Jonathan, seeing that the older man can scarcely draw a full breath, pats his shoulder and says, "Nevermind, sir, just rest for now.

"We'll get a physician to come in and have a look, Kit. You get some rest as well."

Jonathan recovers the unused portions of the concoction, feeling stronger by the minute. When George enters the kitchen, he says quietly, "I suppose we must have a doctor, Uncle George, but I don't know what he'll make of our tale. I'm rather afraid he'll want Father Alden hospitalized and he'll never get another chance at the inhalation.

"I wonder if you could rig up some sort of device to blow the vapor into his lungs?"

"I fear that would be dangerous, too much of the gas seems to be almost as bad as not enough."

Putting on his coat, George makes sure of his pocket's contents, wallet, watch, pistol, cane...

"Do you have a card, or perhaps some letterhead? I suspect I'll have a better chance of getting doctor if it's for your Lordship, or at least a friend of one."

Heading for the door, he addresses the group as a whole.

"Head for your Mayfair place Johnathon, and keep these two separate once we get there. We'll let the doctor see to you and Kit tonight. Although if the second treatment doesn't get the job done, we might consider surgery for the good father."

Shuddering again at the things that had been coughed up, he waits to see if anyone has anything final to say before heading out into the night.

"Wait, George, let's just telephone the nearest doctor and ask him to come around." He hunts up the telephone and asks the operator to connect him with the nearest physician.

"Hullo, Doctor, I wonder if you could come round tonight, my friend, Father Glenn Alden is having a bit of a bronchial problem," he gives the address and mentions his title.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:55, Tue 08 Oct 2013.

George is a bit taken aback, especially as he thought the good father was the one person we did not want the doctor to see just yet.

Fair enough though, off to the new house...

Father Alden pours himself a glass of water.  He holds he glass with two hands as if he is afraid he will drop the glass and takes small sips.

"Would you like a few drops of quinine for that Father? Can't say it will help with this... situation, but I doubt it can hurt?"

He offers to pour a few drops into the priests glass, should he wish it.

You hail a taxi arrive back and Jonathan's townhouse, sending the Hendersons into a flurry of activity. Mrs Henderson clucks over the wounded like a mother hen and insists of making some nourishing soup.

There is no trouble for his Lordship to secure a house call, and Glenn is soon tucked up in bed and dosed up with strong painkillers.

The doctor, young but prematurely aged by the war, as are so many these days. "If I didn't know better I'd say he'd gotten a whiff of some mustard gas. Keep him comfortable, if it hasn't improved by tomorrow I strongly recommend hospitalisation. I am at your disposal in any event your lordship"

Note the time George, it is still late afternoon. Everyone is back on positive hit points BTW, so although you can still RP your wounds there is no game impact. Of course, Glenn is by no means out of the woods yet but given his apparent improvement you won't find that out until tomorrow

George suggests they pore over the books, notes and/or manuscripts, so that he can turn them over to Scotland Yard as soon as possible, perhaps even this evening.

No sense making themselves look complicit in things...

Remember you still need a Hungarian translator for some passages.

Father Alden nods his appreciation to Captain Yates and the ministrations of the young doctor.

Once the doctor has gone, he tries to continue researching.  However after less than fifteen minutes he is unable to keep his eyes open and drifts off with the journal lying open on the bed next to him.

"Well, unless Jonathon feels we should do otherwise, I think I will head out and try to find us a translator."

"Perhaps the Hungarian Embassy could put you on the right track."

"Excellent idea," George offers, though his own thoughts are that it might not be wise to get the Hungarian government involved.

He would ask about to see if there was any part of London might have a better change of housing ex-pats from eastern Europe, saving the Embassy for last should his luck fail him.

Kit offers to pay for the fees of the translator, when they come.

Willing to do a Credit Rating spend of 1 or 2 points as needed.

A coughing fit seizes Father Alden, a small fleck of blood lingers on his bottom lip as he grimaces at the pain.  But soon after, he has drifted off again thanks to the pain killers.

In fact you got a list of translators from the British Library when you were researching the Latin. I will assume you try one of those.

It does not take many tries before you have secured the services of a Hungarian translator who is willing to make house calls, but in the United Kingdom you are finding that, for a man with a title, many of life's little problems can be smoothed over.

Within the hour professor Imre Bakos, a middle aged emigre, lecturer and translator, is stepping out of a cab at Kingsgate Square.

In your reading of the book you have noted several dozen cryptic phrases at key parts of Soran's journal (written mainly in Latin, of you recall). Bakos should be able to work fairly quickly. Just want to know what you will be telling him.

"Good day, Professor Bakos, I appreciate that you came right away. Mr Cavendish here will direct your attention to the relevant passages. Please work as rapidly and carefully as possible."

Kit nods. "This is a curious work with potentially occult origins. It's a curiosity, nothing more, but please translat it as literally as possible."

Captain Yates trusts Jonathan to deal with such matters.

Finding nothing much to do, he opts to explore his young ward's new house.

Kit directs the good professor to the passages in Hungarian. Most are either irrelevant or too cryptic to understand, but you do learn some interesting snippets

New info added in orange.

The undated, handwritten journal is in more modern Latin but is full of acronyms, formulas, and phrases and words in, you finally decide, Hungarian. It seems to be a record of a series of experiments involving the Hemiptera on living humans. The author seems to have developed further insights into the creature - which unless the journal is some sick work of fiction, is apparently real. You gather the following points:

- The Hemiptera spores can remain viable for decades, perhaps centuries.
- The adult Hemiptera, once it has grown to a sufficient size, can be removed from its host and re-transplanted. Unlike with the first victim, the parasite does not necessarily turn the new host into a slavering ghoul. Instead it can reach an accommodation with its host, becoming a true symbiotic partner, granting extended life and vitality. "W was eager to provide me copious funds to prove it"
- The author was clearly experimenting with this approach, but the results seem inconclusive; several deaths are dispassionately recorded. Soran speculates that implantation to a close relative would greatly improved the survival rate "at least that's what W hopes"
- The author contends the Hemiptera is intelligent, and effectively immortal. Once its' host eventually succumbs to old age, it can be transplanted to another, and the Hemiptera retains some aspects of its previous host's personalities and memories. He speculates that a strong enough personality might even subsume the Hemiptera's. A form of immortality..."perhaps W's dreams will be realised after all"

The journal concludes just before another operation to transfer an adult specimen to a new host, an individual identified as W, who is apparently a willing participant - perhaps even an equal partner in the enterprise. Mentioned in passing is W's "acquisition" in Bermuda; Soran was considering moving his operation there.

Unaware of the recent information, George continues to explore the house. Perhaps it was the British of it all, but it felt... odd to him, the way the rooms were laid out. Certainly the second layer thru which the servant class would be expected to travel was a novelty, but he felt like there was something else.

PM

As the translator reads this, things begin to fall together in Kit's mind.

He sits back, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles are white. He then looks at the translator, thanks him, shows him to the door, closes the door, locks it, and searches out the other three, gathering them rather ceremoniously into the sitting-room.

"Gentlemen, it appears that the sins of forefathers have borne more evil than we could possibly imagine.  Jonathan's grandfather, the late Lord William DeVille, appears to have been the primary financial patron of Dr. Soran's experiments. And, he says, gulping, "it appears he intended somehow to benefit from them

"I think--i hesitate to say, but I must--I think that Lord DeVille sought immortality through Dr. Soran's experiments. Those...things that Dr. Soran intended to grow were somehow meant to save him, make him immortal, though it's obvious that this failed."

He shudders. "Jonathan, do you know if your family has any holdings in Bermuda? Or who we could send a wire to so to find out? I have a terrible feeling that this evil folly was somehow continued there, and if we are to get to the bottom of it and stop it, we must go there."

He straightens up after coughing a bit of blood. "This whole business is an insult to human dignity. I think we owe it to humanity to see this business through, once Father is better."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:43, Wed 30 Oct 2013.

Convinced the young man had read one too many Jules Verne books.

"Tut, tut, dear Kit, don't you feel you might be over reacting? Certainly we've seen some odd things, but immortality? That's a bit much, wouldn't you say?" he asks in the general direction of the good father.

Assume this conversation is taking later in the evening, before dinner. You are all present in the drawing room with all the documents handy. Also, see the Appendix thread.