The Affair at the British Museum

By Chantelle Messier

The second in the series starring supernatural detective Shalaby W. Shalaby and his occasionally-useful partner, inventor and man-of-action Byron Fecklace. Someone has been vandalizing animal specimens at the British Museum of Natural History. It falls to our heroes to defend Darwinism, track taxidermy poachers, and utterly defile the venerable halls of learning. Flamethrowers! Occult rituals! Walruses! Vexing secrets and ill-considered plans! These are merely the hallmarks of true crime-fighting genius in this farcical steampunk mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chantelle Messier
• Release date: Jun 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463830529

Chantelle Messier

Chantelle Messier is an avid researcher and reader of Victorian society and cultural oddities. Currently an instructor of writing at Roger Williams University, she has published in a number of genres including poetry, non-fiction, science fiction, and steampunk.Look for her work online at her blog, Lair of the Semanticore, and McSweeney's Internet Tendency. Her stories are featured in two print anthologies: The Obverse Book of Detectives (Obverse Books, 2013); and Tales of the Great Detectives (City of the Saved #4) (Obverse Books, 2014).

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Shalaby and Fecklace: The Affair at the British Museum

A short story by Chantelle Messier

Published by Chantelle Messier at Smashwords

Copyright 2020 Chantelle Messier

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Part I: The Walrus and the Carpenter

The walrus was immense, and it presided over the crowded coffee-room of the Royal Society for Cryptozoology with an air of pompous but benevolent dignity, its moustache bristling in impressive display.

Add a top hat, Shalaby, and I should have mistaken him for a relation of yours.

Shalaby W. Shalaby was not amused. His own impressive whiskers puffed out in annoyance. I should thank you to restrain your flippancy whilst we are on a professional appointment, Fecklace. He removed his hat and stepped inside. This taxidermy specimen was borrowed for our perusal by my colleagues who sit on the Board of the British Museum of Natural History. It is, he pronounced with importance, "criminal evidence."

I glanced round for a valet, and at length was forced to throw down my coat and hat on the settee. By the time I’d adjusted the lapel of my waistcoat, I turned to find us surrounded by a knot of middle-aged gentlemen of the avuncular, professional sort.

One was already folding up his spectacles and shaking Shalaby by the hand. Most excellent to see you, Mr. Shalaby, always a pleasure.

My congratulations on the monograph, said a grey-whiskered fellow who had just abandoned a game of draughts. ‘The Life Cycle and Conjugal Habits of the Sea Kraken’ was an unquestioned coup.

I was supposed to be on my best behaviour. But the corner of my mouth ticked up. Conjugal Habits? Really, Shalaby, I never thought you were an erotic novelist.

Mr. Shalaby’s monograph on the sea kraken, corrected the first gentleman, is a grave contribution to a woefully slender body of knowledge.

Shalaby’s admiring clique seemed poised to go on discussing monstrous crawly things of the sea for an indefinite span. I shuddered. I say, old boy. I nudged Shalaby. "This conversation is giving me the horrors. What say we actually have a go at this supposed criminal evidence you were formerly so keen about?"

Indeed. Looking a bit chastened, he excused himself—still failing to introduce me.

"I hardly gave you credit for being such a petit célébrité," I remarked as we threaded our way to the