The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

              “Hello, Mr. Sprightly. Lord Grimsby wanted to see me?” Sprightly looked up from a report he was reading and smiled a toothless, biscuit-filled grin.

              “Good evening, Mr. Cogspeare. Yes, his lordship did want to see you.”

              “Do you have any idea what it’s about?” The grin unfortunately became wider.

              “Yes sir, but I shan’t tell you. Meant to be a surprise, and all.” Magnus nodded and quickly went to the door that led to the inner sanctum of Grimsby and Associates, and knocked.

              “Come in.”

              Magnus turned the brass handle and entered the largest office in the building, overlooking the green, stamp-sized garden in front of the building.

              “Ah, Magnus,” emanated a deep voice from the chair behind the mammoth desk, currently turned away from the door.

              If Magnus’s office was the antithesis of a law office, this was the quintessence. It was panelled with hundreds of bookshelves, all filled to bursting with law books and files strewn across a large table in the corner. What little wall was left was painted a deep burgundy, and covered in dark oil paintings of famous men, long since dead. The whole room emanated a feeling of centuries past that, apparently, clients felt very reassuring. It made Magnus feel incredibly claustrophobic.

              The chair slowly turned.

              Sir Nicodemus Grimsby was by any society’s reckoning a silver fox. Tall, with thick silver hair, a decided chin and deep blue eyes, the brilliant young barrister that he had been had morphed into the stunning, charismatic leader of the law world, who had recently been given a knighthood for his services to justice. He encapsulated everything Magnus wished to become in thirty years, minus the oppressive office.

              “How are you, my boy?” he greeted his protégé warmly.

              “Fine, thank you sir.”

              “And I heard about your brilliant work on the Ballaster case. Very creative, just the kind of thing we like around here.” Grimsby was, of course, using the royal ‘we’, since he was the only partner at his own firm.

              “Thank you very much, sir.” Grimsby beckoned Magnus to sit down in one of the two armchairs before him.

              “After five years working for me, Magnus, there’s no need to call me ‘sir’.” Magnus nodded.

              “Would you like to come over for dinner sometime this week? I know that Susan enjoyed your company immensely the last time you came.”

              Ah. Now this was a tricky point. Naturally, the first time Magnus had been invited over to the Grimsby mansion, he had been incredibly flattered. Their house was grand- though, it must be said, not as large as the Cogspeare place. Lady Grimsby was also a lovely little woman who was an excellent hostess. But Susan Grimsby, well…she had a reputation of throwing herself at anything male that moved. And that night, and the two other nights he was there, the moving organism had been Magnus.

              In any other circumstance, it would be totally natural and even favourable that the brightest young man in a firm should marry the boss’s daughter and keep it all within the family, so to speak. But, as hard as he tried, Magnus was not, nor ever could be, like other young men. And he knew that, with his little eccentricities (alright, alright, they weren’t that little- in fact, getting worse by the day was more accurate), he could never marry and have a normal family life. Besides, with his upbringing, what would he know about a ‘normal’ family?

              “Um, yes sir. I would indeed, but I am currently in the midst of hiring new staff, so my schedule isn’t as flexible as it would otherwise be.”

              “Of course, of course,” nodded Grimsby sagely, “Totally understand. Some other time, then. You know, that’s why it’s so important to have a wife at this time in your career, my boy, so important. They’ll take care of the household so you don’t have to deal with all those menial duties, and you are free to pursue the more important things in life.” Magnus just nodded.

              “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

              “Marriage?” Magnus managed to gasp out, about three pitches higher than usual.

              “No, no. Although, if that were to come up one day…well, we’ll see,” he replied with a matchmaking twinkly in his eye. “No, your career.”

              Magnus tensed.

              “You see, one of our longest standing clients is the South West Spesium Mining Corporation. You know of them?”

              “Yes, indeed. They are the largest, and, with a recent subsidiary acquisition, the only spesium mining company in the British Isles. They mine spesium, which is then combined with heavily diluted sulphuric acid, and the result is coal syrup. That’s the red fluid, which, when reacted with carbon, quickly and rather violently oxidizes. The coal syrup, in effect, is an enzyme that increases the efficiency of coal by at least seventy percent.”

              “Good lord, how do you know so much about the stuff?” Grimsby sat back, stunned and rather impressed by his protégé.

              “My father discovered spesium and invented coal syrup.”

              “Oh,” Grimsby replied. It made sense, in a rather perverse way, that this repressed young man and the nation’s foremost mad scientist were related. “Yes, well, we have long since been close with the SWSMC, but have not yet had the pleasure of representing them in court. Today, however, Mr. Liniver, a member of their board of directors and their head solicitor, paid me a visit. It seems that his man, well, actually Lord Clinton’s man, went to Cornwall to see that everything was going smoothly, and actually found out that they’re going to sue them! Can you imagine?” Grimsby chuckled loudly, though Magnus did not join him.

              “Why?”

              Grimsby rose from his chair and began to circle around the room, gently touching the knick-knacks that peppered the polished surfaces of the side table and shelves.

              “A few weeks ago there was an explosion in the mine, totally destroying their main extraction shaft. If you can believe it, the miners are actually suing the company for damages, saying it was the SWSMC’s fault.”

“And was it?” At that, Grimsby frowned slightly, and quickly replied, “No, of course not. These miners are just using this case as an excuse to get publicity, trying to coerce the company into paying higher wages. But look, Magnus, Liniver said that he wanted my personal input on this case, but I had to turn him down. I still have those other cases with the members of the House” the House of Lords, that is, “and I couldn’t possibly give it my full attention. Liniver wanted the best, though, and so I’m giving you the case.” Magnus sucked in breath.

              “Me?”

              “Yes, indeed. You are the best barrister in the firm, and I have very high hopes for you. The way you handled the Ballaster case just reconfirmed my suspicions, that you could very well be the brightest and most powerful barrister in the country within a few years. Soon, a judge-ship will be yours for the asking, perhaps even a title like my own. You might even run this very firm one day. But all this is in the future. What is in the present is that, once you win this case for us- and of that I have no doubt, a paltry squabble, nothing more- you will be made a full partner. The first of this firm.” Grimsby sat back beatifically.

              Magnus swallowed, and managed to reply,

              “This is an incredible opportunity, sir. Thank you so very, very much.” They shook hands warmly. “I look forward to defeating those miners who would want to smear the reputation of the SWSMC.”

              “That’s the spirit, lad! So, you’ll have to go to the House tomorrow and have them send a
writ of certiorari
. It would usually take the House a few days to make room in the schedule for us, but because of the importance of this case, we should be in the House very, very soon. I should think a day, at the outside two, should be enough for the pitiful trail, don’t you?”

              Magnus frowned. “A
writ of certiorari
? But that’s only used by the House of Lords when they demand a case be brought to them, and always in the case of a peer on trial. Usually this sort of thing would be heard by a judge in the Exchequer.”

              “Usually it would be, but for the fact that it seems the miners are pursuing this case as a criminal, and not a civil case. And since the head of the company is a peer, and all criminal trials of peers are held in the House, it will be there.”

              “But this is totally irregular! They have no hope of winning; they’ll be decimated!”

              “Indeed. Great sport.” Magnus disagreed that it would be sporting, but kept that to himself. “And Magnus, when you register at the House, submit and get a countersuit filed as well.”

              “Sir, why would you want to do that?” Grimsby slammed his fist down.

              “Because, once you defeat those little shits, it will mean that not only have the miners lost their criminal action suit, but also that they are convicted under this countersuit of damaging the profits and reputation of the SWSMC, and will be penalized for it.”

              Magnus felt a twinge of doubt run down his neck. After all, countersuits were rare, and often didn’t pass. But in this case, since it was a sure thing that the prosecution would lose, it would be a sure thing that the countersuit would win and the miners would be held accountable.

              “But these miners probably have very little anyway, so why bother?”

              “It’s the principle, my boy, the principle. And we need to set a precedent that states the SWSMC should not be trifled with. Do you understand?” The last words were so full of sharp menace that Magnus could almost not believe it was his mentor, the closest he had currently to a friend, who was saying this. Almost.

              “Yes, sir. I understand perfectly.”

              “Good. Now, have a good evening and good luck. I’ll be watching from the gallery, of course.” Magnus got up and turned to leave, but was called back by Grimsby’s parting words.

              “You should know, Magnus that you will be under no little scrutiny in the House. Your eloquence will, shall we say, have a large bearing on any future interactions with our esteemed and ennobled colleagues.” Magnus gave another nod of understanding and quickly left.

              The palms of his hands were soaking wet, and he twisted a black silk handkerchief in them as he went to his steamer. There he sat for a moment, torn between excitement and an unusual case of nerves. Magnus never got nervous about cases. In fact, it was in the courtroom when he really thrived, speaking more eloquently than most professional political orators and thinking on his feet, countering the opposing arguments with bits of brilliant and obscure law. He had only asked his secretary twice in his entire career for case citations. Once was during his first trial, the other was when he had the flu. Both times he remembered the citation before Addison could recover from the shock.

              Magnus took a deep breath and started his conveyance, driving through the London traffic single-mindedly, and into the heart of Mayfair.

After the boom of industrialization hit England, and indeed much of Europe, in the early 1810s with a steam powered bang, many of the newly enriched middle class went in search of proper homes. And many entrepreneurs obliged them by building small developments, which they termed ‘squares’. One such entrepreneur, Kevin Tungsten (who was later ennobled for his contributions to public building and residential hygiene) built a lovely square in the north of Mayfair. He filled it with ten beautiful, white townhouses to each side of the grassy square, and named it, ever so humbly, Tungsten Square. The houses boasted all the newest modern convinces like indoor plumbing and steam-powered central heating, and soon came to be known as one of the most fashionable squares, particularly popular with wealthy young families.

              In the summer of 1847, a young family by the name of Cogspeare moved into Number 23. Mr. Tungsten, as usual, reviewed the family carefully, making sure that they were of the calibre which would fit nicely into ‘his’ square. The young mother was a wisp of a thing with bright red hair and a beautiful smile, their young toddler equally as charming. The father listed himself as a chemical engineer. Tungsten should have inquired where he worked, but didn’t.

              Three years later, Cornelius Cogspeare, working at home on a new chemical compound, blew up Number 23, and a good part of Numbers 22 and 24.

              All of the residents at Tungsten Square were outraged, and soon were calling, albeit in refined accents, for Cornelius’s blood- or at least, for his removal to some horrible part of the Empire. They formed a Residence Board, and were ready to sharpen their pitchforks when, suddenly…they stopped. The Board also had a sudden influx of cash, and many, many lavish parties were held in the private garden. 

              Though the Cogspeares probably should have repaired to the countryside, they didn’t. Instead, they stayed put. Cornelius probably should have bought an abandoned warehouse to conduct his experiments there, but he didn’t.

But Cornelius Cogspeare did learn his lesson, and so bought the smoking remains of the two neighbouring houses as a kind of buffer zone for his experiments. He also rebuilt his house entirely from the ground up, to very unique specifications. The result was what the
ton
, or high society of London, dubbed the ‘Monstrosity of Mayfair’.