Duty And Duplicity; Book 5 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 17: Shadrach Of Napoli free porn video
“Gone? Gone where? Gone when?”
My questions were aimed at the Neapolitan Royal Guard officer commanding the piquet guarding Cleopatra’s Palace.
Fortunately, he knew me from the ball I attended at the Royal Palace on New Year’s Eve, otherwise, like as not, he would have sent me off with a boot up the backside. And who could have blamed him?
I was a disgusting and frightening sight; begrimed as a chimney sweep, blood stained clothing, hair a tangle, face unwashed, and chin unshaven.
“Where else would Cleopatra go but to Egypt, Milord Clonygowan. As for when she left, who knows?” He gave a continental shrug.
“During a search yesterday seditious pamphlets were discovered at the printing press that bears her name. When I arrived this morning all that was found on the premises were exhausted harlots, exhausted and drunken English milords, and Alvarez Domingo, who is now in prison.”
I thanked the officer and rode to my hotel where, after a thorough wash, shave, change of linen and outer clothing, made me presentable enough to seek an interview with Alvarez Domingo.
I had no trouble persuading the turnkey to admit me. A gold coin is better than a set of keys in a prison.
When shown to Domingo’s cell I had the shock of my life.
He was imprisoned in the luxury a minor potentate would welcome.
“Come in, my dear fellow, and please sit down.”
Domingo waved a hand, which clutched a goblet of wine, in the direction of a fine upholstered chair that would not have been out of place in the Royal Palace. He smiled at the expression of stupefaction on my face.
“Not much like Newgate is it, Colonel? Then, Napoli is certainly not London.”
He set down his goblet on a silver-topped side table, lifted a decanter, and poured me a matching goblet. I took it, bemused by the richness and comfort surrounding me.
“Cheers,” Domingo said, and clinked his glass with mine.
I drank, still in a state of bewilderment.
“You may not be so surprised at my comfortable incarceration when I tell you I am the employee of a cabal of rich, influential, and powerful men. Nothing incriminating was found at Cleopatra’s Palace, when the Austrians came to search, and in due course all the hidden contraband will be returned, and normal service resumed. Those pamphlets found at Cleopatra Publishing, of which, ironically, Eloise knew nothing about, were a profitable side line of mine. Of course she will be blamed, and I will be acquitted of any wrongdoing. My imprisonment will be short, and soon I will be back as the administrator of Cleopatra’s Palace, but with a new Cleopatra of course.”
His phrase, ‘a cabal of rich, influential and powerful men’, resonated in my brain.
“You work for those men who have introduced White Lady into Europe?”
He nodded. “Yes, the Organisation is responsible for importing White Lady, as you call it – the Organisation prefers the term ‘Columbian snuff’ – to Europe. We also provide young females and males to the most prestigious bordellos on the continent. Sexual and narcotic satisfaction, for those who can afford them, is a money spinner, although supplying weapons, and mercenaries, for the many wars prevailing in the world, is the mainstay of the Organisation’s influence and wealth.”
“But Cleopatra, or Eloise de La Zouche to give the evil bitch her proper title, was in hiding from your employers. She murdered Sigismund von Metzendorf, which upset their plans for importing White – Columbian snuff – into England. Why did she choose an establishment she must have known belonged to the men she was hiding from?”
Domingo chuckled, spilling some of his drink. “Eloise was not in hiding...”
“But she killed Metzendorf...”
“Did you know that Eloise’s nick name in the Organisation is The Angel of Death? She assassinates those who have transgressed the Organisation’s rules. Metzendorf, a man whom I never met but sounds like the sort of fellow who needed assassinating, was lining his pockets at the expense of the Organisation. Eloise was sent to – what is the quaint term your friend Sir Boris Crossley uses – ah yes, ‘box’. Eloise was sent to England to ‘box’ Metzendorf.”
I was speechless. How did he know about Boris, and the Relocation Bureau?
Domingo smirked at my surprise. “Eloise was only reprimanded for indulging in a personal vendetta whilst in England. Had she not been distracted by her plan to burn Hungerford Hall she might have realised Wycombe was suspected by the English authorities, and sought another suitable high ranking person to be the Organisation’s man in Whitehall.”
He offered me a cigar, which I refused, and then took his time lighting and getting the cigar to draw properly before continuing.
“Unfortunately Eloise continued to pander to her vices. Had she not used those poor girls as skin rejuvenating agents, your sister would not have contacted the Austrian authorities. Generally, Eloise chooses agents who are absolutely reliable and loyal, but she misjudged either the intelligence, or fidelity, of Schicklgruber. There is also her continuing feud with you and your family. She allowed that to take precedence over Organisation business, so it as just as well she has decamped to Alexandria. Eloise has contacts there from her time in Egypt with Napoleon.”
He gave me a sorrowful look. “May I say I was how appalled I was at her treatment of your sister? It went far beyond the normal bounds of perversion, and was detrimental to our income. Your sister’s writing was a gold mine for the Organisation, we could not print her books fast enough, and now there will be no more. A great loss of income to the Organisation...”
“And to her family,” I said, my fist balled, ready to strike him.
“Of course. My sincere apologies, Colonel. I have worked for so long keeping my feelings bottled I am afraid I have become insensitive. I castigate myself for allowing Eloise to treat those poor girls she had hidden in the dungeons so horrifically. The poor souls were raped, and those who complained the most she deemed unsuitable as whores, and used their blood to renew her beauty.” He stared sightlessly at the glass in his hand.
“I am eternally damned for doing nothing to stop her.”
I had learned all I need to know from Alvarez Domingo.
I left him still staring disconsolately into space; perhaps he saw himself in Hell, and I wished him all the worst.
Back at my hotel I penned a letter to Sir Boris Crossley, telling him of the Organisation, and how they knew of the existence of the Relocation Bureau, and even the euphemism used for assassinating people.
My next task was to seek out Shadrach the Jew, and then locate my sister.
It was when I was shaving the next morning the best method of reaching Shadrach came to me.The medallion given me by Rabbi Rothstein in London would be my carte de visite.
I hurried to the Jewish Quarter, buttonholed the first obvious Jewish male I encountered, showed him the medallion, and said ‘Shadrach’.
He stared at the medallion for a long minute.
“Follow me.”He said, and then led me through a maze of alleys.
I began to fear I was being lured further into the labyrinth to be robbed, and felt for the skean dhu at my boot top, then silently cursed, remembering I had not replaced the blade removed when captured in Cleopatra’s Palace.
My guide stopped, and pointed to a door.
“Knock,” he said, and then walked away.
I did as ordered. Several minutes passed before the door creaked open, and a crone appeared in the doorway.
I showed the medallion, said ‘Shadrach’, and she stood aside and let me enter.
I walked along a dimly lit passage until arriving in front of a metal bound, wooden door. Before I could knock the door swung inward, and I stepped into a large, well lit, room.
Candles and lanterns burnt brightly, illuminating men seated at a bench, cutting and polishing gemstones.
As I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room a door in the far corner opened.
“Please come this way, Colonel Greenaway,” said a deep, well-modulated voice, in excellent English. I walked across the room, entered a smaller room, and came face to face with Shadrach the Jew.
He was no taller, or broader of shoulder, than I was, but he radiated an air of invincibility, calmness, and command. Unusual for a Jewish male of his age, which I estimated some ten years older than I was, he was clean-shaven.
His brown eyes had intelligence and humour showing in them, and the lines and wrinkles around his eyes indicated he smiled and laughed a great deal.
The room was obviously an office, with large roll top desk dominating the space. In one corner, mounted on a pintle, stood a massive, almost two arm’s length wide, globe.
There were several upholstered chairs in the room. Shadrach indicated I sat in one of them while he sat behind the desk in a type of chair with which a Roman Emperor might have been familiar.
Mhairi
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