t was the summer of 1939. The place was the declining center of the known world. Once a symbol of Imperial power that stood side by side with Rome, Vienna, Madrid, and Constantinople, yet now, condemned to a slow and sleepy monotony on its way to senility. Yes this was the city of London. For centuries the steadfast Pole star of Western Civilisation, the cradle of decency and good fortune, the paragon of majesty and dominance, yet in that year, of 1939, under the ministry of Chamberlain, and the reign of King George VI, London had slipped into a passive role in the world. A monarch too old and worn down to rule over his kingdom. London, in effect, was retired.
And what better place than in this decaying city, to find a trio of unlikely heroes, who would, in their own special way, help bring down the vile and evil machinations of Adolf Hitler and his band of genocide promoting heathens.
Yes the summer of 1939.
Europe was preparing for war.
And so, we join two thirds of our heroes, down at the Pharaoh's Pub on Oxford Street, just a stone's throw away from the imposing structure of learning and history, that is The British Museum.
Dirk Nightshade and Agammemnon Russel sat in the surprisingly bright and aerie basement of the Pharaoh's Pub. For years, this fine establishment had served to quench their ever growing thirst and parched throats with nothing but the finest ales from the Continent and single malts from Scotland. On this particular day, it being a little after supper time, the Pharaoh seemed unusually empty. The pub had always been a favourite of many students of the nearby Univeristy, and of the many scholars that burrowed their way through the cavernous interiors of the Museum and the Library.
Dirk Nightshade had been around the scene on Oxford Street almost as long as the Museum itself. He'd seen a great number of those engineers and archaeologists come through the doors of the Pharaoh, and eventually move on to a better life elsewhere. Perhaps a better life over the Atlantic.
Dirk himself was one of those scholars. Not for him the sedentary life of an average working stiff. No sir. Dirk had made a life for himself right here on Oxford Street and at the University. It was a life, he hoped, that would suitably disguise his other, more nefarious activities.
Nightshade had been born and raised across the Atlantic on the tiny rock referred to as Prince Edward Island. But his fate had not confined him to such a solitary existence in the colonies. Far from it. Even though he was heir to one of the greatest potato empires in the world, Dirk had found it too hard to remain behind and help run the family business. He sought excitement. He sought adventure. He sought many impresionable young girls. And he sought much, much alcohol. Nowhere else could his appetite for all this be satisfied than across the ocean, and in the virgin halls of the University of London.
More than a decade had passed with little notice, and Dirk remained, forever a fixture of the undergraduate scene.
However, one day when he was seriously considering taking his degree, a strange man approached Dirk and offered him a job. The man identified himself only as, "The Lawyer", and presented Dirk with a strange new option for his life.
A mysterious woman, by the name of Tisiphone required his services.
The job was simple enough. He was to carry on with his normal life and day to day activities until called for. But once called for, it would be his duty to help in the struggle against evil in all its forms, and to battle the most heinous and horrible crimes imaginable.
This was what Dirk had hoped for all those years ago while sitting, daydreaming, in a field of potatos.
From that day on, Dirk Nightshade, perpetual student, shared one body with The Palaver, bane of evildoers everywhere.
Tisiphone, however, was not terribly confident in The Palaver's ability to fight evil all on his own. It was all too aparent that this would-be hero could easily fall prey to his libido and jeopardize all that this ultra-super-secret organization stood for. While The Palaver's skills were the best money could buy (if you didn't have much money), it became apparent that he was all too likely to stray from the moral path required to effectively battle the world's villains. To rectify this situation, The Palaver was teamed up with The Preacher.
Agammemnon Russel was a young member of the Church of England, and as good a drinker as England's shores had ever seen. In fact, there was no man alive in the city that had had as distinguished a drinking career as Agammemnon. His business was welcomed at every pub along the banks of the Thames, and at quite a few more throughout the Isles and on the Continent.
He was a midlands man, having been born in the city but raised in the country, and a lonely voyager through the road of life. Early on he found the companionship of the Church, and began to build his life in service of the Lord. It was in that capacity that he was introduced into the service of Tisiphone.
One day, after morning prayer, a man calling himself simply The Lawyer offered him an opportunity which he could not resist. Agammemnon had long since aspired to a bishopric, but feared that his sympathetic views for the papists would one day keep him from that exalted office. He was at a loss. All he wanted was a chance to direct the soldiers of Christ in the battle against evil from the comfortable view of a cathedral. But he also felt that there should be more that he could do. So when The Lawyer offered him a chance to enter into direct combat with Satan's minions, he felt inclined to take it.
As such, the mild mannered clergyman known as Agammemnon Russel gave way to the witty and sometimes downright offensive crusader known only as The Preacher.
Tisiphone hoped that this pair of heroes would keep the world safe day after day. Yet, her hopes fell somewhat short. The team lacked something. Between The Palaver's abilities and The Preacher's righteousness, the world could be kept safe. But almost too safe. If given the opportunity, and the right amount of corruption and alcohol, the pair could quickly overrun the world and claim it as their own. No. The team needed something to ensure that they would succeed in fighting evil, but that they would fail if they ever tried to take over the world themselves. She needed to give them a hindrance. An albatross around their neck.
Enter The Poet.
Paris de Carnage was exactly what the team needed. A rogue. The living embodiment of Murphy's Law. A charming man from a far off land, with just the right amount of madness in his eyes. Yes, Paris was inept enough to foil any grand schemes that the other two could come up with, but blessed with such astonishing luck so as to ensure that at the end of the day, the good guys came out on top.
de Carnage was born far away, and had travelled to the four corners of the world before settling in London. However, he was not a man that would settle easily. He aspired to be one of the great writers of all time, yet his talent afforded him only obscure mediocrity. A man continuosly in debt, continuously in trouble, and continuously able to come out the other side smelling like a rose.
However, Tisiphone and the Lawyer had a few doubts on allowing such a man into their organization. For starters, Paris had a long list of people who would have loved to have gotten their hands around his neck. Everyone from creditors, to tutors, to diplomats, to heartbroken young women, to the long arm of the law.
And on top of that, there was the question of his involvement in the criminal organization of a few years back known only as The Fran's Boys. Along with the arch-criminals SugarBear, The Peach, and Windex, he wreaked a wave of terror upon the good citizens of London. Had Tisiphone been around when The Fran's Boys were in operation, the two organizations would have battled each other on countless of occassions. As it stood, however, The Fran's Boys had disappeared from the city; retired into lives of comfort and respectability. All except for Paris, that is.
Yet for all his faults, Paris was the perfect component required for the team to work.
And it came as no surprise to all, when the young scoundrel graciously accepted the chance to join such an organization. He ceased to be the idle, starving artist, and allowed the crime fighting persona of The Poet to take control. At last, for The Poet, a chance to escape his pursuers, and disappear into the annonymity of crime-fighting.
Both Tisiphone and The Lawyer were worried. They knew that The Poet would only work as part of the team so long as it served his purpose, and that he would be too quick to betray his fellows if the right price was offered. But it was a chance that Tisiphone had to take. For the world to survive this time of trouble, it had to work.
And besides, gentle readers, what kind of story would this be if The Palaver didn't learn to say no to sex? And if The Preacher didn't appreciate the value of a lowly office? And if The Poet didn't mend his ways and embrace the side of good?
And so, with little ceremony, and much secrecy, Tisiphone's Angels were born, and let loose upon the world to bring vengence upon evil-doers everywhere!
The Angels had worked their cause for over a year, when that day at the Pharaoh first began. Much had transpired in their lives and careers. The Palaver and The Preacher had proven themeselves to be the epitome of crime-fighting. Each of them armed with a spiffy suit and a gleaming whiskey flask, they traveled the globe seeking out wrongdoers and exacting Tisiphone's revenge. The Poet, however, had fallen short of expectations. While he had quickly befriended his two companions, his actions and mercenary ways had led him astray from time to time, and into direct conflict with Tisiphone herself. It was during these periods that The Lawyer was often called in to aid the Angels in their work. And it too was one of these periods when The Lawyer entered into the Pharaoh and presented the two Angels with grim news.
"Stolen?!", exclaimed The Palaver.
"Stolen," replied The Lawyer.
All three sat in shocked silence for a few minutes. This news was cause for a stiff drink. As a new bottle of Glenlivet 12yo was brought to the table along with a platter of potato wedges and bangers, and a pitcher of ale, the full implications of what had happened settled on them.
"How long ago?" asked The Preacher, barely being able to contain the uneasy quiver in his voice.
"Last night," stated The Lawyer.
"My God," was the only response offered from the two Angels.
The MacCallan Distillery in Scotland had been raided by Nazi spies the night before. They took with them the only bottle of MacCallan 80yo in existence, the recipe for the whiskey, and one barrel of the liquor, and they completely ruined the remaining barrels that were being slowly aged for the consumption of people not yet born. The MacCallan was now a thing of the past. The greatest, and best single malt Scotch whiskey in the world was now in German hands. Years from now, the best whiskey in the world could be Goering 12yo, or Himmler Single Malt Special Reserve. It was a travesty. A tragedy the likes of which the world had never known.
Before this night, the Angels had known that the greatest evil in the world was Hitler and his Nazi empire. They had watched as France, Austria, and Czechoslovakia were swallowed up by a force of doom. But they'd always felt powerless to stop that madman.
But now it was different.
Now it was personal.
The Nazis had messed with what the Angels held most dear, and come hell or high water, they were going to get it back!
Only one thing stood in their way. Their boss, Tisiphone would never allow such a mission. Their current orders where to stay here, and prevent the Germans from stealing the blueprints for a new invention that the RAF called, "Radar" from the Museum. To rescue the MacCallan meant defying their own boss, but to do nothing about it meant the end of civilisation as they knew it.
They made up their minds. The MacCallan must be retrieved. And to do it they would need the help of their friend and counterpart, The Poet.
And here ends Chapter One of our saga. Tune in next time for Chapter Two: Preparations For War (or, Hitler was a Pansy)
