Edward Graves: Temporal Detective

Vinnie Albertelli didn’t like working on Christmas Eve. Obviously he knew that this was not an uncommon feeling among his colleagues, yet he still felt as though it hurt him more than most. His mother was a devout Roman Catholic and he thought himself to be pretty religious and god-fearing himself. He knew that his mother didn’t approve of his working on such a holy night and he didn’t like to think of her and the rest of the family gathered around the fireplace without him. But what could he do? After his father had died in the Great War it had fallen onto him, the oldest of seven children, to take over as the man of the house. Working for Hayden Crawlfield hadn’t been his first career choice but he couldn’t deny the perks of the job. Not only did it provide his mother and the younger of his siblings with a good home, but it had also opened his eyes to a whole universe of possibilities which he would never have otherwise considered.

He wasn’t fortunate enough to have been born an Archaic, but he’d still seen his fair share of time travel during the ten years he had worked with the Black Glove. Sometimes he thought that it almost made up for nights like tonight, in which his sole job was to stand guard at a door while Mr. Crawlfield was having a meeting inside.

Vinnie had no idea what this meeting was all about but obviously Mr. Crawlfield was working on something big. Whatever was going on, all Vinnie knew was that it had something to do with the operation at the Museum earlier that day. He hadn’t been there, but apparently things hadn’t gone according to plan and Crawlfield had been in a bad mood ever since.

He stiffened as the sound of shouting began to waft from behind the door; the voice was instantly recognisable as Mr. Crawlfield’s. This wasn’t too strange a phenomenon as Mr. Crawfield often lost his temper during meetings. He often lost his temper outside of meetings too. The sound of something shattering however, was cause for alarm. Vinnie immediately grabbed his gun and flung the doors open, his finger on the trigger.

“Mr. Crawlfield,” he bellowed in a flat, even voice, “is everything alright sir?”

Crawlfield was standing by the fireplace with a poker in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. The remains of a vase were scattered over the mantle-piece. Shadows danced across his face as he glanced up, adding to his already sinister complexion.

Crawlfield spat out his words in short bursts, “Fine, fine; everything’s fine.”

Vinnie looked at the other man standing on the other side of the room. It was the tall, broad-shouldered man – Harbinger – and despiet the roaring fire, he was still wearing his black coat, red scarf and broad-brimmed hat.

“I heard shouting sir,” said Vinnie, still looking at Harbinger.

“I said everything’s fine! Now get back out there and do your job!”

Although he was still unsure, Vinnie wasn’t stupid enough to blatantly question or disregard an order by Hayden ‘The Berserker’ Crawlfield. So he holstered his weapon and gave a respectful, “Yes sir,” then backed out of the room, pulling the doors closed with him.

He had become accustomed to Crawlfield’s explosive anger, those who didn’t weren’t long for the Black Glove, but this seemed different. For the first time in ten years, Vinnie Albertelli thought that Hayden Crawlfield seemed...rattled. With words about curiosity and cats flashing through his mind, he pressed his head against the door, trying to listen in on the conversation.

The voices were muffled by the thick wooden door, but he could just make out what Mr. Crawlfield was saying.

“All of that trouble, riskin’ the wrath of the Temporal Council and for what? I’ll tell you what for, a bloody fake; a pretty piece of costume jewellery!” There was a pause, presumably while Crawlfield took a sip of Scotch. “You were leadin’ this thing, you were there, it’s on your head, you hear!”

Now the other man spoke, impressively keeping his voice calm and even. “This is just a minor set-back, an unforeseen development. I didn’t realise that Mr. Graves would be as paranoid or resourceful as to have a replica Stone made.” There was a small pause, perhaps a deliberate attempt to work up some dramatic effect. “Trust me when I say that I shall not be so easily fooled next time.”

“You’re damn right,” said Crawlfield, because you won’t be leadin’ the next attack, I’ll hire a professional.”

There was another pause and then the other man spoke with a barely restrained ferocity; it sounded like he was grinding his teeth. “Now listen here little man, just remember who is in charge of this operation. You’re just a two-bit gangster, an Al Capone wannabe who was given the gift of Time Travel, yet squanders it on petty cons and pointless heists. If it weren’t for me you’d still be wasting your time fencing stolen historical artefacts to greedy Linears. I’ve given you and your organisation a chance to do something grand; to harness real power.”

There was silence. Vinnie pressed his ear closer to the door but he couldn’t hear anything. What’s happening? He thought. He considered going in again but he didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Crawlfield unduly again. Just as Vinnie’s concerns were reaching fever-pitch, the silence was finally broken again and if Mr. Crawlfield had seemed rattled before, then he sounded down-right terrified now.

“Right, sorry Mr. Harbinger. I-I just let my temper get the better of me, it won’t happen again.”

This scared Vinnie a little because for Crawlfield to sound so terrified, then the man in the hat and coat, this Mr. Harbinger, must have been awfully powerful and terribly dangerous.

Mr. Harbinger spoke again, this time with the calm voice he had previously used. “As it happens Mr. Crawlfield, I do agree with your suggestion of bringing a professional on board. But make no mistake that this will still be very much my operation. Understood?”

“Understood,” said Crawlfield, still rather nervously.

“I’ll make the arrangements and make contact with you when the time is right. Meanwhile, I need you to start preparing your men for the final phase. This little...hiccup will not affect our schedule.”

Vinnie heard a soft vibrating sound, the kind that usually accompanied a Flux. Suddenly he had to stand at attention as though everything were normal, as the wooden doors opened inwards.

“Sir!” he half shouted, “is everything alright?”

Crawlfield was on his own and Vinnie couldn’t see the stranger anywhere inside the room.

“Everything’s fine Vinnie,” Crawlfield responded. “Put a call out to all of the men, and I mean all of them. All leave is cancelled, got it? We’ve got some planning to do, some serious plannin’ you here?”

“Something big, sir?”

“Vinnie, you have no idea.” Vinnie watched as Crawlfield waddled down the hall towards his private bar.

Well, Vinnie thought solemnly, I’d better tell ma’ that I won’t home for Christmas. She’s going to kill me.