sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-06 12:56 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-06 12:56 am
Entry tags:
Nothing Constant, Ch. 6
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4
Chapter 5
***
When I woke up, I was lying down in a bed.
It's not like that's abnormal. People do it all the time, wake up in bed. Even me, nine times out of ten. Six times out of ten there's a bird waking up in my bed too, bless 'em.
This was different, of course. It wasn't my sagging mattress in a freezing unheated cottage for a start -- this was a firm, unyielding set of springs lined with warm linen. Then me, like a layer of rusted buried treasure, and then the heavy weight of blankets. And, of course, no bird.
I smelled fag smoke. Constantine.
"I'd like an explanation, Mr. Constantine. I'd like one right now," I heard an angry voice say, and that would be Death Wimsey, the singing lord.
"I'd like to give you one," Constantine answered. "Lemme see the book."
"No."
I cracked one eye. Constantine and Wimsey were standing by an ogodblinding window, heads close together. Constantine looked mildly surprised, from what I could tell around the pain. I could feel him now, too, buzzing gently on the edge of my senses. Had the man eaten a snuffbox or something? Why did he do that?
"I'm not going to torch it here and now, Wimsey," Constantine said. Right. Right, we were finding a book for Constantine to burn...the mere thought made me shudder.
"You are in my house, this is my book, that is my bed," Wimsey insisted. Good old lad, I thought to myself. Probably want to burn the sheets once I'm out of them, though.
Constantine dropped into a chair, rubbing his forehead. His cigarette tip glowed. I shut my eye.
"I want you to tell me who wants this godsdamned book and why. I want you to tell me why Lovejoy fucking passed out when he found it and what the bloody buggery happened when I played that hymn," Wimsey said. For the aristocracy, he could swear like an East Anglia mechanic.
"Didn't expect that," Constantine muttered.
"Yes, well, neither did I," Death Wimsey retorted. I was starting to like him. Not bad, as toffs go.
"Tell me about the fake book, then," Constantine said. "The one with the map your cousin solved."
"Certainly not. You don't get something for nothing."
"Don't I know it."
I thought there'd be more of the same for a while, but there wasn't; instead I started to hear a low hum, so I opened one eye again. Constantine was sitting there with his left hand stuck out like some kind of nickel-a-show mentalist, humming. Wimsey was staring him right in the eyes, stock still. After a few minutes, Wimsey sat. Elegant, like; crossed legs, back straight, very still. Unusually still.
"When my grandfather was a young man the Viscount Saint-George, his brother's son, came to stay with him," Death Wimsey said. He sounded bored. Constantine had done something to him, but I wasn't about to break in on it. "They purchased a book from a second-hand stall, no real value, but they discovered that it had a treasure map in it, disguised as a map of the Canary Islands. Grandfather cracked the puzzle and dug up a treasure chest out of an antique fountain in the middle of a lake on a private country estate. I'm told there was gold in it. The money went to fund medical research. As a finder's fee, the heir offered Grandfather and Saint-George a pair of books that were in the chest with the gold."
"What books?"
"They never said which; mum always stopped them from showing us. It was just a story Saint-George used to tell Charles and me -- "
"Charles?"
"The current Duke of Denver, my second-cousin."
"Thank you," Constantine said, and closed his outspread palm into a fist, dropping his hand quickly. Wimsey sagged a little. I realised I'd just witnessed a hypnotism.
"I can explain a few things about the book," Constantine said, while Wimsey blinked owlishly at him. I decided that was my cue to return to the land of the living, and besides I had to answer nature's call. I grunted and rolled over, then sat up and blinked blearily at the pair of them.
"Feeling better, Lovejoy?" Wimsey asked, rising and coming to the side of the bed. "I was all for calling a doctor but Constantine said you don't care for them."
"Can't afford them," I moaned, rubbing my head. "What happened?"
"You did a header into a bookcase, old son," Wimsey said.
"Found the book though," Constantine added. "Job well done."
"What was it?" I asked. Wimsey rolled his eyes.
"Dirty pictures," Constantine said with a grin.
Continue to the next part
Chapter 5
***
When I woke up, I was lying down in a bed.
It's not like that's abnormal. People do it all the time, wake up in bed. Even me, nine times out of ten. Six times out of ten there's a bird waking up in my bed too, bless 'em.
This was different, of course. It wasn't my sagging mattress in a freezing unheated cottage for a start -- this was a firm, unyielding set of springs lined with warm linen. Then me, like a layer of rusted buried treasure, and then the heavy weight of blankets. And, of course, no bird.
I smelled fag smoke. Constantine.
"I'd like an explanation, Mr. Constantine. I'd like one right now," I heard an angry voice say, and that would be Death Wimsey, the singing lord.
"I'd like to give you one," Constantine answered. "Lemme see the book."
"No."
I cracked one eye. Constantine and Wimsey were standing by an ogodblinding window, heads close together. Constantine looked mildly surprised, from what I could tell around the pain. I could feel him now, too, buzzing gently on the edge of my senses. Had the man eaten a snuffbox or something? Why did he do that?
"I'm not going to torch it here and now, Wimsey," Constantine said. Right. Right, we were finding a book for Constantine to burn...the mere thought made me shudder.
"You are in my house, this is my book, that is my bed," Wimsey insisted. Good old lad, I thought to myself. Probably want to burn the sheets once I'm out of them, though.
Constantine dropped into a chair, rubbing his forehead. His cigarette tip glowed. I shut my eye.
"I want you to tell me who wants this godsdamned book and why. I want you to tell me why Lovejoy fucking passed out when he found it and what the bloody buggery happened when I played that hymn," Wimsey said. For the aristocracy, he could swear like an East Anglia mechanic.
"Didn't expect that," Constantine muttered.
"Yes, well, neither did I," Death Wimsey retorted. I was starting to like him. Not bad, as toffs go.
"Tell me about the fake book, then," Constantine said. "The one with the map your cousin solved."
"Certainly not. You don't get something for nothing."
"Don't I know it."
I thought there'd be more of the same for a while, but there wasn't; instead I started to hear a low hum, so I opened one eye again. Constantine was sitting there with his left hand stuck out like some kind of nickel-a-show mentalist, humming. Wimsey was staring him right in the eyes, stock still. After a few minutes, Wimsey sat. Elegant, like; crossed legs, back straight, very still. Unusually still.
"When my grandfather was a young man the Viscount Saint-George, his brother's son, came to stay with him," Death Wimsey said. He sounded bored. Constantine had done something to him, but I wasn't about to break in on it. "They purchased a book from a second-hand stall, no real value, but they discovered that it had a treasure map in it, disguised as a map of the Canary Islands. Grandfather cracked the puzzle and dug up a treasure chest out of an antique fountain in the middle of a lake on a private country estate. I'm told there was gold in it. The money went to fund medical research. As a finder's fee, the heir offered Grandfather and Saint-George a pair of books that were in the chest with the gold."
"What books?"
"They never said which; mum always stopped them from showing us. It was just a story Saint-George used to tell Charles and me -- "
"Charles?"
"The current Duke of Denver, my second-cousin."
"Thank you," Constantine said, and closed his outspread palm into a fist, dropping his hand quickly. Wimsey sagged a little. I realised I'd just witnessed a hypnotism.
"I can explain a few things about the book," Constantine said, while Wimsey blinked owlishly at him. I decided that was my cue to return to the land of the living, and besides I had to answer nature's call. I grunted and rolled over, then sat up and blinked blearily at the pair of them.
"Feeling better, Lovejoy?" Wimsey asked, rising and coming to the side of the bed. "I was all for calling a doctor but Constantine said you don't care for them."
"Can't afford them," I moaned, rubbing my head. "What happened?"
"You did a header into a bookcase, old son," Wimsey said.
"Found the book though," Constantine added. "Job well done."
"What was it?" I asked. Wimsey rolled his eyes.
"Dirty pictures," Constantine said with a grin.
Continue to the next part
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I realised I'd just witnessed a hypnotism.
Did you purposely want Lovejoy to say it that way, a little ungrammatically? I can see that you might, but my mind stumbled over the phrase. Possible alternate wording suggestions available if wanted.
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Please, sir, may I have some more?
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I've got Office 2004 on the Mac here, and the OS supposedly has native PDF support, so even though I'm short my old copy of Acrobat Professional, I imagine this should be a snap.
As would LC2, by the by, if you were interested in having that done.
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I think someone's working on LC2, but I've totally lost track. Ummm....and there are some freaky continuity errors. So for now, I wouldn't have a go at LC2. But I'll keep you informed on that front.
PDF format
(Anonymous) 2006-02-22 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)As it's Free Software, you can install it whereever you like. (free as in unrestricted - cost is irreleveant here, see )
http://download.openoffice.org/2.0.1/
Great crossover fic, btw :-)
- Mespilus
Re: PDF format
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I find this is part of your strength as a writer - you write stories which make me want to keep reading. I'm not just reading for the characters, or the smut, or anything else - I'm reading for the plot and the twists and turns and complications, as *well* as the characters, the smut, the interactions, the whole boiling. You're a damn good writer, sir.
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"Dirty pictures," Constantine said with a grin.
::haha!:: ::grins::
We are voraciously devouring your breadcrumbs!
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Also, Constantine gets many creepy points for being such an effective hypnotist ... >.< (We learned in my psychology class about how hypnotists can plant and alter memories, so they kinda scare me now ...)
Yay for dirty pictures! I've been wondering about this for a while, but ... by his own description, Lovejoy sounds very ... seedy, to put it nicely. Is this just in comparison to Wimsey and Constantine, or is he actually that smelly and dirty all the time?
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Constantine is an amazing hypnotist, in no small part because he uses magic to help him out *grins*
Lovejoy is rather seedy, but he's not actually smelly or dirty. He's just scruffy.
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I picked up a couple of Hellblazers since starting this crossover of yours. Going to find the Wimsey books now too.....
(I'd actually read some lovejoy before.)
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Unfortunately, I had to order the Wimsey.
( I have found some of my best reading from fic authors, reccomendations, their inspiration or their work!)
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Do keep me updated on your Wimsey reading. I love Sayers' work so much that I'm always pleased when others discover it.
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That would be incredible! I'd love it!
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This cracked me up especially.
I love the interplay between Lord Death, Constantine, and Lovejoy. Really looking forward to more (the description of finding the book last chapter was fascinating)!
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I have to admit I'm rather inspired by the idea of a fic where Peter swears a blue streak. I'm certain he knows how, theoretically...
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Hmmm...
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Therefore I shall just say briefly that despite my complete absence of Constantine acquaintance, I am enjoying this immensely (tho' my only Lovejoy acquaintance is Ian McShane, so I’m heading for the library at lunchtime). I love the Dragon’s Head references, the cigarette lighter, and more on Lord Peter’s other rare books (given that they are canonical, I rather wonder if Saint-George knows about them? ::Imagines S-G’s tongue running away with him to Harriet:: “No more spectacular Viennese singers, and he’d have to sell half the library before the children were old enough to reach.”). I also have a terrible feeling we may shortly hear a voice crying “Ook”.
On a brit-picking note, “car mechanic” or just plain “mechanic” rather than auto, I feel. Looking forward to the rest.
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Glad you're enjoying it -- and that it's inspired you to look up the Lovejoy novels. They're a lot of fun, at least in my opinion.
And I LOVE the idea that St.G mentioned the library to Harriet! *laughs* I took the concept from another fic of mine, actually, where Peter confesses to Harriet that his uncle started him on collecting erotica as a practical joke, but that he admires the artistry in them anyway...
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I liked your Secret Library fic. a lot – and I’m sure Peter’s right in admiring in art wherever he finds it ;-) Having no doubt been kept well away from Uncle Paul by his mother, I’m sure Saint-George would have compensated with a careful perusal of Peter’s collection.
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(Anonymous) 2006-02-21 01:55 pm (UTC)(link)The quick updates are very good; nothing like a daily fanfic fix.
On a side note, please do not abandon Laocoon's Children. I would love to see you go through all the years...your universe is so interesting that I don't want to see it die.
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love the english swearing. lovejoy sounds a lot more like the "book" lovejoy than the tv series one with ian mcshane. the t.v one was much less crooked and slightly less of a hussy.
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I like it how I will blythely accept demons and superheroes but hypnotism does my nana.
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(btw, the next chapter is when Constantine takes over narration.)