Securing the Services of an Oddity Scout!

From ‘The Autobiography of Colson T. Turnpenny’

Wooing Wallace Wenlock

The first few months in our adopted country of England were the most successful.

Londoners, it seemed, had a hunger for eccentric exhibits, and between avoiding the attention of the police and tracking down Albert Wucks the Mindless Depravity (who would make off whenever he got a sniff of a lady’s perfume), we made a hard but trusty living.

Indeed, by December we had made enough money to abandon the undertakers and rented more comfortable rooms above an old confectioner called ‘Nanny Willoughby’s Naughty Treats,’ while securing an abandoned train shed for our exhibits.

Advertising commenced in earnest through ‘The Oddity Newsletter’ and a popular periodical called ‘Eldritch Monthly’.

By Christmas, we made merry with a big goose, plenty of grog, and our happy family, despite the bitter cold that descended over London.

However, even by the New Year, our fortunes changed.

Albert Wucks turned out not to be so mindless after all, having found himself a job at the Operetta on second fiddle. The dead dog looked more like a roast chicken, and Jasper Eely’s newly grown moustache had not been as much of a success as we hoped.

Anticipating a downward turn in our fortunes Horace was quick to react.

“There’s something to be done, Colson. We need a fresh angle!” he said, jangling the change in his pocket. “We need fresh blood.”

“Fresh blood indeed,” I said. “But from where Horace? Even The London Hospital hasn’t had anything mildly hideous to attract our attention.”

“That’s true. Which is why I thought we might investigate a rumour that has been circulating in The Oddity this week.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Well, there’s a suggestion that Wallace Wenlock may have finally returned to England after a long stint abroad.”

Wallace Wenlock! The man rumoured to have made Nemo Nash his fortune! The genius behind ‘The Brainless Cockney’, ‘The Two-Headed Head’, and ‘The Horse-Legged Baby’.

“Do you think he would consider employment with us?” I asked Horace eagerly.

“Maybe so. The Oddity reports that Nash dismissed him last month.”

“On what grounds?”

“Nobody knows. It’s a bad move for Nash, though, and a good one for us. We should pool our resources and see if we can obtain him.”

Two nights later we struggled through snow to a public house called The Swollen Hind, usually frequented by quacks from the nearby hospital.

On this particular evening, it was quiet with only one drunken disinfector propped up in a corner, and two weary surgeons still sporting their bloody aprons.

We ordered two brandies to combat the chill and were lucky to have the benefit of the hearth where we parked ourselves on some broad, wingback chairs.

Time ticked on. And a couple of rounds later there was no sign of Wenlock. We thought he might have decided against the meeting and we were considering returning home when the doors burst open and a flurry of snow blew in.

Huddled in a great coat with high collars, a tall, angular character hobbled its way to the bar, the knocking of a peg leg sounding loudly against the wooden floor.

After a large tot of rum was paid for, our location was pointed out by the inn-keep, so that we were given our first good glimpse of a jutting chin and the winking of several gold teeth as the stranger slowly turned and grimaced in our direction.

“You chaps looking for me?” came a voice as rough as surf against old stones when he lurched up to our table.

This prompted Horace to instantly clamber to his feet and offer his hand, saying: “Indeed we are, sir!”

Only for the stranger’s lip to curl. “The Americans, is it?” said he.

“True enough, sir. And you must be Mr Wallace Wenlock,” said Horace. “We are thrilled to meet you!”

“Are you?” At which point Wenlock fixed his one good on me (for the other was cracked glass) encouraging in me a feeling of squirming disquiet, before he slumped into the vacant seat, leaving Horace’s hand unshaken.

“Well then,” Wenlock said. “Your message sounded most urgent, gentlemen. A message I was surprised to receive at all, seeing as few people know of my return from abroad and fewer of the boarding house I was staying in.”

“That’s because we were most keen to speak with you, Mr. Wenlock,” I said. “As one of the finest scouts of oddities in the country, sir, our businesses are aligned. Especially since there has been some small speculation that you have parted company with Nemo Nash. Seems to me you are a free agent.”

But to this Wallace Wenlock gave a snort, and for the length of his drink, he did not speak, before adding: “Then you heard wrong, sir. I am still very much in demand, all over the world.”

“So you remain with Nash?” I asked.

“No. That much is true. After all my years of loyal service, he rescinded our arrangement for no good reason. But I am not a man to be undone so easily. Nash will soon learn where his fortune was made.”

“Well, whatever Nash’s loss is hopefully our gain,” said Horace. “For we have a healthy proposition for you, sir.”

Wenlock licked his lips and squinted up at Horace. “That remains to be seen. What proposition do you have for me, exactly?”

“Well, we were hoping to employ your services to better our own business. Already we are expanding and have an exclusive premise under the railway arches obtained from Tubby Harris.”

“Ah yes. I have heard of it.”

“You have?” said I.

“I make it my business to learn about the competition. Yours is the big-headed boy and the bird lad. Not so very bad.”

“Thank you,” said I. “So you see the potential of it?”

“I do. But you should know my particular expertise is more far-reaching. See this?” and he held up his left hand. Incredibly this appendage, as with his leg, was made of a crude piece of oak. “A velvet shark took my hand off the coast of Japan. The rarest of sharks known to man. So, I hunted that horror down, stuffed it, and now Nash has it as one of his main attractions. My point is, my business can be full of danger and I cast my net wide in pursuit of the extraordinary. Only last month I returned from France with an ape that swings on a trapeze.”

“But is not an ape fulfilling its natural appetite to swing on a trapeze?” I said.

“While quoting Baudelaire?” said he. “Gentlemen, my services do not come cheap. So, can I take it you are serious fellows?”

I nodded to Horace who pulled out a small leather bag of coins and dropped it on the table. Wenlock regarded the bag cautiously. “How much?” he said.

“Enough,” said Horace. “For we know of your reputation, Mr. Wenlock. We know all too well how you helped to secure Nash’s notoriety…”

Wenlock snorted again.

“…but we also know that our success will be your success. You will receive a healthy salary every month should you fulfill your end of the bargain and provide us with the most exclusive oddities. However, you must assure us that you will work for us alone.”

Wenlock leaned back in his chair. “But I have many avenues of work all over the world.”

“So you said,” I replied. “But from tonight, should you accept, you will have only one.”

“That’s a hard bargain,” said Wenlock.

“It is a fair price,” said I.

Wenlock rolled his tongue in his mouth and the gaslight flickered across his one good eye. Eventually, he sighed and drew the money over the lip of the table into his lap. “This is most satisfactory,” said he.

“That is good,” I said and I raised my glass, toasting our new association.

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