~Hakurei Shrine~ > Patchouli's Scarlet Library

And What Alice Found There

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Yayifications:
Minerva shut the door behind her, pulled off her hat to shake out her hair, and then did a double-take at the other person in the room.

She had paid a premium for the use of one of the inn's private rooms, giving the innkeeper a vague explanation about needing a quiet space to prepare for her performances. Further incentive for a lack of questions had been paid, possibly overpaid. This had thus far failed to make a dent in Minerva's travel funds; sleepy little villages in the English countryside hardly saw the sort of money that regularly exchanged hands with nary a glance in the metropolises.

The woman casually leafing through the large leatherbound tome Minerva had left on the desk was surely no servant. A surreptitious glance at the strongbox indicated no sign of the lock being forced; whatever the woman was here for, money was not on the list. And the woman herself seemed entirely unsurprised to see Minerva, carefully closing the book and replacing it on the desk. "Miss Minerva Margatroid?"

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, madam," Minerva said, leaving out the obvious followup of "and who the hell are you?" The woman was attired almost garishly, in a long pink and purple dress with strange designs on the front. Her long blonde hair was coiled up inside her light pink mob cap, decorated with a thin red ribbon. A pink lace parasol hung from one arm, while the other held a folded-up paper fan. If Minerva had to guess, she would have assumed a strong Oriental influence, mixed liberally with Continental styles.

The woman smiled; it seemed like an expression she had learned by rote. "My apologies for intruding. Violet Hearn, if it pleases you. We have not met before, but your reputation precedes you."

"Does it now." Something about Violet's mannerisms seemed off, even though Minerva could not quite place her finger on it. Her accent was unidentifiably foreign, as were her choices of words, with the hint of the exotic often attributed to the lady adventurers in those shilling dreadfuls the stationers hawked. Her clothes were certainly outlandish, but there was something about her general appearance which put Minerva on edge...

"Of course. It took me a great deal of trouble to discover your present whereabouts, but I spared no expense. And surely you agree that a small country fair like this one is hardly the best stage for one of the greatest magicians of the world?"

Minerva's attention snapped back to the present. "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sure," she said coldly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave my room. And may I add, madam, that it is unworthy for any lady of breeding to rifle through another's belongings and literature like some common thief."

Violet's smile remained insolently in place, as did her person. "Pray do not be too hasty in dismissing my offer," she said, as though reading off a mental script. "I am no charlatan or trickster, and I assure you that my interest in your particular skills is wholly sincere. I have no small claim as a practitioner of the art myself, but the problem set before me is insurmountable, save by-"

Minerva silently opened the door, and stood by it, waiting.

Violet lowered her eyelids. "Very well, then. As a show of my goodwill, I shall depart for now." She reached into... Minerva tried not to let her confusion show, maintaining her haughtily indignant facade for the sake of getting this intruder out of her room, but it had to be some hidden pocket in her dress somewhere, and Minerva was simply too tired to have caught the sleight of hand... and laid a piece of paper onto the desk, beside the book. "I shall be in the village for the next few days. It's a lovely place, isn't it? Quiet and idyllic. Much better than the hustle and bustle of London, where the air is simply intolerable..." Still reciting off that internal script, Violet descended the stairs down to the first floor of the inn, and out of sight.

Minerva shut the door once more, and quickly strode over to the desk. She flipped through the book, scanning the handwritten pages, searching for any evidence of tampering. The book was her life's work, and she had been careful not to let anyone else handle it, save those she trusted implicitly, and that Violet Hearn person was certainly not in that class of acquaintance. Luckily, Minerva had left out certain key elements to the descriptions in the book, more out of magical prudence than anything else, but it did have the added benefit of preventing any casual plagiarist from making use of the techniques within...

Everything looked fine. No obvious signs of additions or subtractions to the contents of the book, at least.

Almost as an afterthought, Minerva picked up the piece of paper Violet had left behind. Expecting nothing more than an address to contact, or perhaps some overwrought drivel intended to convince her of whatever Violet had been selling, Minerva glanced briefly at it as she began to crumple the paper.

She stopped, eyes wide. Smoothing the paper back out, she leafed through the book, stopping at a certain design. She compared it to the sketch on the piece of paper, her finger tracing over the lines, lips moving silently in incantation...

The sound of knocking at her door startled Minerva out of her studies. It turned out to be the innkeeper, who had the uncertain expression of someone not quite believing their latest stroke of good fortune, and expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment.

"Begging your pardon, Mistress Margatroid, but I'd just like to thank you for your kindness, and, uh, we'll do our best to make ourselves worthy of your generosity. The missus is cooking up a feast right now, but she'd like to know if you'd be joining everyone for supper?"

Head still full of thaumaturgical theory, Minerva could only gape at him. "I'm sorry?"

The innkeeper writhed. "Only you've been having your meals in your room, which is your right, I'd never be saying otherwise, but your friend, uh, Mistress Hearn, said that you wanted to treat all the guests at our humble village fair to the best supper they've ever had, and she's already given us the payment, so we were wondering if we could show our appreciation. Our Shawn's been watching your puppet-show every day, and skipping his chores, but I'll not begrudge him that now, begging your pardon, mistress."

Minerva resisted the urge to slam the door in the poor innkeeper's face and get back to her work. She put on her most dazzling stage smile instead, and nodded. "I would certainly be happy to join everyone else tonight," she said, while wondering whether she actually meant it. "Please do inform me when supper is ready. Until then, Goodman, I need to prepare for... tomorrow's performance, and I'd appreciate it if I were not to be disturbed."

After the innkeeper fled in relief, Minerva forced herself to pace the small room for a few circuits, stopping midway to toss the heavier parts of her performance regalia onto the bed. Once she felt she had sufficiently calmed down, she went to the pile of luggage in the corner, and rooted around until she found a thick packet of papers. Emptying it out onto the desk, she spread out her preliminary notes, with the sketch Violet had left behind on top, and went to work.

-----

The next day, after the show in the morning, Minerva found Violet admiring, with all apparent enthusiasm, the best specimens of produce the local farms had set out proudly on display. The farmhand with the evilly gap-toothed grin manning the stall seemed oblivious to Violet's strange fashion; perhaps he believed all city folk dressed like that.

"It seems you've done me something of a favour, Miss Hearn," Minerva said conversationally.

Violet turned, the lower half of her face hidden behind her paper fan, but the smile of delight was obvious in her eyes. "Just a token of my sincerity," she said. "I enjoyed your little magic show, by the way."

Minerva had not seen Violet in the crowd, and she had been looking. "Thank you. I believe you have something you wish to discuss?"

The two women strolled in what seemed like a randomly-picked direction that nevertheless brought them away from the bustle of the rest of the festival. "Power is the problem," Violet mused, apropos of nothing. "Power enough to maintain the flow."

"So I've discovered," Minerva said. "The note you left me helped me realize what I was missing from that design. And what I was missing is not something that can be solved by a few extra drawings."

"You've been quite efficient in your designs," Violet said equably. "In fact, I don't think anyone else's style can make use of as little power as yours can, to put out a much greater effect."

"Miss Hearn, I would suggest that we not waste any more time on small talk. What do you want?"

Violet snapped her paper fan shut. "As I've mentioned yesterday, I wish to make use of your talents, Miss Margatroid. Your abilities are wonderfully suited for the great task set before us, particularly since power is very much wanting."

They had stopped in the middle of a copse of trees; Minerva's long blue stage dress snagged on the low branches and thorns, but Violet's far more complex outfit appeared to flow easily through the tangles.

"If you're looking for efficiency," Minerva said, nettled, "Reed is in London."

"Reed has already left for the Orient," Violet countered. "Hong Kong, if I'm not mistaken. He is not available. You, on the other hand..."

"... have yet to hear anything which concerns me. I am waiting, Miss Hearn."

Violet lowered her gaze, conceding the point. "A fair point. To summarize, I require assistance in saving humans from monsters."

Silence descended, broken only by the distant sounds of revelry in the village.

"If you hadn't already proven yourself with your grasp of the theory of magic," Minerva said distantly, "I'd be walking back to the village right this instant. I recommend that you do not over-extend your credit, Miss Hearn."

"My apologies. I thought that might have gotten your attention. I would rather say... I know of a way to save a certain beleaguered group of humans from the monsters hunting them. Perhaps 'monsters' is not quite the right word... they bear more in common with your fae, from the old tales." Violet shifted her parasol to her other hand. "I haven't seen many of them around in my time here, I should add."

Minerva waved a hand vaguely. "The... power is receding. The magic is not as strong as it used to be. I still understand the theory, but unless I am provided with an alternate source..."

"Oh, I don't mean here in England, Miss Margatroid. The work here has already been done. Begun in Wiltshire in times long past, and there may be a little tremor somewhere around Essex soon... the basic principle is the same. Your churches may be many things, but they are of a mind, they can be... efficient." Violet sighed. "The issue is, and has always been, power and control. I need your magic, Miss Margatroid. Not your puppet-shows in little country villages, that would think nothing of holding their own witch trials if they knew what you are truly capable of."

"They are not so superstitious," Minerva protested, even as uncertainty coloured her words.

"Oh, no doubt. This is, after all, the age of enlightenment, and no longer do housewives have to put milk out for the piskies, or children walk home with salt in one pocket and bread in the other. We dare go a-hunting, for there is no more fear of little men. Wouldn't you want the same for those still threatened by their... superstitions?"

Minerva looked away, towards the village.

"You needn't make your decision immediately, of course." Violet extracted a large package from... somewhere... and handed it to Minerva. Inside were travel documents, banknotes in various denominations and currencies, and a few books. "Provided you do intend to aid me, you will find the necessary travel arrangements in that package, and more than enough petty cash for the majority of any foreseeable needs. The ship leaves Southampton at the end of next month, so you have until then to decide."

"Ship?" Minerva gently replaced the items back into the package. "Where is this... monster infestation?"

"Oh? I must have forgotten to mention it; my apologies. The community of humans you will have to save is in a rural area of Japan."

"Japan?!"

"Just so," Violet said calmly. "I would advise you to make your arrangements quickly, Miss Margatroid. If, of course, you agree to my proposal; otherwise, you may keep the money and items in that package as a souvenir." The fan hid Violet's mouth. "Of what may have been."

"You expect me to venture halfway across the globe to a land I have never seen, in a language I do not speak, and solve your little problem?"

"You will not be alone," Violet said, turning away. "Someone will be waiting for you at Edo... I beg your pardon, I meant Tokyo. From there... we shall see. The decision, Miss Margatroid, is yours and yours alone." Stepping easily and lightly, Violet started making her way back to the village.

The year was 1884, under the reign of Queen Victoria. The smell of spring filled the country air. Minerva closed her eyes, listening to the distant sounds of the village fair and festival, listening to the voices raised in celebration and haggling, listening to the streams and brooks flowing towards the river, listening to the calls of the creatures of the forest welcoming the end of winter.

Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen.

"I need to get out of here," she muttered.

Yuuyiced Fairy:
Well, well, well.  This is interesting.  You've got a strong style here, and a unique starting point.  There are one or two spots where your flow was shakey, but this is an impressive work.  I'm looking forward to more.

(Also, clever referencing there in the middle.  Obvious, but not distracting.)

Esifex:
I love you please go on :o

KimikoMuffin:
Hmm ...

.... yes.

Yayifications:
The months travelling from England to Japan passed relatively uneventfully, allowing Minerva more than enough time to indulge in her fondness for trashy literature no well-bred young woman would admit to reading. Minerva might have been effectively barred from the family fortune and titles, but her connections with the various mystical circles and clubs hidden among the secret societies of the world allowed her to live comfortably well-off. This irregular income was frequently supplemented by impressionable new members with more disposable wealth than talent, awed by her reputation and what few conjurations she could still manage in a world gradually losing its magic.

Violet had been right; Minerva had a knack for efficient power usage in her spells. It certainly helped that her spell architecture allowed for some especially flashy displays, useful for showing off to anyone requiring proof of ability.

From Southampton, she took a ship to Suez, and from there to Bombay. Given a choice of emulating Phileas Fogg's railway trip across India to Calcutta, Minerva instead chose more sea travel, and by the time the ship sailed down the Straits of Malacca into Singapore, Minerva had managed to become passably fluent in Japanese, thanks to the textbooks enclosed within Violet's package. The real test would come when she finally arrived in Japan, but Minerva had always been confident in her ability to pick up new languages easily. Practicing conversation with the puppets she had brought with her helped significantly; if any of the crew found it strange that their mysterious English passenger spent most of her time in her cabin talking to herself in foreign tongues, they gave no sign.

Minerva's luggage had been kept intentionally light, compared to most of her travels: the bulk of it was her performing equipment, with her stage costume and a few essential puppet dolls. A repair kit had been packed in as part of the set, and Minerva had bought some more materials for puppet-making along the journey, which she had resorted to when she quickly finished her limited collection of books.

And, of course, she spent the calmer parts of the voyage working on her book. Her collection of notes expanded tremendously, and Minerva had taken to reusing the pieces of paper in order to save space in her luggage. It wasn't as though anyone else would read them, anyway; the final, finished product went into the book. Minerva had not named it yet; "Margatroid's Guide To Magic And Magical Theory" seemed pretentious, especially since the book would essentially be self-published. Circulation would be limited, at best, among the few trusted and true practitioners of the magical arts Minerva knew personally.

It was of little consequence. A suitable title would probably come to her in time.

By her reckoning, it was probably around summer when she left Singapore, although being in the tropics made it intolerable both indoors and out. Minerva spent most of her time out on the deck instead of her cabin, practicing her puppetry, and regularly gaining an appreciative audience.

Hong Kong saw her sell off most of the books she had finished reading, in exchange for more stationery for her research and note-taking. Shanghai was spent ashore, under the hospitality of an American teacher living in the International Settlement, who happened to be a secret dabbler in the arcane arts. Minerva found him enjoyable company, if limited in skill, and she lingered perhaps too long in his home.

"Japan?" he said incredulously when she told him of her journey. "Now why would you ever want to go there? Some job you need to take care of?"

"In a manner of speaking," Minerva replied cautiously.

The teacher shook his head. "You don't want to go to Japan," he said. "They don't know how to treat people right. The whole mess with what's his name, Richardson... one of yours, wasn't he? Bad business all around." He took a sip of lemonade. "Still, it's been twenty years. One would hope they've learned a thing or two since then."

It was on the final leg of the journey that the trouble happened.

The first sign Minerva had of anything amiss was the heightened concern of the crew, which had spread to the other passengers. Theories and wild guesses on the nature of the unease were the topic of conversations during mealtimes.

"It can't be anything dangerous," one of the passengers said. Minerva suspected him of being an officer somewhere, educated in Britain, but showing the faintest hint of something else in his accent. Prussian, Minerva decided. Here on holiday, or perhaps an opportunity to see the world as part of his military education. "They'd be panicking a lot more if it were."

"You don't think we are going to sink, are we?" asked a lady in hushed tones. Minerva didn't like her. She was almost flamboyantly French, travelling with her husband, who had taken to his cabin and stayed there, claiming seasickness. Minerva entertained the brief notion that they were actually spies, acting like the giddy couple to throw off suspicion. It would certainly have made them more tolerable.

"Of course not. That'd be happening a damned sight faster than whatever's gotten them spooked." Big, bluff, American businessman; Minerva guessed Texan. His purpose in going to Japan was clear enough, at least.

"Perhaps another incident regarding foreign ships in Japanese waters?" Minerva suggested. "The crew could have heard something on the radio that hadn't made it on the regular news yet."

The others at the table gave this due consideration.

"Has anyone asked the captain?" the lady said archly.

"Tried," the businessman replied promptly. "He just gave some assurances that it's nothing to be concerned about. I don't know about you, but that sort of thing just makes me even more nervous."

"I did see the crew counting heads yesterday," the officer mused. "And the cook seemed terribly distraught. Maybe we've got a stowaway."

"A stowaway!" The lady could have a respectable career in theatre, Minerva decided, as long as she took the roles involving screeching, sighing, and fainting dead away in shock. "Are we in danger? Could this stowaway be violent?"

"I am certain violence will not come to pass," the officer said, raising an exasperated eyebrow at Minerva. "We'll be arriving at Yokohama the day after tomorrow, in any case. The situation will likely be resolved by then."

-----

In fact, it was mostly resolved just before dinner the next day.

Minerva heard the shouting first, along with the unmistakeable voices of her fellow passengers: the businessman attempting to take charge by means of raising his voice in successive tiers, and the lady's melodramatic wailing, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice Minerva took to be her husband barking in rapidfire French.

She laid down the stage costume she had been modifying, put her sewing kit back into the satchel, and crossed over to the door, just in time to hear a curious scratching noise from the lock. A few seconds later, there was a spanging noise as the lock was defeated, and the door opened to admit a small ragged blur.

Clearly the enterprising lockpicker had not expected to end up where she did, freezing in shock upon seeing the room occupied. Minerva took in a few details as she quickly slammed the door back shut, preventing escape: the child looked barely eight, although Minerva could have guessed a stunted ten. Blonde hair, as dirty as the rest of her, and dressed in whatever scraps of clothing she had been able to scavenge, in true street urchin style.

And as Minerva's hand ran over the lock, she felt the faintest traces of...

Someone else was rapping on the door, conveying a precise sense of polite urgency. Acting on impulse, Minerva quickly bundled the surprised stowaway into a corner, placed a finger on her lips to suppress the alarmed squeak, and tossed the voluminous costume across the child.

"Madam? Are you all right?"

The officer stood neatly outside Minerva's cabin at parade attention. Minerva resisted the urge to see if the stowaway had followed her instructions to hide. "I heard a commotion outside," she said. "What is this fuss about? Is something the matter?"

"We've cornered the stowaway to this area of the ship." The officer hesitated. "Or, I should say, the crew claims to have cornered the stowaway to this area of the ship. I have yet to see any sign of the culprit myself. Have you?"

Minerva held his gaze steadily. "I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary, I'm afraid."

The officer's eyes flickered to the side, coinciding with a faint rustle of fabric from somewhere behind Minerva. She shifted position, trying to block his view of the cabin interior.

A shadow of a frown crossed the officer's face. "Are you certain you haven't seen anything, madam? The... little rascal might be more mischievous than expected."

Little rascal, Minerva noted. And he claimed he hadn't seen the stowaway before. "I am. Will that be all?"

"I... suppose so." The officer bowed. "My apologies for disturbing you, madam. Oh, there is one more thing." This time, the glance towards the cabin interior had been deliberate. "Will you be joining us at the table tonight, madam?"

"Actually, I think I'll be having my meals in my room from now on," Minerva said. "All this... excitement. It's a little trying on the nerves. Speaking of which, I'm surprised our French friend is up and about."

"Yes," the officer agreed, the corner of his lips quirking up. "There is more to him that it seems. There is, perhaps, more to everyone than it seems. I shall inform the others. Good day, madam." He clicked his heels together.

Minerva closed the door with a sigh of relief. The lock worked perfectly, as though it had never been picked.

The little girl stood in the corner where she had hidden, clutching the dress in her hands. She started in surprise when Minerva caught her staring, and jerked her gaze away.

"It's all right now," Minerva said. She held out a hand, not quite sure of how to deal with small children in a manner that did not involve a puppet show.

After a brief hesitation, the child took her hand, and Minerva felt the tingle of power once again.

"You have a strong talent," she said, kneeling down to brush the girl's hair away from her eyes. "But I'm not sure how you came by it. Raw talent, perhaps, untrained... but the way you opened the lock so quickly means you've done this sort of trick before. Or are you just naturally nimble?" She chuckled, aware of the edge of desperation in that sound. "Maybe I should check my belongings to make sure they're all still there."

The girl stared at her.

"Can you understand me?"

A prompt nod.

"Can you speak? Just say something. Anything at all."

The girl's stare grew quizzical, but she remained silent.

"But you made a noise just now, so you're not completely dumb. Unless it's some form of aphasia." Minerva sighed. "Where did you come from, child? What are you doing on this ship? And am I making a mistake by taking you in?" She stood, the girl's hand still in hers. "Let's get you cleaned up first. I'm afraid the plumbing on this ship is a little basic, but running water is all we need."

Further mysteries were soon revealed: despite the girl's condition on first sight, she did not show any signs of protracted malnutrition. And what dirt she had seemed more consistent with hiding away in the nooks and crannies of a steamship than a lifetime on the run.

The girl did not resist Minerva's ministrations, apparently trusting her implicitly for some reason. There was a brief repeat of the hastily-improvised concealment when a crewmate delivered Minerva's meal, but there were no additional incidents.

"What shall I do with you?" Minerva wondered, as she watched the girl wolf down the meal. Having no clothes in the child's size, Minerva had dressed her in a spare blouse and a shawl for now. "I don't suppose you have any family?"

The girl glanced up, and shook her head once, before returning to her food.

"Poor thing. I can't turn you over to the captain, obviously. And someone with your power is... well, I'd rather not leave you with whatever authorities there are in Japan. I doubt they care much for abandoned foreign children. But I can't send you anywhere else alone, and I don't have enough money on hand for a return trip to England like this... what's your name, by the way?"

The query was ignored in favour of the food. The girl had cleaned up most of the meal, and was licking her fingers clean.

"Stop that. I see table manners is something else I'll have to teach you." Minerva reached out with the napkin to wipe the girl's mouth. "My name is Minerva Margatroid. You may call me Miss Margatroid, or Miss, or... or anything at all, come to think of it. As long as you call me something, rather than remain as speechless as you are."

The girl stared uncomprehendingly.

Struck by inspiration, Minerva dragged her luggage over to herself. "Look, over here." She pointed at the embossed nameplate. "Minerva Margatroid. Min-er-va, Mar-ga-troid. Oh, never mind. I don't even know if-"

The girl extended a finger, running it over the letters. "Mah, Margah. Mah gah tuh-roid." Her voice was quiet and light. "Margatroid."

Minerva could not resist the smile that spread across her face. "So you can read. And speak." Without thinking, she brought the girl in for a hug. "My dear little child."

The girl made a few muffled noises of surprise at this sudden show of affection, before yawning widely. She was missing a few teeth, Minerva noticed; the perils of growing up.

"Oh, that's right. You must be tired, after today." Running around the ship, hiding from the crew and passengers, stealing what food she could, and finally ending up in the wrong room... or maybe it was the right room after all.

After she tucked the girl into bed, Minerva retrieved her sewing kit, and checked the oil lamp in the cabin. The extra light did not seem to bother the sleeping child, but Minerva was not looking forward to having to work with needle and thread in these conditions. In addition, she was running out of spare clothes; she would have to visit a dressmaker when she arrived in Japan, for yet another drain on her dwindling funds.

But that was only a temporary situation. She'd finish what Violet Hearn had brought her to Japan to do, and improve her solvency at the nearest banking institution affiliated with the Crown. The sun never set on the Empire, after all; she'd find her way back to England somehow, her new ward in tow. Maybe she could prevail on her contacts among the magical community for advice, and hand the child over to someone she trusted, leaving the girl's instruction and protection in far more capable hands.

Or...

No, it was still too soon to think about that, and there were too many obstacles to overcome. And yet, Minerva glanced at her unfinished book of magic, the idea taking root with insidious temptation. After all, it would not take all that long to rewrite some of the more complex portions with an apprentice in mind.

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