5 June, 1870
The Mighty Richardson
Richard Glotnik
c/o Rigby's Amazing Circus
Box 7
Coram, NY
Richard,
I hope that all is well with you and your pets. If you are reading this I’ll know that neither King Henry nor your lovely bride have bitten that misshapen head of yours off yet. Haha. Passage to England was most uneventful. The “flat” provided by the Stein Co. is much more spacious and comfortable than a rail car or the tent but, of course, the furnishings are much too small and flimsy to accommodate a man of my stature. Mrs. Ploppy, the landlady, at least has located an armless chair so that I might have a place to sit, although it is rather lowish. My knees tend to be more involved in my reading than before. My years of sleeping in Pullman cars have somewhat prepared me for the bed, although I should have talked to Willie the contortionist before leaving. Haha.
I must tell you, old friend, that this new life in my return to Europe seemed normal right up until I met Dr. Wilson, the gentleman I am to protect.
Last night, being a Saturday and being as I was in a new town and about to embark upon a new career, I found a pub to celebrate in. Of course, me being the size that I am and a stranger and all, some elbows had to fly before I could get them to bend with me. Once I purchased a few pints and we compared bumps I began to inquire about this Dr. Wilson, to see as to his reputation in the area. The only information I had on him previous was from Mr. Caleb Stein, my new employer, who told me that Wilson is an eccentric genius who helps them develop things including some secret things for the crown that I can’t write about here. I was told he has a tendency to rush into danger, and that I was to keep him out of trouble (Oh, you are going to have a mighty laugh about that one, my friend) You would not believe the stories these lushingtons at the pub were telling, though.
For starters, they told me that Dr. Wilson is a notorious, true-to-life Wild West outlaw known as “Boy Rocket” or “Rocket Kid” or something like that. Apparently, there are dozens of dime novels that outline his exploits. More importantly, they began talking of “leagues”, “orders”, and “secret intelligence” things that he’s supposedly involved in. And if that weren’t bizarre enough they began speaking of gun fights with foreign agents, explosions, ghosts, and magic. I thought that I might have wopped them on the head a bit too hard, or gave them one to many pints to wash down, but that didn’t turn out to be the case.
I’ll preface the day’s events with this, please keep it under your hat: either Dr. Wilson is involved in something very extraordinary beyond his duties for the Steins, something that will involve me risking my skin and saving the world for ten pounds per week, or I have just stumbled upon the largest collection of loonies and headers outside the walls of Bedlam. What I fear most, after witnessing what I did today, is that both are true.
Come Sunday morning, bright and early, who should call upon me before I am prepared to meet the day but the man himself, Dr. Jebidiah Wilson. I know this will sound funny coming from me, but after the stories of the previous night, I thought he would be bigger.
Our professional association began with him asking me what I would do if someone accosted him. I don’t recall my reply, but I think I impressed upon him that if anyone were that determined despite my presence, I could still solve the situation with naught but my two hands, if necessary. He then asked me how I might handle it if the person were undead. Imagine! I had to kiss my lucky coin three times at the mention of such a thing, but I still replied that I would take care of the situation. He then inadvertently gave me the impression that the greatest threat to my well-being may be whatever rocket-gun contraption he may have stashed about his person.
Once I made myself presentable, we traveled to the home of Sir Cosmo Copperthwaite in Mayfair, where Dr. Wilson is a houseguest. I must say that although I didn’t have much opportunity to converse with Sir Copperthwaite, I rather like him. Simple things such as not having to use a side entrance and the like can warm your heart to this particular stripe of gentleman. One thing that I notice is that he appears to be at the center of this group. Whether that means he is central to this organization, the head loony, or the head keeper, I have not yet determined.
There were several people about the house between the guests and the servants. One of the first I had opportunity to speak with a Miss Namaste Chigwidgeon. Miss Namaste is an exotic beauty with slightly darker features. She seemed to hold the attention of more than one of the men in the room, particularly Sir Cosmo, whom I discovered was her betrothed. (again, I rather like this fellow) She is also quite likely to be the biggest header of the bunch.
First she commented upon me being the size of her father, which I found odd given that she seemed to be the size of my arm at most. Then later another in the room recognized me from my boxing days and from that awful dime novel that got written about me. Only then does Miss Namaste, being a fan of the Shilling Shockers over there, start chatting about having the book now that she realizes my identity. (As if there were dozens of O’Flaherty boys my size and appearance, honestly!) I held my temper regarding my opinion of that rag, but I did point out that it was all lies. She replied with “that’s what they tell us to say, too.” I am still trying to comprehend the exact meaning of that statement, I fear. Things seem to occur around this girl, much to my discomfort, as I will write about very shortly.
Another person I had the opportunity to chat with was Inspector Simon MacGregor. Among other things, he used to work with the bright boys at Pinkerton. He recognized me both from my boxing and circus days. From the cut of him, I’d say his appreciation for boxing is deeper than just being one of the Fancy. He may have gone a few rounds somewhere. For the copper type, I really like him so far. He spoke very highly of Dr. Wilson. Whether that reflects better upon Dr. Wilson or poorer upon Inspector MacGregor I have yet to determine. His presence gives me hope that these people are who they seem to be.
Met a young man by the name of Edward. Loony.
He speaks in the same manner as the Pin-Twin girls there, but clearly is much smarter. I don’t know what to make of him.
There was a Hindi man there by the name of Salmalin. Wears clothes similar to The Great Kasaam except not as flashy. I discovered later he has fight in his blood and is astoundingly fast. (I’ll get to that in a bit, don’t rush me friend. Ha ha) He and Miss Namaste and a few of the others must have a great interest in dogs. They seemed to have quite a few conversations about Collies. Odd, the only dog about was a Corgi named Owen. Cute little fellow, I always liked the short but solid breeds.
Then there were the magic ladies, Mrs. Cuthbert and Miss Whitnell. They were always together while I was there. They really seem to know their stuff, too, nearly as well as Madam Mu-shu except they didn’t use trances or crystal balls like she does. Just lots of words I didn’t catch over and over.
I met Mrs. Cuthbert’s uncle there. He doesn’t seem like a loon, but then he never said that much. He’s a crack shot, though.
There was also a Frenchman about. Everyone called him “Orn-ry”. Ha ha. Quite seriously though, from what I read about from our civil war and knowing how war hungry the French Government is these days, I think he may be a spy. If I catch him sneaking about trying to use his picture box to capture Dr. Wilson’s secret projects, I may see fit to deal with him myself. I will give Henri one thing, he’s very good to have with you in a fight. Dr. Wilson doesn’t appear to be worried about him. I asked him if he trusted the Frenchman, and he mentioned not trusting his good sense based on his ability to jump right in to danger. (pardon me while I have a good laugh) Sir Cosmo made a reply to that which I missed, but I noticed the Dr’s ears turn a bit red at the comment.
There were several others about, but the first order of actual business for them was to go rescue a damsel in distress, just as if it were some story book no less. Let me just say this, the woman that we finally met was neither in want nor need of help from what I could tell. She promptly knocked over Miss Namaste, who in turn knocked the both of us over the stairwell. I only hope I provided the young woman a softer landing than the hardwood that I tumbled onto. She was still gathering steam when the magic ladies did something that made her stop.
Later they proceeded to a large building with several establishments in it. The ladies and Henri went to a shop. While we were waiting, I notice that there is a pub in this building and I proceed to offer a round to my charge. I promptly found out that Dr. Wilson does not drink. Imagine, the Wild Westerner won’t touch a drop of it. He even made a comment to the effect that to his thinking I shouldn’t either, to which I reminded him that as I am an Employee of the Stein Co. and not by him, his thinking was not an immediate concern. To his credit, he had the good sense not to be preachy about it. Still, it is far worse to find a pub and to sit outside than to not find one at all.
Later, the group said that someone else was to be “sacrificed”. So off to another location we went. At this point I would have been convinced that I was Sancho Panza to an entire troupe of Don Quixotes. After the magic ladies did their chants, we tried to sneak upon the building. Unfortunately, things happen around Miss Namaste. Just when I thought we were going to encounter another confused soul, we entered the building and there was a hostage that looked exactly like Miss Namaste surrounded by men dressed the same as Salmalin and some others in different odd garb. There actually was some type of abduction going on.
Well of course, I had to spring into action. That’s when I discovered the fighting talents of Henri and Salmalin and the rest. Henri, Dr. Wilson, and Sir Cowperthwaite all seem to prefer Dr. Wilson’s rocketry gadgets. Dr. Wilson pulled off a shot down a trapdoor that… well if that was what he was aiming for, it was a fine shot indeed. I must have taken down four or five of the guards, but I because Dr. Wilson had to be in the thick of the fight, I couldn’t prevent him from getting a spot of trouble. I also wound up with a knife slash for my trouble in it somehow.
I must say at his point friend, and I need for this to stay only with you, that I never before felt so alive. In the thick of it, there was only me to rely upon and my opponents were genuinely out to finish me. If what I think I saw that evening was really as it appeared to be, I was living the kind of adventurers life that the “Atlas O’Flaherty” rag said I did in the jungles of South America. And, heavens help me, I liked it.
This, of course, is the worst way to protect someone. If I understand my duties correctly, it would be best to prevent the good doctor from getting in to these messes in the first place. And unless someone explains what’s going on with this group, I may yet sit on Wilson to prevent him from galavanting off with them and into these spots. A fine bodyguard I would be if I took him to this trouble myself for my own taste of adventure. I don’t dare let him know.
In the thick of the fight, some friends of the magic ladies showed up, and suddenly it was all over. The rest were subdued or otherwise taken care of and the fire that Dr. Wilson started wasn’t a threat to our safety. I kissed my lucky coin in thanks, but I fear I’ll need something more powerful if what I saw was real. I must see if there is anything that Mrs. Cuthbert or Miss Whitnell could show me about such things. Mrs. Cuthbert worked wonders with my cut (no thanks to Dr. Wilson, a fine physician he turned out to be) and we gathered what remained of our adversaries.
At this point I had the briefest of opportunities to meet Fong Chidgewidgeon. Upon first glance, I thought I was looking upon Miss Namaste’s twin. It turns out that Fong is her half-brother and an entertainer of much higher caliber than any impersonator I can recall at our show. This is Europe, though, and cabarets are much more different and elegant than side shows.
I hope above all that we did something important today, rather than scaring some locals and destroying property with a roving band of deranged gentry. Either way, it would appear that I will not have opportunities for reviving my boxing career or modeling my perfect physique for artists here in England as I had hoped. I may barely have time for calisthenics after finishing this letter. Until I have a better idea of what is going on, I can only say this of London: they’re all mad here.
Yours truly,
Seamus
Proceed to My speaking debut
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