My eyes snapped open, and I sat bolt upright, sweat pouring off of my brow.

“Where in the name of cockery am I?” I yelled, leaping to my feet, letting a filthy cotton bed-sheet fall to the ground as I did. I attempted to survey my strange surroundings, but the room appeared to be spinning quite rapidly around me. I waited until the room had the damned decency to stop revolving, and then I dashed to a set of steel bars ahead of me, and began hollering for attention.

“Room service!” I snapped. “Room service! Hello? Excuse me? ROOM SERVICE?”

I felt an arm pull me gently away from the bars. It was Botter, my man-servant. I almost clouted him, but he raised his hands and stopped me.

“My lord,” he said softly, “you’re in prison. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember a thing?”

I racked my brains in an attempt to pluck any random memories that might hold some clue as to how I wound up incarcerated in such a manner. I drew a blank.

“I remember…leaving England,” I replied slowly.

“Is that all?” Botter asked, somewhat incredulously. “That was almost a month ago, milord.”

“Shit.” I said, blankly. “I think I left a gas-light on in the mansion.”

“We are in America, now, milord. We arrived yesterday, you see, but you were rather drunk and so we – “

“Drunk! Ah, that would explain it, then!” I exclaimed, somewhat relieved. “For a moment there I thought I was going senile. My great uncle, Hercules Likely, went quite mad at my age, you know. Have I ever told you about the time he single-handedly tried to invade Paris, with nothing but a bread stick?”

“No, milord.”

“Excellent. It is a terrible tale, and puts the Likely name in rather a bad light. Make sure I never tell it to anyone.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a jangling of keys, and we turned to face a police-man slowly opening the door to the cell. He motioned towards us.

“You two. C’mere.” He said, rather curtly, I felt.

“I beg your pardon?” I snapped. “Are you referring to us, or have two mongrel dogs strayed in here?”

“Yeah, you two. C’mere,” the man repeated.

“My good man, I am Lord Likely. You shall refer to me as ‘your lordship’, or ‘my lord’, or not at all.” I replied, stiffly. I picked my hat up off the floor where it lay, dusted it off and put it back upon my head. Then I strode past the police-man, trying to exude an air of dignity, but noticed – rather too late – that the front of my shirt was plastered with caked-on vomit. I grimaced.

“I’m Captain Dick Jerker, of the New York Police Department. Now, here’s the deal. Your man here,” he said, motioning to Botter, giving him rather too much credit, “has saved your ass.”

“I don’t own a donkey, do I?” I asked Botter, quietly.

“Mr. Botter gave us the name of an Inspector Albert Spunkleford, of Scotland Yard, who he said would vouch for the both of you and confirm your identities. We took the liberty of acting upon this information, and surely enough, this Spunkleford guy backed your story.”

“Jolly good. Then you should know who the Hell I am, and let us be on our way, lest I clobber you.”

“Listen, Lickley,” Jerker continued. “Your hifalutin title might impress folks back in England, but it doesn’t mean a shit to us, okay? If I had my way, I’d shut your ass away for years for assaulting my men and being drunk in charge of a pirate ship. But someone has stepped forward to take you into their care, and assures me you won’t be causing my ass any more problems in my city.”

“Oh! And who might this ‘someone’ be?” I asked. “And why are you so obsessed with asses? Are you rather partial to a bit of bestiality, or something?”

Captain Jerker’s face tensed up with rage, but he was stopped from throwing a punch by a voice cutting through the air, coming from the end of the corridor.

“I’ll take over from here, Officer,” the voice said. I turned to face the speaker, but his face was obscured by shadows. However, as he stepped forward, and his waxed black hair, chiselled jawline, proud features and sparkling eyes came into view, I had no doubts as to who my saviour was.

“Ludlow!” I cheered, rushing over and shaking my brother’s hand vigourously.

“Hello, old boy!” Ludlow beamed. “You know, when I heard a drunken lunatic had steered a pirate ship right into the docks of New York City, I knew it had to be you! How the devil are you?”

“I’d be rather better if I was in a considerably classier environment, with fresh clothes and a glass of whisky in my hand!” I replied.

“Ha!” Ludlow cheered, clapping his hands together. “Same old Lordy. Well, let’s get you over to my house and see if we can’t sort you out, eh?

“Marvelous!” I exclaimed. “I don’t suppose you would happen to have a kennel for my man-servant too, would you?”

Ludlow and I roared, and slapped each other’s backs heartily. As we laughed, Jerker coughed and waved some papers in Ludlow’s direction.

“Now, sir, you just have to sign these papers and then…” he began.

“I don’t have to do anything, Jerk-Off!” Ludlow shouted, then he burst into uproarious laughter once more. I joined in, although I did not fully understand the bizarre American colloquialisms being bandied about by my brother.

“Quite. So… stick that up your donkey’s arse!” I adjoined, jabbing at Jerker’s chest with my finger. “You cock-face.”

Ludlow let forth with another gale of laughter, and delivered another slap upon my back. I smiled, and responded in kind, albeit a little bit harder, for Ludlow had slightly creased my coat with his back-slapping. Jerker, meanwhile, growled at me, causing me to recoil slightly.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Ludlow said, reassuringly. “I am quite pally with the Mayor of New York, doncha know? I sometimes lease him my summer-house, and on the odd occasion, my wife. Anyway, I shall go and get the carriage ready for you, Lordy. I will see you out front!” Ludlow disappeared through a pair of double-doors, leaving me alone with Jerker.

“Your little brother can’t watch you twenty-four-seven, y’know.” The police-man snarled. “And when you put a foot wrong, I’ll be there to put my foot up your ass. I’m warning you, Likely, your ass is mine. MINE.”

I smiled, and tipped my hat politely.

“You shall have to buy me dinner first,” I said, then departed, with Botter following on.

I had only been in America for less than a day, now, but already I had made one mortal enemy. And, sadly, he was not to be the only one.

- Lord Likely.

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From the report of Captain Dick Jerker, of the New York City Police Department:

I ordered my men to continue firing upon the pirate ship ‘The Hairy Clam‘ that was advancing onto US shores, until I saw the vessel rocked with explosions and saw it sink beneath the waves, no doubt taking it’s criminal pirate crew with it.

As we celebrated a job well done, I suddenly noticed two figures appearing from the smoking wreckage, astride two large wooden barrels. One was a tall man, sporting a top hat and who seemed to be contentedly sipping on a glass of alcohol, stopping every so often to refill his glass from a tap on the barrel he was sat upon. The other, smaller man, meanwhile, was frantically paddling trying to keep himself afloat. Naturally, we were rather taken aback by this sight, and I ordered my men to stand down as the two men approached dry land, as I was eager to question them.

Once they came into shallow waters, I sent two men to escort them up to me. I introduced myself, and asked what business they had on United States waters. The taller man declared that he was in fact an aristocrat from England, and called himself ‘Lord Likely‘. While he did indeed sport a top hat and a striking moustache, his clothes were so tattered and he was so clearly drunk that I doubted the legitimacy of his claims, and accused him of being nothing more than villainous, pirate scum, here to steal from our fine city. At this, Mr. Likely became furiously angry, yelling at me and screaming, “don’t you know who I am?!” before attempting to take a swing at me, but only succeeding in falling flat on his face. His associate, a Mr. Botter, rolled his eyes and remained silent.

We searched both men, and removed a fencing sword, a pistol, a hip-flask of whiskey and a bottle of perfume from Mr. Likely. It was thought he was concealing another weapon in his trousers, but it transpired that it was not a weapon, but his fully erect penis instead. I then arrested the pair on suspicion of piracy, and also charged the so-called lord with attacking a police officer. I ordered they be handcuffed and taken to the nearest jail, but as they were loaded up into the police wagon, Likely was violently sick upon two of my men, so I added ‘vomiting upon the police in the course of their duty’ to his list of charges. Mr. Likely mumbled something about ‘removing my testicles with a rusty blade’, then passed out.

The two men were dispatched to the county jail, where they are currently being kept in a cell awaiting further action. Mr. Botter has been highly co-operative with our inquiries, while Mr. Likely has done nothing but complain, and has continually made outrageous demands, such as silk sheets for his bed, a freshly-pressed suit, meals of swan-meat and caviar, and the finest wines we have to offer. He also asked that the cell be re-designed with gold trimmings, a chandelier and classical artwork. Unable to meet his ludicrous demands, we gave him a few scraps of beef and a cotton bed-sheet, which incensed him further.

Proceedings against the pair will resume tomorrow morning, when Mr. Likely has had ample time to compose himself and sober up.

Report filed by Cpt. Dick Jerker, July 2nd 1856, 19.36pm.

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