Bellwether

Bellwether Chapter Thirty Eight

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A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *damp *  At
least the rain stopped for now…  InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena
are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile:  Still seeing what I can do… Morgan: *echo *
Hello?  Readers/Reviewers: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing as
you can! It’s been flooding and just gah weather here so if there’s a day or so
without an update, I’m building an ark.

     Essex
counted to ten slowly, his eyes closed and hands relaxed on his knees.  He
would be patient, he firmly reminded himself.  He would be patient as
befit a man of his stature and experience.  The timeline, he thought,
would need to be moved up.  He did not have the extra days for Remy to
gather his courage.  He needed him now.  Immediately. 
Yesterday, even, he allowed with a small smile.  “Pull the car up to the
portico,” he ordered the driver, a dour faced man who had spoken few words
since picking him up from his temporary residence in w:st="on">Manhattan.  “It’s foul out and I refuse
to dampen my coat.”  The driver did not even flicker an eyelid, pulling
the town car as close to the covered walk as possible.  Essex
waited until the doorman hurried to open the car door before he gathered his
coat around him and slid out to stand on the wet cement.  This, he knew,
was his element.  It always had been. He was born for it, these
gentlemanly pursuits, these meetings of the mind.  He was not one for
dirty alleyways and half measures.  Proper meetings with brandy and
tobacco, quiet tones and knowing smiles. 
He disliked the modern, slapdash way of doing things immensely.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  It made him feel dirty somehow, as if he were
doing something improper.  He knew
better, as did those he dealt with regularly. 
They were working hard, ensuring their security and that of those like
them.  It had always been that way, since
before he was born.  His father had
taught him that, learned from his own father before him.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  With a polite nod to the doorman, w:st="on">Essex hurried inside the old hotel, Gilded Age grandeur
superimposed over something older, something far more historical than rejuvenated
Gatsby-esque facades and lingo for tourists. 
His party was waiting for him just inside the lobby, properly seated
with a properly ironedname="_ftnref1" title="">style='mso-special-character:footnote'>class=MsoFootnoteReference>[1]
newspaper on the table before him. 

     “Nathaniel,” he
murmured familiarly, clasping hands with Essex.

     “My apologies for
the delay,” Essex stated by way of
greeting.  “The weather is terrible south
of here.”

     Herbert Wyndhamstyle='mso-footnote-id:ftn2' href="#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">class=MsoFootnoteReference>class=MsoFootnoteReference>[2]
nodded.  “It’s no matter, Doctor
Essex.  I’ve been pleased to await you in
these pleasant surroundings.”  He sat
back slightly as one of the hotel’s staff settled a tea tray between the two
gentlemen, keeping with the turn of the century feel of the place.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Both men were comfortable there, exceedingly
so.  They felt as if years had been
lifted from their shoulders there. 

     Essex
poured the tea carefully into the bone china cups, idly adding lemon to his and
sugar to Wyndham’s without a second thought. 
“I’ve secured the aide we sought in preparing the strike,” he finally
said, handing the thin cup to his former student.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “It will begin within the next two days.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I shall contact him tonight to bring the
timeline forward a bit…”

     Wyndham swallowed
convulsively, tea sloshing slightly over the rim of the cup. “I’ve yet to
complete the final experiment, Doctor. 
The dog…”

     “The dog is a sad
tale and one I am grieved to hear pass the lips of such a dear friend as
yourself but I have every confidence in your ability, Herbert.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  He took a sip of his tea and smiled politely
at his old friend.  “Do you know, I haven’t
had tea this well prepared since Darjeelingstyle='mso-footnote-id:ftn3' href="#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">class=MsoFootnoteReference>class=MsoFootnoteReference>[3].”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> 

     Wyndham held his
tongue; he recognized a change of topic when it was presented to him.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  He might lack the years of refinement that w:st="on">Essex had gained but he was no slouch, he thought with a
hint of his old sullenness.  The dog had
died decades ago, before he had been given the serum by Essex,
the thing that was extending his lifespan as it was now.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  He still missed that mutt, he thought
miserably, sending up a small prayer asking for forgiveness as he took another
draught of his cooling tea.  “Two days?”

     “Two days and it’s
over,” Essex agreed, sampling one of the
delicacies on the tray beside the teapot. 
“We’ll be cleansed of those… Morlocks, as they’re calling
themselves.  I’ve asked our friend to
secure the aide of several disparates of his ilk.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  I have every confidence that it will happen
smoothly and he will do his job without asking questions overmuch.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  He bit into a lemon square and frowned.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  “I dislike being asked too many questions.
Sign of a weak character.”

     “Mmmm.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Wyndham set his empty tea cup down on the
table and wished it were later in the day, so the staff could serve the gentlemen
brandy instead of this women’s drink.  “This
is very important to you…”

     “To us,” w:st="on">Essex corrected.  “It
is important to us.”  He looked around
the lobby with a slight smile on his lips before settling his gaze once again
on Wyndham.  “I remember when I had my
office here.  This entire lobby was once
my clinic.”  He stood suddenly, knees
brushing the tray and setting it to rattling. 
“Come along.  We’ll talk a walk to
revisit some old haunts while we chat.” 
He tucked his hat carefully under his arm and offered Wyndham a blazing
grin.  “In two days time, we’ll be rid of
the extraneous matter which is polluting our work.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  They are of no use to us or anyway, Herbert.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  He paused, his keen gaze all but flaying the
younger man alive.   “If you have doubts…”

     “No,” he answered
quickly.  “None.”

     “Good.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>  Come, let us see what they’ve put in place of
our old pub, shall we?”