Play@YSDC

Posted: **Mon May 07, 2012 4:13 am**

Shops are closed on Sundays, but when "the game's afoot" it's not uncommon to find Mr Grant and co. beavering away behind closed doors, and with only two days until the Irving is auctioned off, the game is certainly afoot.

Mrs Grant, having attended church with the moral enthusiasm that commonly overtakes showgirls once entered into matrimony, has gone to her sister's for Sunday roast, and left a plate of sandwiches to sustain Grant in his labours. As the morning drifts into midday, the staff and associates drift into the shop to share their gathered intelligence.

Posted: **Tue May 08, 2012 2:27 pm**

Luke wanders in to the shop late in the morning. He immediately notices the sandwiches and realises he hasn't eaten since the previous evening. With a vague salute in the direction of wherever Mrs Grant might be, Luke helps himself to Grant's lunch.

He's acutely aware that when everyone left on their intelligence gathering missions he stayed behind to liberate the personal fortune of the punters, so he sits back and waits for everyone else to turn up and shed some light on the upcoming auction and the Contessa's demands.

Posted: **Thu May 10, 2012 8:58 pm**

Rev. Poole wanders by the shop after morning services, glances in the window, and, not seeing Harwood (or anyone in the front room), continues on his way to a bakery he occasionally frequents, where he purchases a day-old loaf of bread. He splits it between himself and the pigeons at Soho Square (his pieces liberally treated with a half-jar of strawberry jam procured from a meeting of Boer War widows in a fine house on Tottenham Court Road the week previous, as well as a full Dewar flask of Orange Pekoe. After a few moments passed in reading, he wanders back towards the shop looking for Harwood.

Posted: **Mon May 14, 2012 7:18 am**

The front door is closed, but not locked, and those inside see a shadow on the frosted glass, and hear a rattling as if someone was fumbling with the doorknob. Abruptly, as if hit by a shoulder or a strong gust of wind, the door bangs open. Framed in it is the form of Wellington the book scout, who staggers into the shop*. He looks in a bad way - his face is drawn and white as a sheet beneath his hat, and he clutches his stomach with one hand like someone who's been gut-shot. He raises the other gloved hand and points at the counter. "Book", he moans loudly. "Book."

* Oddly, his booted feet make little if any sound on the floor.

Posted: **Mon May 14, 2012 11:31 am**

Luke jumps up from his sandwiches with a start. He rushes over to Wellington, shouting "Get some bandages" at no-one in particular.

Once at the door, he tries to usher the man over to a chair, so he can have a look at the wound. If there is one.

"What book?" he asks, out of habit. "Are you okay?"

Posted: **Mon May 14, 2012 9:18 pm**

Out in the back room Harwood leaps up from his seat and rushes downstairs to grab bandages. He heads back up to the shop and hands them over to Carse.

What the Hell is going on? Can you find the wound?

Posted: **Mon May 14, 2012 9:47 pm**

Rev. Poole, seconds later, opens the door to the shop, sees the commotion, and stands in the doorway agog.

Posted: **Tue May 15, 2012 3:14 am**

Grant looks up from Irving’s Legend of the Arab Astronomer. “Wellington! What’s the problem? Have you drunk something you shouldn't have again?” Quickly pouring a mug of hot, sweet tea, Grant brings it to the stricken man. “The Major will be upset if you’ve done yourself a mischief.”

Posted: **Tue May 15, 2012 8:27 am**

Those rushing to Wellington's aid are confounded when he suddenly spins out of Luke's reach - not like a man skilfully dodging an opponent, but like a leaf tossed aside by the wind of Luke's passage. He spins violently, his finger pointing to all corners of the shop like a compass in an electrical storm. His face is slack with extremity of fear. "Bottle" he gasps. "Bottle!"

Abruptly, Wellington stops spinning and falls to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Luke is close enough to hear him whisper one more thing over the THUMP of impact - perhaps it was "Set"? or "Seat"?

Posted: **Wed May 16, 2012 9:01 am**

“Wellington!” cries Grant, kneeling next to the fallen man and grasping his hand.

Posted: **Wed May 16, 2012 9:42 am**

AndrewTBP wrote:“Wellington!” cries Grant, kneeling next to the fallen man and grasping his hand.

There is no hand to grasp.

There's just a crumpled heap of old clothes.

Four point Stability test for everyone! And a little mood music...

Posted: **Thu May 17, 2012 1:22 am**

Harwoodvisibly blanches for a moment. He crosses himself and steps forward, his lips moving silently. He reaches forward and his hand runs across the pile of clothes. After a brief moment he leaps to the door, past the startled Reverend and looks each way up and down the street. He turns back into the shop, his hands fumbling with his tobacco, and says, with a forced smile,

Well, I've seen a few good quick change acts in my time, but given that there is no naked Wellington strolling down the Charing Cross Road...what the Hell just happened.

Posted: **Thu May 17, 2012 2:28 am**

Bookman wrote:Harwood visibly blanches for a moment. He crosses himself and steps forward, his lips moving silently. He reaches forward and his hand runs across the pile of clothes.

Inside Wellington's old stained shirt, Harwood's hand encounters a book-shaped lump. He leaves it be for the moment while he checks outside the door. There is also a strong smell of gin when the clothes are disturbed.

Posted: **Thu May 17, 2012 10:41 am**

Maybe this will tell us?

Harwood steps quickly to the pile of clothes. He hesitates briefly before feeling for the lump. He pulls it out.

Now what have we here?

Posted: **Thu May 17, 2012 8:24 pm**

(FYI - Invisible Castle's registration email went directly to my spam folder. You might want to look there.) The Rev. Poole stands stock-still, his eyes slowly widening. Eventually his satchel slips from his shoulder spilling papers, packets of biscuits, and few worn pence onto the floor. Under his breath he appears to be saying "Jesus" over and over again.

Posted: **Thu May 17, 2012 9:21 pm**

Grant’s surprised contemplation of the empty clothes is ended by the sound of Poole’s distress. He gets to his feet and assists Poole to a chair, giving him the mug of hot, sweet tea meant for Wellington. “Here, Reverend Poole. I think you need this. Both hands, mind now.”

Posted: **Fri May 18, 2012 12:58 am**

Jory:

Jory wanders up the street, munching on a vendor bought hot muffin and humming to himself ("Jerusalem" if anyone cares). He slows as he approaches the shop.

"Morning chaps, trust everyone had a pleasant eve? Now what's happened to this bod?"

Posted: **Fri May 18, 2012 8:15 am**

Bookman wrote:Harwood steps quickly to the pile of clothes. He hesitates briefly before feeling for the lump. He pulls it out.
Now what have we here?

The book-shaped lump is indeed a book. A quite rare and beautiful book, in fact. It is Volume 4 of the subscriber-only 1885 first printing of Richard Burton's The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, and looks to be in excellent condition. Furthermore, it is signed. The frontispiece says "To J.C. - from one Odd Volume to Another - Richard Burton".

Leafing through it, Harwood sees marginal notes on a few stories, particularly The City of Labtayt and The City of Many-Columned Iram and Abdullah Son of Abi Kalabah, in a hand that looks vaguely familiar...

Posted: **Fri May 18, 2012 11:43 am**

Luke goes as white as a sheet at the sight of Harwood poking about where Wellington's body should be. He feels the recently consumed sandwiches attempting a speedy exit from his stomach and puts his hand over his mouth.

"Keep it together, Luke," he mutters to himself.

Colour returns to his face as he regains his composure. Or at least, most of his composure.

"Anyone recognise that writing. Something about it seems familiar."

Posted: **Fri May 18, 2012 1:08 pm**

Jory:

Jory's eyes light up, despite the bizarre disaster.

"I say, what a coincidence! You'll all know chaps that old Burton published Indraji's definitive translation of The Kama Sutra? It's most excellent. Errr, I believe... What?"

Jory trails off and focuses on finishing his muffin with the air of a schoolboy trying to look innocent.

"Of course, this looks a much more worthy and intellectual tome. Bet Burton would have been good for a few laughs at a party though."

Jory then pulls a pencil out of his pocket and uses it to poke through the rest of Wellington's clothes, looking to see if anything else is in them.

Posted: **Fri May 18, 2012 2:20 pm**

Harwood stares at the book for the moment his lips moving slightly. His face looks more disturbed at the book than at the sad pile of clothes on the floor. With an angry magicianesque gesture he passes the book to Carse with a sarcastically unsuprised,

Of course it would be,

and strides quickly into the back of the shop. He is muttering, just under his breath, harsh sounding words with nasty edges to them.

A few moments later he reappears and puts the wooden book down on the counter with unaccustomed vehemence. He leafs rapidly through it murmuring 'John Cor' over and over again.
Edited for failure to spell 'sarcastically'.

Posted: **Sat May 19, 2012 12:13 am**

andyw666 wrote:Jory then pulls a pencil out of his pocket and uses it to poke through the rest of Wellington's clothes, looking to see if anything else is in them.

A few pennies, a bit of string, some dog-ends and a box of matches... apart from the book and the aforementioned smell of gin, nothing out of the ordinary. You do notice that the clothes look to have dog hair on them; a short-haired white breed, you think.

Posted: **Sat May 19, 2012 6:19 am**

Jory:

"Hmm, poor old chap, never really came home from the War, did he? And now this rather odd end."

Jory goes out and looks up and down Charing Cross Rd.

"Wellington just had a barrow or a stand or something didn't he? I wonder where it is? With a pooch attached it appears."

Posted: **Sat May 19, 2012 1:01 pm**

andyw666 wrote:Jory: "Hmm, poor old chap, never really came home from the War, did he? And now this rather odd end."

Jory goes out and looks up and down Charing Cross Rd.

"Wellington just had a barrow or a stand or something didn't he? I wonder where it is? With a pooch attached it appears."

The Plan,If [b]Jory [/b]has an inkling where the barrow is, and it's not miles away, he'll start to head for it on foot.

No-one recalls seeing Wellington with a dog. Wellington and his barrow, however, are inseparable - you would need a crowbar to prise them apart, probably applied to the back of the head. However, it is not here.

You do know that Wellington normally goes to the Bermondsey market on Fridays, so knows dealers there, and knows a lot of other ex-servicemen who are similarly hard-up. Or there's Major Filby. Any of those groups might have some idea of Wellington's movements.

PS. I should have mentioned that an extra "colour" clue is available to anyone who spends an Evidence Collection point or makes a Sense Trouble roll (difficulty 4). PM me if you want to do either.

Posted: **Sat May 19, 2012 9:30 pm**

How long until the poor Revered gathers his wits?

In the meantime, what notes he made from his special collection are spilled out on the floor, if others take note of them.

Posted: **Sat May 19, 2012 11:50 pm**

WinstonP wrote:How long until the poor Reverend gathers his wits?

In the meantime, what notes he made from his special collection are spilled out on the floor, if others take note of them.

Once he finishes his sweet tea he should be ok.

Posted: **Sun May 20, 2012 10:23 am**

Jory:

"I say chaps, did you all hear that chiming noise, would have been about when poor Welli bought the farm? Sounded like someone dinging a crystal glass."

Posted: **Sun May 20, 2012 12:20 pm**

Harwood looks up, his face an unrecognisable mask.

A glass...or perhaps a bottle? He says in a strange voice.

Composing himself he continues, falling naturally back into 'lecture mode' as he does so, gesturing with his hands at crucial points.

I knew I had seen that hand before, he continues, gesturing to Carse to bring the Burton over for closer comparison.

This wierd find of Wellington's. The not-quite-Codex. It is more like a, a, recipe book for want of a better term. It is a collection, from what looks to be one family, that of one Friar John Cor, ex-monk, Dissolution period. He, well it's complicated, but essentially he wanted to prove Trans- rather than Co-substantiation and attempted to distill Communion wine into the Blood of Christ. He claimed to be acting on the orders of a 'Hidden Pope'. Yes, another Scottish Highland Catholic family with, perhaps, heretical leanings.

Anyway, the book is handed down between members of his family, all of whom are supposedly Heirs to this Hidden Pope's legacy, and who continue the distillation research. There is a lot on alchemy I haven't really got to grips with yet, the Latin is a little archaic. But it culminates in classic Victorian spirtualism. There is a lot on trapping spirits in bottles and then asking questions by means of a pendul...

Harwood breaks off for a moment with a strange flick of his eyes round the room, comes back to himself, and continues, Errm, pendulum. Trapping...in a bottle...Bottle, he shakes his head and goes on,

One can use the trapped spirits to answer questions and so forth. Now this is the chap who has scrawled all over our Arabian Nights here. Which offers some very strange connections, given the stories he has picked to highlight. Oh, and the Contessa has an interest in symbolic alchemy, for those keeping score. So it looks like the reasearch continues in the family, as there is a later hand. One look at that scribble and I'll give 4 to 7 it's a medical man. Now where have we come across a medical man? Didn't our poor unfortunate here say he had got this from a wine distilling doctor? Maybe it's his dog? Also, Wellington said one who was down on his luck. I reckon our quack sold something he which he ought not have done, or Wellington, err, increased his gain from whatever deal they cut and 'alf-inched it. Whichever, it looks like someone wants it back again.

Oh, Wellington what have you got us all into?

He pauses, and thinks.

We need to find this chap sharpish, it might not be the worst idea to get a better idea about the family as well. Perhaps hit the old haunting halls to see if anyone knew Cor senior? Might be worth trying to work out what his interest in the Nights was as well. The first Friar was a heretic which is why I asked the good Fath...

Harwood breaks off, noticing the Reverend's situation, his face changing instantly to a look of concern.

Father Poole? Oh, my dear chap, I am so sorry. How are you feeling?

He steps from behind the desk and walks over to where the Reverend is sitting.

Edited as I forgot to mark speech colour at the end.

Posted: **Tue May 22, 2012 11:26 am**

Luke listens carefully to Harwood and nods slightly. "The handwriting is definitely the same in both books and Wellington said the Doctor was coming back to see him yesterday evening so I think you're right Harwood. This distilling doctor is the one responsible for offing poor old Wellington. Now that's a shame and all, obviously, but it has other consequences and implications. Namely, if the Doctor is happy to kill to get his family recipe book back, we are now paddling up shit creek, if you'll pardon the expression."

After a slight pause, Luke continues thoughtfully. "I heard Wellington say something about a Set or Seat before he disappeared. Could that be a person or maybe this one is part of a set of books? Any ideas chaps?"

Luke then walks to the front door of the shop and starts watching the street for anything suspicious.

Posted: **Tue May 22, 2012 5:02 pm**

Harwood looks up from the side of Father Poole,

Could he mean the set of Burton? That is only one volume after all.

Posted: **Wed May 23, 2012 3:13 am**

Jory:

Jory listens to Harwood's lecture with a raised eyebrow but no other comment, other than a muttered "Broken biscuits."

"Well listen chaps, I'll feel a bit happier doing something, so I think I'll pop over to the Bermondsey markets. May not be much happening on a Sunday, but might be a few stallwarts who know what Welli here was up to. Maybe I can even track down his barrow."

"If anyone wants to meet me there, you're most welcome of course. Might just pop home on the way and collect a few odds and ends."

Posted: **Wed May 23, 2012 3:52 am**

Quinch wrote:Luke listens carefully to Harwood and nods slightly. "The handwriting is definitely the same in both books and Wellington said the Doctor was coming back to see him yesterday evening so I think you're right Harwood. This distilling doctor is the one responsible for offing poor old Wellington. Now that's a shame and all, obviously, but it has other consequences and implications. Namely, if the Doctor is happy to kill to get his family recipe book back, we are now paddling up shit creek, if you'll pardon the expression."

"I hate to say this, but it is my experience that when a Doctor goes to the bad, he is a fouler and darker creature than the worst cut-throat. There was Huston, the acid-bath man, and Campbell, who brought the procrustean bed to Ealing..." - A Study in Emerald

Quinch wrote:After a slight pause, Luke continues thoughtfully. "I heard Wellington say something about a Set or Seat before he disappeared. Could that be a person or maybe this one is part of a set of books? Any ideas chaps?"

Mention of a "Set" in conjunction with the inscription on the Burton volume triggers a memory in all those with some knowledge of the London book profession. That is to say, everyone except Rev. Poole, and I assume he'll be filled in by everyone else.

"The Sette of Odd Volumes" is a London monthly dining society of wealthy bibliophiles, membership somewhere between 21 and 100, founded in 1878 by rare book dealer Bernard Quaritch. They are closely associated with the Athaneum Club. There is usually an after-dinner address by a guest speaker (past speakers have included Oscar Wilde, Samuel Clemens, W.B. Yeats, and other notable authors) on some erudite subject. The address is commonly privately printed for members afterwards, and these volumes occasionally enter the market, fetching good prices. Past prominent members and office-holders in the Sette have included Sir Edward Sullivan, John Lane, John Todhunter, George Charles Haité, Sir Alfred Edward East, J.W. Brodie-Innes, Edward Heron-Allen, R. T. Gould, A. J. A. Symons, Alec Waugh, Vyvyan Holland, and Burton.

The Sette has not been as flamboyant or prominent since the War as it was before (one reason, supposedly, is that members complained that being known as a member was causing book dealers to jack up their prices), but it continues to meet.
Those who wish a closer look at the annotations in the Burton Arabian Nights can now consult it here. (6 MB PDF)

Posted: **Wed May 23, 2012 4:33 am**

Laura crashed through the door, looked around wildly through the shop before stopping at Harwood. "Oh, you son of a bitch!" she yelled before lunging towards him.

Posted: **Wed May 23, 2012 3:01 pm**

Rev. Poole sips at his tea, his initial shock seeming to fade.

Talking to himself, he mutters something about "bilocation" and "doppelgänger ". "Just like Shelley!" he interjects to no one in particular, just as Laura bursts in.

Posted: **Wed May 23, 2012 6:02 pm**

Just when he thought the day couldn't get any weirder, Luke sees Laura flying through the shop like a vengeful harpy. He shakes his head and blows out slowly, wondering briefly if the sandwiches he ate were poisoned and he was just hallucinating this whole thing.

"So, chaps," he says finally. "I suppose we are faced with a choice. We either cave in and give this deranged doctor his books back, hoping that he'll maybe even pay us a finders' fee or at least let us live, or we take the fight to him and start investigating what the hell is going on. I think the Set of Odd Volumes have recruited more than enough occult nutcases in their time to be sat at the prime suspect table. Anyone know how we can go about looking into them? Ideally without getting evaporated."

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 12:36 am**

Harwood had just enough time to shake his head and agree with Carse,

God yes, the Sette, stupid of me, of course, they're as bad as the bloody Roxbur...

When Laura comes bursting into the shop. He scrabbles backwards, his face white with confusion,

I..err. ah, God d, hang...Laura, what is...,

He sputters into vague incomprehensibility, trying to fend off the sudden attack.

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 3:26 am**

"What is going on? I'll tell you what's freaking going on, what's going on is..."

She paused. "Actually," she said. "I don't even know how to bloody explain it... but I almost lost my bloody leg! They were selling limbs, for christssake, selling and buying them like butcher sells meat! What am I supposed to do without my bloody leg!"

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 12:57 pm**

Harwood sits aghast for a moment, his mouth moving soundlessly. Eventually he stammers out,

A...Spanish nobleman and Fletcher's tried...tried to sell your leg?

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 1:44 pm**

"NO, NOT HIM!" Laura screamed out. "He walked into an inn and disappeared... and the moon rose three times all at once. There were three peole left on the streets, just like there were three moons. They weren't even people, they were just shadows! Shadows of people who tried to buy my leg for 3 guineas." She walked over to a corner and leaned against it. "And by god the giant toad... the Roman soldiers... and the Butcher OH GOD THE BUTCHER."

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 2:58 pm**

Luke looks furtively across at Harwood and mimes someone taking a drink.

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 2:59 pm**

The Reverend, setting aside his moment of panic, rises to help the stricken lady. Madame, please have a seat. You are safe here. Join me in some tea and we shall get to the bottom of things.

I assume this is a place a point spent from Psychology might be of use? If so, it is done.

Posted: **Thu May 24, 2012 5:59 pm**

Harwood takes advantage of Father Poole's distracting Laura to sidle across to Carse.

To be fair to her, he whispers, I am pretty sure I just saw a man evaporate. Something odd seems to be going on - even if time itself hasn't unfolded. At the very least we should check out the place that Don Alejandro vanished. Perhaps you and the Captain could follow up on that and Wellington whilst myself and the good Reverend get to work on the book?

Posted: **Fri May 25, 2012 12:54 am**

WinstonP wrote:The Reverend, setting aside his moment of panic, rises to help the stricken lady. Madame, please have a seat. You are safe here. Join me in some tea and we shall get to the bottom of things.

I assume this is a place a point spent from Psychology might be of use? If so, it is done.

For the Reverend, this is a Psychoanalysis test, difficulty 3 (That is, roll 1d6, add points from Psychoanalysis if desired to influence the roll, and get 3 or more to succeed). If you pass the test, you can spend points of Psychoanalysis to restore Stability to Laura on a 1 for 2 basis - that is, one Psychoanalysis point gains two Stability points - points spent influencing the die roll don't count. Laura looks about as shocked as Reverend Poole was.

Whether Reverend Poole passes or fails the test, being fussed over and offered tea is enough to calm Laura down a bit and get her to talk more rationally.

Posted: **Fri May 25, 2012 2:07 am**

Reverend Poole leads Laura to the table where he had been sitting and fills one of the chipped unmatched tea cups at the table (Mrs. Grant keeps the good china upstairs and out of the hands of the staff).

Now then miss, lets take a deep breath and think back to what has happened. When did you see Mr. Harwood last?

I am sure you are not mad my dear. Everyone sees cannibals in London...

Posted: **Fri May 25, 2012 3:21 am**

"What do you mean when did I see Mr. Harwood last, he's right bloody there!" Laura snapped. "And what kind of cannibals cut off pieces of themselves and sell them until only the arm and the cleaver is left?!"

Posted: **Fri May 25, 2012 12:18 pm**

Luke looks at Harwood, then Laura, and then back at Harwood. He shrugs and shakes his head.

"Fair enough. You stay here and check out the book and I'll catch up with the Captain and find out where your Spaniard went. Laura, what was he wearing? And where was the boozer he entered?"

Luke likes nothing more than spending his time investigating the ravings of someone who is clearly off her tree.

"I think Jory has gone to Bermondsey market so I'll find this bloke on my own. See you chaps later. Don't burn your lips on the tea."

Posted: **Sat May 26, 2012 1:18 am**

Harwood looks over at Carse.

Don Alejandro will be wearing red. He, I think...He will wear red.

He hesitates looking slightly embarrassed.

Be careful, I think, I don't know, something very odd is going on here and I think this lot is connected somehow. Look, this might sound stupid but...

He pauses and fumbles in his pocket and hands Carse a card.

If for some reason you can't get through to the shop, get a message here. It will come to me. Meanwhile the good Father and I will try and find some clues to our mysterious medic and see if we can get to him before he...well, we'll try and see what we can find.

Posted: **Sat May 26, 2012 3:56 pm**

Recognizing that his psychiatric work was unsuccessful, Rev Poole switches gears and whispers something to Harwood - Assuming he answers negatively, the Reverend produces a small tin flask from his vest and empties much of it into Laura's tea.

This, my good woman, is a fine Walloon Brandy, from the cellar at the Indus Club*. I've fortified your tea with it (Like the Franco-German frontier he thinks to himself) so please, avail yourself of it, gather your wits, and relate you story to us.

He beckons her to sit as he repockets his now greatly diminished flask. He turns to Harwood-

Let us have a look at this "Wooden Book" of yours then?

*A most curious detail, as that particular club is only open to men who served in the Muslim west of India, certainly not part of the Reverend's résumé.

Posted: **Sat May 26, 2012 6:14 pm**

Harwood nods and walks over to the counter, he comes back over with the book and a chair and hands the book over to Father Poole. He nods at it,

I won't say anything beyond what I told you last night, it would be good to get your first opinion relatively uncontaminated.

He adds quietly,

It will be interesting to hear her story. Might be worth doing some investigation into the history of the area where she says this happened.

He then steps back and looks over at Mr Grant,

Shall we discuss the auction then, Mr Grant?

Posted: **Sat May 26, 2012 11:21 pm**

Grant has been standing by the Reverend’s chair watching these alarms and excursions with a bemused expression on his face. “Hmm? Oh! yes, Harwood. Just a moment …” Grant steps over to the door, makes sure it’s locked, and returns to the counter.

“Right. That’s a bit better. Now, the Fletcher’s man was certainly shepherding the Spaniard. Took grave exception to me examining the Irving notes.” He opens the catalogue to the relevant page, and shows Harwood the annotations.

Posted: **Sun May 27, 2012 2:43 am**

Laura thought about it for a second.

"I can show you where he went... Or at least try to. The path he took didn't make any sense."

Posted: **Sun May 27, 2012 3:19 pm**

Rev. Poole, while Grant and Harwood discuss the auction and sundries and while Laura gathers her wits, will begin prerusing the Wooden Book. I'll spend a point of Occult or Theology, whichever is more appropriate, to plumb the book's mysteries.

Posted: **Mon May 28, 2012 1:53 pm**

AndrewTBP wrote:“Right. That’s a bit better. Now, the Fletcher’s man was certainly shepherding the Spaniard. Took grave exception to me examining the Irving notes.” He opens the catalogue to the relevant page, and shows Harwood the annotations.

Just repeating from the other thread, for ease of reference:

Leafing through the Alhambra, Grant confirms the authenticity of the Irving manuscript, which seems to be background notes and fragmentary drafts of the various stories in the Alhambra collection. Various notations seem to indicate cross-references to Spanish archives. The most extensive draftings and notations appear to refer to "The Tale of the Arabian Astrologer". In particular, the names of some of the lead characters are given many different permutations, often heavily crossed out. Skimming the text, Grant notes that there seem to be several references to a "confidential annex" and others to a source or archive titled "Plombos".

With a one point Textual Analysis spend, Grant notes some curious jottings:
"Cf Labtayt esp. A.Glencoe Span. translation"
"Gate & key - "all locks in Spain will open to..." - if only I could tell Scott!"
The name "Hazrad" is crossed out, replaced with "Hazen" throughout. The Spanish princess character is called "Godolpho" in earlier drafts, before being nameless in the later ones.

Posted: **Mon May 28, 2012 10:01 pm**

Harwood peruses the notes.

Fascinating. What on earth are they all after? We know that Don Alejandro definitely wants the manuscipt. We know that our patron wants it all. I, I also found a note, in a strange shop round the corner. I mean it was full of trash, occult but practically rotting, but there was a note in German which said to buy the fountain-pen. It seems hell of a coincidence but who knows. Being in German is odd. I think the others said there was some chap called Berg involved. They said he was American, I think, but Berg is a German name. We haven't noticed anything about him coming up yet. Then we have all this,

He waves generally at shop, taking in the sad pile of clothes and Laura.

Given the odd parallels between the Burton and the Alhambra, does any of this tie in? Any thoughts about how to focus our efforts?

Posted: **Tue May 29, 2012 10:48 am**

Luke fetches a map of London from the shelves and sits down next to Laura.

"It's probably best if you just show me on the map Laura," he says. "You're pretty shook up and the bad guys know what you look like."

They probably know what I look like too, he thinks to himself, but that's my problem.

Posted: **Tue May 29, 2012 1:50 pm**

“Round the corner? From here, or from Christie’s? You might want to go back there again and see if it’s vanished like Wells’ Magic Shop!”

Posted: **Wed May 30, 2012 11:36 am**

Heh, I have to admit I thought that...It was odd though, it really didn't go out of its way to seem open, and the stock looked like the aftermath of a flood at Farringdon. I do wonder if it was bought solely to justify the existence of the shop, perhaps so it could act as cut-out for a bidder at the sale? I had meant to find out where the proprieter went of an evening but,

He flicks his eyes sideways,

That might be a difficult request right now...

Posted: **Wed May 30, 2012 12:43 pm**

Quinch wrote:Luke fetches a map of London from the shelves and sits down next to Laura.

"It's probably best if you just show me on the map Laura," he says. "You're pretty shook up and the bad guys know what you look like."

They probably know what I look like too, he thinks to himself, but that's my problem.

Laura pointed atthe approximate location of the square. "Here, but I am almost sure that you won't reach it by normal means."
GM edit: Seven Dials square

Posted: **Thu May 31, 2012 11:35 pm**

Fearful of this mysterious "doctor", Poole decides to spend a point of Library Use to try and ascertain the identity of the Wooden Book's author...

Some time later, welcomingly sipping on Harwood's Madeira, Poole reports a little progress:

Unfortunately, after our Friar Cor, the writers do not refer to themselves by name. They do sometimes initial their work, or refer to earlier generations. The most recent writer seems to have the initials 'P.C.'

Looking in Forsythe's Bibliographical Dictionary of Great Britain - that edition is a bit foxy, just so you know - I see the name Cor and its variants Cors, Coe... yes, as in 'Glen Coe'. It means 'Marshy Valley'... where was I? Oh yes... It is old welsh for 'bog or swamp or marsh' and since the seventeenth century, has usually been modernised, either Anglicised as "Marsh" or "Moor", or Frankified as "Coslett" or some variant thereof.

I note that in entries from about 3 or 4 generations back (if your theory that this is a family book is correct) there are several locations in South London mentioned as sites where treasure was uncovered by the interrogation of ghosts. I suppose they have a rack for spirits... would that be like a wine rack? Excuse my digression. Like I was saying South London spots including Clapham, Peckham and Forest Hill are all mentioned, as is Aldershot. Aldershot, of course, is Anglo-Saxon for 'Alder Copse' and, as you should recall, prefer to grow in marshy places... nasty area, known for bandits and highwayman up until the past century... Spring Heeled Jack troubled the barracks down that way, if I recall...

From my reading, last couple of generations of authors broke away from solitary practice, and apparently supply ghosts to a circle or club or 'collegium'. There are hints of grave robbery and the collection of dead men's possessions in order to distill their essences- the book uses the Latin daimons or eidelons and I quote "for the club's entertainment and education".

Now, what were you chaps saying about a Spaniard? Also, I fear for this Wellington chap- doppelgangers only appear when the person is under extreme stress of fear. That was what happened, yes?

Posted: **Fri Jun 01, 2012 10:42 am**

Luke looks at where Laura points on the map.

"What do you mean that I won't be able to get there by normal means Laura?" he says. "Can't I just walk? Didn't you just walk?"

Posted: **Fri Jun 01, 2012 4:27 pm**

"Walked, yes," Laura said.

"But it's not often that you run into yourself while walking now, is there?"

Posted: **Fri Jun 01, 2012 5:02 pm**

Luke watches Laura for a few seconds and then shakes his head.

"Look, I don't mind going somewhere dangerous but if you know something that's going to help me, why don't you just spill it so we can all get on with what we're supposed to be doing? You're giving me half the information and it's starting to wind me up. Just start from the beginning, tell me what I need to know, and cut the rest of the crap out. We're against the clock here."

Posted: **Fri Jun 01, 2012 9:51 pm**

"The man headed for the centre of Seven Dials," Laura explained. "But he followed a path which, instead of going directly towards it, spiralled around and around without ever crossing his own tracks. As we passed by a street that he followed before, I saw him again in the previous path, with me following him."

Laura shook her head. "It... I don't know how that could possibly happen... or how he could move like that. I suppose that if you put his movements on a map, they would resemble the Troy Game."

Posted: **Sat Jun 02, 2012 3:45 am**

Posted: **Sat Jun 02, 2012 1:26 pm**

Harwood looks up suddenly,

Did you say Glen Coe Father? Our mysterious Spaniard is one Don Alejandro Glencoe de Unamondo. He's a strange one. Scottish descent, his family were old-fashioned Scottish Catholics, not unlike our Friar, who ended up in Spain. He is proper old money with a serious interest in mysticism. Does printings of all sorts of people from Teresa's Cloud to Priscillian's alchemy. Weirdly for a seeming Catholic hardliner he sails a little close to the wind, heresy-wise. He has done some of Sansire's work for instance. I find it interesting, and seriously worrying, the parallels between his interests and background and the last crumbling vestiges of the Cor family Wellington was drinking with. I wonder, given the connections and given what happened to Laura, if he is our mysterious adversary. He seems to believe that he can end the problems in Spain by some sort of religious renewal, that might well explain his interest in whatever it was Irving was writing about in Alhambra.

He breaks off suddenly, takes the Burton back from Carse and walks over the counter. He runs his finger down Mr Grant's notes.

I thought so, bloody...look at that. He opens the Burton to the The City of Labtayt.

Notes on the City by our mysterious doctor. Notes in the Irving on Labtayt - the A Glencoe translation.

That cannot be coincidence. What is it about this story which links a fallen-from-grace doctor with a fascination for distillation and a family history of treasure hunting with ghosts, with a scholar with a mystical mission in Spain and an obsession with other people's writing on his manor? What is in South London that they wanted? What did they do to Wellington? Is the Don a representative of this 'Hidden Pope'?

He sniffs with slight laughter,

Is he the current Hidden Pope? Is he avenging his family? Retrieving his property? Is he punishing those who failed? If so we better find that last Cor before he does.

Actually, what links the Irving to the current Spanish unrest. We've got a mystic who wants to end the conflict. We have a strange note in German, and we know they are pushing themselves in over there. Given the Contessa's links to right wing elements, and her interest in alchemy as well...throw in our own home-grown lot and you have a lot of people who might have a vested interest in seeing the outcome over there go their way. What the Hell is in this manuscript that makes it political?

The City is about a treasure house isn't it? Some tower in Andalusia with twenty-four locks, it gets raided by Arabs or something like that. What the Hell is in that tower they all want?

You mentioned grave robbery didn't you Father? I might just look up an old friend...

Posted: **Mon Jun 04, 2012 2:48 pm**

"It sounds like they drugged you Laura," says Luke, not without sympathy. "There's loads of things they could've used to make you forget what really happened. Best you stay here and recover. I'll go and try and track down this Spaniard. It won't be the first time I've shadowed someone."

With that, Luke briefly nips upstairs to collect a couple of things and then heads off for Seven Dials Square.

Posted: **Tue Jun 05, 2012 4:32 am**

That's a damned odd coincidence, you lot being hired for this auction and your chum Wellington finding that book. While I hold great stock in Serendipity... Lovely girl, dancer just before the war... I don't have nearly the same faith in blind chance.

Seems like we have some leads on this doctor, though. Any thoughts as to your next step? I can't say this isn't a most intriguing puzzle... Could I be of further assistance?

Posted: **Wed Jun 06, 2012 3:06 pm**

"He went into a hotel with a sign showing a blind man holding an unlit lantern. One which I never saw before," Laura said. "It's at the square."

Posted: **Wed Jun 06, 2012 7:53 pm**

Good to have you aboard Father. I suppose we need to find this doctor don't we. Perhaps we could run 'P Cor' through the year books of the College of Physicians or Surgeons see if we can find him from that?

I think you said you remembered the name of this Friar from your archive? Anything there that might help us?

Posted: **Thu Jun 07, 2012 7:02 am**

The Bookshop:

An ominous silence settles on those remaining in the bookshop as they potter, ponder, research or worry, as their inclinations dictate. Suddenly and without warning, the air is split by a terrible, ungodly clanging that shatters frayed nerves. Tea cups are jolted, books are clutched tighter, while eyes and ears search for the source.

No wait, it's the bookshop telephone ringing.

Would anyone care to answer it?

Posted: **Thu Jun 07, 2012 10:04 am**

“Hello! Grant's Military Bookshop. Mr Grant speaking. To whom am I speaking?”

Posted: **Thu Jun 07, 2012 12:05 pm**

Jory:

The distinctive sound of a penny dropping into a public telephone can be heard, then a cheery voices pipes up. "What ho Old Bean! Just me."

"Now, I've got two bits of intelligence to pass on, but I have taken the sacred vow of silence regarding the provenance of my gossip, so Mum's the word, what? Firstly, this doctor chappie who was selling the books to poor late Wellington, he's from Kings College Hospital, where I shall be journeying to next."

"For my second piece of intelligence, could I trouble you to get a piece of paper and a pen or pencil? I have something for you to write down."

Jory will wait patiently for Grant.

Posted: **Thu Jun 07, 2012 1:08 pm**

“Ah! Hello Captain Penhalligon. Kings College Hospital, yes. Just a moment. I’ll have to put the telephone down.”

Grant fetches a pencil and paper from the office desk drawer.

“Hello, Captain Penhalligon? Go ahead, please.”

Posted: **Thu Jun 07, 2012 1:59 pm**

Harwood has a brief moment of shocked silence, before remembering where he is. When he sees Mr Grant head for the telephone he returns to the books. After a moment perusing Mr Grant's notes he looks up at the Reverend.

Here's another odd connection. There's a footnote by Burton under Iram for the City of Brass. Now if I recall correctly that has fishermen catching brass bottles in which Solomon had sealed up evil spirits – Jinn, Mareeds and Satans – using lead to stop their mouths. Now, sealing up spirits in bottles is a great start as it is, but lead? Lead, used of course for pendulums, pendulum coming from plumbus for...lead. Lead being used for plumb lines similarly, and, as I've no doubt any duty officer will remember, leading to cases of plumbus oscillans just before busy days. That is of course, swinging the lead - from dangling plumb lines to make walls look straight.

He shakes his head.

Sorry, digression, the point being that here, from the notes on the Irving, 'plombos'. I will bet that is derived from the Latin root, and I'll bet no one here would take the bet if I wagered it was Spanish. What if the source is not a person or an archive or similar but rather a pendulum?

Posted: **Thu Jun 07, 2012 2:54 pm**

AndrewTBP wrote:“Ah! Hello Captain Penhalligon. Kings College Hospital, yes. Just a moment. I’ll have to put the telephone down.”

Grant fetches a pencil and paper from the office desk drawer.

“Hello, Captain Penhalligon? Go ahead, please.”

Jory:

Jory sounds like Grant's calm tone is helping calm him too, no doubt a good thing.

"My source, a rather tragic, down and out type, tells me that a while ago, he was - quote - dragged off the street by a policeman, and thought he was for the clink, but instead he was hustled into "a posh joint" where a bunch of toffs pushed whiskey upon him until he passed out drunk"

"Since then, this poor chap has been having odd dreams of the ocean, distant islands, far cities and whatnot. Odder still, he wrote this poem in his sleep. Let me read it to you."

"Far from the ocean's starry sky,
Up from my grave where I did lie
Imp in a bottle, Gray out of hell
Thrall or Thrawn will not bend my will,
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter returned from Hell."

"Now, obviously, that's some mangled version of Stevenson, but I recall reading that Bottle Imp story as a kiddie and it fair gave me the willies then. Worries me a darn sight more given what Harwood was babbling on about today, what?"

"And, salt of the Earth he may be possibly, but it would be fair to guess my source has never written poetry before in his life, awake or asleep. Possibly never read any Robert Louis Stevenson either."

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2012 12:47 am**

Jory:

Jory pauses for a minute to gather his thoughts. Grant hears sounds of a cigarette being smoked.

"Sounds like the poem has had a bit of The Bottle Imp thrown in, as well as Stevenson's other horror stories Thrawn Janet and The Body Snatchers. Not that I'm the expert Old Boy. Rather preferred Kidnapped for personal reading."

"I shall leave it to you boffins to contemplate that one."

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2012 2:57 am**

Grant puts the pencil behind his ear and picks up the candlestick to talk.

“I think I got all that, Penhalligon. Take care at the hospital.”

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2012 7:03 am**

Jory:

"Don't worry about me Old Boy, not planning on taking any chances! Good news though is if anything does go wrong, I shall be in the right place to get some first aid, what!"

"I'll leave you to ponder with the others what that poem is all about, if anything. Cheerio!"

And Jory hangs up.

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2012 10:05 am**

“Goodbye, Penhalligon.”

Grant hangs up the telephone and rejoins the others in the shop, pencil still behind his ear.

“That was Captain Penhalligon. He told me …”

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2012 11:23 am**

Posted: **Fri Jun 15, 2012 4:07 pm**

I m afraid, Harwood, that I have exhausted my sources, unless what we have learned today sparks some fresh connection. I could take another look at the library if you would like. We could also avail ourselves of a larger, though less... specialized... collection. They say everything is held at the British Museum, and [Spending a point of Credit Rating], I have a reader's card there.

Posted: **Mon Jun 18, 2012 12:29 pm**

I think further research is the way forward. Perhaps there is more on the Cor family in your archives? Or at least the place it all started. Perhaps as well the British Museum could offer more on Irving and the history of the Alhambra which might help us. I don't suppose you know much about Stephenson? Not really a speciality of mine.

I think I may continue with the two books we have here, perhaps we could get an idea about why everyone seems so interested in them. I may spend this evening looking up an old colleague of mine with a very particular knowledge of London's...underground scene.

Posted: **Tue Jun 19, 2012 4:18 pm**

I can do that, in light of what I have learned from you and my examination of your 'Wooden Book'. I will have a look-see at the Little Saint Hugh collection and see if we can find anything more about Friar Cor, his descendants, or those of a similar bent. You can join me if you wish... bring a sweater as the vaults can get a bit chilly, especially when they've been closed up. Also, we might want to pack some sandwiches as, while I have a little kettle, I have always found a full stomach makes for a clear head. Tomorrow, when the Reading Room is open, I can begin to examine their collection better prepared, since hopefully we or your adventurous companions shall turn up some new information on this Friar, that American writer, the Spaniards, or mysterious Doctor.

He claps his hands and gives a little smile, seeming to have at last put off his earlier moment of panic. Pointing to the Wooden Book he says,

If there are dangerous men after this work, is Grant's the safest place for it? I know better than to cross Mrs. Grant, but I wonder if others share my reasoned deference?

Posted: **Wed Jun 20, 2012 4:48 am**

“Well, Reverend Poole, I can certainly conceal it in the shop instead of putting it back in Major Filby’s box. Did you have another location in mind?”

Posted: **Tue Jul 03, 2012 5:41 am**

No, no... More an idle concern. But do be careful, you never know what these chaps are up to, since they act as if they have so little to lose.

Now, I say Harwood, shall we be off?"

Posted: **Thu Jul 05, 2012 9:37 am**

Righty ho Father, I'll grab my coat.

Posted: **Tue Jul 10, 2012 1:32 pm**

Left to his own devices, Grant makes sure the doors are locked again, and takes the Wooden Book away and conceals it in one of the many hiding places in the shop, redistributing the material already there to other places. Then he tidies the shop, folding Willoughby’s clothes and putting them with Major Filby’s box in the basement.

Posted: **Tue Jul 17, 2012 1:22 am**

Time passes in the shop while Grant ponders the mysterious events of the day. Mrs Grant returns, and, seeing Grant preoccupied, kisses him on the cheek and bustles upstairs to make a cup of tea and check that cousin Malcolm isn't up to mischief.

As the light is fading, there is a preemptory banging on the door.

Posted: **Sat Jul 21, 2012 2:43 pm**

Startled from his reverie, Grant stares at the door for a moment. “I hope that’s not another weird thing like poor Wellington.” Grant selects his heavy umbrella, the present from Spinks, and hangs it on his left wrist ready for use while he walks to the door and peers out.

Posted: **Mon Jul 23, 2012 1:37 am**

Outside the door, Grant sees a heavy-set fellow in a suit, with his hat pulled low over brillatined hair. Something about his stance and his hands (scarred) suggests the kind of rough elements that hang around Spinks, although Grant doesn't recognise this chap. The man sees Grant's shape behind the door, and jerks his chin meaningfully towards the lock.

Posted: **Tue Jul 24, 2012 2:06 pm**

Grant unlocks the door. “Good evening, Sir. We’re closed for business, what with the Sunday trading laws and all. I am Mr Grant, the proprietor, and you would be?”

Posted: **Wed Jul 25, 2012 7:38 am**

"I'm Smif", says Smif. "An I'm from Mr Sabini. 'E wants a word wiv you about muckin' wiv 'is 'orses. Mr Sabini is very un'appy about them 'orses." Smif cracks his knuckles and leers gap-toothedly.

Posted: **Wed Jul 25, 2012 2:26 pm**

“Well, Mr Smif, I don’t know Mr Sabini from Adam, though I’m sorry he’s unhappy about his horses. I haven’t been near a horse in years, there’s not much call for them in a bookshop. So it wasn’t me mucking with them, and I don’t know why Mr Sabini thinks it was. How very odd.”

Posted: **Thu Jul 26, 2012 12:16 pm**

Smith hesitates. He may not be smart, but one doesn't last long in his line of work without picking up a good sense of whether or not someone is telling the truth. He is also accustomed to intimidating those he talks to, and seems a bit flummoxed by Grant's calm, flat denial. "You ain't runnin' a book, then? You din't put that 'ex on them 'orses?" he asks suspiciously.

Posted: **Mon Aug 13, 2012 1:44 pm**

Grant relaxes a little. Mr Smith seems less threatening now.

“No, Mr Smith, I’m not running a book. I don’t bet on the horses, or anything else. Mrs Grant would be very unhappy with me if I did that. I didn’t hex Mr Sabini’s horses either. Some of my customers have an interest in such things, but I don’t. It’s just business—they want the books, I sell the books.”

Posted: **Wed Aug 15, 2012 7:35 am**

"Well, that's the fing. Y'see, we got this cove, 'e wins fifty fousand pounds when all the lead 'orses fall arse over tit. An one of those 'orses belongs to Mr Sabini. So we asks this cove wot 'is game is. An 'e says, this book 'e buys from you tells 'im all about it. An' 'e says 'e ain't got the book neither. So wot Mr Sabini wants to know is, where's this book? An' is this Grant cove, is 'e plannin' on sellin' any more books on t' 'orses? An' 'e wants to know, 'oos gonna buy 'im a new 'orse? Can Mr Grant answer 'is questions, or does Mr Grant want more breaks in 'is legs than Mr Sabini's 'orse 'as?" Smith warms to his theme, moving his hands as if breaking a stick.

Posted: **Fri Aug 17, 2012 5:20 am**

Jory:

Jory spies Mr Grant and Smith, and accelerates a tad. As he comes closer into view he cries out loudly and cheerfully, "What ho, Old Bean! The prodigal returns. And who do we have here, a keen student of literature, desperate for a Sunday afternoon read?"

"And I think I need the rejuvenation of tobacco after that long journey about the city." Jory's hand innocently reaches into his jacket.

Posted: **Wed Aug 22, 2012 5:40 am**

Jory's Knowledge of London's highways and lowlives helps him to recall Smith's ugly mug (no point spend needed). The man is a fair-to-middling, middleweight fixture of the illegal-but-rampant bare-knuckle boxing circuit, and an enforcer for the Sabini Mob.

Posted: **Wed Aug 22, 2012 10:47 am**

Jory:

Jory's eyes light up with recognition and he strides towards Smith with a look of apparent happiness.

"Wait, it's Smith, I'd know you anywhere! Pardon me for not recognising you immediately. I saw you fight three rounds at Allison's rooms on the night of - ah - somebody's benefit, what, four years back? I bet on you and won a guinea!"

"How are you old son? Still doing any prize fighting? Rare talent if I do say so. And what can Grant's do for you this fine evening? I trust Mr Sabatini is well?"

Jory pulls out his packet of Gauloises and offers one to Smith. "Tempt you to a froggy cigarette Old Bean? Nice and strong and unfiltered."

Posted: **Wed Aug 22, 2012 8:38 pm**

Grant’s eyes go wide at the mention of £50,000 and the perfidy of a customer fixing a horse race and then pointing the finger at him. Mrs Grant will not be pleased to hear this.

“Now, Mr Smith, let’s not get too excited. Ah! Here’s Captain Penhalligon back again. Perhaps he can help with Mr Sabini’s questions.”

Posted: **Mon Sep 24, 2012 4:44 am**

Smith tenses, moving to the balls of his feet as Jory reaches into his pocket, then relaxes - slightly - as the cigarettes are produced. He warily accepts one from Jory and puffs it slowly, his eyes flicking slowly, lizard-like, between the two men.
"So, Mister Grant" he says, "where's this book about 'orses then?"

Posted: **Mon Sep 24, 2012 6:57 am**

"You haven't given me much to go on, Mister Smith. The only books I can think of that mention horses are all military histories about the cavalry. Can you tell me the name of this cove, or the name of the book? I can check the daybook."

Turning to Captain Penhalligon, Grant tries to explain.

"Mister Smith here tells me a customer of ours has used a book we sold him to fix a horse race! It's like a story about the Pelicans in the Pink 'Un of my youth, but Mister Sabini isn't laughing. He's down a horse. Mrs Grant isn't going to laugh when I tell her about it either."

Posted: **Wed Sep 26, 2012 12:54 am**

Jory:

Jory exhales tar-filled French tobacco happily, and tries to concentrate on what he's hearing.

"I heard a paper boy hollering some headline about four race horses falling at once, are we talking about the same thing?"

"Quite enjoy a flutter at the races myself."

"You must see, Smith old son, that we trade in rare books, not books on how to conduct criminal enterprises like fixing races. Frankly, I doubt any such books exist. Unless Mr Sabini's predecessors ever published their memoirs, and I can't think why they would."

"How were the poor horses brought down, drugs in their feed or some such?"

"And I'm forgetting my manners, would you like to come in for a bracing Sunday afternoon whisky, or a tea if you wish? I'm sure Mr Grant won't mind."

A glance is directed Grant's way suggesting approval would be a good idea.

Posted: **Wed Sep 26, 2012 1:51 am**

Grant opens the door wide and beckons Smith inside.
"Yes, yes, do come in before it gets any chillier, Mister Smith. I'll put the kettle on for myself at least, and Captain Penhalligon can handle the drams."

Posted: **Wed Sep 26, 2012 1:52 am**

Smith turns things over in his mind, like a farmer turning over clods of loam. " 'is name's 'enry" he says "'Enry Rickmansworth. An' yeah, woz in the paper."

I'm going to call for a point spend to persuade Smith to come in and accept your hospitality, since it enables you to pump him for more information and it's not the sort of thing that the muscle usually does.

Posted: **Thu Sep 27, 2012 10:56 am**

Jory:

Jory is once again amazed at how often the rare book trade brings him into conflit with those with violent tendencies. Faced with an uncertain proposition, Jory reverts somewhat to type and recalls his many conversations with NCOs and private soldiers in his Army days. Find common interests, show appreciation for what they are good at...

With this in mind, Jory starts amiably chatting with Smith about Smith's boxing exploits, other current notables in the field, the pros and cons of bare knuckle boxing, and so on. Jory attempts to politely steer Smith inside the bookstore and into a chair (and a scotch for each). Whether Smith comes in or not, Jory will turn the conversation towards the horse fix with a view to finding out anything and everything.

Posted: **Thu Sep 27, 2012 12:26 pm**

Walking toward the back room to put the kettle on, Grant calls back over his shoulder. "Henry Rickmansworth! I banked his cheque for a pretty sum just yesterday. Come in and we'll check the daybook to see what he bought."

Posted: **Fri Sep 28, 2012 1:41 am**

andyw666 wrote:Jory:
Jory starts amiably chatting with Smith about Smith's boxing exploits, other current notables in the field, the pros and cons of bare knuckle boxing, and so on. Jory attempts to politely steer Smith inside the bookstore and into a chair (and a scotch for each). Whether Smith comes in or not, Jory will turn the conversation towards the horse fix with a view to finding out anything and everything.

Lured by the prospect of a free dram and a friendly chat about violence, Smith lumbers through the door and into the offered chair. After some preliminary sparring discussions, Smith confides that the horse races was "rum. None of 'em sick befor'and, so there weren't no scratches - an' then, some fell, some didn't leave the gates, some ran the wrong way - two races it 'appened in, an' this 'Enry git, he bet 'is winnin's from backin' th'long shot inna first race on th'long shot inna second, and walks away wiv fifty thasand pound an' a pile of dead 'orses behind 'im. Well, Mr Sabini, 'e was fartin' flames! An' I asks 'im, should we fix 'enry good an proper, but 'e says nah, 'e says 'tain't a good look if we goes an scraggs people 'oo get lucky onna races, cos the papers luv those stories. 'E says, jus' go lean on 'im a bit, like, suggest 'e not make any more 'orse bets inna forseeable future, an' find out 'ow 'e dunnit. 'Cos 'enry, 'e's no wide-boy, 'e looks like a wet fish, ain't wiv the Whites or the 'effalumps Castle mob. So me an Merv, we go an' ask'im peacable like. An I tell ya, 'e's a nutter! Don' put up no fight, but then 'e starts on abaut th' "Lord o'da Pillars" this and "Baalmelkarth" that an I dunno wot else. But 'e says that this book 'e got from youse tells 'im allabowt'it. An' 'e says 'e dunno where the book is, neither."

Meanwhile, Mr Grant consults the daybook. Yesterday, there it is - "An Investigation into the Oracle of Sidon, Ludwig von Domenstein, 1843" sold for an extortionate sum to Mr Henry Rickmansworth. Something about the handwriting in the daybook strikes Mr Grant as odd.

Mr Grant needs to make a Sense Trouble check. There is now a dice-rolling function built into the YSDC forum instead of needing to use Invisible Castle. It works like this:

Code: Select all

[dice]1d6+1[/dice]

where you just write your die roll (plus points spend, obviously) inside the "dice" square brackets)[/i]

Posted: **Fri Sep 28, 2012 2:11 am**

Sipping his tea, Grant says "Yes, here it is. Now who's handwriting is that?"

Posted: **Fri Sep 28, 2012 4:33 am**

Only staff are supposed to write in the daybook, of course, but Mr Grant can't recall whose handwriting this is. Someone who used to work here, was it? What was that young man's name? Mark? John? something Biblical. Didn't he leave for America? or was it France?

Posted: **Mon Oct 01, 2012 12:13 am**

Abruptly closing the daybook, Grant puts it down on the table along with his tea. The cup rattles on the saucer, betraying his agitation. “The von Domenstein, eh? I’d only skimmed it, but I don’t remember anything about horses in it. It was a beautiful volume, though, so it was kept in the display cabinet.”

Grant walks to the Globe-Wernicke bookcase, expecting to see a gap like a missing tooth in his carefully arranged display.

Posted: **Mon Oct 01, 2012 12:45 am**

The von Domenstein is indeed no longer there.
From his skim read some time ago, Mr Grant vaguely recalls that the book had a fair bit to say about fate, luck, and influencing them by making offerings to various Powers - the sort of thing that might appeal to a gambler, perhaps?

Posted: **Tue Oct 02, 2012 11:46 am**

Jory:

Jory listens with surprise, as he swirls amber goodness around his glass. "So, we're saying this was done by black magic?"

"You must realise Smith Old Son, no one really expects those books to work. But please assure Mr Sabini that that was our only copy, and if we ever happen across another, we shall be very careful indeed about selling it to anyone."

"Probably will avoid ever buying another copy, if one exists."

"I say, Grant Old Thing, who sold this copy yesterday? I'd be interested to hear what they made of young Henry."

Posted: **Wed Oct 03, 2012 12:39 am**

"Dat won't wash" says Smith, reverting somewhat to his previous menacing attitude. "I'wl tell Mr Sabini I fink youse is square coves and ain't makin book onna hosses. But Mr Sabini don't want dat book out there makin' strega trouble. 'E's gonna say, youse are da book finders, find 'im that book. Or find 'im the price of 'is raceorse. Or you'll be findin' youselves inna deep dark 'ole".
His final threat delivered, Smith jacks himself up and lumbers towards the door. Before he gets there, some corroded reflex jerks him to a halt. "Er - goodnight to yer. And fanks for the drink". He pulls his hat on and departs.

Asking Mr grant about the book stirs a memory in Jory who nneds to make a sense trouble test.

Posted: **Wed Oct 03, 2012 12:12 pm**

Grant locks the door behind Smith and stands with his back to the door as he recovers his composure. He takes a deep breath, and says “I can’t remember their name! They must have been in the shop yesterday, but he went abroad, and now their name has gone from my head! Who was here yesterday? Run through their names for me, Captain, please!”

Posted: **Sun Oct 07, 2012 5:09 am**

Taavi wrote:Jory rolls a [dice]135422:1[/dice]

passing his sense trouble.

Jory distinctly remembers Luke, boasting in the pub yesterday about havng sold a book for a ludicrous sum to "a sucker called Harry" - and that is Luke's handwriting - but oddly, he can't remember Luke's face - it's as if his memory of The Palace Tavern is a photo, with a cigarette burn hole where Luke's face should be. He thinks of doctored records - a story in the war that the generals lost so many regiments through sheer incompetence that they deleted some of them from the rosters of battle, pretending they never were raised from the green fields of England and marched out into the mud to be mown down by the reaper, mothers and sweethearts told their boy never joined the army, or deserted, or died of flu - and now Mr Grant can't remember Luke at all - what's going on?

Posted: **Tue Oct 09, 2012 7:54 am**

Jory:

Jory sips whisky and puzzles.

"I'm afraid, Old Boy, that making an enemy of Sabini and his boys is what Sun Tzu would describe as being on Encircled Terrain. And on Encircled Terrain, Sun Tzu advises we make strategies. Or, as I put it, negotiate."

"Ah Grant Old Boy, you remember Luke, don't you? He sold the book yesterday. Told me so himself, but for some reason, now I can hardly remember his face."

Jory peers at Grant to judge his reaction.

Posted: **Tue Oct 16, 2012 3:05 am**

Jory:

Jory hastily pens a note for the others, in case Grant remains a bit addled:

"Chaps, our catalogue agent and purveyor of gentlemen's books, Luke, is in trouble. Am heading to Seven Dials. Come if able. Head to pub Laura mentioned."

Then to Grant: "Old Boy, I'm off to see what's happened to Luke, this is all very odd. But he might have something to add about this book Sabini's after, if nothing else. I have a sense he's in deep trouble. You're welcome to come if you wish."

Jory pats his jacket to make sure the little gun is still there, grabs his satchel, and races off at best possible speed for Seven Dials, and some pub in the square with a sign of a blind man holding an unlit lantern

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