Who: Caspian Finn and Bertram Eden, later Gabriel Allen What: Caspian and Bertie go on an adventure and get in over their heads Where: Caspian's residence, then the Goblin Market...or is it? When: 2nd February, 1889 Rating: PG-13 for general spookiness
It took a few tries for Bertie to find Caspian's home, having only been there once, and that under rather difficult and unusual circumstances--mainly his head attempting to slosh and rattle from his shoulders after hearing Caspian's...song--but he felt confident enough - relatively - by the time he stepped up to knock.
He was proven right a moment later, thankfully, and offered Caspian an apologetic smile. "Hello. I'm sorry for stopping by unannounced--I know I should have written, but I couldn't remember your address. Are you busy? Would you mind speaking for a moment?" The apologetic expression became even more so. "It's official business, I'm afraid--though nothing to do with you," he assured Caspian hastily. "Someone in one of your audiences."
This was a rare night that he wasn’t at The Review until the wee hours of the morning. Like a normal being he was enjoying a quiet evening at home, taking his time to get through the newspaper to try to understand the goings-on. It was to his advantage when that knock came. He was having a hard time deciphering the importance of an article about some decision the Parliament made. It made no sense to him really.
Caspian set the paper aside, stood up slowly, and wandered curiously to the door. Most he knew already had a key to his place, it wasn’t usual anyone of any worth came calling at such an hour. As it was to his surprise when he opened the door his friend Bertie graced the stoop.
Before he could say anything, only offering a polite and confused smile in response, Bertie was inquiring of him. It seemed dire, the reason for the visit, which was a shame if he was to be honest. He liked Bertie relaxed and overjoyed by a discovery, Caspian had seen the investigative side of his friend before. This seemed important.
“Of course, my friend. Please do come inside,” Caspian replied, moving out of the doorway so Bertie could enter. “Are you alright, my friend? Please make yourself at home. Could I get you some tea?”
The door closed once Bertie was inside.
"Oh, that would be...though I shouldn't," Bertie contradicted himself in the same breath. "I do wish this were a social visit, and I'm sorry I haven't come by lately. Things have been slightly complicated," he admitted, though it was a poor excuse for neglecting a friend. "I am sorry for it, though. But no, I came because a man had half a ticket for the Review in his pocket, and I wondered if there was any chance you remembered him, or a woman he might have been with."
Bertie withdrew the photograph from his pocket to offer it to Caspian. "I know you see many people, but you stand in the lobby afterward to greet the audience, and I thought perhaps, if he were a regular..." Bertie tried to recall as many of the ghost's - and the corpse's - defining features as he could. "A taller gentleman, blond hair, educated accent and quite tidy, neatly trimmed...perhaps your age, or close to it...and he might have been wearing clothing far beneath his station, pretending to be among the lower-class crowd, but too clean, freshly laundered. He wouldn't have fit in."
Holding out the photograph of the woman, Bertie continued, watching Caspian for any sign of recognition, "He might have been with this woman, in similar disguise."
He’d been expecting the jumbled rush of words and thoughts, that was typical with Bertie and so as everything was tossed at him Caspian smiled gently and listened patiently until Bertie was finished.
“Oh, your business for your visit doesn’t matter to me, I enjoy your company just the same.” The photo was accepted of the woman that Bertie was looking for and blue eyes swept those features. He listened diligently to the description - the woman in the photograph was familiar but not immediately by name. “I’ve seen many people, Bertie,” Caspian began, lifting his eyes to his friend. He offered the photograph back, “she looks familiar to me but I cannot say for sure why. I apologize, I don’t have much more to offer you.”
There was little Caspian could recall of the man or the woman other than that nagging sense of familiarity. “I wish that I could be more helpful, my friend.” He frowned, wishing there was more that he could do.
Bertie tried to hide his disappointment, giving a brief, reassuring smile as he tucked the photograph away. "That's all right. I expected that to be the case, I just thought I would ask. It gave me a reason to see you, anyway--not that I should need one," he added, laughing softly at himself. "Gabriel told me I ought to stop by and say hello. How are you? I heard he gave you the theatre. Have you been making any plans for it, now that it's yours?"
Caspian brightened as the conversation turned to better things. “I have considered making a few changes, it does need some repairs here and there but those can be done in time. Overall, to be quite honest, I’ve been sort of guiding in the direction I’ve wanted it to go for years.” There had been some limitations but otherwise it’d been his hand steering the helm.
“You should stop by more often, Bertie. Here and the theater. I know you keep quite busy but I do find myself wondering what trouble you’re getting yourself into.”
Bertie laughed. "More than you know," he admitted ruefully, thinking of Dex and Gabriel and Black Park, and his vision of the airship flying through the land of the dead. "More than I would like, I think. I seem to get myself tangled no matter what I do, and without an Ariadne to lead me from the labyrinth on her string."
Bertie rubbed at his chin, the twisted-up feeling in his stomach returned at the reminder of how much he had to sort out, and hastily changed the subject to work. "I hope to stay well out of trouble today, but there's a market I've heard a rumour of, and I'm going to see what I can find there, to do with a...well, not quite a case...no, it is a case," Bertie amended, thinking of the American Pinkertons and their search. "It's just...also a bit more complicated than that. I don't know how everything gets so complicated," he lamented, looking to Caspian as if he'd find some explanation there.
"In any case, I thought I'd stop by there to see what there is to see. It's apparently a supernatural market. The Goblin Market," Bertie added, lowering his voice a fraction. "Have you been there?"
Caspian couldn’t help but be warmed by that soft laugh. Bertie was very easy to be around in a lot of ways and he greatly enjoyed their times together, even if they were few and far between.
At mention of the Goblin Market Caspian shook his head, curious. “I cannot say that I have. To be honest with you, Bertie, I cannot say I know what a goblin even is.” Why they were keeping their voices down he wasn’t sure but his own tone dropped.
“What is it that your heart desires?”
Bertie's eyes widened. "I don't think that's a wise question to answer, of a supernatural market." He couldn't help but think of folk tales and stories, all warning against such decisions, or making ill-advised wishes.
"I think it's a...just a name," Bertie explained, though he was hesitant to say so, since he truly didn't know. "We've never been taught there are goblins, anyway, but then I'm sure there are beings unknown to many of us, out of legends, hidden from sight. It would be a marvelous thing, wouldn't it, to step into such a world?"
There was a poem already tickling at his mind. But that was an invitation to Faerie, and Bertie knew better than to go wandering there, or ask to be taken in, no matter how wonderful the land and its inhabitants.
"I'm looking for a...well, for a tool, I suppose. To be honest, I'm not really clear on everything myself, but I haven't had any luck on a...a sort of case" - if one considered Charlindra Shiverthorn a case, and not just a terror - "and I thought I might have a look around. It will probably be a waste of time, but who knows, something might turn up. With the best luck, I might find a lead."
He considered the more enjoyable prospect of a day spent in Caspian's company, rather than alone, and the relative danger of a day at the market, even if they were looking for stolen artifacts, and Caspian's general charm running counter to Bertie's frequent overeager awkwardness.
"Would you like to come with me? It might be an hour or two, at most, and we could have dinner after, if you haven't eaten."
He wasn’t exactly sure what a goblin was but he nodded anyway, taking the answer he was given as truth. Bertie wouldn’t steer him in the wrong direction, not intentionally anyway.
“Whatever this tool is that you seek perhaps we shall uncover it. Two sets of eyes are better than one, though I am not exactly sure either what it is that you have in mind. Worst case is that the day is a flop, but we have the company of each other. It would not be a waste.”
Caspian nodded with delight, “It would be my honor to accompany you, my friend. Are you eager to leave now?” If so, it wouldn’t take long for him to get ready and then they could be off.
"I don't want to rush you off," Bertie said, apologetic. "But I thought the same--the day would be better spent in your company, if you were willing. I could wait, though I'm not certain how late the market is open. I would enjoy the walk there, if nothing else, alongside you. It would not be a badly-spent evening."
Bertie waved vaguely with both hands to dismiss his own rambling. "I have sketches in my notebook, if you'd like to see them, so you'll know what I'm looking for." And wouldn't Charlindra be in a fury about that, Bertie thought, if she knew he'd shared them. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much more, just to be cautious if you see something, and to let me know. But perhaps we'll see other things of interest," Bertie added, brightening. "I went to the supernatural Christmas Market, but, ah," he flinched slightly, drooping at the memory of that day, "it went rather badly. I don't remember very much of it. I should like to experience this one. You don't mind, truly?"
“My day is clear, my work schedule is a touch more flexible now than it used to be, there is no rush on my part.” The Review would be fine, he had to have time for himself as well lest he never leave the theater ever.
Without another word Caspian went quickly through the motions of getting ready to leave and when he was finished he returned to Bertie.
“I should like to see your sketches if it will aid you in finding the tool you seek,” he explained with a nod. He wasn’t the type to push or pry for information, Bertie would give what he thought was important and Caspian trusted him wholeheartedly.
“When you are ready, my friend, we can be off on our task.”
Bertie smiled, grateful and relieved. He retrieved his notebook from his coat as they went out and began to walk, flipping through the pages until he came to the first sketch. "Here they are. Crude, I fear, but...well, you'll have as much idea as I do. Which is little enough." He laughed ruefully. "I fear I stumble onto cases more often than I solve them. This one in particular is difficult."
Bertie's notebook was filled, as usual, with scribbled fragments of verse, case notes, and other sketches of various objects, but he didn't mind Caspian seeing any of them. It was rather liberating, overall, to be able to simply hand off a notebook to someone, entrusting them with a glimpse into his soul, and not worry about what they might see. He and Caspian were new friends, certainly, but Caspian knew already about Bertie the things that mattered.
He kept an easy pace as they walked. Caspian accepted the notebook and studied the drawings eagerly. He was gentle with the notebook, turning the pages tenderly hoping that Bertie would keep him from running into anything.
“Interesting,” The Mer breathed. After getting what he needed from the sketches he offered the notebook back to his friend.
“I believe I have a better understanding now as it what we are searching for. I’ll keep my eyes open.” He’d ask around, too, if he had the chance. Someone was bound to know something.
"Have you seen anything like them before?" Bertie's tone was eager--he would be grateful for a better understanding of what had the Winter Court, a vampire coven, and the American Pinkertons stirred up in such a dangerous way. He nearly walked into a lamppost, distracted, and evaded it at the last minute, only to come up unexpectedly against a broad, strong-looking gentleman in a coat and hat that had seen better days.
The man stared him down, and Bertie hastily backed up, only to bump into Caspian, who was not far off. The man sniffed then, and Bertie took it for disdain until he leaned closer and did it again, this time eyeing Caspian as his jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a twist of tobacco.
He spat a moment later, confirming that thought. Mouth slightly open this time, he breathed in again, and Bertie thought werewolf, hastily looking down rather than staring in challenge. He didn't know what the rules were, now that he had presented himself to a pack--should he still bare his throat? Should he hold his own? (That could easily be a suicidal choice, but Bertie was willing to reassess the situation if it began to go badly.) Should he speak up and say something?
In the end, the werewolf decided matters before Bertie himself could come to a choice. "All right," he drawled, a thick Northern accent slurring his words. His head jerked behind him to a narrow wooden gate standing in an otherwise unremarkable alley. "Go on."
When Bertie began to move, taking a step forward, an enormous hand planted itself against his chest. "Not you." The werewolf tipped his head toward Caspian. "Him. You stay here."
Bertie swallowed an immediate protest, weighing what to do next, and if it would see harm done to him rather than admitting him entrance if he mentioned that he was a member of the Night Watch. Before he could speak, the light fog around them began to coalesce into a wisp of form, the shape of an old haggard woman, or a girl aged too young, Bertie couldn't tell which.
"I'm hungry," the girl whispered, her syllables drawn out slowly, not in a slur but a hiss. "Let him in. So hungry. We can eat. We can feast. Let him pass."
Bertie's lips had parted, surprise and anxiety rendering him silent in the shape of such...maliciousness, was his first thought. Such violent, dark malevolence. This was a spirit Zipporah would have banished, and Bertie wasn't certain he would have stood in her way.
"Oh," came a deep voice, and Bertie jerked his gaze from the ghost to see the werewolf eyeing him with something like wariness and dislike. "You're one of those. Go on, then. Both of you." When Bertie didn't move at first, still frozen in shock and uncomprehending, the werewolf bared his teeth. "Before I change my mind."
Bertie nearly reached for Caspian's hand, but forced himself to move forward with only a single worried look at his friend. The ghost moved when he did, to block his path--Bertie gritted his teeth and kept walking, shuddering as he passed through her. Tendrils of ice seemed to touch him, frost in his nostrils and clammy chill breathing down the back of his coat. He didn't think he could bear to keep moving forward after the first step, when his lungs felt frozen and his limbs trembled, hearing the ghost's satisfied hiss as a whisper directly into his ears. Then he heard the werewolf laugh, and realized he must not be the first she'd made a meal of, and that gave him the determination not to falter, to continue on through the ghost to the gate.
He was shaking when he reached it, his hands fumbling the gate latch until he had to hope that Caspian could lift it instead. "Come back soon," the ghost whispered. "Sssssssoon. You shall have to pass again. There is no other way out."
Caspian had been about to answer in the negative, wishing he could be more help to Bertie, when the ordeal with the werewolf began. He didn’t mind Bertie backing into him and had they been in more discreet company the Mer would’ve wound an arm around his friend if only to offer support.
As it was Caspian only waited, tense. His thrall was there if he needed to use it but that risked hurting Bertie.
The moments seemed too long — Caspian found himself rushing forward after his friend once they’d been both given the word to pass. Like a mouse fleeing from a cat he scurried down the alley and to the gate. He watched only a few moments as Bertie fumbled with the latch before he stepped in with a more patient hand. He made short work of it, pushed the gate open, and pushed his friend through.
He snapped the gate closed behind them and sighed softly. That was … odd but not terrible. Caspian looked at Bertie for guidance.
Bertie trembled still, reaching out now that the gate was closed between them and the ghost and the werewolf to touch Caspian's arm for reassurance. "A spirit," he tried to explain, jaw clenched against teeth that wanted to chatter. "I think...the guardian must have seen me looking at her. Must know she's there."
He shuddered again, with his entire body, and leaned in for a moment before recovering himself. "It was only a moment," he said, almost more to himself than to Caspian. "All is well. Shall we see what we can find?"
Bertie was less certain than ever that he ought to be here, even with - or perhaps especially with - Caspian at his side. He could see the market now, opening up at the mouth of the alley into a small circle of tents and stalls, and it might have been the ghost's touch, but it looked gray and slightly ominous somehow, as if warning him against entering that ring of vendors.
A sigh of relief escaped him.
Caspian’s fingers closed around Bertie’s arm gently in assurance. “Whatever it was is behind us now. I suppose all there is left to do is move forward though I have a feeling that what lay beyond there wasn’t meant for creatures like us.”
He didn’t feel fear very often, he wasn’t usually hesitant. He’d promised to accompany Bertie and he was not about it let his friend go alone.
Letting Bertie go, Caspian straightened and nodded his head, “Shall we? I can take the lead if you’d prefer.”
Caspian's generous offer woke a streak of protectiveness in Bertie, and he stood up taller, straightening his coat. "No, no...it's all right. Thank you." He smiled briefly at Caspian, then squared his shoulders as they walked side-by-side toward the ring of tents.
There was something bothering him in the back of his mind, and it wasn't until they reached the first vendor, a narrow-eyed woman watching them from within the shadowed confines of her tent, that Bertie realized it was that he hadn't been quite prepared to come upon the Goblin Market. He'd known they were heading in the correct direction, or at least so he'd believed, but he hadn't expected to see the man in the tattered coat and hat, nor the gate. Was it that he'd been wrong about the market's location, or in how far they'd traveled? He hadn't been paying the best attention, so it might have easily come up unexpectedly. And what else could this be than that? After the werewolf, and the ghost...where else could they be?
He couldn’t help but smile warmly at Bertie’s newfound confidence. His friend was to be admired, he was very brave for a human.
A nod of acceptance and Caspian fell into stride with his friend. His cadence was confident at first but as they approached those tents peddling wares he’d never seen before his steps became more hesitant. Something felt awry here, wrong. He didn’t have to words to describe it.
The stand they came upon was guarded by that shadow of a woman; Caspian didn’t look at her. He was taken by the tiny, whimsical thing flitting about in a cage made of enchanted glass. He’d never experienced a Fae, not of any kind and so this creature went unnamed. The thing landed, peered up at him with a distinct look of sadness, a lure used to draw in its prey. It’s face was round and white, only two small black beads did it have for eyes.
It wasn’t until Caspian had leaned in to get a better look did the thing bear its maw of razor sharp teeth, ones designed to rip through flesh. It began to throw itself maddeningly at the glass.
The woman shape in the tent began to mutter something in a language he’d never heard and ungracefully Caspian moved backward and away, almost hiding behind Bertie.
"I've begun to think this might not have been my best idea," Bertie admitted in a soft voice, laughing nervously. They moved to the next booth, where Bertie could see vials of all shapes and sizes, some hanging from cords, others held upright in wire frames. The memory of the thing in the cage, its razor-limbs and sharp fangs and the deep pools of its eyes, distracted him for long enough that he didn't immediately realize all he was seeing as he gazed at the vials.
It was an alchemist's booth. There were liquids of several colours, clear and dark red and green and blue, and powders of various kinds, including a scattering of something he recognized as faerie dust. One of the vials he thought might contain ground bone, yellowed with age. Bertie didn't know enough about alchemy to identify more than the basics--blood, tears, metal shavings. There was more, though, far more, and it made him uneasy looking at the rows upon rows of glass containers, each sealed up with cork and wax.
The alchemist himself was watching them when Bertie looked up, his eyes hooded, his body eerily still. A vampire, if Bertie were to guess, which made him wonder how many kinds of blood might be collected here. "All a penny to sixpence," he said, in a voice like grating stones. "What can I help you to find to satisfy you?"
Bertie opened his mouth, about to answer despite the immense foolishness of doing so, and caught himself in surprise just before he could speak. "I...I don't know," he admitted instead. "We're only looking. I thought I might know what I needed when I saw it."
It was close enough to the truth, and hopefully wouldn't see them cast out of the market. Bertie nearly added impulsively that he had coin, but again, only a fool would say as much aloud to invite trouble, and he realized there was some minor compulsion within the tent, something that sank invisible hooks into him and tugged so gently he hardly noticed it. He realized that he wasn't certain he could lie, with the compulsion on him, and began to sweat slightly in spite of the damp chill all around them.
Movement caught his eye, and he found himself snared by the sight of pale green fire burning within one of the glass vials, this one bulbous and swollen, as if it had needed to expand to keep the flame contained within it. Witchfire, he thought, St. Elmo's fire, and he wished he could remember why and when it burned.
Caspian shuffled to the next booth. The vials were intriguing, he knew some of the things by scent and all of them were aquatic based, things he hadn’t seen since his time beneath the water. He’d forgotten such things existed until that moment. Curious.
He experience with vampires was naught but he was immune to their charms as were they to his. He stepped over to Bertie protectively, finding his friend to be functioning but not to capacity. Humans, such vulnerable things.
The Mer was in no position to fight anything for his friend but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t at least try.
Caspian turned to the other man and curled his arm around Bertie’s in effort to ground him. “What do you see, my friend?”
What Bertie saw was the vampire's eyes, and he knew the source of the compulsion now, couldn't believe he'd forgotten it, but he couldn't seem to remember how to break it. He felt Caspian at his side, but he also couldn't find the answer to such a simple question.
"A penny to sixpence," the vampire repeated softly. "Perhaps...perhaps it is I who should offer such to you. Perhaps the question is not what you are here to find, but what you have brought to offer?"
A creature of luring humans Caspian was quite familiar with the expression presently settled on Bertie’s face and it wasn’t pleasing in the slightest. Had they been merely acquaintances perhaps Caspian wouldn’t have felt as inclined to interfere but as little as they as they saw each other he’d invested quite a lot.
“We’ve nothing to offer you, nor you to us,” Caspian replied shortly, planting himself between Bertie and the vampire. His eyes narrowed, one predator to another. “I’d ask you kindly to leave this human to me.” Maybe his time upon land made him too polite but he’d get ugly very fast if this creature tried anything.
Bertie saw, around Caspian who'd moved in front of him, the vampire raise an eyebrow. "As you wish," he said, dismissive, and Bertie felt something lift from his shoulders, a weight whose absence made him shudder out an exhale.
He moved back before he'd consciously thought to do so, his hand catching at Caspian's coat. "We should move on," he said with a dry mouth, unharmed but still uneasy. There were no fae artifacts here, clearly--it would be best for them to continue on their way.
"Thank you," he said quietly, after a long moment of silence as he and Caspian moved, none-too-quickly, toward the next stall in line. "And I'm sorry. I..." His face warmed with embarrassment. "I know better."
Caspian tilted his head slightly. That was easier than he thought it might be. It seemed that Bertie truly was out of his element being a human. He stayed closer as if to maintain that dominant presence, hoping to send the signal that while they moved any others would recognize this human as his.
Bertie wasn’t, he didn’t want that to be misconstrued but for this series of moments it was necessary to ensure that his friend survived. All of this for an artifact neither of them knew anything about.
“Allure is powerful,” Caspian cautioned. His arm looked around Bertie’s and he smiled, “Stay close to me. I’ll do the best I can to keep you safe. You know the sound of my thrall, it is not the most pleasant of sounds but it is effective at dissuading any interest.” He was no match for a vampire, he’d been lucky so far.
“What else would you care to see?”
Bertie's look around the market wasn't a happy one, but he admitted, "I think I need to look at them all. You don't need to come with me if you'd rather not, but I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone, either." He shook his head, thinking of the ghost at the gate. "I don't want to come back here again unless I must."
He found a smile then, small though it was, which he turned on Caspian. "You would sing for me? Or..." He laughed a little, teasing with a gentle elbow to Caspian's side. "Make that noise, anyway? I'm flattered, to be so honoured."
Bertie glanced over his shoulder, but the vampire alchemist was out of sight. "Are you all right? I'm sorry for bringing you here. I didn't realize it would be quite like this."
“Then we shall look at each stall, and take our time with it. We are here for a purpose, not for fun.” This was not fun to him, he felt as if he were on display. “And I would not leave you to accomplish such a task, my friend. You wouldn’t survive.” Bertie was human. He was food for most of the creatures here based on the vibes Caspian was getting.
He brightened, nodding, “Of course I would. If it meant sparing you a few precious moments to scurry away then yes.”
Caspian smiled warmly, “I’ll be better when we are gone. Please do not apologize, this is a new experience for both of us. Let us press onward.” He guided Bertie slowly toward the next stall.
Bertie was paying more attention to Caspian than the path before him, which was why it was such a surprise when he was interrupted in saying, "I wouldn't leave you behind. Tell me you will not..." by the sudden appearance of a woman between them, and a rod familiar to Bertie from his sketches and a magical demonstration in a long-ago alley.
"I see serpents in your future, wrapping you in their coils. I see fire all around you, and the gleam of gold, good fortune in a strange disguise. You will be the bridge between the past and the future, and you will decide how to shape it."
The woman was of middle years, but among the supernatural races, she could have been forty or four hundred, Bertie had no way of knowing. She seemed harmless by comparison to the other vendors they'd seen, her eyes bright, her hair and dress clean. The other patrons of the market, whom Bertie had let go largely unremarked, didn't steer clear of her. All the same, he felt uneasy, as she'd pushed the rod she carried into Caspian's surprised hands, and folded her own over his.
It was something like a branch, and something like a staff, and something like a scepter, and yet it was none of those. Bertie's uneasiness and confusion grew as he looked at it, though he didn't doubt for a moment that this was one of the objects he'd been asked to find. He didn't know how to ask for it, or to take it without enraging the woman and endangering Caspian. And the woman was still talking.
"The spirits tell me all of this, they speak through the veil that divides life and death. They speak to me of you, and they are strong, so strong..." For a moment, the woman seemed genuinely confused. In the same moment, Bertie saw the ghosts.
There were too many of them for one spot, even considering how many had drifted since whatever the Ripper had done in London. They were here because of the fae object, Bertie realized, but on the heels of that came a second epiphany.
They were here for him.
Perhaps not originally, but they gained strength as they drifted toward him those few inches between Bertie and the rod held between Caspian and the fortune teller, gained brightness and form and energy, until the air felt like the heavy, crackling pressure that preceded a storm. The ghosts opened their mouths, and Bertie couldn't hear anything emerging from those dark, gaping holes, but he also knew that he would, if they remained. Every moment they spent here, they drew on him, and Bertie was helpless to stop them.
"I have told your fortune," the woman continued, apparently disregarding the odd behavior of her flock of captive spirits in favor of finishing what she had begun with Caspian. "You will pay me in silver and gold, one of each, or pay for your debt in much dearer coin."
The appearance of the woman had caught him off guard.
His arm had unwound from Bertie’s and he’d paused. His hands had been cupped around that rod, a thing he wasn’t sure about but she was insistent. He’d taken it against his will.
The ring he wore was silver, it held no bearing on the woman whose hands gripped his. The one Gabriel had given him.
He saw no spirits; Caspian was caught up in the woman the rest of the world might’ve disappeared around him. “I could not offer such a price.” He was honest. What burden would she place upon him?
Bertie's heart had caught in his throat, and he couldn't even tell why fear gripped him, except that whatever twisted the rod in Caspian's hands was as malevolent as the spirit at the gate. The ghosts it held weren't threatening--they merely struggled to communicate, to speak with him, bound up in the magic of faerie and silenced in their deaths. Bertie wanted to help them. He yearned to, even as his instincts warned him away. But then, too, there was Caspian.
"I beg you, leave him be," Bertie asked, his voice muted in his own ears over the rush of white wind brought on by the ghosts. "If there is a debt, may I pay it?" He swallowed. "What...what is that you carry? Is there a price, for...would you be willing to part with it, for greater coin?"
"Gold and silver," the woman snapped, suddenly seeming much less friendly. "That is the price. The fortune is his, not yours. You will pay," she said intently, focused on Caspian. "You will pay, or be cursed."
"Leave him be," Bertie insisted, reaching out to break them apart, to take the woman's hands from Caspian's. He knew as soon as his finger brushed the rod that he should not have done so. The ghosts became suddenly sharper, brighter again, and the woman looked at him with a new appreciation that Bertie didn't like to see there.
"Well, well," she said softly. "What do we have here?"
The faint whistle of wind Bertie could hear began to gain strength, though it was still distant and muted. He could recognize it now, could match it to the ghosts caught between the three of them, battered by an unseen storm. It was the sound of many stifled voices raised in a single, unending scream.
Pay or be cursed.
Caspian had never in his life experienced something as strange as this; the rod he clutched in his hands was radiating some sort of power, he could feel it but didn’t understand it.
His focus was on the woman until her attention waned and turned to Bertie. Caspian has to make a quick decision - do nothing at all, or use his thrall to overpower the woman. He wanted no harm to come to Bertie, Caspian would do anything for his friend that was needed.
Casting a glance at Bertie he waited to see what move should be made, startled by all of the goings-on.
There was something to be said for sniffing out a burst of magical energy so rich that it stood out among the low-level buzz of the crowd. Gabriel had been taking care of decidedly unpleasant business (the sort of business best accomplished in dark corners) in a nearby booth, and when he emerged, tucking a letter and a small linen-wrapped packet into his coat pocket, he was nearly hit upside the face with it.
It took all of a moment to take in the scene -- all three players in it looked to be distinctly unwilling participants, startled and drawn to whatever it was like iron filings to a magnet, and he saw with no small degree of alarm that the man at the center of it all was his Caspian, looking lost and worried -- and Bertie was there too (of course, of course, damn it), pale and tightly strung, eyes darting about as if he were… (Damn it).
A few other people were starting to pay mind too -- he could see a vampire in a nearby booth practically pricking up his ears -- which was most certainly not a good thing.
Not at all.
“Mags,” he said, keeping his voice low, “Mags, love,” he added, his gaze sharply intense and honing in on the witch. “I can vouch for these two. Let’s talk terms. No need to draw a crowd,” he added, before his eyes shifted over to Caspian and Bertie, his expression casual. “Alright then?” He asked, lightly.
The sight of Gabriel was always a relief. Trouble or no trouble Caspian knew any situation was exponentially better when his lover was there. In this instance the Mer was eternally grateful for a rescue, he breathed out a sigh of relief as if to state the fact.
Whatever connection Gabriel had with the witch had her letting him go, Caspian almost threw the artifact out it his own grasp and he took a step backward, away from her.
Bertie's initial goal had been to remove Caspian from the situation, but as the woman and the rod began to pull away, Bertie could feel something inside him pull with it, the ghosts reaching out to him and him reaching back and their physical anchor being drawn away, stretching them taut between Bertie and the fae artifact.
"No," he gasped, nearly involuntarily, starting to reach out for the rod but yanking his hand back, knowing that whatever that was, whatever the danger it held, he should not touch it.
Bertie flung a hand out for the ghosts, and they seemed to stabilize, hovering in the air between him and the woman, although he felt the now-familiar hook pull within his chest and wondered just how long he'd be able to hold them, and how he could bargain for that rod, because he now couldn't imagine simply leaving it behind.
He saw the woman staring at him in his peripheral vision, her eyes wide, and though she must feel the chill too, the cold that was growing as Bertie tried to hold onto the ghosts. He could almost hear them...almost hear past that thin scream...almost...
“He owes me,” Mags replied, sharply, clutching the rod to her chest. “He owes me. One silver, one gold.”
Gabriel reached out a staying hand to Bertie -- it took an effort not to look his way, especially given the strangled note in his voice, but Gabriel needed to concentrated on Mags. He could see a shimmer out of the corner of his eye, and a rustling noise, and as the hair stood up on the back of his neck, Mags’ eyes grew wide, darting between him and the space behind him.
“Here you are, then,” he said, fetching the coins from his pocket and passing them her way. “One silver, one gold. Mags,” he added, gently, as she snatched the coins from him, trembling, “Mags love, what have you gotten yourself into?” He looked down at the object she cradled. “That doesn’t belong to you,” he said, his voice low, and it was a bit of a leap, but her accompanying shudder told him he’d hit home.
“S’ mine,” she muttered, her eyes still shifting back and forth nervously. “Found it, fair n’ square.” She was so rattled she didn’t even bite the gold coin.
“In over your head, love,” he said, softly. “Things like that, they don’t get found by chance. It’ll cost you dear if you’re not careful. I can take it off your hands, if you’d like.”
She shuddered again.
"The Winter Court will take it," Bertie spoke up, his voice deeper than its usual pitch. He was aware of Gabriel now (here, of all places), aware that he couldn't announce he was Night Watch in this place, with Gabriel vouching for him, aware of the ghosts coalescing in the fog beside him. "The Fae will take it.”
"Or," and he tried to sound stronger than he was, channeling Night Watch and Black Park into his voice to mask the way sweat had broken out at his temples as the ghosts were pulled between him and the rod, "I can take it to them, instead. But they will come for it. They are already hunting it."
Caspian hung back.
This was not his area of expertise and the instinct inside of him that was desperate to overpower his rational was not his usual calm and patience, rather it was to blast everyone here with that crippling thrall sound. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t...not here. It was risky, but he wanted to just the same.
Instead he left Gabriel and Bertie deal with the situation as they saw fit, trusting them to handle the witch and that strange artifact. The ghosts went ignored, too, as he didn’t quite understand what was going on with them.
“We’ll pay a finder’s fee,” Gabriel added. “A reward. We’ll make sure your name isn’t brought up. You’ll make a clean profit, and no harm done.”
Mags paused, chewing it over, the offer enough to cut through her panic and pull of the device she clutched to her breast.
“Swear to’t,” she said, and Gabriel nodded, pulling out two more gold coins.
She made a face and rolled her eyes, and he pulled out a third.
At her subsequent pause, he knew he had her, and before he could pocket them and call her bluff, she held out her hand with a sigh.
There was a brief moment where he was uncertain whether she’d hand it over of her own free will, but while this particular little stretch of stands wasn’t Goblin Market Proper -- more like the seedier, slightly mad cousin that tended to lurk nearby -- the Market rules were clear enough to tip the scale in his favour, and she dropped the object into his (gloved) palm before taking the coins (she bit them this time) and fading away into the crowd.
“Come on, we shouldn’t linger.” Gabriel muttered, finally turning to face Caspian and Bertie, finally seeing fully what he’d feared he’d see -- the shimmer of ghosts, their mouths open, a faint hum of noise coming from them. “Bertie,” he added, a little sharply, his face drawn with concern, “tell your entourage that their services are no longer needed. We’re drawing enough attention as it is.”
"They're not mine." Bertie was sweating enough now to feel overheated and slightly faint, though the air around him was a cold and clammy as ever, chilled by the cloud of ghosts. "They're bound to the...artifact."
He was vaguely concerned about Gabriel touching it, but since Gabriel didn't show any ill-effects, Bertie loosened his grip on the ghosts, letting them dissipate back into the rod from whence they'd been summoned. He swallowed and began walking, moving toward the gate automatically. He saw the alchemist watching him as he passed, with hunger in those dark, hooded eyes, but no compulsion touched him. Caspian must have warned him off well enough that the vampire would keep his distance.
Bertie balked when they reached the gate, forgetting until he walked through it what was waiting on the other side. She seemed even sharper now, feral and decaying, giving the impression of nothing so much as a collection of hungry teeth in a gaping mouth. "Sssso hungry," she hissed with malicious glee. "Passsss."
Bertie reached for the rod as if to take it from Gabriel, but she only laughed at him. "That trick won't work on me," she grinned, sharp teeth in the fog. "I'm already dead."
He stared her down until she faded, but Caspian and Gabriel were walking on unaware, so Bertie steeled himself and rushed forward, hearing the dry, crackling laugh as he passed through the ghost. He stumbled very slightly, and recovered quickly, in time to join the others in turning the corner out of the alley.
"Are you all right?" Bertie asked guiltily, and wasn't sure whether he meant only Caspian, or Gabriel as well.
Gabriel wheeled on them, his face pale and anxious. “What were you doing?” He asked, not sure if he was more furious or worried. “You don’t go somewhere like that ill-prepared. Jesus Christ,” he swore, his eyes looking both of them up and down searchingly. “This thing is burning a hole in my pocket, and I suspect I’ve a rather large target on my back as a result,” he added, his voice tight, “so where shall we take it for safekeeping? And no,” he added, a little sharply, “I’m not handing it over to you. If you keep wanting to touch it, I’d call that a rather bad sign, all told.”
Normally Bertie would have flinched, and he felt the instinct, but he was worn-thin and the aftermath of the encounter was still fading, and he couldn't afford to cower.
"I'm sorry," Bertie said, coming to a halt and standing straight. "No one told me the Goblin Market would be like that, or I would never have put Mr Finn at risk. The fault is mine alone. And I'll take that target from your back, and wear gloves if you wish, but it's been made very clear to me that the winter fae wouldn't take it as a great loss if their artifact killed me, or if they themselves killed me in retrieving it, and that's a risk I can't permit you to share."
He didn't like quarreling, didn't like that Gabriel had done them such an enormous service and now Bertie was standing up to him, but the thought of Charlindra Shiverthorn driving a knife of ice in between Gabriel's ribs was one that played out too easily in his mind, and it frightened him more than Gabriel's dressing-down.
"Thank you, for coming to our aid," Bertie said more quietly. "I truly am sorry, and I would be...even more indebted to you, if you would see Mr Finn safely home, as he had no part in my folly. But I do need that artifact. It’s what I came here today to find."
Gabriel frowned, tipping his chin. “Gloves are a start,” he said, tensely, “and if it comes down to it you may borrow mine, but you weren’t touching it when it did what it did. I am willing for the three of us to catch a hansom together, and I’ll hand it to Una myself with you as witness. Or we could put it into storage at the Night Watch if they need to take it into proper custody first. We don’t know what it’ll do to you, Bertie,” he said, urgently. “Hang being worried about the Winter Court. I can handle them well enough. I don’t think it’s wise at all for you to be handling such materials in… in your current state.”
Bertie's spine straightened at that. He knew he must look pale, but he wasn't an invalid. "I'm very well, thank you," he said, hoping he sounded it, "and I am the Night Watch. I'll take it to the station. You may come along if you wish, but I would rather you see Mr Finn safely home. Or I can do so first, with you, and go on from there." It was his fault that Caspian was caught up in this, and Bertie was wracked by guilt already without dragging Caspian across the city.
“Pardon me,” Gabriel replied, his voice sharp, “if I am having difficulty trusting your judgement at the moment.” He stopped, abruptly, and ran his hand over his face, trying his best to hide the tremble in his fingers. “You didn’t see the look in your eyes, Bertie. Let us all three go to the Night Watch at once, hand it off, and then I can take Caspian home.” Regardless of what it could cost us to be seen together, he thought, with a twist of his features. “Listen, please,” he added, a hint of desperation in his voice, “I don’t want you taking this thing and being on your own with it, so I am accompanying you regardless. Can we all just go together? Now. It’ll take less than an hour. There’s safety in numbers.”
Bertie rocked back on his heels, feeling the words as though they were a physical slap from Gabriel's glove. "Very well," he said quietly, not meeting Gabriel's eyes. "If Mr Finn agrees."
Upon a terse nod from Caspian, who’d been watching the proceedings with no small degree of alarm, Gabriel’s shoulders dropped in relief. He had no doubt Bertie’s pride was sorely damaged, but that was vastly preferable to the alternative.