Play@YSDC

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

Of course it would be,

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

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

Hebrew scholars,When he leaves the shop Harwood is reciting Psalm 109, one of the so-called Imprecatory Psalms. He seems to be using it instead of swear words.

Invisible Castle,I have tried with three different email accounts now, several times for one of them. As yet nothing has made it through to me. Which is irritating.

Edited for failure to spell 'sarcastically'.

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

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

Jory:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How long until the poor Revered gathers his wits?

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

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

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

Once he finishes his sweet tea he should be ok.

Jory:

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

Harwood looks up, his face an unrecognisable mask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Wellington what have you got us all into?

He pauses, and thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harwood looks up from the side of Father Poole,

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

Jory:

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

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

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

Plan of Action,[b]Jory[/b] will return home and grab his old leather satchel full of usefull 'kit' (re the Preparedness skill). [b]Jory[/b] will also grab his .38 snub nose revolver and stick it in a jacket pocket.

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

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

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

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

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

The Sette has not been as flamboyant or prominent since the War as it was before (one reason, supposedly, is that members complained that being known as a member was causing book dealers to jack up their prices), but it continues to meet.

If you have Occult,More than one prominent member of the Sette was also a prominent occultist. JW Brodie-Innes was head of the Golden Dawn's Amun-Ra temple in Edinborough. Edward Heron-Allen was a prominent chiromancer, nicknamed "The Necromancer". R.T. Gould was an expert on the Loch Ness Monster and other cryptozoological phenomena.

Those who wish a closer look at the annotations in the Burton Arabian Nights can now consult it here. (6 MB PDF)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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