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
no subject
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.