Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 136

Chapter 136: 

The Others 


Mr. Punch didn’t feel his body hit the cold floor of his bedchamber. He didn’t hear the gasp which arose from Gamilla, nor did he see Robert scramble—a look of panic on his face—toward the limp form of his beloved companion. Robert’s shouts for Charles fell on deaf ears as did the frightened wail of Colin in the next room. Gerard’s feverish groans from the bed went unnoticed. Even when Dog Toby gently licked his master’s blank face, Punch felt nothing. That is to say, that the body that he shared with Julian felt nothing. To be fair, it was the body he shared with Julian and…the others.

With no one to command the functions of the body, the shell of the Duke of Fallbridge seemed lifeless except for the unconscious rhythm of the lungs and heart. Summoned by the others, Punch was helpless to remain in control. He was overpowered—a rare occurrence, but one of which he lived in fear.

“Kill him!” Scaramouche shouted.

Punch became aware of what had happened immediately. No longer was he seeing his bedchamber at Grange Molliner. No longer were the eyes that looked upon him those of Robert’s love or Gamilla’s respect and loyalty. The eyes which bore into Mr. Punch were those of the other entities which lurked beneath the handsome surface of the Duke’s body—those belonging to the ones which Punch had thought he’d quieted many months before.

“Coo.” Punch snorted. He looked around the ethereal space—the gray mist in which the others lurked. Robert would have said that the imaginary room was in the Duke’s brain. But, Punch knew better. Punch knew that the others lived in the Duke’s stomach and bowels.

“Kill him!” Scaramouche repeated loudly, extending his neck to grotesquely improbable lengths.

“Maintenant, alors, Scaramouche, nous allons donner à l'homme la possibilité de s'exprimer.” Guignol whispered.

“We don’t need to let him speak!” Scaramouche snarled. “We know what he’s thinking.”

“To be fair, gentlemen.” Julian said softly. “It’s only polite to hear him out. He is, after all, the captain of our little band.”

“Oui.” Guignol nodded.

At first, Punch hadn’t noticed Julian. His image was faint and small. The man who had originally been born into that body had been reduced to a mere wisp of smoke which hovered behind the others.

“Master!” Punch chirped.

“He’s not the master anymore.” Scaramouche barked, his neck growing even longer.

“I reckon you think you are?” Punch frowned.

“I am.” Scaramouche replied. “And as the master I say we should kill this clown. He’s good for nothing. Where’s your fight gone, Mr. Punch?”

“I’ve plenty of fight left in me, I do.” Punch scowled.

“Do you, now?” Scaramouche laughed. “You’ve become a simpering fool. All your talk of love. All of your cravings for gentleness and your base desires have made you weak. Look at what you’ve done. Eh? What have we got? A baby? A handsome face to tell us how cherished we are. Sycophantic servants to call you ‘His Grace.’ You’re useless.”

“M. Punch n'est pas inutile. Il n'est pas faible non plus. Il a fait une existence heureuse pour lui et nous devrions être reconnaissants pour la paix de tout cela.”

“Grateful?” Scaraouche scowled. “I never wanted a peaceful existence. I shan’t be grateful for something I never desired.”

“I desired it.” Julian interrupted, for a second, his image growing stronger. “And, as I recall, it is MY body.”

“It is our body!” Scaramouche spat.

Guignol sighed, “Peut-être que nous devrions voter. Oui? Une telle action semble être le plus juste.”

“Vote for what, you French idiot?” Scaramouche hissed.

“Guignol is simply saying that the only fair thing is to vote for who remains in control.” Julian mumbled.

“I know what he said,” Scaramouche growled.

“Well, then, state your case, Mr. Scaramouche. What would you provide for us that Mr. Punch cannot.”

“I’ll go out there and kill those who’ve damaged the household. I’ll see their heads bashed in—that Finlay and that Ellen Barrett.”

“Est-ce tout? Vous ne pouvez nous offrir la violence.” Guignol asked.

“Isn’t it enough?” Scaramouche grinned. “I’ll make them suffer for what they’ve done. What can Mr. Punch do? Perhaps he’ll take them on a picnic and try to reason with them over sandwiches. You’re a disgrace, Punch!”

“Killin’ ‘em seems like a fine idea, it does.” Punch nodded. “But, I learned that it ain’t the only way. Look what their killin’ done for us.”

Guignol made noises of approval.

“Where is the Mr. Punch who would use his cudgel?” Scaramouche asked.

“There’s all sorts of cudgels what can make a difference.” Mr. Punch suggested. “Don’t gotta beat someone’s head in to find justice.”

“Disgrace!” Scaramouche bellowed. “Disgrace! Can’t you all see it?”

“No, frankly, I cannot.” Julian spoke. “From my standpoint, Punch has made a success of my life.”

“It’s our life!” Scaramouche shouted.

“Let’s vote.” Punch said quickly. “Who wants me? Speak your answer.”

“Je fais.” Guignol responded.

“As do I.” Julian added.

“You’re outnumbered, Scaramouche.” Punch smiled. “Now, I shall return to my post.”

“Oh, I think not.” Scaramouche laughed.

“And, why?” Punch asked.

“Someone else will—not you.”

“Who else is there?” Punch asked. “Guignol and Julian won’t allow you to take over. You’re outnumbered.”

“Am I?” Scaramouche boasted. “Kasperl! Come to me now!”

“Who?” Punch narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, before them, another figure appeared. He resembled Mr. Punch in a way. He, too, had a long nose, but his chin was not as hooked and pronounced and he didn’t have Mr. Punch’s humpy back.

“Who is this bloke?” Punch asked.

“You didn’t?” Julian gasped. “You couldn’t have?”

“I did.” Scaramouche laughed. “Mr. Punch, meet Kasperl.”

“What is this?” Punch demanded.

“He’s your replacement.” Scaramouche responded.



Did you miss Chapters 1-135? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 137.