Monday in London (Day 3)

[WinstonP]

Rev. Poole, despite his well-enumerated list of failings as a main of the cloth, feels a sympathetic pang for the bewildered Luke. He stands, gathers two cups and saucers, and approached the wounded bookmonger.


I say there, be a good fellow, join me in some tea. A strong brew (tapping a flask in his pocket) can do wonders to clear the head. Bend my ear a bit, son?


Poole then ushers Luke into the back office with a knowing nod to Mr. Grant.

(I'll spend two points Psychoanalysis with a hope of getting poor Luke back in his right mind.)

[Cearlan]

As the office door closes, the low murmur of voices can sometimes be heard. The time passes slowly and Luke's voice becomes clearer to those in the shop and the following can be heard;

"The roof see ........ coloured water going down the plug. ........ sucked ever closer into it's ........ central darkness. Then ........ book, an impossible book ........ imagine it Poole ........ shop a fabulous amount"

Carse's voice continues to increase and more can be heard Interspersed with the sound of occasional pacing feet.

"Then ........ flooding back ........ imagine the fear ........ shame that surrounds the many things we have ........ buried deep in our minds ........ laid bare in front of you over ........ gain!!! My God man have you the slightest concept of the ........ day???"

A period of quiet follows, somehow more unnerving than the sound of Luke Carse losing his cool with the good Reverend Poole.

[WinstonP]

After a few moments Reverend Poole cracks open the office door. He looks a little ashen.


I say chaps, we'll be a few more minutes. Might we have some fresh tea and something solid for poor Luke to sup upon? He's neglected to feed himself. Hopefully he'll be able to recount his tale for all of you. Rather fantastical, rather...

[Bookman]

The tea having been deposited Harwood finds he has run out of neat escape options and in the unenviable position of having to do something. He pauses and turns to Long John.

My apologies, would you excuse me for a moment?

He turns back to Mr Grant.

Terribly sorry Mr Grant, you were saying something about a spot of bother, what is it we are supposed to have supplied to whom? And what was it he managed to achieve?

[Taavi]

Mr Grant directs Harwood to take the cups of tea and a packet of biscuits through to Luke and the Reverend. This done, he tersely explains the story of Luke's sale of the Investigation into the Oracle of Sidon to Henry Rickmansworth and Henry's apparent use of the book to rig two horse races to the tune of £50,000, leading to underworld figure Mr Sabini sending his thug Smith to demand Grant either produce the book or the price of a new racehorse.
"I was rather shaken at first, I admit" Grant finishes stolidly. "Black magic and whatnot, on the heels of poor old Wellington too. But now, thinking it over, it seems more likely that this Rickmansworth cove found some other way of rigging the race and has thrown this black magic thing in as a red herring, just to scare off men like Sabini. Italian and criminal, both notoriously superstitious types. Still, we'd better get the damn thing back, and teach Rickmansworth a lesson somehow - can't have some racing tout play us for fools, what? Once Luke is back on his feet he can tell us what he remembers of Rickmansworth and we'll work from there."

[Tabs]

My apologies, would you excuse me for a moment?

"Certainly, sir," says Long John.

He listens to Mr. Grant. "I'll help, if I can, to get the 'Oracle' book back. I can be inconspikus, if need be."--Long John is being serious, despite looking like a tatty theatrical pirate.

"Who's Wellington, by the way?"

[Laraqua]

Apologies,sorry if I get anything wrong. I've only recently read it but not all of the threads in order so I'm sorry if I leave anything out or get the names mixed up.

"Wellington disappeared only the other day," said Grant gravely. "He literally vanished within his own clothing after mumbling about some sort of book and pointing at ... I think it was the desk. He had on him a book as well. Volume 4 of the subscriber-only 1885 first printing of Richard Burton's 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night'. Excellent condition, no less. It survived his ... bizarre ... disappearance." The whole conversation seems rather ridiculous but the only giveaway that Grant seems to think so are the slightly longer spaces between a few of his words as though he were looking for the right word or checking his memory.

[Tabs]

Long John perks up. "As I recall, the lads in the trenches were avid readers of Burton's 'Eastern Instruction Manuals.' However, the sad thing is those books are but a tame example of the man's collection, his wife burnt the best ones after 'is death." *


* [ooc: That last sentence is true, by the way!]

[Laraqua]

"Maybe we have more of Burton's books?" asks Grant, resolving to check his lists and, if that doesn't work, likely spots on the bookshelves. "Perhaps there might lie a clue there...."

[Tabs]

Long John smacks the table, stamps his stump upon the floor, and taps his head. "I do know Wellington!--the fella is one of us, I mean, he's a tramp like me. Kips under a cart that is full of books and nik-naks, that he sells for a living."

[Taavi]

"Maybe we have more of Burton's books?" asks Grant, resolving to check his lists and, if that doesn't work, likely spots on the bookshelves. "Perhaps there might lie a clue there...."

Grant's has many of Burton's books in stock. You may recall that the annotations on the 1885 Wellington was carrying can be perused here. Perhaps they might suggest some lines of inquiry?

[Taavi]

While you all take time to think, a little mood music from the Four Shadows Trail Album - "Ruminations" by James Semple

[goear]c14de80[/goear]

[Taavi]

Having restored his equilibrium with tea and Times, Jory joins the discussion. "A bit of progress on poor old Wellington, chaps. I found his cart - well, the wreckage of it - in a dumpyard outside Kings College hospital. Must be where the poor chap met his end. I got a list of doctors there from an office bean-counter. No-one named Cor, though. (To Harwood) You sure you got the name right, old boy?". Jory produces the typed list of medical men and a tattered page in French ("all that's left of old Wellington's stock, alas")

[Priest]

The door opens to admit the well dressed and debonair form of Anthony Llewellyn. He shoots a quick look around the assemblage, sparing a momentary, distasteful, glance for the badly dressed, one legged, parrot bearing, individual slurping tea noisily.

“What ho chaps. Who or what is that?”

He plainly expects no introduction and shows no interest in any answer.

“Grant, my dear, a little bird tells me that you are experiencing a small problem with a certain Mr Sabini, something to do with horses what?”

He awaits an answer one gloved hand poised as if awaiting a cup of tea.

[Bookman]

Harwood has been muttering in the background.

Fixing races, hmmm, there's some negro stuff, High John the Conqueror, but that's more about getting luck, divining from dreams and making the horse you're on go faster. Roman tablets have been found with binding spells, stop people from crossing the start of line, I don't think there's anything to cause collapse but who knows. I'll have to check out the book. Of course, it is quite likely that whoever did this is bent and just trying to play on superstition. There must be half-a-dozen drugs a competent quack could use to drop a pony. OK, I suppose we should start from the book, check out the buyer and see if he has medical hooks...what does Sabini actually want us to do?

He breaks off when Llewellyn walks in. He looks at the tea he hadn't had a chance to start and, with a brief face, hands it over.

Good morning Mr Llewellyn, pleasure to see you again.

[Priest]

Llewellyn takes the proffered tea, sips, makes a face.

“ Many thanks Harwood old bean, but there is a distinct lack of sugar”

Undeterred he takes another sip of the tea.

“So this little spot of bother with this Sabini fellow. I hear he’s been taken for fity thousand quid by some fellow rumored to be using magic, what?”

Sips more tea and makes another face.

“I also hear, that this bookshop is thought to be involved. Hardly believable is it, what?”

He hands the, partially finished, cup of tea back to Harwood, and obviously expects a reply.

[Tabs]

Long John says to Jory: "Let's have a gander at the tattered page from Wellington's stock, I know some of the froggy language."

Taavi,R.L.S. can read French.

“What ho chaps. Who or what is that?”

The tramp turns on his seat and looks over his shoulder, he mutters: "I don't know who he is referring to."

High John the Conqueror, but that's more about getting luck

"With the ladies as well," adds Long John, smirking. "Not that I'd know about them, unfortunately."

“So this little spot of bother with this Sabini fellow . . .

"Fifty thousand!"

"Cawwwww!" echoes the parrot.

[Laraqua]

Grant muses on the issue with a thoughtful look. "This fellow who ran off with 50,000 pounds must have an urge to spend it. He may have gone to ground but gamblers are not known for their remarkable sense of self-restraint. They also have a tendency to talk about their wins. Perhaps if we were to locate his address there may be clues as to where he has gone? Or if someone were to ask around his social circles?"

"As for the upcoming auction, have we any further information on any supposed auctioneering rings, their members, and how to undermine them or deal with them so we can ensure we get what we need?"

[Priest]

Llewellyn smiles at Grant.

"Absolutely old chap, My man Smith plays the gee-gees's a bit and on occasion has placed the odd wager for me. I'll get him to mooch around a tad amongst his fellow gamblers and see what he can dig up, what.

He moves closer to Grant.

So what's with this auction buisness, and this odd cove? Friend of one of the scallywags ? Wellington I think is his name, or that girl whose name does escape me.

Anthony knows nothing about the auction,Copper or the fate of Wellington

[Taavi]

Karloff has an excellent period description of The Ring and how to bust it, here. Of course, as Mr Grant is a professional bookseller, he could join the Ring instead with a well placed phone call and a 1 point spend of the shop's Credit Rating pool, or something else appropriate, e.g. Auction.

The page from the froggy novel appears to be a lurid but mundane fragment of a romance scene. Must have been a yellow-backed book.