Don't eat the prawns

The city of Valetta is breath-taking. Everywhere is white, clean, the air is fresh, and the people refreshing. I may not speak the language, but I can read expressions and body language. Never have I seen a people more without care. The seaside, the fashion, the food.... Well, two out of three isn't bad, no? To my embarrasment, I have been self-exiled to my luxurious room... but neither am I enjoying a good soak nor a candlelit massage. When in Valetta, skip the prawns.

My companions have sent me soup and notes about their progress. I have learned from them about the sad state of Mr Donovan's family and their observations of his properties... even a close scrape on The Elegant, where they learned Mr Donovan himself is likely neither well, nor possibly even in charge. I am recovering, albeit slowly, but I am beginning to loathe these walls. I should be with them, putting my training to use, guarding their backs. I hate this. * * * There has been a shootout and we have now changed hotels. Howard was nearly killed at the club. And yet, here I lay. The others have met a Knights Templar! Sir Godfrey by name, who knows of our quest and from whom we might learn so much. And here I am bound. No longer. There cannot possibly be anything left in me to expel. I know their plan. I cannot let them face this alone. Surely I can catch them up... if I leave now.