The Cooking Mage & The Parchment Prankster Part One

EUROPE AND THE MEDITERRANEAN, 1890

1       Kingdom of Prussia and Saxony

2       United Kingdom of Great Britain, Ireland, and the American Duchies

3       Kingdom of Greece

4       Kingdom of Norway and Sweden

5       Kingdom of Denmark

6       Republic of France

7       Kingdom of Spain

8       Kingdom of Portugal

9       Duchy of Belgium

10      Kingdom of the Netherlands

11      Confederation of Switzerland

12      Kingdom of Italy

13      Grand Duchy of Corsica-Sardinia

14      Grand Duchy of Luxembourg

15      Principality of Romania

16      Principality of Bulgaria

17      Kingdom of Serbia

18      Grand Duchy of Sicily

19      Empire of Austria-Hungary

A      Empire of All The Russias

B      Osmanli Empire

C      Sultanate of Morocco

D      Emirate of Tunisia

E      Kingdom of Egypt

F      Emirate of Jebel Shammar

NORTH AMERICA, 1890

1      United Kingdom, American Duchy of New York

2      United Kingdom, American Duchy of the Great Lakes

3      United Kingdom, American Duchy of Pennsylvania

4      United Kingdom, American Duchy of Virginia

5      United Kingdom, American Duchy of Carolina

6      United Kingdom, American Duchy of Georgia

A      Native American Alliance

B      Grand Duchy of California

C      Marquisate of New Mexico

D      Grand Duchy of Texas

E      Confederation of Canada

F      Reino de México (Kingdom of Mexico)

THE EARLDOM OF JAMAICA, 1890

A      American Duchy of Georgia

B      Reino de México (Kingdom of Mexico)

C      República de Colombia (Republic of Colombia)

D      Império do Brasil (Empire of Brazil)

The Earldom of Jamaica consists of all the islands on the map above, with the exception of those closest to the coast of the Empire of Brazil.

The five major islands are Jamaica itself (with the capital at Kingstown), Cuba, Haiti, Borikén, and Trinidad.

As noted above, Gold Island is magickally hidden for obvious reasons, and appears on no maps.

An Important Note On Differing History, Differing Language(s).

This trilogy—a true tale—takes place between 13 September 1870 and 18 July 1891, in a world similar to yours, but with two major differences.

First is the reality magick works alongside technology, sometimes complementing it, sometimes supplanting it.

Second is the fact those who wield the various forms of magick are an accepted minority of the world’s population, including Europe, where most of these events take place.

Despite the existence of magick, the history of your world and this world were remarkably similar up to the point of divergence: the Battle of Culloden. Here, however, there had been a centuries-long tacit agreement throughout Europe banning the use of gunpowder weapons in war. The agreement ended on 16 April 1746.

As in your world, the English defeated the rebellious Jacobites, but the details of how the battle was fought, how many died, and how they died are different. As was the most significant political outcome, which in this world was the signing of the Gunpowder Treaty of 1750—a treaty magickally barring the use of gunpowder weapons in war.

You will discover there are various people in this world, mentioned in one or more volumes of the trilogy, who have the same names as important personages in your history books. Please remember they can’t be possibly be the same people, considering they grew up in a world where magick and technology co-exist.

As both your and our great L. Frank Baum once (somewhat) said: You all aren’t in Kansas any more.

With reference to language, these volumes have been written in the English of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Ireland, and the American Duchies, although it may lean toward some of the peculiarities of the English spoken in the American Duchies.

However, there are multiple words and phrases throughout the books which appear to be German (as you call it), and which are usually translated for your convenience. Those of you who are fluent in your German may believe some or all of those words and phrases are not proper German. Some of you may also form the same opinion as to properness relating to the use here of words and phrases in French or other languages.

Permit me to be the first to agree with you. They aren’t proper German, or French, et cetera. The German words and phrases about which you might have concerns are in fact in the language written and spoken in the Kingdom of Prussia and Saxony in 1890, and are therefore entirely correct. The same is true for the language of the Republic of France in our 1890. And any other languages.

Really. I checked with both Mouse and Georg, and they assure me all those words and phrases are in exceedingly excellent and proper Prussian, as verified by Die Übersetzungsabteilung des Königlichen Diplomatischen Dienstes (the Translation Department of the Royal Diplomatic Service). The words and phrases in languages other than English have the same verification.

With respect to the accuracy of the English, what with my having something of a connection to certain high officials in the Inquisition of the United Kingdom, the volumes have been reviewed with all the care one would expect from a department entrusted with the security of the Crown and the Realm. I have been assured grammatical usage, punctuation, spelling, capitalization, hyphenation, and so forth, are in complete compliance with the standards of TOMOS (The Oxford Manual of Style, 3rd ed. [Oxford: Royal Oxford Press, 1885]).

A last note related to grammar: Where, on very rare occasions during the writing of this true tale, the author has been uncertain whether a particular word is being used in strict accordance with its correct definition, the author has verified both definition and usage through the preeminent authority on the subject: The Oxford Historical Dictionary of the English Language, 1st ed. (Oxford: Royal Oxford Press, 1884).

Eric

p.s. As the dictionary is referenced throughout these tomes, the standard short version of the full title is most often used: O.D.E. I recognize the Royal Oxford Press originally recommended the abbreviation of O.H.D., with the intent the letters be individually pronounced. However, as some Tonnish wags almost immediately began pronouncing it to rhyme with odd—something entirely inconsistent with the scholarly excellence of the work—the publisher thereafter decided the short version of the title should be the Oxford Dictionary of English, or O.D.E. An ode to the marvelous English language is, of course, far better than odd.

13 September 1870. Rome. Very Late At Night.

At The Bottom Of The Spanish Steps, In The Shadows, Off To One Side,

And Afterwards, An Elsewhere Or Three.

In Wilfrid’s opinion, the Spanish Steps after midnight were the open-air equivalent of a den of perverts.

Sometimes, the Steps at night would be used by small, medium, or large numbers of revelers spilling out from galas, parties, or other social events at the Spanish Embassy. At other times there would be religious idiots—a phrase he could utter aloud only in utmost privacy with men of like mind—doing their own spilling from masses, or ceremonies or processionals or whatever the Catholics might do in the Santissima Trinità dei Monti at the top of the Steps. On rare occasions, Church and diplomatic revelers would mingle.

Tonight there were no revelers from the Spanish Embassy or the Church. Or if there were, for the most obvious of reasons, they weren’t identifying their affiliation.

He arrived early for the meeting and went to the appointed place. Paolo’s directions were specific, including a warning the location would be darker than the rest of the spaces where ordinary shadows congregated on and near the Steps. Earliness ensured his eyes were adjusted to the extra depth of dark before Paolo’s arrival, allowing Wilfrid to remain alert to his surroundings.

Excellent night vision made him regret his alertness.

And in all those lesser shadows, or not in shadow at all, there were perverts to the right of him, perverts to the left of him, perverts fucking everywhere. In both senses of the phrase.

Young men, middle-aged men, old men—on their knees, sucking the cocks of other young, middle-aged, old men. Or bent over, bracing themselves against a wall, a door, a statue, or their own knees, their trousers pulled to mid-thigh, or all the way to their ankles, as they were fucked with varying degrees of vigor.

Plus the man completely naked on the Steps themselves! Although he did spread his clothes on them, preventing his knees and hands and elbows from being scraped and scarred by the stone while being fucked. With no apparent concern he and his fucker were the most visible of all the men doing all the disgusting things they were doing.

While waiting for late-as-usual Paolo, he saw money changing hands. Often. Usually the youngest were collectors-of-coins, with the men who paid, sometimes before, sometimes after, quickly hiding their cocks and balls and scurrying away after they got what the wanted, or needed.

There was also the oddity of the thin, old man, who sucked and got fucked, and was also paid.

Whether paid or unpaid, some who stayed, looking for the next man, and the next, and the next, didn’t bother dressing again, but left their lower halves on display. Those who re-dressed stood almost casually, their postures making clear their availability to the men who moved up and down and around the Steps, looking, looking. The lookers would never have made decent spies, let alone good ones, as their furtiveness and body language were the equivalent of a loud shout about what they were doing, and why they were where they were.

When Paolo dropped to his knees in front of him, Wilfrid cut off the gasp before it became too loud, and kept his fury low, while whispering, Touch my cock and you’re dead.

Paolo’s voice was a razor slice of contempt, but only loud enough for the sound to rise and be heard by Wilfrid. If you think I want your cock in my mouth or anywhere else, you have even less intelligence than the little intelligence I give you credit for.

Wilfrid’s right fist began clenching, and relaxed before finishing, without Paolo moving.

Why here?

Paolo’s voice continued the coldness and contempt. Can we be seen together in public? Eating in the restaurant at your hotel or mine? Side by side tossing coins in the Trevi Fountain and wishing, not for a return to Rome, but for success? Walking down some street deep in conversation?

No. A reluctant admission. Wilfrid much preferred never being wrong.

Can we afford the risk of meeting at some obscure restaurant or tavern where we don’t think we’ll be seen, but we might be? Or any other place where someone might see us entering or exiting and file a report? Sometimes Wilfrid needed a point hammered home. As now.

No.

"And here we are in a place no one would ever suspect such fine, upstanding representatives of our nations could ever be. While we’re in greater darkness than anyone else using the Steps enjoys, our shapes, our positions are still visible.

"So put your hands on my deities-damned head, no, idiot, touch me like you’re going to hold it so you can fuck my face, while I pretend to undo your trousers. I, at least, am capable of doing more than one thing at the same time."

Paolo began bobbing his head in an efficient cock sucking manner, the kind of efficiency a whore might use, when he wanted his customer to get off, not so fast the customer felt cheated, but not too long, at risk of his mouth getting tired, or missing the cock of someone who might pay more.

Were we right about the fading?

Yes.

And we sped it up, but not enough it will be finished any time soon.

Yes.

We won’t have another chance for twenty years.

Then we’ll have to be ready when the twenty years are over.

The notes, the analyses?

In the agreed-upon place.

"Good. Now, I’m going to grab your arse with both hands, push my face into your groin without touching you, and you...you can do whatever it is you’d do if you were being sucked by a superlative cocksucker, and coming better than you have in a long time. Or ever."

Although Paolo couldn’t look up to gage the quality of the performance above him, he suspected it would have won Wilfrid no acting awards.

Wilfrid pushed Paolo’s head away when the supposed coming was done, something Paolo suspected would have happened even if the coming was real. Paolo rocked back on his heels, surprised Wilfrid followed through on the pretense and gave every appearance of tucking his cock away, and righting his trousers and himself.

A coin, please. No one who might notice us even a little is going to believe a handsome young whore like myself would suck you off without pay.

He dug a coin out of his pocket, and handed it over.

You are a bastard, Wilfrid Belden-Smythe said in an accent suitable for the highest echelons of the Ton. It wasn’t his real name, nor was he British.

I know, Paolo Alighieri replied, with the fluency of the aristocracy in Rome. It wasn’t his real name, nor was he Italian. He stood up.

Five languages could have been used for their conversation. Two for the names and nationalities they were using. The third was Paolo’s native tongue. The fourth was the native language of both Wilfrid and their employer. They picked the fifth.

Wilfrid left, Paolo watching to be sure he was gone.

Paolo was confident no one could have recognized Wilfrid, or seen anything other than shapes moving in the ways expected on the Steps at night. Particularly on a night when there was no one there who wasn’t looking for sex with another man.

Or a spy looking for knowledge useful for blackmail.

Or one of the lower-ranking Carabinieri, seeking a modest bribe, sometimes a coin, sometimes a hole, for not arresting the Spanish Steps perverts. The upper ranks of the Corpo dei Carabinieri Reali of course received their bribes in private.

Those conclusions being reached, he made his decision. He liked cock, a great deal. He was already here, he was young, and hung. No reason for him not to enjoy the Spanish Steps.

Which he did. Three times. Without ever dispensing a coin.

A most satisfactory day and night in all respects. He would make a casual pass by the drop-spot, collect the package, and leave Rome in the morning.

The plan had begun.

The next twenty years would be difficult, but their goal could be accomplished. Only one reasonably foreseeable difficulty at the moment. The reliance of... No. He wouldn’t name the ruler or the country even in his head, lest he slip and reveal it aloud when he shouldn’t.

The difficulty was the more than problematic reliance of Wilfrid’s employer on Seers when making decisions. In Paolo’s never-humble opinion, with such opinions not always being spoken aloud.

Paolo recognized Seers had their value, but they weren’t accurate often enough to use what they Saw of the future as a foundation for current decision-making. Precise accuracy, not the all-too-frequent, after-the-event, Oh, yes, that’s what I meant. Didn’t you understand?

Definitely not the precision required for the kinds of decisions the plan would involve.

Still, the conspirators who were doing the actual work, the actual planning, would see what they would see—he smiled inside his head at his word choice—and deal with the employer, the Seers, and any Seeings as necessary.

He left the Spanish Steps, went down a street, around a corner, with a few more strides taking him into an alley. As a shadow-walker—a rare magickal talent he hadn’t shared with Wilfrid or their employer—he knew whether the alley darkness was occupied by anything more than rats, or other non-human vermin. It wasn’t. With a flick of magick he stepped into the shadows, becoming incorporeal and invisible.

He wasted no time on a circuitous route, even though it meant being occasionally visible when he walked through better-lit areas. Since the immediate vicinity of his destination—the Porta Sant'Anna, right next to the Swiss Army barracks—was bright with lighting both magickal and physical, he left the shadows well before he got there.

What any observer would have seen of the last part of his journey was a Roman citizen, staggering and swaying from imbibing too much. So much imbibing, a stagger led to a slip which led to bracing himself on the wall with the niche containing the package.

He mentally patted his own back, and complimented his brilliance, in selecting a transfer site at a location so holy (next to the church of Sant'Anna de' Parafrenieri), and so military (the barracks), no one would expect anyone to have the audacity to use it.

His body blocked sight of his right hand, and in a moment the paper-wrapped package was tucked inside his shirt. Upright, his face was all befuddled amazement at not being where he was supposed to be. A squinting look around, a direction decided, he staggered away, eventually reaching darkness, and slid again into shadow.

The lobby of the expensive hotel was well-lit even so late at night or so early in the morning, staffed by observant, always alert men. Given how many international travelers stayed there, those men might, or might not, be in the pay of the Italian equivalent of secret police, or, La Polizia Segreta del Re, to give their department its proper title. As he walked in, Paolo was the somewhat stumbling, somewhat disarrayed, somewhat bleary-eyed image of a man who has enjoyed a multitude of the wonders Rome offered travelers at night.

So much enjoyment he was drunkenly singing, with only moderate loudness, a popular bawdy ballad not sung in the finer establishments providing musical entertainment well after dark. The lyrics were pronounced with the accent of a foreigner who did not know Italian well.

The singing might have been a precaution to conceal any noises the papers inside his shirt might make in the otherwise silent lobby as he crossed to the stairs.

Or not. The song was a favorite, and his voice was excellent.

But still, no secrets here. What you see is all there is.

In the morning, not too early, not too late, Paolo checked out, the perfect image of a tired business traveler who regretted, but not totally, the excesses of the night before.

As a professional traveler, he didn’t let the not-quite-hidden, knowing smirks of the concierge, the bellman, and several others who had gathered for the departure ceremony of the bestowing of la mancia, prevent his paying the right amount. Not so large as to be remembered for unusual generosity, but not so small as to be remembered as a miser. An unmemorable traveler, blending into the mass of all the rest of the non-memorables.

As Paolo’s observational skills were as fine as his cock sucking, he was sure no one followed him after leaving the hotel, but he still started his journey with a train going nowhere near his ultimate destination.

Alas, while Paolo’s cock sucking skills were truly fine, his observational skills vis-à-vis being followed, were less so.

Alas-the-second—for the conspiracy—he never knew that while his train-tactics succeeded in losing his followers, it wasn’t so with the man who followed when he left the Steps. Although it would be years before his opponents made use of the almost-forgotten report of what happened between the Steps and the hotel.

14 August 1871. At An Undisclosed Location.