J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (6)

PGL: "Master Howard, good morning! Come, do take a seat at the table, there's a good chap. Mrs. Hudson has prepared quite the spread for us all. Jago has been breakfasting for a good half hour at this stage."

HGJ: "*muffled* Yes, Howie! You'd best grab a plate while there's still some bacon on the table. My compliments to the chef, Litefoot. Such delectable delights are downright divine!"

HP: "Thank you, sirs."

PGL: "Help yourself to whatever you like, don't be shy. We have a bit of everything on offer, after all. Whatever you fancy, sausage, bacon, mushroom, tomato, eggs poached and scrambled."

HGJ: "Your housekeeper has certainly outdone herself! There's enough food here to feed us thrice over!"

PGL: "Not at the rate you're wolfing down those puddings, Henry."

HGJ: "Any inkling of considerable consumption on my part is merely a humble homage to Mrs. Hudson. Still, it begs the question of what happens to the leftovers?"

PGL: "Any potential excess, she distributes among her family, and a number of local unfortunates."

HGJ: "Remarkable woman, in more ways than one. But enough idle chatter... Howie, tell me, how did you sleep last night?"

HP: "Fine, I guess."

PGL: "Any bad dreams, perhaps?"

HP: "Was I shouting again? Momma says I have a bad habit of shouting in my sleep. I'm sorry if I woke you."

HGJ: "Nonsense, Litefoot and I were still awake, weren't we George?"

PGL: "Oh, er, yes, of course. Wide awake. It's just you sounded somewhat unsettled, and we wondered if you could recall any details?"

HP: "Not really. I just remember being scared. I saw things in the shadows, always just out of sight, but they wanted to grab me. But then a man came, he looked a bit like Daddy, and he waved his hands, and all this green fire burst from his hands, and suddenly I felt safe."

PGL: "Well, it's quite the tale, Howard. Glad to hear it has a happy ending. Say, does the name Valgthoth mean anything to you?"

HP: "No. But it sounds funny."

HGJ: "OK then Howie. By the way, Litefoot and I were having a bit of a discussion about what we could do today. We were thinking we could show you some of the sights of London."

PGL: "While we wait for the police to turn up any leads, we may as well pass the time in style."

HP: "And maybe we might spot Pop-Pop or Momma on the streets!"

HGJ: "Anything's possible, my boy, but I wouldn't get too excited. London is a big place after all."

HP: "Where are we going first? Is it exciting? I bet it'll be fun."

PGL: "Actually Howard, there's a Halloween fair being held in Regent's Park. I thought we could go admire some of the costumes on display?"

HGJ: *aside* And it's near the office of your Professor Fenchurch"

PGL: "Who knows, if you're very good, Jago might even buy you a toffee apple!"

***

*we hear the drip of leaky pipework and the squeaking of rats*

Whimple Phillips: "I'm telling you, you won't get away with this! Release us, or suffer the consequences of the law. We're from a respectable family, and foreign visitors, our absence will be noticed, and your punishments severe!"

Sarah Phillips: "Father, please sit down. Stop pounding on the bars before you reopen your wound. The monster who caged us doesn't care for the rule of law. Your threats mean nothing to him. His threats on the other hand..."

WP: "Dratted villain! Slicing your hand open like that, how dare he!"

SP: "It's OK, father. The cut could have been deeper after all. It'll heal, in time."

WP: "Assuming no infection gets into it, which given the conditions of our incarceration, is most improbable."

SP: "I'm just glad Howie isn't here, isn't experiencing this fetid cell. He must be terrified, lost and alone in London, but it must be better than this torment. I do hope some kind soul is taking care of him."

WP: "He's a good kid, and tougher than he looks.  In other words, he takes after his mother."

*a damp and swollen wooden door creaks open*

SP: "Oh no, he's coming back."

WP: "Flanked by two of his goons with the ridiculous fish masks. Coward."

Hooded Man: "Careful now, my pets. Even whispers travel far in such echoing chambers."

WP: "Then I'm sure shouts will be heard even further away. It's only a matter of time before someone hears our cries."

HM: "By all means, yell until your lungs give out, old man. It shall do you no favours. London is built on a labyrinth of storm drains and tunnels, where only the rats and the lost dare wander. Nobody will hear your pleas, and even if they did, the Acolytes take care of any intruders."

SP: "You vile, vile man! Why are you holding us here?! Why do you cut us open like animals for slaughter? What's wrong with you?!"

HM: "Such fire in this one, yes. You are here because I need your blood. Your blood is the key, the key to arcane secrets I've spent a lifetime trying to unlock."

WP: "What kind of superstitious junk is this? Sarah, he's a madman, don't expect a rational answer from him."

HM: "You will believe, in time. When the majesty of the Absent Lord is revealed, you shall weep in torturous awe. Perhaps your sanity may even survive the experience."

SP: "But why our blood? Why us?"

HM: "There are certain families, bloodlines, whose ancestry has grazed the realms beyond. I believe you to be one such family. Your blood holds a power, which I need to harness to release my master."

WP: "Well, you've taken our blood already, so whether it worked or not, surely you can see fit to let us leave."

HM: "That paltry tithe was just the beginning! The ritual failed, perhaps your blood has been diluted by inferior stock, perhaps I just need to spill more it. Offer not just your blood, but your life too."

WP: "You won't get away with this! The name of Phillips is too well regarded to just vanish by your hand."

SP: "Oh, Howie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I've failed you."

HM: "Now, which of you should I choose to grace my blade first.... Unless, have I made an error? You're only related to him through marriage, not blood. I need your husband."

SP: "He's locked up on another continent. Good luck getting to him."

HM: "Luckily I don't need him. I have the next best thing, right here in this city. Acolytes, bring me the child! He shares blood with this woman, so sniff him out. He is the key!"

***

PGL: "I say! I haven't had occasion to wander a fair like this since I was a lad! There's a certain atmosphere here, so many people in masks or costumes, turnips carved into hideous grimaces, all of this delicious food..."

HGJ: "It really takes me back, Litefoot. Many's the year I dressed as a ghost or goblin, pestering my neighbours for sweets and treats. I used to go to great efforts crafting my costumes. Had to be creative, we didn't have the budget for anything else."

HP: "Is that when you decided you wanted to be an actor, Mister Jago?"

HGJ: "You know, I never really considered it until now, yet I must admit it certainly played a factor. Dressing up, donning disguises, it just stirred something within me. How about you, Howie, have you any tales of Halloween adventures?"

HP: "Not really. We don't have a lot of neighbours, and not all of them are friendly anyway. I do love heating ghost stories though. Oh, last year one of my friends found some firecrackers and we snuck out at night to play with them."

HGJ: "Ah, fireworks! I have some fond memories of those myself, even if what we was technically illegal and highly dangerous."

PGL: "Are you referring to your childhood, or the time you set your own theatre ablaze?"

HGJ: "Either or, George. Either or. And for the record, that conflagration was entirely contained."

PGL: "Of course Howard, you must remember that fireworks are not toys, no matter how fun they appear. When I think back on my boyhood in China, it's a wonder we escaped without severe burns."

HP: "Can we get some toffee apples, Jago? Please?"

HGJ: "OK Howie, but only because of your manners. Let's just squeeze past these two devils, take a left at the wolfman, and bingo. Here's some  change. Make sure to be right back, OK? The Professor and I will wait here so you can see us at all times."

HP: "Thanks Jago!"

HGJ: "He's an adorable little tyke, isn't he?"

PGL: "He's exceptionally well mannered, and very bright too. I just worry for him. His visions, true or not, are concerning, and I fear what will happen to him if Quick can't locate his mother."

HGJ: "All we can do is hope, I'm afraid, and in the meantime, keep his little spirits up. And if there is some malign force affecting our dreams, maybe your historian friend can shed some light on this Valgthoth character?"

PGL: "Jago, look!"

HGJ: "Where?"

PGL: "Over there, see where that crowd is?"

HGJ: "A bunch of people in fancy dress. Do you suppose there's going to be a parade?"

PGL: "Look closer. There three figures near the front of the crowd, grouped together. Is it just me or do they look rather like..."

HGJ: "Frogmen! Corks Litefoot, they must be here for Howie, we've got to get him to safety!"

PGL: "Agreed. It's a shame, but he'll have to go without his toffee apple."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (5)

PGL: "Why don't you begin, Henry?"

HGJ: "If you insist. *ahem* Most of my dreams are vague and disjointed, as most dreams are. Yet this felt different, more tangible. I suppose, more real. I found myself stood on stage at the New Regency, I could smell the greasepaint, the feel of the well-worn timber beneath me. I heard the floorboards creak as I shifted my weight uneasily. The lights were aimed directly at me, so bright I had to squint. I couldn't see the audience at all, they were lost in shadows. They were silent, but I knew they were there. I could feel the stare of a thousand eyes, looking right through me.

I coughed, nervously, just to break the discomforting quiet. I rocked on my heels, awkwardly fiddling with a copy of the night's playbill behind my back. I'd forgotten who I was supposed to be introducing! I looked towards the wings, hoping for a prompt like I was some nervous novice, but there was nobody there. My stagehands had deserted me, in this moment of embarrassment. Frantically, I looked at the playbill, but I'd managed to smudge the ink thanks to my sweaty palms. The audience were still silent, static, but I could feel the tension rising. Their patience was running out, and I knew if they lost interest, my very safety would be at risk.

In desperation, I stared back at the punters, past the dazzling spotlights and into the dark depths of the sinister shadows. Slowly, I grew accustomed to the dark, and details began to become clear. The thousand eyes glaring at me were unblinking, glistening orbs, like great big lumps of obsidian. They were all extremely tall, pushing seven feet. Their clothes were fashioned from scraps of cloth and grimy rags, all tattered and torn like the forlorn flotsam of a shipwreck. Their skin was too shiny, I realized. They were covered in scales, like a fish or reptile. The more I stared the more the details became unnaturally clear. Their heads were not human, looking more like huge burnt thumbs. The eyes were too far apart, nearly sitting at the sides of the head, again like a fish. Barnacles, coral growth and seaweed clung to the figures and their clothing. That's when it struck me, these were the same figures from Howie's drawing. My audience was full of frogmen.

I blinked in suprise, dropping the playbill as I did so. As I turned back to the army assembled before me, I saw I had been mistaken. The audience was not filled with hundreds of individuals, each of the eyes I could see were all facets of the same creature. One eye with a thousand surfaces, like the compound eye of a housefly, yet large enough to fill a theatre. I tried to comprehend a creature of such prolific proportions, but I could scarcely wrap my head around it. Then I realized the truth. Even this gigantic ocular insect was a trick of the mind. I was only seeing the shapes in between. Like one of those optical illusions, where at first you only see a vase, but then, suddenly, you spy two faces instead. The arrayed eyes before me were merely the absence of something. The true creature was the very shadow itself. It was the darkness, it occupied the empty spaces between all things. Its vastness dwarfed anything I'd ever even contemplated. That's when I was woken by the sounds of Howard in distress."

PGL: "Goodness me, what a tale!"

HGJ: "Go on then. You've had your fun, now it's your turn to spin a yarn."

PGL: "Very well. I don't have the same proclivity towards oration as yourself, but I shall endeavour to be as accurate in my recollection as possible.

In my dream, I was walking alone through the London fog, as dense as ever I've seen it. Visibility was down to mere inches, if not for the cobbled streets below me I'd have sworn I was wandering within a cloud. The streets were empty, or at least, I could hear nothing stirring beyond the mists. London is a thriving city, even at night, so the eerie calm was disconcerting. It was entirely possible any number of silent creatures were stalking me however, and I would not have seen them until they were upon me. I turned my collar up and kept striding briskly, but I couldn't dissuade myself of the notion that I was under surveillance. I told myself it was mere paranoia, that I was not even jumping at shadows, but the potential existence of shadows. But such thoughts breed fears that are difficult to control.

Lost in my thoughts and with no visual reference, I soon realised I'd lost my way. I didn't break my stride though, I kept waking, hoping to find something familiar. Besides, if I was being observed, I didn't wish to show weakness. Shortly, I found myself upon one of the bridges spanning the Thames. The fog was still thick around me but I could see into the water below. Thrashing around just beneath the surface, I saw a writhing mass of tentacles churning up the river's surface. One of these tendrils emerged, slowly uncoiling itself and reaching upwards. It was as thick as I was, with an olive green hue, speckled with a jet black, almost inky pigmentation. It's underside was studded with large pink and yellow protrusions, suckers with which to grip. It snaked toward me, seemingly seeing through some invisible sense.

I ran, as fast as my tired old legs could carry me, but no matter which path I took, there was another tentacle looming out of the fog to block my path. I realised with horror that each of these tentacles belonged to a single creature, easily the size of London itself. I imagined a giant amorphous being, cowering below the city, its fleshy appendages winding through the network of tunnels, sewers and other underground passageways. A maze of woven meat, suffocating the life above it. I imagined the people of London, going about their lives, unaware of this malevolent entity hiding just out of sight.

I continued to flee, but it was only prolonging the inevitable. As I began to tire, one of the tendrils reached out and enveloped me. Suddenly, I saw a mirror before me. I was standing alone, in my drawing room, gazing into a free standing mirror. The detailing was incredible, the reflection appeared almost more realistic than my surroundings. I looked at my hands, then at their reflection. In the image I could see wrinkles and lines which I couldn't see directly. Looking at my eyes, I could see tiny blood vessels and the intricate patterning of the iris that I've never noticed before. I felt like through the mirror, I could see the world as if with a magnifying lens. It was as if I was admiring the most realistic and detailed portrait I'd ever witnessed. But there was something wrong. Aside from the hyper-realism, it was the eyes that betrayed this tableu. There was no life in them, no soul. This representation of reality was like a painting alright. Painted by someone who has clinically studied his subject in minute detail, but in the process missed the heart of the subject. In desperation, I smashed the mirror with my fist, venting my frustration.

As the shards of glass fell away, they revealed a portal. A glowing black surface that crackled with a sinister energy. I didn't know why, but it felt wrong on every level. A throbbing pain in my skull, at this affront to reality that hummed before me. And then I saw it. The same creature you witnessed in your steam. The living shadow. The impossibly large beast, comprised of an abyssal absence, of negative space. I saw Nothing, the concept of emptiness made manifest. For a fraction, I grasped the concept of eternity, I saw the expanse of the Universe and it was insignificant compared to the Nothing that surrounded it. Planets are as atoms to a creature as incomprehensible as it. Then, the creature spoke to me, in some long dead and forgotten tongue. I didn't understand, and the voice was so loud, it was the sound of stars collapsing and tectonic plates shifting. It was a sound to large to be heard but such trifling beings as ourselves. Then I was awoken too, but as I slipped from the dream, I had one final glimpse of the stars behind the creature. I noticed a pattern, that spelled out Valgthoth."

HGJ: "By Jove! That's the name I couldn't remember. It was on the tip of my tongue all throughout my dream, Valgthoth, that was it. That's what was written on the playbill. So who's he when he's at home?"

PGL: "I don't yet know, but he seemed to have appeared in both our dreams tonight. And in the dreams of our young ward. Some of the gibberish he was exclaiming sounded a lot like Valgthoth to me."

HGJ: "Frogmen and impossible creatures stalking our dreams, how do we begin to investigate?"

PGL: "I have a colleague, well at least we share a mutual friend in Jene Bazemore. His name is Alistair Fenchurch, professor of Ancient History and Literature. It's a shot in the dark, but anything as old and powerful as our new friend Valgthoth seems to be is bound to have a historical record."

HGJ: "Certainly it can't hurt matters to inquire. Now, if you'll excuse me I've yet to grab much sleep tonight, so I'm going to try and get some."

PGL: "Pleasant dreams then, Jago. I hope so, for all our sakes."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (4)

PGL: "To surmise then... you found a lost child and want him to live in my house until the Inspector manages to find his parents?"

HGJ: "That's about the long and short of it."

PGL: "Tell me, why did you settle on my home over your own exactly?"

HGJ: "Well, that's a bit of an embarrassment on my part, to tell you the truth. My financial freedom is somewhat limited these days, and well, I've been renting out my residence to a lovely young Romanian couple. I've been sleeping in my office since."

PGL: "Heavens, Henry! You should have said something to me. The theatre can hardly be a comfortable place to lay your head. All those draughts and chills, not to mention the rats. I mean, for a man of your age, it doesn't seem right."

HGJ: "Nonsense. Nothing worth worrying about, George. I've stayed in some far less luxurious locations in my time. Horrid hovels and dire dumps, I've seen it all. Besides, it's just until I discover the next big thing in the business. Yes, all HGJ needs is to find a new star attraction. That'll swing my fortunes right around. "

PGL: "As ever, I have to admire your optimism. A lesser man would have conceded and given up long ago, but not you. You weather every storm and emerge stronger than ever."

HGJ: "Thanks Professor. So how about it? May Howard and I avail of your hospitality for a few nights?"

PGL: "Of course!  Stay as long as you need. Honestly, I'd be glad of the company, there are too many empty rooms in this old place. Mrs. Hudson always keeps a couple of the guest rooms made up, in case of visitors. Perhaps we should see what Howard has been getting up to in the drawing room?"

HGJ: "Quite  yes. The tyke is very curious, too much so for his own good. Hopefully he hasn't gone exploring."

HP: "Hiya Jago. I made this for you while you were talking. The Professor said it was a drawing room, so I finished my sketch from the police station. Do you like it?"

HGJ:  "Howie, you've got talent. I daresay there's an aspiring artist in you somewhere. So, this central figure is me, is it? And these creatures I'm fending off, are they the hooligans who harassed you earlier?"

HP: "No Jago. Those are the frogmen. Part man, part fish, all evil. They lurk in the murky depths, waiting to lure in unsuspecting prey, before they pounce, striking to capture sacrifices."

HGJ: "Sacrifices?"

HP: "They worship a great leviathan who lives at the bottom of the ocean, and if he wakes up, all the lands will crumble into the sea."

PGL: "Well Howard, you certainly have an active imagination. Such creativity is inspiring, especially in one so young. Where does it spring from, I wonder?"

HGJ: "The frogmen are a legend among the dock workers and mudlarks. A terrifying tale pedalled by those who spend time on or near the sea. When I first found young Howard here, a little thief was telling him all about such creatures. Trying to scare you out of your wits, isn't that right Howie?"

HP: "Yes, Jago. But they're real. I've seen them, in my dreams. Horrible nightmares. That's why momma and pop-pop came to London. They said getting away from home might help with my dreams."

PGL: "How long have you had these dreams, Howard? These nightmares?"

HP: "I've always had them. Every now and then. But they've been getting worse for a few months now. Momma was frightened by it. She was afraid they'd take me away like they took daddy."

HGJ: "Who took him, these frogmen?"

HP: "No Jago. The doctors. Momma says he was sick. In his mind. Seeing things that weren't there. Things that made him angry, and that made him lash out. He was locked away. Momma doesn't want the same thing to happen to me."

PGL: "I'm so sorry to hear about your father, Howard. Psychosis is a terrible burden to have to bear. You know, I'm medically trained myself, maybe I can help you. Nightmares are usually brought on stress, or anxiety. I think maybe you're afraid of being incarcerated like your father, and that's why you dream about these creatures coming for you. You're afraid the same will happen to you, and these frogmen are how your mind interprets that fear. Do you understand?"

HP: "I think so, but it all feels so real. *sobs*"

HGJ: "Hush now, Howie. It's OK. You're fine. You're safe here."

HP: "Sorry Jago. *sniffles* I miss my momma. She brought me here to help with my nightmares, but I've just lost her too."

HGJ: "Yes, well, better lost than gone as my old nan to say. You see, when something is lost, that just means it's there to be found again."

PGL: "Howard, can I tell you a secret? When I was a boy of your age, my family lived in China. One summer, I was exploring the forests behind our house, as I often liked to do, imagining myself as some daring discoverer. On one particular day though, I'd pressed deeper into the wilderness than ever before, chasing some imaginary creature as a game. By the time I'd realised how far I'd ran, it was too late. My surroundings were alien to me, and I couldn't spy my path back through the undergrowth. I was lost, and afraid, and I'm not ashamed to admit I had a cry to myself. Eventually, I set about trying to find my way home, but I didn't know the way and ended up heading the the wrong direction. At some point, I happened across the edge of a steep drop. As I looked over the edge, curious in spite of my distress, the ground gave way and I tumbled down the slope for 30/40 feet or so. At the bottom I could barely stand, my leg had been sprained badly in the fall and I was covered in cuts and bruises. I cried again, at the pain of my injuries, and because I was now so far from home that my father would never find me. And that's when a kind old lady found me, while out foraging for herbs and such. She comforted me, carried me the short distance to her home, and tended to my injuries while serving me a wonderful green tea. In that moment, I was able to forget my troubles, safe in the temporary comfort if my caretaker. My father meanwhile had hired most of the men from a nearby village to comb the forest for me. They found me within a day and a half. Let me tell you, it was one of the most terrifying and sad moments of my life, but the kindness of strangers guided me through it."

HP: "Just like how Jago and you are trying to help me?"

HGJ: "Exactly, Howie. We'll do our best to reunite you with your dear mother."

PGL: "Has Jago told you of our reputation, Howard? We are the finest pair of investigators in this city since Holmes and Watson themselves. And we have one advantage over those two, we're not fictional! We'll get to the bottom of this whole affair. Why don't we get you settled in bed, and Jago can recount some of our past adventures. That way, you'll know you're in the best of care, and maybe you'll even get to sleep soundly."

***

PGL: "I thought he'd never nod off. Not that your flair for the dramatic particularly helped matters."

HGJ: "What can I say? I'm a performer, show me a devoted audience and I can't help myself."

PGL: "Yes, but bedtime stories are intended to help children fall asleep. Not to engage in a lively singsong about the Scorchies!"

HGJ: "It tired him out, didn't it? It did for me anyway. *yawns* "

PGL: "That much is apparent! Come, I shall show you to your room before you collapse of exhaustion. We'll regroup in the morning and see what we can do for the boy then."

HGJ: "Much obliged. I can feel the not so gentle tugs of Morpheus on my eyelids."

***

HP: "*screaming* No! NOOOO!!! Myrkfygnnn....You shan't, you mustn't! Blood! The rivers run red with the blood of the sacrifices... The circle has been drawn... Ky'ftgyk nyarthokth Valgthoth...his prison is opening... No! *screams* The blood is the key and the lock... the book is the gateway and the map... Valgthoth qgk'dar, Valgthoth qgk'fkyx, Valgthoth qgk'fygn... Dark and Ancient, Malevolent and Unknowable..."

HGJ: "Howie! What's the matter? You're screaming loud enough to wake the neighborhood!"

PGL: "Stay back, Henry!"

HGJ: "He's having a nightmare, we have to snap him out of it, wake him up!"

PGL: "I fear it's more serious than that. He's displaying signs of a full blown psychotic episode. Interfering now could cause him an injury."

HP: "The endless eye sees all, Valgthoth!"

A moment of silence

HGJ: "Howie? George, is he alright?"

PGL: "Checking his vitals... he's definitely  breathing, his temperature feels high and the bed is saturated with sweat. Still, the episode seems to have passed. He seems outwardly fine for the most part."

HGJ: "Look at him, fast asleep, like nothing happened. He's a trooper and no mistake. Shrugging off a dose of the night terrors like that. Hardly surprising given what he's had to deal with from such a young age."

PGL: "The severity of his distress is alarming, beyond any simple measure of night terrors. I'm concerned there may be some condition underlying his emotional trauma."

HGJ: "I hope for the boy's sake that you're wrong on this occasion, Litefoot."

PGL: "As do I, Henry. But illness  of any kind doesn't care for a person's kindness or decency. It strikes indiscriminately. Then again, maybe I'm reading too deeply. It may just be down to tales of these frogmen. I daresay just listening to you describe them earlier unsettled my subconscious. I had some nightmares of my own tonight."

HGJ: "Then there must be something in the air. I've also be tossing and turning, with demons in the darkness disturbing my dreams."

PGL: "Something in the air... Accompany me downstairs if you would Henry. I want to hear all about your bad dreams."

HGJ: "If you think it'll help, then by all means. What are you hoping to uncover?"

PGL: "It's little more than intuition, but given the sorts of evil we've tangled with over the years, not impossible. I want to compare our dreams. It could be mere coincidence, but maybe it's possible that we experienced a sort of shared delusion?"

HGJ: "You mean to suggest that if some malign force is affecting Howard, we could also be feeling it's effect? Lead on then, Litefoot. At the very least, talking about our terrors should help us deal with them."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (3)

HGJ: "Come along Howard, there's a good chap. This way.... Ah, Inspector Quick! I was hoping to catch you before you clocked off for the day."

IQ: "Hello there, Mister Jago. Well, crime never sleeps in this city, so that means the law can't get much kip either. Who's your little friend? Some young protege, or a visiting nephew?"

HGJ: "Unfortunately nothing so commonplace."

IQ: "It's never simple with you or the Professor, is it?"

HGJ: "This here is master Howard Philips, though he prefers to go by the name 'Howie', you know how the Americans love a shortened sobriquet."

IQ: "Hello Howie, nice to meet you. I'm Percy, Percy Quick. Why don't you stay here with Constable Jenkins while I have a private word with Jago in my office?"

HGJ: "It's quite alright, Howie. I'll only be gone a few moments, and I'm sure the constable here has some pen and  paper you can draw with while I'm gone."

A brief pause as Jago and Quick walk towards the office, and a door creaks open.

IQ: "So, Jago... how exactly did an American child end up in your company?"

HGJ: "I found him, wandering the streets! Lost and alone in the expanses of the capital city of the Empire. I thought you could help reunite him with his parents."

IQ: "Hmm. Did he share any details on where or when he last saw his parents?"

HGJ: "He said it was mostly a blur, but he remembers being with his mother and grandfather, heading towards a train station. Apparently they were heading north to see 'The Scottish Monster'."

IQ: "A monster, you say?!"

HGJ: "Don't get too excited, Quick. It's probably nothing more than a folk tale, spied through the imaginative lens of a child's mind. Some poor soul probably just happened across driftwood after an abundance of ale. So, can you help the poor chap out?"

IQ: "I'm sorry, Jago, but there's not much I can do. We haven't received word of a missing persons report, so it'll be hard to locate his guardians. Whether they boarded that train to Scotland without the boy or not, they haven't yet contacted the authorities."

HGJ: "Are you saying there's nothing you can do? The boy will be inconsolable."

IQ: "There's not many reasons preventing a parent from reporting a missing child. Now, maybe it's because they're stuck in transit, and we'll have a telegram in the morning from Glasgow. But it could simply be that they chose to abandon their child in a public area, then scarpered."

HGJ: "Inspector, that's monstrous!"

IQ: "I'm not saying its likely, but I've seen it happen before. There's a dark underbelly to society, Mister Jago, as incomprehensible as it might be to an honest man like yourself."

HGJ: "I don't see how Howard's parents could be so cold and callous."

IQ: "Honestly, I agree with you. But the high ups won't see it that way. The best I can do is keep the child here in a cell until we hear from his folks, and if we don't get word in a week or so, he'll be sent to an orphanage."

HGJ: "Good heavens!"

IQ: "I hate it just as much as you do, Jago, but my hands are tied unless his parents report his disappearance. We can't very well search every train station from here to Dundee based on a child's description of his guardians."

HGJ: "So that's it then? Abandon poor Howard to a life in the workhouse, growing up in the supposed care of the state?"

IQ: "That's only if you file a report of course."

HGJ: "I don't understand."

IQ: "If you report this lost boy to me, I'll have to entrust him to the custody of the state until his parents claim him, assuming they eventually do so. But, if you left, without informing me of the child,  he's free to go."

HGJ: "How does that help the little tyke? I can't toss him back to the street!"

IQ: "Then don't. Let him stay in your care. Just for a few days, of course. Give his parents time to report to us. You keep Howie safe and out of trouble while I keep my ear to the ground, hopefully something will turn up. Worst case scenario, he's sent to the orphanage in a week's time instead. Keeping it unofficial is the best I can offer you."

HGJ: "Well, I appreciate your candid explanation, Inspector. I can't say I'm thrilled, but it'll have to do. I'll look after the child for now and hope you can indeed locate his parents."

IQ: "I wish I could be more help, it breaks my heart to see a child forlorn like this."

HGJ: "I'm sure you'll do all in your power, Quick. Thank you."

The office door creaks again as Jago and Quick return.

HP: "Jago! Did the policeman find momma?"

HGJ: "Not yet, Howie. But, um, these things take time. London is a big area, so there's a lot of places he has to search. Don't worry though. He's the best officer on the force, and a credit to Her Majesty herself. If anyone can find your mother, it's Percy Quick! In the meantime, you can stay with me and I'll look after you. Just for a few days."

HP: "You're the best, Jago! This is gonna be awesome. I'll have so many stories to tell momma when she's back!"

HGJ: "Thank you again, Inspector. Oh, I have one other question, if I may?"

IQ: "Go ahead, by all means."

HGJ: "Is Litefoot on the premises?"

IQ: "He left early today, as a matter of fact. Said he wanted to catch up on his reading. Why?"

HGJ: "His leisurely literature will have to wait. My humble hovel is hardly suitable for such company, so Howard and I will have to pay him a visit."

***

Mudlark 1: "Nothing but old boots and tin cans. Any luck down your way?"

Mudlark 2: "Aye, Pat. Lookit these! Fine set of false gnashers!"

Pat: "What use is teeth to you Long John? You still got most of your pearls."

Long John: "Look at the bottom set. He's got a couple made if solid gold back there."

Pat: "Shove off! Who'd waste gold on dentures anyway? Your eyes must be off."

Long John: "It's true, I swears it. He musta been one of them epileptics or somewhat."

Pat: "Think you mean elliptical."

Long John: "Well, any man with more money than sense can afford to be called whatever he likes. Hey, Pat! Did you see that?"

Pat: "See what?"

Long John: "See them ripples. There was bubbles there a second ago."

Pat: "Probably just a fishie John. Don't get too excited."

Long John: "There it was again! Oh mercy, I saw it! It's no fishie Pat. Least, like no fish I ever seen. It's eyes, big and black and round, like massive lumps of coal, but all polished and shiny."

Pat: "It's just shadows. It's late and you been out here too long. It's all in your head."

Long John: "No! It's the frogmen. I know it is, I knew they was real. Old Patsy tried to tell me they was an old wive's tale, but I says to her, 'Patsy. You may be old but you ain't ever been a wife, so it's the only tall tale is your explanation'."

Pat: "Let's just go home, OK? Leave all this nonsense behind.... Crikey!"

Long John: "It can be in my head if you're seeing it too! He's rising out of the water!"

Pat: "He's seven foot if he's inch, blimey. All green scaly skin, mounds of thick, knotted hair hanging for his head."

Long John: "That's not hair. It's seaweed, or possibly tentacles. But it's not hair."

Pat: "Look at his teeth! There's so many, and so sharp!"

Long John: "I'm busy looking at those long, spindly, wedded fingers of his, topped with yellowed claws. We should scarper Pat. He seems a bit peeved."

Pat: "We might have a problem there. See, while we was staring at himself emerging from the river, two of his buddies crept up behind us."

Long John: "Sneaky little blighters. Come to drag us down to Davy Jones, have ye? Well, you can try, but old Long.... AGGRRRGHHHH"

With a shrieking hiss, the creatures attack. The scene fades out on the sounds of screams and rending flesh.

****

A doorbell rings frantically

PGL: "Gracious, can't a man get any peace in his own home? Probably a couple of local children out guising, even if it's a few nights early. Should I answer the door? No, Mrs Hudson is always more than willing to reward the children. Besides, I've just gotten comfortable in my favourite armchair, the fire is blazing contentedly in the hearth, and I've got a new Jules Verne and a steaming mug of cocoa. What more can a gentleman ask for?"

The doorbell continues to ring.

PGL: "Where is my housekeeper? It's most unlike her to leave a summons unanswered... Curses, she said she was off to play bingo after she served me my cocoa. *shouting* Just a second, I'll be with you presently."

The doorbell grows louder as Litefoot nears the door. He unlatches it and swings it smoothly open.

PGL: "Terribly sorry about the delay, I hadn't realized my.... Jago?"

HGJ: "Professor, how nice it is to see you. I was just passing the neighborhood, and..."

PGL: "Henry, can I just stop your soliloquy before you build up too much steam? Tell me, why are you standing on my porch, holding the hand of an eight year old boy?"

HGJ: "Actually, I was hoping you'd be kind enough to allow us to stay with you, for a few nights?"

PGL: "Corks!"

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (2)

A horse drawn carriage rattles along an otherwise quiet cobbled London street. As it fades into the distance, the sound of footsteps becomes apparent.

HGJ: "Yet another trifling take tonight, Henry. A dismal and disappointing display of audience apathy, leading you to pecuniary problems and financial forsaking. And now you're talking to yourself. First sign of madness, they say.

*sigh*

Still, my luck is bound to bounce back sooner or later. Nothing can dampen the determined iron will of Henry Gordon Jago!"

In the distance, raised voices can be heard, but remain incoherent.

HGJ: "I say! Somebody's making a quite the commotion. Where are those voices coming from? It'd be a shame if some criminal ruffians crossed paths with my judicious fighting fists. *whispering* Oh corks! They're right there, across the street and a little ways ahead of me. I can just make out three figures through this pea souper. Perhaps I could sneak past them, for their own sake of course."

From the within the group of scoundrels, a child's voice cries out.

Boy: "I just want my momma!"

HGJ: "Those vile coves are terrorizing that poor child. Surely there must be a Peeler on patrol around here somewhere, perhaps I could go and fetch help? Oh, blast it all, I can't abandon the little tyke. I'd better not regret this."

Scoundrel 1: "We'd like to find your mother too. Bet she's worried sick about you. She'd probably pay us a lot for your 'safe' return."

Scoundrel 2: "Look at his clothes, his family have money behind them, for sure."

Scoundrel 1: "You'd want to be careful around these parts. You don't want the frogmen to snatch you away in the night. You'll want protection, but it comes at a price.

HGJ: "Excuse me fellows, I was just passing by and couldn't help but notice this poor upset child. Shall we all do the decent thing and escort him to the nearest police station?"

Scoundrel 1: "This doesn't concern you, scram."

HGJ: "I'm just a concerned citizen, much like yourselves. Surely you must agree the police are best suited to the task of locating his lost parents?"

Scoundrel 2: "We don't need no Bobbies. They don't pay no ransom... *oof*"

Scoundrel 1: "What my partner means to say, is that we fear entrusting the lad to a corrupt policeman. Whereas we're all upstanding fellows of good moral fibre."

HGJ: "Really? I've seen blades of grass and cloth backdrops more upstanding than you lot. I've seen invertebrates with more backbone. The only fibre you'll ever know is in the gruel served to you while in Her Majesty's custody. Leave this poor, terrified child alone you conniving child catcher!"

Scoundrel 2: "Them is fighting words."

Scoundrel 1: "Or what exactly? What will you do if we refuse? You're hardly the sharpest knife in the corpse, but even you must know you're outnumbered."

HGJ: "I concede that you do have something of a point, it's true... but you should know, I'm a tiger when my dander's up!"

Scoundrel 1: "Fisticuffs, is it? How innocent. But what good is a fist compared to a knife?"

HGJ: "Lummy!"

With a sudden rush, scoundrel 2 gasps in pain.

Scoundrel 2: "The kid just headbutted me in the gut!"

Scoundrel 1: "Get him!"

HGJ: "Hiyaah!"

Scoundrel 1: "Get off me you oaf!"

HGJ: "I had a magician perform once, who excelled at escapology. Showed me a trick to dislocate his wrist. All it takes is a little pressure, right here..."

*snap*

Scoundrel 3: "I'm out of here. Kid's not worth this much trouble!"

Scoundrel 2: "Wait up!"

Scoundrel 1: "Don't run, you idiots. Ugh. Listen mate, this isn't over. I'll be coming for you, just you wait."

HGJ: "In which case I shall look forward to  breaking your other arm. Cheerio, and good riddance."

Boy: "Are, are they gone?"

HGJ: "For now at least. Don't worry, ruffians like that are easily spooked. They flake in the face of bravery..., sorry, what's your name?"

Boy: "Howard, sir. Howard Phillips."

HGJ: "A pleasure to meet you, Howard. My name is Henry Gordon Jago, theatrical impresario of the New Regency, and occasional hero. But you can call me Jago. You're very brave, you know, attacking that cove like that."

Howard: "*tearing* I'm not brave. I'm frightened. Momma and Pop-pop are missing. I'm all alone and there's scary men everywhere."

HGJ: "Of course you are. Adrift in a foreign city, away from everything familiar? I'd be scared too. But just because you're afraid doesn't mean you can't be brave. Quite the opposite."

Howard: "What do you mean?"

HGJ: "Being brave means acting even though you're afraid. Otherwise it's just foolishness. I was terrified to confront those men, but I did it anyway because it was the decent thing to do, to protect you."

Howard: "Can you protect me from the frogmen too?"

HGJ: "The who?"

Howard: "The frogmen. The bad men talked about the frogmen. Fishy people who come out of the river all covered in barnacles and seaweed to snatch away kids like me. Do you think the frogmen took momma?"

HGJ: "There's no such thing. Those men were just trying to scare you. I've seen a lot in my time but I've never seen any frogmen. I'm sure your mother is fine, just worried sick about you. Come with me, I'll take you to a friend of mine, in the police. I'm sure your mother has already filed a missing persons report. We'll have you two reunited in no time."