Penny #28
Title: “Talking Things Over”
Author/Artist: Scriptator
Fandom: Concarnadine (original)
Rating: Probably PG
Prompt: #065 - “Junction”
Warnings:
Disclaimer: Everyone in here is an Original Character. Please ask before borrowing.
Penny woke on the couch at Chelsea, again. Then she remembered where she was and why. She hoped Tiger was all right, but so long as Sandy Miniver had been able to use the spare key to get him, he ought to have been.
What was the more trenchant issue was exactly how safe she was herself. Were there still girl-witches looking for her ? Or had the negation of the peculiar thing that they had created (or had had created for them) to plant on her (nice pun there: a plant, made of a plant burr) also put at naught their efforts to locate her ?
And, when she peered through the curtains, there was the slightly alarming sight of a police car, parked in front of the house, empty but nevertheless there.
“Circe Botulbruss,” DI Barratt said, without preamble (once they were all of them there, with what they wanted for breakfast - Barratt had some toast and a small bowl of (to a Scot) quite palatable porridge (even if he didn’t want to know how Borin knew just how to prepare it)), “is the daughter of an Albanian who came here in the sixties as a refugee, and married a local girl - fourth-generation Galician. However, her birth apart, she only comes onto the records when she appears as an accountant for a failing TV enterprise up in Camden. When that collapsed, she joined up with Abiram Glyndour, who was trying to launch a small independent production company, and that eventually became Imago, about whom you already know.”
He looked round the assembled company, his eye deliberately passing over the two whom, under other circumstances, he would have wanted to take aside for a serious professional “chat”, and moved to his conclusion.
“Since the … incident … with Ms, Mortenson, Imago has taken quite a hit - Glyndour owes a number of favours to people, for keeping him afloat, and she has been a lot lower-profile. However, there is a rumour that, contrary to appearances, it is she who is now in the driving seat, and that Imago is no longer the basis of what wealth she displays. Oh, and she lives on a houseboat in the Little Venice complex. Not, as her personal information would indicate, in a Canary Wharf apartment: that’s just an accommodation address shared with half a dozen other former Bright Young Things in the entertainment industry - though “young” may be a variable quantity: from what we can tells she is several years older than any of the others, though you’d not know it to look at her..”
“Thank you,” Concarnadine said. “Did you want to go now, before … ?”
“No - I’ll stay, thank you. I’d like to know everything that you know, before I have to work to find it out.”
“All right.” Concarnadine turned his attention to the slightly scruffy man in a battered top-coat and a cloud of violet scent (from his hair-tonic). “You’re on.”
Wantage, slightly nervous at the presence of a bobby in the room, and trying hard not to show it, drew breath, and tried to remember his diction.
“Yer lady ’as a reputation fer … for sharp-dealing. She does deals based on gross sums, and then hoicks back everything she can on expenses and admin costs. She does use the Canary Wharf place, for parties ‘n the like. She doesn’ work with the mobs, though - even though where she is, is Bexton mob territory. Just goes ’er own way.”
Concarnadine nodded, and Borin leaned forward.
“Anywhere else she has on your patch, Wantage ?”
“ ’part from ’er offices, nah. She used to keep some stuff at the Wharf place, but she moved it out a few months ago - just after the business wiv ’er.” He jerked a thumb in Penny Mortenson’s direction.
There was a moment’s silence and then Elizabeth turned to the other newcomer (also subject to Barratt’s interested scrutiny).
“Michael - anything to add ?”
’Michael’ (also familiarly known as ‘Overpass’) was a skinny grey-haired Caribbean, dressed in council overalls, with the logos removed. He also wore a woollen cap, which he swiped from his head as he gave his account.
“She i’nt someone t’go neah,” he said, with just the trace of his original patois accent under his metropolitan; “Got th’ boat, like the Man say. Got a li’l posse of girls come’n go from theah, runnin’ her errands for her. Got ‘nother boat out Brentford way, in a boatyard. Got ‘nother lot of young ‘uns out theah, too. Takes ‘em up along the canal, goin’ nature ramblin’.”
He looked round and subsided into silence.
Penny held her breath: all of this was going at a pace that left her breathless, and the idea that the authorities were cooperating, even to this extent, with -
Her chain of thought was broken when DI Barratt leaned forward from his chair, to look Overpass in the eye.
“If - I’m sorry: I don’t know your name - “
“Just call him Michael,” Concarnadine advised.
Barratt nodded. “If I read you right, Mr. Michael, you’re implying that ‘nature rambles’ aren’t what Ms. Bottulbruss is actually doing with these children. So what do you believe is going on ?”
Overpass drew a deep breath, exhaled with the air of a man venturing onto ground he would rather not have been, and said “In mah opinion, sir, black magic and voodoo.”
“Black magic,” Concarnadine said, when Barratt and his sergeant had gone.
“D’ you need me ?” Wantage asked, from his corner.
“Would you rather you only found out much later ?” Concarnadine asked, and the little man subsided back onto his chair.
Overpass nodded: “Like I tol’ the Man, she teaching these young ‘uns the Dark Arts. They’m learning t’ put the ‘fluence on their peers, and all the time she’s puttin’ on them something fierce. But ain’t nothin’ I or mine can do: these youngsters don’ listen to mine sort ‘f talk.”
“So, what is she trying to do with Penny ?” Elizabeth asked. “Or, what do you think she’s trying ?”
“She wants ‘im,” Wantage said, jerking his thumb at Concarnadine. “And she’d not mind if ‘er boss,” and this time the thumb pointed Penny out, “could be got at again.”
“So, practically, she’s our common enemy,” Borin commented, dourly.
“And whoever it is behind her,” Penny said. The words came from her analytic side: she couldn’t have rationalised them until they were spoken,
“Behind her ?” Concarnadine queried: “Are you sure ?”
“No,” Penny replied. “Not sure, not … certain. But it would make sense. The first attack - to call it that - was on Elizabeth and me, at the studio. At that point, they - or she - were obviously trying to get to both Adrian LeGrange and Mr Concarnadine. But she was using other people to do it. So she is part of something larger. She was pretty thoroughly warned off then, but she is still persisting. That speaks either of suicidal idiocy - she must know how much power Mr. Concarnadine can call to his service - or of someone behind her, directing her to continue her efforts.”
There was a spell of silence, whilst they all considered the implications.
Author/Artist: Scriptator
Fandom: Concarnadine (original)
Rating: Probably PG
Prompt: #065 - “Junction”
Warnings:
Disclaimer: Everyone in here is an Original Character. Please ask before borrowing.
Penny woke on the couch at Chelsea, again. Then she remembered where she was and why. She hoped Tiger was all right, but so long as Sandy Miniver had been able to use the spare key to get him, he ought to have been.
What was the more trenchant issue was exactly how safe she was herself. Were there still girl-witches looking for her ? Or had the negation of the peculiar thing that they had created (or had had created for them) to plant on her (nice pun there: a plant, made of a plant burr) also put at naught their efforts to locate her ?
And, when she peered through the curtains, there was the slightly alarming sight of a police car, parked in front of the house, empty but nevertheless there.
“Circe Botulbruss,” DI Barratt said, without preamble (once they were all of them there, with what they wanted for breakfast - Barratt had some toast and a small bowl of (to a Scot) quite palatable porridge (even if he didn’t want to know how Borin knew just how to prepare it)), “is the daughter of an Albanian who came here in the sixties as a refugee, and married a local girl - fourth-generation Galician. However, her birth apart, she only comes onto the records when she appears as an accountant for a failing TV enterprise up in Camden. When that collapsed, she joined up with Abiram Glyndour, who was trying to launch a small independent production company, and that eventually became Imago, about whom you already know.”
He looked round the assembled company, his eye deliberately passing over the two whom, under other circumstances, he would have wanted to take aside for a serious professional “chat”, and moved to his conclusion.
“Since the … incident … with Ms, Mortenson, Imago has taken quite a hit - Glyndour owes a number of favours to people, for keeping him afloat, and she has been a lot lower-profile. However, there is a rumour that, contrary to appearances, it is she who is now in the driving seat, and that Imago is no longer the basis of what wealth she displays. Oh, and she lives on a houseboat in the Little Venice complex. Not, as her personal information would indicate, in a Canary Wharf apartment: that’s just an accommodation address shared with half a dozen other former Bright Young Things in the entertainment industry - though “young” may be a variable quantity: from what we can tells she is several years older than any of the others, though you’d not know it to look at her..”
“Thank you,” Concarnadine said. “Did you want to go now, before … ?”
“No - I’ll stay, thank you. I’d like to know everything that you know, before I have to work to find it out.”
“All right.” Concarnadine turned his attention to the slightly scruffy man in a battered top-coat and a cloud of violet scent (from his hair-tonic). “You’re on.”
Wantage, slightly nervous at the presence of a bobby in the room, and trying hard not to show it, drew breath, and tried to remember his diction.
“Yer lady ’as a reputation fer … for sharp-dealing. She does deals based on gross sums, and then hoicks back everything she can on expenses and admin costs. She does use the Canary Wharf place, for parties ‘n the like. She doesn’ work with the mobs, though - even though where she is, is Bexton mob territory. Just goes ’er own way.”
Concarnadine nodded, and Borin leaned forward.
“Anywhere else she has on your patch, Wantage ?”
“ ’part from ’er offices, nah. She used to keep some stuff at the Wharf place, but she moved it out a few months ago - just after the business wiv ’er.” He jerked a thumb in Penny Mortenson’s direction.
There was a moment’s silence and then Elizabeth turned to the other newcomer (also subject to Barratt’s interested scrutiny).
“Michael - anything to add ?”
’Michael’ (also familiarly known as ‘Overpass’) was a skinny grey-haired Caribbean, dressed in council overalls, with the logos removed. He also wore a woollen cap, which he swiped from his head as he gave his account.
“She i’nt someone t’go neah,” he said, with just the trace of his original patois accent under his metropolitan; “Got th’ boat, like the Man say. Got a li’l posse of girls come’n go from theah, runnin’ her errands for her. Got ‘nother boat out Brentford way, in a boatyard. Got ‘nother lot of young ‘uns out theah, too. Takes ‘em up along the canal, goin’ nature ramblin’.”
He looked round and subsided into silence.
Penny held her breath: all of this was going at a pace that left her breathless, and the idea that the authorities were cooperating, even to this extent, with -
Her chain of thought was broken when DI Barratt leaned forward from his chair, to look Overpass in the eye.
“If - I’m sorry: I don’t know your name - “
“Just call him Michael,” Concarnadine advised.
Barratt nodded. “If I read you right, Mr. Michael, you’re implying that ‘nature rambles’ aren’t what Ms. Bottulbruss is actually doing with these children. So what do you believe is going on ?”
Overpass drew a deep breath, exhaled with the air of a man venturing onto ground he would rather not have been, and said “In mah opinion, sir, black magic and voodoo.”
“Black magic,” Concarnadine said, when Barratt and his sergeant had gone.
“D’ you need me ?” Wantage asked, from his corner.
“Would you rather you only found out much later ?” Concarnadine asked, and the little man subsided back onto his chair.
Overpass nodded: “Like I tol’ the Man, she teaching these young ‘uns the Dark Arts. They’m learning t’ put the ‘fluence on their peers, and all the time she’s puttin’ on them something fierce. But ain’t nothin’ I or mine can do: these youngsters don’ listen to mine sort ‘f talk.”
“So, what is she trying to do with Penny ?” Elizabeth asked. “Or, what do you think she’s trying ?”
“She wants ‘im,” Wantage said, jerking his thumb at Concarnadine. “And she’d not mind if ‘er boss,” and this time the thumb pointed Penny out, “could be got at again.”
“So, practically, she’s our common enemy,” Borin commented, dourly.
“And whoever it is behind her,” Penny said. The words came from her analytic side: she couldn’t have rationalised them until they were spoken,
“Behind her ?” Concarnadine queried: “Are you sure ?”
“No,” Penny replied. “Not sure, not … certain. But it would make sense. The first attack - to call it that - was on Elizabeth and me, at the studio. At that point, they - or she - were obviously trying to get to both Adrian LeGrange and Mr Concarnadine. But she was using other people to do it. So she is part of something larger. She was pretty thoroughly warned off then, but she is still persisting. That speaks either of suicidal idiocy - she must know how much power Mr. Concarnadine can call to his service - or of someone behind her, directing her to continue her efforts.”
There was a spell of silence, whilst they all considered the implications.