Horror's Heart (Call of Cthulhu) IC

[Xsesiv]

It's a motley group of friends that assembles at New York's Grand Central Station that morning. The largest is a local stockbroker, very clean-cut. Black-haired and -mustachioed and massively obese, he stands a clear fourteen inches taller than the smallest, a tiny, sallow, chinless young man with stick-out ears.

The ages range vastly as well. The small man is barely a man at all by the standards of legality, and the age bracket goes up to a tall, heftyish man in glasses with grey hair and a doctor's bag.

A fourth is very haggard-looking, pale and thin, drawn and red-headed, with an Irish accent, and a beard as well, which is rare in this day and age.


_______


The group received a letter just a few days ago, addressed to all of them care of Dr. Ian Winters, from someone they'd not counted themselves likely to meet again.


My Dear Friends, [it read]

Much time has passed since last we met. I have been able to follow a little of your careers from afar; but discreetly, I assure you!

My own career has doubtless been invisible to you. I have become a priest in the Catholic Church! Yes, I am now Father Philip! I know this must come as a surprise to you. I heartily acknowledge my multitude of sins, but we are all such sinners after all that my teachers and confessors alike find my faith and honesty much more interesting than my sins! I am now washed in forgiveness, and each day is precious to me.

I write to you now because I need your particular research skills, and am inviting you to Montréal. I dare to hope that you are free and will not mind a week's sojourn in this beautiful city? I have arranged that you stay in the parish house at our new Parish of St. Cutis, and I enclose your tickets by train.

The matter about which I write is confidential, so I may not indicate it here. The prize in view is of good value to the Parish of St. Cutis, to Catholicism, to Christianity, and to spirituality as a whole.

Need I add that the success of the venture might just bring the participants wealth, esoteric knowledge, and worldwide fame?

Your Good Friend,
Philip.

As he says, Philip McBride – well, Father Philip McBride, now – has been missing in action for ten years. Though he couldn't have died without there being some news, this dedicated academic has been completely out of the public eye, and the eyes of his friends, since about 1913. But when they knew him, he was intelligent and straightforward, with little time for fuss or impracticality. This mysterious, secretive request was uncharacteristic and intriguing.


_______


The Canadian Pacific Railway is renowned for the comfort, service and convenience of its trains, boasting of having 'the most substantial and perfectly-built railway on the continent of America'. So, at seven sharp the bizarre collection of McBride's friends boards the number 2212 train, the Great Northern. It's a fully equipped luxury train pulled by a speedy and powerful Pacific steam engine, and with the ring of a bell, a rumble and a whistle and a puff of mixed steam and smoke, the train is under way.

Inside, all the walls are finely panelled with polished walnut; the windows are small and sturdy, buffered against rattling and curtained with tasseled red damask.

The day coaches are lined with rugs and carpets, while rich upholstery decorates the seats. There is a sleeper car, with comfortable beds in curtained upper and lower berths, for those wishing to catch up on a little sleep (it was a very early morning, after all).

There is an elaborate club car with a chandelier and a luxurious dining car. The food is complementary and delicious, the mirrors are cut-glass and omnipresent, the china is fine, and the service is solid silver and crystal. The attendants are very competent; prompt, polite and precise, they make every effort to aid the passengers and to satisfy their needs and requests.

The eleven-hour trip passes through Buffalo, Niagara Falls and Toronto, with minor stops along the way. It allows the group, who have been ordered a row of seats next to each other, to take in the scenery, and to get reacquainted. Maybe they haven't seen each other for a while.

Go on, get reacquainted:smalltongue:, by which I mean introduce your characters and roleplay a little; I'll get on with plot stuff when everyone's posted.

[Civil War Man]

Just a quick check on how comfortable people are with swearing before I say too much, because Neil is not a refined gentleman.

Neil was not looking forward to this trip. It was not the destination, and he did not dislike trains in general. This particular one just made him uneasy. The over the top amenities made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. The sheer opulence of it made his stomach turn. A British noble would have felt right at home there, and Neil hated it for that.

"A bloody priest," he said, apropos of nothing, filling the empty space with conversation just so he wouldn't have to think about his surroundings. "Wouldn't have pegged him as one of those."

[Voshkod]

So long as it's in character, I don't care.

The young man takes out a silver flask and adds a shot of something to his coffee. "Thank God we're going somewhere civilized, where they realize the value of a good drink," he says, offering the flask around. "To hell with Volstead!"

He's certainly not an attractive youth. Not ugly, but just put together wrong. Ears that might look good on a larger man, a straight line from lips to neck, nary a chin in sight, like the good Lord forgot the design when making him.

His clothes are very nice, though, with expensive shoes (currently propped up on the seat across from him). "McBride a priest? Oh, I can see it. Also a hint of sanctimony around him. Good chap, though." He takes a careful look at his companions. "Averell Carmichael's the name, friends. Yes, from those Carmichaels, I'm afraid." He opens his bag and takes out a copy of an aged Latin text with the words "Cautio Criminalis" on the front.

[Civil War Man]

Neil shrugged, and took a quick drink from the offered flask before passing it on. "Haven't seen him since I was a lad," he said. "But I always figured he was too smart to buy into all that bollocks."

In contrast to the young man sitting with him, Neil was fairly well put together. There was a sense that he could have been quite the ladykiller, had he not been worn down by a million stresses and a few years living off of what little he could scrape together.

"Guess I shouldn't be that surprised, though. Lot of things can change in 10 years."

[Dark Seeker]

Dr. Ian Winters rereads the letter for the umpteenth time, still finding it hard to believe. He puts it down, scratching his head.

"What an odd request. And I must agree with you Neil. The Philip I've known was never that religious, and now he's a priest? I suppose the years do change a man."

"Nonetheless, I am glad to get away for a bit. It's been ages since I've allowed myself some leisure. It will be good to catch up with Philip. It has to have been... oh, since about 1913."

The doctor reaches for his bag, which carries his medical supplies as well as his rifle(One could never be too careful nowadays, and he was getting older) before turning to the rest of the group, a kind smile on his worn face.

"Montreal! I've not visited there before. Have any of you?"

[Voshkod]

"Oh, Montreal's great," Averell says. "Like Paris without the French. No Prohibition, great shows - a few a bit risque, if you know what I mean." A wink, another dash from his flask into his coffee. "Not like Boston. I'd swear that town still thinks it's run by Puritans."

[Civil War Man]

"I've not been to Montreal myself. I've barely been in the states two years, and have had little cause to cross the border. My French is not too good, anyway.

"By the way," Neil added, glancing at Averell. "You may want to spend some time in Providence. I've done a few odd jobs that have taken me down that way. The Rhode Islanders don't give a tinker's damn about prohibition. Not even the Feds assigned there."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer has just nodded and listened so far, his large frame taking up slightly more than a single seat. What could he say? life had been good to him, generally speaking, and he could never say no to just one more.

"I've personally not been bothered by the prohibition, I don't drink. But I have been doing well for myself of late i must admit, even when the stocks are bad, I've managed to turn a profit. Keen eye and good senses are the key." Mortimer frowns slightly "though, you never can tell when the market is about to go belly up even with good senses and keen eyes, sometimes the only sight thats any use is hindsight... and thats no good for making money."

[Xsesiv]

In the early afternoon, the train trundles into Canada and out of the Prohibition of which McBride's friends have talked. Alcoholic drinks are slyly integrated into the club car's bar and the dining car's meals. Nobody really gives any thought to the fact that the train must have been carrying these in America at some point.

As the afternoon shadows lengthen, everyone on the train is well settled into their seats; a few are dozing. The train begins to slow, preparing to change tracks, and amidst the normal clangs and rattles of the braking train suddenly can be heard a loud, flat bang. From the next car, a woman's high-pitched scream rises above a chorus of shouts and hubbub.

[Dark Seeker]

The scream jolts Ian out of a light sleep. Grabbing for his glasses and bag, he looks at the others, gauging their intentions.

"I don't like the sound of that! I'm going to investigate."

He runs out of the compartment, and towards the scream.

[Voshkod]

Averell was deep in his book - and at least two sheets to the wind - when the noise happened. He stumbled up, overcompensated, and almost fell. "Right behind you," he mumbled, following Ian.

[Xsesiv]

In the vestibule between the carriages, Ian almost runs right into an enormous man who blocks the passageway. Well over six feet tall with a square build and a square head, black hair, a big nose and a long salt-and-pepper beard, he is dressed in a Canadian Pacific Railway conductor's uniform, down to the hat monogrammed C.P.R. "Laissez-moi passer!" he roars at the people facing him down."Laissez-moi passer!"

With one huge hand he waves a small-calibre revolver, maybe a .25 or a .32, above his head. With the other hand, he grasps the waist of a small, short-haired young brunette with cool-green eyes with which she looks imploringly to Ian for help. The girl is dressed in a cream one-piece travelling dress and has the fashionable lithe, boyish build. A smooth layer of crimson lipstick on her perfect lips accents her strikingly beautiful face. The man fires a shot from his revolver through the ceiling with another ear-shattering bang, in an attempt to clear the way, prompting a second chorus of screams and shouting.

The man is half-carrying, half-dragging the girl towards the rear of the train, his legs moving in a way that looks somehow awkward, but it's hard to see exactly how. Would a conductor fire guns on a train and assault a passenger? It seems unlikely. He must be some sort of impostor. The other passengers, in general, seem happy to stay in their seats. Conductors advance from behind him, but very cautiously.

French:The False Conductor: "Let me pass! Let me pass!"

[Dark Seeker]

Upon seeing the false conductor, Ian freezes. He moves towards the man, but very slowly and keeps his distance, attempting to appear as less of a threat. The doctor debates going for his gun, but given the situation, it's too risky. He's just as likely to hit the hostage or one of the other passengers. Instead, he decides to reason with the stressed gunman.

"Personne n'a à se blesser ici," He tells the man, praying his French does not fail him. "Juste laisser aller."


(hopefully) "Nobody has to get hurt here. Just let her go."

[Civil War Man]

Neil was half-dozing when the first gunshot startled him to consciousness, his hand unconsciously grasping for a rifle that he no longer possessed. He watched Ian and Averell head in the direction of the gunshot before they were interrupted by the gunman barging in from the next car.

By the time the second shot went off, Neil was awake enough to prepare himself, and so the noise prompted little more than an involuntary eye twitch from him. He watched the large man over the top of the seats, slowly clenching and unclenching his fist. There was some yelling in French, but the commotion and Neil's passing familiarity with the language did not allow him to parse what was being said. For the moment, he did not move from his seat, silently waiting for the group to move further back in the train.

[Voshkod]

"Looks like you have things under control," Averell whispers to Ian. He steps out of the line of fire after take a long appraising look at the woman. "Don't let her get shot. She's a work of art."

[Xsesiv]

"Monsieur, vous n'avez encore fait rien de grave..." supplies a small, bespectacled blond conductor from behind, in a quavering voice.

The false conductor falters at Ian's words, and then at the conductor's, but then roars and fires another two rounds; the first goes through the ceiling, the second is fired in the general direction of the conductor, prompting him to leap back. The girl at the false conductor's side screams. The conductor trips over a rug and were it not for the reflexes of a couple of others would have landed flat on his back.

The false conductor clutches the woman tighter to him and prepares to carry on down the train. He proceeds to point the pistol at the first thing in his way, which happens to be Ian. "Bouge-toi!" he shouts at him.

French:Conductor: "Sir, you haven't done anything serious yet..."
The False Conductor: "Move!"

[Dark Seeker]

Surprisingly, Ian does not enjoy having a gun pointed at him. The experience almost causes him to waver, but the doctor in him realizes that the man is very dangerous, and seems to be unraveling rapidly. He needs to be brought down now, before he hurts others or himself.
The doctor nods and moves a semi step to the side, hoping to relax the man's guard. Then he kicks him, aiming for the groin.

[Xsesiv]

As the kick is swung at the man, he squeezes the trigger accidentally in his effort to dodge and the bullet goes through the floor. He fires the last bullet through the ceiling in a last-ditch attempt to clear the way, then throws his pistol away and instead pulls a huge, unpleasant-looking knife from his belt. While he is thus engaged, the woman smashes her elbow hard into the place under his breastbone; he flinches and she twists away, catching the heel of her shoe with a snap on the edge of a carpet on the floor, stumbling and falling onto Ian, blocking the way for the others. The false conductor turns to the vestibule door. Wrenching it open, he leaps out into the forest.

The woman stands. Another conductor, a tall thin black-haired fellow, rushes up to her. "M-mademoiselle LaVoie," he stammers. "P-please accept my sincerest concerns for your health. I apologise a thousand times, from the bottom of my heart. I fear I cannot apologise enough, and I swear vengeance on the villain who attacked you, on behalf of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Of course, the police have been telegraphed, but we will not delay the train in the vicinity of such a thug."

Wait. LaVoie? With the name and the face together...yes, this is the Céline LaVoie!

Unshaken, she straightens her hair, nods to the conductor and turns to her rescuers. "I'm Céline," she says warmly with just a touch of a French in her accent. "Céline LaVoie. Thank you for the help, and sorry about the...inconvenience. I hope you're all alright?"

She turns back to the conductor. "I assure you, my father will be more than willing to pay for all the damages if we can keep the affair as quiet as possible. My father hates this sort of notoriety," she says winsomely.

The conductor tugs his cap respectfully, and mumbles "I will do my best to see to it that your family is kept out of the affair as much as possible, Mademoiselle LaVoie, but in the meantime your bodyguard is dead and there must be an inquiry."

"Yes, the poor man," she replies, unblinkingly. "I had only just hired him. He smelled dreadfully. I am sensitive to smells." She turns back to the men who had helped her against her kidnapper. "Well, brave people such as yourselves shouldn't have to sit around waiting for the damage and blood to be cleaned up. Please, come with me to my private coach at the back of the train. We'll have drinks."

[Voshkod]

"Drinks!," Averell says cheerfully. "No better way to celebrate the fact that you've come through this ordeal unharmed, ma'am."

[Dark Seeker]

"I only did what anyone would have done," Ian responds. "Drinks would be welcome, but please madam Lavoie, I am a doctor. Allow me to examine you and ensure the stress of this situation has not harmed your delicate constitution."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer hears this and sinks back slightly into his seat, if it were possible, guilty that he was of no use during this little incident. "the LaVoie family is a rich and influential family in business terms." He mutters to some of his friends that were in earshot but making sure that LaVoie herself was out of it.

[Civil War Man]

Neil glanced at Mortimer as he provided slight exposition. He, too, provided no help during the incident, mostly due to Ian's timely intervention. He had planned on blindsiding the assailant as he passed through the train car. Unlike Mortimer, Neil felt no guilt at his non-intervention, since the incident was resolved.

The Irishman made no indication of this, simply settling further into his seat in sullen silence.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, no," Céline LaVoie answers Ian. "I've been through worse. I assure you, I'm fine." She pushes past the conductor who is morosely picking fragments of train out of a deep pile carpet and gently taps Neil and Mortimer on their shoulders. "Seeing as how the rest of the car's full, I suppose you're with these men you're sharing the row with? Please, come and have drinks with them. I wouldn't want your friends to become bored with only my company," and she smiles.

She progresses down the train backwards, asking questions to her new-found friends. "So, you may have heard of me. I won't pretend not to have a modicum of fame. If so, you have the advantage, I'm afraid. Tell me, what are your names, what do you do, why are you coming to Montréal?"

Her easy mood is striking after what must have been a terrifying ordeal.

[Voshkod]

"Averell Carmichael," he says. "Nice to meet you, Céline." I wonder what she's flying on, he thinks to himself. Too happy, not blinking. Opium? Heroin? She must be fun to party with.

[Civil War Man]

LaVoie was a name that Neil knew. Much in the same way he knew names like Wilson, Chaplin, or Ruth. He knew those name because those were names people knew. But they held little meaning beyond that, because as a member of the lower class he never associated with them.

He was dreading arriving at Céline's private car. The opulence of the one he was currently in was already putting him on edge. He was not looking forward to spending time in a car appointed for someone who probably spends more on a bottle of wine than he makes in a month. It would take a lot for McBride's venture to be worth the headache.

All Neil could hope for was that Céline was not one of those rich people who felt a "connection" to the "common folk."

"My name is Neil," he said in a low voice. "I am here merely because an old friend asked me to be here."

[Dark Seeker]

Ian raises an eyebrow in response to Céline's behavior, but says nothing. Some people have odd ways of dealing with stress.

"Dr. Ian Winters. It's a pleasure. As Neil said, we are traveling to Montreal to become reacquainted with an old friend of ours whom we've not seen in some time."

The doctor is aware of her reputation, but chooses not to comment on it. On a train this luxurious, he'd have been surprised not to run into any famous people.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer nods and stands up, following after her. "My name is Mortimer. I am greatly privilaged to be offered to spend time in your company." He adds somewhat charmingly if he can manage it.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, which friend?" asks Céline. "Might I have heard of him?"

Céline reaches her private coach, which turns out to be less gaudily decorated in the developing Art Déco style (plain surfaces, rich materials, dramatic lines, indirect lighting, and stylised natural forms). A female secretary and a maid jump up as she enters with her guests, the secretary opening a bar cabinet and the maid scurrying to arrange seating for the guests. Céline herself sits on an oddly-designed chair, pulling her legs up underneath her.

"Drinks?" asks the secretary, who is young, blond and intelligent-looking, large and not particularly attractive. "Whiskey perhaps? Sherry? A cocktail?" She steps aside, revealing the bar cabinet to be full of row upon row of ryes, scotches and liqueurs, all bearing the characteristic crimson McT of the McTanish Distilling Company, mixers, sherry and fine French wines. "Mademoiselle LaVoie doesn't drink beer, I'm afraid."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer raises his hand politely to wave the offer away "No thank you, I appreciate the offer but I don't drink." He then decides to find somewhere to take his place in the carrage, taking an unoccupied seat (if there are any)

Mortimer turns to céline "I am amazed at your calm nature, given the events that have just passed, you must have such confidence and bravery."

[Dark Seeker]

Unlike Mortimer, Ian accepts the offer.

"A sherry, if you'd be so kind," He says, hopeful that the drink will steady his nerves.

Speaking of nerves, The doctor finds Mademoiselle LaVoie's behavior most unusual. He was rattled just from having a gun pointed at him. How, then, was she able to walk around so seemingly untroubled by her ordeal.

Either the actress was very brave, pretending to be very brave so as to repress her trauma, or she was not as concerned about her ordeal as anyone in their right mind should have been. Ian was no detective, but it was almost suspicious.

"I should doubt it," Ian responds to Céline's inquiry. "Our friend is a priest. I doubt the two of you would travel in the same circles." He smiles as he says this, but can't help but feel a bit wary around this woman.

[Voshkod]

"An occasion like this calls for a visit from the green fairy," Averell says. "Absinthe, if you have it, champagne if you don't." He sits back and observes Céline.

[Civil War Man]

"Whiskey," said Neil, standing near one of the coach's windows. He otherwise silently watched the countryside roll past as the others occupied themselves in conversation.

[Xsesiv]

"I might know him," says Céline. "He's not the one setting up that new church, is he? Irish fellow, came from the States, I think. There's been a lot of fuss but nobody actually seems to know what's been going on. The priest's not letting anything on."

The secretary arrives with the tray full of drinks, a cocktail for Céline. She picks it up, sips it, and looks up at the group from her drink. "Look, there's no need to be concerned," she says. "This is the third time someone's tried to kidnap me, and I don't want to say you get used to it, but... My father has powerful enemies, you see."

"Shall we move to less touchy ground? Are any of you interested in drama, at all? It's embarrassing to ask, but none of you have seen me act, have you?"

[Dark Seeker]

"Indeed he is." Ian offers. He's still wary, but suspects Céline will find out sooner or later, given her connections. "Philip McBride. A good friend to all of us."

He takes the drink, offering a "thank you" and a smile of appreciation to the secretary.

"Well I do hope your father considers hiring you more bodyguards. This ruffian is still out there, and until he's caught, I think it best you practice some caution."
A smile lights up the aging doctor's face, as he tries to relax.

"I'm afraid I haven't seen you perform. My schedule leaves me little time to enjoy myself. But everything I've heard indicates you are quite skilled."

[littlebottom]

"I've never had the pleasure to see you perform, but I would greatly enjoy to." Mortimer says to celine. "What roles are you currently, or soon to be playing?"

[Xsesiv]

Céline is open and friendly, and she chatters freely throughout the remainder of the train journey. She's not been in any plays lately and she doesn't know when she's going to be in her next one, facts she truly regrets. Her father's having trouble with a powerful syndicate of dealers in the United States, and today's assault must be their work, she says. She's returning to Montréal for the funeral of her grandfather, Lucien, who's just died, for her own protection, and to support her father. She finds Shakespeare somewhat barbarous compared to, say, Corneille or Racine, but she feels that when she is older she must, at some point before she dies, play Lady Macbeth's cruel love.


______


On arrival that evening at Viger Station, which has been built in the classic Château style, with the steep roofs and second-storey gables that have since become ubiquitously Canadian symbols, the air is warm and summery, and twilit. It barely seems North American – the architecture, the people, the very air give off such a European tint that it seems at first that the train has crossed the Atlantic and deposited its passengers in some exotic overseas port.

Passengers are quickly ushered to their waiting bags and cases. Customs is but a formality – the new arrivals are asked if they've got anything to declare, and if they admit to having anything they shouldn't it's seized, but that's it. These days more people are trying to smuggle guns and booze into the States out of Canada than it's worth the the officials' time and effort to worry overmuch about what people are trying to bring in.

Céline spots someone and rushes towards whoever it is, melting into the crowd, while a tall, thin and very gaunt-looking man in his sixties and antiquated coachman's garb walks up to the group, conspicuous by their diversity. "Are you the McBride party?" he asks in a basso profundo voice with perfect diction but so slow and careful that it suggests that English is not his first tongue, he's learnt it phonetically, and he doesn't want to trip over words.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian attempts to smuggle his concealed rifle through customs. Given the scary encounter he had just experienced, the good doctor felt safer with some security, should the kidnapper attempt to settle the score with him.

In response to the thin man's inquiry, Ian nods. "Yes. And you were sent here to greet us by dear Philip, I assume?"

[Xsesiv]

"Father McBride's arranged a carriage to bring you to l'Église Saint-Cutis," supplies the gaunt man, nodding. "I'm your driver. Step this way, sirs," and he picks up the two cases closest to him, turns around and makes for a carriage parked up outside the station.

As the driver helps to load his charges' luggage onto the back of the carriage, Céline reappears. "Exciting, is it not?" she asks, in reference to the city. "This is my Uncle Jacques," she adds, indicating a man with her, a portly little middle-aged man in a long, unseasonable fur coat. He has a large fat face, small eyes and wire-rimmed spectacles, and mops desperately at the sweat dribbling down his bald pate with an expensive-looking and very wet silk handkerchief which he has wadded up. He nods to the group, and appears to be thinking hard. "I'll call you tonight to show you the town," continues Céline.

Her uncle, having formulated what he's going to say, steps forwards to address the group through a thick accent. He appears to have far more difficulty with English than his niece, but he is warm and sincere. "Thank you much for the help of my...nephew is the word? No, niece, niece. She telled me of this. You brave people must come to the manor, please, when you have to find the time."

[Voshkod]

Having downed two (three? four?) glasses of absinthe on the train, Averell was quite enjoying the version of Montreal he was seeing. Tall gothic buildings looming, and strange people, the sweating fat man, the thin corpse handling their carriage, and Celine's luminescent beauty, like a butterfly. Wordlessly, he followed the gaunt man, looking around in wonder.

[Civil War Man]

"I'm sure there will be some opportunity to visit," Neil said to Jacques. "But we will have to meet with Father McBride before any time can be set aside for that."

[Dark Seeker]

"It was no problem," Ian says. "We will have to try to visit your manor as soon as we can, but we simply must meet with our friend first. " He turns towards Céline. "Farewell, madam. Be safe."

Turning his attention towards their escort, Ian follows him.

[Xsesiv]

Céline goes around the group giving customary kisses on both cheeks, and she and Jacques finally retreat gaily towards a sleek limousine. The coachman helps his group into their carriage, and they are under way, the carriage smoothly rolling over the cobbles.

Eventually, after a short period of rolling through the busy streets of the oldest and easternmost part of Montréal alongside the Saint Lawrence River, the carriage pulls up outside a church with a bizarre mix of architectural styles, Château mixed with old colonial. It has a tall, round tower towards the front, and a tallish man standing on the steps outside, who steps down as the carriage arrives, a massive smile on his face.

This is McBride? Must be. His thin, white hair is unfamiliar, it was thick and raven black last time. Just as unfamiliar are most of the wrinkles on his worn face, the glasses he now wears and the priest's vestments, but there are still his strong hands, his woollen clothes, and his intelligent air.

"My friends! How are you, how are you?" he calls out, rushing down, helping the coachman with the luggage and moving through the group, all back-slapping, handshakes and hugs. "Neil? Averell? Last time I saw you two, you were children! Such a surprise! But I knew you'd turn out well, and I'm so glad you could all come! Please, please, I'm just about to take supper, pray come and have some with me," and he walks backwards up the steps to the church so as to face the group and continue his speech. "What do you think of the place? And what have you been doing with yourselves?"

[Voshkod]

"It's great!," Averell gushes, driven more by the alcohol then any real appreciation of esoteric architecture. "Good to see you, sir. What have I been doing? Being a wastral layabout, if my father is correct." He's trying to clear his head now. He respects the old man, perhaps more than he respects anyone.

[Dark Seeker]

"Philip! Good to see you, old friend!" The doctor shakes his friend's hand vigorously, all but shaking it off.

"It is a most unusual style," Ian offers. "But you always were a weird one, friend" he chuckles. "As for myself, I've been continuing my work. No rest for the just, you know. Always new sick people to tend to."

At the offer of dinner, he grins. "That would be welcome. We had a most terrifying experience on the train. A calming meal would be most helpful."

[Civil War Man]

Neil barely managed a weak smile as McBride approached. It's true that they hadn't seen each other since Neil was young. And a lot had happened since then. The boy that visited McBride back in Antrim felt like a completely different person. One who didn't return home after the Great War.

"I'm about as well as one could expect. Just taking things one day at a time. If I got any more specific than that now, your ears would probably fall off."

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, I am sorry," says Philip at the news of the ordeal on the train. "You must tell me of it over dinner."

He enters the church's front door and turns right. Passing through a door that reads PRIVATE/PRIVÉE and then a couple of corridors, he ends up in a small, intimate dining room, where he sits and motions to his guests to do the same.

Enter, from a second door, wearing a white apron on which are embroidered pink roses over a dress of some heavy black material, a small, stalwart woman with a prominent nose. Somehow managing to carry five plates, five each of wine and water glasses, a jug of water, and a large dish of some French country vegetable meal, she moves slowly to the table and sets the bowl and jug down. Without once ceasing to move, she rounds the table setting plates, rounds it once again dishing up the food, produces two bottles of wine from a cupboard, opens them and sets them on the table, then turns around and leaves the room without a word. "Thank you, Madame d'Anjou," calls Philip, as she leaves.

"Now, what's this about the train journey?" he asks, tucking in.

[littlebottom]

"we came across a famous face, a woman, an actress, celine lavoie. She was unfortunately taken hostage, I heroically saved the day! Haha, I jest but disaster was avoided by our friend here." Mortimer says patting him on the back for his earlier bravery

[Dark Seeker]

Ian chuckled at Mortimer's praise.

"Don't listen to our friend here. I did nothing special.

"But I will admit it was terrifying. A gunman was holding the lass hostage. He had already killed her bodyguard, though we did not find that out until later. Somehow, with a combination of luck and skill, I was able to distract him long enough that he panicked and fled the train. We all went back to Celine'e compartment and had a few drinks, " He paused.

"She seemed to know who you were Philip. I take it you've become quite the curiosity around these parts?"

[Xsesiv]

"Well, congratulations. I wouldn't really say I've become a curiosity," says Philip, but then changes his mind. "Well, a little, recently. It's because of the same reason you're here, but it's too early to say if it'll come to anything. I suppose I should tell you about that."

The meal, nothing lavish, is nonetheless very tasty and filling. "I must apologise for my absence, to start with," says Philip, taking another forkful. "I've spent the last ten years of my life in service to the Church. I entered the priesthood, then I was an army chaplain in France in the Great War, and after that I asked to come and set up a new parish here. I consider my priesthood the most worthwhile thing I've ever done, and while I've tried to follow your progress as much as possible, I'm afraid my devotions didn't allow me to contact the outside world as much as I'd have liked. I hope what I've got to show you will make up for the interruption," and he smiles.

"We built the church on top of an old seminary's foundations and tower. We renovated the interior rooms, fixed the roof, and also re-excavated the old seminary's basement," says Philip. "When they were doing that, the workers came across a small tomb that contained a preserved body. The astonishing thing is, though," and he leans in close to whisper the secret: "the body's heart was fully intact. Now, I think the body and the heart are of Saint Cutis himself, because the stone pillow in the tomb was inscribed James of Andrews, which was the name Saint Cutis had at the orphanage where he was raised. It was shortened to James Andrews at his confirmation, and later on he was recorded as using both names."

"Now, whether I'm right or wrong, a centuries-old preserved heart would be powerful evidence of the supernatural at work, no? I want you to find out whether this is the uncorrupted heart of a saint, and when I'm satisfied that everything in my power to investigate has been done, I'll turn the matter over to the diocese. I can only dream that this will create a new site of holy pilgrimage and bring material and spiritual wealth to the parish and the church."

"So," he smiles. "No danger this time. No daemons from beyond. A dull-seeming task for you to research, I'm sure, but a noble one, which may reveal to all the Hand of God and bring all your souls a little closer to the Light."

[Civil War Man]

Neil nodded, chewing his food thoughtfully. "So. Who's trying to stop you? I can see why you'd need Ian for this little venture. Maybe even Mortimer and Averell. But you said yourself that you've followed what I've done for the last decade, so we both know that there's no reason to bring me on board unless you are expecting trouble. May not be 'demons' or some bollocks like that, but I figure there are some people out there who don't want your investigation to pan out."

[Xsesiv]

"Well, several reasons, not all of them to do with you personally. First, I've heard you've lost your way a little and I just reinstate some hope and direction in you. Otherwise, I could have hired professionals, but I decided on you four. I wanted to see my friends again, I needed people I could trust, and I felt indebted to you for my long silence. I'm trying to rebuild bridges."

He pokes at a few fragments of food on his plate.

"The body and the tomb's other contents have been brought upstairs," he continues. "The finds are in a safe a couple of doors away, and the body's in the kitchen's walk-in cooler. Madame d'Anjou's not happy about that, I can tell you," he laughs. "Shall we go and see them?"

[Voshkod]

"Yes!," Averell says excitedly. A corpse, untouched by time, with a fresh heart. Turn that up and even Crowley might take notice. "Tell us about the saint, first. What's his story, who does he protect?"

[Xsesiv]

"Well, he was born round about 1450," says Philip. "He became a scholar, went to London, then Rouen, then Rome, then he led a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. On the way, he performed three verifiable miracles: he healed a dying man, tamed a storm and slept a night on stones sharp enough to cut wood. He was martyred in the Ottoman Empire in about 1515. Then he was reported as turning up in Montréal nearly two hundred years later, which piqued my interest, so to speak."

He gets up. "So, shall we go and see the body first, or the other finds?"

[Dark Seeker]

"Interesting," Ian ponders Philip's request, though not for long.

"Well we've come all this way, of course we'll help. Or at least, I will. I admit, this could be a remarkable discovery. Take us to the body, if you please." The doctor's interest has clearly been piqued by the possibility of a well preserved heart.

[Xsesiv]

Philip nods, leaves the room and heads to the kitchen, where the housekeeper is washing up the dinner things. He steps through into the walk-in cooler where a cloth lies over something, atop a pile of alternating layers of boards and blocks of slowly-dripping ice. Philip rolls back the cloth, and there it is: a scrawny, skeletal cadaver, its skin mottled yellow-orange through red-brown, as though it had been steeped in tea. The body is wearing one of Philip's surplices, which, when rolled back, reveals it to be eviscerated, with every organ in the torso missing, so that the spine is visible. The fingernails are too long, the incisor teeth savagely sharp and gumless and at the sides of the head, hair and skin have fused inextricably into a festering mass. A strip of desiccated skin seems to have come loose, for it actually dangles from the corpse's peculiarly long and hawkish nose, lying across the mouth and chin.

"Dried like a mummy," says Philip. "Perhaps because of the high saltiness of the soil," something in his voice letting on that he does not at all believe that mere salt is the preserving agent.

[Voshkod]

"My god," Averell says, leaning in close. "It's wonderful! Where's the heart?"

[Civil War Man]

Neil was already regretting coming. His unconscious mind knew that this visit would be unpleasant as soon as he read that Philip had become a priest. He took a dim view of the clergy, lumping them into the same category as the nobility and the wealthy. Didn't matter if it was riches, heredity, or divinity. It was all an excuse to elevate one's self over the rest of humanity, an excuse responsible for the deaths of millions even before the Great War.

The war opened Neil's eyes to the abuses perpetrated by the privileged, and so an old friend saying he lost his way and that he needed to have his hope and direction restored was insulting.

He was able to force himself not to express those views here. Neil knew that having that argument here and now would cause him to say something he would later regret, and he had enough soundness of mind to keep his mouth shut for now.

Neil looked at the mummy Philip showed them. The sight of a corpse dredged up unpleasant memories, but Neil was desensitized enough that the sight did not adversely affect him.

"Possibly," he said, in response to Philip's comments about the salt. "Back in Palestine, the heat, the wind, and the salt on some days would dry out the bodies so that sometimes you didn't even smell them. And they didn't undergo that process for centuries."

[Dark Seeker]

Ian looks at the body in awe. Even as a doctor, he was surprised by its state.

"It's certainly possible," He concedes. "Though I'll admit to finding its state most curious. Well preserved, for a 400 year old corpse. A miracle in itself." He chuckles.

"I must concur with Averell. I'm interested in seeing the state of the heart."

[littlebottom]

"this is... most interesting" Mortimer says sitting slightly further back from the body after a short look. "Salt in the soil you say? I do believe that is most unlikely. Unless there just happened to be all the right chemicals to embalm a body in the soil too." Mortimer still usure what to make of this yet

[Xsesiv]

Philip reverently covers up the corpse again and beckons. Grinning all the way, he passes through a few doors to a closet in which stands a heavy, free-standing safe, in steel plate and painted dark green, creamy vines stencilled on the front for decoration. About three feet high by two wide by one and a half deep, it has internal hinges, huge dials and a locking handle.

Philip leans in, spins the dials and opens the door, then withdraws a small plain silver box, greatly tarnished. Pausing a second so that all eyes are on his hands, he opens the box reverently, exposing a fairly fleshy heart, obviously human, the great veins and arteries neatly clipped away.

"By any worldly standard, it's impossible a heart could survive that well for a few days, let alone a few centuries," says Philip. He is painfully gleeful, ruthlessly emotional. It's quite disconcerting.

[Voshkod]

Averell stares at the heart in fascination. "It's beautiful. I've always wanted to see one outside . . . outside of the body," he adds hastily. His interest doesn't seem to be purely academic, more artistic. He reaches out to touch it. "Can't you see it beating?"

[Xsesiv]

Philip replaces the heart on the safe shelf and pulls out an octavo-size book. "This was in the corpse's hand." The dry brown leather covering the book's boards is cracked, and on the front has been stamped a plain golden circle, like a doughnut or a wheel. The binding is still strong, not even making a cracking noise when Philip opens the book to show the spotted but intact pages, unnumbered and written upon in an archaic hand. The letters are uncials rather than cursives, suggesting the book is old, contemporary with the Mediaeval binding, but the words are not Germanic, Italic, or Celtic.

"Recognise the language?" asks Philip, and when nobody does, he continues: "Don't worry, it took me a while, too. Late Coptic, but the letter-forms are British-Insular."

He closes the book and indicates the symbol on the cover. "The same symbol was engraved on the stone pillow in the tomb. I think the book is either a journal or a collection of dedications and meditations, but tonight I'm going to show it to my friend Robert Lowell. He's a bookshop keeper, and his knowledge of Coptic is good. Now, Ian. You take this," he says, handing over a tiny scrap of paper. "The safe combination. You can view the book tomorrow, but I'll be needing it tonight. Speaking of which," and he checks a pocket-watch and then starts, "I'm late. I'd like to show you the tomb, but I must be off. Excuse me. Madame d'Anjou's probably just taking your things to your rooms, but once she's finished, she can show you the basement." He tucks the book under one arm and rushes off, through a few doors and up a set of stairs. "Your rooms are up here, too," he calls.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian found himself stepping back involuntarily, stunned by the heart. Soon enough though his medical instincts take over, and he examines it in more detail.
He is quiet for a few moments, before he lets out a sigh of frustration. He turns to Philip, and frowns.

"This is most unusual, old friend. But I'm unable to figure out if it's truly miraculous or not. Even a doctor like myself does not see this sort of thing every day. I'm afraid you may need to ask for a better opinion then mine. Sorry to disappoint you.

He takes the offered safe combination. "I wish you the best of luck with Mr. Lowell. for our part, we'll look into the tomb, see if we can find anything. Though given my success so far..." He laughs, but it is slightly bitter.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer was left speachless after the heart, and only now has regained his composure "Hmm I think i may need a lie down after that one" Mortimer looks longingly up the stairs for a moment. "I think it was certainly worth the trip though so far."

[Voshkod]

"I think I need a drink. Or a smoke. Anyone?" Averell wanders off toward the kitchen to pour himself another glass of absinthe, or to dip his cigarette in a spot of opium. Anything to bring back the heart.

[Civil War Man]

While he was able to withstand the unpleasantness of the corpse, there was something about the heart that did not sit well with Neil. It was not the most gruesome thing he'd ever seen by a long shot, but there was some quality about it that left some vague dread lingering in the back of his mind.

He waited until Philip was gone before saying anything. I'm not so sure about this," he said in a low voice as Averell went off in search of a drink. "Something about this project is giving me a bad feeling. I can't shake the thought that there's something we're not being told."

[Dark Seeker]

Ian shared Neal's vague discomfort towards the heart, but steeled himself. This was important.

"You may very well be right, though it's not like Philip to keep things from us. Still, as strange as this whole thing is, as a doctor, I cannot dismiss it. Be it supernatural or just some strange medical occurrence, the notion of a fully preserved heart is something that I must continue to investigate. Think of the medical breakthroughs such a discovery would entail!

"That being said, there's no reason we can't ask a few questions to Madame d'Anjou. She may have some insights that prove useful."

[Xsesiv]

As if on cue, Madame d'Anjou enters, grumbling, with two kerosene lanterns and a no-nonsense air, but minus her embroidered apron. Again, despite never moving quickly, she doesn't stop moving for an instant. She hands over the kerosene lanterns, lights each of them with a match, and turns to leave. "The basement stairs are under the bell tower," she says, firmly, as she leaves, "and I'm off work for the rest of the night."

[Voshkod]

Averell was following Madame d'Anjou in the hope of finding some ice that wasn't stored in the same icebox as the body but, when she offers up laterns, he looks interested. "Old Philip was looking a bit too enthusiastic there, wasn't he? I'm worried about the old man. Perhaps we should take a jaunt down into the basement?"

[Dark Seeker]

"Sounds like a splendid idea," Replies Ian. He considers asking d'Anjou a few questions, but seeing her standoffish nature, decides to refrain.

"So. Everyone else up for a trip down to the basement?

[Xsesiv]

Descending the stairs to the basement, up wafts a dank, salty smell, alongside a sweetish foulness like putrefaction. The basement is muddy, entirely unfinished and unfurnished, and the foundations are clearly visible, but there is no obvious source for the rotting stink.

The tomb is under one of the deep foundations, but is really not so much a tomb as an arch, eight feet long and four tall, of crumbling red brickwork. This humble resting place has no floor nor front nor back wall to it. It's impossible that the masons who dug the foundations did not notice it, because the foundation arches over it to compensate. However, nobody seems to have disturbed it.

At one end of the tomb is a carved stone pillow, about two inches thick by a foot in diameter. The middle is indented with a carved tassel, and the words 'James of Andrews' are crudely scratched on. In the middle are faint dark stains that could be from red wine or blood, and around the bottom of the pillow snake sinuous natural forms: waves, leaves? Tentacles? It's hard to be sure.

[Voshkod]

"Quaint," Averell says. With his small size, he has no real difficulty climbing into the tomb. He closely examines the pillow and thinks back to the many books he's read on the occult for references to "James of Andrews," "Saint Cutis", or the symbols carved around the base of the pillow.

Occult 85: [roll0]

[littlebottom]

"This is highly intriuging, the builders must of known about this tomb, maybe this building was built here because of the tomb? Maybe they tried to hide it but didnt want to destroy it?"

[Dark Seeker]

Ian is struck by the tomb.

" Pay no attention to that rotting smell. It's not unusual to smell something like that in an area like this."

"Most fascinating. So this is the alleged saint. If only I could figure out what these symbols represent. Averell, have you found anything?

[littlebottom]

"I'm sure we wont find anything that hasnt already been noticed, but its worth a look" Mortimer begins looking around the tomb in more detail, looking for carvings or perhaps a sliding panel or the like.

spot? [roll0]

[Xsesiv]

About this point, there is a loud creak from the door at the head of the stairs, and then some heavy but very furtive-sounding footsteps can be heard beginning to descend the stairwell. From the quality of the sound of the footsteps, they are made by a heavy person in heavy boots: not Philip or Madame d'Anjou.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer backs off a little uncertain as to who this new arrival was and not wanting to be the one to introduce himself first in a basement where as far as he was concerned there shouldnt be anyone new able to get in.

[Civil War Man]

For the most part, Neil stayed out of the way as the others investigated the tomb. He could have been of more help had he continued his education. But since he did not, he recognized that he was out of his field.

He started when the door suddenly creaked open. As the heavy footsteps descended the stairs, Neil backed off into one of the deeper shadows in the tomb.

[Dark Seeker]

Startled by the sound, Ian finds himself attempting to blend into the shadows of the room as well. The large man's size works against him, and he presents quite an awkward sight.

[Voshkod]

Already inside the arch of the tomb, Averell tries to duck down behind the brickwork.

[Xsesiv]

The person descends the stairs, revealing himself to be a short, heavy man in his late thirties with huge hands. He is dressed as a worker with heavy boots and sweatstained checked jacket. Dark-haired, dark-eyed and partly balding, he spots Mortimer, then freezes and collapses in a foetal ball, rolling the rest of the way down the stairs to the muddy floor. He appears to be quite frightened, because he screams and shouts incoherently and relentlessly.

[Voshkod]

The tension suddenly broken, Averell starts to laugh uncontrollably. "It's . . . like . . . vaudeville," he says through his cackling.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian rushes to the distressed man's aid, but it quickly becomes apparent to him that the poor fellow is lost in the midst of hysteria.

"Please, calm down. I'm a doctor, I'm here to help." He pleads, looking at the rest of the group for help.

[Xsesiv]

The man, shrieking and howling horribly, looks wildly around the group until Ian's words sink in, which takes well over half a minute. "Doctor? Un médecin?" he asks, from the floor. He takes a long, hard look at the people in the cellar. Seemingly satisfied, he still seems fairly emotionally disturbed, sobbing as he mutters more words. "J'avais pensé que vous étiez eux, les hommes dans mes rêves."

The rest of the story comes out quickly then, in a torrent of French. Towards the end, he waves his hands, held firmly in half-closed fists, in front of his face. He breaks down into tears and spends a time weeping, and then finishes.

French:
The Workman: "A doctor?
I thought you were them, the men in my dreams."
The Workman's Story: We were digging out this basement, so that a new floor could be laid and we could take the steps out of the belltower. When we came upon the tomb we thought it was an old sewer, so we began at once to dig out the earth within and to break up the brick. Then we unearthed the feet. We all jumped and swore and crossed ourselves to see those dried bony things sticking out of the wall like little brown logs.

Of course, we went to see the Father, for we knew that old tombs sometimes harbour evil as well as disease. But he laughed, and said "This is not a place of evil. Look you, these are the remains of a saint!" But what saint he would not say, or rather said that the Church must decide that.

So we dug the saint's corpse out, and cleaned the mud from his body. How he had not come to rot I cannot say. A saint was buried there, and God willed that his body should survive the mud and the worms. Not like us! God will not smile so on us!

Whoever had buried him had opened the body and taken away his guts and his lungs. Instead, inside the centre of the body lay a silver casket. It was me who took it out. I thought to myself as I lifted it out, ah! Money! I was feeling jolly, sure that the Father would pay us a bonus for the find. Like a fool, I opened the box. No riches there, alas, but a human heart. It was so fresh that we gasped, thinking that the Father was amusing himself with us. When I took it in my hands, it was as though a lightning had passed through me. I put the heart in its box, and ran away, outside, into the sun.

Beginning right then, my hands began to curl. You see them the way they are now? They are like claws. I can no longer straighten them. I can no longer work. I am a cripple because I violated God's sanctity, the sanctity of the pure of heart! I, I, a boastful man! I touched the heart of a saint, and now it's killing me!

The Workman's Conclusion: My dreams have been invaded lately by groups of men. The men have eyes of fire. They are lost souls like myself, aren't they, Doctor? They've come to kill me in my sleep, and to take me down to hell with them, with the other damned.

[Voshkod]

"Did anyone get any of that?" Averell asks. The man's obvious terror has dampened his high spirits.

[Dark Seeker]

The man's story spills out in rapid fire French, and Ian struggles to understand it all. He hears enough however, and despite being a man of reason, it fills him with a strange terror.

He addresses the man in imperfect but understandable French.

"Calm down, sir. Perhaps if we put the heart back, your troubles will cease. On my word, I'll talk to Philip when he returns, and try to convince him to return the heart to its rightful resting place. Do not worry."

In truth, the workman's story only further intrigues Ian. Whatever this heart was, he wants to understand it before there was any possibility of him returning it.

[Xsesiv]

The man doesn't reply. Instead, he returns to his foetal state, curled up on the floor, yelling and screeching in a most disturbing manner. He's very upset, worse than before, and he doesn't pay Ian's words any reply, acknowledge that they were spoken at all, or even give any indication that he believes anyone else is in the room.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian sighs. If only he still had his doctor's bag, he could give the man something. But that was in his room.
He turns to the others. "He's in quite bad shape," he clarifies helpfully. "He claims that he touched the heart and God cursed him for it. Help me get him upstairs, and I'll fetch him a drink to calm his nerves."

[littlebottom]

"Come on friend, lets get you upstairs" Mortimer doesnt really know french and doesnt bother to attempt it.

Mortimer will try to support him as he goes up the stairs, if he refuses to move Mortimer will help carry him if needs be.

[Xsesiv]

The man refuses to move an inch of his own volition and has to be half-carried, half-dragged up the stairs, bellowing and bawling in terror all the way. Once upstairs, he returns to his prior attitude, curled up in a ball on the floor. He refuses to drink anything unless it's physically forced down his throat, and appears to be almost catatonic.

[littlebottom]

"i think it best if we fetch philip." Mortimer suggests. "anyone know how to get to the bookshop?" he asks slightly hopefully but knowing the likely answer

[Voshkod]

Averell follows behind the others. "I may have something that would calm him down," he says. "It's . . . ah . . . recreational, but I'm sure it would help."

[Dark Seeker]

Ian contemplates Averell's suggestion. "It's worth a try I suppose. But before we do that, my medical bag should be upstairs. Perhaps I can fetch something out of it to aid the poor soul?" Ian asks, before venturing off.

Returning within a few moments, Ian searches for anything he has that could potentially assist the man.

[Xsesiv]

Ian's got a variety of sedatives, but given the man's self-imposed nil-by-mouth policy some are ruled out, and of the rest few would be strong enough to have much effect when he's in such a chronic state of nervous anxiety. Opiates like morphine might work, but the overpowering amount needed to overcome his fright might result in knocking him unconscious or causing a deadly overdose rather than just calming him down. It's up to Ian whether he tries anything, but it would probably be best to get him to hospital.

The man continues to blubber and wail.

Nobody was told where the bookshop was, nobody knows its name, and Mortimer soon finds out that Robert Lowell is ex-directory.

[Dark Seeker]

"Damn it, I don't have anything that I'd feel comfortable giving him." Ian says. "There are a few things that would relax him, but with his current condition they might cause an overdose. The best thing we can do is get him some more intensive care at a hospital."

If no one objects, the doctor will look for a phone and a number for the nearest hospital. He'll explain the situation and ask them to send an ambulance.

[Xsesiv]

Before too long, an ambulance turns up outside and two burly men step out. Knowing the situation, they don't bother to ask stupid questions. Lifting the nigh-catatonic man and dumping him into the back of it, they give all the necessary hellos and goodbyes, but seem somewhat less interested than they could be.


_______


The telephone rings about nine that evening.

[littlebottom]

In the vain hoping that the person at the other end may speak English, Mortimer picks up the phone "Hello, who's calling?"

[Xsesiv]

"Me, Céline LaVoie," is the answer.

"We're all going out this evening, as a thank-you for the train incident," says Céline, laughingly. "We're going to my favourite nightspot, le Bistro d'Or. I'm not listening to any argument. I don't care what you say, it's too late to say no; the limousine's already on its way. My brother Stéphane will be there too, in case you're interested in meeting him. Oh, and there's a dress code. Tuxedos and evening gowns. If you don't have anything, tell the driver, and he'll swing by one of my father's clothing stores for something to throw on."

[littlebottom]

"Why, that would be most wonderful! Thank you very much, We look forward to seeing you again, I will just relay the message to everybody, We will see you later tonight." Mortimer smiles to himself somewhat as he puts the phone down "Celine LaVoie just called. Were all going out. Get your tux's on... or evening gowns... and if you havnt got any, the limo driver will take us to get some."

[Dark Seeker]

"After the stressful day we've had, a night on the town would be most welcome." Says Ian. "Let me get my suit, and I'll be ready to go."

He returns a few moments later, looking dapper and dignified. At least he hopes so.

[Civil War Man]

"I'll get right on that," said Neil, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "I never go anywhere without making sure I have my nicest evening gown packed."

[Voshkod]

"And I bet you look cute in it too," Averell says to Neil. "I, on the other hand, brought a white tux that should work just fine." He heads off to change.

[Xsesiv]

The limousine arrives some five minutes after Mortimer's hung up. The driver, when prompted, pulls into a clothier's, franchised by McTanish. After a quick spot of emergency tailoring, the limousine races off to le Bistro d'Or to make up for lost time.

A group of newly-suited visitors from America motors up ritzy Crescent Street to the club, where the limo brakes to a halt. The driver gets out, opens the doors for his charges and escorts the group up to the door, past a short queue of complaining would-be patrons, and exchanges a few French words with a large man with gleaming epaulettes, who looks the party over, salutes and opens the oak door.

The foyer is simply decorated with a strip of scarlet carpet leading to a coat check. To the right, a set of double doors leads to the main hall, from which emanates a din of voices and jazz. Stairs lead up on the left, but today that has been closed off by a red velvet barricade hooked in front of it. "If you've got anything you shouldn't, this is your last chance to say so," drawls one of two men performing a frisk search.

[Dark Seeker]

As Ian had not brought his rifle, he says nothing. He dislikes being frisked, but is hardly going to argue over it.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer hasnt brought any kind of weapon or such with him at all, although he suspects that a thorough frisk would take longer on himself than his other companions.

[Voshkod]

"Surely Ms. LaVoie's guests don't need to undergo such an indignity," Averell says. "We saved her life today, after all. I'm sure she hasn't forgotten it."

Persuade 45 = [roll0]

[Xsesiv]

"Mademoiselle LaVoie doesn't run this place, and everyone gets checked," says the frisker, unfazed. "I distinctly recall checking her for guns earlier this evening, too. Please hand over whatever it is you've got and raise your arms like so, sir."

[littlebottom]

"I would be careful what you say "distincly remember frisking her" could sound something like "enjoyed fondling her earlier" just some friendly advice" Mortimer slightly annoyed at the guard, Mortimer knows he is only doing his job, but the way he says it is like he does more than his job entails (or the law allows)

[Voshkod]

"I'm not hiding anything," Averell says, stepping forward. "And don't enjoy yourself too much, OK?"

[Civil War Man]

Neil raised him arms without protest, and for the first time in the entire trip had an amused smirk on his face. "No point in fighting it, boyos," he said. "Many people attempt to raise themselves above everyone else, using any excuse from money to heredity to some divine mandate. But the fact that they require this shows that no matter how meticulously they construct their bubble, they still know fear. And there is nothing they fear more than one angry person or group of people, destroying in an instant the power they foolishly believe is theirs by right."

[Xsesiv]

The bouncer doesn't appear offended in the least, having recieved the same argument in less articulate terms many times before.

Before too long, a slender, red-haired waiter arrives. "Allow me to escort you to your table," he mumbles. "Mademoiselle LaVoie is waiting." As he pushes open the double doors, the music, conversation and chatter wash out once again, like a wave. The main hall is packed to bursting, the bar and dance floor thronged with affluent businesspeople and young dilettantes, the people who put the roar into the Twenties. The war long past, they are living in a present so satisfying that nobody can imagine that the future can ever be as important.

With a crash, the big band on the right of the stage finishes a syncopated number. The crowd does not clear from the floor, instead they stand there and applaud. The Golden Five-Star Band rewards them with a trendy song, and the dancers hop on it.

Women enjoy their postwar independence, dancing up and down the floor with free-flowing flourish. The length of evening gown is short, just below the knee, to go with bobbed hair and Parisian cigarette cases. Young men slide along with them, collars open and hair slicked back. It's a typical wild night at le Bistro.

The waiter ushers his group up a short flight of stairs to the upper deck. To the right, the whole horseshoe-shaped bar can be taken in, to the left is the stage, band on the right and piano on the left, and right ahead is the dance floor and a number of stage-side tables with green velvet tablecloths, crowded by dynamic-looking people, all smoking and drinking away.

Front and centre, Céline LaVoie sits at a large table alone, except for several bottles of fine champagne in the middle of the table. "Welcome," she says, a huge and distinctly non-feminine grin cracking her face. "Have a drink," and she rotates the bottles of champagne so that everyone can see the labels and choose the one they prefer.

"You're here as my guests tonight. Are you hungry? Would you like to dance? Everything here is yours. That's my brother, Stéphane, over there, by the way," she continues, pointing at the bar, where stand a group of three men, two older and short with their faces away from the table, wearing rented tuxedos, one younger, tallish and thinnish, wearing a finely-tailored olive Italian suit, thick black hair cut close to his head and with fine cheekbones. "The young one," and she waves to him.

[Civil War Man]

Neil was slightly disappointed that the bouncer didn't take the bait. A good brawl would have gotten the blood pumping, and that one in particular looked like he might have been a fun challenge.

"I probably could have told you that," he said to Céline as he tilted one of the bottles to inspect the label. "I haven't met too many people who would wear clothes cheaper than what they give a random Mick thug they pick up off the street.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian clears his throat nervously.

"Thank you for the invitation, Madam LaVoie. I trust you've had no other probelms since the train?" It concerned Ian that the perpetrator was still out there. He'd not feel truly secure until the man was caught.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, no, I've been quite alright," she says, smiling. "I can't see anyone with any sense at all trying to attack me at home."

Stéphane is now walking towards the table casually, having broken off from a conversation that looked to have been turning dull and handed a note to the band leader. "Hello, all," he says, casually, and unlike his sister, his accent has no touch of French in it. He pours himself a glass of champagne. "Thank you for helping Céline on the train."

The band comes to a stop, the dancers applaud, and the band leader shouts out "The next song will be a waltz," which effectively changes the dancers from younger to older, quieting the din of voices, syncopated music and stamping feet.

"So, what do you all do, and why are you here in Montréal?" continues Stéphane.

[Voshkod]

Averell settles into his chair, orders "one of everything" just to see what shows up. "Ms. LaVoie, you make us feel welcome in Canada. Quite a night, from tomb tourism to this fine club."

"What do I do, sir?" he replies to Stephane. "I, sir, am a professional wastral, part-time dabbler in dark magic, and a casual expert in the admiration of beautiful women."

[Dark Seeker]

"Ian Winters. A pleasure to meet you," the doctor replies to Stéphane.

"I'm a doctor. My friends and I are visiting our dear friend, Father Philip Mcbridge. Perhaps you've heard of him? He does seem to have garnered some local interest."

[Xsesiv]

"I see," says Stéphane, glancing over at the dance floor every now and again. "Unfortunately, I've not had the pleasure."

[littlebottom]

"I'm Mortimer. I am a highly successful stock broker. By highly successful, i mean i havn't gone out of business yet, and ive been doing it for quite a long time, most people dont even last a week playing the stock market."

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, yes, certainly. It's a case of education, if you ask me. People don't fully understand what they are getting into."

The band slows its waltz, which has been very brief, down to a stop. The dancers change over again, and waiters rush in towards the tables, creating further congestion. A saxophone player wipes his brow, then looks intently to the floor. "Un couteau!" he shouts, pointing, but nobody acts in time as a nondescript man pulls out a fighting knife from his cummerbund and shoves it into the lower back of a big, fat anglophone. The anglophone, middle-aged, hugely tall and in a white suit and with white hair and moustache, looks disturbingly like a photo-negative of Mortimer. The fat man's scream is lost in the panic, as the assailant grabs his hair, rips out the knife and stabs at him again. The foyer doors burst open as Montréal's élite burst forth, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

Stéphane, not evidencing any alarm, stands and takes Céline by the arm, saying calmly but loudly, "I think we should leave." The LaVoies walk over to the bar, avoiding the dance floor, where an enormous mêlée has erupted. Four large bouncers with similarly large clubs emerge from behind the stage and wade in, swinging left and right. It's hard to tell sides, but two groups are definitely fighting – and it's not distinctly francophones versus anglophones.

French:The Saxophonist: "Knife!"

[littlebottom]

Mortimer nods, and files out after celine and stephane staying out of the fights if possible.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian raises an eyebrow. Once again, Céline seemed to attract danger, while being eerily calm in the face of it. There was something off about her and her brother, Ian was sure of it.

The doctor rises and moves after Mortimer. Tending to the wounded would be impossible until the brawl died down.

[Xsesiv]

Strolling down the right stairs, Stéphane and Céline soon reach the bar, where Stéphane opens a trap in the floor, which presumably leads to a beer cellar. Céline scrambles down. "Come on," says Stéphane, indicating the trapdoor. "Hurry."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer follows the instructions (assuming he can fit down the trap door)

[Voshkod]

"Well, hell, this night keeps getting better and better," Averell says. He follows into the basement.

[Civil War Man]

"Certainly came prepared," said Neil. "Do you often get murders and brawls at this club?"

[Dark Seeker]

Ian heads into the basement, suspicion still nagging at him. He finds himself wishing he had brought his rifle.

[Xsesiv]

The majority of the group gets down the ladder, but Neil's hesitation is enough for Stéphane to disappear down the ladder and slam it behind him, leaving him alone in a room with a large fight, large bouncers and, soon, large police.


_______


Beneath the confusion of upstairs, the well-lit cellar leads through a hall to a second, large cellar where rack upon rack of wine bottles gleam. There is a locked door to under the stage and a staircase leading up to the kitchen, but Stéphane chooses the third door, opposite the first, which leads to a hall that ends abruptly at a set of stairs to a door into an alleyway, parelleling a loading chute.

Out in the alleyway, a bare lightbulb illuminates a few feet but the rest is cloaked in darkness. One of the ends is a dead end, the other comes out onto the street, and it is from the latter end that Stéphane and Céline, dismayingly, are being forced back towards the door by two thugs, both of them with clubs. From the basement emerge four more thugs, all with clubs except for one. Weaselly-looking and fairly small compared to the others, in this man's hand glints a knife, and he wears an incongruous blue blazer for his dirty work.

Seeing that they have their quarries surrounded in the dead-end alleyway, the thugs slow down and confidently surround the group. The small man with the knife puts the blade to his lips and kisses it. "That was a very nasty thing you did back there, LaVoie," says he. "Stupid, too. You got the wrong man; William wasn't our leader. Our leader's safe from you. We know what you are up to, and not only can you not win this war now, you never could have done."

With that, they move in. Céline demonstrates astounding agility by leaping up and grabbing the bottom of a low-hanging fire escape, swinging over the two thugs from the alley and landing in the darkness behind them; these two turn and Stéphane barrels into them, and all go tumbling into the surrounding gloom. The remaining four thugs heft their clubs at the remainder of the group.

[Civil War Man]

"Screw you, too, you spoiled little ****," Neil muttered under his breath, testing the trapdoor to see if Stéphane locked it behind him.

[Dark Seeker]

"Wait a second, let's just talk..."

Ian can't even get through his plea before the thug with the knife swings at him. He just narrowly misses the doctor. Seeing the time for negotiation has passed, the Doctor retaliates with a punch of his own, but the goon easily sidesteps it.

[Voshkod]

Averell doesn't wait around for clubs. He turns and runs for the open end of the alley after Celine.

[Xsesiv]

The trapdoor comes open easily. It was probably more a case of Stéphane not wanting to be followed than slamming the trapdoor in Neil's face out of spite.


_______

Out in the alleyway, Mortimer crumples to the ground by the pair of thugs attacking him. The first cracks him viciously across the skull, the other jabs him in the enormous belly even as he falls. These two then move to help Averell's thug prevent him from leaving, one saying "Oh, no, you don't.". The thug that had been fighting Averell is suddenly knocked to the ground from behind by a vast black Newfoundland dog. The dog makes a quick snap with its jaws, severing the man's jugular, then launches itself at the smaller man with the knife, who swings it wildly but is unable to stop the dog tearing out his throat with one savage bite.

The remaining four thugs drop their clubs, which clatter on the cobblestones and run away, down the alley or back into the cellar. All is quiet and dripping blood, as in the distance, police sirens approach.

The dog, stepping softly, backs away until it is half-in and half-out of the light, the shaggy fur of its head and feet matted with blood. As it studies the group they can clearly see that the small man's knife left a long gash right through the creature's left eye.


_______

Neil comes out into a wine cellar with a staircase to the kitchen, a locked door to under the stage, and a set of steps which parellel a loading chute and lead to another door. Two tuxedo-clad thugs burst out of the latter door and down the stairs, making a break for the stairway to the kitchen.

[Dark Seeker]

Just when things look their bleakest, the arrival of the large dog saves the da.y Though Ian is accustomed to seeing some degree of grisly violence, even he flinches when the dog tears out the two thugs throats.

It is then that he catches sight of Mortimer, laid out on the ground and bleeding heavily. The doctor goes to work immediately, desperate to save his companions life. Thankfully, he's able to stop the bleeding.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer comes to, still dazed heavily "Where am i? Is everyone okay?" Mortimer slowly tries to get to his feet, but fails somewhat still feeling dizzy, he succeeds in only sitting up.

[Dark Seeker]

"Don't strain yourself friend," Ian replies. "We were attacked by thugs. I think we're all okay, though I'm not sure where Neil is. But you took quite a beating. Just rest for right now."

Getting up, Ian spots the dog, it's eye wounded savagely. Though he's not a veterinarian, Ian approaches it slowly, eager to help it if he can.

[Xsesiv]

The dog snarls viciously at Ian, growling and exposing teeth red with blood. Then, it suddenly looks back towards the street and lopes off in the direction from which it came. It seems to have passed by the LaVoies without paying them any attention, because the two walk into the light. Rather, Céline walks, helping Stéphane to stand. Stéphane is in his shirtsleeves, the coat of his tuxedo wrapped tightly around his arm and dripping with blood. "Help me to the limousine, please," says Céline. "Stéphane's very weak, he just wants to get to the family doctor as soon as possible."

[Civil War Man]

Neil saw no reason to try to impede the thugs from fleeing to their destination. He stepped back to one of the shelves in the wine cellar to afford them a clear path to the staircase. He nonchalantly picked up one of the bottles from its spot on the shelf and inspected the label as they ran past, though truly he only picked one at random in case either of the thugs got it in their head to try and give him trouble.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian helps Mortimer to his feet if he requires it, before heading towards Céline and her brother.

"I am a doctor," he repeats. "If you'll allow it, I could take a look at you once we get to the car."

After they reply, he continues. "With all due respect, I want some answers. This is the second time you've been attacked madam, and these thugs seemed to indicate you knew it would happen. What's going on here? We deserve to know, being caught in the middle of it."

[littlebottom]

Mortimer thanks Ian for his help, feelings slightly better now after a moments rest. "Thank you for a lovely evening that got stopped before it even really began and almost killed me." Mortimer says slightly shuck up still from the event. "But in all seriousness, how can you live life so casually with people who are willing to kill always around the corner?"

[Voshkod]

Averell is having some problems processing the situation. He meekly follows Celine to the limo.

[Xsesiv]

"No offense meant, Doctor, but I'd really rather see the family physician," mutters Stéphane.

Céline hustles her brother into the limousine and then gives a few words to the driver of a taxi cab. "This cab will take you back to the church," she says. "I'm sorry about all this. Please, please don't mention it to anyone. I'm so sorry for dragging you all into it, but there's more involved than you realise."

She moves over to her limo and pauses. "My father's probably in a better position to tell you about it all," she continues. "If you want to know more, come to Mount Royal Cemetery tomorrow. My grandfather's funeral finishes at two and then I can take you to see my father. He'll clarify a few things, and he might have a proposition for you, too." She gets into the limousine and it sweeps away.

[Civil War Man]

( I assume the thugs ran to the stairs without trying to bother with Neil. )

Neil watched the thugs turn and run up the stairs without giving him so much as a second glance. When he was sure they were gone, he stepped back into the room and glanced at the doors. It appeared that the door the thugs came from was the way out, but he couldn't be too sure if they were running to the stairs or running from whatever was outside.

Still clutching the wine bottle, Neil crept towards the exit, keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

[Voshkod]

"I don't know about you fellows, but I really like that girl," Averell says. "The nicest rail car, the hipster clubs, and now an invitation to a funeral! Let's get out of here."

[littlebottom]

"Lets just get back first before anything else happens" Mortimer gets in the cab not wanting to stay any longer, and wanting to rest from his injuries.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian frowns, but the promise of answers soon to come placates him.

"That sounds good. Perhaps I can patch you up more once we get back to the church, if you require it."

[Voshkod]

"Uh, before we go," Averell says, standing next to the cab. "Has anyone seen that Irish Red that was with us?"

[Xsesiv]

Said Irish Red doesn't take long to leave the alleyway, and the cab zips back to the church. On arrival, there can be heard the familiar clicking of several horses' hooves approaching from up the road. Then, there is the tall, gaunt coachman again, driving his carriage into view. He calls the horses to a halt under a streetlight and stares fixedly at the taxi disgorging its passengers. Suddenly, he shakes his head significantly, whips his horses into a trot, and heads off into the night.


_______


That was a long, exhausting day, so it's not till late the next morning that McBride's investigators are awoken by a strong scent of coffee. The breakfast table, when they assemble, is set with crêpes, a pot of strong, black coffee, a jug of rich maple syrup, the morning papers in French and English and two notes. One reads:

Gone to do daily parish duties; house calls and suchlike. Didn't want to disturb you. Back soon.

Philip.

The other:

Céline LaVoie called: her father's agreed to explain. Come to Mount Royal Cemetery at 1297 de la Forêt Outremont for 2 p.m., follow LaVoie cars to mansion for discussion.

[Voshkod]

"We have a bit of time, then, before we're expected at the party. By which I mean funeral, of course." Averell sips the coffee with a queasy stomach. "Anyone up for a trip to the library? See if we can find a decent English-language library in this French-benighted city to do a bit of research about our saint with an always-fresh heart, and maybe about the LaVoie clan?"

[Dark Seeker]

"An excellent idea Averell," replies Ian. "I'm not sure how much I trust Celine or her brother. Best to learn more about them before we meet with them on their turf. At the very least, learn what shady character's they may be involved with.

"No matter what though, I'm not going anywhere without this," He motions to his medicine bag, and the weapon within. "Last night was far too close to death for my liking."

[littlebottom]

"I for one would like to atleast hear this, also i would like to meet her father, i have heard much about him." Mortimer just voicing his opinion

[Civil War Man]

"Well, if we plan on showing up after this funeral, we'll probably only have time to look up one, and I doubt digging up any significant information on the saint is something you can do over elevenses."

[Voshkod]

"You know, chaps, they have these fellows at librarians, called librarians, I think. Bored, tragically underpaid, but quite bright, some of them." Averell takes another crepe. "We go to the University, research the LaVoie's ourselves, and give one of these marvellous chaps a few quid to do the research on the Saint for us. Then we pick it up after the funeral."

[Civil War Man]

"That's probably not a good idea," said Neil. "Until we know more about what's going on with that heart, I think we should try to involve as few people as possible. Despite what Philip said, after seeing that worker panic the way he did in the tomb last night, I'm not convinced that there aren't people out there who would do whatever necessary to stop all research regarding this saint."

[Dark Seeker]

"I'm inclined to agree with Neil," Ian offers. "Philip wants us to keep this quiet. Bringing more attention to the heart's existence might attract attention we'd rather avoid. Also, until we can be sure of the effect it has on people, it may be better to inform no one else about it."

[Xsesiv]

The library's newspaper and magazine archives turn up much about the LaVoies; in fact there's a funeral notice in today's paper.
LaVOIE, LUCIEN
Released in Royal Victoria Hospital from an illness of some length, attended by and dear father to Jean-Claude and Jacques, beloved grandfather to Stéphane and Céline, kindly uncle to Hugh, who implore the blessings of Our Lord Jesus Christ upon Lucien. A private graveside service for family and invited friends to be held this afternoon. Observances in Lucien's name may be made to charitable institutions.
On the other hand, there's nothing there about what happened at le Bistro d'Or last night.

As for the other LaVoies:

Jean-Claude LaVoieJean-Claude LaVoie has a reputation as a cunning, ruthless businessman. If he has any weaknesses, nobody knows what they are. Rumour has it that he keeps several mistresses, but if that is true, they are very private affairs. Nobody has seen him in public with any woman except Céline, his daughter, or Nadia, his wife and the mother of Stéphane and Céline, who died giving birth to the latter. By all accounts he mourned her loss deeply.Jacques LaVoieJacques LaVoie is known as a stupid, ineffectual man, and rumoured to have been in trouble with the Caprice crime family in the Chicago Mob. His son Pierre was poised to take over McTanish after the death of Jacques and Jean-Claude, but six years ago Pierre disappeared; a year after that, Jacques' wife Johanna left him, and Jacques began to drink heavily. Since then, he's not been up to much.Stéphane LaVoieStéphane, if anything, is even more cunning and cool than his father. Nobody has ever seen him cry, shout, or stumble over words. He is being primed to take over McTanish, and has gained a reputation as a modest, witty speaker who thinks quickly and deeply, a potential provincial or dominion leader. He has a widely-quoted faith in the enduring evil and destructive nature of mankind, famously having predicted that a second Great War with Germany is inevitable, and it is speculated that when he takes over McTanish he will expand into munitions, but for that he must wait for the death or approval of both his father and Jacques, the latter well-known to deeply dislike him.Céline LaVoieCéline is easily the most famous LaVoie, having made a name for herself as a Broadway actress. Her dazzling romances are well-recorded but her public comportment is impeccable. When she's not acting, she returns to Montréal to donate money and time to charities helping the poor. To many, she is the only LaVoie, very highly regarded and deferred to by every social class as the embodiment of Québécois vitality and femininity.Hugh LaVoieWho is this? There's nothing about anyone called Hugh LaVoie in any of the papers or magazines.

Averell's unable to find any paper trail related to James of Andrews or Saint Cutis, except for a basic overview in Francis X. McDowell's Petals of the Rose of God: the Handy Reader's Guide to the Lives of the Saints.

A Holy Life

St. Cutis was born in England in 1458. Christened James, his parents died when he was young, and he was brought up in the Holy Heart of Mary Orphanage. The name Andrews apparently marks his place of birth in London, near St. Andrew's Cross. At age thirteen, he was adopted by one Hatum Cutis, who became James' guardian and tutor until the young scholar took priestly vows at the age of twenty.

He was now as often Cutis as James, taking his guardian's family name as a first name. His energy, intelligence and piety won him quick influence in London and then in Rouen, France, and then finally in Rome. In 1509, while on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, he performed three miracles; that of healing a dying man, that of calming a storm, and that of sleeping on razor-sharp stones to confound the mockey of unbelievers. He returned to England, where a small cultus formed in his favour. In 1516, he gain entered the Ottoman Empire and is thought to there have been martyred for the Faith. He was beatified in 1547 and canonised in 1591.

That he died a martyr no doubt helped his case for sainthood, but his life also provides evidence of the necessary qualities, as affirmed by the Holy See: a reputation for sanctity, heroic virtue, and proof that he worked at least two miracles.

After this, search though he might, Averell simply doesn't have time to turn up anything more credible from records of the time.

[Voshkod]

"Bah," Averell says, closing the book in a cloud of dust. "Waste of time. We'd best get to the funeral."

[Xsesiv]

It's a twenty-minute cab ride and then a ten-minute walk through the flourishing green graveyard to the side of the grave.

Thirty or so black-clad mourners stand around a newly-dug grave, headed by a priest who says a blessing in Latin and then falls into silence. And there he is: Jean-Claude LaVoie in a plain blue suit. The man, the myth, the multimillionaire.

He stands to the coffin's right, beside a massive pile of overturned dirt. Loud sobs wrack his body, while his son, Stéphane, tightly squeezes his right hand and struggles to hold back his own tears, having changed his Italian suit for one identical other than being not olive, but black. Céline is weeping freely and hugging Jean-Claude's left arm, wearing an enormous black hat. He matches neither of them in build. Where Stéphane is tall and thin and Céline small, Jean-Claude is of average height but looks muscular and very fit physically. His hair is black, touched with grey at the temples, and he has a classic Gallic nose.

A few dry old dead leaves are picked up by the wind and carried to rest on the lowering coffin. The coffin hits the bottom of the grave, the gravediggers begin to fill it in, the funeral ends and the mourners walk to their automobiles. Céline helps her still weeping father, while Stéphane scans the cemetery, looking removed.

[Voshkod]

The display of raw emotion repels Averell. He watches while keeping his distance, waiting for the ceremony to end, for these people to get control of themselves again.

[Dark Seeker]

Having seen his fair share of grief, Ian is able to detach himself from the event. His eyes scan the crowd as he wait patiently for the service to end.

When it does, he approaches the lost looking Stéphane. "I'm sorry for your loss," he offers, likely unhelpfully.

[Xsesiv]

"Thank you," mutters Stéphane, who seems to Ian to be uncommonly wary and agitated.

Averell notices that Lucien LaVoie's other son Jacques isn't here. Mortimer, Ian and Neil look in a certain direction for a second or two, and there is a large, black Newfoundland dog, tongue lolling out and tail wagging, on a hill in the graveyard. Seeing it's been spotted, it chases its tail for a few seconds, then sits and looks back at the group, still wagging its tail and lolling its tongue out.

[littlebottom]

"Awwww, Isn't he... or she, sweet." Mortimer comments looking at the dog chasing its tail, not remembering much about the attack being as he was out cold for most of it.

[Dark Seeker]

"Is anything wrong?" Ian asks, not liking the paranoia Stéphane displays in front of them. "Did the thugs come back?"

He glances to the side, spotting the dog. It looked rather similar to the one from last night, but what significance did it have? Ian will decide to try approaching it cautiously a second time. The doctor will mutter kind words and attempt to calm the dog into letting him pet it.

"Such a cutie wootie. You want to be scratched behind the ears, pup?"

[Xsesiv]

"No, never mind about it," says Stéphane, unhelpfully.

The dog allows Ian to stroke it, which is decidedly odd behaviour for a dog which has, it turns out, a long gash right through its left eye. The gash appears, on closer inspection, to have closed cleanly, as though disinfected and stitched, and seems well on its way along the healing process.

After it recieves the promised scratch behind the ears, it bounds ahead a short distance, stops and looks back. It clearly wants to be followed.

[Voshkod]

"Ah. The dog," Averell says. "The one that saved my life last night." He shakes his head. "Never thought I'd say that." He starts to follow the hound.

[Dark Seeker]

Seeing how unhelpful Stéphane is being, and having nothing better to do, Ian follows the dog who saved them last night.

[Civil War Man]

Neil had not approached the family after the funeral. He had assumed that, when they were ready to explain things, they would let him know.

The others seemed to have put that out of their minds, for now, to pay attention to the large dog that was hanging about. He was not there when the Newfoundland showed up last night, but he was told on the way back as everyone recapped the night's events. If the others were intent on following the dog, he would accompany them.

[Xsesiv]

The Newfoundland leads its friends around the graveyard until the mourners have all left the graveside, then it returns and scrabbles at the headstone, which reads:


LUCIEN LaVOIE
1832-1923
L'ours avec trois jambes indique la bonne voie
Fais jamais un bol grimacer
Car le corbeau ne restera pas.

Its mission apparently accomplished, the dog lopes away.

French:The Epitaph:

The three-legged bear points the way
Never make a bowl frown
Lest the raven not stay.

[littlebottom]

"... Can anybody read the epitaph?" Says mortimer not very good with french.

[Voshkod]

"Yeah, let me try," Averell says. "Uh, three birds with an Indian vole hat. A grimicing ball. A chicken rests here."

[Civil War Man]

"I have no idea what it says," said Neil. "But something tells me that that is not it. Seriously, Averell. You might want to consider cutting back on the absinthe, because what you just said is complete gibberish."

[Voshkod]

"Well, I might have taken a few liberties with the translation," Averell says with a grin. "Anyway. A three-legged bear points the way. Could be a reference to the Big Dipper, part of Ursa Major? The handle of the Dipper points to the North Star, after all. Ravens and bears are common in the aboriginal myths, both Canadian and American. Never make a bowl frown. That, I'm not sure about, though it puts me in mind of Carroll's 'how is a raven like a writing desk.'"

[Dark Seeker]

" It says, "The three-legged bear points the way. Never make a bowl frown, Lest the raven not stay. Hmm."

"Based on the layout of the message, I get the odd feeling it's some sort of warning, though I can't imagine what for. Averell's guess is as good as mine. Perhaps now is the time to visit the library, after our meeting with the LaVoie's."

[Xsesiv]

The cab follows the LaVoie cars back to the estate, up a great circular drive. The centrepiece of finely trimmed gardens, from the mansion can be seen the bustle of Montréal and the river beyond.

The large mansion has been built in the Second Empire style with false mansard roofs, segmented windows and projecting pavilions, as have the other buildings: a small mansion and a relatively modest house. The car pulls up to the huge front doors, and on entry to the grand interior, the group are greeted by a plump, fair-skinned butler of average height with a fringe of white hair around his bald pate.

"The LaVoies have gone to their rooms to change, but come with me," says the butler, and guides his guests through to an huge, panelled study. Beside the far door is an enormous desk, lined in wine-coloured leather, while light from a series of towering windows bounces off the polished floor, and the view looks out over manicured lawns. On the walls hang Watteau paintings; the connoisseur notices Les Jaloux, 'The Jealous Ones', in oils. To the world, this picture was known only as an engraving.

"Do sit down, gentlemen. A drink or a cigar, perhaps?" asks the butler.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer takes a seat and politely declines the butlers offers. "This meeting should shed some light on whats been going on, yet somehow i feel like it will cause more problems and upset than solve them." He says to no one in particular.

[Voshkod]

"Well, I'll have one of each!," Averell says enthusiastically. `

[Xsesiv]

The butler serves the drinks and cigars from a liquor cabinet in the corner and returns to his butling.

Enter Céline, dressed well but casually, followed shortly by Jean-Claude, her father. Jean-Claude sits behind the desk, wearing another plain suit, a stern expression of tired intentness, and a demeanour that makes him appear to be ten feet tall. His graveside sorrow has vanished.

"Let's not waste time," he says in English that is midway between his son's and his daughter's in strength of accent: the French colouring the occasional word. His speech is slow and careful, with laboured breathing: he looks physically ill, but that illness does not seem to have affected an obviously keen mind. "I do not know why you are here in Montréal, and, what is more, I do not care. I do, however, care about my family's welfare. Céline believes that you are a group of intelligent, compassionate people, and your reputations, which I have taken the liberty of inspecting through agents, generally also suggest this to be the case. I feel that I can trust you, I who do not make a general policy of trusting people. You have helped my family before, but I want to ask your help again. What I am about to tell you is unbelievable; of this I am aware, but it is the truth nonetheless."

"My father is trying to kill me."

[Voshkod]

Averell sips his drink, takes a puff from his cigar, as he tries to manifest a response. "Your dead father, correct? The one you buried today?" He shakes his head. "Well, I've read of stranger things. Revenants. Vengeful spirits. Is this at all connected to the tombstone inscription? Some sort of protective charm?"

They're probably nuts, he thinks to himself, but a man does read things in old libraries, and hears things in late-night opium fueled rambling discussions with people like Crowley.

[Xsesiv]

Jean-Claude nods. "My dead father, indeed. I'll start at the beginning," he says. "My father Lucien moved from France with my mother Clara and my brother Jacques in 1857. Jacques was one year old at the time; I hadn't yet been born. Two years later, my brother André was born, but he died in infancy. I was born in 1862. We lived in various parts of northern Québec until my mother died. That was in 1878."

"Shortly after that, my father began to go insane. He blamed me for his wife's death. He began to be violent and it became necessary for me to flee, so I came to Montréal with nothing but dreams of success. It didn't go too badly. I did well in business, acquired McTanish before Prohibition passed in the US, and brought it here. Jacques joined me here in 1898, mainly for the sake of his son Pierre, who unfortunately disappeared some time ago."

"I used to send my father money, but I didn't have any contact with him until four months ago, when he turned up on the doorstep. I didn't trust the brooding old man, and nor did Jacques. We put him up in the guest house, but stayed distant."

"I was seeing specialists at the Royal Victoria Hospital, but it wasn't enough to save him. He went completely mad about three weeks ago. The butler saw him walking through the mansion gallery last month, lightly swinging a hatchet. He suddenly stopped and chopped into a picture of me."

"Thinking he could be that sort of danger to us was the last straw. I had him hospitalised, and when they examined him, they found a brain tumour. In the last few weeks his mental state got worse and worse. The day before his death, he was almost incoherent, but he told me he was going to curse me. He wrote his epitaph, performed the curse, and the butler found him dead in his bedroom the next day."

He sighs and looks over the group. "By your backgrounds, you know – or at least you'd be unsurprised to learn – that magic is real, yes? Well, my father's curse is also very real."

"Please remove this life-threatening curse my father has placed on me. I don't care if you believe me or not, I only want you to help me. The curse has been structured so that nobody of LaVoie blood can enter Lucien's room, where the curse was cast, and I cannot have something like this leaked to the press. You cannot yourselves be injured, and all the implements used in the casting are untouched in Lucien's room."

"The curse lifted, you will be duly rewarded: Two thousand dollars – US or Canadian, as you choose – each, and a thorough explanation. You don't have to decide this instant, but time is of the essence. I'd like a decision this afternoon, and the actual lifting of the curse must be done soon. Tomorrow night would be best. If you agree, you can look at the bedroom where the curse was cast, but only briefly. I have dinner guests this evening who won't take kindly to strangers on the estate."

He sits back to allow his guests to deliberate.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian has seen enough to know this was no ordinary case, so the doctor took Jean-Claude's admission that a curse had been placed on him rather well.

"I'm by no means an expert on curing curses, but I will do my best, provided the rest of my companions agree," he explains, mostly wanting to look into the curse to satisfy his ever present intellectual curiosity.

"Of course, any information you could provide us with on how to lift the curse would be most useful."

He looks at the rest of the group, waiting to hear their responses to the proposition.

[littlebottom]

"I'm certainly willing to try my best to help you." Mortimer says with a slight bow of the head.

"I think the sooner the better, we should take a look at this room, see what we can find out."

[Xsesiv]

"Of course, any information you could provide us with on how to lift the curse would be most useful."

"Provided the curse has been cast through the conventions of French-Canadian folklore, then the traditions would suggest that reversing the ceremony would reverse the curse. Simplicity itself," provides Jean-Claude. "Otherwise, I'm not sure I can help. And the rest of you?"

[Civil War Man]

"I'll go along with it," said Neil. "I'm not sure I buy the whole curse thing, but either way there's no harm in doing the stuff to reverse it."

[Voshkod]

"Sounds like a good time," Averell says. "I haven't seen any dark magic in a while. A couple of questions, though - any idea where your pop might have learned a curse? That's not easy magic, right? Anyone he trained with, libraries he frequented? Also - do you trust your butler?"

[Xsesiv]

"I've got no idea what my father got up to," says Jean-Claude. "I had no contact with him for close to forty-five years, and then he spent the last few months of his life rotting in the guest house. As for the butler, I trust him as far as I trust anyone."

He stands and shakes everyone's hand. "Thank you. Céline can show you his bedroom," he says. He starts a wheezing and coughing fit, rubbing his left side, excuses himself, and leaves the room the way he came. Céline stands and thanks everyone again. "Come on," she says, and leaves through the main entrance.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer nods and follows.

[Voshkod]

Averell grins to himself as he follows. I wanted her to lead me to a bedroom, but not to a cursed one, and not with the rest of the fellows. Ah, life, he thinks.

[Xsesiv]

Céline leads the group across to the guest house and unlocks the front door. The interior is as lavishly decorated as the main mansion, but more gloomily Gothic. The furniture and paintings have been covered in dust sheets; the place is filthy. Céline flicks a light switch but nothing happens. "Oh, I forgot. My grandfather had the electricity here turned off. Said it disturbed him. He didn't want maids around, either, hence the state of the place..."

She continues through the house, up the stairs and across to a door which she unlocks and opens with a long creaking moan. "I find it hard to believe my grandfather would try to kill his son," she says, as she does so. "but he was a madman by then, after all. I'll wait in the foyer." White-faced, she walks quickly down the stairs.

The large bedroom stinks and there are rustling and cracking noises underfoot, but it is so dark it's hard to make anything out; on inspection (by touch), the windows' drapes appear to have been nailed to the frames.

[Voshkod]

Averell tries to rip open the drapes to allow in some light.

[Xsesiv]

With a loud tearing noise, the drapes come open.

The floor is covered by a mess of rags, paper, and shattered glass, apart from a large, ornate circular diagram scraped in the middle of the floor and painted red: five geometrically exact triangles, overlapping and interlocking to form a pentagram in the centre, within which have been carved small sigils. The whole diagram is about ten feet wide, the central pentagram about two.

The dressers are overturned, their contents spilled. Small piles of fine food rot on expensive china plates. The few pieces of furniture have been pushed back against the walls: blood has splashed and dried across them and the floor. The bed is fouled with offal: bones and skins, primarily.

Seven feet off the ground is a shelf bordering the entire room, and around it parade a set of eight-inch-high toy soldiers in red British formal uniforms, smiles painted on and red dots for cheeks.

A palpable sense of evil hangs in this chaotic place.

[Voshkod]

"Wow," Averell exhales. "This is some very bad hoodoo. Umm, don't cross the red . . . I'm going to say paint out of an abundance of optimism . . . lines. Don't touch the soldiers." He kneels down at the edge of the diagram to see if he can understand anything about it from his occult readings.

[Xsesiv]

There's nothing of consequence that can be seen with any clarity this close up. In the central pentagram are a number of arcane symbols which seem unfamiliar, but it's difficult to be sure at this distance. To study them, it will be necessary to enter the diagram.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian tries and fails to suppress a chill as he examines the room. A sick mind had been at work here.

[Xsesiv]

Ian can identify the bones and skins on the bed as belonging primarily to birds and small mammals, most of the latter rodents, like squirrels and rats: also here is a human femur, probably (hopefully) ceremonial and legally acquired.

He, Mortimer and Neil also notice a cool silvery gleam from underneath a dresser.

[littlebottom]

mortimer will look underneath said dresser if he can do so while avoiding going into the circle, still slightly freightened of what may happen.

[Xsesiv]

From beneath the dresser Mortimer produces a silver bowl, ten inches in diameter, most of the interior crusted with a brown substance appearing to be dried blood. Writing is etched around the outside and the inside of the bowl.

Of the writing on the outside, some is French; of the rest, the words are unrecognisable and exotic-looking, but the characters are Roman. The writing on the inside curves around not the rim, but the basin of the bowl, in a U-shape, and is in characters that look a bit like Sanskrit.

Aside from the blood and the writing, the bowl is ordinary, though old-looking in design.

[littlebottom]

"Can anybody read this?" Mortimer asks hopefully but not holding his breath.

[Voshkod]

"Do not turn that bowl over," Averell says fiercely. "Don't make the bowl frown." He exhales. "I need to get closer to those symbols. That means I need to go into the lines. Someone want to talk me out of it? Please?"

[littlebottom]

"What, like this?" mortimer turns the bowl upside down with a smirk at Averell, confident that nothing will happen. "its clearly more complicated than that, being as up and down are just perspective, an upside down frown looks like a smile, just depends where you look at it from, so thats not it, theres a deeper meaning to this" Mortimer doesnt do anything to stop Averell stepping into the circle.

[Dark Seeker]

"Whatever Lucien was doing, he had to have slaughtered a lot of animals to do it." comments Ian, mostly to himself.

"I'm sure it's safe," He tells Averell, grinning. "Even assuming this curse is real, it was directed to a specific target. You're not it, so I doubt you'll have your skin painfully ripped off or anything of an unpleasant nature."

The doctor concentrates on the bowl, translating what he can.

[Xsesiv]

Luckily, it seems Mortimer is right. Turning the bowl over has no effect other than to add a few flakes of dried blood to the abundant detritus at Mortimer's feet.

Ian can read the majority of what's on the bowl. It, first, warns that what is inscribed on it is a very powerful, dangerous curse that may harm the user, or drive him insane.

It gives a basic description of the curse: the cursed person begins to become an animal echoing their personality whenever a primal emotion, such as rage, lust, fear or hunger emerges. Over a number of days, the person sees less and less appeal in their human side and becomes increasingly unable or unwilling to change back, which can only be achieved though an effort of will. This eventually dooms them to the life of an animal.

Finally, it gives instructions. Six drops, at least, of fresh human blood must be placed in the bowl. To target a person, some of their hair, nail clippings or possessions must be put into the bowl, and as many people as the bowl has room for their hair, nails or belongings, may be targeted. The incantation inscribed across the bottom of the bowl must be chanted for at least an hour without interruption while the casters (again, any number), concentrate their force of will on the bowl. If the bowl briefly glows, the spell has worked.

[Dark Seeker]

"Well, it appears Lucien did earnestly believe he was casting a curse," confirms Ian, perhaps unnecessarily.

"Apparently he was trying to turn his son into an animal. Whenever Jean-Claude feels a strong emotion, he'll become an animal that reflects his inner personality. Over time he'll lose touch with his human side, until he's completely savage. Fascinating curse, simply fascinating."

"Ahem... continuing, the curse calls for at least six drops of fresh human blood, along with some of the person's hair or personal objects. Then the incarnation on the bottom of the bowl must be chanted for an hour, and the curse will take hold."

"So, the question becomes, how do we end the curse? Jean-Claude suggested reversing the ceremony. Anyone have any ideas on how to do that?" The doctor asks. "Perhaps cleaning the blood out of the bowl?

[Civil War Man]

"So, assuming that this curse thing is legit, do you think that dog that showed up was someone afflicted by it? If I remember correctly, Jean-Claude's brother didn't make it to the funeral."

[Voshkod]

Averell gingerly steps into the circle, careful not to break any lines or smudge anything, to get a closer look at the symbols in the middle.

[Xsesiv]

As soon as Averell sets foot in the circle, he begins to feel something a lot like the effects of chronic stress. He becomes very flustered and tired, hot and dizzy, with a strange heady feeling.

[Voshkod]

Averell, already spooked enough by the room, the circle, and the whole nine yards, starts to step back. "Oh, bad hoodoo, very bad hoodoo, does anyone else feel that?"

[Xsesiv]

Averell, before he can get out of the circle, passes out, crashing to the floor.


_______


Averell finds himself circling some uncertain distance off the ground. He finds his depth perception to have become a little odd: his nose has grown long and black. His field of vision extends nearly all the way around his head, revealing that as his arms beat automatically up and down, they have transformed, too, to become wings of a deep, shiny black.

Below him is a white wolf of immense size, tearing into what looks to have once been somebody's pet cat with teeth and claws. Bones crunch, blood spurts, guts slither and gleam. The wolf looks up and sees the crow far above it, and with a twist of vision, it's a man; ancient, naked, long-haired, teeth and fingernails long, sharp and broken. His nose is like Jean-Claude's, his hair and beard are like the wolf's pelt, and his eyes are like nothing on earth.

Nothing else exists; like a spotlight on a stage. The man, the cat's corpse, Averell the crow, and the small bit of ground they are on or over. These are surrounded infinitely in all directions by, not blackness, but emptiness, like what one sees at the back of one's head.

The man plunges a hand into the remnants of the cat and tears out a handful of flesh, still raw and bloody. Blood vessels slip through his fingers and drip gore onto the floor. He raises the meat above his head, offering it to the crow that Averell has become.

"Prenez d'en!" he rasps. "Soyez fort!"

Before Averell can take or ignore the advice, he reawakens half-in and half-out-of the circle.


_______

Averell comes around from his fainting fit after only one or two seconds. Céline calls from downstairs. "Our visitors are arriving, gentlemen. You're going to have to leave."

French:
Lucien LaVoie?: Have some! Be strong!

[littlebottom]

Mortimer careful not to step in the circle helps Averell out of the circle and to stand up, "We best make a move, lets take the bowl with us and get out of here to gather our thoughts."

[Civil War Man]

"You know," said Neil, glancing at the bowl. "If we wanted to reverse the effects of the curse, we could always read the inscriptions backwards. Of course, in order to do that, we'd need to know how it's read, and what 'reversing' entails. Would it just stop the curse, or would it reverse it on its caster, for example?"

[Voshkod]

Averell stumbles to his feet. "God, chaps. A white wolf, eating cat. It looked delicious." He shakes his head, raises his arms experimentally, as if expecting something to happen.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian assists Mortimer in helping Averell out of the circle.

"Are you alright?" He examines the man. "We don't want the curse to affect you now."

Ian shakes his head approvingly. "A most excellent idea Neil, and worth a try. We must attempt it as soon as we are allowed back. Personally I don't see why we can't end the curse now, if it's bothering Jean-Claude that much." He frowns, but nevertheless makes to leave with the others.

[Xsesiv]

"You're welcome to that thing," says Céline, observing the silver bowl her father's guests are leaving in the possession of with some distaste. "Come back at eight tomorrow, to deal with that curse," she adds, flippantly, escorting them to their cab and delivering the customary cheek kisses once again.

"Where to?" asks the cab driver, a jolly-looking dwarf with a stubble of sandy beard, and it occurs to the group that they are going to have to give a reply.

Answers are needed. The closest place anyone's likely to speak Tibetan will be the Université de Montréal. To do research, there are the libraries, both provincial and university, and if it's desired to return to the church to follow up the Saint Cutis business, of course that's a possibility.

[littlebottom]

"how long will it take to get to the university?" Mortimer asks the cab driver.

[Xsesiv]

"Not too long," says the driver, and floors the pedal.

In less time than however long this is, the taxi finds itself pulled over by two police cars. The cab driver curses the speed limit in a most unprofessional manner as he pulls over.

Four policemen get out of the cars and knock on the cab's windows. "Out," orders one of them, the oldest, by the look, with a pouchy, middle-aged face. Once everyone has got out, he says "Not you," to the little cabby, who clambers into the driver's seat again and speeds away with a final curse.

"Identification, please, sirs," continues the policeman to his now liftless suspects.

[Dark Seeker]

The memory of last's night's attack by the thugs still in his mind, Ian makes no move to give any identification to the men.

"I'll be happy to help officers, but would you mind telling us why you pulled us over?"

[Xsesiv]

The policeman offers no explanation while his colleagues move in and roughly frisk the party for weapons. Satisfied there are none, they pull out truncheons.

"You've been keeping the wrong company, my friends," says the leader.

[Voshkod]

"Yeah, Canadians," Averell says as he takes off at a run.

[littlebottom]

"Gentlemen, you do realise who i am, correct? If anything were to happen to me there would be massive repercussions for you and who so ever gave orders to do this." Mortimer stands large and mildly intimidating due to his sheer size.

roll fast talk [roll0] also, my credit rating might come into effect?

[Xsesiv]

The leader of the policemen laughs. "Orders? We're some sort of flunkies, are we? You really don't know what's going on at all, do you? Listen, if you don't make like your friend there and get out of town by next time we see you, you'll be making it that much worse for yourselves."

They put their truncheons away, get into their cars and drive off, yelling threats.

[Voshkod]

Averell rejoins the group. "You lot have no instinct for self-preservation, do you? So, you think they have something to do with the curse, or the heart? And what does 'Preness den! Soyuz fort!' mean?"

[Civil War Man]

"And where exactly were you planning to run that would have allowed you to outrun police cars? Panicking like you did is a surefire way to get yourself killed. As for why they stopped us, my first instinct is that it's related to our business with the LaVoies, but I'm beginning to entertain the idea that it could be both. It would be foolish to immediately assume that there is no common thread between the two."

[Voshkod]

"It might be foolish to assume there is a connection as well," Averell says. "Not every coincidence is conspiracy, causation is not correlation, and I was counting on them pounding on you whilst I got away."

[Dark Seeker]

"Well we can't just leave," Ian says with a sigh. "However, it would be advisable to get our business done as soon as possible. I'm fairly confident this business is related to Jean-Claude and the rest of his family, since they said we were "hanging around the wrong crowd." "If that's the case, hopefully we can resolve the matter by tomorrow evening."

"Now gentleman, shall we continue to the library?" He processes to attempt to hail a cab, provided none stop him.

[Xsesiv]

The one consolation to almost being roughed up by corrupt and overzealous police is that only half the cab fare for the distance travelled had to be handed over.

At the relatively newly-established Université de Montréal, there's yet another choice to be made: find a professor to translate the bowl, work on the translation independently in the university library, or search through the library for a bit more on James Andrews, also known as James of Andrews and Saint Cutis. The library opening hours indicate that it's open daily from seven in the morning until three in the morning, with a warning that late at night it will be staffed by only one library porter.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer will ask around to see if he can find anyone who may be able to speak tibetan

[Xsesiv]

The answer Mortimer receives, wherever he goes, is "Go and see Professor Steele".

Professor Isaac Steele is Head of the Linguistics department, and an old, old man, in his late eighties at least. He is bent and shrunken, and looks like nothing so much as a wise old scholar you'd find in a fantastical book, advising a king. On his door is tacked a notice: Don't bother to knock. I won't hear.

The shelves of his office are packed, floor to ceiling, with books of every description. Modern novels and old books in every language – in every alphabet Mortimer's ever seen, plus a few more, and dictionaries between many, many languages. The old professor, dressed in a somewhat shiny smoking jacket, is perusing a manuscript and cross-checking it with a book and a dictionary. He flips the pages and makes corrections with shaking, twiglike hands, murmuring all the while.

"Can I help you, young man?" he says in a surprisingly resonant voice, when he sees Mortimer enter.

[littlebottom]

"I believe you can sir, you wouldnt be able to translate this from tibetan would you?"

[Xsesiv]

Steele takes the bowl gently and examines the inscription through thick spectacles. He takes a couple of thick volumes from the shelf and sits down with them and the bowl. Finally, he looks up.

"This isn't any of the common dialects of Tibetan. Definitely not written to any sort of standard. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's..." He tails off and consults another book from the shelf.

"Yes, this is an obscure dialect of Tibetan that's been unchanged in its orthography for thousands of years. Too obscure to translate on the spot, but if you'll transcribe the writing for me, I could get a translation to you by tomorrow morning, provided the small condition of a reasonable commission is met. Fifty dollars should suffice."

[littlebottom]

"the money will be fine, do you need us to do anything else?"

[Voshkod]

Averell will dig into the mystery of the saint with the eternal heart, starting in the religious section, then moving into the occult.

[Xsesiv]

A quick relocation and a much slower search turns up "James of St. Andrew's Cross" in the Bibliothèque Nationale: records indicate he was christened, then adopted into the Holy Heart of Mary orphanage after his parents died in a fire, and later fostered by one Hatum Cutis, a trader and Muscovite, who died in another fire when James was seventeen. The dates given are contemporary with those Philip provided. There is a very vague allusion to a relic in the parish of Saint Pious VIII in Faggia, a town in Tuscany.

A similarly long and dull search in the Archives Nationales turns up James Andrews again: on a cargo manifest dated 1694, much later than his presumed death. A ship called Le Cœur d'Éléphant, which James Andrews had chartered, docked in Montréal and unloaded cargo, listed as only Andrews' household goods, to be delivered to 89 rue Sainte-Thérese. As the ship was under French colours, no import duty was collected. A salt tax was levied, however, as the ship was ruled to be carrying an excessive amount for household consumption. The other passengers were Andrews' servants, foreigners from "Tartarie".

It's by now quite late.

[Dark Seeker]

Glancing out the window, Ian sees just how late it is.

"I think we've learned all we can for now. Shall we call it a night?

[Xsesiv]

As the researchers leave the Archives, there he is again, the gaunt coachman, clopping past in his carriage and smirking.


_______


The next day is most likely another late morning and Philip is again absent. Madame d'Anjou has made provision nonetheless, offering an English-style breakfast of tea, ham, eggs and fried potatoes and, again, the morning papers in French and English.

There are two stories of interest. On page fourteen of the Montréal Star is a most unpleasant story, which has been sidelined (likely because it contains more conjecture than actual reporting):

BLOODLESS BODY FOUND
By Alain Gaston
The body of an unidentified man was found yesterday on the east side of Mont-Royal.

The authorities have appealed for information concerning missing white men between 25 and 35 years of age, about 5 feet 9 inches tall and weighing approximately 160 pounds. The deceased has blond hair and is smooth-shaven.

Police seem to be without significant clues in this apparent murder.

The ghastly discovery was made last evening by M. Christophe Namena. He and his family had been out for a picnic. The unclothed body seemed to have been in the secluded area for about two days before discovery, according to authorities.

Detective Dane Deroz reports that "the heart was surgically removed and the body deliberately drained of its blood." Later, he modified that statement, saying he wanted to withhold details until the coroner's inquest.

Foul play is the expected verdict for today's proceedings, but some authorities termed the episode a medical student prank.

Police headquarters were quickly abuzz with rumours about the matter. Several sources independently compared the murder to London's Ripper murders of two generations ago.

Buried deep within the newspaper is a second article, which seems to have been rewritten from yesterday and perhaps lightened in tone.


STUDENT PRANKS?
By Alain Gaston
Extensive damage was done to a row of antiques shops along Notre-Dame, it was reported yesterday.

Police received two calls about break-ins which had apparently occurred late the previous night. The police report that at first they did not take the matter seriously because of the unsubstantiated descriptions of the prowlers as "grotesque, shambling zombie-things."

A hasty patrol of the area tuned up nothing, but the next morning shop workers found losses totalling $4,000 worth of damaged fixtures and goods.

Police continue to favour the student-prank theory, because, despite the damages, nothing was reported stolen. Police also speculated that the pillagers might have been looking for something in particular.

Authorities take a dim view of such behaviour. They warn that perpetrators of such mindless destruction could face serious criminal penalties, and that the cases will remain under investigation until the culprits are brought to justice.

"I'm worried about the Father," she says frankly, as she serves it. "He didn't touch his pot au feu last night. That wouldn't be unusual, he often didn't eat, but his bed hasn't been slept in and his fresh shirt hasn't been worn. Also, Claire, the part-time maid, says she saw a strange priest in his room yesterday afternoon."

[Dark Seeker]

As Ian reads the stories, something catches his eye.

"Interesting... odd that the Detective would change his story. Perhaps he is under pressure of some kind? If we have the time later, I'd like for us to speak with Detective Deroz. As a doctor, medical mysteries of this type fascinate me."

He says nothing during the rest of his breakfast, enjoying the hearty meal. Madame d'Anjou's unexpected entry into the conversation startles him, and her news unnerves him even more.

"I myself am worried about Philip. It's not like him to ignore his friends. Aside from the first brief visit, I've hardly seen him. I understand he is most busy, but he may be becoming too invested into that business surrounding the Heart. May be taking a toll on his health."

He sighs. So many different problems have popped up, and the doctor's not sure he has the tools to solve any of them. This was business for a younger man then he.

[Xsesiv]

"Very sad. His dreams overtake him. His heart is confused," says Madame d'Anjou sagely. "I tried to tell him that the voice from the relic and the voice from the corpse were different people, but..." she shakes her head heavily: "He would not listen."

[Voshkod]

"Perhaps we should see exactly what book the good father is reading," Averell says. "And what are the voices saying to him?"

[Xsesiv]

Madame d'Anjou, normally in constant motion, stops moving of a sudden. "There are patterns and auras in my world that aren't in other people's worlds," she explains, matter-of-factly. Her tone brokers little argument.

"Ever since I was a little girl, things have had voices in them. When I was a young woman, I learnt to let the voices speak. But the corpse has a different voice in it than the heart and the relic. Perhaps you could learn something from the voices?" she offers.

[Voshkod]

"That is . . . interesting," Averell says. "Yes, I'd like to hear the heart and the corpse."

[Dark Seeker]

"I would as well," Offers Ian. "From what the craftsman told us, I do not trust the powers of the so called Saint's heart to be entirely benign. If we could somehow talk to the corpse, perhaps we could ask him if it even belongs to him."

Though he's half joking,Ian is curious. He's seen enough odd things that the notion of communicating with a corpse no longer phases him. Perhaps if it went well, he could even talk to his own Alice.

He shakes his head. Best to focus on the task at hand, rather then getting lost in personal memories.

[Xsesiv]

Within the hour, everyone has gathered in the room with the safe to let the voice from the heart speak. The safe door turns out to be slightly buckled. Someone has tried and failed to force it with crowbars.

The heart is still inside, but the Coptic book is gone; presumably, Lowell still has it.

The heart, which hasn't deteriorated at all over the last few days, is removed and placed on the floor in its silver case.

Everyone sits around the heart, joins hands and relaxes, trying to clear their minds. Within a few minutes Madame d'Anjou falls into a light trance, her head rolling forwards. Slowly, the room begins to warm, and from no discernible source the scent of flowers fills the air. Madame d'Anjou's breathing becomes deeper and more audible. Her head tosses loosely and rolls back. She sighs.

"Pax dei." Her lips move to say the words, but the voice is not hers. It's male, for a start.

Latin:???:God's peace [be upon you].

[littlebottom]

Mortimer gasps slightly in surprise. he had not expected it to work so quickly. Mortimer unsure as to what was actually said sits in wait for someone who did.

[Dark Seeker]

Excited and all doubts forgotten, Ian quickly questions the apparent spirit.

"Do you speak English? " He tries again, in French.

"Parlez-vous français?"

[Xsesiv]

"In my life, men called me Andrik of Kues," say Madame d'Anjou's lips in English with a very odd accent. The accent's something Low German, while the English sounds are very quaint. "To call me in a chapel from my place is sufficiency for heresy," continues the voice, amiably, "but my lady means no disrespect. I read her heart."

[Voshkod]

Averell's interest in the occult has led him to many a room like this, and many a seance, and shown him one thing - true mediums are hard to find. This lady, well, maybe she was the real thing, maybe she was a good actress. Too soon to tell.

"A bold claim, spirit, but can you prove it? Show us that you are something from beyond."

[Xsesiv]

"All I may do is speak," continues the voice."I am the one come to be called Saint Cutis. Something of a mistake. From what I surmise, another, one James of Andrews, was beatified and canonised in my stead. I knew this James of Andrews as a profoundly immoral man. One half a millennium has passed since I died for my faith, and nobody knows of my true origin. My name is lost to the ages."

[Voshkod]

If she's a fake, she's a good fake, Averell thinks to himself. "Very well, spirit, a few questions, then." He seems in his element here. "Who fostered you? What ship brought your bones to Canada? And when you speak of your place, now, what do you mean?"

[Dark Seeker]

"So the heart of this false Saint Andrews is something wicked," Asks Ian. "I have talked with a man who claimed he was cursed by it. I fear for Father Philip if he is obsessed with something of such evil."

The doctor listens to Averell's questions before adding his own."What can we do Saint Cutis? Should we destroy the heart?" The doctor in him protests, since the artifact clearly could be a great boon to the understanding of the human condition. But based on what he had seen and Philip's troubling behavior, the destruction of it was increasingly looking to be the best option.

[Xsesiv]

"Who fostered you? What ship brought your bones to Canada? And when you speak of your place, now, what do you mean?"

"Canada?" asks the voice. "I've never heard of such a thing. My bones are wherever they are. I presume they are still in the Ottoman land. I was never fostered, and as for my place, well, you will see when you come to it."


What can we do Saint Cutis? Should we destroy the heart?"

"I'd prefer Andrik," says the voice. "Destroying Andrews' heart, wherever it is, will do little to harm the immortal part of him. You may do as you please. One day, all will be revealed to the faithful."

[Voshkod]

"Andrik," Averell says conversationally, "tell us about Andrew, please, and tell us what is hidden from the faithful."

[Xsesiv]

"James of Andrews wended his way across the world sinning and swearing by Jesus or the Prophet as he found convenient. The miracles I performed, my martyrdom, and my few good deeds were ascribed to him. Andrik of Kues and Cutis of Andrews; you see where the confusion lies. In the end, the faithful will know all, the great plan. Their parts will make sense."

[Dark Seeker]

"Andrik, we have reason to believe that even now, Cutis is corrupting good faithful men with his deception. Is there anything you can suggest we do to prove he's a false saint? Otherwise, I fear he will lead many good people astray and into damnation, even those in the priesthood," Ian says, appealing to the "good" heart's morals.

[Xsesiv]

"Of this, I know nothing, for which I apologise. But your friend...his soul is secure, God be praised." continues the voice.