章節 298: Dr. Brass (Fallen London Psuedo-SI) by Beetz
Words: 45k+
Links:-https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/dr-brass-fallen-london-psuedo-si.924905/
( Five years stuck below, in a world not his own. Welcome, sir, to the Neath, where Cats talk, Devils walk among men, and where Wells are causes for concern. )
Chapter 1: In Media Res
"Jack."
"Brass."
I stared down the crazed murderer. The latest iteration of Jack was a thin woman. Had she not been a murderess in the making, I might have thought her pretty: high, elegant cheek-bones, clear skin the color of caramel signifying ancestry from the Elder Continent, and bright blue eyes filled with intellect, wit, and most recently, murderous madness. "So. Here's my standard offer: put down the knife, allow yourself to be taken in, and I won't have to fill you with lead," I drawled out, cocking my revolver as I stared down the bodysnatcher.
Jack of Smiles giggled. "So serious," she purred, holding her knife to the urchins throat, the youth daring not to wriggle, not to move at all lest they breath their last...for a few days. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I might think you were stressed. Poor dear: why don't you come closer? I'll give you a nice smile." Yeah, no chance. I knew what Jack meant by giving a smile, after all.
"C'mon, Jack. Doesn't have to end this way. I don't know who you were before, but you don't have to die just because you were unlucky enough to pick up the knife," I said, eyes gazing steady at Jack, making sure not to let her out of my sight. "Hell, you haven't even killed anyone yet: you can still walk away." It never worked, sadly, but who knows?
"I haven't killed anyone because you keep interrupting my fun!" Jack snarled, her grip tightening on the urchin, who stared at me, pleading. Even if death was a temporary affair here, the situation he was in was no doubt terrifying. After all, pain was pain was pain. "Three times! Three times I've attempted to kill someone, and each and every time you've stopped me! Why? It's not like any one cares! I kill this child, and a few days later, he'll be back, right as rain, and nobody will care," she ranted. "And yet for some godforsaken reason, despite knowing this, you still want to interrupt my art, despite it not benefiting you! Despite it not mattering, not really! You're even trying to save me! What kind of maniac tries to save a serial killer?" Jack demanded, growing more and more incensed.
"It matters to him," I said, calmly. "It matters to me. Sure, I might not gain here, but I'll still have stopped a kid from going through something no kid should ever have to go through. And yeah, I'm trying to save you, because at the end of the day, you aren't at fault. The damn knife is." Had to stall for time. Help arriving was slim, but the more I could stall, the better.
"I AM THE KNIFE," Jack screamed, spittle flying, holding the knife to the urchins throat...
And then relaxing. A bit. "Alright. You want to save the child? Fine," she spat. "Let's make a bargain. Your life for his: and believe me when I say that you won't be coming back. I'll make sure of it. Chop you up to little pieces. So, Brass, does this orphans life matter enough that you'll give up your own," she taunted, laughing. Staring her down for a moment, I dropped my gun. "Fine. Let the kid go, Jack."
Her jaw dropped, not believing what she was seeing. "I...what?" I repeated my words to her, speaking each word carefully. Jack paused for a moment, clearly confused, as if she hadn't expected this turn of events, the wheels in her head moving slowly as she puzzled out what was happening. "...Fine. Spoilsport. Kick your gun away." I did so, and didn't move as Jack got closer and closer, before she was within arms reach.
Thankfully, the maniac was true to her word, tossing the urchin away as she buried her knife in my gut, laughing gleefully. "Finally! I finally get to kill someone!" She said, stabbing me once more as I began to cough up blood. "I'm not going to lie, I think I'll miss you: you were the only person in this godforsaken city who took me seriously! But now that you're gone, I'll finally get to paint the town red!" She nearly roared, as I stumbled to the ground, trying my best to fend her blows off. I was losing blood: a LOT of blood. Wildly, I glanced around. Good, the urchin was gone. It was a...it was a partial success...
"I won't just stab people, no! They always get up after getting stabbed! No, I'll start making sure they stay dead! What a way to elevate my art above other jacks! That'll force them to take me seriously! I'll start with my bitch sister, finish her off: no more Mr. Brass to save her at the last minute and patch up her wounds! Then my ignorant oaf of a son!" She gave a demented giggle, and I felt everything start to fade. "Who knows? Maybe I'll go even higher! There's never been a Jack whose killed a mayor, after all! Break a few trends! But first, to dispose of you."
She leaned close, kissing my bloodied lips in a manner that, in any other situation would be very romantic, but considering I was bleeding out was more alarming than anything. Pulling away, Jack of Smiles giggled, her crimson lips stained with my blood. "One for the road! Goodbye, Brass! Tell whatever Pagan Gods you worship I sent you!" She raised her knife...
And collapsed to the ground, behind her a clay man. "OH DEAR." It intones as my vision grows black. "IT SEEMS YOU ARE SEVERELY DAMAGED. I MUST HURRY."
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I woke up, achey, weak, and covered in bandages. I recognized the surroundings: the attic of the tenement I owned. Groaning, I looked around. Yup, still cluttered to shit with boxes and boxes of the residents stuff. My real question was why I was on a bed: I had a room here. "GOOD. YOU ARE AWAKE."
I looked up and noticed the Clay Man. Same one who had rescued me. "Uh. Hello. You're the one that patched me up, I assume. Thanks: I've managed to avoid meeting the boatman so far, and I'm not looking forward to that encounter. Names Br-"
"YOUR PSUEDONYM IS KNOWN TO US, DR BRASS." The Clay Man said, voice rumbly like the sound of falling stones. "YOU ARE ONE OF THE FEW MEDICAL EXPERTS WILLING TO HELP US CLAY MEN. WE MERELY TRIED TO FOLLOW YOUR EXAMPLE." I chuckled nervously as I scratched my neck. Oh. That. Didn't think the clay community still remembered that. Contrary to what the Clay Man thought, it wasn't particularly noteworthy. For one thing, Clay Men didn't really have anatomy: treating them was less a medical concern and more a matter of how much polythremian clay, pottery knowledge, and free time you had.
"Well. Thanks, regardless." I stood up, shakey, and moved to exit the bed, only to find the clay mans grip on my shoulder, preventing me from rising. I frowned.
"WE MUST INSIST YOU DO NOT. I AM NOT AN EXPERT, BUT I AM TOLD THAT YOUR INJURIES REQUIRE REST," The Clay Man said. Right. I could try to argue with him, but I knew that would never work. And besides, he was probably correct. Still, I couldn't just rest: I had so much to do, so much to check on. Patients requiring check ups, business ventures requiring updates, contacts requiring check ins, social engagements I had appointments for.
"Right, tell you what: I should have a wheel-chair somewhere in all this. Fetch it for me. I have outstanding obligations I need to meet, and the chair should be a nice compromise. I'll need some help up and down the stairs, however."
The Clay Man thought it over. "VERY WELL. THIS IS ACCEPTABLE. I HAVE PLACED YOUR PISTOL IN THE DRAWER NEXT TO YOU." He then lumbered off to fetch the wheel chair. It had been awhile since I used the thing, but hopefully it still worked and hadn't been stolen.
I furrowed my eyebrows, a bit confused. "Wait, walking is a problem, but me carrying around a loaded gun isn't?"
"SHOOTING IS NOT A PHYSICALLY STRENOUS ACTION, MERELY MORALLY SO." Oh yeah. London and its absurd standards for what constituted safe conduct. Still, it was nice I still had my gun: few people wanted to tangle with a nevercold brass plated Smith and Wesson revolver. Insane knife possessed murderesses excluded.
The Clay Man finally approached me, pushing the wheel chair. "ARE YOU READY TO DEPART?" He asked, to which I grunted in assent, at which he carefully helped me into the chair, my bandages thankfully holding. Remind me to ask where he learned to bandage people: I may need to hire him on as a nurse.
"So, my good man, before we depart, do you happen to have a name? Since you'll be helping me do my rounds, I'd prefer to have something to call you." I asked. The clay man paused, thinking it over.
"CALL ME SHALE."
_______________________________________________________
I exited the building, Shale lifting my chair over the steps as we descended into the cobbles below. My first stop was one of my more reliable when it came to payment patients. As a rule, I tried to avoid charging when I could, which made this particular individual particularly valuable. After all, I couldn't afford to treat anyone if I didn't have the funds necessary.
"So, Shale. The woman. Did she make it?"
"I AM AFRAID NOT SIR. ONCE SHE WAS KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS I TOOK HER TO THE AUTHORITIES. IT SEEMS MY BLOW WAS TOO MUCH: SHE HAS AS FAR AS I'M AWARE NOT WOKEN UP." The Clay Man paused, a concerned expression on his face. "DID I ERR?"
I grunted. "No. You did good. She was about to kill me, after all, and she's still alive at least: where there is life, there is sometimes hope." I'd have to inquire to her location: maybe, with any luck, she's still recoverable. What happened to the knife?"
"I DO NOT KNOW. I WAS MORE CONCERNED ABOUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO YOU. WHY? IS THE KNIFE IMPORTANT?" Shale said, curious. I shrugged. Fuck, how did I explain this. I couldn't give too much away. Or, well, I probably could, but I didn't want to risk it: I didn't really have a good explanation as to how I knew these things, after all.
"I suspect the knife is the source of the Jack phenominon," I said, carefully. "I don't have any hard proof, but from what I've been able to gather its the only commonality between instances." There. Half-truth: leave out the fact that I'm completely sure of what causes Jacks and their origin. It hadn't been my first time tangling with the murderer, after all.
The number of melted down knives I owned was higher than zero. Unfortunately, this knife had managed to escape me. Hopefully it was still at the location of my stabbing: I'd visit this evening.
A physicians work never ended, it seems.
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As per Failbetters Guidelines:
Fallen London is © 2019 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited:
www.fallenlondon.com .This is an unofficial fan work
Also, expect spoilers for several major plotpoints and stories, though I'll generally warn at the start of an arc/chapter (depending). Also, please note that I haven't played every last storyline, least of all because several of them cost money, so if you spot any inconsistencies or errors, please, forgive me.
Scribes Note: For anyone getting into the fallen london universe I would suggest watching this lore playlist
https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLuFO6Z1fNtThue8eYErczLSZytVcylMdF&si=ntRsNmze-PCv87op
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