TheExperimentPerilsOfAClerkIt had been a long and singularly boring day for two young men to sit on the high stools at the high desk, scratching away to make copies of legal leases in triplicate. The two newest members of the office perhaps suffered most. They lacked the habitual pallor and stooped shoulders of the regular clerks, but they also lacked facility with the special legal hand required for the leases, and they were also more prone to errors than their more experienced colleagues. As they were expected to write a set amount of documents in the office each day, it meant missed lunches or staying late after work. And it seemed that Snodgkins, the chief clerk, found peculiar delight in looking out intricate documents for them where Harry and Giulian were bound to make mistakes. Thus it was that, despite having worked through their lunch hour, one rainy evening found Giulian and Harry still at their desks, their pens scratching away, while the other junior clerks were shrugging on their shabby overcoats and preparing to depart for the evening to their dingy lodgings. Snodgkins, who had rooms over the office at a peppercorn rent by virtue of his position within the firm, smiled unpleasantly. "As you know, gentlemen, those documents you are working on are particularly desired first thing tomorrow morning. I shall therefore leave you to complete them -- and desire you to post the office key through the letter box on your way out." And so saying, he took his candle and went upstairs, having made sure that only the smallest of fires was burning in the grate. Giulian took advantage of Snodgkins' disappearance to sit up and work the kinks out of his back and shoulders before bending to his work again. "Slave-driver," he grumbled, though without much heat. After several days of working for the man, grumbling about him had become more habitual than anything else. Everybody in the office did it when the chief clerk was out of earshot. "What do you bet he was an overseer in a previous life, Harry?" Harry chuckled at his friend's joke. Giulian turned over the second page full of clauses and sub-clauses and scanned it briefly, trying to get the gist. Even counting the repetitions of a particular phrase, he'd learned, helped him avoid copying it too many or too few times later. And though he still found it difficult to write in the specialized legal script, he had become a lot better at reading it. As his eye ran down the page, a name caught his eye that made his brows draw together in thought. Something familiar ... a memory he couldn't quite place... "Harry," he asked, "does the name 'LaCleche' mean anything to you?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation of Jules' question. Finally he shook his head. "It must have been a long day," Harry said, "because I'm drawing a blank for the moment. Why?" "I'm not sure," Giulian replied. "I think I recognize it but can't remember where I've heard it." His voice lowered as he continued to read the document. "'...together with all effects, properties, trove or treasure located therewith...' What the hell does that mean?" "Trove or treasure?" Harold said, furrowing his eyebrows. "That sounds like there might be funds or some sort of property that is not known to the creator of the document, but yet exists." "Or might exist," mused Giulian. "It's very odd to say the least. Something far more suited to a novel than anything else. What else does it say?" Harry looked thoughtful, as if still trying to place the name and its provenance. "Most of it is the usual drivel," Giulian said wryly. "Excuse me, legal terminology. But if that clause means what it seems to mean," he went on in a thoughtful tone, "what it's saying is that the lessee of this particular piece of property would have the right to use anything he found on the premises, by any means, throughout the term of the lease. Which is..." He flipped back to the first page of the document. "...ten years. Why the devil would somebody want a clause like that? Though it is arable land, some of it, so I suppose it might have something to do with being able to plant or harvest it or something. No, I'm wrong, that's already covered here under 'usufruct.'" "It sounds vaguely like mineral rights, although I think it's suggesting that something is hidden there. Something that, if found, would go to the lessee." Giulian nodded his agreement. "The question is, Jules," Harold grinned, "is how deep do we want to get into this. I somehow like the idea of foiling someone's scam, if we could determine what this trove might be, and find it. First." Giulian groaned softly and massaged the back of his neck. "I don't know how you can even think of searching over some out-of-the-way plot of land at this time of night, Harry. Besides, old Snodgkins wants this document ready for tomorrow morning. That suggests to me that there isn't going to be much time before the lessee takes possession. Maybe none at all." "Am I that bad?" Harry countered in a teasing tone. "You're right, though, Snodgkins wants the document done, period. Still, there is something really fishy with this." "You think?" said Giulian, dipping his pen into the inkwell and starting to copy out the document. "I just thought it was unusual -- and I'm still trying to remember where I've heard the name 'LaCleche.'" "Yes," Harold said, slipping out of character for a moment. It was only the two of them, after all. After a few moments of his own copying, he stopped. "Tremontaine. LaCleche was a branch of Tremontaine," Harold said aloud. "Yes, that's where it was!" said Giulian, almost on his heels. "One time when I was visiting with you and Alex and Renata at Tremontaine. There's a tombstone with that name somewhere on the property -- no, I'm wrong, it isn't a tomb, it's a cenotaph. I remember because Lord Tremontaine told me that, and it was the first time I'd ever heard the word." "A cenotaph." Harold tasted the word and found it appealing. "You know..." he stopped and laughed and shook his head. "No, it's a stupid idea." "What is? Come on, I could use a laugh," prompted Giulian. "I was just thinking that the Cenotaph might hold a clue as to what the trove might be, or where it might be found," Harold said. "I don't know about that. Didn't your stepfather put it up? If he knew about ... whatever it is ... all you'd have to do would be to ask him. And I don't like the idea of messing with a grave even if it doesn't have a body in it," Giulian said uncomfortably. "I did say it was a stupid idea, Jules." Harold grinned. "But asking him about LaCleche might be worthwhile. Or is the document too confidential for us to share, you think?" "Confidential?" Giulian smirked. "This is a rental contract. One of these copies will go to the local land office where any interested party who's willing to cough up half a stanner will be able to see it. That will be after the deal is closed, of course, and these are signed and witnessed." Harry looked at Jules. "How long do you think it'd take to make another copy?" Giulian sent him a look not far short of a glare ... then deliberately let his pen sputter across the page he'd nearly finished. "Oh dear," he said pointedly, "I suppose I'll have to do this page over." He crumpled the sheet he'd been working on and tossed it theatrically over his shoulder. "You should not litter, Giulian. It's unbecoming, even if it is in character. I'll get it." Harold reached for and retrieved the balled up copy. "Here, let me help you finish your other work so that we're not stuck here overlong," Harold offered. "This was it," Giulian informed him. "It just happens to be a bitch of a rental contract with a lot of clauses and sub-clauses." He grimaced. "No worries ... I'm not terribly eager for the chance to walk home in the rain anyway." Nevertheless he set to work busily on the fresh copy. "A good point," Harold responded. "The vicissitudes of life are a little more troublesome when you don't have carriages to avoid getting soaked." Giulian just nodded, concentrating now on his work. Harold returned to the small remainder of his own extra work as well. They had nearly finished when there came a soft tapping on the outside of the shutters to the windows of the office, fastened in place for the night. Giulian looked around. "Who could that be? I can't believe that somebody only now realized he forgot his umbrella." The tapping came again, low but insistent. "I'll get it, Jules," Harry said after a moment, and he headed to the door, a slight chill running down his spine. Giulian twisted round on his stool to look, his brow furrowed in puzzlement, with a trace of worry. A dark-shadowed, dark cloaked figure stood in the street, a slender hand raised for another knock against the shutters. As the light streamed out from the open door, the figure turned sharply -- and then gave a gasp of relief. "Oh ... Harry! I was hoping I'd find you -- or Lord Giulian!" She came towards him, pushing the hood back from her dark curls with one hand, the other held out towards him. It was Sasha. "You've found us both," Harold replied. He did not smile, since she seemed too serious for frivolity. His hand reached for her extended one. "What is it?" he asked. "Do you want to sit down?" Harold asked her. "Please," said Sasha, and she did seem a little out of breath. "I walked as fast as I could ... and ran when no-one was looking ... from the Women's College." She managed a smile for him, though. Giulian looked at her curiously as she entered the office, and said, "Miss ... Matisse, isn't it?" He didn't recall seeing her since the Bahlmis salon. "That's right," she said, and smiled. "Lord Giulian, isn't it? I've heard all about the experiment from ... from Lady Renata and Jo." He nodded and then corrected himself, "It's 'Jules,' here. Jules Beason." She avoided looking at Harry, unsure how much of their relationship Harry would have shared with the Anderon heir. "I need to find Renata," she went on. "There's ... there's some worrying news. Jo is missing." Giulian's brows drew together and he looked at her intently. "Missing? What do you mean?" "Missing?" Harold echoed, regarding Sasha intently. Sasha spread her hands. "She hasn't been seen for two days. She had dinner with Dev ... and he walked her most of the way home -- well, to her dorm. But no-one at College has seen her since." She looked at them hopefully. "Have any of you?" Giulian shook his head, his face grave. "Not within the past two days, certainly. In fact, for us I think it's been more like four or five, wouldn't you say, Harry?" Sasha looked at Harry for his response. "About the same for me," Harry agreed. "It's been several days since." A chill came down his spine. "You don't suppose that someone found out Jo's connection to me," he asked quietly. "It wouldn't necessarily have to be you, Harry," Giulian said a little sharply. "It could be any or all of us, or ... or even on her own account." He thought back to the salon, and Jovanna's hints about the danger her political activism put her in. At the time he'd accused her of overdramatizing; at this moment that seemed almost like a betrayal. "We're getting ahead of ourselves," he went on. "We don't know yet that Jo's absence means anything sinister." He knew he was in denial even as he said it, but plunged on, "We should talk to Renata. Perhaps she's heard from her." "I'm sorry, Giulian," Harold replied. "It's just been made apparent to me lately that my possible future status might make those associated with me a target. "But it doesn't necessarily mean that this is the case here. We should talk to Renata." Sasha nodded. "The Dean wants me to find her -- she's agreed to me bringing her when when we search Jo's rooms tomorrow." She pulled a face. "I know, it's horrid -- but it has to be done. There might be something there ... and Renata is more likely than I am to know if something is missing. "Where will I find her?" Giulian looked at Harry. "I think we ought to go together to find her," he said. "This could be serious." Turning back to Sasha, he said, "She's working in a restaurant on Bird Street. I really do think it would be safer to go as a group." "I agree," Harold said to both of them. Sasha smiled. "Well," she said, "I won't say no to two fine escorts. I must confess, with all that has been happening, I was a little nervous at coming here -- and this is quite a respectable quarter, after all. But I'll wait for you to finish your work. I wouldn't want you both to get into trouble." Even as she spoke, a door in the upper part of the house could be heard creaking, and a querulous voice demanded, "What's all this noise, then?" "We're just going, Mr. Snodgkins!" Giulian carolled in return, smacking the finished document down on his desk. "We'd just finished, actually," he told Sasha. "Do you have the key, Harry?" He slid down from his tall stool, reaching for the crutches propped against the desk next to him. "I do," Harry said, producing the metal key from a pocket. "Let's get to that restaurant." "Well, make sure you lock up properly!" called Snodgkins. "I'll be down to check!" Sasha hastily whisked herself outside to wait for them in the street. When they came out, they found she had taken refuge in a convenient darkened doorway belonging to a chandler's shop. She waited for them to lock up, and come across to her. "I checked -- and I'm sure he wouldn't have been able to see me from any of the windows," she told them. "We can't have you losing your jobs for consorting with women -- Jo would never let you -- or me for that matter! -- hear the end of it! Which way do we go?" (Continued in The Experiment: Seeking Renata) |
