England, London
Trafalgar Square
October 03, 1899, 07:44 a.m.

Beyond the dark and winding alleyways of Soho, where pitiful figures vegetated close together, furrowed like mangy animals in narrow chambers, London literally breathed a sigh of relief. The streets became broader and brighter, and the facades of the houses became white and clean. Fine coats, walking sticks, and top hats replaced clothes full of holes, dirt, and sweat. A dozen or so carriages pulled by sturdy horses crossed the busy streets of Trafalgar Square, passing the two large fountains and the awe-inspiring monument in honor of Admiral Nelson.

"One would think it would be harder to get a cab in London with an unconscious man," Dr. Archer grumbled in disbelief as he and Kyle Crowford stepped out of their vehicle. It leaned slightly to one side under the weight of the occupants and squeaked as Kyle stepped off the rusty step onto the sidewalk.

He let out a soft laugh, which was immediately dampened by a pained gasp as he heaved the arm of the unconscious O'Brien over his slender shoulders.

"You just don't understand the fundamental rules of the London streets, Doctor: if you look the other way, you don't get into trouble. Such behavior is immensely advantageous for someone in our line of work. Well, and for criminals, of course," Kyle explained to his partner, his voice a mix of caution and confidence, as they dragged the motionless villain as quickly and inconspicuously as possible into an alley behind the National Gallery and a secret passageway.

Behind an inconspicuous, heavy door made of bleached wood, they entered a dimly lit chamber. Only a single, weathered oil lantern illuminated the tiny room, in the middle of which a spiral staircase spiraled downwards. Next to a small side table, a figure dressed in plain working-class clothes sat on an old chair before a solitaire game and looked up.

In the shadow of the slouch hat, two glowing dots seemed to shine where the man's eyes should be.

Although Kyle had already passed the scrutinizing gaze of the silent guard dozens of times, his heart inevitably beat a little faster each time. He raised his hand briefly and pointed his finger at the unconscious O'Brien.

"Vinctus,"¹ uttered Kyle hurriedly, who had lost his Latin for a moment.

The guard seemed satisfied with his answer and sat down again, engrossed in his card game.

They hurriedly crossed the room and stepped onto the steel spiral staircase. The metallic groaning and clanging accompanied their steps into the depths and announced their arrival in the adjoining vaults. There was no need for traps or complex alarm spells when simple tools and inconspicuous methods could be used.

At the foot of the stairs, nothing awaited the descending party but a supposedly abandoned, dark storage room. On a small barrel, Kyle and Ben found - as usual - a barely glowing oil lamp. The echo of their footsteps reverberated off the walls as they made their way through the maze of shelves and collapsed crates.

The faint light of the lantern finally hit an old painting hanging on the wall among all the junk and refracted in the dull gold of an ornamental frame. Her Majesty Queen Victoria's scrutinizing gaze only turned away from them when Kyle activated the secret mechanism behind it. There was a deep scratching sound, followed by a click. Then, a hidden door opened in the unadorned wall next to the portrait.

Another posted guard awaited them in the chamber beyond. Two tall men in dark cloaks, their hats pulled low over their faces, flanked a dark, polished mahogany door. Three sliding bolts with chains adorned the door, and Kyle knew that an arcane spell secured each of them and could only be opened by one of the guards posted here: By the two guards in front, as well as the third on the other side of the door—a magus who could boil the blood of uninvited guests with a single word.

One of the guards approached the two to help them with the captured scoundrel. Kyle immediately reached into his vest pocket, as was the rule of the secret society, the headquarters they were currently in. Matching the rest of his exquisite clothing, he always carried a gold-plated pocket watch, which he now took out and presented to the guards.

The beautiful piece had a delicate triangle engraving on its lid, a pyramid with an Egyptian-looking eye - the symbol of the Royal Hermetic Order of Seekers.

The two guards quickly glanced at the clock, looked at each other briefly, nodded, and released two of the door seals.

"Mundus vult decipi ..." ² a deep voice rang from behind the sealed gate.

"Ergo decapitator," Benjamin replied in a firm voice. This opened the last gate to their destination.

After placing O'Brien in the care of the Order and sending a message to their mentor, Dr. Archer insisted on treating Kyle's wounds and pushed him to the headquarters hospital.

The hospital had a tiled treatment room full of strange, cold steel medical equipment and a couch and dissection table in the center.

Shelves were stacked with reference books, bandages, medicine in dark brown bottles, and large preserving jars with organs and other body parts floating in thick kerosene. The mere sight of this place made Kyle constantly uncomfortable. Such rooms made people feel strangely vulnerable and ill, even though they were healthy to the core. This area was only used by the Seekers, as members of the Order called themselves, in emergencies and was deserted and empty at this time.

Benjamin Archer was a trained military doctor who had often proven that he could take excellent care of his 'strange' partner's wounds. This was a great advantage with a companion like Kyle Crowford, who always tended to get himself into trouble.

"I'm down on my luck at the moment," Kyle muttered exhaustedly. His footsteps echoed across the room on the polished floor.

"Maybe you just swear too much, Crowford, and this is God's just punishment for you," Ben mused more jokingly, instructing his patient to sit down on the treatment table.

Kyle only replied with a soft, unamused snort.

But Ben could understand Kyle. They hadn't necessarily had much luck in the last year: While investigating in Chinatown, thanks to Kyle's loose mouth, they clashed with dangerous opium dealers. Even today, Ben's instincts were still alarming whenever he saw a Chinaman anywhere.

Their next case took them to a remote manor house. A wealthy nobleman had passed away, but his soul was supposedly still speaking to his widow. Of course, the main concern was the inheritance - and in the end, the medium who had acted as an intermediary turned out to be a brazen fraudster. Unsurprisingly, such incidents usually were nothing more than scams and trickery.

That's what they practically did in their private time: Members of the Order investigated strange events and cases, trying to hide supernatural entanglements from the eyes of the public—a dangerous pastime, which proved true again today.

Their current investigation had unexpectedly led the two Seekers to a violent escalation with a couple of Irish loyalists and gangsters, followed by a chase through Soho and an outright stabbing. And Kyle refused - as always - to have his injuries treated by a specialist.

"Well, think about it from this perspective: we've been injured, bewitched, and otherwise maltreated often enough, and yet we're still alive. In our very first case, we even had a run-in with an infernal being! I'd say we both make pretty capable Seekers."

Ben tried encouraging and disarmingly honest but hit a sore spot for Kyle.

"Yes, that's splendid! And how does the Order thank us for getting out of there alive? With a non-disclosure agreement and mockery from other Order members. I mean, how often do you banish a demon?"

Well, Kyle's arrogant nature and talk after and about their first case didn't exactly make them popular among the Seekers. This angered Crowford, who had hoped for far more prestige after such an arduous and life-threatening case.

"That was our first case," the doctor interjected placatingly. "No one could have expected a few strange deaths to end in a confrontation with something like this. Some Seekers have been in the Order for years and only encounter tricksters. The others don't believe the story," the doctor kept trying to reassure his partner - with only moderate success.

Dr. Archer's thoughts returned to the consequences of their fight back, which the mage still had to bear. Without thinking about it, he reached for Kyle's left hand. Only when the young Seeker instinctively flinched and stared at him did Ben realize his boldness and cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"Your hand," Dr. Archer justified himself in a somewhat hoarse voice, trying to adopt the stern tone of a doctor despite the muffled tone, "please show me the old wound. I want to make sure it's healing properly."

Kyle wrinkled his nose and clenched his fist, taking his fingers away from Ben.

"It's nothing. My hand's fine."

The doctor sighed soundlessly, then peeled off his coat and threw it on the dissection table beside them. "Do we always have to have these discussions again, Crowford?" he asked, trying to be patient.

Ben listened to the silence in the room for a few moments. It was only interrupted by Kyle, who groaned as he peeled himself out of his damaged coat. He looked at the tear in the fabric and the dried blood with an indignant expression.

"It's ruined. That's a nuisance..."

"Crowford." The doctor's voice was now severe and authoritative.

Kyle turned his head and stopped loosening his tie. Behind his sea-blue eyes, his expression showed the silent battle he was fighting with himself. His eyebrows drew together a little in an indecisive expression, and slight wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

"Shouldn't you look at the fresh wound first?" he made one last attempt.

Ben didn't answer. His gaze alone answered this question and clarified that he would not be distracted. Especially not when Kyle squirmed like a fish unexpectedly pulled ashore.

With a heavy sigh, as if the young mage had just had to solve all the riddles of humanity, he dropped his hands from the delicate fabric of his tie and instead reached for the black leather glove on his left hand. He plucked at the tips until the glove finally slipped off his fingers.

A bandage was wrapped several times around the palm and one finger and reached over the wrist. Kyle unwound the linen bandage, which was soiled by bloodstains and a blackish substance. Hesitating slightly, he finally held out his hand to Dr. Archer.

At the sight of the unhealed injury, Ben sucked the air sharply into his lungs, and his face hardened instantly.

¹) Vinctus - Latin 'bound', in this context = prisoner
² and ³) Latin "Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur" - The world wants to be deceived; so let it be deceived! - Motto of the Order of the Seekers / Original quote by Sebastian Brand -