Who: Merrick & Bertie What: Two supernaturals meet after the assassination attempt When: 19 March 1889 [backdated like whoa!] Where: Near a theatre in London Rating: PG
Previously on ‘To Catch An Attempted Assassin’ ---
Since Bertie's actual job was to not get him, he wasn't too worried that Kidsman had a head start, although he did worry somewhat about what he would do if Kidsman forgot to drop the knife and Bertie had to drag him into a scuffle for it.
Thankfully he saw the flash of the knife being dropped, and Kidsman was far enough ahead, running flat-out, that Bertie wouldn't catch him. Bertie stumbled to a halt by the knife, giving up the chase, and caught himself against a lamppost as his vision went spotty again.
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In their male form, Merrick was enjoying a leisurely walk. Then a chill in the air gave them momentary pause. The djinn turned the corner and saw Bertie stumble and catch himself against the lamppost.
Merrick stepped over slowly, feeling the chill still. “Are you alright?” They tilted their head to one side, wondering why the young man stumbled - drunken, physical exhaustion?
Bertie shook his head to clear it, lost for a moment between what was real and what was the past. His mind felt as foggy as the air around his feet--Mrs Linden had him practicing with her every day, with assignments to work on alone when he had any spare moment. He was beginning to feel sluggish, and her stern admonishments to eat enough to keep up his strength were all that reminded him, some days, to expend the energy needed to eat a sandwich.
The voice he'd heard, he realized, had directed the question at him. Moreover, he had heard it, not 'heard it', as he 'heard' ghosts--the habit Mrs Linden was doing her best to break, formed in childhood when Bertie had been too young to understand any difference.
The echoes Bertie had been summoning around him slowly dispersed, leaving behind the ghosts' memories of the assassination attempt laid over Bertie's own. There was no knife, no crowd, no shouting for a constable. Bertie flexed his fingers and turned, leaning heavily on the lamppost to keep him upright. There was a man there, a strange man, an alive man. Grounded in the present, if a little odd-seeming.
Bertie licked his lips and found his voice. "Yes," he said, working to keep the man in focus as ghosts swam in and out of his vision. "Thank you."
Merrick knew the sort of cold that loomed around Bertie and them. At one time long ago before being tied to a vessel, the djinn could hear and see the departed. They stepped a little closer, but stopped as they listened to the young man speak.
No slurring, not intoxicated. There was surely something about him. “Quite welcome.” The corners of Merrick’s lips momentarily angled upward and then angled downward. “I think you may want to leave this area. This chill in the air may be the death of you.”
Bertie laughed, surprised into an unexpected moment of mirth. "Not me, no," he said almost without thinking. The ghosts crowded in, hungry, but Bertie wasn't so vulnerable as he had been a month past. Drawing in a breath, he pushed from his core out, not physically (ghosts weren't physical, Mrs Linden insisted, you couldn't see them, you couldn't hear them, they weren't there), but with the power he'd been drawing in, and the supernatural cold around them began to dissipate, leaving only the chill, clammy fog.
"Thank you, though," Bertie said, ingrained politeness taking over even in his fatigue. "Bertram Eden, trainee inspector. I'm afraid I'm just a bit tired, is all." He offered his hand to the other man, noting the exotic touch of the East around his eyes and in his dark skin. "Lots of work to be done."
Dressed in a dark suit and tie fitting the time period, Merrick nodded and loosely held their hands clasped in front of them. The djinn blinked, feeling the cold dissipate, unable to know exactly what made the ghosts withdraw, but knew Bertie was different.
“You’re welcome,” Merrick smiled and slipped their right hand into Bertie’s. “My name is Merrick. Isn’t there always lots of work.” The djinn smirked, intrigued by Bertie’s youth and yet the age and experience in his eyes.
Bertie was surprised into another laugh. "Yes," he admitted, shaking the man's hand before ruefully rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm afraid there is, at least for the N--the constabulary. Scotland Yard. Especially with...well, with the murders, and everything.
"That's not why I'm here," Bertie said hastily, realizing his mistake with wide eyes. "It's been quiet tonight, I only meant in general. You've no reason to fear walking home. Not beyond the usual, anyway."
Bertie frequently found himself desperately wanting to slap a hand over his own mouth to keep words from coming out, but often it was once the damage had been already done, and often compounded for good measure. "I'm sorry. Please forgive my thoughtlessness, I really am very tired. I'd like to use that as an excuse, anyway. Unfortunately I'm afraid I often say foolish things even when I'm well rested."
Murders. The thought of intentional deaths brought a strike of worry to the djinn since they had not heard from a certain Incubus. Breathing, Merrick shook Bertie’s hand and nodded. Their eyes gave away a hint of their worry.
With a sigh of relief, Merrick replied, “That is good to know. But one must always be careful at this time of evening and area.”
“No worries there. But I think I should assist you to some nourishment and shelter. When one is bit well-rested, both the quick and the dead could be lurking like the fog is now.” The djinn had a soft spot for kind souls, even more so for those who seemed different and perhaps vulnerable.
Bertie furtively searched Merrick's face, wondering if that comment had been a hint, a private understanding, but he saw nothing there to imply it. Just a turn of phrase by someone ignorant of the forces Bertie was manipulating all around them.
"I believe as the trainee inspector, I'm meant to be offering you comfort and escort, not the other way around." Bertie had himself solidly grounded in the present now, the past having died out behind him, and the ground was firm beneath his feet when he stepped away from the lamppost. "Where are you headed? I can walk with you."
Merrick knew not to give themselves away, but sometimes the djinn let a hint of their power show. They broke eye contact to look over at the dissipating fog before reestablishing attention to Bertie.
“Sometimes the table is turned in kind,” Merrick smiled. “I was planning to find a meal before returning to my flat. I think food would remedy your ghostly complexion.” Perhaps the djinn needed to bite their tongue.
Bertie's smile was soft and wry. "Ghostly, you think? I have been told I need to eat more, of late." He could feel it, too, exhaustion in his marrow, his energy fueled by determination and the echo of Mrs Linden's voice cracking, 'Again'.
"Where do you prefer to dine? I'm not in this district all that often." Opera was above Bertie's usual pay, and his entertainments tended to be more common. Although he wouldn't call the Spectacular Review at all common. Glancing over his shoulder at the steps, he frowned for a moment, imagining the echoes of the crowd, the werewolf, the knife...the ghosts bearing witness. Bertie shook his head again to banish it.
“Eating can be a luxury these days.” Merrick nodded, knowing that a djinn did not need to eat but it made life more enjoyable.
They watched Bertie as he glanced over his shoulder. Not wanting to voice assumptions, Merrick breathed. “There is a small restaurant down that way,” they motioned forward and down towards the right. “I often let my feet lead me on my walks. London is a sizable place.” The djinn wanted to wink at Bertie, but kept it to themselves.
They watched Bertie as he glanced over his shoulder. Not wanting to voice assumptions, Merrick breathed. “There is a small restaurant down that way,” they motioned forward and down towards the right. “I often let my feet lead me on my walks. London is a sizable place.” The djinn wanted to wink at Bertie, but kept it to themselves.
"It is that," Bertie agreed, falling into step with his new acquaintance. "Do you know the city well? Do you come from here, or have you been here long?"
The djinn blinked slowly, restraining themselves from telling the truth. Oh that freedom to be truthful was ever so dangerous. “Not as much as I would like. I have been here for a while, but yet kept to a small area of the city.” A touch of sadness and frustration touched their voice. But Merrick smiled through it. “Thankfully I’ve recently been able to explore more freely.”
Bertie felt a touch of alarm he tried to hide at that revelation, which sounded rather like Merrick had just been let go from prison - or a workhouse, though he was dressed well for that - and here Bertie was, blithely accompanying him down a dark street to an unknown location. Bertie tried to recall if Merrick's previous comments about this being a dangerous area might have been phrased as a subtle threat which he'd overlooked, but he couldn't hear them clearly.
Another thought crashed abruptly into that one, which was that being here for a while but kept to one place and suddenly, recently, being freed was the way any London ghost might describe themselves, and Bertie's certainty that he was walking among the living on the present-day streets of London was thrown into sudden doubt.
"Ah," Bertie said inanely, wondering how he could ask for clarification without being rude. "Which neighborhood, may I ask? Perhaps I've spent some time there."
Being thought of being a ghost would have been a good description for the djinn - a normally incorporeal being with lifetimes lived long ago with loved ones long gone as well. Merrick was accustomed to being deemed dangerous as well.
Their pace slowed, thinking they heard Bertie’s heart rate increase. “My circumstances kept me not too far from…,” Merrick began and stopped to bite back the angry and pained memories of the last fifty years. “You must know of the Institute, yes?” They continued, their emotions only showing in a hint of dryness in their voice.
Bertie blinked in surprise, startled by the name. "Yes, of course. I've followed some of their work for some time, advances in...well, I have a fondness for clockworks," he admitted, feeling himself flush and glad it wasn't likely to be seen. "And science, of course," he rushed on. "And...other disciplines."
Bertie winced, guessing that he'd managed to insult his new acquaintance by not mentioning the man's area of study by name, and tried to be effusive in his praise. "They do fine work there. You've been occupied with a project? Some advancement? Of course I'll understand if you can't name it. That's very admirable, truly."
Merrick kept their hands at their sides, letting Bertie ramble on with his admiration for an organization the djinn loathed. They now regretted bringing it up as tension course through their shoulders.
“No need. I used to be there, but in last month or so I took up employment elsewhere thus my longer walks into other parts of London.”
"Oh." Merrick's obvious anger quite took the wind out of Bertie's sails, and he fumbled around for something else to say. "I hope your new work is fulfilling. And it must be pleasant to have more time, for walking, and sightseeing, and...so on." Bertie winced, but he didn't know what to be apart from optimistic.
“I believe it will. More of an equal sort of role. Yes.“ Then Merrick sighed, the tension ebbing just slightly. “Please forgive my irritation. It is not aimed at you, but at my past employment.” Their eyes caught Bertie’s, a hint of embarrassment and pain in them.
"No, that's all right," Bertie answered at once, eager to smooth any ruffled feathers. "I understand. It must be difficult. You're a scientist, then? Or an engineer? Or, ah, something else, quite beyond my fathoming? I do try to keep up, but it seems there are new advancements every week."
“Researcher may be the best term. A drop of historian. Nothing that would require selling my soul or those of others for the lightning-fast advancements,” Merrick spoke. Their nostrils flared slightly, remembering an advancement that was only made possible by making a wish.
"Oh." Bertie laughed nervously, remembering his visit to the Institute in pursuit of information on flammable gases, and the ghost who'd sent him there by lying through her teeth for her mistress.
Her mistress, who was now Bertie's teacher. The state of Bertie's soul was very likely up for debate.
"That still seems exciting work. And, ah, now? Have you found research employment with another institution? If I'm asking too many questions, don't mind me, I simply find it an interesting subject, but I don't wish to be too personal." Bertie tried to assess Merrick's age, guessed it was near his own, and asked, "Did you go to school in England?"
“I have. Thankfully so with travel beyond four walls.” Merrick let a smile tug at their lips for a moment. “Better to be the one thinking of subjects than being one.” Then the djinn stopped at the question. It would be so much easier to lie, but the old creature had a soft spot for young and curious life. “No, I did not. I learned mostly through life experience.”
Bertie had suspected as much, given Merrick’s appearance, but he nodded at the confirmation. He didn’t quite follow what Merrick meant about being a subject - of history? - but he’d asked enough questions for the moment.
“It is rather a different world, isn’t it? It’s taken me some time to leave university behind, and embrace everything the world has to offer. The world provides its own education, however, as you say.”
“It is. But it has always been so. My world is opening up more and more lately. Have you been on one of those airships? I think that is what they are called,” Merrick smiled. Better to not want to bleed out one’s tragedies to any or every soul that seemed special.
"Dirigibles, yes." Bertie talked aloud to think through a subject, and this was no exception. "I have. I went to France a year past, on a case." He could hardly remember that voyage, however--what was far more present in his mind was the barge of the dead, the airship flying nowhere, vanished, her crew shadowed by ghosts and unaware that they were already lost.
"They are...remarkable." That word seemed the safest choice, and it was one Bertie truly did believe, in spite of how difficult it was to separate out the idea of them from the ball, from the haunting, from his chest rotting and the world going dark and the desperate cry for help in a captain's eyes that Bertie had been unable to answer.
He blinked away the memories. "You've traveled on them as well?"
“Right, right,” Merrick nodded. They weren’t accustomed to such technology. Being kept on the ground and on a tether limited them. The djinn could fly if they wished, but they had little or no time or area to do so. A bittersweet memory fluttered in their heart of those years in their childhood before those three boys and the enslavement - Merrick was formless but for a dust-like shadow that glided and soared on the breeze.
“I agree,” they spoke, quietly clearing their throat of the memory long ago.
“Only twice. They’re quite a wonder and also a bit disconcerting at first.” Merrick added.
"Yes." Bertie smiled quickly, bouncing back. "I suppose the same could be said of boats, although travel through the air...it really is quite different. It make you wonder what they'll accomplish next, to dazzle us all."
“Maybe faster carriages are next. I would much like to see things regarding the arts.” Merrick smiled in return. “Perhaps more innovations in buildings.”
“Trains,” Bertie agreed. “The Underground is a marvel. Have you taken the train? I’d never have imagined such a thing happening beneath the surface. Oh!” Sudden inspiration struck him at the mention of the arts, and he turned to look at Merrick. “Have you visited the Spectacular Review? What they do with mechanics is truly a marvel, and quite spectacular, as you might suspect. I enjoyed myself tremendously on my first visit, and have made a habit of going since.”
The djinn grinned and nodded. “I forgot about the Underground. No, I have not.” In all honesty, being underground was not something Merrick found enjoyable after being held for the majority of the last half-century in a windowless room.
Then they blinked widely at the mention of the Spectacular Review. “Yes, yes, I have!” Merrick smiled brightly. “The Mer...people production was enchanting. I know one of the show producers.”
“Ah,” Bertie exclaimed, pleased to have found common ground. “You know Mr Finn? I have the privilege of calling him a friend, as he was generous enough to take me on a tour on that first visit. Do you know what he’s working on now? I haven’t been to a rehearsal in quite some time, but it seems he’s always trying something new.”
Bertie missed the Spectacular Review rehearsals, but he was worn thin and hardly had enough time to spare as it was, between work and training. He could hope that the burden might ease soon, but he wasn’t counting on it.
“I do. It’s a pleasure to call him a friend as well. I think it may be another fantastic creature. But I think I will not spoil the surprise.” Merrick grinned, a little curious about the idea of attending a rehearsal.
The djinn’s own work was occupying their time, but the generously-carved portions of time were a luxury.