Play@YSDC

When you finally locate the Embassy it is a large building in substantial grounds with several severe looking guards at the gate, you are examined carefully but not stopped from entering, the foyer is bright and airy, and you are offered seats by a bespectacled functionary who after some dithering finally sits, introduces himself as Mr Cuthbert-Mawkins and asks what he might do to help.

Aswald strolls in, and takes a seat, but says nothing.

Michael stands to one side to allow Isopel to come forward and speak first, as she is actually British - not to mention much prettier than he is. While he has a silver tongue, he'd rather hold off on using it unless it proves necessary. His Irish accent would not go over that well.

Isopel mentally steels herself; she unbuttons her expensive fur coat to reveal her necklace of pearls. Sitting down beside Mr. Cuthbert-Mawkins she says in her best English society accent:

"My friend, a Mr. Herbert Rawson,--a prominent British business man--has been mistakenly arrested by the local police. We--his colleagues--are most concerned for his safety. Can you find out where he has been taken? which police station? " She adds: "Mr. Rawson is a gentleman."

"Arrested you say!" he seems about to say something else but notes Aswald and appears to reconsider....

Well, this is terrible, just terrible madam, let me at once telephone the Egyptian Police and see if we cannot put this matter straight at once"

He picks up the extremely modern looking phone, complete with a large dial and a small trumpet at one end and after a stilted conversaqtion with the Operator is put through, apparently to the police"

"Hello is that the Police, yes, British Embassy here, I believe you may have arrested a British Citizen last night, one err..Rawson, a Mr Herbert Rawson, a citizen of the Crown"

There is a muffled response and then a lengthy pause, Cuthbert Mawkins fills the time by smiling politely at Isopel and adjusting his jacket.

After several minutes the person on the other end responds

"No! - what do you mean no, I have a young lady here who is positively certain of the event don't you know" ...." really".... "and you've checked the cells, he couldn't be somewhere else ?" "well what do you plan to do about it !" "What do you mean nothing, damn your hide ?" " I shall be speaking to the Ambassador, he will hear of this!" with a perfunctory goodbye he slams down the receiver...

"Really Miss Golpert you must excuse my foul language, my humblest apologies, these confounded dar....err Police...anyway, I am afraid the Police have no record of your friend, no arrest listed, no British people in the cells, nothing, I am most terribly sorry my dear, I shall try again in a while but it would seem that your friend is missing at least for the moment, I wonder what could have happened?!"

"Maybe he ran his mouth like a superior, egocentric dumb ass and the cops decided to leave him in a ditch for it. That would be my guess." Aswald thinks to himself with some amusement, before remembering that finding Mr. Rawson is his best bet on being paid.

Michael says nothing yet, as Isopel seems to be doing just fine.

"O," says Isopel.

Arrested you say!" he seems about to say something else but notes Aswald and appears to reconsider....

She stands. "Mr. Cuthbert-Mawkins, would you be so kind as to come with me?" Isopel paces out of earshot of her "colleagues." "Is there anything else you are not telling me?" She bites her lip. "Please?"

Sitting beside Aswald, Terry closely watches as Isopel moves to one side with Cuthbert-Mawkins and strains to hear what is said, if at all possible.

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4028256 success 8/25%

Mr Cuthbert-Mawkins flushes bright crimson and stammers, err, why no m'am, I was just trying to err, well, avoid upsetting your servant" and he glances in Aswalds direction "really, the police seem to know nothing of this matter, a complete mystery, are you quite sure it was the police ?", these darkies you know, all look alike and all that, ahem."

Isopel whispers: "You share the opinion of my mother: 'All colonials should not be trusted.'

"Just one moment, Mr. Cuthbert-Mawkins." She returns to Michael, Terry and Aswald.

"What do we do now?"

Terry steps forwards;

"I know I am not one of your subjects, but Mr Mawson was a friend and colleague. You will no doubt have heard of the goings on at Chicago House by now? Well all I can add to what Iso ... err to what Miss G'lert has already told you is that a police car screeched to a halt in front of the building where Mr Mawson was standing and he was rather unceremoniously bundled into the car and driven off at high speed. There are a couple of the officers still guarding the building if that would be of any help."

"Excellent idea," says Michael. "If someone from the embassy accompanies us back to Chicago House and the guards are still there, that will prove that the police are lying - or that these fellows are not really the police at all. Funny how they showed up so soon after we arrived."

Terry thinks for a moment then says;

"Hey you know I never even thought about that ... just how did they get there so darned fast? So how about it Sir, will you either accompany us or send someone with a little authority to come with us to the police station? We'd surely appreciate any help you can give us, but I'd be prepared to bet that Mr. Mawson would appreciate your intervening on his behalf all the more."

"Well of course, umm, let me just see if we can find some embassy security people to accompany us, as it sounds like something fishy may be going on! I would like to come and investigate this myself, can't have the Queens citizens disappearing now can we ", he smiles sweetly at Ispoel.

Mr Cuthbert-Mawson disappears for a few minutes and then returns with two burly looking embassy guards with rifles slung over their shoulders, he escorts you all outside and purloins two smart looking UK Embassy vehicles and directs the drivers towards Chicago House.

Terry smiles tightly at Isopel before saying, "Don't worry Isopel, Mr Cuthbert-Mawson and his men may well soon have this sorted out and hopefully Mr Rawson will be freed."

Turning to Aswald he asks "I know we scattered from Chicago House rather quickly but did you see them take Rawson at all? did they seem familiar to you Aswald?"

Michael goes up to one of the trucks, opening the door for Isopel. "Yes, those goons who took Mr. Rawson will soon regret it," he says.

Isopel returns a sweet smile to Mr. Cuthbert-Mawson.

"Well done, Terry."

She nods to Michael and sits in the truck. "Oh, I hope so."

Michael climbs aboard and sits next to Isopel, grinning. "We'll find those ruffians and make them tell us where they've taken Mr. Rawson," he says, brimming with confidence. "Depend on it."

"No I didn't recognize them at all.[Spoiler-Button](I'm assuming at least)[/Spoiler-Button] I would bet some serious cash on my theory, they were police and they left him in a ditch for being an annoyance. If that's the case he'll show up in a day or two when he finds his way into town, unless they killed him which is much less likely." Aswald says, falling into step beside his companions.

Through the bright morning the two large embassy vehicles speed through the city with the local carts and donkeys beating a hasty retreat at their approach with shouted curses and approbations following on the warm morning air. The day is bright and warm, the storm of the preceding day seemingly a distant memory, and the city is full of life and the muezzins call loudly from the city's mosques, calling the faithful to early prayers.

As you approach Chicago House, you can see that the two police guards are still there, at the approach of the official vehicles they stir from there bored poses and watch anxiously as the cars pull into the driveway and come to a halt.

"There's two of them there Mr Cuthbert-Mawson - now we might get some answers!" adds Terry as he points the two police guards out to the British official.

"Yes, that's them," says Michael. "They're for it now, they are."

"Why are they still here, if they are imposters?" wonders Isopel to herself.

"You there!" - demands Mr Cuthbert-Mawson as he exits the car, "I say you there! - what are you doing standing outside Chicago House, what has happened ?"

The two police share nervous glances and then haltingly at first and then after Mawson has introduced himself, with more confidence as they watch Mawsons mouth slowly hang open, tell the increasingly stunned looking civil servant about the several bodies that have been found inside, the disarray, and the missing children and mother, the fact that one person has been arrested..

Mr Mawson finally looks around at you in a state of apparent shock.... "well, my dear Miss Golpert, it seems you did not reveal certain details which may have been germaine to your friends disappearance ! - what exactly has occurred here!"

Michael remains silent for now, as it was Isopel who was addressed, and he's content to let her do the talking unless she needs his support. He does note mentally that the police had just implied that they had arrested Rawson, something that had been denied earlier.

Isopel looks to Michael for support.

"I think under the circumstances it's understandable, Mr. Cuthbert-Mawson," says Michael. "Miss Gelert was distraught when we arrived at Chicago House and found the scene there, and she quite naturally did not want to talk about it. She also probably assumed you'd already heard the news and knew about it, especially since you did not even ask why Mr. Rawson had been arrested. Shortly after we arrived, these locals showed up and he went out to greet them, at which point they promptly bundled him off. The rest of us came directly to you. I think the most telling thing is that these two men have just admitted to you that Mr. Rawson was in fact arrested, a fact which the local authorities denied when you telephoned them earlier - and they must know where he's been taken."

"We arrived at Chicago House as part of our employment to find it as you found it," interjects Terry. "As for what happened here we cannot answer as we do not know. The timing of our arrival can be supported by the taxi driver that brought us here from the train station which coupled by the arrival time of the local police should be enough to rule any involvement from any of our group." The American looks thoughtfully towards the British Consulate.

"The main questions should be where Mr Mawson is being held, why he is being detained and what can be done to rectify the situation."

Cuthbert-Mawson considers what he has been told for a moment and then nods, "well, whatever has occurred here it would appear that several citizens of the crown are either dead, or arrested, or missing, a most serious matter"

"You sir" - he looks at the closest guard "you said that someone had indeed been arrested - where have they been taken?"

The guard looks distinctly uncomfortable to be in the spotlight but after a moment he shrugs and remarks angrily "Police Business Sir, you must let us go about our business, please leave, I have orders to watch" - he glances at this colleague and they move almost imperceptibly closer to each other, perhaps as moral support.

Cuthbert Mawsons face flushes but he says no more to the police guards

"Well my dear, I must go back to the embassy and make more enquiries about your friend and get hold of the egyptian government to discuss the events here this night, these .. " he almost spits the word "functionaries... are little use and I must consult with my superiors", can I offer you a lift to your hotel ?

As Mawson turns to go he hesitates and then turns back to the party, ignoring the police...

"Actually, this has been a most stressful morning, there is a bar, not a very salubrious place I am afraid but it is not far from here and serves very fine Turkish Coffee... I confess I am in need of a little refreshment, perhaps you would join me and we can discuss the events of the night in full away from prying ears and see what the Embassy can do to help ?"

"Sounds like just the thing, sir," says Michael. While he would prefer a drink with alcohol, he says nothing about it. He knows that alcohol is frowned upon by the locals. Besides, Turkish Coffee is supposed to be excellent, and he doesn't mind trying it at all.

"Why not." Aswald says, a stiff drink is probably what he was heading for next with or without the party anyway.

Isopel doesn't know what to do next. Michael and Aswald wish to join Cuthbert-Mawson at the bar. . .

She glances at the "police guards," and thinks, "But what about Mr. Rawson?" but says, "Turkish Coffee will be a welcome treat."

"Heck, lead on old man ... Turkish Coffee is the best in the world, though may be a bit strong if you are not used to it." Terry says.

Cuthbert Mawson nods and leads the way down a street, the weather is closing in again and across the desert another storm is breaking, with immense dark clouds and lightning, the thunder reverberating around Luxors old streets.

"Funny thing, these storms, never get rain for months in these parts and then all these storms, and what with the dire events this evening at Chicago House, really, it seems ill weather indeed"

"So this cafe is right around the corner, ahh yes there it is..." and he leads the way down a side street towards an unremarkable looking building.

""They really ought to have a sign or something advertising the place," says Michael with a knowing wink as he follows. "They'd do more business that way."

Turkish Coffee is the best in the world, though may be a bit strong if you are not used to it."

"I must order a pot of hot water as well," says Isopel distractedly.

Squinting up at the sky, she asks Cuthbert-Mawson: "This time of year--is it the season for storms? I always imagined that Egypt had little in the way of rainfall?"

"This is how desserts work little girl, it's dry, dry, dry, dry, dry and then BAM! Pouring rain for days on end." Aswald informs her, being that he is probably more familiar with Egypt's weather patterns then her ambassador.

The thing is Michael, not everywhere wants to be overrun with tourists. Places like this probably depend upon it's anonymity as much as anything else - remember that Mr Cuthbert-Mawson wanted a discreet chat about what could be done." Laying a hand on Michael's arm he slows him for a second till Cuthbert-Mawson is out of earshot.

"I like this not one bit ... we seem to be placing an awful lot of trust in this limey for my liking. You may call me a paranoid and I hope for Ms G'Lert's sake, indeed for all our sakes that I'm wrong, but it would be prudent to keep our wits about us I think. We are in a strange position here and we don't know who we can really trust at present."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me, mate," says Michael. "I've never made a habit of trusting British officials. I'm just hoping he'll act true to form, and that he's got bigger fish to fry than us."

Cuthbert-Mawson holds the door for Isopel into the Bar and waits for the men to catch up, above the door is a faded sign in Arabic and English "The Ali Baba".

The rain starts to pound down once again just as you reach the entrance. The air inside is thick with the smell of fragrant tobacco and the vinegar like smell of stale wine and last nights beer. A short bar occupies one wall. Surprisingly there are several other Europeans gracing the tables even at mid-morning, clearly the coffee must indeed be good even if the setting is less than salubrious.

A short skinny waiter hurries over and ushers you to a large table in the centre of the room and a now extremely tired and stressed looking civil servant peremptorily orders coffee for everyone and some local sweet bread, the small man scurries away into the back room.

Cutbert Mawson sits, and smiles weakly at the party, before glancing off into the middle distance

(Spot Hiddens all round I think!)

Smoke gets in Michael's eyes, and he can't see a thing. He pulls out a chair for Isopel.

[ooc: Spot Hidden at "Ali Baba" (1d100=95) ]

"Thank you, Mr. Cuthbert-Mawson," says Isopel entering the bar; it is seedy inside and this only adds to her doubts regarding the entire episode in Luxor. Nevertheless, she sits when Michael pulls out a chair, her knees together, bag on her lap, and slightly hunched forward--she feels stressed.

"Mr. Cuthbert-Mawson, how did you find out about this place--er--I mean, their coffee must be the best in town?"

Spot hidden for Terry Morton (1d100=30) Fail - 30 / 20

The aroma of various coffee's fill the air mingled with the thick smoke that floats towards the ceiling. The poor decor instantly puts Terry on his guard, but when he realises that he has spent many nights in bars a whole lot worse than this he relaxes somewhat. Looking around him he is lost in distant memories of Horatio's Bar in Singapore and Greene's Club in Cape Town, his reverie continues with a mental tour of long nights spent on Reeperbahn, de Wallen and Helenenstrasse. He almost misses the skinny waiter ushering the group to their table. As he comes back to the room only Michael is still standing having made sure that Isopel is seated.

"This takes me back." he says to the Irishman giving him a broad grin and a "man-of-the-world" wink.

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4076019/ spot hidden fail
Before the waiter leaves Aswald hands him an extra bill and pulls his head close to his ear. "Put some of the 'devil juice' in mine, aight'?" He whispers. As the waiter leaves he rests his elbow on the table and massages his head lightly, willing his headache to go away.

Michael pushes Isopel's chair in once she is seated, then sits down himself in an empty chair.

The waiter returns with the coffees, dark steaming treacle coloured cups of coffee served with small glasses of water, and in Aswalds case, an extra glass of a sweet smelling liquor.

In addition he serves up a large plate of egyptian cookies, with the scent of almonds heavy on the plate, they sit and steam gently in the centre of the table, clearly fresh from the oven.

Cuthbert Mawson finally drags his gaze back to the table at Isopels question, he glances away again distractedly and then focuses on Isopel... "hmm, oh despite the looks this is actually quite a good place Miss Golpert, the food is good, the coffee is good, a lot of ex-pats come here from time to time, words gets round, don't you know", he stares away again for a moment and then looks at Isopel... "Miss Gulpert you will not believe this, it seems an incredible coincidence, but that woman over there, I'm.... I am sure that is Rose Bollancher, we met once, a long time ago at an Embassy dinner I admit, but I could swear that was her"

"The Professor's wife?!" exclaims Isopel, dropping her cookie upon the floor.

"So you think she knows her hubby went on a killing spree and hung himself?" He takes a short sip of his drink. "Anyone wanna tell her?" He asks directing his eyes to the woman they're speaking of.

"Thank God she still lives," says Michael. "We didn't see her at Chicago House, but we hadn't had time to go through the whole place. It's quite possible she does not even know what happened yet. Normally I'd suggest Mr. Rawson be the first to approach her, but under the circumstances, it will have to be one of us. Isopel, would you like to take the lead? She might open up more to another woman. If not, I can. I knew her husband...though not as well as I had thought."

Looking closely at her, without staring of course, Terry looks to see if she is distraught, upset or in any way aware about events back at Chicago House by her body language. He's not even one hundred percent sure he is looking at the right woman.

Psychology roll (1d100=58) nowhere near 58 / 10

"Yes, Michael, I'll talk to her," says Isopel.


[ooc: Aliktren, is Rose B. by herself? How does she appear--depressed, crazy, tired?]

Rose sits alone at a table in the corner, at this time of day she makes an incongruous sight amid the bar’s other patrons, who are sipping coffee and talking.
She is alone, a suitcase rests on the floor beside her. She is dressed perhaps for travel – a sensible dress and long coat. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight braid, tied with a blue ribbon. She has apparently worked her worked her way through a bottle of bourbon as it sits on the table next to her, and has begun on a second, drinking shot after shot from an oily jar. She looks extremely downcast, and at the moment it appears she is solely focussed on the glass and the bottle in front of her.

(OOC : Lets have another go with the spot rolls, as I am feeling generous! )

[ooc: 2nd S.H. @ "Ali Baba" (1d100=17)--let's hear what we spot, then Isopel will chat with Rose.]

As Ispoel observes the sorry sight of rose Bollacher, she notices that there is another table on the other side of the cafe where 3 local men sit watching Rose with barely disguised interest, glancing over and occasionally talking in hunched conversation with each other. They look like Dockworkers, dressed in greasy trousers, shirts and turbans, and carry long, curved, fighting knives tucked in their belts.

Michael still sees nothing.

Second Spot Hidden
2nd Spot Hidden (1d100=16) success 16 / 25%

Terry spots something about the whole situation.

Isopel says to the others: "See those locals, over there"--her eyes swivel--"they appear an unsavoury mob, and they seem most interested in Mrs. Bollacher." She almost adds "Watch my back!" but feels it to be too melodramatic.

She sits at Rose Bollacher's table. "Ah, a drinking companion!" says Isopel confidently and friendly-like. She takes the jar of bourbon and has a (pretend) swig,--she'd, probably, choke on the liquor--and, holding it, keeps it out of the woman's reach. "I am Miss Isopel Gelert," begins she; "bad day, Miss? . . ."

Michael nods and keeps an eye on the three goons now that Isopel has pointed them out, ready to react if they try anything.

As Ispoel departs for Roses table, the barkeep comes over and with a nod of recognition towards Cuthbert Mawson and begins to clears away the empty cups

He snorts when he sees Isopel talking to Rose, "All night. Drinking hard that one, like a girl aiming for a train wreck."

Rose looks up in faint annoyance at Isopel, then shrugs and takes the bottle, taking a hefty swig.

"What do you want?, I'm not much company so if you just came here to give me a hard time you can go out the same way you came in...."

"People like that are the backbone of your business sir." Aswald says with a laugh, requesting another drink.

"It's Mrs. Bollacher, Mrs. Rose Bollacher," says Isopel feigning surprise, "you're the wife of the famous Egyptologist, Professor Bollacher.

"What on earth are you doing here? and by yourself?" Isopel glances at the suitcase. "Oh, I understand!"

Taking his cue from Michael, Terry shifts round in his chair, ready to intercede if the three fools wish to try anything untoward.

"What's with you two?" Aswald asks mockingly, having not seen the large men on the other side of the room.

Terry, without shifting his gaze to Aswald raises three fingers slightly off the table in front of him and nods wordlessly in the direction of the three 'dock workers.' He picks up his coffee with his other hand and breathes deeply of it's pungent aroma. "It sure smells like good coffee Mr Mawson. However did you find this place ... I been working the bars here for about a year now and never came across it before." whilst keeping the three in his line of sight at all times.

Aswald shifts his gaze to the men that his companion signaled to. Feeling a chill shoot down his spine he puts his hand on his machete.

Rose responds with a harsh laugh, "really, you undershstand do you, what, exactly do you undershtand?" she sways heavily to her side, picks something out of her bag and puts it on the table "like this ey, pretty young girl, this makes sense to you?, Well I'm glad something makes sense to someone, drove my husband mad, jealous, unbearable, I ran away....." at this her face drops at some remembered inner turmoil and she takes a further large lug of whiskey.

The object she has placed on the table is some sort of Idol, greenish, with wings, tentacles, it is unearthly and faintly horrific to behold.

To her three companions watching the three "workers" it is obvious that the appearance of the idol on the table is significant, there is muted pointing and frantic discussion between them.

Isopel takes in the idols strange appearance before returning her gaze to Rose. "Maybe I don't understand, Mrs. Bollacher, not nearly enough! But I do know that if you drink any more, by yourself, and in a foreign city . . . well, need I say more? Come with me and my friends, Rose, we'll look after you."

Rose eyes Isopel witheringly, as if the question does not even merit an answer, and points at the idol " Ever since my husband, Aaron found this... "

tears begin to run down her cheeks

"ever since he found it in that tomb, nothing has followed us but tragedy, you think I care what these people think (she waves expansively), I don't care what anyone thinks, he said this was the key to a great evil, so, heh, I am going to destroy it, as it has surely destroyed me, as it has driven me from Aaron, driven sense from his mind, wherever he is I hope one day he can forgive me, I hope he is safe"

she looks at the idol, tears now streaming down her cheeks, she looks away from Isopel at the table before her, lost in her thoughts, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat.

"Found the idol? Which tomb was it?" enquires Isopel soothingly. She looks over to her companions and shrugs--what do I do next?

Michael nods again and makes a slight waving gesture with his hand, indicating that she should keep talking, as he tries to overhear what the three men are saying. Every word is crystal clear.

Trying to act nonchalant Aswald speaks quietly to his companions. "You packing?" He asks eying the burly men on the other side of the bar, he certainly didn't want to go up against them with nothing but a machete.

Michael nods a third time, patting a bulge under his jacket.

Without taking his eyes off the three ruffians, Terry says "No, I have a handgun, but didn't think I'd need it so left it at my appartment. Wish I did have it now though, but perhaps the sight of Michaels 'piece' will be enough to intimidate our friends over there."