"Vacation" in Valetta
July 4th (Thursday)
We arrived back in London, which is becoming familiar territory. The sounds, the smells, .. well .. at the very least its a far cry from the searing desert sands.
Erik spends his every free moment studying the Unaussprechlichen Kulten. Howard, Otto, and I have all shied away from the books of late, afraid of diving in too deeply to the unknown. For now, we seek bad people doing bad things, and any further understanding will have to wait.
To that end, we sought the - now familiar - travel agency Cox & Kings to arrange a "holiday" to Valetta. For the five of us. Bastien seems to have become an inseparable member of our little tribe, bringing us once more from four to five. There is some comfort in that number. He is, perhaps, less well-mannered than was Quincy, but no less well-meaning, I think. I hope.
We were able too book something quite quickly, and will be leaving on Monday beginning with a train to Dover. It seems we are once more to explore an unknown land, although I think this one shall be far more hospitable.
In the meantime, we decided it was important to investigate Morley's bookshop, on the offchance our friend and her employer might have left us any clue as to there trouble or destination. Sadly, we found no such information. What we did find was far more than we bargained for.
After Howard (rather impressively) made possible our entry, we each entered, to an unmistakable eerie sensation of being watched. Otto later pointed out strange markings, which he believed were an occult "ward" of some sort... which a year ago I would have dismissed as hooey, but now....
In any case, we searched the place thoroughly, but what was left behind was all rather innocuous. They had time to pack, it seems, and did a thorough job of it, leaving behind only what "potion" might remedy the headache of a housewife or provide some historical insight into the myths of faeries.
In one room there was a strong smell of ozone, and bedclothes indicated someone sleeping on the couch. The bedroom housed a wardrobe filled with clothes which could only be for a woman of Chastity's stature, and even smelled faintly of her perfume. The wardrobe was the only place from which it seemed nothing had been removed, which left me puzzled.
Bastien, meanwhile, found a trap door leading downstairs. The space below was dark, dank, and smelled lightly of sewer. I volunteered to enter first, but fled almost immediately upon the horrifying sight of eyes staring back at me from the darkness!
Bastien attempted to calm me, wearing his bravado plainly, and went down himself. He found bare bookshelves, with small chains dangling. One shelf had been pulled to one side, and Bastien moved in further to investigate.
He found a natural wall, chipped and cracked away to make a hole; a rough tunnel carved away. This was without doubt the source of the sewer smell.
Abashed, and unsure whether my imagination had gotten the better of me, or Bastien's knack for finding trouble the better of him, I took some time to go through the apartment and shop thoroughly once more.
Howard joined Bastien below, I'm told, and whilst inspecting the cave caused a bit of a cave-in - with Bastien left on the wrong side of the rubble. Bastien, then heard something, and turned - only to himself see two eyes in the darkness.. and then the attached humanoid figure. Bastien scared it off, while Howard tried to enlarge the hole; but the thing grew bold and returned, attacking Bastien.
Having heard the commotion, I raced down the steps to find Howard and Otto breaking through the hole and pulling through an injured Bastien. He had been clawed on his legs, and bitten on his neck - I worried about infection, and did what I could for him onsite, knowing I'd need to clean these wound properly.
Before we made our retreat, I showed the others what I had found in my final hunt. A perfectly scorched circle, three-to-four foot in diameter, on a badly damaged rug, the smell of ozone still hanging in the air. Opposite the sofa were two bullet holes, of a pistol-sized caliber. They were 6-7 feet up the wall, and went clean through.
We had been told by the neighbors that shots had been fired, and we had now found the scene of the crime. But still we knew nothing more than when we came, other than to avoid the sewers of London.
((OOC: Bastien saw a symbol down in the sewer area and drew a copy of it.))
We retreated to Sloan Square. Otto and Howard filled in Erik (who had remained behind to study the tome), while I cleaned and bandaged Bastien's wounds. I was puzzled by the bitemarks, which seemed as of an animal. But Bastien insisted his attacker had been a man, so perhaps his teeth were just filed or naturally unusually shaped and sharp.
((OOC: Erik read a paragraph in Unass K, stating that Ghouls and Ghasts live beneath cities and on the fringes of society, eating the flesh of the dead. Charming.))
* * *
Over the next few days we gathered ourselves, and did a little last minute shopping for our "holiday". Howard and Grace spent time disassembling two shotguns and building them into false-bottomed suitcases. We both agreed finding ourselves unarmed again was simply too dangerous.
* * *
July 8th (Monday)
The trip was tedious but pleasant enough. I found the Mediterranean enchanting, and felt empowered by the clean smell of the sea. As we arrived we could hear the gulls squawk overhead, and - for a moment - could forget the true purpose of our trip, and simply enjoy a lovely day.
The baroque architecture is enchanting, and the mix of languages gives one, the illusion at least, of anonymity... a feature we have learned to appreciate. We are, of course, travelling under false names once more, which makes me a bit leery. I certainly don't want to add a third "voice" to my already-crowded mind. I have chosen Gail Summers as my nom de plume, I do hope I can keep the others' straight.
We are staying at the Hotel Venetian, which is beautifully done up. The hotel has a marvelous harbor view, the kind a gal could get used to. We even have the beginnings of a holiday glow to our skin. All around us there is laughter, the clinking of glasses... a whole world giddily unaware of the danger lurking within their very city. If we are truly fortunate, we can keep it that way.
We dove in quite quickly to our investigation, knowing it all hinged on locating this Montgomery Donovan. A call to the operator revealed that his address was listed as private (but that she could, of course, put a call through for us if we so desired). Otto set off for the library, while Bastien took to the streets.
Howard and I took to the town hall for our bit of investigative work. There we found that Mr Donovan is the owner of many properties, including a harborview townhouse (in West Valetta, near the great Siege road), a yacht (The Elegant), and a warehouse in the Western End of the Southern harbor. Mr Donovan appears to be a very wealthy man, but with a mysteriously small legal footprint - I could find nothing relating to taxes, legal battles, birth certificates, etc. I did not, of course, expect to find all these documents, but surely something more than what we did find. The man must have a very good (shyster) lawyer.
We met up with Otto for lunch, who had managed to dig up an article about Mr Donovan and (we presume) his wife Portia. Just a few months ago, the couple were seen at a gala affair, as premiere donors, at the Royal Opera House here in Valetta. We were later joined by Bastien, who had poor luck finding a "shady" area of town (which I quietly found perfectly enchanting about this lovely portside town).
We split up once more after lunch to put our limited recon to work. Otto and Erik went to the Royal Opera House. Howard went on to the "old library", and Bastien joined me in a casual stroll down by the harbor. After some time we located The Elegant, and were told by a helpful young man that Mr Donovan often takes a small boat out there, usually at night, sometimes even spending the night onboard. Mr Donovan's business is not widely known, but the waitstaff of the local cafe believe he's a banker or some other businessmen, whose associates sometimes come to the cafe.
((OOC: Otto and Erik at the Royal Opera House - learn Mr Donovan used to come with his wife, but now comes less frequently, alone, and usually leaves partway through))
((OOC: Howard finds an elite gentleman's club and manages to join as a member of "THE" Tillingfords. He is asked to give a talk on The Dark Continent. M Donovan is among the names on the wall - the list of members.))
