The Magnus Protocol 15 – Well Run
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Hi folks, Billy Hindle here, the voice of Alice Dyer in The Magnus Protocol. Today I just wanted to take some time to run you through some of the exciting Magnus merchandise, as well as affiliate links, a brand new way to support the show. You can find affiliate links in the description of all new episodes. If you are based in the UK, be sure to check out Phantom Peak, a unique, immersive, open world adventure in London. Use the link in the show notes or code RUSTY to get 15% off tickets.

perfect for fans of escape rooms. Next up, be sure to check out our bespoke merchandise from our partners, including exclusive perfume scents inspired by John and Martin and ex-Altiora. Find out more by going to www.rustyquill.com forward slash S-B-P. Find Magnus and Rusty Quill themed TTRPG accessories, including dice trays, dice towers, and beautiful coasters from Harpscore by going to harpscore.com forward slash rusty dash quill.

See the Magnus Archives polyhedral die set from Dice Dungeon, including an exclusive D16 featuring icons representing the fears. Visit thedicedungeon.co.uk forward slash collections forward slash rusty dash quill to find out more. There are also new designs available on our official merchandise stores for t-shirts,

Stickers, posters and more. Check the links in the description or go to www.rustyquill.com forward slash support. Thanks for listening. We hope you enjoy the show.

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Thank you, Alex and Johnny, and everyone at Rusty Quill for giving us Magnus Archives and Magnus Protocol. And thank you, Daenerys Rodriguez, for showing me the Magnus Archives. I love you, and I'm so happy to have you in my life. Rusty Quill presents The Magnus Protocol Episode 15 Well Run Ahem. Ahem? One sec. Ahem. Please? Sorry, go ahead. Ahem.

My Sam, I didn't see you there. What can I do for you? I'm so glad you're here Celia. I was wondering if you had perhaps dropped something? Don't think so. You're sure? Nothing small and ticket shaped like perhaps... these incredibly exclusive, hardly discounted, barely obstructed theatre tickets? No. You're sure?

Because they look like they'd be perfect for someone to use maybe for a second date? Yeah, nothing to do with me. So... is that a no to... I'm just playing. What's the show? Oh, er... The Pillow Man? Oh! What? Nothing.

Very romantic choice. Is it? I don't really know much about it. I just thought, well, it's cool. Well, count me in. If only to see your face. Cool. So did them.

Not so fast now. I mean, sure, you could both go and canoodle in some stuffy old theatre. It's a good place to canoodle. Or you could hear one of the great up-and-coming music sensations that has currently taken the London scene by storm. Let me guess. Treasure Man? Don't be daft. They're taking a break before their tour. No, it's Penny for the Well, actually. But it is still Luke on the bass, right?

How many bands does that put in? Let's just say that this revolutionary indie ensemble, which may or may not also include my incredibly talented younger brother, is playing the Gladstone Arms at 10.30 tomorrow evening and you are both on the guest list. You're welcome.

I'm sure Luke is great, Alice. Oh, he is! But I don't think I can make it. Anyway, we're going to the theatre. Aha! But that's the best bit. They're the last ones on, so you can do your boring play and then just swing by afterwards. Alice... Oh, come on! It's the weekend! Live a little! I'm sorry, but I don't think my sitter can stay that late. Your...sitter? Yeah. There's no one else to step in, so it's a thanks but no thanks from me.

No, yeah. No, of course. So, like a dog sitter or... Human. Right. Sorry. Yeah, that's cool. Babies are cool. I'll tell you what, though. Give me a bit more notice next time and I'll see if I can't get something sorted. I'd love to see your brother play. Uh, yeah. Sure. Anyway, don't mind me. I'm a bit behind tonight. Just ping me the details for theatre later, yeah? Of course. So...

And you say I need to do this. What? What? I said babies were cool! Hi, you've reached the Sentinel tip-off hotline. If you are calling with information that you believe merits investigation for the public interest, please leave a message with as much detail as possible along with your name and number. If you wish to remain anonymous, please instead leave a three-word code at the start of your message that we can use to identify future calls or correspondence from you.

This voicemail is monitored by dedicated staff that are obliged to report serious crimes to local law enforcement if there is risk of imminent harm to anyone. Please speak after the tone. To end the recording, simply hang up. I need to report something. I can't go to the police. You're supposed to be independent. Well, I've got to risk it. People need to know.

They need to know what's happening, what they're doing, and I don't know how much time I've got left. I work as a caterer. High-end, private, functions, silver service, that kind of thing. It's my own company, and I've managed to build up a decent reputation in the right circles. We get called in for the really high-end stuff.

They're the kind of event where the guest list is so rich that you've never even heard of them. There's a big difference between extravagance and elegance, and we sell the latter. We're not a big operation, though. There were only six permanent staff, including myself. We do hire in fixed-term waiting staff and other contractors, but even so, I knew these people.

I worked with them for years, and they didn't deserve what happened to them. We got a call a couple of months ago for a fairly small event at Witchwood Hall in the Cotswolds.

Apparently they had a family shoot and wanted us to prepare the game. Normally that would be pheasant or partridge and we'd just swap it for stuff we prepared off-site since no one could ever tell the difference but they were really explicit about it being a larger game and wanting to know whose kill they were eating. That meant a lot more prep time and equipment but they insisted and at this level you don't get to tell the client no, just how much extra it will cost.

We set up the cooking gazebos during the early afternoon in the rear of the gardens. On the butler's instructions, the house itself was a massive, sprawling Elizabethan thing with pristine flower beds and prim lawns that ran right up the surrounding woodland. It wasn't usual to be given centre stage like that, but I figured the client fancied themselves a foodie and just wanted to see the prep. Thankfully, we brought the flashy gear, just in case.

Normally, you'd expect the chute to have already been well underway by the time we'd arrived, but people were only just arriving in their tinted Range Rovers and Rolls. I didn't say anything, but I made damn sure everyone got a head start on the veg and the sauces, because at this rate, it would be a miracle if they would be eating before nine. Another hour passed with a couple more cars trickling in, but still, no one had even set out. Instead, I could see them through the leaded windows, just watching us work.

Finally, after another half hour, I had the house staff fetch the butler. He eventually came out, dour as before, and I told him that unless he knew something I didn't, there was going to be a distinct lack of venison for tonight's venison medallions. He just gave me this look, told me to prepare, and then headed back inside. Obviously, that pissed me right off, but what can you do? They paid for the day, so we just hungered down and looked busy.

Finally, as the sun was starting to set a bloody red behind the woodland, the guns came out with their entourage all tweed, Winchesters and dogs, and in the front of them marched this matriarch. I don't know how else to describe her. This big, imposing, like some Roman statue brought to life and given a go. I kept thinking of my army days, cooking for the top brass.

She had the same eyes, like they didn't see people anymore, just assets and persistence. And if that wasn't enough, she had this huge custom rifle on her shoulder, like an antique elephant gun or something. There was no way it was UK legal. The thing looked like it could take out a jeep, never mind a stag. And it wasn't gilded or anything. It was dull and plain-looking, despite its massive size.

and he just knew that this was a gun for killing with, not showing off. It was her domain, and she reeked of power and authority in every sense of the word, and when she spoke, they all listened. She had the guns all lined up, facing us with their dogs at heel, and then they all just stood there, watching the sun set as their staff and security all headed back into the house, leaving us alone with them.

That was when I knew something was really wrong. The woman stepped forward with her dogs by her side and faced me with this bright and white smile, splitting her face under her electric blue eyes and gunmetal grey hair. Then she just locked eyes with me, began to carefully load the rifle without looking, punctuating each word with another cartridge. "Are you prepared?" she asked quietly.

"As we can be," I replied. But then she raised her hand to silence me, and it was as though she had slapped a gag in my mouth. I couldn't even think of disobeying her. The words just died in my throat. She returned to the group, her dogs flanking the hallway and her silhouette outlined in the blood-red dusklight. I couldn't make out any of the other faces dazzled as I was by the light.

Then she stood tall and proud and said with just the tiniest hint of anticipation, "Let's begin then, shall we?" As one, the hunters raised their rifles and as one had leveled them at us as we stood transfixed under our gazebo. There's a very specific feeling you get when you're staring down the barrel at clutch range.

First the world gets very sharp and bright, and then the horizon sort of shrinks around you until it's no wider than the dark hole aiming straight at you. It had been a long time since I'd felt like that, but it was still so familiar. Too familiar. The woman hadn't raised her own weapon. Instead, she called as though directing a firing squad. None of us replied. None of us even breathed. We stood completely still and silent.

The only noise being the gentle breeze through the trees and the slight hiss of the red wine reduction boiling over beside me. There wasn't even any birdsong. Then I realized she wasn't talking to the other guns. She was talking to us. After seconds, that felt like hours. The woman seemed to grow impatient. Finally, she sighed and repeated, before shouldering her rifle, sighting and then pulling the trigger without hesitation.

There was a deafening gunshot that stabbed at my eardrums, leaving them ringing, and then a sudden clatter of someone falling to the ground behind me, dragging utensils down with them. I couldn't turn to see who was hit, but I think it was Stephen. It was only 23. I know it was a headshot, though. Don't forget that sound. Without lowering the rifle, she chambered another round and recited this time at me.

She smiled greedily and then pumped her eyebrows just once, playfully. And this time, I understood. Without taking my eyes from her, I reached out and gently closed my hand around the handle of the cleaver in front of me. It shone, pristine and unblemished, ready for its bloody work. And then, slowly, so slowly, I raised it overhead, bracing myself for what followed.

The woman grinned widely, her finger caressing the trigger. I brought my hand down sharply, smashing the cleaver into the face of Marcus, our saucier. He couldn't even cry out as it cleft deep into the base of his neck, his arterial blood gushing out and down into the overly hot pot, releasing a plume of acrid iron-smelling stink.

I looked down at his carcass and then wiped the blood from my brow and yanked the blade free with a crunch before turning to the rest of my staff. They ran. The party ate well that night. All told, it didn't take long. Maybe a half hour at most. None of them got far. I caught Deborah as she tried to hide up in a tree. Fair play to her. Almost made it up there despite being in her fifties.

Myra tripped over a rabbit hole in the darkness. I think she tried to beg. I couldn't make out the words. The only one who gave me any real trouble was Boris. He was a big guy, nearly 6'5". And that's a hell of a size difference, even with my training. But it wasn't enough. I had killed before, and he hadn't. He hesitated. And that was that. As I was packing up, the woman shook my hand and complimented me.

Then the butler handed me a thick brown envelope. It was full of cash and a note written in elegant cursive with just one word: "Rub." I did. Can't stay anywhere too long. Can't stop moving. I keep hearing dogs barking and I don't know if it's just some pet or... I thought about handing myself in to the police but that just feels like trapping myself in a dead end.

So I'm getting out of the country. First the channel tunnel, and then keep going until I've gone far enough that she can't... Oh no. Well run, dearie. Well run. That was... Fascinating. Excuse me? I was talking to the boys. Can I, um... Can I help you? I rather think you might. Rude.

What did you say your name was, dear? I didn't. My, we are an odd one, aren't we? And braver than we look. You're not allowed to be in here. I was invited. A fine specimen. Strong and different.

What is that? Lady Mowbray. That's me, yes. I presume you're Gwendolyn Bouchard? Yes. Thank you for coming in. If you'd like to follow me? Lady Mowbray. Of course. Catch you next time, dearie. No, you won't. Ha, ha, ha.

Have I get you any refreshments, Lady Mowbray? No, thank you, dear. I recently ate. Of course. Bouchard. You wouldn't be one of the Cheshire Bouchards, would you? Oh, well, actually...

There she is! Oh my god! It's the guy from the band! Gosh! I'm giddy! Not surprised. The way you were flailing about. How dare you! I am pushing the boundaries of what it means to dance. I won't argue with that. A pint of water please, mate. With ice.

Thanks for coming, Alice. You didn't have to. Clearly. I thought this was meant to be a little chill side gig thing. So did I. Turns out that things are really picking up. Hello? Yes? Is that Glastonbury? Why, yes, we do have a minute. You joke, but the manager's already added seven more cities to the Dredgerman tour. Oh, wow. Fair play. Cheers, mate.

That's Sam by the way. It's been years since I saw that weedy git. Same as ever. Shame he couldn't make it tonight. Yeah, still sometimes it's nice to hang out and have a drink, just the two of us. Oh, I'm flattered. You should be. And since the show's over... Two pints of Doom Bar cheers. There we go. The second time I tried to grasp the air and fill my lungs and rattle full. I can't. There's so much air.

Hello?

Uh, hi? Hello? Listen, I, uh... I don't have any spare... Jesus! Are you... Are you alright? Oh, shit! Get off! Get off me! Let go! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Can you hear me? I'm calling for help, okay? Just hold on, yeah? Ambulance. Just round the back of the Gladstone Arms near Lant Street. Yeah, there's someone. I don't know if they've OD'd, but they're going into a fit or something.

I'm here. Err, Alice. Thank you for the call. Yeah, er, wait. Hang on. Morning, guys. Oh, shit. Shit, she stopped breathing. Yeah, yeah, just hurry! Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. What is...

Oh, shit! You... I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

and reached out for an overland to claim me still. The Magnus Protocol is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 international license. The series is created by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J. Newell and directed by Alexander J. Newell. This episode was written by Alexander J. Newell and edited with additional materials by Jonathan Sims.

with vocal edits by Nico Vitesi, soundscaping by Meg McKellar, and mastering by Catherine Rinella, with music by Sam Jones. It featured Billy Hindle as Alistair, Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid, Anusha Battersby as Gwen Bouchard, Laurie-Ann Davis as Celia Ripley. The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner, with executive producers Alexander Jane Yor, Danny McDonagh, Lynn See, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton.

and associate producers Jordan L. Hawke, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius the Raven, and Megan Nice. To subscribe, view associated materials, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us via mail at RustyQuill.com. Thanks for listening. The most powerful designer drugs are the digital ones we use daily, and we get high off them.

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