Ward of the White Worm

The train carriage specially appointed to them looked like a much narrower parlor room. The walls were covered in a tasteful grey wallpaper, with four large windows that had their own curtains (with curtains just a shade darker than the wallpaper). The seats were large and cushioned, akin to the sofa or armchairs in a study rather than the rows of passenger seating. There were three round polished oak tables, one covered in a clean white linen to clearly mark it as the dining table. There was even a small bookcase (with covers to keep the books from toppling out), and on one of the tables were no less than three different newspapers. They were not yet cut, but were the Saturday papers now four days out of date. While some might be upset with stale news, Theodore himself found that stale news from papers that did not typically make their way up to the Brynebourne were still quite valuable.

One paper was the Ocean Muse, as its name would imply it was a paper that primarily catered to port towns and mariners, and had twice been censured for a ‘needlessly provocative header’ of a bare-chested mermaid.

Beside it was the Banker’s Teller, a paper focused entirely on economic matters with the distinction of being the only paper whose founder was executed for high treason. Theodore knew the current owner of the paper, the founder’s son, who had managed to stay away from his father’s fate.

The last one was The Lady’s Own, which was quite unusual in that it’s primary readers were all women. There were light bits of news, mostly about philanthropy, but was largely taken up with recipes for food or medicine, patterns for sewing (and the occasional knitting), and serialized stories such as Sally Stout.

While always carrying a paper knife of his own on him, Theodore did not mind using the offered one to slice up the pages appropriately for The Lady’s Own as he glanced over at Miss Marsh and Olli. They had taken a seat together on one of the more sofa-like chairs, and Miss Marsh had opened a printing of the Blue Epistles. Further against a corner, Mister Burke had fallen right into a seat dead asleep. The numerous petitions that he had been carried had dutifully been placed upon a table but the poor man himself was now quite dead to the world as the sleeping could be.

“Miss Marsh, there’s a Lady’s own here, would you like to have it?” He asked.

Miss Marsh looked up at him but kept her eyes politely averted. “No thank you, sir, I confess to feel a little nervous on trains and prefer to keep my mind focused on reading sacred works.” She sat halfway across the carriage from him, and yet her voice sounded like she was on the other side, distant and slightly muffled.

“Are you certain?” Theodore asked.

“Quite, thank you sir.”

Theodore’s face did not stir much to show his feelings, but he was feeling a little confused by her sudden coldness. He considered after a moment longer that perhaps she was the sort of lady that train travel did not quite agree with, and then further considered that handling a child would not be conductive to the meditative state of stability needed to endure the ride. “Olli, come here.”

Olli got off the seat and Miss Marsh only sighed a little at the loss of her pupil but returned her attentions to her book.

Once Olli was beside him, Theodore leaned in his seat towards her and set his chin in the palm of his hand. “Olli, have you been rambunctious towards Miss Marsh?”

“No.”

“Have you been polite and studious?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly? My, you should be a little more than just ‘mostly’,” Theodore said softly, before offering her The Lady’s Own. “There are patterns in this, perhaps you might find one you like?”

Olli took it and went through the pages, without delicacy or gentleness but this was something he had come to expect from her at this point. “Can I send this one back to Motzy?” She asked, holding up one of the pages which was a pattern for sewing hems with lace in such a way that the lacing added would give the impression of a ring of tiny flowers around it.

“I do not see why not,” Theodore said. “I’ll pay for the postage when we arrive at the Capital.”

“Capital?”

“Yes, it’s where Parliament is at and where Her Majesty and the Royal Family spend part of the year as well,” Theodore replied. “Did Miss Marsh teach you this yet?”

Olli looked away from Theodore, instead finding the wall much more interesting. “I think so…”

“Impressive, you can pour as much water as you want into a sieve, and yet it will still hold nothing,” Theodore muttered in slight exasperation. He then decided to give Olli a very quick and brief explanation, hoping that under more tutelage from Miss Marsh she would retain more in that porous bucket of a brain. “The Capital is the oldest city here, and it once had a name, a proper name, but Saint Stephen offered it to the Distant Gods in return for prosperity.”

“Did it work?”

Theodore was silent from the sheer impertinence of such a question coming from a child’s mouth. He did not even have the words to answer or berate her for a good moment before he managed a smile, “perhaps you should ask Miss Marsh if it did? I am not your governess after all.”

“How long are we staying there?”

“Until the end of the Parliamentary session, with some allowances for visits back home for certain holidays.”

“Hm,” Olli tapped her chin, turned away, and walked to sit in another unoccupied seat with The Lady’s Own in hand.

“Sir,” Miss Marsh had now come before him, holding out a letter. “I had been given the mission of giving this to you.” She said.

“By who?” He asked, gently taking the letter from her and happy to see her stirred away from what seemed to vex her.

“I do not know, a young man who had left quickly. He declared it to be from a Captain Rourke.”

Theodore’s eyes widened as he glanced back to the letter in hand. “From Captain Rourke?” He could not imagine why the port wine loving captain would want to address him by letter and so he opened it up with great curiosity.

“May I sit down, sir?”

He briefly wanted her to stay, to see what odd message the captain may have sent, but realized very quickly the brief letter was not odd, nor silly.

“Yes you may, thank you very much Miss Marsh,” he said without looking up at her. Instead his attention was solely focused upon the brief missive.

Earl Graef,

Our mutual friend is in more trouble than we had suspected. Meet me after Arthurday at the Sword and Horse public house, at Burybride, at the 17th hour of the day.

C. Rourke