Dash sipped at his coffee, as he pondered the situation.

"As my Great Uncle is wont to say..." Dash suddenly said, "...'Nobody undertakes an activity for absolutely no reason.  Always ask yourself, what's in it for him?'..."

Dash looked around at those gathered in the galley, "So, we must ask ourselves, why would anyone want to bring this Mister Cavor to Graustark?  Just who is he, and why would anyone in a tiny, backwater nation like Graustark be interested in him?"

"Anyone have any ideas?" Dash casts pointed looks at Matthew and Mercy, "Anyone?"

"I've spent most of my life in North America and Australia and China," Stella says, "I'd never really heard of Graystark before. Oh, I imagine I'd seen headlines -- there was a war, was there? -- but nothing that stuck in my mind.

"As for Cavor, do we know anything more than his last name and that he is some sort of mining engineer? Does anyone even know his first name?"

In reply to Mercy Kincaid (msg # 47):

Grimsby responds, "It is nice to know that possibility exists, though I doubt it will be easy to find the materials you would need in Graustark. We might be able to make a brief stop on the way in somewhere civilized -- Austria-Hungary, say --and pick up a few things, if Remi is willing to take the risk, or spare the time."

"What?! Someone threw a party and didn't invite me?" Remi says in mock protest as he enters the galley. "And on my own ship!"

"I confess, I was having trouble sleeping myself. The cold seems to cut right through this son of the desert."

"As I understand it, this Professor Cavor... I believe his first name is Tristan, if it matters... is a scientist, potentially an inventor,  not a miner or engineer, though in this day and age, one can wear many hats. How he came by knowledge of this cavorite mineral is a mystery, but I believe it was Kentigern's son who gave it its name, not the professor himself. And that only because it is still unclear what it's composition is. Isn't that right, Matthew?"

"That it was serendipitous that it was discovered in Kentigern's estate seems a bit much to accept, so the secret of its discovery is equally a mystery. It may have something to do with Hertzian waves. Hertz and Tesla aren't the only ones experimenting with them.

He held up a book he was carrying. The title was The Coming Race.

"Kentigern had a copy in his library and let me borrow it. 'Tosh and nonsense' I believe he called it. On the surface, it would appear so. However, it was published only 4 years after Maxwell theorized Hertzian waves, but sixteen years before Hertz himself proved their existence."

"This cavorite could well be the source of this vril power. And this book was published around the same time as the reports of Captain Nemo. Two books documenting a hitherto unknown energy source? It pushes credulity to the limit!"

"Now where's my coffee?"

" ...and that only because it is still unclear what it's composition is. Isn't that right, Matthew?"

Matthew looks up from the rock in hand as his name his mentioned, nodding emphatically, " I've spent hours with this sample, running tests and studying it with what limited tools I have at my disposal, and yet I still have more questions than answers. Hertzian waves? ...an electric current.. Mmm." he says, turning his attention back to the rock. Ah, what he wouldn't give for a night in a proper lab in which to continue his research on the Cavorite.

"So, Cavor is a scientist and an inventor, and this Cavorite stuff may have something to do with a new source of power." Dash summed up, "And everybody and their brother, these days, will do a lot of things to get greater sources of power.  That goes a long way towards explaining the 'what' these mystery men are involved with -- they are after a new power source."

"Next is this issue of 'why' Graustark?  We have it on good authority that these tattooed ruffians have taken Mr. Cavor, and an undisclosed amount of Cavorite ore, to Graustark.  But, we've also got a cryptic note that could be interpreted to mean that they have some foul play planned in Graustark, rather than that someone in Graustark is behind all this.  Or maybe even both."

Dash drains his second cup of coffee, and puts it in the galley sink.

"Excellent coffee, by the way.  My compliments to whoever made it.  Well, many things to ponder, as I've said, and the morning shift comes early aboard ship.  Unless anyone has anything else to add, I believe I shall be off to my bunk."

In reply to Remi (msg # 51):

Grimsby remarks to Remi in Arabic, "It is said by your people that coffee is the black enemy of sleep and fornication.  Sleep, at least, we seem to be doing without on this voyage so far."
He also responds to Dash, "Indeed, a power source like this could be worth plotting for. Certain nations -- the German Empire for instance -- have shown an interest in submarines, and if such a vessel could indeed be powered indefinitely by such a source, as with Captain Nemo's craft, it would be a very dangerous weapon."

In spite of the coffee, the warmth seemed to make everyone sleepy again, and after retiring to their cabins, the rest of the day seemed pass quickly and uneventfully.

It wasn't long before the airship sailed over the Channel into the skies over France. Belgium was visible to the east and the Alps to the south.

The plan was to fly south over France to Lyon and on to Marseille on the coast, then head due east across the Ligurian Sea and Italy, and from there, east by southeast across the Adriatic Sea to the Balkans.

A more direct route through Germany and Austria wasn't recommended, nor was it practical as the airship would have difficulty flying over the Alps.

Although Paris wasn't too far off their current path, the urgency of their mission precluded stopping there for afternoon tea.

Scotland to Paris was 8.5 hours, and Marseille would be another 7 hours.

Remi was at the helm by 4pm when Paris was visible to the west.

He asked Viktor to prepare tea for those who felt it was the civilized thing to do, even at 5,000 feet.

"We should reach Marseille in another seven hours, putting us there about an hour before midnight."

"Sixteen hours in such small quarters can be quite taxing on the spirit, so I put this to you all: do you wish to stop before we get to Marseille, perhaps while there is still a glimmer of daylight? Or we could stop in Lyon for supper."

"Or would you wish to stop in Marseille? It seems the more likely place to find information on our quarry, if any is to be had. They will have the same problems we do, and it seems quite unlikely that they would be expecting pursuit."

"We've kept watch for them using our finest spyglass... alas, to no avail. Not even a glimmer. Of course, we don't know the full capabilities of the black ship. It is possible they took the high road over the Alps."

Tea was served by Viktor as he spoke, along with some freshly made crumpets.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:17, Thu 01 May 2014.

"I've put in at Marseille on a couple of occassions, aboard family traders." Dash says, "But I spent most of my time around the port area.  The sea port, that is.  Still, I might be able to get a lead on a small black zeppelin from some of the ship outfitters I know."

Dash shrugs, "After all, whether it sails or flys, a ship is a ship when it comes to everyday supplies."

Grimsby helped himself lbeally to tea with plenty of milk and sugar and a coupe of crumpets and then replied, "If Dash has sources of information in Marseilles, I would favor stopping there. I have not been there myself, but I believe Her Majesty's  Government has a consul in the port, as well as less official agents that I might get some information from as well."

Although a concensus wasn't reached, there was no real disagreement to stopping in Marseilles. Remi skillfully took the ship down to a lower altitude so it wouldn't appear threatening. Of course, since he was flying a French ship, even if it wasn't flying a French flag any more, helped.

But he was quite uncomfortable setting down in a French port.

The ship landed in Longchamp Park. They could take a train or carriage to any where in Marseilles that they wanted to go. Remi chose to stay on board the ship, to guard it and enable a fast getaway if it became necessary.

Grimsby, having donned a tweed suit suggestive of an English gentleman on holiday,
set off in search of the British consulate. Her found it was on the Rue de Prado, not far from the harbor. He entered and gave his card to a clerk; it not only carried his official rank in the colonial service, but also a small mark indicating he also served as a secret agent. On it he had written "For the consul in person, confidential." He then seated himself to await an opportunity to see the consul.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:46, Tue 22 Apr 2014.

Dash came out on deck dressed in the formal uniform of a Third Officer of a Hawkesbury Line freighter; a dark-blue, double-breasted longcoat with shiny brass buttons and a single gold braid at each cuff, over loose khaki-colored trousers and black colored, rubber-soled canvas sneakers*. A black leather belt with brass buckle was fastened around the waist of his longcoat, and a dark-blue, slouch-topped kepi with lots of gold embroidery -- looking much like the the caps worn by Union soldiers during the War Between the States -- sat on his head.

Dash assumed a stern-looking pose, with his feet slightly parted, and his hands clasped behind his back.  Then he glared at everyone for a few seconds, before breaking into a smile.

"Hawkesbury Line vessels don't put into Marseilles that often, just a couple of times a year, but often enough that ship chandlers will recognize the uniform." Dash said, gesturing at his accoutrements, "And a Trader -- especially if he's a Hawkesbury -- won't get a second thought over asking after the outfitting of a 'competetors vessel'.  My only concern is that, so far, we haven't really had any competition from dirigible shippers. But many folks know of my desire to get Hawkesbury Line involved in airships, so I hold little chance I'll arouse suspicion."

"I'll be heading to a banc, first." Dash added, "To exchange a couple of Sovreigns for Francs, then off to the port.  Anyone feel like coming along? Matthew...Viktor? I'm sure Remi has some sailors slops aboard; we could outfit you to look the part of a couple of strong-back Sailors, accompanying their Officer ashore?"

Dash suddenly looked a little shagrined, "Because, truth be told, my French is rather bad. Non-existant, actually. And it wouldn't hurt to have a French-speaker along. Mercy, Miss Mulberry, do either of you speak French?"



* = the word "sneakers" was already in use in America at least as early as 1887, as the Boston Journal made reference to "sneakers" as "the name boys give to tennis shoes." The name "sneakers" originally referred to how quiet the rubber soles were on the ground, in contrast to noisy standard hard leather soled dress shoes. Someone wearing sneakers could "sneak up" on you while someone wearing standards can "only stand on you".

In reply to Denholm Hawkesbury (msg # 61):

"I have a bit of French, Mr. Hawkesbury," says Stella, emerging onto the deck from below, dressed for town and tying on her bonnet, "I should be glad to accompany you. It'll be nice to warm myself in the Mediterranean sunshine and stretch my legs." She glances down at her diminutive lower limbs and looks up again with a twinkle in her eye and a grin: "So to speak."

Departing Marseilles a little after midnight, it's a 400-mile trip west across the northern Tyrrhenian Sea, north of Corsica to the Italian mainland, across the peninsula by Perugia through the Appenines gap, into the Adriatic Sea. From there, it's another 300-miles east-southeast to the coast of the Balkan peninsula, and inward to Graustark.

The ship does about 60 miles per hour, depending on the winds, so the trip should take about 11-12 hours.

You've got that long to deal with your captive, and make whatever plans you can.

"Oh, yeah ... I almost forgot your friend, here, my dear Grimsby." Dash knelt down on one knee, next to the captive man, and rolled him over to expose his bound hands.  Then he checks the backs of both hands for the tell-tale tattoo -- and, if found, even goes so far as to make sure it's real, and doesn't smear or wash off.

"Did anyone check this fellow for any kind of identification? A business card, a bank book, anything?"

Bellgrove responds to Dash, "Just to put this out there, my French is rather good, if I may say so. For the sake of what lies before us, I am willing to do whatever ever I may to make myself useful. (I do not know much of interrogation, but I know something of 'interviewing' a fellow.)

"After all, a good story is worth work well done, eh?"

Grimsby remarked, "My own French is adequate for most purposes, but it might be that an ostensibly neutral American would be able to learn more from this fellow than I can -- given my little affray with him, he can have no illusions about our mutual hostility. As he appears to still be unconscious, we might leave him alone in a compartment with Mr. Wander -- still bound, of course, and with others in easy call, and Mr. Wander could rouse the villain and feign a sympathetic interest in his plight -- perhaps hint that he could be persuaded to free the fellow if given a full explanation of "his side" of the business..."

"And if that fails," says Stella with a grin, "We can dangle him over the side by a rope around his ankle and offer to cut him free if he refuses to come clean."

Stella's words give Bellgrove a moment of pause before he responds to the Englishman. When he does there is a glimmer of humor in his unusual lavender eyes, "As the ever practical Miss Mulberry suggests, we might simply give the man the sharpest terms and permit him to come to them.

"You seem to have had some sort of communication with this fellow prior to his unconsciousness, Mr. Baskerville, is he a fanatic? Will he offer up insights without threats? You obviously suggested kinder methodology, and I am willing to try them before playing bad; however, it would be useful to have some sense of things before we begin this game."

Dash checks the man's wrist, and confirms that the Vril symbol tattoo is there, and it's permanent.

Although Grimsby didn't count the money he pulled off the man before handing it to Bellgrove, it was a sizable amount; he estimates now that it might have been as much as 5,000 francs.

When he searched the man back at the cab before tossing him into the back, he did find a derringer in the man's left boot and a stiletto in the right.

Only now back in the ship with Marseilles fading in the distance does he have the luxury to examine the man's billfold. It is the long style, rather than the wallet style, the kind that fits into a man's inside jacket pocket. One corner is missing... where one of the bullets clipped it.

In the other half from the money, there are two documents folded up. One is a letter of identification/introduction purportedly issued by the Serbian government which identifies the man as Durad Brankovic, a Serbian citizen who resides at 671 Gospodar Jovanova, Belgrade, Serbia. The other is a letter from the Lumiere Brothers claiming Brankovic is a business agent for them; it is signed by Auguste Lumiere. He is authorized to purchase certain chemicals and equipment on their behalf.

While the others are discussing how to go about interrogating their prisoner, Matthew has been fighting to keep his meal down.

Looking a bit green around the gills, he finally manages to offer his thoughts on the matter.

"I don't think that'll do any good," he says. "These folks are fanatics; they'd rather die than give up anything. In fact, unless I miss my guess, I'd say they are the victims of Mesmer."

"On the other hand, you could trick them. Not sure how, but he might talk if he is in a position of strength. I've seen their kind before... a touch megomaniacal. When they are in control, they like to brag about how great they are. It feeds their ego, as Freud would say."

"Bellgrove, Connor, look here, please." Dash says, holding the mans bound hand up such that the tattoo is clearly visible.

"To date, most of the thugs that have been involved in all the violence have had these tattoos, here on their hands. Something to watch for."

Dash then stands and looks over at Matthew.

"Not to worry, Matthew, old mucker, just remember how we broke 'em back in Scotland.  Soaking their stockings in kerosene does wonders to open their mouths." Dash says with a wink, and a friendly nudge to Grimsby's shoulder, "Eh, Grimsby?"



OOC: an image of the tattoo can be found in Game Map, Map for Group 1

Grimsby replies, "I am quite prepared to use whatever means are necessary to get this fellow to talk, but I till prefer to start gently and only turn to harsher means if milder measures have not persuaded him -- if we ever had occasion to surrender him to legal authorities, he would look better unmutilated.
However, while it might be true that he would boast if he thinks himself to have the upper hand, I am not sure how we can give him that illusion without risking giving him a real opportunity. I would like to keep him bound, and as long as he is tied up, I don't suppose he can be deceived into imagining we are in his power.
I regret to say, Mr. Wander, that the only communications I have had with him were blows and bullets, but they made his meaning sufficiently clear --he wanted me dead.
I think we can safely assume he is as fanatical as the rest of the agents of the Vril --they all seem equally determined to eliminate us or die in the attempt."