Chapter 8: Threadneedle Street
My Boy Jack: Prequel to The Chimera Cycle
Table of Contents
Thursday, 25th July 1639
Adler rose before dawn. Later, aboard a beetle-black coach, he suffered rutted roads, enduring many bumps and bangs, making for London. He spent much of the eight-hour journey in thought, notebook in hand, reading: ‘Earlier-than-expected changes. I am unsure what accelerated growth could mean.’
He reached into his waistcoat pocket for his plumbago stick and scribbled with the Borrowdale graphite: ‘Eyes that hunt the smallest movement.’ He frowned as he drew a jagged line across the page, jarred as the wheels bounced. ‘Marcus often stares at the strongest: Nathaniel and Samuel, but Antony’s gaze lingers longest, picking out the weaker.’
The rattle of cobbles announced London. Tall Tudor houses cast long shadows, and the drum of the four horses vied with the din from the city. Sour smells wafted through the open window. The coach rolled to a halt on Threadneedle Street. Rain pattered on the canopy.
The porter, a dour man Adler recognised as William Tanner, stepped forward from the shade of the porch, hand on a cudgel. He scanned left and right, then bowed, opening the coach’s door.
Adler, ducking under the pomander of ambergris, civet, and rose that hung on a chain from the carriage’s roof, stepped down from the perfumed carriage.
Water ran in greasy rivulets through the grime of London, carrying soot, horse-dung, and the stink of tanneries toward the river.
Adler judged the hour to be a little before three in the afternoon.
Tanner raised his hand and gestured; his cloak shifted, revealing his short sword at his belt, the buckle an ornate Dominion sigil, marking him as a bondsman of the Dukedom of Albion.
“Bill, I have a chest on the coach. Have it brought below, please.”
Tanner nodded.
A woman Adler knew as Lady Frances Ingoldsby waited beneath the porch, safe from the weather.
“Doctor Adler, it is so good to see you again. Come in from the rain, and leave the Wild World behind you.” The doorway inched open in a smooth, slow arc; Adler perceived black oak and blacker iron assisted by a hidden counterbalance.
The heavy door closed against the grey daylight. Thick planks, studded with prominent rivets, diamond points resembling ebony teeth, shut like the mouth of the Leviathan—fast, with a solid snap.
A single brass lantern burned in the hallway, its flame steady, reflecting from bright white lime-washed walls. A dark flagstoned floor underfoot. On the wall, a Turkey-work tapestry showing the Judgement of Solomon, deciding the fate of a disputed child, seemed fitting. The air smelled sweet: beeswax, leather, and fresh-cut flowers.
Lady Frances extended her left hand. “I greet you for old times’ sake.”
Adler kissed it and noted the gold wedding band on her finger.
“‘Tis Susanna Fleetwood who now holds the keys, and I am Mrs John Renwick,” she said, gesturing to the younger woman at the door to approach.
Susanna curtseyed, eyes lowered.
Adler bowed. “I congratulate you, good lady, Senior Close Companion to Lord Elias.”
“Lady Fanny serves with me today, as I’m indebted to her, guiding me these last eleven years as only a blood-bonded sister can.”
“Doctor, Lord Elias will join us in due course,” Susanna said. “He asks that you make the appropriate preparations.”
Their master would not appear until dark.
Sunstead House, a vampire’s nod to humour, served as the London home for Albion’s Seneschal, the keeper of the records, mapping bloodlines and families across generations. The formal reception rooms befitted the fashionable abode of a wealthy gentleman.
Adler walked into the parlour; the fire crackled in a great brick inglenook hearth. Delft tiles gleamed blue with biblical scenes. A carved mantle featured human forms intertwined with flowers and leaves. Perfumed air greeted Adler as eleven ladies—some seated, others standing—turned toward him. The room enveloped them in understated luxury, panelled in warm oak, with bold mouldings, lit by the evening’s ochre light, filtering through leaded windows. A central Turkey carpet in reds and blues. Brass sconces held beeswax candles. Several well-dressed gentlemen lingered together—high-ranking servants of the Dominion and perhaps Seneschal Elias Henryk Sartain in particular. Adler counted six men. Four stood like soldiers. Two faces he recognised. Over ten thousand souls served the Principality of Brennos, with almost three-quarters of those living in the British Isles.
Susanna gestured to the gaggle of anxious young women. “These are the volunteers my Lord Elias selected for you.”
Lady Frances held the arm of a tall man. “Doctor Adler, let me introduce my husband, Captain John Renwick.”
A handsome fellow, under thirty, Adler judged, with a paling scar on his left cheek, giving him a roguish look.
“Pleased to meet you, Captain, and congratulations on your recent nuptials.”
“Thank you, sir.” Renwick gave a curt nod in return. “I am most blessed. Fanny is a jewel among women.”
Lady Frances Renwick proffered a glass to Adler. “Brandy?” she asked. “It is not Vils. I recall your preference.”
Renwick looked at Adler, puzzled. “There is no finer Vils anywhere in Albion than the liquor in this house.”
Adler took the drink offered to him. “Captain, let me explain. It is fitting that all loyal servants of the Dominion imbibe a tonic that gives them great vigour, one that fosters fraternity and fidelity to their Prince. However. I’m not like you, born and bred in the House of Brennos. Although an Oxford man, I first served in another place.”
Renwick stiffened. “A different House?”
“Outside the Dominion’s nine principalities and three Kingdoms, Captain.”
Surprise crossed the younger man’s face.
Adler sipped his brandy. “I attended a Hermitage beyond the eastern sea, in the old lands between Pontus and the distant peaks.”
Renwick’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, sir, am I to understand that you remain bonded to this independent household, and take their Vils?”
“I am. It is my pride, my prejudice, and a grievous problem. I must ferment my own, as I am the only one left.”
Captain Renwick’s face darkened. “For your loss, sir, I am very sorry.”
“They live on with me, at least until my end. Still, I’m glad Lord de Vries saved me and brought me here.” He set his glass down. “Lady Susanna, night approaches. We should prepare the chamber below.”