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You can read more original fiction from Emily Chesley in the Meanderings of the Emily Chesley Reading Circle<

The Transcript of Eldred Thunk
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The Transcript of Eldred Thunk
-- a speculative fiction by Scott Hill

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Old Spittle,
ninety years old if he was a day.

This particular night, a fortnight ago, was conspicuous for several reasons. Our regular circle had all been unable to play. Abner Tarquin.yes the lawyer Tarquin, had been ill with the gout. Bob Smyth had broken his leg falling out of a hansom. Drunk as a newt I'll wager. And Vic Somlinson was out of the country. And so it was I found myself wandering down to the Snake and Garter. If you're there by seven there's a good chance you can get in on a game. Sure enough, I was there no more than ten minutes when we were shuffling the cards. I don't know the names of the gentlemen I played with, and I use the term gentlemen loosely, but I'll describe them by the names I thought of them by. There was Old Spittle, ninety years old if he was a day. Couldn't count to three using the teeth in his head but played a solid game, seldom speaking, counting his points methodically. Pike was a foreigner, maybe a German or a Dutchman with a mouth full of small sharp teeth and a nasty disposition. He cheated several times but strangely only on the inconsequential hands Almost as if he were just practicing. And there was Froggy the Frenchman. I have never trusted a Frenchman and, so far as I know, this has been a prudent course of action for my entire life.

So we played on enjoying a few glasses of ale and as the night went on the talk flowed. Old Spittle kept shuffling and playing, minding his business until Pike made a peculiar comment. Pike simply said that as far as he was concerned Russia was a backward nation of dung eaters. It seemed a harmless enough comment but Old Spittle was suddenly energized in a way I wouldn't have thought possible. And as he spoke it became apparent that his English bore a very strong accent. Something Eastern European, perhaps Russian. If so that might explain his agitation. Then just as quickly as he lost his temper, he composed himself, turned his back and walked out! As strange as this seemed, what was even stranger was Pike and Froggy quickly exchanging hoarse whispers. I caught a couple of words that sounded like "North Pier" and "tonight". But when they realized that I was still there, they promptly threw their cards down and walked out.

As I gathered he cards I tried to make sense of what had transpired. Presently this notion came to me: Suppose Old Spittle really was a Russian. Obviously Pike and Froggy were on to him, but why? Then it hit me. Maybe Old Spittle was one of the Tsar's jewelers, perhaps even Faberge himself - oh I know it sounds foolish now but at the time my thoughts were racing - and they were looking to get their hands on some of those valuable works of jewelers' art. I collected the cards and started for home, I really did, but the more I thought about it the more I believed this mystery would only be resolved by seeing it out at the scene: the North Pier.

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