On The Trail Of A Missing Agent

Steelhead Adventure

entry point: here

Note in the personal journal of Eva Bellambi, Duchess Loch Avie.
Director MI-5:


.....now that was some interesting body language... I thought to myself as I headed back to the Constant, now docked in Steelhead for the last week or so.

The Sheriff's Office had been quite well lit and I had seen the men talking as I began my inquiries about Agent O'Toole around Steelhead City. Likely most folks felt the same way Sheriff Ortega did. Hotspur was just off on "one of his adventures". Nothing to worry about. I, however, was beginning to get some intelligence traffic about him from various places across the globe. What was true? What was not?

They had all been quite polite as usual, however, the normally easy-going manner with which my friends, Fuzzball, Lunar, and Darien, generally conversed was not there this evening. They were hiding something, and they were trying to ensure that I did not pick up on any of it. Although, I honestly think that they do not know anything about Hotspur's location or situation. What is going on then?

Looking around me I noted that the streets in Steelhead seemed awfully quiet. People were inside their homes. There was none of the usual friendly calls from front porch swings as I strolled down the lanes. I could feel tension all around me. It was nearly sparking in the air.

All those years of training with my grandmother and mother in the ways of the White Ladies - the healers of our clan - were valuable to me. While we have not be able to see great distances, those of us in my family have always had an ability to "sense", which sometimes involves visions. For me it has always been more of an impression. (You have to admit that this would be a very handy tool for an intelligence officer.) Over the years, this skill has been a great benefit to me as friends or family have needed assistance - physical or emotional; grave danger from others or from within themselves.

I shook off the personal reflection as I neared the pier.

The fog rolled in off the inlet, and there at the docks the Constant was moored. The Dockmaster and I were old acquaintances given the close ties of Steelhead and Caledon. We spoke for a time. He told me that he had not seen Mr. O'Toole for at least a week...maybe 10 days. When pressed as to whether anyone else had been seen near the Constant, he told me that he had not taken note of anyone in particular. Had he inspected her at all? "No," he said. He was used to vessels often sitting in port for days on end and had paid her very little attention, actually.

I thanked him, and told him that I would be performing my own inspection, as I now considered that my agent had either gone AWOL or there was some foul play involved.

The Dockmaster nodded and smirked just a little as he added, "Careful now, Your Ladyship. I don't reckon if I know whether O'Toole there had 'im any lady friends what paid him some visits. Not sure what or who you might find in there, ma'am."

"I shall take your warning into account, my good man. I am not a woman easily shocked. I cannot afford to be." And I left it at that.

I had examined the exterior of the gunboat as best as I could in the waning light of the late evening. There seemed to be no new dents in the 6 inch steel casemate. The smokestacks and pilothouse were intact. Of course the ship was outfitted with the full complement of 15 cannons, but the variation that MrBunwah, Justinian, and Hotspur had discussed sometime last year was placement of forward facing cannon. Most boats in this class tended to have all the guns in broadside positions.

Nothing seemed amiss as I walked through the hatch. But as my eyes adjusted, I could see that I was not the first person to come aboard the Constant in the last week. Charts, plans, and letters were all over the deck. I found the cabin lantern, lit it, and began a more thorough look through the items on the floor.

Suddenly I had the distinct impression that something was VERY wrong. The tension that I had been feeling suddenly grew into something more terrible and the words of an old Latin spell that I was taught at a very young age came to mind.

Imperiequeritis, tria pendent corpora ramis dis meus et gestas in media et divina potestas dimeas clanator sed jetas as astra levarut

I stood still and listened and remembered. My grandmother told me that this was a spell that was to be used to alleviate pain and suffering particularly after someone was tortured. An odd thought floated through my mind...something about how my father and I had discussed that this spell did not use the appropriate Latin forms. He made some joke about the Latin language as the thing being tortured in this instance. My mother and grandmother simply rolled their eyes and went on with the lessons. Grandmother mentioned that the last known use of this in our family was just after the Battle of Culloden.

I was snapped back to the present state as the impression of pain and suffering grew stronger and the words louder.

Clearly Hotspur is in great danger. This is not simply an unplanned leave from MI-5.

Just then a flash of light from the floor caught my eye.

I walked over to the corner of the chart table and found a small leather pouch, the letters SW scratched in with a knife, and a coin poking out. That's what caught my eye. On closer examination the coin was small and copper with a square hole cut in the center. Four Chinese characters surrounded the edges of the square.

The Dark Ocean Society

That has to be it. They must be behind this feeling of dread, pain, and suffering. I knew that O'Toole had made enemies in the realm years ago, but it had never been an issue for the agency...until now. This would also explain why reports of his whereabouts have been coming in from port cities en route to China. Of course I have to know more...to be sure that my theory is correct.

A plan began to formulate:

1- Get the small pouch of coins to Professor Krogstad in the Royal Society for study and forensic examination. Is there anything else this can tell us?
2- Alert our agents in the field along what is the likely path of travel. I believe that Amplebeak Tinlegs is just off an assignment. He'll have to stay out of country a bit longer.
3 - Contact one of my newer agents, now stationed in the east, Mr. Shea LeFevre.

Shea had grown up in New Orleans. His mother was an Irish immigrant and his father, Creole. When he came to me he was looking for occupation of any sort. He had been drifting around since the end of the Civil War. As he worked around the Loch, he told me of his injury in Petersburg early in 1865, and that he had been captured for a time. He seemed to enjoy learning about Caledon and her allies. His intellect was clear, though he claims himself to be nothing more than a simple, world-weary drifter. He was clearly well-read, and had healed well from his injuries. He gained my trust (after a thorough background check) and seeing his potential, I sent him on to training for MI-5.

Don't let me down in this first large task, Shea, I thought to myself as I composed the briefing to him and prepared to send across our secure communication. channel.

In which an old enemy resurfaces...

Steelhead Adventure:

Entry Point: HERE | Meanwhile...

On a Slow Boat To China again.

For a long time, I fell in my mind. Oh, I had some foggy notion of actions transpiring without participating in them, at least physically.. repeated beatings of increasing fury and impotence. Questions asked, none that were answered. I suspect the dart whatsit was more strongly dosed then was required for a man of my size. This only served to increase the impotent fury of my captors. Meanwhile, my mind wandered, as I visited the past.. and possibly the future?

"It pains me to say this, Major, but the faculty despair of turning young Hotspur into a gentleman. Might we suggest taking him out to India with you? Perhaps a clerking position, in the East India Company? One hears good things, sir.."


"O'Toole, it fills me with sadness to inform you of a letter concerning your father's fate in India..."

"You young beast! With my downstairs chambermaid?! How DARE you!"

"Some candidates simply do not have the calling of holy orders, no matter how often their devotions are beaten into them. However, we will educate him as you request..."

"Mr. O'Toole, it pains me to return your ring to you, but my father has grown firmly against the match, due to your slender prospects of making a living.."

Some memories are best not revisited...


Some years later, crouching near a campfire in China.. Ward, miraculously alive again, walks up with two cups of coffee made by Jie. He is somber faced, as I stare into the fire morosely. I am in a blue funk, thinking back on Captain Somme's advice in Hyderabad: never get involved in China. Perhaps he was right. Ward hands me a steaming cup. Mmmm. This Changkuo fellow makes an impressive cuppa.

"You think you failed today."

"Isn't it obvious, sir? We lost Lieutenant Forrester and four men. Not to mention a dozen of the villagers we came here to protect!"

Ward nods, sipping his coffee. "O'Toole, you're still new at this. Look at the other side of things. 80 villagers were evacuated. As for your friend Forrester-- you are learning the hard truth of command. The truth is, sometimes you will have to order the men you lead to die. They don't tell you this at Sandhurst, but we all have to learn this hard lesson. Take it to heart, and use it, but don't sit here wallowing in self pity. I need officers, not blubbery. Let me tell you what *I* saw today. I saw a young officer turn and stand over poor collapsed Bertie Forrester, haul out his Malay chopper, and wade into a crowd of dozens of heathens, kill two and send the rest into flight. The MEN saw that. Here's a secret: They will follow an officer like that anywhere. Now, let's talk about your future."

"Yes SIR! What are my orders?"

He grins. I feel myself coming out of a funk immediately. Ward could do this with his men. The Chinese call him a wizard. I haven't seen this, yet, but I know he has a certain something I've never seen before-- that sheer, effortless influence on the men he leads.

"Let's talk shop for a second. Walk with me."

As we stroll among the campfires, Ward visits the clusters of men-- rather than being despondent from today's loss, they seem absurdly buoyant and willing to have another go at the Warlords. Oh, the magic of this man. I see it again and again.

"O'Toole, I'm concerned. You made a terrible enemy today.. that young student leader, H'sieh Lieng. You slew his elder brother... yes, yes, I know it was a fair fight and you were just acting as a rear guard. But you also marked Lieng *himself* across his face. The Chinee are sensitive about 'face', both literally and figuratively. Worse-- the Liengs, they are a prideful bunch. with long memories and long arms. I fear there will soon be no safe place for you in China."

"I can take care of myself, sir!"

"I know this.. but you will place our efforts here in jeopardy if you involve yourself in a local vendetta. So I am going to do two things for you. You are hereby ordered to take a recruitment and foraging detail back to Singapore, forthwith, to start building the second battalion of the EVA under Colonel Burgrevine"

"But sir! I protest! I did not come to China to be a drill master!"

He turned on me sharply.

"Then why DID you come, O'Toole? To learn to be a soldier, did you not tell me this when you were recruited? You will learn the less glamorous element of soldiering-- it's not all cavalry charges and dances, you young pup! No protestations, Lieutenant. Follow your orders or face insubordination charges. Now, I did mention TWO things. Here is the second. Repeat this charm after me.. "

"This WHAT, sir?"

"It is, for lack of a better term, a spell. Or cantrip, or formula for altering reality, if you will. It will summon aid."

"What kind of aid?"

"That which is most needed the moment it is pronounced. I can't give you any more details, as I don't know much more myself. Now follow along and remember this. It may save your life someday... Imperiequeritis, tria pendent corpora ramis dis meus et gestas in media et divina potestas dimeas clanator sed jetas as astra levarut..."

"Sir, Latin is not my strong suit..."

"LEARN this.. Again, with me, now.."

"Imperiequeritis, tria pendent....."

The memory fades..



I come to lying on the steel floor of a small room.. I feel the floor moving underneath me; I am on a ship of some sort, that much is obvious.

I painfully raise my head up and look at the wall, opening up my crusty, blood covered eyes. I wish I hadn't. The sign on the wall reads: THE DARK OCEAN SOCIETY. Across time, over thousands of miles, Lieng had found me again. I would not be lucky a third time.


At this point, I heard people approaching in the hallway. I feigned unconsciousness. The door opened, and I felt a presence enter the room.

"There is no use in feigning indisposition, Colonel. The reviving medication I gave you would suffice to bring you back from the dead, at this appointed hour, were I to wish it" said a soft, educated voice.

I looked up, and my fears were confirmed.


It was Lien Bao, the old sorcerer himself. I had merited some high level attention, it turned out. I suppose I should have been flattered.

"Colonel, allow me to apologize for the excessive zeal of my underlings... you may rest assured that the minion who was questioning you is now making the acquaintance of certain aquatic creatures in an intimate manner. You may also rest assured that we will take good care of you during the duration of our journey..

For, you see, my Master, the Dragon who Waits, Supreme Lord of Fusang, has a part for you to play in upcoming events. And he is a very, very patient man. It would not do to have you show up harmed in any way, no, not at all.."

Smiling unpleasantly, he departed the room, and I sunk back down into a merciful blackness.