland Noon June Ten Stop
Red scarf Stop Ship in a bottle Stop
Anastasia Nikolaeva
"There!" Anastasia looked up from her handiwork. It was perfect. "Ship in a bottle" was shipman's code she had heard referring to Roktion slave traders. She had also heard a name mentioned when she was on the ship that took her. Someone said, "Teepee, El", which didn't make sense to her, but she hoped Detective Beagle would know. That, and her nightmares. It was "Naitumari" or "Istafala". It was a dark cavern with candlelight flickering and shadows of cloaked figures dancing on stone walls.
"Well, shall we be off to the office, then? It's still early enough." Mary picked up Anastasia's form and held out her arm. Anastasia nodded and linked her arm in, and the two women got into a carriage for the nearest office which was almost a two-hour ride.
During the ride Anastasia talked about her 'dear sweet Kostya' and all the adventures they had together traveling the world when they were younger.
"I even went to Azethia to see the kangaroos," she said, "What a strange name, don't you think?" She laughed. "I used to say kanger-ooz. They were very adorable. Bouncing around with little babies in their pouches. And we went to Naibon and the people there were nice and kind. They have curved swords which Kostya wanted one, and we got one each with cherry blossoms carved in them and had it decorated atop the mantlepiece."
"Oh, where else have you been?" Mary gave an eager smile, intent on hearing more.
Anastasia leaned back in her seat. "Oh, many places. We were young and quite adventurous. I've been on a train in Lwendolen, can you imagine? It was like a long carriage, but many people can ride them. You can go far. Much faster."
Mary could not imagine those 'metal snakes' going through U.A. as many Arcan women couldn't. And anything faster than a carriage was beyond her. So, she changed the subject.
"What were the Lwennen women like before the catastrophe?"
Anastasia smiled. "Well, I have only seen kind people. I met the sweetest woman on the train. Her name was Georgina. I still remember that beautiful name. I invited her to visit me for she had never left the country. I wonder what she's doing today and with her husband." Anastasia looked out the carriage at the sweeping pastures of green fields in sunlight and remembered similar pastures in Lwendolen.
At the time, Anastasia was a self-conscious of her strong Roktion accent and didn't dare talk to many people. But she the middle-aged Lwennen woman was different. She reminded Anastasia a lot of her own mother.
Georgina was there with her husband, and it looked like the couple were in a long-lasting loving marriage. They would gaze at each other throughout the trip, rather fondly. Anastasia could remember the many times she caught Georgina smiling at her husband. They didn't talk much, but maybe they didn't have to.
Mary lay a hand on her lap. "You will find him."
Anastasia smiled. "Spasiba, thank you, Mary."
In her mind, she held onto the image of Georgina and her husband wishing she and Kostya would be just like them. Unbeknownst to Anastasia, Georgina was a Quad, a family the epitome of tragedy. Next year, 1856 December, would be her thirtieth death anniversary. Allegedly the Red Circle killed her, but the one who severed her body was a little birdie.
* * *
Back in Penwood State, the merry month of May was going out with rain. Huddled in a trench coat, Red Circle recruit, Frank Barns, was smoking in Peskakeep Forest. He leaned against a tree and let out a drag of smoke, watching it wisp away in the air. He suddenly became angry with the tree behind him and kicked it, causing a spray of water to fall heavily on his head.
"Damned bastard Lord of the Wenches and the Sea Urchins in the sailor's asses!" He swore. Frank, when he was alone, had a thing of spitting out unnecessarily long curses. He found them fancy and felt like the bourgeoise or 'burger wisey' as he said it.
He snickered at himself and thought he was so clever for being 'wisey' and tried another. "Damned bastard slanty-eyed wrinkled enemy foe of the witches in the sloppy sewers with the troubled rats and the stinky stench of the, er, of the stonky skenching skunks in the oily hair of the grease mongrels with the turds." Frank knew he would surely win a contest of the longest curse ever if there was such a contest.
Feeling cold, he headed over to the old local bar for some good hot toddy. Like many locals and Arcans, Frank enjoyed a hot toddy on a cold day. As he warmed his innards and cursed himself for not stealing an umbrella on his way here, his ears caught interesting conversation.
"Slave ship," hissed a man with a crack in his voice. "Ship in a bottle, now who else would know a term like that?" He gave a light chuckle. "But a slave herself. Anastasia Niko—well, whatever."
"I still think ya shouldn't have taken the telegram. It was for Al. The office made a mistake." There was a pause and a chair scrapped back. "I'm goin' to deliver this to him."
"We need to take it up to the boss, Cricket. Just because he might have done a few cases here and there, ain't trustin' the damned bastard Mallord," the other man whispered back.
"Cheese!" the man called Cricket exclaimed and his voice cracked a few octaves up. "I bet you'll say the same 'bout Rosefield?" He cleared his throat. "Take it up to the boss," he said in mocking tone, "and see what he'll think, yada yada."
"Hey—"
"Well, I say you've held ya grunge far too long. I'm takin' it to the Hound myself! This Red Circle beetledung's been going on far too long and ya should be more concerned for the sake of ya little girl."
"But the old hound won't bite no more, ya know it." Spanky stomped his foot, emphasizing his point. "Hey!"
But Cricket had stormed out the bar. In his hand was a telegram. Frank swirled his drink around as if in thought, but in truth, the only thought that plagued him was if he should run from these cops. He was, after all, a criminal.
* * * * *
Scratching his recently shaved head, Spanky sighed and drank his and his brother's unfinished drink. He hated Mallord Beagle, always shoving his nose into police business. Every case where he could have made a name for himself, Mallord would swoop in and steal the spotlight.
"It's all the fault of the Hound and Duck," he muttered and looked up. There, a table away, sat Frank Barns. Frank got up so fast he knocked his chair back and left in haste.
"Gotta arrest him for somethin'," Spanky muttered.
To police, Frank had been quiet. No one knew who was in the Red Circle.
Spanky ordered another drink and thought about the telegram. Connie House, he'd been to once. It was in Bayland, Montgomery. He wondered if he should just go on June tenth. Take Cricket if he wanted to go, too. Solve the lady Anastasia's case before Mallord had a chance to take all the accolades.
The same with Rosefield. Rosefield was the extra plantation owned by the late Geoffrey Brews. On inspection of the property for clues to his murder, police had found Satanic worship evidence. Satanic things, or anything related to the spirit world, was somewhat of Mallord's specialty. The Penwood Police contacted Westerfield Police. Could they possibly dig out Mallord? Reveal his location? They knew where he lived, didn't they?
Most of Westerfield Police didn't. They entered the field after Mallord left, but people like Steven 'Spanky', or Cody 'Cricket' McGuire, would have remembered how the retirement happened. They were a few who knew where Mallord would be and promised to keep him hidden as much as possible. This was good for many police because they hated Mallord taking their fame right from under their noses. Now, the police were too proud to admit they needed help.
Spanky was one of them, but he knew the police were stumped. They had known about the memorabilia since Geoffrey Brews' death, but not even the chief knew how to proceed from here. What did one do after discovering a jar of dead scorpions and baskets full of animal bones? The only decision made was to not tell the public. To not scare the people. At least, not until the case was closed.
"Save us, Lord," he whispered and crossed himself.
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Note: Author here!
Meet Spanky and Cricket! Twin policemen. Spanky's nickname just came to me one day. Cricket easily followed. These two are quite a duo. If you like their names, vote on this chapter :D