The Case of the O'erheated Chamberpot

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Khan's Visitor

Having woken from a deep & refreshing sleep, Khan cast his mind back over the events of the last 24 hours. There was a more than distinct possibility that at least 1, maybe more of England’s court/generals were involved in a plot against Lord Cromwell.
Quickly dressing Khan opened the door to his quarters, and spied Rictus hurrying towards the stables
“Rictus” he bellowed across the courtyard.
Shocked into immobility Rictus slowly turned to see Khan striding towards him.
“Where on earth do you think you are going ?”
Stuttering with fear, Rictus tried to reply “I I I I’m o o o on a special errand for Lord Cromwell Sergeant, I n n need…..”
“Enough” Khan growled, “You’re coming with me” with that he turned sharply on his heel and made his way towards the main gate.
Nervously Rictus followed. “I know I was bored and wanted some excitement” he thought, “I’m not sure this is the kind of thin I had in mind”.
As they both reached the gate, a rider and horse came galloping through. Chest heaving and with sweat pouring down it’s flanks, it was obvious that the horse had been ridden very hard.
Jumping from his mount, a tall broad shouldered soldier approached, recognition flashed in Khan’s eyes.
“Salaam ali khoum, Brother” the figure intoned
Wide eyed and shocked at hearing the infidel tongue in England, Rictus stared open mouthed at Khan and the stranger.
“Ali khoum Salaam” replied Khan, a wide grin splitting across his face “What news ?”
“All good”, the stranger replied “Things are progressing as we expected on the Continent, Saxony is ripe and France is casting wary glances to our armies in the Holland’s. I’m not sure about the Poles though, they seem hesitant to say the least”.
“Good” replied Khan “Now, let me explain what’s happening here”
Turning to Rictus, Khan lifted an eybrow quizzically “You still here ?”
Rictus, deciding discretion was the better part of valour, skittered away to the stables. Soon he had tacked a horse and was galloping out of the gate. Remembering the importance of his mission, he made haste towards Canterbury.

The 2 men, Khan and the stranger amusingly followed Rictus’ attempts to leave their presence. Once he had gone, they both turned and made their way to Khan’s quarters.
“We can talk in private, no-one will overhear” murmured Khan
“Good brother” the stranger replied “We have a lot to discuss and plan………………..”

 

[Pan Zagloba]

An hour or so later, Pan Zagloba, Rzendzian and Lewis were sitting in a corner of the Red Lion, three glasses in front of them. The pub was almost empty, only a few drinkers who had started early, or who were perhaps finishing late.

At their table, Zagloba was concluding his description of the meeting with Fournier. "So it's certain, if you ask me, that he knows something. But I don't know what - and I don't know what his motivation is. What did you two find out in the servants' quarters?"

Rzendzian shrugged. "Not much. Falkenberg did visit Cromwell the other day, and Fournier's been in and out. A couple of interesting facts - Khan took a fast horse out late last night, and didn't get back with it until the morning. One of the grooms heard him mutter 'Durham' on his arrival, but he wasn't gone long enough to ride to Durham and back. Oh, and when we were leaving, we saw that footman Rictus, who hangs around outside Cromwell's room. He hurtled downstairs, and said rather grandly that he had a letter to take to Canterbury, straight away."

Lewis added, "To one of the Cardinals there - a real hard-liner."

Zagloba sat for a moment. "That devil Khan has something to do with it, you know. Why should Cromwell send a letter to Canterbury?"

At that moment, a messenger came up to the table. He bowed smartly and said, "Pan Onufry Zagloba?"

Zagloba acknowledged his name. "I have a message for you, Sir". The messenger handed over a sealed piece of parchment.

Zagloba opened up the letter, and his eyes widened. He turned to the messenger, and said "Sit down, please. Rzendzian! Get this man a drink."

He set the letter down and, taking a pencil from his pocket, began to write out another letter beside it. Lewis looked over at the parchment, and saw a meaningless jumble of letters. "Is it written in Polish, Sir?"

"No, in code. And a code I haven't seen since ... oh, I don't know when. I only know one other man who uses it." Rzendzian brought over a glass of beer for the messenger. Zagloba worked for a moment longer, then sat up. He read the translated letter.

"Well, Lewis, it looks like Brother Falkenberg is safe and well at an unknown location." Lewis crossed himself and looked thankfully skywards. "And this man LD seems to be involved somehow," continued Zagloba, "Perhaps he has information about King James."

He turned to the messenger, "Tell me, Sir, what is your name and what connection do you have with the sender of this letter?"

The messenger bowed again, "Sergeant Elliot Bloomfield, 19th Royal Manhattan Regiment, at your service. I am a friend of the Cause."

"Good, good. Well, you can take the message back that I have received the letter and will be in touch if I need to be. For the moment, I'm going to go and pay my devotions to His Holiness at Canterbury. I dare say he'll be quite surprised to see me. Rzendzian, put these letters on the fire and make sure they burn properly. And Lewis, you'd better change back into your habit. That sort of thing goes down well in Canterbury, you know."

 

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Blood Brothers ?

Upon reaching Khan’s quarters the two men seated themselves on 2 chairs. Spartan to say the least, Khan’s quarters reflected the man himself – hard.
“Read this” said the stranger passing what looked to be a letter to Khan.
Khan, perplexed started to read,

Sophia Bloomfield, New York, New England

Dearest Sophia,

I write to you in haste as events are developing quickly here. Some of the nobility close to Privy Council and C.C. have skipped the country. I have been away too long to understand all the motives that are at work here, but it is clear that a renegade Frenchman, the Church or at least some obscure order, and even the Polish are involved. So far my presence at court is unknown although I may not have been careful enough in choosing my cover.

My concern is whether I should confront C.C. head-on, or whether I should continue to undermine his position with the King and nobility. I have not found anyone here determined and brave enough to move directly against him: his deportations and thugs are feared. Perhaps I can find a daring soul to pose as footman and thus gain access...

I may not be able to write for a while, as I am staying no more than a few nights in one place. How I wish I could be rid of this damn sabre, it is a nuisance and so unwieldy and I keep tripping on it---but I may need it yet.

Love, and kiss the nippers for me,
Elliot



“Where did you get this?” he asked
“One of my men intercepted it in Anglia. Apparently, it was amongst some correspondence destined for New England”
“Do you know who this Elliot is?” Khan questioned
“Alas, no. I do however know of at least 3 New Englanders here in Europe. Two are on the continent with our armies in Holland & Hessen. The other is here in Anglia, that is where we should look first”
Khan smiled, “It’s a long time since I’ve been to Anglia, who’s there we can trust ?”
“Guy de Basra” he replied “Our network is extending. From our humble beginnings in far off Ragusa, like an octopus, our tentacle are spreading far and wide, we have connections in every major city. Luckily most of them are now controlled by England. As I’m sure you are aware, there will be even more under her control soon”.
“Excellent, then we do not have a moment to lose” At that Khan stood up, glancing at the decoration on the wall “I will not fail you” he intoned.
The stranger too, looking at the decoration, turned and glanced at Khan
“Brother, it has been too long. The last time I saw you, you were busy in Holland”
“Busy” Khan replied, “You call having to defend myself against a couple of inept French pikeman busy….gods man. If you want busy, you should be in the Eastern colonies. Radisson is the busy one, if you get my meaning”.

Smiling, the stranger stood up. Nearly matching Khan in not only height but stature, one could almost mistake them for blood relatives ??
“Khan, now is the time for us to go”, he said “Cromwell needs us”

 

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Khan's Background

Khan’s Background

Sirs,

Let me paint you a picture of a humble farmer, who decimated at the destruction of his village, home and the vile murder of his wife and child by the Turks.
Deciding to take revenge in any way he can, this man travels to far off England, their to take up service with Lord Charles Cromwell, the most powerful man in England if not the world.

Working his was through the ranks, Khan found although a farmer by trade, he had a natural affinity to war and the instruments of such. Hardened by years of toiling on a farm, Khan developed not only a massive bull like physique, but a keenness of mind, coupled with a flair for intrigue, and all manner of covert activities. Realising his future is in following Cromwell to his destiny, Khan embarks on a most dangerous path.

Using his own initiative, Khan founds what most people would say is the mediaeval equivalent on today’s modern day SAS. Along with many natives from England’s conquered lands, a huge network of spies & agents spreads across the civilised world. Reaching from the newly expanded colonies in New England, Far East and mainland Europe, this band of people known as “The Fist of God”, this secret society of men & women had all taken a vow. That vow was beginning to see fruition, in that England would conquer the majority of the civilised world, and Cromwell or his descendants would rule.

Now, it seems all of his hopes and dreams were in danger of being shattered. Cromwell was in danger of being usurped by what can only be described as a conspiracy of the grandest order. Poles, Turks, Frenchman, New Englanders, and even what seemed to be loyal Englishmen were plotting to frame him for the foul “murder” of King James.

Now, it seems Khan must use all of his resource’s and those of “The Fist of God” to combat this menace. In England he has been joined by another member of the society, Elric Bloodsinger ( a ferocious Ragusan, who fled along with Khan all those years ago when the Turks first invaded). As people may have guessed, these two men are brothers, fluent in most languages (including that of the heathen Turk). They over time have infiltrated almost every army that England has come against in their quest for dominance. Together they are a formidable force.

Making their way to Anglia, to meet with another of their order (Guy de Basra) the destiny of not only their order, but Cromwell and ultimately England’s could well be in their hands………

 

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Fournier's trip to Poland

Letter from the Marquis de Fournier to his friend the Baron d'Esnandes

My dear Henri

I am currently in Warsaw, at the behest of the First Councillor Lord Cromwell and that of the Commonwealth's ambassador in London. Although I am not fond of these lands which lie much to close to the frozen wastes of Russia, there is one good thing to tell of the Poles : they know how to make spirits, by God ! Their vodka is obviously not as refined as some of our good cognac but it does put fire into a man's belly, which is all I could ask considering the awfully cold weather outside. My hosts are genial people but I can tell they resent what's befallen them during the last war. Lord Cromwell's promises were well received but I think the nobles here will not believe in his good faith as long as they've not seen some action to put them in effects. The recovery of those provinces lost to the german thugs must be recovered soon or I fear they may elect to turn to other allies. I am sure that they are a bit foolish there as the only ones showing them any sympathy are the representatives of the inept usurper sitting on the throne in France.
Well I fear I will have to wait the winter out here to avoid the beastly weather and its inconveniences. I hope this letter finds both you and dear Charlotte well and I wish the Crown will implement the recovery of its french holdings quickly as I long to be able to set foot as my own master in my ancestral lands in Aunis.

Respectfully, your brother in exile,
Thierry, Marquis de Fournier.

 

[Sgt. Bloomfield]

Lt. Sebastian Flowermeadow, The Grapes, Liberties, London

Dearest Sir:

I have not had any correspondence from you in well over a fortnight and it has me quite worried. Send, if you could, word that things are well with you and that I may rest assured of your health, good fortune and speedy return.

Your ever loyal and devoted

Sophia

P.S. The children are well but miss their father.

 

[Barkdreg]

Rictus was worried, he had allways longed for a bit off adventure but he feared that he was in a very dangerous position.
How could he possibly deliver a letter to Canterbury within 6 hours?
This would mean he had to move at night and God knows that the English nights could be dangerous. Not only was the country plagued
by highwaymen there were even rumours of protestant militias attacking...

A loud crack disturbed Rictus' thoughts only to be immedeatly be replaced by a sharp pain in his back.
He noticed himself falling of his horse and heared a crunching sound when he hit the road.

Barkdreg walked over to the fallen man.
"Where's the letter?"

Rictus saw a long well build man walk over to him, smoking pistol in one hand and a rather nasty looking cavalry sabre in the other.
The man asked for a second and with the some foreign accent
"Where's the letter?"

"In my saddle bag, sir!Please I beg you do not kill me! For I'm just a servant."

Rictus feared for his life know, he allmost wished he had joined the colonist. He saw that the stranger took the letters out of his saddle bag. The stranger walked over too Rictus and with one slash off his sabre he ended both Rictus' sense for adventure and his life.

Barkdreg rode back to London a satified man, not only would this letter earn him a nice amount from that fat Pole, it was also a step on the road of destruction for that monster Cromwell who robbed his beloved Holland off their hardwon independance and placed his
reformed inhabitants under catholic rule.

 

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To Sgt. Bloomfield, Esq.

I trust that this will find you well, and still alive. I am afraid that I deceived you in my last correspondence. I am not on the continent but in New England. Trust is a dangerous commodity in these times, and I felt the need to disguise my whereabouts from unwanted eyes. I made a journey to see you in person, but your sister tells me that you left for England shortly before my arrival... Fear not, she is well -- and will be travelling with me for a while until this situation blows over. I am sure that you will be unable to contact us, as we will be away from the routes of courriers for the next few days, but I shall endeavour to keep her safe for you.

I write to warn you: the net is being tightened, old friend. I dare not say more, but refer you to my last letter. The time has come for you to make a choice as to where your loyalties truly lie. If you have Chosen the path that I suspect, then I urge you to flee London at the earliest. You cannot win this one, so would it not be better to live on to fight another day? I must go now, but our thoughts are with you.

One final word: do not trust the Poles, their motives are never what they seem. Also, I am acquainted with a man at court that you may have heard of, the Marquis de Fournier: seek him out if you can, you may find that you have much in common.

I must away,

V.

 

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Poor Rictus !

Well, he didn't last very long did he ?

 

[Rictus]

I don't wanna die..

 

[Sgt. Bloomfield]

Somewhere on the Road to Canterbury, Rictus blinked. His battered arm hurt. He felt his throat and found that it was sticky with his own blood. But the vicious sabre cut had not seriously injured him. "I never thought," he said to himself, "that the bloody dog-collar Cromwell has me wear for his late-night 'games' would come in handy..."

He struggled up and winced at the pain in his arm. His horse was grazing a little distance away. He must get back to London. Apart from the gold he had gotten out of that old military fool from New York, Cromwell would pay a handsome sum to know that he had heard the accent and seen the Dutch coat of arms on his attacker...

"Jesus," he thought as he mounted his horse, "that bloody Dutchman needs a good spanking from his father, or something..."

 

[Rictus]

Yeah Bloomfield, you da man!

 

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Nice save, Sgt. B! Nice save indeed...

 

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Originally posted by Rictus
Yeah Bloomfield, you da man!

Don't you recognise character assassination when you see it? I'd be thinking of legal action by now.

 

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The two figures who we were introduced to at the start of this story left the residence of Lord Durham as the sun shed its first light over the city. Both were tired and a little dishevelled from their arduous journey, but neither betrayed this to the casual bystander. The stoic Dutchman marched purposefully through the now active marketplace. Penn retained his characteristic carefree style and continued to pose searching questions to his older acquaintance.

„So what exactly is going on?“ he enquired, imprudently failing to moderate his voice. “A revolution?”

“Not at all”, de Witt let out a loud but phony laugh. And then in a lower tone, “You would be well advised my young but foolish friend to be a little more cautious about what you say in open places. Cromwell is not known for his coyness when dealing with England’s internal problems. Just the very hint of rebellion is likely to set him off on another of his frenzied cleansing missions. There is good reason that the world map is liberally sprinkled with the colour red.”

“But we are in York”, countered Penn in much the same manner as before. “What Cromwell doesn’t hear can’t worry him?”

De Witt was unable to contain his exasperation. “What does it matter whether it is Istanbul or Warsaw? You can be assured that he is a man of many eyes and ears. And don't think your family connections will be of any great concern to him either”

At this point they were passing through the old Roman district when they route was interrupted by a company of city guards on early morning patrol. As they passed, a broad smile broke out on Penn’s face. “Witherspoon?” he cried out joyfully. “How have you been keeping yourself”. The guard’s response was suppressed by the watchful eye of his commander but the hint of a smile and raised eyebrow acknowledged the greeting.

Penn followed after the patrol. “We need to catch up for old time’s sake my good man”, he continued to the young guardsman as he caught up to walk alongside, awkwardly alternating between walking and running to keep up with the regeimented step of the guards. “With your permission”, said the latter, addressing the group sergeant who grudging acquiesced by grunting “One-minute then back in line”

“Nemmy my old fellow. It’s good to see you” said Witherspoon once out of earshot. “Sorry but I can’t stop now. Perhaps you might want to drop by our estate one of these days. Thursday is normally a time when I’m free. Mother and father would be delighted to see you again after all these years though father is starting to suffer badly from his old war injuries.” Corporal Witherspoon was clearly in a hurry to avoid unnecessarily incurring further ire from the sergeant. “Who’s this?” he asked as De Witt wandered up to join the two old college mates. There was an element of unease about this last remark.

“Oh, sorry, I should have introduced you earlier.” reacted Penn absent-mindedly. “Frederick de Witt, Corporal Charles Witherspoon”. “Pleased to make your acquaintance”, de Witt proffered impassively.

“Likewise”, responded the corporal “But haven’t we met somewhere before?”

“I don’t recall any previous encounter”, the Dutchman countered. Penn was bemused by this new turn of events and searched in vain to read the faces of his two firends.

“Perhaps in The Hague?”, offered Witherspoon. “I’ve spent some time in the region under Marlborough fighting against the Dutch er..., you excuse me but no offence meant. One has one’s duty to do”

“I assure you that no offence was taken. But as for The Hague, this cannot be the case since I have resided here ever since our homelands were brought under the English Crown.”. de Witt remained in control of his emotions although Penn shot him an inquiring glance.

“Well you must excuse me anyway” said Charles. “ I must return to my duty. Until Thursday dear Nemmy” as he hurried off in the direction of the guard’s company disappearing into the city market place.

Penn looked at de Witt and started “What?....”. “Not now” interrupted the Dutchman. “We can talk of this later. For the time being we shall need some rest. We have other matters to attend to later”. The two men headed towards the Red Lion Inn.

While Penn fell into a deep sleep immediately, de Witt was unable to settle. His thoughts kept returning to the rebel uprising in the Hague from which many thousands of his fellow countrymen had been cut to pieces by Marlborough’s war-hardened forces. De Witt was lucky to escape alive from the devastated city but had made his way to England. The memories continued to burn on his mind and the name of Charles Cromwell had, from that day, become etched on his mind as a moniker for barbarity and cruelty: the very angel of death and destruction. Others like Durham may have their moral reasons for their wish to have the man removed. De Witt’s lust was purely for vengeance.

 

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Five hours later, with fresh horses and after a brief but hearty lunch they were once again on the move. De Witt had to return to London which would take around two days to travel at a reasonably brisk pace. A few days in the capital would avoid suspicions being aroused and allow him some time to make arrangements for his next trip to Holland. He also hoped to meet again with his old fellow-in-arms Barkdreg. A hastily drafted telegram had been sent in advance in the hope that their paths might meet. The time in the city would not be wasted and would allow him to find out about the latest events nearer to the heart of the empire.

Penn, however, was intent on travelling north. He had longed to visit Scotland as a child and now, with news of a certain scottish laird by the name of Charles he hoped to fulfil his early dream with the enticing prospect of yet more adventure. Revolution? Ha! Tally-ho and off to war and all that! Let's see what's going on in the highlands before we decide what we do next. There's always plenty of time to catch up with that impassionate Dutchman.

 

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Lord Vimy of the Province of Quebec

Sincere greetings from Manhattan. It has come to my attention that you have engaged in correspondence with a certain Sergeant from a place not too distant from my own.

Let me come straight to the point. This Bloomfield character is not in favour with Sir Charles. You would do well to desist forthwith in such actions. I can assure you that such a course will be beneficial to your health.

Please also be notified that I will be sending a delegation to you within the next few days in order to ask further questions on the whereabouts of this man.

Yours
Peter stuyvesant of Manhattan.

p.s. I would be grateful if you could remain for the time being at home to avoid any unnecessary work on the part of the colonial guards.

 

[Rictus]

Rictus quickly found the tough mare that he'd affectionately named Cromwell and set off back to London. But instead of being almost giddy with pleasure at being set such an important mission, he was more worried about the implications of his failure. he'd already been nearly killed once and failure in Cromwells presence usually didn't happen more than once.
However, he hoped the information he had would be enough to allow him to live and, possibly, even remain in England...With that thought he spurred back to Anglia before someone else told Cromwell of his mistake and then add desertion to the list of punishments too...

 

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2 Days later - The Golden Goose Tavern, Whitechapel, East End of London

Du Basra was worried. Not only were Khan & Elric late, but also he had seen a familiar face furtively entering the tavern. As luck would have it, as he was in a darkened corner, the new arrival didn’t notice him.
“Barkreg” Du Basra thought, “What the hell is that revolutionary doing here?”
“This could shed some light on a few things…..”
“More ale sir”, said a comely serving wench, interrupting his train of thought.
“No thank you”, he replied, “Although, there is something you can do for me?”
“Why sir, I’m not that kind of lady”
“No, no you get me wrong. I’d like you to serve the gentleman sitting at the table by the window. Try and find out why he’s here. I’d pay you well” With that he emptied 2 golden ducats from a pouch onto the table.
Quick as a flash, the maid scooped up the coins, and deposited them in the front of her blouse.
“Of course sir, I’ll try and see if I can hear anything”. Deftly she moved from Du Basra’s table making her way towards Barkreg.

The door to the tavern banged open noisily, ducking to enter, Khan saw Du Basra in the corner. He made his way over closely followed by Elric.
“Damn” thought Du Basra, “That huge ugly b*stard is going to get noticed !!”

The wench meantime had made her way to Barkreg’s table, just as she was about to ask him if there was anything she could get him. He jumped up, shoving the table over violently
“You” he barked, pointing at Elric……….

 

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Two whole ducats!! That serving wench just needs to another customer like you and she'll be able to raise a small army in Russia.

Chuck money around like that and you're bound to be noticed