“Let’s be honest here, neither of us expected that to end well.”
Jekyll beathed a heavy sigh as he batted away the cobwebs in front of Cooger and Dark’s Chamber of Horrors. He had walked over to the wax museum from the newly rebuilt Clacks Tower, after witnessing the great machine reestablished communications with Owl Harbor. Many others had come to hear how the communication went, among them Victor Mornington, a drunken Erza Crumb, and the mayor himself. They all were hoping to negotiate with Owl Harbor over the export of their oysters; Mayor Tenk being exeptionally hopeful that he may be able to enjoy them on a regular basis. Unfortunately, it seems that Owl Harbour had some issues with the trade regulations under Mornington’s management, calling his trade practices ‘unfair and insulting’. Furthermore, they refused to negotiate until Mornington had left the city.
There was a tremendous uproar from the crowd that, combined with the commentary of Hyde’s thoughts, had started to give Jekyll a headache. He needed this moment to reflect on what had happened. It was true that the Chamber of Horrors did not have a calming atmosphere, given that the only seating area inside was sandwiched in between a monster attack and a man with a fly’s head, but it was quiet and lonely and peaceful. Jekyll was almost sure nobody could hear him talking to himself inside.
“It’s a pity the mayor won’t get his oysters,” Said the disembodied voice of Hyde, “But it’s funny how he stormed off because of it. He’s like a kid with a beard!”
“Don’t disrespect the mayor, Hyde,” Jekyll groaned in reply, “He has been doing a good job of running things despite his… Eccentricities.”
“Hm. You’re right, actually. We should be worried about Vic, not Tenk.”
“Yeah, him. Who lets a hotelier collect taxes? Greedy bastard, he is.”
Jekyll shook his head, “He may have been in the past… Not sure about how he is now.”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t heard him plotting about taxes. Money’s life to the man, and you know it.”
“Well, what do you think we can do about it? I’m a doctor, not a legal consultant. You wouldn’t be in any position to negotiate either, given your habits.”
The voice fell silent for a moment, leaving Jekyll to gaze about the sitting area. There was one of those ouija boards sitting on the coffee table in front of him, the panchlette resting on the number 7. Perhaps he could ask something from the ghosts beyond the grave? No, it was too dangerous for one set of hands to try. Besides, that wasn’t a very logical way to solve problems.
Hyde spoke up again with a touch of mischef in his voice. “Owl Harbour said they wanted Vic out of the city?”
“Yes. They did. Mornington thinks trade may commence while he’s on holiday, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Hyde suggested with malicious glee, “Somethin’ that will convince those folks that Vic ain’t gonna be around… Anymore…”
Jekyll’s face went pale. He could imagine Hyde’s thumbnail gliding across his throat, the implication of his words made quite clear.
“EDWARD HYDE!” Jekyll cried out in horror. His voice echoed through the chamber, and he realized someone could have easily heard him now. He glanced over to see if anyone was there, but there was not a soul to be found. Only silent, soulless waxworks.
Nervously, but wisely, Jekyll continued his complaint in a much quieter manner. “Edward Hyde, you can’t just go and murder Mr. Mornington! You remember what happened the last time you killed a man!”
“Oh right,” Hyde responded with dissapointment, “Carew.”
“But that was just me going at him willy-nilly. I bet I could do a better job of hiding the body-“
“I don’t care if you plan it or not,” Jekyll scolded the voice in his head, “We can’t afford to have blood on our hands again!”
“… Suppose we could convince him to fake his death?”
Jekyll got up from his seat, as if he could just walk away from the conversation. Yet, he knew he won’t be able to get away from Hyde so easily. “I don’t want any part in this export nonsense, Hyde.”
Hyde groaned, fustrated at his current inability to do anything to the doctor. “… Fine! Fine. Expect a massive hangover in the near future.”
Jekyll sighed and walked out of the seating area. He turned to face the fly-man again, rereading the accompanying plaque for what seemed like the hundreth time in a month. The plaque that told the tale of Andre DeLambre, a man who not only invented the teleportation device, but had become something inhuman because of his reasearch. Jekyll had come to pity the late professor, for he found the man’s story somewhat similar to his own situation.
“… You can’t expect anything to end well, can you?”