“I have a special assignment just for the two of you.” Miss Weston speaks, “My secretary is out on a business trip across town and I can entrust this to you. Crow’s Plague is on the decline now so consider this a ‘breather’ while the other doctors are out on the field. Take this message to Corbeld. Find out where he’s been these past few days since he’s failed to report back to me since he was last here three days ago. I wrote his address down on the envelope.”

  She hands Peter the envelope. He looks to her and nods.

  “I’m guessing you’re far too busy to take this to him yourself?” Marianne asks.

  “Right you are, dear. As concerned as I am for his whereabouts, frankly I just don’t have the time to hunt him down.”

  “I see. Understood then. Let’s go dear.”

  Marianne tugs on Peter’s sleeve to get his attention. He stops examining the address on the envelope and turns to face her.

  “Right. Onward then.” He replies.

  Weston watches them leave before returning to the mountain of paperwork atop her desk. She lets out a sigh and lights a cigarette.

  The steam carriage drives over the hill and turns into the driveway. The upscale brick house was two stories tall with a chimney atop the roof and a port with a steam carriage parked underneath. Peter and Marianne pulled up behind the parked carriage and stepped out. A light rain pattered on the tiled rooftop. The skies were dull and gray. Marianne was the first to ascend the small stone staircase to the front door. She grabbed the bronze door knocker to pound it against the wood.

  “There’s a carriage here. He must be home.” Peter commented.

  There was no response. Marianne knocks again. Still no response. Peter is having his doubts. He reaches an arm past Marianne and slams the knocker louder. A muffled voice comes from beyond the door. It opens up.

  Corbeld’s expression shows one of surprise. His hair is a bit messy, clothes disheveled and a book in his hands.

  “Wha-? You two… Look vaguely familiar.” Corbeld says, squinting his eyes.

  Peter crosses his arms. Marianne presses a hand on her hip.

  “Marianne is the name. This is my husband, Peter. We’re Black Doctors with the Institute.” She says.

  Corbeld’s eyes widen. He runs a hand through his hair to try and fix it. Peter approaches and offers the envelope.

  “The chairwoman is concerned about you due to your absence recently. We know who you are, mister Corbeld. Our analytical supervisor. This is for you, by the way. We were sent in the place of miss Weston’s absent secretary. Keeping track of the Black Doctors isn’t in your paygrade I’m sure so we’re not offended if you do not know of our names.” Peter states.

  Corbeld takes the envelope. He raises an eyebrow then motions his head to the left.

  “Forgive me but you are correct. Please, do come in then. Make sure to wipe your shoes please.” Corbeld says.

  He heads towards a desk in the living room where he takes a letter opener from inside the desk drawer to cut open the envelope. He tosses it into the trash bin nearby. His eyes scan the contents of the note;

  To Mr. Corbeld…

  I understand as of late you’ve been very busy in keeping up with our organization’s partners and associates. You’re always out in the field gathering data. I hardly have seen you since the outbreak of Crow’s Plague began. However, over the course of the past three days you have yet to return to the Institution and file your reports. I am growing concerned and want to know if you are okay. I’m sending someone to deliver this to your home address. As your superior, I expect you to report to me as soon as possible unless unable due to any number of circumstances. I will not tolerate unexcused absence from one of my most trusted and well-respected employees. Your assistant is worried as well. Do return or there will be consequences.

  -Weston

  Corbeld wipes sweat from his brow. He takes a deep breath and sets the note down. He faces Peter and Marianne who are now sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. Corbeld takes the glass of liquor on the desk and leans against it. The liquor sloshes around in the glass before he takes a sip.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “I do apologize for my… absence. The emergence of the vermin infestation had caused quite a stir amidst this endemic of Crow’s Plague. I’m sure you and especially miss Weston will understand how I’ve been running rampant all over the city visiting our associates, taking notes, checking in on these other organizations, businesses, etcetera.” Corbeld explains.

  Peter and Marianne glance at each other then back to him.

  “We understand. However, we are not who you should be explaining this to. You should return to the Institution immediately. Miss Weston was not in a good mood.” Marianne says.

  “It’s not our job to pry into your work so we won’t. We’re simply the messengers here. I’d advise reporting back. Surely that will not be an issue, will it mister Corbeld?” Peter asks.

  Corbeld nods. He takes another sip of liquor then sets the glass down.

  “Not at all. I… was actually getting ready to head there myself. I just needed a breather is all. Promise.” He replies.

  Peter and Marianne nod. The two stand up and bow to him.

  “Understood. We’ll be taking our leave then. I’m sure we’ll see you again at some point. Or not. Either way, take care.” Marianne says.

  Corbeld takes a deep sigh and retires to his couch to read a red-bound leather book. Marianne pats Peter on the shoulder and points to the stairs. She’s silently gesturing to go up. He quickly gazes into the living room to see Corbeld occupied with his book. He nods.

  The two quietly climb the staircase. With some distance gained, Peter turns to speak to Marianne;

  “Great minds think alike my dear. Should we poke around? Something about Corbeld seemed… off to me.”

  “Mm. Lets.”

  On the second story there’s a bathroom and a guest room. Of course they found nothing of note. The guest room was nice and tidy with a bed, mirror, wardrobe and empty shelf. All set for someone to reside in. They checked the rooms off of their mental list. Neither of them wished to intrude into Corbeld’s bedroom. Instead, they find the study.

  It seemed to be quite the lavish room. Shelves were lined with many books. A single red velvet chair was next to a beautiful lamp and small end table. A glass display case held a sword inside and engraved on the case’s bronze plaque was; ‘Father’s Blade.’

  “Perhaps a memento of his fathers handed down to him? The style and age would date it from the Civil War era.” Peter says, closely examining the sword behind glass.

  Marianne smirked. She was never a history buff unlike Peter. It amuses her whenever he becomes fixated on old relics or technology. Something of which she also found at the study desk. An ornate oak desk engraved with whimsical patterning sat before her. On the desk surface itself is a pen, ink quill, a small stack of blank papers, hourglass and most noticeably; an intricate mechanical device. A cylindrical mechanism made of bronze with tiny gears and a switch. She flicks the switch. The lid opens up and an arm with a spyglass attached to the tip unfolds out of the device. She could adjust the arm.

  “Curious. Dearie come look at this.” Marianne calls out.

  Peter walks over to her and pushes the padded wooden chair aside. His eyes light up. He gently adjusts the arm.

  “Fascinating. It’s a spyglass generally used by government officials, police officers and detectives to closely examine written papers, objects or evidence.” Peter explains.

  “Why do you think he would have this?”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t feel like staying in his workplace office and uses this to examine documents here in the comfort of his own home? Quite an expensive looking device. It’s installed into the desk as well. A custom implementation.”

  “Hm. That makes sense. Would you check the drawers? I’m going to peek into these up here.”

  Marianne examines the small cubby holes above. Envelopes. Stamps. Folded papers. She starts going through the papers. They consist of bills, letters sent to Corbeld and miscellaneous papers kept for various purposes be it importance or laziness.

  Peter rummages through the top drawer. He finds a small family photograph of a young boy and his parents. A travel passport. The deed to the house. A birth certificate. A small steel bin for holding pencils and pens. He sighs and shuts it to open the second drawer. Just a binder with several papers inside. They are records of notable documentation including the establishment of additional funding for the London Institution of Medicine from the London Medical Association complete with a signature from it’s CEO.

  “Hm. Must be copies. Documents like these cannot be taken from the Institute.” Peter murmurs.

  He opens the third and last drawer. Neatly organized folders like a filing cabinet each labeled by a tab with a letter. Marianne steps away as he begins to pull out folders to examine their contents. She wanders over to check out Corbeld’s collection of books. She recognizes some titles. Mystery novella. Romance stories. Fantasy tales. She admired his taste in literature. It wasn’t long before he heard Peter call out her name;

  “Marianne. Come quick.”

  There was a dour tone in his voice. She walks over to him. He has a folder laid out on the desk. He taps a finger on the top piece of paper.

  “I found this under ‘S’. It’s an operation. Scourge is its name. A large-scale project. Take a look.” Peter says.

  Marianne nods. She puts her hand on the desk to skim the document. As she’s reading, her expression of sternness fades to gloom. Peter feels disgusted.

  “A… a major operation designed to exploit the crisis of Crow’s Plague by targeting the ‘scum’ of our city. The poor. The penniless. The homeless. The weak. A plan that’s been cooking in the works for nearly a year. Crow’s Plague coming up serves as a sign from God. A perfect time to cull the herd. With the vermin breeding, unleashing the rats to ‘poison the well’ so to say, will act as the climax. So long as we stay in the shadows under the ever-watchful eyes of the law… Lord what am I reading??” Marianne spits.

  Footsteps inch closer and closer to the doorway. The sound of a flintlock clicking is heard. Marianne and Peter look up to see Corbeld holding them at gunpoint. His eyes narrow on the document then focus on the pair.

  “Something that’s not for your eyes…” Corbeld mutters.