Punch's Cousin, Chapter 37

Julian awoke on the floor of his cabin. A throbbing in his head thumped him into alertness and he sat up slowly as he realized that his stomach was churning and tender. To his right, Robert lay stretched across the bed—face down.


Slowly, Julian crawled to Robert’s side and stared at the man who seemed utterly motionless. Hesitantly and carefully, Julian reached up and placed his hand on Robert’s back—the diamond on his left hand sparkling. For a moment, an image passed, ghost-like, past Julian’s eyes—moonlight on the sea.

“Thank God,” Julian sighed as he felt Robert’s breathing.

“Robert?” Julian whispered.

The doctor groaned and opened his eyes into slits.

“How are you?” Julian asked softly.

“I’m in agony, old chap.” Robert croaked.

“I think we were poisoned.” Julian replied.

“I know that we were.” Robert responded, trying to sit up.

“No, no.” Julian said quickly. “Stay there.”

At that moment, Julian noticed the crust of vomit which cut a rusty trail down the side of the bed to the floor.

“I need to get you a physician.” Julian said, looking Robert in the eyes.

“I am a physician.” Robert grunted.

“You can’t treat yourself.” Julian argued.

“Let me be,” Robert answered quietly. “I know myself. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to report this.” Julian rose cautiously. “We can’t let Arthur get away with this. Why would he do such a thing? I know he’s unpleasant, but I didn’t know he was a fiend!”

“I never thought I’d say this to you,” Robert smiled weakly, “but you’re talking too fast.”

“Sorry.” Julian sighed. He looked around the cabin. “The last I remember is taking a sip of that whiskey, and, then, you collapsing on the table.” He looked to the writing desk where Arthur had placed the tray. The tray was gone as was the bottle and the glasses. Only their uneaten dinners of tongue and tomato remained.

“The whiskey has been removed!” Julian exclaimed.

“Of course it is.” Robert growled. “All the more reason not to report this. We have no evidence.”

“I can’t allow someone to try to murder us without seeking justice. Would you have me not seek out the men who cut my father’s throat, too?”

“It’s not the same thing.” Robert answered slowly.

“Arthur needs to be brought to justice.”

“I think he already has.” Robert replied, again, struggling to sit up.

“Not without my assistance.” Julian shook his head, going to the man’s side and helping him to a seated position. Robert lifted the pillow and held it to his stomach. As he did, he revealed the red bag of gris-gris.

Julian grimaced at it. “A lot of good that did to protect us.”

“We’re both still breathing.” Robert answered.

“That’s true.” Julian nodded, placing his arm around Robert’s shoulders for a few seconds before quickly removing it.

Robert smiled at Julian’s unusual display of endearment.

Julian tilted his head to one side. “What did you mean just now when you said that you think Arthur has already been brought to justice?”

“My dear man, Punch already declared he was going to ‘kill the Devil.’ Don’t you remember?”

Julian’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

“You left and came back.” Robert continued, his voice rough with gravel. “Or, I should say, Punch did. He also saved my life. He got the poison out of me.”

“Surely, I didn’t…he didn’t.” Julian mumbled, trying desperately to remember.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Robert coughed.

“I must go find him.” Julian stood.

“No. You must stay here.” Robert shook his head.

“What if…”

“No.” Robert repeated.

A knock on the cabin door startled both of them.

“That’s the fiend now.” Julian said with relief. “Come for his morning duties. Most likely frustrated to have found us both alive when he removed the evidence.”

“It’s not Arthur.” Robert sighed.

“How can you be sure?” Julian asked.

“The knock was too strong.” Robert shrugged. “Go and see.”

Julian walked to the cabin door and opened it. There stood a heavy-set man with tremendous arms. His meaty face was cloaked in a thick, black beard which met in a tangle with the hair on his neck and chest. He wore a faded pink shirt and a black waistcoat.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir.” The man said gruffly. “Only I got a bit concerned when Arthur didn’t return to his quarters last night.” The man glanced quickly at the table, and, then, back to Julian.

“You’re a friend of Arthur’s?” Julian asked.

“Yes, Your Lordship.” The man squinted. “Don’t you remember meetin’ me last night when you came down to fetch your valet? They call me ‘Professor.’”

“Ah,” Julian nodded, trying to feign remembrance. The introduction had been to Punch, after all.

“You were a bit in your cups, I’d say.” The man said, peering around Julian to look at Robert on the bed. “Both of you were from what you told us.”

“And, you haven’t seen Arthur since last night?” Julian interrupted.

“No, Sir.” The professor replied. “Not since you came and took him.”

“I see.” Julian nodded. “Well, then, ‘Professor,’ when I see him, I’ll make sure that he checks in with you.”

“Much obliged.” The man grunted. “Good mornin’ to you.”

“Good morning.” Julian said as he closed the door.

“Well.” Julian turned to face Robert. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We wait.” Robert replied.

And wait, they did.

Julian washed and dressed himself and helped Robert to his own cabin where he assisted the man in changing his clothes and cleaning himself up. He left Robert to rest for a time and returned to his own cabin where he hoped Arthur would stumble in.

Arthur did not show up.

Two days passed. Julian continued to spend his time with Robert, keeping careful watch on the man who seemed improved, but also showed signs of great physical distress—symptoms which he denied as often as he could.

Punch was strangely silent.

Two more days passed. The professor returned twice more—asking for Arthur. Robert and Julian made excuses.

On the fifth day—three days before they were to dock—Robert advised Julian to report Arthur’s disappearance.

“You must not—by any means—imply that you know what could have happened to him.” Robert said forcefully—his voice still rough and pained.

“Robert, I could have killed the man.” Julian argued, tears welling-up in his eyes.

“You did no such thing!” Robert repeated. “You had nothing to do with this. If anyone did, it was Mr. Punch.”

“I AM Mr. Punch.” Julian cried.

“No, you are not. You are Julian Molliner, Lord Fallbridge. Punch is a being unto himself. He may use your body, but he is NOT you.”

“I have to be held accountable for what he does.” Julian protested.

“I refuse to let you. If you do, I’ll say you’re mad. I’ll say you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Julian looked at Robert with hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, dear Julian. I didn’t mean to imply that I think you’re mad.” Robert said softly. “I’m trying to protect you. If need be I’ll say I killed Arthur.”

“No.” Julian shook his head. “We’ll report his disappearance. And only that.”

Together, Robert and Julian went to the ship’s captain and explained Arthur’s disappearance. They explained that they hadn’t seen the footman in a few days and thought he was off somewhere on the ship enjoying an extended drunk. Or, perhaps he had gotten lost when they had docked briefly, three days earlier.

The crew of the ship searched the vessel thoroughly. No trace of Arthur had been found. The captain declared him lost and ordered Arthur’s belongings to be packed up. Yet, strangely, Arthur’s things had been removed from his quarters.

The following morning, Robert and Julian sat in Julian’s cabin. Julian rocked back in forth in one of the wooden chairs.

“He got no worse than he deserved.” Robert said firmly, pressing his hand against his stomach which ached.

“It wasn’t my place—or Punch’s—to be the judge of that.”

“You have no idea what happened. You don’t know that you…that Punch…had anything to do with this. It’s a mystery, and, frankly, one that’s best left unsolved.”

Again, a knock on the door interrupted them. This knock, however, was light and cheerful, if a knock can be such things.

Robert opened the door.

The dark-skinned man smiled at him—the man who had given them the gris-gris.

“Is His Lordship in?”

“Yes, however…” Robert began.

“Ah, there you are, Great Man of the Rocks.” The man stepped into the cabin.

Julian did not recall Punch’s encounter with the man on the night Arthur disappeared.

“May I help you?” Julian asked.

“No, Sir. It is I who shall help you.” He grinned pleasantly. “My name is Naasir. I am your new valet.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-36? If so, you can read them here.