Play@YSDC

Prologue

In September of 1930, researchers from Arkham’s Miskatonic University, led by Professors Dyer and Lake, set sail for the Antarctic continent on a bold venture of exploration and discovery.

Two months later they landed in Antarctica near Ross Island; twenty men, fifty-five dogs, and five large Dornier aeroplanes were set upon the ice. Their mission was to survey a geologic history of the Earth’s last frontier, to chart from the air where no human foot had stepped, and to determine at last, once and for all, whether Antarctica was indeed one land mass or several.
_______________________________________________________________________________

In much of this they were successful. From November of 1930 until mid-January of 1931, the expedition achieved goal after goal, milestone after milestone. Aerial explorations flew over and mapped thousands of square miles of previously unexplored territory. Sled teams took core samples from scattered spots over nearly a quarter of the continent.

However, history does not remember the Miskatonic Expedition for its successes, but for its final tragic failure…

The end of the expedition came just as the team seemed on the brink of their most spectacular triumph. On January 23rd, a large party led by Professor Lake, broke through into an unbelievable treasure-trove of ancient bones and fossils in a series of caverns at the foot of a hitherto-unknown mountain range. For 2 days, they explored the caves, bringing up specimen after specimen, some utterly unlike any living things that have ever been studied by science.

They were never heard from again.

On the afternoon of January 24th, a tremendous Antarctic gale swept through the campsite, killing every man in Lake’s party and scattering his samples, notes, and equipment beyond recovery. A rescue mission the following day found only silence, useless scraps of machinery, and a few pathetic remains of the tragedy. None of the men at Lake’s camp ever returned home. The rest of the expedition retreated north a few days later.
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Now, in March 1933, a new expedition is forming, intent upon a return to that forbidding Antarctic plateau and Lake’s campsite.
British world explorer James Starkweather and American geologist William Moore have joined forces to attack the Antarctic. The two men have experience with harsh environments, both having travelled in the Himalayas, and Starkweather on the Arctic ice cap as well. Their stated goal is to return to the high, cold interior of the Antarctic continent and to finish the work that Lake and the other began three years ago. The two are gathering a team of scientists and technical experts whom they believe will allow them to succeed despite the dangers.

Somewhere west of Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada, July 20th, 1933

Isugtag stood both boots deep in the mud. Winds from the Pacific had blown hard all month long, pushing in clouds upon clouds of heavy rain on the Yukon’s territory. Everywhere, the usual dirt ground had turned into muddy terrain, making the whole landscape shift from day to day. It took an expert to navigate in the wild… and Isugtag Amaruq, a native from the neighbouring Northwestern territories, knew the land like the back of his hand. Since he had returned from Europe, he had spent most of his times between the cities of Whitehorse and Yellowknife.

Slowly crouching down, using the butt of his Enfield to steady himself, the Inuit slowly dragged his hand on the ground before him. The wet ground was covered in pinecones and leaves from the forest that surrounded him. From behind his large back, he could hear whispers of the men whom he had been guiding for the past week.

After a few seconds of inspecting the ground, and the flora around the immediate area, he pulled out a used map from inside his jacket. His deep brown eyes started to scan the immediate terrain drawn upon the yellowish piece of paper.

Someone lit a match. The moist air was briefly field with the smell of sulphur.

“So, Grey Wolf, anything on our man?” said a distinctively British voice.

Folding the map back on itself, Isugtag permitted himself a discreet smile. He wasn’t sure why, but almost every person he met asked him the meaning of his name. The rough translation, from Inuktitut to English, gave something like Grey Wolf. Since it was much easier to remember and pronounce, it was the name most non Inuit used.

The Inuit gave a brief look to the three men who accompanied him. Jack Cordell and Arthur Nevil were both RCMP officers usually stationed in British Columbia. David Faraday was the local constable from Whitehorse. Apparently, the RCMP wanted some dutchman named Caspar Gerben, but he had slipped through their fingers and had disappeared a few years ago. He had resurfaced amongst a party of gold prospectors, still riding the Klondike gold rush of 1900. Faraday had recognized him, but when he had approached him, Gerben fled in the wilderness. The years he had spend in northern British Columbia and Yukon had visibly turned him into quite an adept woodsman... and so, Faraday had brought in some reinforcement: the two RCMP officers and the local forest ranger. For now over a week, the three men, led by Isugtag, were tracking Gerben in hope of capturing him alive.

“A man has passed here. He walks heavy.” said Grey Wolf in his heavy accented, but comprehensible English.

Cordell was sitting on a dead tree truck, smoking his pipe. Nevil was huffing and puffing to catch his breath back. Faraday, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine. RCMP men were used to travel in the wilderness… but usually on horseback. The forest was too dense, and the ground to unstable to bring in horse, and so, they had left them a few kilometres away, at their encampment. Nevil brushed the sweat away from his forehead and looked over at Cordell.

“How the hell can you smoke that in such a weather… I’ve never been so hot and sticky in my whole life.”

Faraday chuckled.

Picking up his rifle from the ground, Grey Wolf started to walk again.

“So, what now ?” said Cordell.

“A river runs not far from here. We are tired and thirsty.”

“Tell me about it…” grumbled Nevil.

Faraday threw a quick smile to Grey Wolf, showing that he understood what he meant… and that he was impressed by his skills.

“That means that Gerben will be at the river. He knows Grey Wolf is on his track, and so, he probably spent all day running. He’s travelling heavy, and he’s scared. He's probably twice as tired and thirsty than us.”

Faraday gave a little pat on Wolf’s shoulder.

“Good work my friend.”

Isugtag replied with a smile.

**********

Gerben was crouched next to the river, splashing his face with the cold water from the stream. Eyes closed, he lifted his head toward the sun, taking in a deep breath.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. His eyes darted to his rifle, which lay a few feet away, propped up on a rock. He started rising, taking one slow step forward… and that is all he did. Even in the heat, the barrel of the gun felt cold on his neck. Someone had been able to sneak within mere inches of him… and he hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t possible… there was some sort of trickery at work. The Dutchman made a move to turn around but he felt the barrel being pressed harder.

“Don’t move.” said a deep voice.

From across the river, on the other bank, he could clearly see two men coming down the bank. Their uniforms flagged them as RCMP officers. Slowly, the fugitive turned around. A tall and broad shouldered Native was holding a Lee-Enfield straight into his face. Behind him, a man he had met a few weeks ago was jogging at a rapid pace, coming out of the forest.

When he was finally next to him, Faraday smiled at both men.

“Well well well, Mister Gerben. On the authority of his Majesty the King, you are hereby under arrest.”

**********

Sitting on a wooden chair, his mud covered boots both resting on the railing in front of him, Grey Wolf watched as Cordell and Nevil, back on their horses, led the now captured and bound fugitive. The Inuit chuckled as he smoked his pipe, watching the trio disappeared around the corner of Whitehorse’s main street. Constable Faraday came out of the small police station.

“Job well done Amaruq. I’m sure these two guys aren’t going to forget Yukon any time soon.”

Slightly turning in his chair, the Native eyed the envelope the Constable was holding. Faraday looked down at his own hand, seemingly snapping out of whatever train of thought he was in.

“Oh, it’s for you” he said, handing the letter over. “It came in a few days ago, while we were gone. Looks like it’s from the Yanks.”

Isugtag quickly red it, his pipe stuck between his teeth. Faraday peered from over his shoulder.

“Well I’ll be damn! You’re leaving us?”

“It seems so.”

“Well my friend” he gave him a rough hit on the shoulder “as long as you’re back for the poacher season, it’s all good.”

Isugtag smiled at the man as he was standing up. Even thought the reception was in almost a month, Grey Wolf had a very long way to travel. He had to travel to Vancouver to get in touch with the Ranger’s representative, warn them of his departure, then cross the entire Canadian plains to get to Ottawa. From there, he could get on a train that would take him to New York. Good thing was, he still had enough to time to hunt some moosses before he had to leave.

Air Ronge, Northern Saskatchewan.

A few people started to come out of their homes upon hearing the grumble of the aircraft. They watched as it came out of the clouds, flying over the little settlement and began to bank for it's landing on the large lake.

The fairchilds radial engine was grumbling slightly as Mcraven began the banking manoeuvre, and the handling of the high wing plane was a little sluggish. No wonder really thought Mcraven, it was fitted with pontoons for the lake landing, and the plane was stacked with the supplies this little isolated community depended on.

The Crosswinds were beginning to pick up, and he found himself struggling with the aircraft as it was buffeted during it's descent. This was always tricky...landing an aircraft better suited for dry land that has been converted into a seaplane...with high crosswinds to boot.

But the fairchild was a sturdy little workhorse and McRaven was a pretty good pilot, even if he did say so himself. It wasn't long before the pontoons were skimming the surface of the water. Now was the time for complete concentration. He always remembered the words from the pilot who co-piloted him during his first attempt to land a sea-plane, which had been a truly bowl loosening experience.
The Pilot, a crusty war vet called Captain Peck, had simply described the process as a controlled crash, "so you better keep yer eyes and ears peeled the whole time!"

McRavens attention was completely focused now as he fought the winds and the planes attempt to dip its nose in the lake. Arms sore from the strain, he was able to relax as the aircraft settled and began to coast near the bank. Some locals in a small rowing boat, came out to help secure the plane and more importantly secure the precious cargo.

He exchanged the usual pleasantries as the cargo was off loaded. Mail, and several crates of a wine/spirit concoction called caribou. This was offloaded with a high degree of care, as if it were eggs or something more precious.

"Out here this stuff probably is as precious as gold" muttered McRaven as he got one of the locals to sign off for the cargo.

"What was that, Bill?"
"Oh nothing, Jimmy" said Mcraven to the local handing back the clipboard "This will be the last flight now that that summer is finally here and the roads are safe"

Jimmy, nodded and smiled. "I guess, but there will be places further north, that needs deliverance if you follow me"

McRaven Laughed at this as he waved goodbye to the villagers, for what he realised would be the last time.

"Places further North" he pulled the letter out of his flight jacket.
"Dear Mr McRaven" The letter began,
"Without hesitation I am delighted to offer you a place on the Starkweather-Moore Expedition team...."

William began to throttle up the engine for the flight back to base. McRaven had other plans, and the destination lay South, way down South.
Flying had always been an adventure, and the greatest adventure was waiting for him.

At the offices of the New York Daily News

"... I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted ..."

Reading using the fading daylight slipping through the blinds covering the window near his desk, Jack Wilson squinted at the words he'd read and reread a dozen times already. They were the words he'd both hoped for and dreaded. As Starkweather had said, this could be it, the story that got him noticed, pulled him back from the ledge of respectability that he'd so recently been dangling from, back onto firm ground and into the light of the world.

But it also raised the old fears. Travel, for one. He hadn't been out of the country since the war, and this trip would hardly be a gentle easing back into it. Good lord, Antarctica? What in blazes did he know about Antarctica, anyway? He couldn't recall ever sleeping outside except during the war, and he wasn't willing to think about that any more than he absolutely had to.

It would also mean that people would be reading what he wrote, that his words would receive the kind of scrutiny reserved for the most prominent authors and journalists. Was he ready for that? He wasn't sure. His stories had been getting more play in the paper's pages lately; he chuckled to himself a bit as he realized he'd dug his way out of obits of rich old industrialists and dogs biting men to start to cover some events for the national desk. They'd even used a couple of his photos, which was a big deal considering the importance the editors placed on pictures in this rag. But to have his every word out there for the world to see . . . ? New York wasn't exactly small-time, of course, but his work'd been buried in the middle of the paper mostly, and, truth be told, he'd rather liked the anonymity; it was small but safe inside his shell. Now he'd be Page One.

He'd become part of the story, too, as other "adventuring" journalists, such as Nellie Bly, had. You could talk forever about "objectivity," and journalism professors at Columbia University could high-mindedly talk about "keeping yourself out of the story," but any decent reporter with enough experience under his belt knew that he was always there between the lines, shaping the story, picking some details to include and others to leave out. And this story would take more out of him than most--he'd be a voice for the whole lot of them, and his name would be known. Was he ready for that kind of responsibility? Seems like he couldn't stop asking that question.

It might be good to get away, though, especially somewhere virtually unreachable like the end of the world. At least his ex's couldn't easily bug him, though, he thought ruefully, they'd also know where he was all the time, too.

But in truth the decision had already been made the moment his editor had decided that he, Jack, would be going--if he wanted to keep his job, that is, and he hadn't done well enough to lightly consider quitting. Jack couldn't tell whether Hugh, his editor, had been paying him a compliment by getting him this assignment or merely been trying to get Jack out of town, maybe forever. It was true, Jack thought--he did rub people the wrong way. Even his own son wouldn't speak to him anymore, and the two ex-Mrs. Wilsons only talked to him when they wanted something, usually money. The risks were there--he remembered vaguely what had happened to the last Antarctic expedition--but the rewards were beckoning, too. Something about the tone of Starkweather's message had, he had to admit, stirred something inside him; Starkweather's enthusiasm was contagious and appealed to the old romantic in Jack that he'd thought had died with the war.

A drink sounded good. Too good, in fact. Part of the crawl back had been crawling out of a bottle, and now that he was on (fairly) dry land, Jack had no great urge to drown himself again. Instead, he locked up his desk, took down his hat, and headed out for the consolation of a long, sobering walk around the neighborhood, trying to piece together his next steps. One step, he knew, would be getting some copies of National Geographic, or a map, or something . . .

“Ok Tower, this is Dog-One, coming in. Is the runway clear?”

Kitt waited a few moments for the response, at this point if the runway wasn’t clear she would have to throw full throttle and climb back up. Under normal circumstances that wouldn’t be a problem, today however was not normal. She was carrying 4 passengers, one of whom was hurt.

It was his own fault of course, not buckling in when she told them too. She got that a lot being a women. Men just didn’t listen to her. Never mind the fact that she had been flying Aeroplanes since she could reach the stick. Never mind that she had been flying in the Himalayas for the last 6 years.

She grimaced as a wind shier pushed the tail to the side.

Get your head in the game Kitt.

“Dog-One, tower, the runway is clear for you approach at One-Niner-Six, reduce speed, medical is standing by.”

Kitt confirmed the bearing and then took the mic off her head. She needed total concentration. The wind was picking up and it was almost dark, if she didn’t hit the runway just right, well it could be bad. She feathered the engine for some extra power, putting the nose up in the air. The Lockheed Y1C-12 responded like a champ. Her father had chosen Y1C specifically because it was designed for high altitude flying. Where the air is thinner and the planes respond a lot slower.

The wheels touched down in the hard mud sending a shudder through the whole plane. Kitt Throttled back slowly letting the engine go from Full Power to a mere idle, than a stop.

“Wow, that was some flying lady.” Kitt turned her head to the back seat, “next time, buckle up when the pilot says so.”

“Sure thing.” The fool smiled at her, his broken leg a testimony of his ignorance. He had been to busy trying to “get to know her”. She had warned him about not being buckled in several times, but he hadn’t listened. While making a final pass on a perspective base camp, a sudden down draft slammed him against the cabin roof.

The landing done Kitt waited for the passengers to leave. She sat back in her seat, and took a few deep breaths. When she exited the plane she would be all smiles and sunshine. She wouldn’t let on to them just how scared she was.

She waved to the crew as they went about their job, towing the plane to the hangar and checking the oil in the Pratt & Whitney engines. It was dark and very cold by the time she got to “The Hangar”, a little bar and grill on the edge of the makeshift airport. Most of the guides and pilots hung out at it after work. Her father was the owner/operator, she helped out on the weekends. It was a fun place, and she had a modicum of respect with the men who frequented it. They new she was a pilot, a dammed good one, and they new her father was also. Hanging above the bar was a bottle of un-opened French whine. A red Ribbon was tied around it with a card inside. Everyone knew what the card said, “Good Hunting, - Manfred von Richthofen”. The man who had shot her father down, the Red Baron.

“Hey Kitt, the mail plane came in today, there is a letter for you here.” Excitement colored her cheeks, it had been a month since she sent off her application to the expedition, and now here it was. She eagerly tore into the envelope and began reading aloud. Everyone in the bar new she was trying to join the Antarctic Expedition, so they all eagerly awaited.

Her hopes fell. The language in the letter was a thin veneer of hidden hostility. Rejected for just being a women, just a women. She threw the envelope down and kicked over the nearest chair. The bar was dead silent. John raised his only arm and put his hand on his daughters shoulder, “sorry honey”.

It was quiet enough that everyone could here it. Kitt wasn’t used to being treated like a woman, wasn’t used to it, and didn’t like it. She wanted to be judged by her accomplishments. By her deeds.

Her shoulders relaxed, she let out a breath. “It’s okay Dad, I knew I wouldn’t get in anyways. I’m going to go help the ground crew out with After-Flight.”

The older manned nodded, he watched helplessly as his beautiful daughter walked out of the bar, spirits crushed.

"It appears that you may be venturing on an expedition shortly young Sir" The Seymour family butler hands James his confirmation letter from Mr Starkweather.

James reads the letter then, after replying, looks to see if one of his favourite cruise liners has a sailing that will be suitable to arrive into New York prior to the dinner.

James then instructs the Butler to make the necessary reservations and also to telegram his friend William in Boston to advise that he will be arriving into New York and will be delighted to accompany his younger sister to the Summer Ball as this, fortunatly, falls the week between the cruise lines arrival and the New York dinner.

Arranging a final weekend in the city with a small group of close friends at one of his favourite Gentlemens club he then makes arrangements for fittings for a suitable wardrobe for the trip.

"Hey everybody, drinks are on the house! Doc's goin' to Antarctica!"

The patron's of Sam's bar gave out a slurred cheer as the bartender turned back to Dr. Michaels.

"But are you sure you're ready for this, Doc? You haven't practiced in over two years."

Clark put his glass down and poured himself another shot.

"Sure I have, Sam. I've had a few people with bullet wounds who prefer the anonymity of a small doctor. I've also written quite a few prescriptions."

"What kind of prescriptions?"

"Hey Sam, do you think you can give me a ride to New York?"

Olof read the letter again. It is my great pleasure to inform you that have been accepted... He could hardly believe it. He was going to Antarctica! What an adventure! Olof had read about the Norwegian and Swedish explorers who had visited the Arctic and the Antarctica. Would he be numbered one of them now? Would the name of Olof Eriksson be whispered together with the names of Fritiof Nansen and Otto Nordensköld? Olof permitted himself to day-dream a bit before he got back to reality. It would be an adventure, but as they said in his old home country: you shouldn't sell the skin before the bear is shot. Success and fame should never be taken for granted. There would be a lot of hard work and preparations. Olof looked through the letter again. The dinner would be held in New York in the end of August, there would be a lot of time for preparations. Perhaps there would be time to study the blueprints for Professor Pabodie's drilling apparatus at greater length.

"Pompous fool!", muttered the Professor under his breath.

Charles Graves balled up Starkweather's patronising letter and threw it onto the crackling fire in the corner of the room.

He wasn't surprised by the supercilious tone of the reply to his letter of application. He had half expected the narrow-minded thinking of the military man, Starkweather to his proposal to add his anthropological knowledge to the study of the unearthed skeletal remains. After all, in the minds of many the whole subject is too close to the concept of evolution which terrifies so many of the uneducated masses.

Undeterred, Graves sits down at his desk and pens another letter to the expedition leader. This time he emphasises his medical expertise and encloses a generous cheque "to aid this noble enterprise".

As he seals the envelope he smiles to himself, he will bluff his way onto this expedition past it's foolish leader and the documenting of this 'missing link' will take him to the forefront of the scientific community.

"Excellent! I'll see you on July 31st then. Thank you very much for your help. Good bye." Callum puts down the telephone and smiles to himself. That's the travel sorted.

He reads the acceptance letter for, what must be, the 30th time. "It's about time too!" he chuckles "I've had my bags packed for weeks."

Whilst pouring a shot of finest single malt, Callum catches a glance of his reflection in the mirror. "Cheers Laddie. See you in New York!"

Kitt's soft blue eyes scanned the page again. She couldn't believe it. Just a week before she had been so incredibly angry over the rejection. Now it was reversed, she was so elated she could fly on her own. She was going to Ant-Arctic!

She fished out the rejection letter and turned it over. She hastily scrawled on the back,

Mr. William Moore, I will gladly accompany you on this exciting expedition. I believe I can be in New York city on time for the dinner. I look forward to meeting you. See you soon.

Miss Kitt Knight

Post Script

Thank you.

She folded the letter and put it in a fresh envelope. She would send it on othe morrow. With any luck it would get to Moore before the Dinner. It would probably take that long just for her to get to the States.

She slid off the nose of the plane and landed gracefully on the ground and took off in a dead run. "DAD! I'M GOING!"

William Turner's London Apartment.

Gazing into a tray at a forming image William sighs. Knocking it onto the floor he storms in frustration from the dim red glow of the dark room. Running a hand threw his ruffled hair he moves to the kitchen and prepares a coffee. A clack at the door signals the arrival of the post, picking up a few stray bills he notices a small dignified envelope. Opening his face turns from the retched frustration of a lack of inspiration he reads "Congratulations we have accepted you..." William shouts with joy then rushes to the phone to cancel all his contracts with his local London papers. This he has decided is he saviour.

That evening

Sitting at his writing desk William flicks threw a few journals documenting the miskatonic's fatal journey, while glancing at another book telling of Starkweathers exploits. All the while scribbling his feelings in a notebook and drinking copious amounts of coffee.

The next morning

With one hand sticking out the side of his bed he searches for a pencil and paper and even for his difficult positon pens a impressive acceptance in a grand script. William gets up and slips the letter into a envelope, it details his delighted acceptance and that he shall depart london on the RMS Berengaria cruise liner and will book a room in New York to start his grand documentation of the Starkweather expedition.

He settles down at his desk again and pens the opening paragraph of this great adventure.

New York

Lower Manhattan during the 1930s

It is August 1933. The New Deal passed during the spring, but swarms of unemployed workmen still haunt the streets. Artist and philanthropist Nicholas Roerich is to host a $100-a-plate charity dinner for draught-stricken Chinese in three weeks, while thousands starve in New York State alone, and bread queues are a common sight.
With a population at almost seven million according to the 1930 census, New York has been the worlds most populous city since surpassing London in 1925. And not only in terms of population is this great metropolis considered the worlds greatest, with the newly constructed Empire State Building towering over even the Chrysler Building and the Bank of Manhattan’s building on Wall Street, New York boasts the three tallest buildings in the world.

The Empire State Building 1933

On June 29th Primo Carnera knocked out Jack Sharkey in the sixth round at Madison Square Gardens to become the heavyweight champion of the world. Meanwhile the New York Giants prepare for a season that will see them take the title from the Chicago Bears. Monopoly is a popular new parlour game, the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice is preparing it’s “friend of the court” brief for the upcoming trial United States v. One Book Entitled “Ulysses.” Crowds flock to see the blockbuster “King Kong,” and Prohibition will be repealed soon…

A View of 1930s Manhattan from atop the Chrysler Building

_____________________________________________________________

Kitt departs at once for Bombay, boarding a British India Liner, the MS Khandalla bound for London via the Suez Canal, Kitt’s ticket is only as far as Marseilles though, where she begins a rail journey across Euope, via Paris to the town of Friedrichshafen on the shore of Lake Constance, home base of the great airship Graf Zeppelin. Only when the airship rises into the skies bound for New York, via Rio de Janeiro does she allow herself to relax, she’s going to make it, and what a way to travel! She finally arrives in New York on the 24th with one day to spare, the huge zeppelin departs bound for Germany on the same day.

Kitt arrives in New York aboard the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin

Callum, William, Professor Graves and James each board their respective liners, and make the crossing without mishap. The newspapers of the world are eagerly reporting on the expedition, led by the famous explorer Captain Starkweather, and so each of them find that they cannot avoid being onboard celebrities for the duration of their crossings. This does however allow Professor Graves and James to become acquainted during the journey, and free drinks are aplenty for the explorers aboard the two British Liners. Callum fairs less well, as the SS America is bound by the rules of prohibition. Arriving in New York each books himself into the Amherst Hotel and finds that Starkweather has chosen well, the hotel is well appointed, but good value. Disappointingly Starkweather and Moore are both out of town making the final preparations for the expedition, but both will return to the hotel on the 25th for the Formal Dinner.

Grey Wolf says his goodbyes and begins the long journey south, he takes his time – enjoying a last look at the beautiful terrain of his homelands. He arrives at the Amherst on the 24th, and settles into his room, ready for the Formal Dinner the following day.

Jack finds that his editor is delighted that he has secured the expedition post, suddenly the reporter is the flavour of the month, as his boss imagines the boost to sales, none of the “Big Boys” will have a reporter with the expedition, the Daily News will be the only paper to buy to read first hand accounts of the expedition.

McRaven, with the advantage of an aircraft has no trouble getting across Canada and down to New York, he finds himself booking into the Amherst on the 8th, at the same time as Scottish Mountaineer Callum McDonald.

Olof has to work his notice before being released from his contracts, his employer is reluctant to see the talented engineer go, but understands Olof’s desire for adventure. He books into the Amherst hotel on the 25th and is also surprised to find the expedition principles missing, though at least he only has a couple of days to wait before meeting them.

Clark finds no shortage of offers for lifts to New York in exchange for a useful prescription or two for these hardened drinkers. He arrives in New York on the day of the Dinner, and checks straight into the hotel.

The expedition has two whole floors of the Amherst Hotel booked from the 25th onwards, so nobody needs to pay for accommodation beyond that date.

On the morning of the 25th a large sign is placed outside the Amherst’s front doors.

Starkweather-Moore Expedition to Antarctica Presentation
Washington Room Tonight 7:30pm

"...No, I'm not married...No I don't have any pets...No I don't think we need to worry about the Abominable Snowman...Does no-one have any questions about science!!!"

An increasingly rankled Professor Graves has made the mistake of leaving the lobby of the hotel in order to take an early morning stroll only to be engulfed by a pack of the world's press. Although initially perturbed by the crashing flash-bulbs and barrage of voices he was hopeful of using this as an opportunity to make some serious scientific points. That hope was quickly killed by a bombardment of inane questions and now all he wishes is to be 'saved' from this scrum.

James books into the hotel, finding it adequate, and is happy to be meeting other members of the expedition. He calls his old college chum, William, to arrange a brief jaunt down to Boston for 2 nights ensuring this does not clash with the dinner.

On the night of the dinner he dresses & is down in plenty of time for a pre-dinner drink, he would hate to think of any ladies that may joining the party for dinner to be there first as this would be most unchivalrous.

Callum checks his tie, and adjusts it slightly. Hope this isnt a dry hotel too. He grimaces at the thought. Picking up his room key, he opens the door.

*FLASH* *FLASH* go the camera bulbs, from two photographers that must have sneaked in past the hotels doormen.

"What the?? Why you cheeky buggers! If you try that again, I'll kick your arse all the way back to Britain!". He quickly regains his composure and makes his way down to the dining room. This prohibition is going to be the death of me....... Or someone else, he smiles to himself.

William, adjusts the bow tie once more. He's always hated these formal black tie affairs, but it's all part of the theatre being staged for the worlds press. Show of the expedition for the eager readers back home.

Lighting up a camel, McRaven looks himself over once more in the mirror and a with brief grunt of approval, turns and leaves his room. As He turns the key, locking the door, he hears all too clearly an outraged englishman yelling somewhere down the corridor. Looking over to where yells are coming from, he notices two photojournalists being chased out of a room.

"One of the late arrivals, and one of the more famous members no doubt" thought McRaven as he started down the corridor, walking past past the slightly indignant journalists, now with nothing to do but watch the retreating figure of their scoop disappear into one of the elevators.

He nods briefly at them and smiles.

"Better luck next time boys"

The two journalists look at each other in mild confusion, then their eyes widen as they come to the same conclusion.

"Hey, mate are you a member of this expedition?"

McRaven smiles again, but keeps walking, picking up his pace slightly, the second elevator not far from him now. He hears the thumping feet as the two hacks chase after him, calling for him to stop.

McRaven enters the elevator interior and then turns round to face the two men, faces flustered, their cameras raised slightly. McRaven takes another long draw on his camel and exhales forcefully, engulfing the two in the thick cloying smoke, making them cough and lower their cameras.

"Like I said before, better luck next time" said McRaven as the liftboy slammed the lift door closed.

"Thanks Johnny" Says McRaven handing over a couple of bucks. "Lobby please, time to rub shoulders with the high and mighty"

Jack inspected the Amherst from across the street. Around the front, he could see a phalanx of reporters and photographers, each person hoping to catch sight of anyone even remotely connected with the expedition. He even recognized some of the reporters hanging around the front door, and he knew that at least some of them would recognize him as well.

Having no wish to attract attention, Jack slipped around to a service entrance, pushing through a kitchen and a laundry area to the quizzical glances of hotel workers wondering what a well-dressed gentleman was doing in the bowels of the inn.

Asking around, Jack found his way to the lobby and picked up his key at the front desk. A stray journalist or two could be seen skittering about, chasing one person, than another, all in vain as it turned out.

"Hell of a day, huh?" Jack asked the man at the front desk as he picked up his key.

"Y-yes, sir," the man said, beads of sweat starting to coalesce on his forehead. "Never in my years here, sir, have I seen such discord! In any case, sir, I'm sure that you are aware of the reception. Let me know if you require anything."

Jack grinned and headed for the elevator, hat covering his face as much as possible. A quick shower, shave, and change were in order. Sure, he could've done all of that before coming here, but he wanted to be as discreet as possible, wearing his everyday clothes in and having his bags, including some spiffy new clothes, sent over earlier. Besides, he'd let go his apartment in the city; the expedition was now his home.

Used to the rules of fancy dinners from his father's home in Stockholm, Olof has bought the proper clothes for the affair. It was not cheap, but the Swedish engineer is not a person who wants to look like a bum. Stockholm might not be a grand city compared with the wonders of New York City, but Olof will show them that people from old Europe now how to dress in style.

New York City!

For the last 6 years Kitt lived in a city that still used cows to pull their taxi’s. This place was HUGE! The Zeppelin field had been on the outside of the city so she had taken a cab to the hotel. She wasn’t expecting the gauntlet of reporters to be there. So she got out a block early and decided to just walk around the city. Luckily her clothes that she bought in Berlin seemed to fit in okay. When she had seen the light blue sun dress with the emblem embroidered bi-plane on it, she just had to have it. She left her usual clothes, slacks, leather jacket, and the holster for her Luger, in her luggage. No need to scare everyone just yet.

Isugtag had spent almost two weeks traveling across the whole continent. He had started off near the Alaskan-Yukon border, down to Vancouver, and had then hopped aboard the Pacific Canadian transcontinental railway. The line had taken him all the way within Ontario, where he had stopped a few days to rest. Not that the Inuit was particularly tired. But being cocooned in a train for days had started to take a toll on his body and mind. He felt stiff and short of breath. After a few days, he had crossed the border in Niagara Falls and headed straight for New York. The only thing he had appreciated from the trip had been the scenery… but looking at it through a pale of glass only made him miss the outdoors even more.

New York City. The place was, quite simply put, gigantic. He had seen most of the major cities of Canada, had been out on leave in both London and Paris… but the Yankees definitely took the cake when it came to do things “big”. Even though urban sites made him slightly uneasy, the Native had accepted their presence at an early age. Contrary to most of his compatriots, he didn’t harbor any hatred for what some called “the white men”. What he did not like was the way nature was treated by city folks. But then again, they probably had never known anything else, and so, he couldn’t bring himself to entirely blame them.

Checking in at the hotel had been a bit more difficult. Photographers and reporters hover around the hotel like vultures… and spotting Isugtag hadn’t been a very difficult task. After all, he was probably the only Inuit in New York City… if not on the whole East Coast. The flashes had been busy blinding him, as questioned of every kind assaulted his ears. Everywhere he turned, someone stood in his way with a pen and a notebook. After a few minutes, the Inuit’s patience had finally been pushed a bit too far. Straightening him up to over 6 feet, arching his broad shoulders slightly back, Isugtag spoke for the first time since he had arrive in New York. Actually, it wasn’t really “speaking”… it was more like a low and grave grunt… something akin to the sound an angry predator would make. Seconds later, Isugtag Amaruq was inside the hotel.

His heavily accented, and sometimes mildly broken, English was apparently hard to grasp for the front desk clerk, but he was quickly able to gain access to his room. What short time he had before the formal dinner was spent between his room and hotel’s lounge.

*****

When time for the reception finally swung by, Grey Wolf finally took his military dress uniform out. He hadn’t worn it since 1919, but out of habit, he had kept it in the cleanest and sharpest shape he could. Isugtag had even spent a good part of the 24th polishing the 7 buttons of the vest, as well his boots. Looking himself over in the bathroom’s mirror, the ranger permitted himself a small smile. The dress uniform was still fitting perfectly. He was as much in shape has he had been at 20 years old. The brown uniform closely resembled that of the British army, at the exception of the numbers of buttons, and the red maple leaf on the collar and shoulders.

With his cap tugged under his armed, Isugtag Amaruq walked to the elevator.

Hopefully, no one would ask him any questions, and he could quietly sit through the entire event.

The journalists payed no attention to Clark as he entered the hotel. With his long bushy beard, his tattered suit and the hint of whiskey on his breath, they most likely mistook him for a homeless vagrant. It was only after he was escorted to the elevator that the press took notice. What few pictures were taken of him were rendered unuseable due to lewd hand gestures on Dr. Michaels' part. He did, however, go on record stating, "Those damn flash bulbs aren't helping my hangover any."

After giving the bellboy a prescription sure to cure his case of "chronic sobriety" as a tip, Clark poured himself a glass of water and set his alarm clock to 7:00 PM. Looking in the mirror, he toasted himself.

"Here's to being fashionably late and, hopefully, fashionably sober."

Back in his hotel room, Graves struggles to fasten his his bow tie, no matter how often I wear a dinner suit I can never get the hang of these things!. Applying lacquer he combs his jet black hair back tightly against his skull, takes one last gulp of a delicious new drink he's discovered at the hotel called Coca Cola and leaves to join the others in the dining room.

At seven, Jack, now looking more presentable, heads downstairs to the meeting room. He figures that he'll probably be one of the earlier arrivals, and, if so, that suits him just fine, as he'd like to size up the other participants as they come in.

As Olof prepares for the dinner, he thinks about a peculiar thing about Professor Pabodie and his drill. Why is not Pabodie himself on this expedition? Wouldn't that be natural? Perhaps the professor had his reasons not to attend, especially after the unfortunate accident during the old expedition. Perhaps Starkweather or Moore can explain why he declined, because they must have asked the professor? Isn't there some representatives from the Miskatonic University on this expedition as well? Perhaps they know?

Reaching the Dining Room, Callum looks around for Starkweather. Cant see him anywhere. Nevermind, its a good opportunity to have a look around.

He skillfully plucks a drink from the tray of a passing waiter, and is dismayed, but not surpised, to find the glass contains fruit juice. Apple if he's not mistaken.

Not recognising anyone here, Callum approaches the Maitre D "Could you tell me where the Starkweather-Moore Party is meeting please?"

7:25pm Friday August 25th 1933 – Amherst Hotel, New York City

The maître d' takes one look at Callum, and deciding that he is obviously not one of the repulsive tabloid hacks from the packed lobby, directs the Scottish mountaineer along the right hand corridor from the lobby, “You’ll find the ‘Washington Room’ there sir.” Without another word he returns to his duties.

Following the man’s directions Callum finds himself at the entrance to a plush conference room, he needs to force his way through the throng of reporters who pack this end of the corridor. Shouldering his way past Callum steals a glance at the table-plan before walking in. He will be seated, at table two which contains seven members of the exploration team, plus James Seymour one of the expedition’s co-financiers, who will joining the expedition himself.

As he takes his seat between James and Grey Wolf, Callum sees the expedition leaders James Starkweather and William Moore sat at the head table with various local dignitaries including John P.O'Brien the mayor of New York, and Police Commissioner James S. Bolan, as well as several members of the Miskatonic University’s board of trustees.

A lectern and a large presentation board have been set up on a small stage near to Starkweather’s table.

There are ten tables in all each seating eight people, except for the leaders table which seats twelve.

Most of the expeditions thirty odd members seem to have made it to the dinner, along with many guests, some invited by the leaders, some paying for a seat, a few reporters also slip inside, their cameras flashing even as the hotel staff usher them back outside.

8:35pm Friday August 25th 1933 – Amherst Hotel, New York City

After most of the guests have finished their excellent meals, the conversation level dies down as Mayor O’Brien steps up onto the small stage to address the audience.


John O’Brien, Mayor of New York 1933

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to be here tonight, hosted as yourselves by these two incredible people: Professor William Moore of the Miskatonic University at Arkham, and the renowned world explorer Captain James Starkweather, from Great Britain.”

“It is truly a great honour that they have chosen this great city from which to launch their daring expedition into the heart of the Antarctic, unexplored save for the ill fated expedition of 1930. This, I am sure will turn out to be one of the defining events of the twentieth century, and I say again that I feel honoured for the small part that our great city will play in it.”

“Now you all know that I’m not one for rambling speeches,” there are a few half-hearted chuckles from some of the audience, “so without further ado I hand you all over to the capable hands of tonight’s host, James Starkweather.”

This brings a much better response from the audience, as virtually everyone rises to their feet to applaud the expedition leader as he takes to the stage.


James Starkweather

When the applause has died down Starkweather begins to speak, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming here tonight to the Amherst Hotel for this very special evening.”

“It marks both the last public presentation and exhibition of our plans before we start the real work, and also is the first time that most of the expedition team have been together. Indeed later tonight I hope to meet with all those team members with whom I have so far only corresponded…”

Starkweather pauses his speech for a second, and looks towards the Washington Room’s entrance where a small disturbance is occurring.

A pudgy man with thinning brown hair forces his way into the room, he looks quite distressed, and walks directly towards Starkweather’s stage at the back of the room.

Starkweather himself recovers from his surprise and says, “Lawrence, what the devil…”


Lawrence

As soon as Grey Wolf sharp ears picked up the commotion from the enterance, all his focus was turned toward the man forcing his way into the room. A mix of animal instinct and hard combat training kicked into gear.

Members of the expedition were present in the room. Their security was now his task. Even thought he had never wished for such a duty, he would carry his task with the loyalty and dedication only a trainned soldier could show.

His dinner chair scrapped agaisn't the bare wooden floor of the Washington Room’s, echoing in the large room. The smooth and silky dinner napkin fell from his lap to the floor as he started to move to intercept the man. The over 6 foot Inuit took a few large and calm stride, approaching the man carefully.

Jack turns to look at the intruder, and it only takes an instant for Jack to size up that something's wrong. The intruder's stride and body language point to danger. The man looks viscious, capable of just about anything.

Almost simultaneously, Jack notices a tall, dark-skinned man get up from the table where the lovely young woman was sitting and move to intercept the intruder.

"No time to be a hero, Jack," he tells himself, taking a sip of water and getting out his notepad.

McRaven smiles at Kitt and then turns to hear Starweather begins his speech. It had a good opening, but then the mans face turns ashen and McRaven hears the name "Lawrence"

He turns, as do most in the room, to see the haggard beat up man walk into the room. Almost immediately, the inuit gets up out of his chair and starts advancing on the man.

Watching this a quip dies on his lips, as he notices an all to familiar bulge in the mans jacket.

"Oh crap..." mutters McRaven under his breath, getting slowly out of chair and coming alongside the indian, he mutters under his breath to the inuit

"Isugtag, this guy is armed"

Luckily all Lawrence's attention seems to be concentrated on the stage, and he does not notice Isugtag striding across the room towards him, with McRaven at his side.

As he gets closer to the extremely distressed Lawrence, Isugtag sees the revolver that he missed before, held close in to Lawrence's leg as he walks unsteadily towards Starkweather. He is muttering to himself as he walks, "Everywhere now, stop them, stop them, everywhere..." and he appears to be seeing things on the stage that none of the sane people in the room are.

Unfortunately at that moment, just as Isagtag and McRaven are almost in reach of him, Lawrence is startled into action by a loud scream from a female guest, "Ahhhh! He's got a gun!"

As pandemonium erupts around him Lawrence raises his gun, a Smith & Wesson Model 10, aiming unsteadily at a startled Starkweather, "Stop them, kill them all, kill..."

Olof looked at the man named Lawrence. The Swedish engineer had never experienced something similar before. A man drawing a gun, here in the hotel? It felt unreal. Olof should have been terrified, but somehow he felt that he could think clearly during the circumstances. Perhaps there was a way of drawing the attention of the gunman? But could it be done without getting someone hurt? Olof watched the flower vase on the middle of the table.

Callum feels a bit of a spare part. Dont think there is much I can do to help tackle Lawrence. Maybe there's more of them?

Callum moves towards the entrance to the room, to see if there are any more assailants, waiting to come in.

James, after witnessing the ongoing drama, gets up from the table to go to raise the alarm with the hotel security. He leaves the table and heads towards the entrance alongside Callum to obtain help.

Seeing Lawrence raise his pistol Kitt reacts with blinding speed, grabbing a plate from the table she flings it like a frisbee at his outstretched gun hand. The throw is wild, sailing straight past Lawrence, but it is enough to distract him.

Lawrence turns towards the tables looking for his attacker, cursing and clearly confused, as Starkweather ducks behind the lectern. Clark had been thinking of throwing his chair at the madman, but seeing Lawrence turn away from the stage and towards the tables, decided discretion was the better part of valour, and ducked beneath his table.

Before Lawrence has chance to find a target Isugtag's fist smashes into his jaw. The blow catches Lawrence off guard and although it isn't enough to knock him out, it does knock him off his feet. Lawrence slams into the floor, but unfortunately he keeps his grip on his pistol. Before he can get back to his feet, both McRaven and Isugtag leap onto his prone body to subdue him, as Lawrence screams, "NO, NO, you don't understand!"

He tries to wrench his gun hand free of Isugtag's steely grip, but cannot and starts sobbing hysterically, "Don't understand, Don't understand, you're all going to die, all going to die, die, DIE!"

Lawrence's gun slips from his grasp, and by the time James returns with some burly hotel staff, he has sunk into a catatonic state - staring at the ceiling.

The bells of police cars can be heard in the distance, and almost all of the guests have fled the Washington Room, though most of the expedition team remain.

Nils and Gunnar stand watch over Lawrence, Isugtag and McRaven, the rest have kept their distance apart from Starkweather himself. Once Lawrence had been subdued to the expedition leader stepped warily from behind the lectern to keel by his assailent.

"Lawrence, oh Lawrence, what have you done? What has happened to you?"

Professor Moore also approaches, a look of shock on his face.

McRaven looks at the poor wretch and shakes his head sadly. Looking over to Starkweather he asks

"Who is this guy Mr Starkweather?"

Seeing that someone already used his idea Olof and that the situation is resolved, Olof leaves the table and walks towards the ring of people who is beginning to gather around Mr. Starkweather and the now restrained Lawrence. There must be a tale behind this and it might indeed be interesting. Olof would not want to miss that.

Sensing that the commotion had come to an end, Clark lept into action. Emerging from underneath his table, "Well, there appear to be no more crazed gunmen hiding under the tables waiting to ambush us."

That could've been ugly, Jack thinks. He's momentarily occupied by thoughts of the team members, how they rushed into action so quickly and so effectively, as he scribbles more notes onto his pad. Though he hadn't met the young woman on the team yet, his opinion of her had increased many-fold thanks to her quick thinking and lightning reflexes. And the Indian fellow will be handy to have around, for certain.

But what does all this mean for the trip?

Rousing from his thoughts, Jack notices a knot of people gathering around Starkweather, Moore, and this Lawrence fellow. My editor'll kill me if I don't get the story, Jack realizes, quickly rising and heading toward the cluster of people.

Graves stands and makes his way to the prone Lawrance. Kneeling next to the semi-conscious man he opens his medical bag and examines him, while keeping an ear on what Starkweather has to say about the incident.

Kitt, frozen in her throwing poze watched as Lawrence was quickly taken down. Once the excitment was pass she sat herself back down and looked at the mess her food was on the table.

"I don't suppose I could get a new plate of food?"

Prof. William Moore

It is Moore rather than Starkweather that replies, shaking his head as he speaks, "Lawrence Longfellow is one of the expedition team, a mechanic. He's worked with James before, and I have no idea what caused this behaviour."

Starkweather meanwhile continues to kneel by Lawrence looking quite shocked, as four New York policemen burst into the room, their guns drawn.

Their commisioner, who has come out from under his table by now says, "It's ok boys, everything seems to be under control, thanks to this gentleman."

He points to Isugtag, and Starkweather finally comes to his senses, standing and saying, "Yes, yes, excellent work Isutag, I can see we picked the right person for our sergeant-at-arms, though we never expected any real need for the post."

"Any theory as to why this happened, Mr. Starkweather? Any hints of prior mental instability in this fellow Lawrence?" Jack asks, pen and notepad in hand.

Hunched over Lawrence, Isugtag's deep brown eyes were locked into the man’s almost dead gaze. The madman’s whispers were almost hypnotic… but it didn't affect the Inuit’s death grip around his wrist.

When the gun finally thudded against the floor, Isugtag picked it up with his now free hand, cocking the hammer and holding the barrel pressed on Lawrence’s right eye socket. He could feel his breathing slowing down. The revolver felt strange and alien in his hand, the rough texture of the handle itching his palm.

Isugtag didn’t lift his knee from Lawrence’s chest until Graves was next to him. Seeing as the situation was now under controlled, the polar guide stood back up, releasing all the pressure he had put on Lawrence’s lungs and chest.

The Smith & Wesson Model 10 held along his leg, Grey Wolf uncocked the hammer, but kept the weapon in his hand. Somehow… he half expected the madman to jump at Graves’ throat.

As Moore and Starkweather thanked him, the tall Inuit simply nodded at them.

Now that the situation was under control, he walked calmly to the approaching policemen, handing them over Lawrence’s weapon, before going back next to McRaven. He looked the man in the eye, giving him a discreet smile and a nod from the head. Even though he hadn’t said a word to the engineer, it was obvious the Inuit was quite thankful for his help… and for the fact he now knew there would be someone to watch his back if things ever got out of hand again.

Somehow… Grey Wolf had the gut feeling that it wasn’t the last incident of the voyage.

McRaven nods towards Isugtag, as the tall inuit returns to his table. Their eyes locked briefly, and despite the lack of verbal thanks, McRaven knew he had made a friend.

"And a damn good one to have in a tight spot" He thought, as he turned his attention back to the man called Lawrence. They were not even at their destination yet, but this man looked like someone in the grip of cabin fever, the poor s.o.b was totally gone.

The one thing a good pilot never likes, is to fly blind. It felt like that now and McRaven couldn't shake it.

"We're all going to die?" Clark moved towards the group surrounding Lawrence. "That's what he said, right?" Turning to face Starkweather, "Did this man know something about the last expedition?"

"Lets hope this guy Lawrence isn't some kind of fortune teller. I dont fancy dying just yet."

"Whats going on here Starkweather?" demands Callum.

James, pleased that no-one was seriously hurt, makes his way back to his table to await an explanation or to see what will happen next.

As he completes his physical examination of Lawrence, Graves whispers soothingly to the disturbed man. "What did you see? why are we in danger?"

“Gentlemen! One at a time please”

James Starkweather raises a hand as if to ward off the questions, “I’m afraid I really do not have any answers about Lawrence’s actions, this is quite extraordinary – he’s normally a very shy chap, when I noticed that he wasn’t at the dinner I just assumed that he preferred to keep his own company.”

“As far as I know he hasn’t anything to do with the 1930 expedition, and in any case I don’t see why he’d believe that we would all die. What happened to Lake’s party was a terrible, terrible tragedy, but this expedition will be bigger and better equipped. There is no reason to fear that our part will be wiped out by any storm.”

Meanwhile Professor Graves’ attempts to communicate with the catatonic Lawrence come to naught. The gunman continues to stare at the ceiling, his dilated eyes do not respond to the flashlight from Graves’ medical kit, and the only reaction to the professor’s words is a thin trail of saliva that runs from his open mouth.

Two police officers approach Graves, one is a sergeant who says, “We’d better take him now sir, before he turns violent again. And I’m afraid I’ll need a statement from everybody before the night’s over”

Nils approaches Isugtag and McRaven, “You handled that well, it is good to have you aboard.”

Clark motioned to Moore to have a word before the police took his statement. "Where was Lawrence staying at? Something drove this man beyond the breaking point and I think it would be in our best interest to find out what it was." Turning to Lawrence as he was carried away, "If an incident like this happens again, it may not be as easily averted, especially in the middle of nowhere."

Looking over at the two police officers dragging away the now catatonic Lawrence, Isugtag barely heard Nils comment. He simply nodded in an absent-minded fashion, saying only "Yes...." . Isugtag wasn’t particularly shocked by what had happened. He had seen many soldiers completely loose it in the trenches of the blood-soaked battlefields of France.

What did trouble him was that the event would now linger in the mind of most of the expedition’s members. Worried souls never carried out their duties as efficiently as those who had a clear mind.

As he looked back at his half finished meal, the ranger wondered how the rest of the evening would carry itself.

Jack figures that Starkweather knows more than he's saying, but now may not be the time to nudge it out of him. Jack also figures that there's no point in tagging along with the police as they get the same kind of non-answer from Starkweather and Moore as the expedition members had already gotten. Some work was going to need to be done after tonight with all of that, and he was going to need to make some calls, follow up on some leads he already had. But there was that early-edition deadline to make tonight.

First priority was to learn a little bit more about his quick-thinking and -acting companions, Isugtag and McRaven, get a quick statement from them for the paper--Kitt, too, if he had the time.

Turning to Isugtag and McRaven, Jack says, "That was quite some feat tonight, gentlemen. What made you spring into action like that? Were you afraid?"

The tall Inuit gave Jack a detailed look, from head to toe, a dead serious expression on his face. In his mind, Isugtag had done what any man in his position would have done. Amongst his people, a man was always expect to show courage and determination in the face of every situation.

But now, people were taking too much interest in him... Attention was not something the polar guide wanted.

As Jack stood infront of him, pen and notepad in hand, the Inuit in military uniform made a sound that resembled a grunt. He then simply walked passed him toward his original seat, slightly bumping into the reporter to "gently shove him out of the way".

Olof sat down again, visibly shaken by the event. What had really happened here? Why had this Lawrence guy been so upset? The engineer was impressed by the performance of that woman and that eskimå. Olof absently wondered what the word for eskimå was in English. It was something similar wasn't it?

McRaven raises an eyebrow as the inuit pushes gently past the reporter without uttering a single word. He then turned his attention to Jack.
"You'll have to forgive Isugtag, he clearly doesn't like the attention. As for your question, well...all I can say was that it was instinctive on our part and Miss kitt too, damn nice throw with that plate...kept the poor guy distracted"

McRaven pauses for a second as they prepare to take lawrence away.

"It does bother me that someone could flip out like that. Was I scared of him? No, but I was afraid of what he could do with the gun. Like I said, instinct and I guess training helps you overcome the fear, lets you act while others bug out or take cover"

William then shrugs his shoulders slightly

"Thats all I can say. Curious about what drove him over the edge though. Starkweather looked really shocked at the mans condition. Makes you think don't it?"

With that he wanders away from the reporter and returns to his table.

Callum makes his way over to James "Can I just have a moment of your time please James? If you dont mind."

"Lets go and see if this Lawrence was staying here. There may be some more clues as to what sent him over the edge amongst his possessions."

Folding his stethoscope and placing it back in the bag Graves walks over to the Police Chief. "I would very much like to speak to Lawrence before I leave the States. I am a Dr of psychology and am sure that I can help him if you would tell me where he is being taken."

"Of course I dont mind old chap, happy if I can help. If we can get through to reception I will try to obtain the room number if he is staying here" James replies to Callum. He then turns to head towards the door with Callum.

@Clark
Moore turns to Clark, “That’s a good idea, but I think we should let the cops do their job first, after all we don’t have anything to hide.”
“The cops are likely to check his room themselves soon, but we could probably take a look after. Lawrence’s room is 412, I think.”

@Callum & James
Two police officers stand by the Washington Room’s entrance, one speaks as the two Brits approach, “I’m sorry gentlemen, but I can’t allow you to leave until you have given a statement. Mr Starkweather has asked permission to continue with the presentation, and the commissioner has allowed that before statements are taken, but if you leave you have to give your statement now.”

@Charles Graves
Commisioner Balon replies, “He’s being taken to a cell at the Police Headquarters until we decide what to do with him, I appreciate the offer of help, perhaps you could go to the headquarters later.

@Everyone

The rest of the evening is obviously spoiled by the incident, with several of the guests deciding to leave as soon as the police allow them to. Starkweather however seems to be determined not to allow the incident to totally ruin the evening. Although he was obviously affected by Lawrence’s actions, he returns to his lectern once the mess has been tidied, and spends thirty minutes presenting an overview of the expedition’s objectives and route. Once he gets into the swing of his presentation his obvious enthusiasm for the expedition returns.

“Ladies and Gentlemen after that unfortunate and unforeseen incident, I hope that you will still be able to enjoy your evening here. Without further delay I shall return to the task at hand.”

“We shall be departing from New York aboard our vessel the SS Gabrielle on the 14th of September, all of our equipment and supplies have been ordered, and the Gabrielle herself will be in port two weeks before departure.”

Starkweather waits while a large map of the Pacific is unveiled on his presentation board before continuing.

“As you can see from this map, we shall travel via the Panama Canal and cross the Pacific Ocean to Melbourne, Australia. We will stay briefly in the city while the ship is refuelled, and its stores are replenished. Then we shall depart again bound for Antarctica, we will be heading into the Ross Sea and, depending on whether the the ice pack permits, we hope to make landfall on the Ross Ice Shelf close to Ross Island as early as November the 1st.”

A second map is unveiled, this one showing what is known of the continent of Antarctica

“We will be making our first camp here,” Starkweather points to the map, “on the shore of the Ross Sea. This will act as the base camp for the expedition’s aeroplanes, and will also be used to relay communications to the Gabrielle, which will remain a safe distance offshore once all our equipment and personnel have been safely unloaded.”

“Once we have located the site of Lake’s camp at the foot of the Miskatonic Range, we shall be establishing our second camp. This camp will be used as a base for examining the Lake expedition site, particularly the fossil remains in the cave system discovered by the 1930 expedition. We shall also launch flights from this camp searching for a pass through the Miskatonic Mountain range, to the high plateau on the opposite side, that Professor Dyer mentioned in his report.”

“The high plateau will be the site of our third and final camp. We will be conducting a large number of exploratory flights from the plateau, in order to fully map and document this plateau.”

“For the expedition we will be making use of the excellent new Boeing 247 aircraft, we have purchased three and had them specially modified for operation in the Antarctic. We also have a fourth smaller aeroplane, a Fairchild FC-2, aircraft of this type have been used by several previous expeditions to the Arctic and the Antarctic. This shorter range aircraft will mostly be used for mapping and exploration of the Ross Ice Shelf.”

“In order to support these extensive air operations the Gabrielle will be carrying an enormous amount of fuel for the aeroplanes, enough to fly each of the planes around the world!”

“We hope to leave Antarctica by Feburary the 1st 1934. By which time we hope to have located and recovered the remains of the deceased Miskatonic Expedition members, and as many of the bones, fossil remains, and artefacts that they discovered as possible. All of these will be safely recovered to the United States.”

“Well that’s all from me, I’ll hand you all over now to Professor Moore.”

Jack dutifully takes notes, realizing all the while that this flap and the resulting delay may have made him too late to make the early-edition deadline, which will no doubt infuriate his editor--and with good reason. As much as he'd still like to get a quote from the woman in the party, he knew that he'd better try to use a hotel telephone to pass on his information to his editor. It wouldn't be as good as if he himself had written the story, what with the rewrite man probably making a hash of it, but at least the Daily News wouldn't be caught flat-footed on a story that one of its own reporters was, in some small way, a part of.

Jack hurredly finishes up his story notes, waiting for Moore to fill in the final details. Then he'd have to see about getting out of that room, at least long enough to make the call. Maybe he could slip a word or two in from the adventuress for the late edition ...

Olof listens with great interest. He now begins to appreciate how much planning and how much effort lie behind this undertaking. They will be at sea for forty-five days at least! Olof looks at the map of Antarctica with great interest. The continent looks so desolate, so lonely.

"How far I have come from Stockholm..."

James accepts the police officers request to give his statement before leaving the room and returns to the table in order to listen to the rest of the presentation. He turns to Callum "maybe we can try having a look later"

McRaven now sat back at the table, listens to the speech. It all seems interesting, but the events of this evening had taken the shine off things.
The atmosphere was so think you could cut it with a knife.

He then picks up something that Callum said to James as they returned to their seats.

"Have a look at what later?"

"We are going to try to get a look at Lawrences room. Maybe we can find out a bit more about what makes him tick."

"You want to come along? All are welcome."

McRaven does not need long to think about the offer. The crazed look on that mans face, matched by the shock on Starkweather. Whatever had tipped Lawrence into madness, was a fairly recent event at best.

"Yeah, I'm in...as soon as the talks finished and we get our statements taken. A quick rummage might throw some light on this evening...maybe put peoples minds at rest"

As William Moore steps up onto the small stage, there is muted applause from those who are determined not to let events spoil the evening.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for attending tonight, especially in light of tonight’s events.”

“Firstly I’d like to offer a few thank you’s, starting with the Miskatonic University board of trusties. Many people both within the university and outside, stated the foolishness of launching this expedition after the disaster that befell the first in 1930. Yet these men have stood by the expedition since the beginning.”

“But for illness I would have been a part of the 1930 expedition, possibly a member of Charles Lake’s ill fated party. So I offer my thanks to the board, for their part in assuring that my friends did not die in vain, and that their work will be completed.”

“I think that a special mention should also go to one of our pilots, Miss Kitt Knight, she will become the first woman to set foot in Antarctica.” This is the queue for another round of applause, and all eyes turn toward Kitt for a second.

"Also I offer my thanks to James Seymour, without his help the expedition may have stalled as funds dried up."

Moore then goes into more detail about the makeup of the expedition, spending some time discussing the capabilities of both types of aircraft used by the expedition, the Boeing 247, and the Fairchild FC2

He also explains the operation of the Pabodie drilling machine, a lightweight drill which can be carried (together with it’s generator) aboard three seven-dog sleds, and when assembled can be used to drill over one thousand feet into the ice and rock of Antarctica.

“We have only three weeks to go now before departure, and much to do. The work will begin in earnest once our ship the SS Gabrielle arrives on the first, until then I hope that our team spend their time wisely making final personal preparations. Once the Gabrielle arrives, it will require the help of all the team to prepare her for departure.”

“To all our guests tonight, thank you for your interest in this momentous expedition, I hope to be stood here again in several months celebrating our safe and successful return, thank you.”

The professor waves and steps down from the stage.

Well, that was a little less than scintillating, Jack thinks, as he scibbles down the last few notes. Now to see if I can get out of here and go use a 'phone ...

Jack has no problem offering a statement, but he knows he needs a few minutes to get this story filed.

On his way to try to persuade the officers to let him out, he notices a knot of some of the expedition men gathering and seemingly planning something. Jack's curious but also preoccupied. Have to check that out later, he thinks.

Graves tries to pay attention to the speach, but finds his mind wondering back to the traumatized Lawrence.

After giving his statement to the police, he asks one of the Officers if he can accompany him back to Police HQ in order to see the prisoner. He resolves to analyse Lawrence as much as possible before their departure to discover what pushed him over the edge.

Callum listens, with interest to Moores' speech. Once done he gives his statement to a police officer, and makes his way to the lobby to meet the others.

@Clark

Attempting to postpone his statement until tomorrow, Clark finds himself face to face with Sergeant O’Rourke, an Irish-American policeman who takes his job very seriously. He is totally unmoved by Clark’s claims of nausea, “I’m sorry sir, but nobody’s leaving this room before they give their statement, Commissioner’s orders.”

Unfortunately the sergeant seems to have taken offence and delights in taking a very long and detailed statement from the doctor, he eventually gets out of the Washington Room just in time to notice a small group of expedition member gathered around James in the lobby.


@Graves

“Sure thing sir, we appreciate the help. It’ll be a little while until we’ve taken everybody’s statements, but I’ll be heading straight back to the headquarters.”

“If you’d like to return to your seat, I’ll give let you know when we’re ready to leave.”

Once the statements have been taken the officer walks over the professor with Sergeant O’Rourke, “Professor Graves, we’re ready to go now.”


@James, Callum, McRaven

Heading straight to reception after giving his statement isn’t as easy as James expected, the lobby is packed full of journalists fighting to get a exclusive. When he eventually makes it to the reception desk though he easily obtains both room number and key, the attractive young receptionist Lucy seems quite taken by the rich Englishman.

“Mr Longfellow was staying in room 412 sir, the police have already checked the room and they’re gone now.”

James meets the others in the lobby with the key.


@Jack

Jack manages to talk his way past the police officers on the door, providing he returns quickly.

Jack calls the Daily News from the lobby and is immediately put through to his angry editor Joseph Medill Patterson, “Where the hell have you been Wilson! We’re holding the front page for your story!”

Patterson has calmed down considerably the next time he speaks to Jack, after the story has seen dictated to an office worker, “Good work Jack, nice idea about the girl, and you say she threw a plate at the guy? See if you can get her story for the later editions. We need to get an exclusive before the rest get to her.”

Jack returns to the Washington Room and quickly gives his statement. He reemerges into the lobby just ahead of Clark, and immediately notices the same group of explorers that he’d spotted earlier.


@Everybody Else?

It takes a long time for the police to take everybody’s statements, when they are finally done it is getting late into the evening. Most of the guests are leaving, and quite a few of the expedition members are heading for their rooms, but a few remain in the Washington Room talking amongst themselves, including William Moore and the Sorensen brothers.

Starkweather leaves the room with Commissioner Bolan immediately after giving his statement.

Having heard about the Sorensen brothers earlier this evening, Olof decides to introduce himself. He was not sure if they were genuine Norwegians or just Americans with Norwegian names though. He decides to introduce himself and if they really are Norwegians take the opportunity to continue the conversation in his own native language Swedish. Perhaps they can tell him some news from Scandinavia.

OOC: For you that don't know my guess is that Norwegian would default to half Olof's Swedish skill. That's from my own experiences of understanding Norwegian. The languages are really, really closely related.

Jack is a bit torn. Having just rushed back in after filing his story, he notices again the knot of expedition members. They look intent on something, and whatever it is, he figures, it's got something to do with the night's events.

On the other hand, Jack's editor had told him in no uncertain terms to get some information from the young plate-thrower. Maybe if he could just introduce himself and convince her to hold off on talking to the press before he could interview her, he could join up with the others. He can see one of them has a room key, and the others are looking at him intently. Hell, as far as he knew she'd want to come along; if so, that'd kill two birds with one stone. He scans the area, looking for her, at the same time calling to the men, "Gentlemen, if you'd be so good as to wait just a moment ..."

After an exhasuting interview with Sergeant O'Rourke, including an almost obscene amount of detail regarding exactly where he was during the incident and a five minute socratic dialogue concerning the distinctions between a "feral warcry" and "girlish screaming," Clark was convinced that if there was anything of interest in Lawrence's room, it was already in the possession of the police. He decided that it would ultimately be more fruitful to accompany Graves to the police station. There he would be able to speak with Lawrence, determine what the police had found in his room and, God-willing, find someone to help him do something unpleasant to O'Rourke.

"Hey Charles, wait up!"

"Yes Mr. Wilson? What can we do for you?" Callum enquires of Jack.

"Perhaps you would like to accompany us. We are going to check out Lawrences room. Maybe a keen journalists eye is just what we need!"

"Ah Dr Michaels, I was just about to come looking for you."

"I'm going to see Lawrence and would appreciate your professional opinion of the poor chap."

Addressing Callum, Jack replies, "That sounds like a good idea, only ..." He whips around, still not seeing the young woman. Oh, well, Jack thinks. This could be a much bigger story--the secret, if there is one, behind the attack ...

"Gentlemen, I'm ready whenever you are."

James is stood in the lobby with the key, once Callum & Bill join him he will head up to Lawrences room. He sees Callum & the reporter heading towards him and informs them he has been sucessful in obtaining the room key.

McRaven gave his statement, downplaying his own involvement. He was just there to back the Inuits play, and make sure that when lawrence went down, he stayed down and the gun taken out of the equation.
All through this, he keeps an eye on the others as they get ready to check the mans room. He's not sure what they'll find, but something drove him over the edge, pushed him to an act of madness.

In the state the man was after the fracas, McRaven doubted anyone would get any sense out him anytime soon. The mans bedroom may be the best bet.

When the statement was finished, he heads over towards James, seeing that the man has been able to obtain the Key.

@James, Callum, McRaven & Jack

The four investigators push their way across the packed lobby and manage to get into the elevator without being accompanied by any of the press.

The bellboy takes the elevator up to the fourth floor, one of two floors reserved for the SM Expedition, and they soon locate the door to room 412. Lucy was right, the police are long gone and the door is closed and locked. Crime levels within prohibition New York don’t allow too long to be spent on room searches in such an open and shut case.

@Graves & Clark

Clark and the professor squeeze into the back of the small radio car, the latest in crime fighting technology, behind the dour Sergeant O’Rouke and his somewhat friendlier partner Patrolman Maguire.

As they set off for the NYPD’s impressive headquarters at 240 Central Street, in the heart of Lower Manhattan, O’Rouke turns and says with an evil grin, “Doctor you should have said that you wished to accompany us the headquarters, I could have let you attend to your other business and interviewed you at the HQ.” He laughs to himself at his ‘humour’ and turns back to the front.

@Olof Dark Red text = non-english speech

As expected Olof finds that he can easily converse with the two Norwegian explorers, both seem delighted to meet their fellow Scandinavian, even the surly Nils nods in greeting, as his younger brother greets the engineer, “It’s good to meet another fellow northerner, that makes five of us. You are the only Swede I think, but Enke and Olav over there are both from Norway, they’ll be handling the dog-teams. Enke, Olav! Come say hello to Olof!”

Nils doesn’t look to happy at the growing crowd, but nonetheless remains as his brother continues talking, “Where abouts in Sweden are you from? We hail from Skjervøy in Troms, deep into the Land of the Midnight Sun.”

@Kitt & Isugtag

Leaving the Sorensen brothers to talk to Olof, Professor Moore walks over to table two where Kitt and Isugtag still sit.

He smiles and says, “Isugtag, I notice that you didn’t appreciate the attention of James’ pet reporter earlier. Unfortunately I fear that word of your quick actions is already out. The New York press are a tenacious bunch I’m afraid, they’ll hound you until someone gets their excusive with ‘The Hero.’ Better to have a quiet word with Mr Wilson I think, than be chased by the pack.”

He turns to Kitt, “I glad you made it tonight Miss Knight, I was worried that the your remote location may have prevented you joining us. How was your journey? I’m afraid that you too will be plagued by New York’s finest; the first lady to the South-Pole and all that. Also your timely plate throwing hasn’t gone unnoticed, it’s ironic that your quick reactions possibly saved James’ life! I think he’s quite glad to have you along, don’t tell him I said so though.”

“Perhaps you’d both like to meet some of the others? It will keep you away from the journalists packing the lobby. Some are probably chasing James to the police headquarters by now anyway.”

James unlocks the door and steps inside, holding the door open for his companions to enter, and closes the door quietly behind them to avoid any unwanted attention. He glances around the room and takes in his surroundings and looks for anything which might jump out as unusual to the first glance.

McRaven steps into the room and takes in the scene. He notices the phone in the room.

"I wonder if it would be possible to find out if he made any calls before he came down?" He stops, realising that he has spoken out loud.
"I guess I've seen a few cops and robbers movies" He says smiling briefly.

He then heads over to the phone, looking to see if a pad lies there with some numbers on it, hell even if it hasn't he could try rubbing a pencil lightly over it to see if anything was there.

Jack steps into the room and looks around, looking for anything out of place--though, in truth, he'd never been all that good as a sleuth. In one hand, he clutches his camera, which he retrieved from his room on the way over here. He figures the coppers won't mind; after all, they never said not to come up here. He starts peeking in drawers and the closet, seeing if any skeletons come out.

"From Stockholm. Troms you say? That is far north. My father once visited Narvik, but I have never been that far north. I have never seen the midnight sun myself. I have been told it is a marvellous sight. Well I would like to propose a toast. For the well of the brother people."

Olof hoped that the Norwegians would appreciate the joke. His toast was refering to the motto of the old Swedish king Oscar II, who before 1905 also was the king of Norway. In 1905 the Swedish-Norwegian union was disolved peacefully and without any feeling of hostility between the two countries.

Amherst Hotel – The Washington Room
Olof

Gunnar laughs at Olof’s joke, and even Nils smiles, “ For the well of the brother people.”

Two more expedition members approach the trio, Gunnar introduces them to Olof, “Meet Enke Fiskarson and Olav Snåbjorn, they will be looking after our sledge dog teams. Enke is from Bogen in Evenes, it’s quite near to Narvik.”

“Olav though is from the soft south, he hails from Trondheim, but as long as he sticks with us he’ll be ok, eh Olav!”

Gunnar claps Olav on the back and the pair both laugh.


Olav Snåbjorn and Enke Fiskarson


Kitt & Isugtag

Moore leads the two across the Washington Room to introduce Kitt to the other two pilots, “Kitt Knight meet Ralph DeWitt and Douglas Halperin, it’s a shame William has gone, you four could have had a swell time talking about propellers.”


Ralph DeWitt and Douglas Halperin

Halperin is bookish in appearance, slim and well groomed, with small round spectacles, Kitt had taken him to be one of the expedition’s academics when she’d first spotted him. Ralph DeWitt on the other hand is rugged looking, his short wild hair and self-confident eyes typical of a Barnstorming Great War veteran flyer. Both pilots greet Kitt, and neither seem surprised that a female pilot is on the team.

“I’ll leave you to it, Isugtag, maybe you’d like to meet some more of the exploration team?” Moore sets off across the room again. Peter Sykes also joins them, keen to continue discussing the wilds of Canada with Isutag. “We’ve got a real good team here Isugtag, lots of experience. Should put your mind at rest again after tonight’s incident.”

“I don’t know what came over that Lawrence guy, but glad it happened here. That guy would have been a real danger out on the ice.”

Amherst Hotel – The Fourth Floor
James, Callum, Jim & McRaven

Lawrence’s room is no different than those of Callum, Jim, and McRaven, also on the Fourth floor. James’ suite is of course up on the Eighth floor.
A search through the contents of the room’s drawers reveals nothing of interest just Lawrence’s spare cloths, the drawer also show obvious signs of having been searched by the cops earlier. McRaven’s rubbings of the notepad produce part of a phone number either 3719 or 2719, but nothing else.
Inside the wardrobe Callum discovers a large kit bag. Searching through it he thinks at first that it contains only a selection of Lawrence’s tools. However as he is about to give up he notices a pocket dairy wrapped inside an oily rag.

NYPD Headquarters – 240 Centre Street


New York Police Headquarters 240 Centre Street: The new police headquarters opened in 1910 after nearly five years of construction. From its great copper dome and rooftop observation deck to its basement pistol range, the five-story limestone structure was meant "to impress both the officer and the prisoner with the majesty of the law."

Charles & Clark


Professor Graves & Dr Michaels arrive at the NYPD Headquarters

Sergeant O’Rouke’s police radio car pulls up outside the impressive headquarters of the NYPD, and he and his partner lead the two doctors inside.

“Take a seat guys, I’ll need to let the Commissioner know you’re here.”

O’Rouke indicates a bench in the foyer, then walks off to find his boss.

They don’t have long to wait, a few minutes later they spot Commissioner Bolan approaching, accompanied by James Starkweather.

Bolan offers to shake hands with each doctor and says, “Thank you for coming, Longfellow is in a cell for now, but I think he’ll be moved to an institution in the morning. So any help you two can give would really be appreciated.”


Early 1930s NYPD Patrol Car

Callum carefully unwraps the diary, and studies it quietly, to see if anything interesting is hidden within the text it contains.

James pops his head around the door to make sure the corridor is still clear.

Jack snaps a few frames. Might be good to have some shots of a madman's room in case there's more to this story.

McRaven takes the piece of paper, and heads over to the wardrobe. Opening it he looks to see if there any coats or suit jackets, and quickly goes through the pockets.

As he does this he looks over to James saying, "I think you need to work that charm on the front desk, see who this guy was calling"

"Glad to be of assistance Commisioner, we'd like to see Mr Longfellow right away please." Graves picks up his medical bag and waits to be accompanied to the cell.

"I've found a diary. Not a great deal of information in it, but here's a brief summary" Callum proceeds to read out the points of interest.

Most of the dairy seems perfectly normal, appointments, day to day routine, etc.

Lawrence was delighted to hear that he was joining the expedition. He’d worked with Starkweather before, and so was recruited during April (before the public recruitment began in May/June). The nightmares began in May…

Lawrence has been plagued with nightmares about the expedition since shortly after the public announcements / press coverage began. His diary becomes less and less coherent as time goes by, but it is easy to see that the dreams became more and more vivid with each passing night. Lawrence’s sanity appears to have declined as the nightmares got worse, until about a week ago, it becomes obvious that Lawrence was no longer able to distinguish his dreams from reality.

He became convinced that his dreams were visions of the future, each night the dreams took him closer and closer to something dreaded on the other side of the Miskatonic Mountains, when they finally took him there a week ago his sanity finally snapped.

Whatever he thinks he saw there convinced him that Starkweather’s expedition would lead to not only the deaths of everybody in the expedition, but also the destruction of the world.

Certain that only by killing Starkweather could he save the world, Lawrence purchased a gun.

"Sounds to me like poor Lawrence just lost his marbles," Jack muses as he snaps a picture of the outside of Lawrence's diary. "Not exactly enough to make a federal case out of, really. Still, the public will want to know."

Heading toward the door, Jack says, "Let me know if you learn anything about the 'phone call, won't you? Unless you need me, I'm going to go to my room and call my editor with all of this." He is already imagining the lurid headlines ...

James replies to McRaven "No problem as soon as we are finished here I will see what I can do"

Olof greeted the two newcommers. "Nice to meet you. By the way have anyone of you been to Antarctica before?"

OOC: Are these NPCs something the writers of the scenario cooked up? Snåbjorn does sound Norwegian, but I don't think it's a genuine Norwegian name! It reminds me of the fact that 90% of all Swedish girls seem to be named Inga if you are to believe Hollywood. That name has not been fashionable for at least 40 years or so...

NYPD Headquarter - 240 Centre Street

@ Charles and Clark

Accompanied by the Commissioner and James Starkweather the doctors make their way down into the basement of the police headquarters. On the way they pass the large firing range where many officers stand honing their skills, ironically most are firing the exact same type of pistol that Lawrence used.

Commissioner Bolan talks during the walk, "That Lawrence looks like a real nutcase I'm afraid gentlemen, he's just been staring at the cell walls since he arrived. We had a guard watching him for the first hour, but he's not moved or done anything under his own power since your Eskimo guy decked him."

When they eventually arrive at the detection area, they find a bored sergeant slouched at his desk outside, he stands up smartly when he sees the Commissioner approaching and opens the sliding barred door to the cells.

The commissioner and the three explorers walk along the row of cells until they come into view of Lawrence's, Starkweather gets out a gasp of horror.

Lawrence hangs from the ceiling of his cell suspended by a makeshift noose fashioned from his blanket. Blood still trips from his wrists where he bit through to expose the arteries. Scrawled on the floor, written roughly in his own blood are poor mad Lawrence's last words:

You're all doomed but not me

Graves swallows hard and checks the body for any small sign of life, knowing it is just a formality. "Not so sure about that old chap," he whispers to the cadaver, "pretty big mortal sin that one."

He turns to the policeman, "I'd very much appreciate a copy of the pathologists report to be delivered to me at the hotel before we leave Commisioner. Please would one of you assist me in cutting him down."

Clark watched as Graves examined Lawrence's body. "I'm pretty sure he's dead, Charlie."

He turned to Bolan. "Who was in charge of watching him? This man was willing to kill in order to stop us from going to Antarctica, and now we'll never know why? And you," turning to Starkweather, "let me get this straight: We're following the footsteps of the Miskatonic group in which several people died, and the dying words of the man who tried to shoot you were that we're all doomed."

Clark pulled the flask out of his jacket and drank its remaining contents. "I'd really like the whole story between you and Lawrence, if you don't mind."

Olof continues speaking with the Norwegians for a while and returns to his room when it becomes late. If he hasn't done it previously he gives his statement to the police.

NYPD Headquarters

Starkweather turns to Clark in disgust shouting, “Good Lord man! Pull yourself together, you’re supposed to be the team doctor! Poor Lawrence clearly completely lost his marbles, nothing more than that. Now put that flask away”

“The tragic deaths amongst the Miskatonic Expedition were all caused by exceptionally bad weather, a freak storm, as everybody knows. Unless you are suggesting that Lawrence was in some way responsible! Quite astonishing.”

“I remind you Doctor Michaels the Antarctic is a dangerous place, quite capable of taking the life of even the greatest of men. We will be going to the Miskatonic Mountains with a larger, better equipped party than our predecessors, including many experienced polar explorers. I can assure you that we will be as safe as is possible in such an unforgiving place. There is certainly no need to concern ourselves over the last words of a deranged madman. As the Professor has pointed out, the only one who is 'Doomed' is Lawrence.”

Before Clark has put away his flask the commissioner says, “I can assure you doctor that there will be a full investigation of tonight’s events."

"Now I assume that you have a good explanation for bringing that flask into my headquarters?”


The Amhurst Hotel – Lawrence’s Room

Searching through Lawrence’s clothes in the wardrobe, McRaven finds some matches, cigarettes, a penknife and a small flask of Whisky in Lawrence’s overcoat, but nothing more.

Jack leaves the room, hurrying to get the story to his editor, the other three continue searching for a little while, but don’t uncover any further evidence.

Clark turns to Bolan. "You'll have to excuse me. Shell shock from the Great War; seeing Lawrence must have set it off." Holding up the flask, "It calms my nerves. I can show you a prescription if you'd like."

Turning back to Starkweather, "I'm not suggesting he was responsible for Lake's party. I've seen the team list for this expedition; experts in their fields, all of them. Men of that caliber don't go crazy without a good reason. Now, that means that either Lawrence knew something about the Antarctic or, as you said, he just lost his marbles."

"If you say he didn't know anything, then that's good enough for me. Besides, I'm sure the police will be quite thorough in their investigation. After all they did a bang up job keeping an eye on ol' Lawrence here."

"This does mean, however, that we're going to need to do an exhaustive psychiatric evaluation of the remaining team members. We can't let this happen again in the middle of nowhere."

“That won’t be necessary Doctor. I’m sure that your prescription is in order,” replies Bolan.

Starkweather considers Clark’s thoughts for a moment, then says, “Yes well, I’m sure you and Professor Graves can sort that out, you’re something of an expert at those things I believe Charles? Good thing we brought you along!”

“Shouldn’t take you both too long, I expect you can get through everybody easily before we leave. I’ll be needing you to give all the team a physical once over anyway, shouldn’t take you gentlemen much longer to prove their mentally up to the task.”

“Just don’t expect them to cry when you ask about their mothers; these are sturdy and courageous men Clark, not given to the emotional babbling of women…”

“With the exception of our lady pilot, of course”

"Hello, Patterson? Get me Patterson," Jack shouts into the receiver. A pause. "Patterson, I've got a story for you. No, it's not about the lady pilot. She can wait. Listen, we found the crazy guy's diary ... " Another pause. "Yeah, some people went down with the police to try to talk to the guy ... Have our police contacts reported in? If not, you should send somebody down there to get more about the guy."

August 25th, 1933.


Commissioner Bolan agrees to send a copy of the pathology report on Lawrence’s death to Starkweather when it is available, so that he can pass it on to Charles& Clark. Starkweather then arranges transportation for the three of them, back to the Amherst Hotel, “There’s no need for us the remain chaps, best leave the police to get on with their work.”

Patterson is delighted with Jack’s report, agreeing that the madman’s diary is a far better exclusive than an interview with Kitt, especially when he learns that Lawrence is dead. “I still want a good interview with the girl before the expedition leaves New York, and the sooner the better. Something from those guys that saw the body in the cells as well. Good work Wilson, keep it up.”

Meanwhile down at the reception desk, the lovely Lucy happily informs James, McRaven and Callum the partial telephone number that they acquired is “Clinton 2719”, a number in the dodgy Hells Kitchen area, not far from the Hotel.

Kitt, Isugtag and Olof meet several more expedition members at the dinner before retiring for the night. News of Lawrence’s suicide reaches the party before the end, which casts yet another shadow over what should have been a celebration, but at least it encourages most of the tabloid hacks to leave the Hotel. They descend upon the Police Headquarters like vultures, Charles, Clark and Starkweather face a barrage of questions as they leave. Fortunately this is the kind of thing the expedition’s leader seems to relish; he stands before the assembled journalists for a full fifteen minutes, while his two doctors shelter in the waiting cab.

August 27th, 1933


More than a full day has passed since the suicide of Lawrence. The number of journalists camped in the lobby of the Amherst has temporarily subsided as they find other stories to chase. Yesterday it proved to be impossible to do anything, as frenzied reporters and photographers followed every public step of all the expedition members, hounding them and asking a constant stream of questions about the “Lawrence Incident.”

The evening before Captain Starkweather had called Charles and Clark up to his room on the fifth floor, and presented them with a copy of the rapidly prepared pathology report into Lawrence’s death. Everything was as it appeared, his death was caused by suffocation due to hanging, the bite wounds to his wrists would have probably caused him to bleed out anyway, had he not hanged himself. There are no signs of drug use, or other intoxication. A small number of bruises found on the body can be attributed to the struggle in the Washington Room.

Neither of the doctors can see any reason to dispute the findings of the coroner.

Lawrence’s body is due to be shipped back to his family in Iowa today (the 27th).

Jack, Callum, James & McRaven manage to trace the Clinton number to “Kelly’s Place” a gun store located at 420 West 45th Street.

Jack also speaks to his editor about the trip to Arkham, “Sounds like a good idea, after this everybody will be interested in reading dirt about the 1930 expedition, see what you can find out. Come to the office and we’ll give you some funds for the trip.”

"Hello? Yes, Dr. Clark Michaels's room, please." Jack waits for a good bit. "Yes, I gather he's not coming to the phone. Please leave a message to have him call Jack Wilson, the newsman in his group. Yes, that's right. Tell him I'm planning a quick trip and was wondering whether he'd be interested, and that he should call or stop by if he wants to know more."

After breakfast James tries ringing McRaven & Callum's rooms to see if they fancy a jaunt down to Hells Kitchen to see if it is worth trying to talk to the shop owner about Lawrence's purchase or state of mind.

"I suppose we can try talking to the stores owner. It is, after all, the only lead we have left at the moment."

Callum finishes dressing, and heads down to the lobby to meet James.

McRaven pauses for a moment before answering. Apart from the diary, they really found nothing at all on this guy lawrence. It seems like long odds to expect any information from a gun dealer. The again, anythings better than hanging around here.

"Sure James, I'll be right down"

Just as he is about to leave the room, he stops, goes back in and retrieves his handgun, making it sure it's loaded. before placing it into the deep pocket of his overcoat.

Awoken from his whiskey-induced slumber, first by his telephone and then by a bellboy, Clark headed to Jack's room. Pounding on his door, "Do you have any idea what time it is!? It's..."

Clark trailed off as he looked at his watch and realized it was drawing close to midday.

"I've seen that look before," Jack says ruefully. "Hell, I've worn that look before.

"Anyway, my editor's interested in all things Antarctic now. Can't get enough. He's even willing to put up the dough to send me over to Arkham to talk to as many of the old expedition's members as possible. I understand that Pabodie's still there, and there's a copy of Dyer's expedition report I want to buy--I could probably get it from the library, but I'm not sure I can handle the fines. I heard somewhere that you were from Arkham. Thought maybe you'd want to go; I could use a local guide, and I could swing the expenses for you.

"Although--" Jack sniffs, then continues, "you may have, um, other plans."

Clark lifted his right arm and smelled his armpit. "Oh hell..."

"Yeah, just give me an hour or so to get ready, and we can go. I wouldn't mind talking with someone who was there with Lake myself. I'll meet you in the lobby."

**90 minutes later**

After a quick shower, a fresh suit and a couple of shots, Clark slipped a note under Graves' door telling him where he was going and headed down to the lobby to meet Jack.

Olof spends the day reading and preparing for the expedition. In the afternoon he feels rather tired, so he decides to take a long walk to get his jucies flowing again. During the walk he ponders everything that has happened. Perhaps he should take more interest in the recent happenings, but what could be so special about what obviously is a madman? There is nothing sinister about the expedition and Antarctica...

"Feeling better, Dr. Michaels?" Jack asks. "Anyway, I was thinking about checking out the train schedule to Arkham, unless you have another idea."

Amherst Hotel – Lobby

The Amherst’s plush lobby is clear of journalists now, the Hotel’s management having finally had enough, they have been forced out onto the street outside. Hotel guests still need to push their way through the packs of photographers and tabloid reporters, but a least now the Amherst itself offers sanctuary from the flashes and probing questions. An altogether better arrangement in the opinion of the management.

Professor Graves arrives in the lobby and walks across to join Jack and Clark for the journey to Arkham, and it’s Miskatonic University.

At the same time James,Callum and McRaven are walking out of the lobby onto West 45th Street, and the pack of waiting journalists.

Flash, Flash, Flash, Click

“Did you know Longfellow!”

Flash, Click, Click

“…Just one minute…”

“About the Girl Kitt…”

Click, Flash

“Heard it was one hell of …”

“…Crazy Lawrence…”

“….really throw a plate at …”

“…a punch!”

Click, Click, Click

Finally pushing their way clear of the press the three investigators hastily cross 8th Avenue, dodging heavy Manhattan traffic. As they continue along 45th Street leaving the theatre district of Time Square behind them and walking into the dangerous Hell’s Kitchen district the buildings quickly become more and more seedy and run down.

West 45th Street and 9th Avenue – Hell’s Kitchen, New York

A district of tenement housing, factories, slaughterhouses and hundreds of speakeasies and nightclubs, the district affectionately known as Hell’s Kitchen is considered to be probably the most dangerous urban area in North America.

Occupying the area between 34th and 59th Streets, from 8th Avenue to the Hudson River and almost entirely populated by Irish Immigrants, it has long been a home for the worst criminals in New York. During the 1910s the district was dominated by the notorious street gangs such as the Gopher Gang and the Dead Rabbits, but the roaring 20s ended that, they brought prohibition to the city and the street gangs made way for prohibition racketeers and mobsters including the notorious gangster Owney Madden.

Madden operates most of the district's many illicit liquor brewing facilities, housed in deserted warehouses along the docks and the 11th avenue railroad tracks. Owner of Brooklyn’s famous Cotton Club, and promoter of the newly crowned heavyweight world champion Primo Carnera, Madden tries to present a more respectable face, but here in the Kitchen the former street gang leader is the King.

By the time they cross under the elevated subway tracks of “The El” running above 9th Avenue, the three investigators are thinking that this wasn’t such a good idea at all. James in particular stands out like a sore thumb in his expensive clothes, worth more money than a family here would earn in a year, and McRaven is glad of the comforting weight of his pistol. Unfriendly eyes watch the trio's every step, and a group of rough looking youths have crossed the street to follow them.

Finally they reach the relative safety of 420 West 45th Street just beyond “The El.” Above the stores dirty barred windows hangs a battered sign, “Kelly’s Place – Ammunition and Firearms.”

"So, Professor Graves," Jack says, "I heard from Dr. Michaels that you want to join us. Haven't heard exactly why yet. It's a free country--has been since 1776, anyway--so you're welcome to tag along. Don't think I can put you on the paper's tab, though, without some good reason.

"Anyway, Clark here--can I call you Clark?--Clark here and I are thinking of taking the train."

"Lets get inside here quickly guys. These people here just see you, James, as a huge walking wallet, stuffed with cash"

Callum grips the door handle and moves to go inside.

James agrees & hurries inside, "once we have concluded business in here perhaps we could persuade the proprietor to call us a cab for our journey home? I must admit I did have a second reason for coming here as I wouldn't mind purchasing a small hand weapon myself, although I didn't intend on practising using it on the locals" he says to Callum & McRaven

"Don't worry about adding me to your newspaper's tab Mr Wilson, I am perfectly able to pay my own way. I thought i'd just tag along to see if I can help gather any information that would be of use to the upcoming expedition. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Just looking to get some background, that's all, Professor--and call me Jack," Jack says, then pauses.

"Ah, well, I guess that's not entirely true. I'm curious about whether any of the survivors of the earlier expedition can give some idea of what happened to Lawrence. Plus, I figure that there are some things that happened that just didn't fit into official accounts, if you know what I mean."

Grand Central Terminal – New York
02:05pm – 27th August 1933

After taking a short cab ride Jack, Clark and Graves arrive at New York City’s famous and impressive rail terminus. Inside the crowded foyer they soon find that the next train to Boston departs at 14:40 from platform 12, from Boston they will be able to take a second train to Arkham.




Kelly’s Place – 420 West 45th Street, Hell’s Kitchen, New York
01:45pm – 27th August 1933

James leads the way into the seedy looking gun store, closely followed by Callum and McRaven. The inside in just as shabby looking as the storefront, but Kelly does stock an impressive collection of pistols, rifles and shotguns. The well built Irishman himself stares suspiciously from behind the counter at the three potential customers as they enter his shop. He is within easy reach of both a shotgun and a baseball bat from where he stands, apparently Kelly believes in looking after his own security.

“If ye’r not boyin, stay out. No browsin, y’hear.”

"Well, gentlemen," Jack says, "I suggest that we take the next train to Boston and go to Arkham from there. I'll check in to the fares and accommodations--but I'm guessing, knowing my editor, that we'll be able to go in only modest comfort ... at least those going on the paper's tab, that is.

"Funny thing, you know, most people think this place is called Grand Central Station, but it's actually not, you know.

"Anyway, back to business. Dr. Michaels, do you happen to know Professor Pabodie? I was thinking about just dropping in on him, but if you've got an 'in,' I'm interested in hearing about it."

"Know him? Na, but I've seen him around campus a few times. Dyer too. But if push comes to shove, I think I have a topic of conversation a bit more intriguing than a simple newspaper interview."

Clark scratched his head as his face tightened. After a few moments he began again.

"Anyways, I wouldn't worry too much about accommodations while we're in Arkham. We can stay at my place while we're there. There's a spare bed and a couch. And I guarantee you'd be hard pressed to find an Arkham hotel that has as wide a selection of libations as I have."

"Besides, we may need the extra money. If Pabodie is a bust, there's a guy in Kingsport who was on that expedition too, man by the name of Arthur McTighe."

As Olof cautiously studies the schematics of the Pabodie drill, the engineer suddenly gets an idea. Why not phone the Miskatonic University? Perhaps there is a possibility of speaking with Professor Pabodie and complement him on his work and perhaps get an answer on the nagging question: Why isn't Professor Pabodie on this expedition?

Olof goes down in the lobby and asks if he can phone Arkham, Massachussets.

"Thank you for your kind offer of hospitality Clark" says Graves. "While at the University I think I may also briefly drop in on the anthropology and psychology departments." He gives Jack the money for his ticket and wanders over to a newspaper vender to pick up a copy of todays NY Times.

Amherst Hotel – Lobby
03:30pm – 27th August 1933

Olof makes his call to Miskatonic University and, after a ten minute wait, eventually gets Professor Pabodie on the phone.

"Hello this is Frank Pabodie, how can I help you sir?"

"Thanks from me, too, Clark," Jack says. "I must confess that I'm interested in seeing your, um, 'selection.'

"I thought about telephoning Pabodie, but I think I may have better luck just dropping in instead. I'm interested in your other lead, too, Clark. Anything you want to say about this McTighe?"

On The Train – Boston to Arkham
08:05pm – 27th August 1933

The journey from Grand Central to South Station, Boston took just under five hours, arriving right on schedule at 19:30. The last train of the day to Arkham departed from platform 3 five minutes late at 20:00.

The change of trains at Boston was the most stressful part of the journey so far, the three now sat aboard the second train relaxed in the knowledge that they would make it to Arkham tonight. Their train is due into Arkham’s station at 22:30.


South Station, Boston

"Professor Pabodie? My name is Olof Eriksson, I'm with the Starkweather-Moore expedition. I have been set in charge for your drilling equipment and I have to say I'm impressed by the ingenuity of the drill!"

Olof pauses. "If you don't mind me asking, why aren't you on this expedition? After all no one knows your equipment better than you professor I suspect."

The Lobby – Amhurst Hotel, New York
03:30pm – 27th August 1933

When Olof compliments Pabodie’s drilling apparatus the professor replies, “Thank you Olof.”

He sounds friendly, and happy to talk about it, however as soon as Olof asks why Pabodie is not accompanying the new expedition he is greeted by complete silence.

The silence lasts for several seconds, and Olof is about to speak again, thinking that he may have lost his connection, when Pabodie speaks again. He sounds very upset now:

“I will never go back. Ever. Nothing in the world could persuade me to set foot down there again – and I cannot explain in any way that you would understand. Oh, the poor, poor men, my friends, the fools….It is not a place for us. Mankind was not made for such a place.”

The line goes dead.


Boston and Maine Railroad Depot – Arkham, Massachusetts
10:33pm – 27th August 1933

Clark, Graves and Jack step down from their carrage onto platform 2 of Arkham’s small railway station. The sun has set, but the starlit skies are clear of cloud, it is a pleasant summer evening in Massachusetts.

The station master waits at the end of the platform, this is the last train of the evening, and he looks forward to returning home after inspecting the trio’s tickets.

"Strange. His probably upset because of the horrible accidents on the last expedition. That's understandable." Olof hangs up. He shortly considers phoning the professor again, but decides not to. The professor is obviously distraught and if he does not want to talk about his experience on the continent, Olof won't trouble him. Somehow Olof can't shake the feeling that there is more to the professor's reluctance to partake in the expedition than ordinary grief. Perhaps Starkweather or Moore can tell him more?

OOC: I go and look up either Starkweather or Moore. I have some questions for them.

McRaven nods in the direction of James before speaking to the shopkeeper.

"The young gentleman here would like to see a selection of your better quality pistols, and answer a few questions about a previous customer...I'm sure it will be worht your while"

"Well, fellows," Jack says, "it's getting late. Should we just head over to your place, Clark? I don't want to say I'm superstitous, but I've ... well, I've heard a few stories about Arkham, and after the Lawrence incident, I'm not sure whether I want to be out here at night."

Jack stops for a moment. "I'm sure you must think me a bit foolish, Clark, you being from here and all, but I'm a little on edge, I guess."

The Lobby – Amhurst Hotel, New York
03:45pm – 27th August 1933

Olof leaves the lobby and heads back upstairs, looking for one of the expedition leaders. Starkweather is away on expedition business, but fortunately Professor Moore is in his room.

He opens his hotel door shortly after Olof knocks, "Oh hello Olof, come in. What can I do for you"

"I've read the dime novels too, Jack. Don't tell me a reputable newsman like yourself actually believes in tales of space monsters and giant fishmen thought up by some second rate Jules Verne."

Clark scratches his beard for a moment. "Although there is the old Corbitt house in the middle of town. Some folks say its haunted."

"Well, professor, call it curiousity, but I called Professor Pabodie a few minutes ago. I complimented him on his drilling machine and I could not help myself wondering why he was not part of this expedition as well. I asked him about it and he became very agitated and then he hung up on me. I know there was some sort of tragic accident, but it seemed that was not the sole reason for his reluctance to participate. Has he been asked to participate in the expedition?"

"I'm sure you're right, Clark," Jack says. "I'm just being a mother hen. Shall we head to your place and sample some of those libations you mentioned? I'm sure some liquid courage would set me to rights.

"Tomorrow we can get an early ... ish start. I want to stop at the university's bookstore first and skim through the Dyer report before talking, or trying to talk, to Pabodie. I'm not sure he's going to want to see me, and I want as much insight as I can before I see him in person."

James replies to shop owner "We only wish to browse briefly before making a purchase and, if possible, test your memory regarding an associate of ours whom has recently been in touch with your establishment - his name was Lawrence?, here is a small note for your trouble" James then hands the shop owner a $10 dollar bill and waits to see the shop keepers reaction.

Kelly’s Place – 420 West 45th Street, Hell’s Kitchen, New York
01:46pm – 27th August 1933

The big Irishman pockets the ten dollars, “Aye Lawrence, oy remember him. Quiet guy, real nervous type. Oy sold him a .38, but he called every day while he was waitin’ fer the permit. Oy told him it’d take a week.”

After checking James’ permit, Kelly shows him a selection of handguns, “Take yer pick, the Colt 1911’s pop’lar with them that can afford it.”


Moore’s Room - Amherst Hotel, New York
03:47pm – 27th August 1933

“Have a seat Olof,” Moore pours them both a coffee and listens to the concerns of the young Swedish engineer.

When Olof has finished, Moore sits thoughtfully for a moment then replies, “Frank Pabodie changed on that voyage, they all did...None of them discuss what happened on the ice.”

“I invited him to accompany the expedition of course, but he refused. Too many dead friends I guess.”

Moore pauses again and seems to be considering saying more, but decides against it. Unfortunately it seems that he doesn’t wish to share everything that he knows.

“I hope to learn the full truth when we find Lake’s camp, I lost many friends myself on that expedition.”


Miskatonic University – Arkham, Massachusetts
01:35pm – 28th August 1933

After partaking from Clark’s private supply the night before, the three investigators rise “nice and early” to begin their investigation.

They journey first to the university, but learn that Professor Pabodie is not available.

Apparently he received an urgent phone call the day before that upset him greatly. He asked for three weeks leave of absence to attend to his elderly aunt who had been taken ill in Boston.

Although disappointed the three do manage to acquire a couple of copies of Dyer’s Summary Report from the university bookshop. Unfortunately the lengthy document appears at first glance to be very dry, detailed, and long-winded – it will take some time to fully digest.

"Shame about Pabodie," Jack says. "A bit of bad timing, I guess.

"Unless you know of someone else we can talk to here, Clark, or unless I can find a decent lead by skimming Dyer's report, I guess there's not much to do but head back to New York.

"We could always go ghost hunting, I suppose," Jack says impishly.

"Well, thanks for your time, Professor Moore. It has been nice talking to you. I'm eager to get underway. This waiting is killing me. As every expedition member I'm eager to set my foot on Antarctica."

With that Olof left. In the corridor he suddenly became certain that there was more the professor knew, but for some reason hesitated to tell him. Why?

James is pleased with the Irishmans information "how much are you asking for the Colt? and would this gun be a reliable one in colder than average temperatures or would there be another you would recommend?" James asks. He turns to his companions and says "It appears our guy Lawrence was a little distraught for quite a time"

"I don't know about you chaps, but I still think there may be a lot to learn from a trip to the University", says Graves. He checks the time on his pocket watch. "It's still early, I'll read the report tonight in bed but today I'd like to talk to some of the faculty to see what they know. Would you gentlemen care to join me?"

"Lead on," says Jack. "I'm not adverse to doing some legwork."

Kelly’s Place – 420 West 45th Street, Hell’s Kitchen, New York
01:46pm – 27th August 1933

"The gun'll cost you $50. Oy'd say it's pretty reliable, the army use them."

"Bullets for it cost $5 of a box of fifty, or $8.50 for a hundred."

"OK I will take the gun & a box of 100 bullets please" he turns to his companions "is there anything else you wish to ask or do before we head back?"

McRaven blinks for a second as what the gun dealer has said begins to sink in. . ."Oy sold him a .38, but he called every day while he was waitin’ fer the permit."

He did it legal, thinks McRaven. He sat fretting for a week til he got the paperwork, then came in and bought the gun. He'd thinking about this for a while, but he got the gun above board.

"Hey mac, when he came in to pick up the 38, was anyone else with him...did he say or do anything strange"

As he he is saying this he hands over a 5 dollar bill

Upon arriving at the University The Professor makes his way directly to the main library and asks one of the librarians if it would be possible to look at a list of the faculty. Scanning down the list, Grave's finger comes to rest first at the name Daniel Desmet and then the name Dr James Ortega. "Here Gentlemen, the Professors of Psychology and Cryptozoology. I think they may be particularly useful to us. What do you think?"

"I suppose it's possible that these people know Pabodie--aren't they in the same school?--but I want to make sure that we try to find some people who know Pabodie fairly well," Jack says.

"I feel that these two may have a particular interest in the last expedition considering what happened and what was found. If not hopefully they will be able to point us in the right direction."

"I appreciate having someone who knows his way around the hallowed halls of academe," Jack says. "I tend to deal with a slightly less lofty class of people." Jack smiles.

"In any case, I suspect you're right. I'm happy to just follow your lead if you think they'll open up better to a fellow academic. But I'm going to have to tell them I'm with the paper or else I can't use anything they say ... ethically, anyway. I do know how to go off-the-record, however."

"Very well," says Graves, "I think in that case we should first pay a visit to Daniel Desmet from the Psychology Department to see if he can help us." He examines a map of the University to familiarize himself with the campus layout before heading off to find the lecturer.

"Have you just about done here guys? I dont fancy hanging around here. The natives dont loook too friendly." Callum says from his postion by the door. He peers out into the street through the dusty window.

I'll keep an eye on things out here just to be sure.

"well do you fancy getting a cab back to the hotel or should we take a stroll back?" James emphasises the first part with a lighter voice & the second slightly lower tone trying to insinuate his preference....

Kelly’s Place – 420 West 45th Street, Hell’s Kitchen, New York
01:50pm – 27th August 1933

Kelly pockets McRaven’s five dollar bill and says, “There’s not much ta say, he was real nervous like, fretting all the time ya know. Didn’t say much, but he looked so happy to get the gun, gave me the creeps.”

“He was on his own, didn’t see no one waitin’ outside neither.”

Kelly agrees to call a taxi to take the three investigators back to the Amherst, but as it turns out the taxi wasn’t really necessary. The group of thugs had decided to look for trouble elsewhere after seeing the trio enter Kelly’s gunstore.

Within minutes they are back out of Hell’s kitchen, the taxi pulls up outside the Hotel and the three step out into the clutches of the collected media.


Miskatonic University – Arkham, Massachusetts
28th August 1933

It turn out that both Daniel Desmet and Dr James Ortega know Pabodie well, or rather they knew him well. Both tell the same story, Frank Pabodie was an active and sociable man until the 1930 expedition. After that he kept himself to himself, immersing himself into his work during the day, and spending all of his free time at home with his family. He has had little contact with any of the other faculty staff, with the exception of Professor Dyer.

William Dyer another survivor of the ill fated 1930 Antarctic expedition was Pabodie’s closest friend and confidant, after returning from the ice the two spent a lot of time together, but seemed to shun other company.

However Dyer took an infinite leave of absence from his duties last December, after the board of trusties approved William Moore’s proposed second expedition against the strong objections of his one-time friend and mentor Dyer.

The two professors (Moore and Dyer) had a huge argument over the new expedition, with each of them presenting their own views to the board of trusties. In the end Moore won, the board backed his expedition, but only on condition that the second expedition was better organised than the first, and lead by an experience explorer, and a dedicated team – rather than a team of academics like the 1930 expedition.

Dyer was furious and departed on leave immediately, he has not been heard from since, with his friend gone Pabodie withdrew further from public contact.

*******

Regarding the finds from the 1930 expedition both professors explain that for academics such as themselves, they would be better served reading Professor Dyer’s summary report than believing reports in the media. They explain that many reports from Lakes camp prior to the disaster appear to have been exaggerated (or at least overstated). Dyer’s report is extensive and includes details of his discoveries at the shattered Lake Camp.

OOC: It’s very late so I’ll have to continue this at lunchtime tomorrow (I’m PMing a copy of Lakes “Summary Report” to the three “Arkham Investigators.”

I’ll be starting Chapter One tomorrow , after I’ve detailed the trip to Kingsport to meet McTighe

Thank for your patience

McRaven exits the cab and holds the door open for the others to get out.
As the press descend on James and the others, he neatly sidesteps the rush and heads on in.

Lighting up another cigarette, he waits in the lobby for the others. He looks troubled, not at all put at ease by what they learned at the gun store.

If only we could figure who he had been talking to leading up to this

Thanking McRaven for holding open the door James steps up to the waiting reporters and with a warm grin explains that they have had a nice little sight seeing trip to get some air & heads back inside. Once inside he joins McRaven and once Callum catches up he offers a tipple in his room to his two companions to discuss to their trip.

"Well, fellows," Jack says, "after reading some of Dyer's report and hearing from Pabodie's friends, I feel like all I've got are more questions. When we get back, I'd like to ask Moore some questions about that row with Dyer. I'd ask Dyer, too, but it looks like he doesn't want to be found, and even if we did find him, I'm not sure he'd talk."

Miskatonic University - Arkham, Massachusetts
28th August 1933

After talking to the two Professors, Graves, Jack and Clark are allowed to take a look at the university’s exhibits from the Miskatonic Expedition. A few rock samples are publicly displayed in the Geology department, but most of the things brought back from the Lake camp are held in the university’s stores – only viewable with the permission of the university staff.

Within this store the three investigators find a huge collection of rock shards, core samples and tubes of ice melt from various depths, each one carefully labelled and catalogued. They also find fossils from a whole range of prehistoric eras from the Silurian to the Oligocene, taken from the underground cave discovered at the site of Lake’s camp.

However of the “barrelbodied animals” reported by Lake there is no sign, Dr Ortega explains that many of the samples unearthed by Lake were lost forever to the same storm that wiped out the Lake Party.

“There is some controversy about those finds anyway, as you’ll see when you read Professor Dyer’s report, it seems that Lake’s report of animal fossils and footprints was the result of snow-madness. We prefer not to publicize this too widely, as there seems little point in desecrating the memory of poor Professor Lake, but all the details are in the report.”

After leaving the Miskatonic University, the three spend the evening in Arkham itself, sampling some more of Clark’s “medicine” and studying Dyer’s Summary Report on the Miskatonic University Expedition to the Antarctic 1930-1931 before retiring for the night.

Kingsport Head Wireless Station – Kingsport, Massachusetts
01:00pm – 29th August 1933

The three investigators rise again late in the morning and make the short journey out of Arkham to Kingport. They head straight to the Arkham Advertiser’s Wireless Station at Kingport Head where they hope to meet Arthur McTighe, another member of Dyer’s rescue team.

After a few minutes wait at the reception they are greeted by a tall angular man in his late twenties, he has a shock of black hair, and a firm handshake, “Hi I’m Arthur McTighe, pleased to meet you gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

"Good afternoon Mr McTighe, thank you for agreeing to see us."

Graves engages in light conversation with the man for a few minutes in order to put him at ease before broaching the main topic.

"As you know we are about to embark on an expedition to the same region that you explored. We were hoping you could shed some light as to what happened while you were there as all the reports seem sketchy and in many instances contradictory."

Kingsport Head Wireless Station – Kingsport, Massachusetts
01:30pm – 29th August 1933

McTighe’s smile fades, “You know, I had a feeling you were going to ask about that.”

He looks grim, “I’d hoped to put all that behind me....but I knew when the new Expedition was formed that you’d find me here. Oh well, I’ll tell you what I remember.”

“As you probably know, I was the main radio operator for the Miskatonic Expedition, I relayed back news of the expedition to this Wireless Station, via a relay on The Arkham, one of our ships….”

McTighe describes in detail the early part of the Miskatonic Expedition, eventually coming on to details of the messages transmitted by Lake from the mountain camp, "Professor Lake….all of us….we were so excited. You should have heard Lake, talking so fast, I could hardly keep up. Those things he found - like weird kelp, or big starfish - millions of years old, and he wanted to take them apart to see what was inside. He went on, and on, wilder and wilder. You should have heard the things he said! Crazy stuff. Most of it made no sense. I think, by the end, they were all going mad.”

“Then on the 24th, nothing – just static. At first we thought that the storm had damaged their transmission equipment, but as the hours wore on, we became more and more concerned. Dyer asked for the spare Dornier to be sent from the McMurdo base – it was a terrible wait though, we were frantic, and because of the storm it was the 25th by the time we eventually departed for Lake’s Camp.”

“I took the controls for that flight, traveling for hours across the trackless ice fields. We traveled in silence mostly, not knowing what we would find at the camp, praying that they were all ok, but I don’t think that any of us will forget those mountains.”

“The mountains of madness. That's what Dyer called them. I guess they call them the Miskatoriic Mountains now. Incredible things - God in Heaven! Like hallucinations - they reached up so high, impossible peaks and spires. And evil. They looked evil.”

“I think they were.”

Looking into McTighe's eyes, the three investigators can see that he is back there now in his mind's eye, high above the ice, searching for Lake's campsite....

Jack looks on, wondering whether to let the man continue or interject something. Finally deciding that McTighe might take a very long time to wander back to them, Jack says quietly, "Mr. McTighe, what happened there was a tragedy, surely. But, with all due respect, 'evil'? From what I've gathered reading Dyer's report, what happened was mostly ... what, overwork? Bad weather? Maybe a student snapping?

"Terrible things, surely, but none of this can mean anything for our expedition, can it? 'Acts of God' and all?"

McTighe hesitates for a moment before answering, “Yes you’re right just a storm a terrible storm, but such tragedy – and we never did find Gedney’s body.”

The haunted look returns to his eyes as he continues, “But I tell you those mountains are evil, there’s something wrong about them.”

“Dyer and Danforth went alone into the mountains, while the rest of us worked on repairing the least damaged of the planes. When they came back down, Christ you should have seen Danforth. I even felt sorry for him, not that I ever liked him much, the snotty bastard. But - God! How he cried! Screams and moans, and curses in weird languages....We had to tie him down, all the way back though the pack ice. I thought the crew would murder him so they could get some sleep.”

“Mountains of Madness. Yeah – and they got one victim good, at least. You heard they put him in a rest home. He needed a lot of rest.”

“Dyer never spoke about what they saw up there beyond the Mountains of Madness, just what he wrote in his report, but something happened. You may think me a superstitious fool, but I’ll never, ever return to that continent.”

Almost to himself, Jack murmurs, "Looks like Dyer might agree with you, based on his row with Moore over the new expedition."

Mcraven shrugs at James as he makes his way through the press pack.

"It may seem like a bust, but it's pretty clear this guy was on the boil for sometime. He got the gun legal and sat about waiting for it. This is not a guy who went off the rails overnight. Something scared this guy, enough he wanted to gun Starweather and Moore."

"Maybe later on tonight James. I've got one or two things that I want to do first, so I'll catch up with you both later on."

"Bye Bye for now." Callum heads off towards his room.

Hearing Jack’s whispered words McTighe nods, “Yeah William, Dyer that is, has been strongly opposed to further expeditions to the area. So would you be if you’d seen the state of the Lake Camp.”

“Even where we were the winds coming down off those cursed mountains were absolutely incredible that night, we feared for our own safety. I mean it was worse than any storm I’ve ever experienced, and we knew it would be much, much worse for Lake’s team right at the bottom of the mountains. When we eventually arrived at Lake’s camp the carnage was horrific….”

“They’d used ice banks to protect their tents from the winds, as well as the dogs and the four Dorniers, but it hadn’t been any use. Some of the tents were completely flattened by the wind, two of the aircraft shelters had caved in, and the dog shelter had collapsed.”

“The bodies of Lake’s team were too badly damaged by the abrasive ice and wind to fetch back, we buried them there, and the two Dorniers who’s shelters had collapsed were beyond repair: one had been blown over onto it’s side, and every exposed surface had been stripped down to bare metal.”

“Many of the things that Lake had recovered from the cave had just blown away, together with other stuff, and poor Gedney of course. We circled the area searching for him before we departed, but we didn’t find any trace. We never found any of the undamaged fossils of the “Barrel Bodied” creatures that Lake recounted either – the ones we did find weren’t in good enough condition to transport anyway.”

“And all the time we were there, those terrible evil mountains loomed over us, waiting to wipe us out just like Lake and all the rest of them. No if you want my advice, go back to your normal lives while you still have them. Nothing good will come from this trust me. Those mountains aren’t meant for mankind, they’ll take you just like they took Lake and Gedney and the rest.”

“Now if you don’t mind I have work to do.”