Play@YSDC

OOC:   For those in search of Attwood.

The journey from the Kings Head to the Gardens is a relatively short trip through the streets of the thriving capital of the Empire. Through the windows of your cab you see evidence of the true splendour of the Victorian age of science and technology. You also see much evidence of the other side of society, but in true 19th century polite society fashion, simply ignore it.

Shortly you will arrive at the gates of the gardens with its splendid wrought iron sign Proclaiming it as the 'London Zoological Gardens'

OOC:   The London Zoological Gardens, better known simply as The Zoo, was established by Sir Stamford Raffles in 1826. It opened its gates to members of the London Zoological Society, which governs the zoo, in 1828. Only in 1847 was access granted to the public, a move established to secure funding for the keeping and collection of the specimens. Most of the tropical animals are kept indoors, for it is commonly believed they cannot survive outside in London’s temperate climate. Among its many attractions are the Aquarium, the world’s first, and the Reptile House. The Zoo is located at the north end of Regents Park, some three miles northeast of the Museum.

Presenting your letter of introduction from Professor Hawthorne gains you immediate access to Professor Isiah Atwood, one of the senior Biologist/Vetinarian’s at the establishment, and a gentleman of impeccable qualifications especially within the study of reptiles.

Tall and thin with the obligatory small, round, thick lensed spectacles Professor Atwood is the stereotypical academic in appearance. He, is of course, dressed in a white lab coat, a strange, ornate looking stethoscope hung offhandedly around his neck with a pair of leather gloves protruding from one of his coats pockets.

He looks you up and down, takes his glasses from his eyes and proceeds to rub them with the bottom edge of his coat, His eyes blinking furiously in their attempts to focus, he nods, “Yyyyyou come with good recommendation from my estemed colleague James Hawthorne”
He replaces his glasses, now sufficiently rubbed, “So, hhhhow may I be of assistance?"

"Thank you for taking the trouble to see us at such short notice Professor Atwood. Professor Hawthorne has tasked us with a somewhat delicate matter that may have something to do with the disturbing occurrence at the rear of the King's Head the other evening. Professor Hawthorne wrote the introduction in order that we might prevail upon you to let us examine the carcass of the dead horse that was removed from that establishment to your care." Nellie pauses to smile sweetly at the tall bespectacled professor.

"I know that this request is rather strange but my companion and I have just come from the King's Head and we discovered something that may be of help to you in determining the events of that night." Nellie turns to Roxborough "If you would kindly show the Professor here the sample we collected." Turning back to Professor Atwood "If you could identify this sample, it may well aid both of our investigations..."

"King's Head? Ah the tavern outside of which we found the dead animal in question" He turns and begins to walk towards a door marked 'Laboratory - Access Restricted', "Inside yyyyou will find the remains of the equine beast itself"

Inside a white tiled room that looks in better shape than many medical establishments you have seen, atop a scrubbed oak table, you find the remains of a heavilly muscled horse. Even a person with no vetinary, or indeed human, medical knowledge would not find difficulty in ascribing its death to the obvious wound that extends from the underside of its neck through the length of its chest and into its belly. This wound appears deep and jagged yet straight as though caused by a sharp edged implement.

As if addressing a room of pupils at a seminar, Atwood, once again removing his glasses and polishing them furiously, begins,

“I am convinced the killer was an animal of some sort. Indications are the horse was rearing at the time. Judging by its height at the shoulder, I have deduced the starting point of the injury, the neck, would have been some eight or nine feet above the ground. I thus eliminate a human agent, for the simple fact that there was nothing in the vicinity which could provide a human attacker the height required to plunge a sword or dagger into the beast’s neck.”

He replaces his glasses and moves over to the side of the horse.
“While many carnivores are capable of leaping to such heights, especially big cats, I call yyyyour attention to the wound itself. Whatever beast eviscerated this horse did so not with multiple claws, like those of a tiger or lion, but with a single claw.”

He points to the long, deep slash to emphasise his words
“My early findings indicate the claw would have to be more curved than that of a cat, and far longer; perhaps as much as three to five inches in total length. Nothing I know of has such claws, and to that end I am at a loss to give you a definitive suspect.”

Having made his point, Atwood steps away from the carcass, removes his spectacles again and polishes them once more,
“However before you ask, I can categorically state that no creature has escaped from the Zoological Gardens.”

"Now yyyyou said you have something to show me?"

OOC:   Sorry - I just need to rewind a little to when Nellie and I are sharing a Hackney Carriage to the zoo:

Ms. Bly please forgive my rather forthright and unsavoury characterisation of your professional colleagues earlier. I by no means meant to insult you or your colleagues, I merely was trying to prod the good man Jacob's into telling his tale by assuring him that we were no friends of the press.

I assure you that your reputation as a seeker and reporter of the truth precedes you and I hold our acquaintance, such as it is, in the highest regard. I truly meant no offence and I hope that you saw my subterfuge for what it was.

OOC:   Ok,now back to the zoo...

Professor Attwood, I would certainly agree with your investigations - it is my experience that big cats do not kill their prey with talon and claw but rather by suffocation. Indeed they may grasp the creatures with their claws but the actual kill is by suffocation. Roxborough reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carefully folded handkerchief

I have here some spoor found close to where the horse was slain. I am confident that it is from a carnivore but I am unable to identify which kind. The size of the sample would also indicate a creature smaller than the one you describe but I will not necessarily be misled by that - after all a Basset hound, though short of leg, is long of body and as such is a tall dog when it stands on it's hind legs. So whatever did for the poor horse may also have been in a rampant pose and may not necessarily be 7 or 8' tall at the shoulder. he pauses, obviously in thought yes, rather like a bear I suppose - maybe 4' at the shoulder when on all fours but easily 8' tall when rearing on it's hind legs.

It would be of great help to us if you were able to identify what creature left this behind. he passes the handkerchief over.

For a moment Atwood observes you as he might a specimen, his brow furrows as he observes your epicurian girth, keeness of eye and out of place safari jacket (complete with bulllet loops of such size that they are clearly meant for a large calibre hunting weapon). With a satisfied nod of his head, he replies,

"Of course these are all things I have considered but the creatures yyyou describe with obvious knowledge and expertise, do not have the 'acoutrements' necessary to inflict such a wound. A bear for instance, even the largest North American Grizzly, would have caused multiple wounds that would have been simple to identify. However this was a single cut to the animals neck with enough force to continue downward into the stomach area."

He coughs, gently, and takes the offered handkerchief, "I am convinced the attack was indeed carried out by an animal, but of what species I have yet to determine. Now what hhhave we hhhere?"

It takes him moments to transfer the sample of dung onto the glass slide of a nearby microscope. Pushing his glasses onto his head like some mad airship captain, he proceeds to stoop and peer into the eyepiece of the device. For the next few minutes, accompanied by much 'oohing and aahing' he gently manipulates the optical device.

"Hmm, it would seem that the fecal matter yyyou have here bears remarkeable similarities to reptile feces. However it is no species of the reptillioid order that I hhhave knowledge of. The odd white particles would appear to be bone, probably from small animals such as rat, mouse, cat or small dog" he stands up, removes his glasses from his head and starts the process of polishing them once more.

"May I enquire where yyyou came upon it?"

I agree with you entirely professor, I was just postulating that whatever killed the horse didn't have to be 7' tall at the shoulder. In fact the only thing that springs to mind that might cause such a grievous injury at such a height is the tusk of a bull elephant and I'm fairly sure we would know if there was a rogue male roaming the streets of London! Roxborough gives a little chuckle.

As to where we found the sample, it was within the vicinity of where the horse was killed, which I think I had already mentioned.

"Ahh, it seems that my investigation of the site was not thorough enough. However this sample would indicate an assailant of a size inconsistent with that large enough to carry out such an attack. Plus it's diet seems to have been of small animals as I have said, and the idea of a leap in size of victim from small rodents to a fully grown horse seems utterly outrageous"

He turns an looks at Nellie, expectantly, "And you miss, I can see you are digesting the details as they appear. Is there anything you would care to ask, or may I return to my work?"

Nellie writes down details as Atwood relates them, trying not to stare at he dead beast with its terrible wound. She almost gasps at the graphic level of detail in Atwood's disclosure, the revelations about the size of the creature and the nature of the claw, claw singular that made the gash on the horse. She notes the professors mannerisms and slight stammer, are they symptoms of unease or something that he has always been afflicted with? Nellie carefully looks around the laboratory, trying to discern if anything is amiss.

Nellie uses perception,[dice]1[/dice]

As Atwood stops to inspect the dung sample that they had brought to the Zoo, she thinks to herself.

[b]Nellie[/b] thinking:   A single claw.. what creature only has one claw? And the height, that confirms [b]Jacobs'[/b] story, so he must have glimpsed the ... the creature. Judging by the state of the horse he was very lucky not to have been badly assaulted or even worse.

Once again Nellie writes down Atwood's observations, the page fast filing with the odd hieroglyphics of shorthand.

[b]Nellie[/b] thinking:   .. similarities to reptile dung, full of bones. If anything this investigation seems to be getting more baffling. So the size of the 'sample' we found doesn't match up to the 'size' of the attacker. Maybe the hypothesis of an adult and young is plausible.

Atwood's words as he addresses her directly, snaps her from her thoughts. "Well yes, I have been making diligent notes. To me the whole thing seems baffling; both you and Mr Roxborough are experts in your respective fields and neither of you can make a positive identification of the creature that so cruelly felled the horse. Neither can either of you be certain which animal produced the sample we found, in the vicinity of the attack behind the tavern." Nellie pauses and looks at both men in turn. "Then there is the very nature of the wound itself, made by a single claw; a claw that seems to me to be rather larger than is normal for a mundane carnivore." Nellie shakes her head in exasperation. "On top of all that, we have the added puzzle of the means of escape, and probable entry into that alleyway... I ask you both... what beast can use a ladder, open a manhole cover and all but eviscerate a horse in one swipe.. then half replace the manhole cover as it makes its way back down into the sewers?"

Nellie,your womanly intuition (perception) leads you to conclude that Atwood's stammer and habitual cleaning of his glasses are personality defects not signs of nervous attempts to disguise any subterfuge. Looking around the room, you can tell from its state of cleanliness and tidyness that Professor Atwood is a person suffering from some form of compulsive behavioural addiction.

At your questions Atwood nods in agreement, "Yyyyes, it is a matter most perplexing. I wish I could suggest a likely culprit, but any beast capable of such an attack is not, to my knowledge, possible. To accomplish the feats that you describe it would have to have an IQ almost of hhhuman levels, and a dexterity to match."

Once again he removes his spectacles and begins his cleaning ritual, "To be able to remove a sewer grating, climb a ladder, then replace the sewer grating. Would seem to indicate a animal displaying the dexterity of... say the ape species, but the manner and method of attack is not one that would be consistent with any member of that grouping. Plus to carry out the mode of of attack shows a level of planning and intelligence that is not found amongst that species. Then of course there is the evidence of the feces. I recognise reptile traits in the makeup of the fecal matter, but am unable to place it with any known member of the reptilian family."

He replaces his spectacles, and pushes his hands deep within his jackets pockets, "Were I not a man of science, and given to such childish beliefs, I would suggest making further enquries amongst the ocult fraternity, as perhaps your horse slayer is some creature from a nightmare" The smile that suddenly breaks across his otherwise serious features, shows the seriousness of his statement.

Nellie cocks an eyebrow in surprise that Atwood makes his startling admission that a creature would have to have considerably more brain-power and manual dexterity than anything so far ascribed to anything in the animal kingdom... except perhaps the apes. Something else nags at her thoughts.

Atwood stops talking, after making his statement that the attacker may not be of mundane origins and Nellie turns back the to examination table and the carcass of the horse.

"You say that there's only one wound, albeit a rather large gash. There's no evidence of any feeding, no pieces bitten off, no bites.. not even small ones?" Nellie asks, her face thoughtful.

Nellie thinking:   we've been attributing the reason for the attack as one of 'feeding' but if there's no evidence of that... and come to think of it what on earth was a cad doing there in that alley?

Nellie taps the end of her pencil on her lips as she waits for Atwood to respond.

carnage_lee wrote:"You say that there's only one wound, albeit a rather large gash. There's no evidence of any feeding, no pieces bitten off, no bites.. not even small ones?"

Atwood purses his lips in momentary contemplation of Nellies's question, "Quite so, just the one wound, and no, no signs of feeding as can be ascertained"

Nellie turns to Roxborough "No signs of feeding, Jacobs may have disturbed the creature, making it panic and seek refuge from whence it came. Does that sound plausible? Or was the cab driver taken, back to the lair? her face pales a little at this dreadful possibility.

Nellie listens to Roxborough as he speaks, working out his own thoughts about the investigation that they'd been tasked with.

"That broadly concurs with my current hypothesis, Mr. Roxborough." Nellie makes a sidelong glance at Atwood "However, I am suspicious of how or why the cabbie came to be located in that alley-way at the precise time and location that the attacker, whatever it is, decided to pop up from the manhole..."

Nellie rolls her eyes at the last remark, shaking her head as she closes her notebook then putting it back into her bag.

"I think there are some other things that we need to address before we consider such a drastic option!" she says before turning to Professor Atwood "Thank you for your time; you have been most helpful." Nellie extends her hand to the professor.

Atwood takes the proffered hand, "Ah...Um...If you should happen to uncover the creature responsible for this attack the Zoologogical Gardens would be extremely interested in the future presentation of such a specimen. Alive and..." For a brief moment his eyes flick towards the hunter, "...untouched, if possible"

"Goodness! Don't encourage Mr. Roxborough he is already chomping at the bit! Nellie's eyes narrow "However, should it prove necessary to track this creature it would be most agreeable to have the backing of your department, Professor."

Fear not professor, I will do my utmost to bring back this creature alive, you have my word on that!

Thank you very much for your time, I am sure that we may meet again soon, a very good day to you sir!

Roxborough turns to Nellie his hand unconsciously lightly tapping his girth Miss Bly, I do believe we have another appointment to keep

Nellie thinking:   Goodness! He can't be hungry already, the man ate enough for three at luncheon and that was barely and hour and a half[sup]*[/sup] ago.

With a roll of her eyes Nellie nods to Roxborough "Indeed, thank you again Professor Atwood you've been very helpful and we may well be in touch at a later date.... should we have need to hunt this.... this... whatever it is."

OOC:   [sup]*[/sup] a guess - but this can't have taken too long.

OOC:   Ok - I was assuming it was later by about an hour or so, I though the King's Head was further away but no biggie.

Miss Bly it is a pleasant afternoon, perhaps we could perambulate through the park and think on our next course of action?

OOC:   That's why I was checking. IIRC the Kings Head was about half a mile from the Natural History Museum, so maybe somewhere on the Cromwell road or north towards Knigjsbridge... So I reckon about 4-4.5 miles to get over to Primrose Hill - going through Hyde Park and along Gloucester Road. Getting to The Ritz out to be quick too, walk through Regent's Park towards Baker Street, through Mayfair and onto Picadilly (3.5 miles).

"By all means Mr Roxborough a good solid walk will aid the thinking process and allow us to take stock in a calm and measured manner."

Nellie and Roxborough walk in the pleasant May afternoon wending their way towards Baker street, recent events and revelations lending them with a more serious air that the other visitors to Regent's Park, who no doubt are taking more time to enjoy the tranquil green surroundings.

"I wonder how the other two have fared; I know you said that you favoured the 'hunt' to track down the 'creature', however I think that we are better served in pursuing the person that sent the egg. If we locate that person then we should also learn exactly what we are up against and armed with that knowledge we will be better able to consider how to tackle the creature or creatures." Nellie looks to her companion, "If Wellingon and Klevendon do not discover the perpetrator then we shall have to take more direct methods, after careful planning. Oh.. I've just thought, did you read any of the papers in Professor Hawthorne's outer office? "

OOC:   Nellie did... what 'she' wants to remember no are any locations mentioned in the 'Rat Infestation Worsens' article. Failing that buying a copy of the news paper once they get out of the park.

OOC:   the newspaper clipping mentions the City's sewer system - as that's capitalised are they referring to the City of London (the square mile/financial district)? Or is that just bad typesetting and they mean city as in all of London and it's boroughs?

Roxborough enjoys their walk through the park in the warm late spring sunshine, as they talk over, recap and hypothesise on what they know.

Roxborough thinking:   how simply splendid I can't think of many things finer than a pleasant walk with the amiable company of a lively, witty and intelligent young lady. Pretty too!

Oh I agree Miss Bly, it is a foolhardy hunter who tracks his prey unarmed and knowledge is a powerful weapon indeed!

Miss Bly please call me Richard, it seems silly to be maintaining these formalities when we are working so closely together and if I am not being too forward may I call you Nellie? Roxborough flushes slightly, a little discomforted by being so forward.

He hurries on "Hmm, well, yes ... ah the newspapers...I did glance through them. The thing that caught my eye was about the rats because Professor Attwood mentioned these as likely prey. What I meant to follow up on was where abouts in London, they mentioned Fleet Street and also the City but I'm not sure if they meant the City of London or London city as a whole.

Why do you ask?

OOC:   Thanks for the clarification

The only the other thing that comes to mind, Miss B ah erhm, N-n-nellie is the stolen manuscript from the British Library. Now this is tentative at best but it was purportedly written by none other than Daedelus, who of course lived in that time of mythos from whence our mysterious basilisk heralds. Now really, it probably nothing more than coincidence but it does seem strange that these parts of ancient Greece should cross our paths on the same day

Previously Roxborough said:   "... Why do you ask?"

"What a good memory you have Mr. R.. Richard" Nellie pauses, at her misstep but carries on "Fleet Street, overrun by rats and I dare say some of them had tails, whiskers and for legs!" Nellie smiles broadly at her comment, after all she has first-hand experience of Fleet Street and its denizens.
"I thought perhaps that there may have been specific locations mentioned. If we had a list of the places where the rats were making their egress from the sewers then perhaps we could deduce the 'range' of our quarry.

Previously Roxborough said:   "... but it does seem strange that these parts of ancient Greece should cross our paths on the same day?"

Nellie considers this point for a while, "As you say, strange but I don't see a connection .... wasn't the manuscript taken last year?"

OOC:   After this exchange Nellie will suggest that they take a hansom cab to Fleet Street, rather than directly to the Ritz... Fleet street is only about 2 miles as the crow flies from the northern end of Regent's Park - 20mins or so.

Finding a cab is a simple matter, within minutes you are comfortably setted within one of the capitals finest.
Through the busy streets of the vibrant capital of the British Empire, the carriage wends its way in a not uncomfortable journey. The noises and shouts of commerce are subdued slightly by the brocade and plush of the carriages interior. The gentle clip of the horses hooves and the sibilant hiss of the drivers whip, provide a most lulling effect, from which you are jolted to full awareness by the abruptness of the journeys end.

Fleet Street, newspaper land. Here amongst the splendour of the architectural excesses of empire, are found the headquarters of some of that empires most famous organs of truth. The Times, the Telegraph, the Express, the Evening Express, the Daily Broadside, the National Enquirer, the Record, the White Star, and the Daily Speaker.
(Fleet Street)

Nellie alights from the cab with a smile of thanks to Roxborough for his offer of a helping hand. She looks around to gather her bearings whilst her investigative companion settles the matter of the fare. Nellie spies the offices that she's looking for across the busy street. "Come on Richard" Nellie says brusquely as she crosses the road in the wake of a smart carriage that passes as a brisk clip. Once on the over side of the road Nellie points to the office of the xx. "This is where we should find yy, he wrote about the rats. He might have some more information. Once we get inside.... just follow my lead." with a wink Nellie opens the door and enters the foyer.

Nellie strides over to the enquiries desk.

OOC:   xx is the paper that ran the story and yy is the reporter. They've not been mentioned yet... but the characters would know from the paper and reading the item. Nellie will ask to see the reporter in question...

As you enter the building you notice two things; one, outside stands one of the city's ubiquitous Black hansom cabs, from the nonchalant, resting position of the driver it would seem that it awaits its fare; and two, a group of five men stand several yards away in contemplation of something in the road. Two of the men you are certain are Mr's Wellington and Klevendon whom you had last seen on their route to the professors club.

However, as you enter a finely furnished and supplied entrance hall a bespectacled young man with an infectious smile and wild hair, rises from a small desk marked Enquiries'.

With a well placed eagerness he points you in the direction of Michael Klebbs, the reporter who had penned the article on the rodent problem.

Michael Klebbs provides the spectacle assumed when one thinks of a hard working reporter employed by a newspaper of the minor leagues. From his untidy hair, unshaven appearance, his garishly checkered suit, much worn and in places hastily repaired, to his battered, scuffed and down at the heels boots, he fits expectations perfectly.

He rises from a desk that supports an old, but servicable typewritter and a mound of crumpled paper. For a moment he squints at the newspaper you carry before a smile of recognition covers his face, "Michael Klebbs...Star reporter" he adds with a laugh,
"May I be of asisstance Miss...? For I see you carry a copy of the paper with my article on the recent rat infestation"

Nellie takes in the reporters appearance as she walks over to his desk, she doesn't recognise him and is fairly confident that they have never met. Something that couldn't be said for a few of the editors and senior reporters employed by the paper. Offering her warmest smile she starts..
"Indeed you may be able to help Mr Klebbs and yes it is about the dreadful events that you detail in this article. Would you perhaps have a few minutes to answer some questions?

Roxborough looks the hack once over and takes in his unkempt appearance. He stands behind Nellie and says nothing for the moment.

Previously Nellie Bly said:   "Indeed you may be able to help Mr Klebbs and yes it is about the dreadful events that you detail in this article. Would you perhaps have a few minutes to answer some questions?

For a heartbeat or two the wretchedly dressed reporter eyes up the young woman before him. "Indeed Miss...? Although I am not sure that I can add more than I reported in the paper. However, never let it be said that Michael Klebbs refused a damsel in distress"
He smiles and makes a most theatrical bow complete with flourish.

Nellie looks at the reporter.. he did seem eager to help. "Distress! I'll say I am distressed! Why Sir, it is a disgrace that vermin are allowed to flourish in this city. Flourish and menace the citizens and tax-payers of this metropolis, the heart of the Empire!" Nellie allows her voice to take on a slightly manic note, she bangs the desk with the flat of her hand to punctuate her small tirade. "For too long the safety of the common people has been ignored! Were it not for you ... you and this paper of the truth the people would be unaware of the menace below their very feet!" Nellie waves her hand around, indicating these offices."So Sir, just how widespread is this plague? How much more are we to endure whilst the 'Masters' of the City sit in their ivory towers?" Nellie stops to draw breath.

"Well" says the reporter Klebbs, offguarded by the vehemence of Nellies tirade, "You'll get no argument from me Miss as to the state of society, although I would venture that many of this cities vermin wear fur of another kind. But you ask questions, may I ask why?" The hint of suspicion in his voice bodes well for his future as a reporter.

After a moments silence, during which you hear a belicose roar from further elsewhere within the building, he continues, "There is little that I can add to the newspaper article. The plague of rats was as unexpected as unpleasant. They appeared suddenly without obvious ryhme or reason for doing so. Caused mayhem for a brief while, then vanished back into the sewers from whence they came."

He moves to a small, cheap, notepad on his desk top, the surface of which shows from its untidy state the hallmarks of a fine investigative reporter, "I spoke to a Harold Watkins from the Water and Sewerage Authority who informed me that the sewers underneath Fleet Street are at times effected by the course of the old river. He felt that this may have been the cause of the infestation. However, whatever had scared the vermin from below onto the streets, had to be more than a simple surge in the old river Fleet's drainage capacity."

He glances down at the notebook, "He gave me the name of the head official for this section of the cities sewerage department, a Norman Smalls, he also gave me an address, however, despite several attempts to contacts Mr Smalls I have had no luck. He seems to have disappeared, the last sight of him was the night before the rat incident. I will give you the address and wish you luck in finding him"

Nellie smiles, part in relief that her sudden outburst had the desired effect of 'wrong-footing' the reporter and that they now had a lead that they might be able to check up on later, after meeting with Wellington and Klevendon.

"Mr Klebbs your manner and integrity are a joy to behold. Thank you for your aid, my Sisters shall hear of your 'right-thinking' manner. If we can tackle the problem of our vermin infested sewers then we shall gain support. Nellie hopes she's said just enough for Klebbs to work out that Nellie has come here as part of some 'hare-brained' scheme to drum up support for the Suffrage Movement.

With a warm smile aimed at Klebbs she deftly pockets the address and turns to Roxburgh brazenly taking his arm, "Come
Roxy we shall have to dash to make our appointment at The Savoy." She tightens her grip as she says 'Savoy' hoping to warn against being corrected. If Klebbs was at all suspicious... or his investigative nose was twitching then they might need a 'false trail'.

"thank you so much for your time Mr Klebbs you haver been most helpful." with that Nellie heads back towards the door, with Roxburgh in tow.

Roxborough nods towards the hack and swiftly moves along with Nellie "Yes, thank you for help my good man!"

Indeed as you leave the reporters company you observe the hint of suspicion that clouds his visage momentarily. Once outside the 'office' you notice a rather chagrin faced enquiries clerk, head down engaged dutifuly in his work.

Outside the building you see the still waiting hansom, and a few yards further on a group of three, red faced and perspiring men, struggling to remove a sewer lid. A collection of various tools lie closeby, but none strike you as those employed by sewer workers you have observed in the past. Even from this distance you can easily overhear the odd muttered epithet or two.
"Strewth, poxy bleedin' nobs, a guinea for this, small reward I should fink...Right try this bleeder lads. One, two, three...Heave"

Nellie pauses at the top of the steps, "Well that was interesting and adds more information that we need to impart to our fellows." She observes the three workmen as they try to open a sewer lid. "I saw those men as we alighted from our cab, I didn't say anything at the time but I rather fancied that they were with two gentlemen of out acquaintance." Nellie uses the vantage point of being at the top of the steps to peer up and down Fleet Street trying to locate wither Wellington or Klevendon.

"Can you see where they are at all, Richard?" Nellie asks.

Perception roll should it be required,[dice]0[/dice]

carnage_lee wrote:

OOC:   I kind of guessed that... tragic fail of a roll

OOC:   On the contrary 4 successes is a good roll, trust me if they were on the street you would have seen them

Roxborough scans the street "No I don't see them Nellie. However, I'm certain that they were talking to the men by the manhole cover. Perhaps they know where they have gone. Let's go and see shall we?"

"Bleeding hell this work has ta be worth more than a poxy guinea?" Suddenly aware of your presence, and especialy that of a woman, the one speaking turns a shade of red, snatches his cap from his head, "Beggin your pardon ma'am, di'n't see you there"

It appears from the amount of perspiration flowing from the threes foreheads that removal of the heavy iron sewer lid has proved particularly difficult, "'ow may we be of assistance?"

Nellie hides a wry smile behind her hand; she had certainly heard such language before but it always amused her that even the 'saltiest, salt of the earth' never failed to be embarrassed about their 'choice phrases' all in all an endearing trait. A trait that some of the 'noble and good' of the land might be better off cultivating too, she thought to herself.

"That's quite alright, we didn't mean to startle you." Nellie says making a 'throwaway' gesture with her hand to indicate that the fruity language was of no consequence. "A guniea, goodness me! Who would offer 'two weeks wages' for such a simple task as to remove a sewer cover?" Nellie asks in mild shock.

OOC:   "iirc in 1880 the average income was between 5 and 10 shillings a week... a guinea is 21 shillings... £1/1/-" True but it's tradition to always complain about poor wages, and there are three of them

"Weren't no easy task gettin the flippin fing orf" Pipes up the youngest, and possibly hottest of the three, "Anyways if the toff wants ta throw his money abaht, its up to him" It appears from his appearance that taking off the sewer lid had been a far more difficult task that might be expected.

"Thems as paid us went into the 'Speaker' to 'ave a chat wiv old Ginny Mattison. Aint come out yet" adds the earlier speaker wringing his checked cap as if it was the neck of a chicken, "One of em was a right stern looking cove, not the sort to get across I expect. The over one had a mad glint in his eye an it was 'im wot give us a guinea. We told em that the lid was fixed tight to stop the vermin from escaping agin. So I reckons it was fare pay for a fare job. Begging your pardon Ma'am" he tugs his forelock in a most servile manner.

Nellie listens to the workmen.

"Indeed, id does seem that the lid is stoutly secured. They've gone into 'The Speaker' well we'll just wait for them then. Don't mind us, you carry on."

With much grunting, sweating but mindful of any language of a none to delicate sort, the three return to the task in hand.

Shortly with the application of various tools which they have obviously borrowed from various sources, they succeed in loosening the lid. Indeed the loosening is so sudden that one of them, the checked cap wearing individual whom it seems is named Stan, manages to bloody his knuckles on a twist of the crowbar that he is using. For a moment the air turns blue as he, in a response to the sudden pain, begins to unleash a tirade of curse words that would embarrass a Sargeant-Major of the Coldstream Guards.

His mouth filled with bloody knucles he doffs his cap and send an apologetic look in Nellie's direction, "Excuse me Ma'am, quite forgot meself, but it did blasted 'urt some"

Slowly the others lift the heavy looking iron lid away, revealing a dark circular opening with a series of rusted iron ladder rungs leading down. With the lid removed the surrounding air is filled with a most disgusting aroma.

"Ahh" says the youngest wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "London"

Roxborough looks down the manhole "Good job there fellows, good job"

Roxborough thinking:   Hmm rather foul stench but then what should one expect considering we are at the heart of the filth peddlars

Roxborough:

OOC:   That's 2 successes (only even numbers count) so the average of 3 successes would have proved better in this case. However 2 successes are ok.

Looking within the sewer opening, despite the weakening of daylight as it decends towards the sewer tunnel below, it is simple to note the traces of an enormous amount of recent use. The iron rungs of the access ladder, usualy dark with the rust and rubbish collected upon it, has been cleaned to such an extent as the metal almost gleams as if fastidiously polished. Looking closer you can see that this effect has been produced by the passage of hundreds of tiny, sharp clawed, feet.

Stan, cap now returned to his head, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, nods, sagely, "That's wot the rats done. Thasands of the blighters scratchin' and clawin' wiv their filfy paws"

The foul stench causes Nellie to take a couple of steps further from the hole and. "Anything interesting down there?" she asks as Roxborough as he peers into the manhole.