Previously on Alike Indignity, nursemaid and former Silver Twilight Lodge initiate Olive Sapinska finds herself confronted with the nigh-unbelievable possibility that her previous employer, Talcott Meiger, has somehow switched bodies with Elias Husserl, Jr. The main claiming to be Elias promises her a significant sum if she can help return him to his rightful body, and she tentatively agrees.

In anticipation of Fantasy Flight Games’ upcoming scenario pack Traces to Nowhere for Arkham Horror: The Card Game, we continue author Tim Pratt’s new serial, Alike Indignity. Meet the scions of the Meiger and Husserl families in this six-part series that mixes family rivalry with dangerous magics.

Read or listen to to the third chapter, “The Costs of an Ill-Fitting Suit,” below, and subscribe to the Aconyte Fiction Podcast to make sure you catch the rest of the series. 

Alike Indignity

Chapter 3: The Costs of an Ill-Fitting Suit

by Tim Pratt

Talcott Meiger, occultist and now successful body-swapper, launched himself away from his grand-niece, Zelda, fleeing into the bathroom so he wouldn’t witness anything untoward while she dressed. Talcott had few illusions about himself – he knew he was selfish, hedonistic, and willing to sacrifice others for his own happiness – but he had found his limit. After he emerged and yanked his trousers on, he managed to avoid Zelda’s attempts to kiss him farewell by pretending to be upset about this Sheldon gang business. Though he wasn’t pretending, not really. His plan had been to step seamlessly into the life of a beloved golden child, leaving his maligned and dying body behind. Instead, he was trapped in the body of a fool who’d gotten in over his head with dangerous people.

He finally disentangled himself from Zelda and sent her on her way, promising to be in touch soon, and considered his options. He discovered a train ticket to Boston in the pocket of his jacket, leaving late that night. Elias Hussel, Jr. had clearly planned to creep away under cover of darkness, and… what? Lay low and hope for the best? Did he have any sort of plan?

Talcott had truly body-swapped with an idiot.

Whether he had a plan or not, Talcott needed one. Maybe he should choose a new body. The scholar had warned against repeating the ritual. “It scrapes away at your soul every time, like the shavings that peel away when you sharpen a pencil. Do it too often, and you’ll find yourself a stub.”

Surely once more wouldn’t hurt, though. He could take over the body of an elder Husserl sibling and still have access to their vast fortune and connections. Although what if they were embroiled in personal scandals, too? Maybe he should return to his original plan, and hijack one of his own young relatives. He’d need access to his supplies hidden away in the Meiger mansion’s attic to do another swap. He’d planned on bribing a Meiger servant to bring him his grimoire and supplies after “Talcott” died, but how could he get his hands on the materials now? He could send Zelda to fetch them, perhaps, but how to explain the why of it with this fresh face, and what would happen when Junior-imprisoned-in-Talcott’s-body saw his lady love?

All right, swapping bodies again was impractical for now. He would use Junior’s original plan and adapt it as his own. He would go to Boston, perhaps find an occultist who could supply him with the necessary ingredients to recreate the potion.

For that, though, he needed money.

Picking apart Junior’s wallet revealed only a few bills – nowhere near enough to support the lifestyle Talcott was accustomed to, and far too little to finance a life on the lam. Therefore, the first step of his adjusted plan was to acquire capital.

Fortunately, while he couldn’t return to the Meiger Estate in French Hill, he could freely enter the Husserl mansion, where he was sure to find shiny treasures aplenty, ripe for the pawnbroker. He’d seen the jewelry that Josephine Husserl wore in society page photos. Those diamonds would see him sitting pretty.

Talcott pulled Junior’s ugly hat low over his eyes and did his best to slink unobtrusively out of the hotel. Fortunately, his experience with skulking came in handy – he’d often been more welcome in places upon his arrival than he ended up being when the time came to depart. Talcott had no idea if Junior had a car, so he waited while the doorman flagged a taxi, giving up some of his meager funds for a tip and the fare. He knew the location of the Husserl house from his newspaper reading, but when the taxi dropped him off in the bluish twilight, he was alarmed to see the place lit up with smartly dressed people heading up the steps. Blast it, these upstarts were having a party? The Husserls were truly embracing their role as Arkham’s best and brightest, untarnished by the history and associations that dogged the Meigers.

Tamping down his fury, he scooted around the side of the house, seeking a less direct entrance, and found the propped-open door to the kitchen with a man in a dirty apron smoking a cigarette just outside. The fellow, clearly some kind of cook or chef, exclaimed, “Junior! What are you doing back here?”

Talcott would never tolerate such familiarity from a servant, but apparently Junior had the common touch. “If I went through the front door, I’d be trapped in a hundred different conversations. I simply can’t bear the thought.”

The cook frowned. “No, I didn’t mean at the back door, I meant back here! I thought you were leaving tonight? Some fellas were sniffing around earlier looking for you, and I told them I heard you were headed to Chicago, to try and throw them off. I think they might still be watching the house, though.”

“Ah, yes, how good of you to look out for me.”

The cook frowned, and Talcott realized he should have done more research before taking on this role; the polished image of Junior in the society pages was clearly a thin gloss on reality. “I’m leaving soon, just need to pick up a few things.”

“I’d pick them up fast. Charles might give you a lift later, but that’s unlikely with the party going on.”

“Charles?”

“Charles Tamm? The family chauffer?”

“Right.” He definitely should have done more research. Talcott nodded and swept past him into a bustling kitchen, then managed to find the servants’ stairs. There’d been a long article, with photos, about Josephine Husserl’s taste in décor, and Talcott’s steel-trap memory retained it all, but of course, it hadn’t covered the servants’ areas. He finally slipped out on the third floor, where the family bedrooms were, hoping to avoid the sparkle and splendor of the gala. Which was frustrating, because he’d taken this body so he could access sparkle and splendor.

Right now, though, he needed to access money. Perhaps… ah, yes, here, the Husserl patriarch’s study, all dark wood with a bust of Pallas and an imposing giant desk. Maybe there was a cash box or a safe left open. A swift ransacking of the drawers turned up nothing, not even gold cufflinks or a fine wristwatch, just papers, cigars, and detritus.

No need for despair. There were always the matriarch’s jewels. He slipped down the wallpapered hall and into the master bedroom, admiring the four-poster bed and the antique furnishings. A vast walk-in closet contained a vanity along with furs, gowns, and hundreds of shoes. And yes, there on the table, a beautiful jewelry box the size of a briefcase, dark wood inlaid with gold. He flung it open–

And gazed down at empty compartments, not so much as a loose diamond earring inside.

“Not you, too?” a woman’s sharp voice hissed. “You know Albrecht stole my favorite brooch. I had to pay an exorbitant fee to get it back from the pawnbroker. We locked up all the valuables after that. Your brother’s gambling habit has gotten out of hand. He tried to sell our second-best car last week! I’m sure he’s down at the Tick-Tock Club right now, losing money on credit.”

Talcott turned to behold the stern beauty of Josephine Husserl, his “mother,” wearing an elegant navy gown accented with a string of pearls. “Ah, Mother, I was just looking for my… cuff links…”

“You’re supposed to be the good one, Junior. Albrecht will wastrel himself into an early grave. Adele refuses to speak with me, the chit, and you know what Lina is like, but we’re counting on you to be the future of this family. And yet my sources tell me you’ve gotten mixed up with men of low character? You owe them money?”

This was getting worse and worse. “It’s just a business deal, ah, I only need to lay my hands on a bit of cash–”

“Ha! I also hear you’ve been ‘laying hands’ on one of the Meiger girls! Do you want to ruin our reputation entirely? I won’t stand for it, Junior.”

“How dare – er, if you’ll excuse me, I have an, an important meeting…” He squeezed by her even when she refused to move, despising her scowl. Him! Talcott Meiger! Running from a woman!

“You disappoint me.” Her voice was ice. “Lina doesn’t, and neither does Albrecht, because they are simply acting according to their natures. Adele is… Adele. But you, Junior, you have your father’s name, and you are–”

He fled before she could tell him what he was, diving down the nearest staircase, though it took him closer to the party noise. He’d picked a few pockets in his time, so perhaps he could bump into a prosperous guest and lift a money clip at least.

A woman sat on the steps in his way, looking fine in a scarlet beaded dress. She hummed to herself, and when she looked up, she smiled in a dreamy, abstract way. That must be the sister, Lina Husserl, who was supposed to be some kind of artist. “Hello, Junior. I had to get away from the crush down there. So many auras overlapping, it was giving me a headache–” She abruptly stopped and frowned, resembling her mother. “What’s happened? You don’t quite fit yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sister dear. I suppose I might be a bit preoccupied–”

“No, this is more like you’re… occupied. It’s like… looking through the open door of a house you know well but inside the furniture has been rearranged. I see my brother’s eyes, but who’s that looking through them?”

Blast it, was she one of those psychictypes? He’d met such creatures on his travels, people who could sense the flow of your thoughts, or the presence of the supernatural. Weren’t artists more likely to possess such sensitivities? He forced himself to laugh. “I think you’ve had too much champagne, sister, and it’s gone to your head. I’ll be seeing you.”

“Who will be seeing me?” she murmured but she didn’t rise as he rushed past her.

The party was in full swing, scores of Arkham’s luminaries in their gowns and tuxedos holding glasses and chatting in groups, the whole grand gilt-and-marble space teeming with merriment. Talcott gritted his teeth. Any of these bodies would have been a better choice than the one he chose… or so he assumed. Perhaps all of them were embroiled in their own disastrous ongoing misadventures. How could you ever know what was happening in the secret interior of another person’s life?

He thought better of his pickpocketing idea. That would require mingling, and he risked being caught up in a conversational whirlpool. Instead, he skulked around the edges of the party, and pocketed a few small items displayed on shelves and in quaint decorative niches: an antique silver salt cellar, a gold-inlaid music box, and, oh, was that an actual Imperial Fabergé egg? He’d read that Stalin was selling them off to raise cash…

This was hardly the haul he’d hoped for – he’d never get anything reaching the real value for that egg – but a stop by the pawn shop should give him sufficient funds to avoid destitution in Boston. He could write home and ask for more money. Surely his “mother” would comply if she knew he was in actual danger? Or perhaps his father was the softer touch, with some sympathy for the inheritor of his name.

Talcott managed to cross the room without exchanging more than a few nods and brief pleasantries, murmuring that he had a prior engagement, terribly sorry, must go.

He went down the front walk to the street and immediately saw the long, dark car parked opposite with the silhouettes of two men sitting inside. Talcott turned on his heel to walk in the opposite direction, but not before he heard the doors open. He looked back over his shoulder. The men walked toward him with steady, unhurried strides.

Talcott ran. He had to get off the street, find a place to hide, and then make his way to the train station. He’d find a pawnbroker in Boston, instead. At least in this young body he could run, though Junior’s lungs strained a bit. Clearly the boy didn’t get enough exercise. He spotted an open gate to the right, in front of an upscale house, and darted down the long brick driveway. If he could get to the back garden, he might be able to hide in the darkness, but he ended up facing the white front of a carriage house, instead. There was no visible path around the structure, and he was hemmed in by the main house on one side and a tall stone wall on the other. He turned to rush back out and saw two figures walking toward him, the larger one carrying a pipe or something, slapping it into his meaty palm. “Been looking for you, Junior,” the pipe-wielder grunted.

The other approached, smaller and leaner but loping with a troubling grace. His grin was visible in the moonlight. “We’ve been pursuing all kinds of avenues to find you. I thought we had the least likely assignment, to be honest. We never thought you’d be dumb enough to walk right out the front door of your own house. You really are in over your head, aren’t you, son?”

Talcott spun and rushed for the stone wall, hoping there was enough vim and vigor in this new body to propel him up and over–

But then the pipe crashed into his right thigh. He fell with a cry. Someone grabbed him by the ankle and began to drag him along the drive. Talcott twisted and turned, the contents of his pockets spilling out. The pilfered silver, the expensive trinkets, and no, no, even the train ticket slipped out of his pockets, all of it spilling onto the ground. He scrabbled at the bricks and sobbed. “This isn’t fair, I’m not him, this isn’t me, you’ve got the wrong man!”

“Never heard that before,” the leaner one said, and the two bruisers for the Sheldon gang chuckled.