Andora

Chapter 1: “You’re never going to catch the Legend if you go to Bermuda, they will be long gone. Your best bet is to find a fast ship to France once you reach New York. Perhaps Calais or even Paris. I will send word to Grand Central Station if I receive news. Chin up, keep a stiff upper lip. Keep faith that your fiancée is alive, and Helena will be able to help you find her.” Sigmund leaned on his cane, giving the same advice he’d given since the decision was made. His smooth British accent always made the bad news sound better. Doyle found it hard to concentrate. The creature that had helped him in the theater hadn’t left his side. He talked little, preferring to sleep attached to Doyle’s bag or body. At least Sigmund had been kind enough to buy a first class ticket for him and hand him a fistful of dollars. It was the least the Brandywine estate could do, since it was Helena that brought the Demon that possessed Tsang Mei back from the other side. Doyle hoped upon hope Helena would take him there to find and rescue his fiancée. Carl reached out and gave Doyle a hug. He had been speaking the whole time, but Doyle found it hard to concentrate. Wrapping him in a bear hug, Carl whispered, “Just be careful and come home safe. The city needs men like you.” The embrace broken, Carl stuck out his hand, which Doyle took and shook with a firm grip. Carl cleared his throat and said with a deeper voice, “Stay out of trouble.” “Thank you for everything.” Doyle had no other words for his friends. He bent down and picked up his small tan suitcase. For this trip he traveled exceedingly light: a few changes of clothes, his favorite flat cap, and the gas-powered pistol, a gift from Mister Wizard. With a quick salute, he waved before boarding the express train and finding his cabin. In the cabin, a soft voice spoke out. “I’ve never been on a train.” Doyle nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He all but dropped his case on the bench bed across from him. The ant creature moved in a flash to be on the top and more comfortable side. Lounging on the bag, he crossed his arms and laid his bushy chin to rest. Doyle stared at the creature, waiting for it to speak. The impulse to draw his pistol neared unbearable, but he stayed his hand. “Who are you, and what do you want?” The ant creature tilted his head, as if he didn’t grasp the question. Silent in thought, it was a time before he raised his tiny right finger and spoke. “Who are any of us, really? Why are we here? What do any of us really want? Those are the questions philosophers always ask. Are you a great philosopher?” Doyle was stunned. He didn’t think his questions would begin an existential debate. “I’m a copper, I tend to stick with the easy questions. What is your name?” Doyle had little choice but to play along with his dementia or hallucination. If the creature was real, it saved his life, so he should be grateful. “Ah, there is as straightforward a question as can ever be asked. Now I would like to tell you my true name, but seeing how true names can unleash impressive magics, I will tell you the name I go by. Fair enough?” Doyle quickly discovered, once this creature started talking, little would slow it down. “Fair enough, tell me the name you would like to be called.” “Agreed. Most people call me Cousin Jack, but seeing how we are going to be friends for a long time, I suggest we become less formal. You can call me Jack. A moment, I am going to change into something a bit more comfortable.” With that, the ant creature slipped off the case, out of sight. “What do you mean we are going to be together a long time? Is this some sort of life debt?” Doyle asked the unseen creature. The train jolted to a start, Doyle glanced out the window, and there were Carl and Sigmund waving goodbye. “What? No, of course not. This is it, I was tired of running around the sewers, and I wanted out. No life debt involved. You were the first interesting person I crossed paths with, so I hitched a ride.” Jack came from behind the case, now shaped like a little human, twelve inches tall, wearing jeans, a white tee, and red suspenders. “You live in a sewer for a few years, you would catch the first normal looking person as a way out yourself.” “You are real?” Doyle reached out to poke the little man in the stomach. Jack slapped the finger away. “This gate doesn’t swing that way, keep your hands to yourself.” “What are you?” Doyle forgot about his friends outside the coach, his constant attention on the diminutive human creature. “You are just full of questions.” Jack jumped off the case and strolled to the back of the cabin where there was a seat. Making himself as comfortable on the cushion way too enormous for his body as he could, he said, “I’ve been called by many names, most none too flattering. I prefer Cousin Jack, but a more common name is Knocker or Tommyknocker. You ever hear of my kind?” Enthralled Doyle shook his head. “No, I didn’t think so. Humans always know about the other earth spirits, but never use poor miners. My kind normally lives in the ground, in tunnels of mines. I’m looking to expand my horizons a bit. See the world, as they say. I just got lucky with you.” “I can’t be the first person you encountered in the mines…” Doyle muttered. “On the contrary, I’ve met many wonderful people. However, they did not enjoy the proper aura to become attached to. None of them were the special kind of crazy I prefer to hang on to.” “Special kind…” “I can tell you’ve seen things. You answered my tap. Most people would never do that. They would ignore the sound or cross themselves and run. You didn’t. Either through bravery or stupidity, you stepped through the wall. Not many people would do that.” “The word you are looking for is desperation.” “I can work with desperate, any strong emotion really. I took the risk to mean you would believe anything to reach your goal. Most people aren’t like that.” “Thank you. I guess. I need to ask, am I crazy?” “If you mean because you can see me, and no one else can, the answer is no. I tend to gravitate to the more imaginative, but that doesn’t mean crazy.” Doyle leaned back, still unsure if this was real or a figment of his vivid imagination. “If you live in mines, how did you end up in the sewers?” “I said normally… You need to listen, or this will become a tedious relationship. I last attached myself to a sailor. Billy was a fine man, if not too bright. He was let go from his last ship for sneaking rum on board and staying three sheets to the wind most times. After his discharge, the theater bug bit him, and he started working the rails in the theater above where you found me. He should have stopped drinking before he went aloft… He fell and broke his neck on that stage, in front of a full house. Got a standing ovation until the patrons found out it wasn’t part of the show. The theater closed shortly after that. I moved to the sewers. Until you came along and nearly killed yourself banging your head against the masonry.” “Erm.” Doyle had more questions but didn’t want to sound stupid in his naivety. “You want to learn how an earth spirit hooked up with a sailor? It is a long story. I am an old man, even for a Knocker. If I tell you my whole life, it will take a considerable amount of time.” Jack pulled out a small pipe and stuffed it with tobacco. “The thing you need to remember, right now, is how to keep me happy and out of mischief: give me cake… or any type of pastry, really. I have a wicked sweet-tooth.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Doyle sat back, ready for the four-day journey to New York City and the stories he was about to learn from his uninvited traveling companion. Jack. What an uninspired name for a legendary creature. Sigmund watched as the train pulled out. Carl stood quietly next to him. Stoic, Sigmund had no readings on Carl’s thoughts. “I need to send a telegram to my sisters. Faith will make sure he gets on a good ship.” Carl turned toward the telegraph office. Sigmund’s cane clicked on the station platform, his cast causing him to limp behind Carl. “I never knew you had family in New York.” “North of the city but close enough to help.” Carl stopped and waited for Sigmund. “Can you help with the expenses? Money can be tight for my family.” “I informed Doyle the Brandywine estate will be funding his search. All he needs to do is send a telegram, and I can wire the funds to him. He has a thousand dollars to begin with.” He passed Carl in a quick hobble. “Once we contact Doyle and the Legend, we will coordinate the pair finding each other.” Carl looked where the train once stood. “Do you think we will ever see them again?” A few paces ahead, Sigmund stopped and waited for the reporter. “I can only speak for myself. I have every full intention of seeing Helena again. I hope at that time, Doyle and all of our friends will be accompanying her. I am, however, a realist. I understand that what they are attempting to do is fraught with danger. Even the most mundane trip to a foreign land is laced with risk. We can only hope that they are strong enough to overcome all challenges.” “That’s not very reassuring.” “It wasn’t meant to be. Now shall we contact your family? I still want to have a tête-à-tête with your boss.” “You know I can’t do a direct confrontation with Mister Beast. I will lose my job.” Carl took the few steps to regain Sigmund’s side. “I understand that, but I believe I am well enough now to discuss his attack on our estate, and if need be, beat the truth out of him.” Sigmund cracked his cane hard against the platform. “I’m not sure direct confrontation will be the most effective. What Beast understands most is money.” “I am well aware of how the rich operate. I am working on a subtler subterfuge, but I need to keep his attention on the direct assault.” “Do you care to share your knowledge with me?” “I learned long ago, a secret will remain a secret while only one possesses the information. This, I’m afraid, will need to be the case until all is ready. Once the trap is set, I will find enormous pleasure to spring it on that arrogant man named Beast.” “Remember he thinks himself above the law, his money will insulate him from any wrongdoing.” Carl opened the door for Sigmund once they reached the telegraph office. Sigmund tipped his hat in thanks. “I understand the perceived power money can give the rich. I also understand the art of using a perceived advantage and turning it into a disadvantage. Give me time to prepare the trap, but now we must keep him focused where we need him to be. On me.” “That might prove hazardous, even fatal, for you.” Carl watched the older man. “That it might, but what is life if not used wisely? I am angered now. Something must be done to hurt the man that chased Helena out of the city. I will do what I can to achieve my goal.” Sigmund spotted the look of concern written in the wrinkles of Carl’s forehead, but now was not the time for quietly sitting by and spectating. His body was finally healed enough for action!