The Infernal Aether (First Draft)

Chapter 23 - Be Careful What You Wish For

I sat at my usual table in my usual tavern, taking another long swig of my drink. I put the mug back on the table, looked around and then sighed; I had hoped that that would have been the drink to despatch me to blessed oblivion. No such luck.

I had returned from our break in the country with my nerves even more shredded than before we left. Andras occupied a large proportion of my mind, although he did have plenty of company in there. My usual crushing black depression was accompanied by dollops of self-loathing and garnished with a large helping of self-pity.

Time and again my thoughts wandered back to the words spoken to me over the Telecommunicator by the creature purporting to be my deceased mother. Whether it actually had been my mother was now an irrelevance; they had struck a chord, exposing long-buried fears and the knowledge that I was a disappointment. What had I actually done with my life? What had I achieved with my talents and skills? Nothing. These black thoughts drove me to yet more drink for those brief moments of blessed release when all thoughts stopped, moments which deep down I knew just added to my constant spiral of mediocrity.

Matters were made even worse by the relatively new realisation that there was much more to this world than I had previously thought; indeed, much more than most right-minded people would even suspect. I missed the days when Demons, ghosts and homicidal scientists were matters of fiction, entertaining diversions or superstitions for me to scoff at. My recent adventures with N'yotsu had exposed me to so much more than should really be credible, to the extent that not only was I jumping at every shadow I passed but also seriously doubting my own sanity.

I took another swig of beer and was surprised to see a man sitting on the other side of the table, watching me with a smile on his face.

I eyed him suspiciously. He was dressed extremely fashionably, far too immaculately for the tavern in which we sat. An incredibly expensive hat sat on the table in front of him, raising in me a sudden pang of fear for our safety. Experience had taught me that the deliberate flaunting of wealth in the East End would often end up with the bearer being deprived of that wealth, often in a rather fatal manner.

I looked around but no one seemed to be paying my companion or I the slightest bit of attention. Before I could reflect on this the man spoke.

"Hello, friend," he said.

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"Yes and no. Let's go for mostly 'no' at this point. I noticed you sitting here on your own and thought that you could do with cheering up. And I believe I have something which could do just that."

I looked at the man, noting his over-keen presentation and the fact that he was sitting in a tavern without a drink, and then shook my head. Most salesmen knew not to bother me but this one was clearly new to the area. "No, thank you," I said. "I am not interested."

"I think you might be," he said with a grin and leaned forwards. "I know that you come here to get release from your troubles."

I raised an eyebrow. "Along with everyone else here. You will have to do better than that."

"You have had a troubled time over the past few months. Your experiences weigh heavily on you."

"Are you a salesman or a travelling clairvoyant?" I asked. "Presumably you're now going to tell me you can speak to my dead relatives. In point of fact, if you can, could you ask them if there's any more money buried anywhere? I am running a bit low in funds."

"You would be well advised to not be so flippant. You of all people should know that no good comes of communicating with the dead."

My mug froze as it touched my lips. "What do you mean?" I asked slowly.