Brother Clary had been busy, and travelling, these past few years.  He'd heard that Marianne had done well with her books, and presumed that the rascally pirates had been of help to her.  His own path lay in the Word, and the powerful Lupino Cross that was now in his keeping.  It drew him to places where he was needed, to stand in the path of Evil, and it had drawn him now to the Windy City.

He was not surprised to find himself standing at the gateway of the World's Fair, looking at the huge fairgrounds and feeling there was a need for him to go and find what was wrong, and make it right.

This bold mission wasn't of any concern to the elephant that chose to snuffle his hat off his head, snatch the headgear and wave it around happily.  She was a big one too, wearing a heavily tasselled and fringed blanket in paisley purple and gold.

Feeling the breeze gently blow through his tousled sandy hair, the lanky Texas preacher looked up mirthlessly at the elephant playing 'keep away' with his hat.  He squinted at the animal.

"Well, ain't you a big hoss?  And all dressed up fer the folks to appreciate."  He wasn't angry, only slightly amused, even if he didn't always show it.

When the hat came near, he reached up and gently seized the trunk with one hand, and sought to retrieve the hat with the other.  Once his old-fashioned parsons-style hat was safely back in its place, he patted the trunk affectionately.

Looking around he wondered to himself what was it about this place of merriment that drew him?  He traveled north from his circuit in Texas to the gates of the fair, which for all appearances seemed to be devoid of the darkness which usually accompanies the stirrings he was always compelled to follow.

Brother Clary's new friend seemed tickled pink to play with him, snuffling him gently with her trunk.  The big brown eyes glittered, and she looped her trunk to sound a short trumpet, then reached out to him with her trunk again.   When he looked around, she nudged him slightly - and got down on her front knees, as if begging him to climb aboard.  Passerby were noticing this, and watching with interest.

There was a very small voice, in the vicinity of her fancy feathered headdress, "You might want to get on her shoulders, there's something you want to see."

Brother Clary looked around, checking to see if there was someone playing with him.  Seeing no one, he looked down at the proferred leg.  Looking once again for someone to laughingly come out of hiding and let him off the hook, he stepped up and swung his lanky frame into a sitting position across the elephant's broad shoulders.

The elephant rose up gracefully and began to saunter along the main thoroughfare, to the amusement of the tourists.  The voice spoke again, apparently coming from her elaborate headdress, hidden among the tassels.  "You need to speak to Chang," the voice said. "He has a lot of answers.  But first - look at this."

They stopped, the elephant swinging her head towards a painted poster, advertising "Jousting Knight and Mechanical Dragon Show, tonight at Dusk !"  The picture was luridly coloured with bold yellows and reds, the dragon a menacing monster next to a knight on a white horse.   Then the elephant strolled onwards.

Not knowing just how to ride the back of the elephant, Brother Clary did what he could.  The shoulders were much wider than the horses he was more accustomed to riding, but somehow he managed to hanging on.



Chang?  Brother Clary's brow furrowed deep, as he plumbed the depths of his memory.  That was a name he had heard in years.  'Billy?  Here?' he muttered to himself.  Then he sighed.  'First I hear voices, then I'm supposed to chase mem'ries....'  But his mind still churned up images of the youthful Texas-born Chinese shopkeeper from Perfection.



'Mechanical dragon, huh?  Wonder if its ever broke down in the middle of a show.  Wouldn't that be a hoot!'  The lanky Texas preacher chuckled to himself at the thought of some embarrassed "knight" trying to lance a hapless "dragon" that just didn't have any fight in him.



It was while his thoughts were centered on the poster that the elephant decided to lurch forward, almost dislodging Brother Clary from his perch, and certainly jostling him back from his reverie of knights and engines and smoke and dragons.

The elephant strode confidently through the crowds, finally stopping in front of a large, brightly-coloured tent, emblazoned with "Chang's Animal Emporium, Rare and Unusual Animals Our Speciality".  A calm-looking fellow in denim coveralls was sweeping up near the front - a full-blooded Indian, if Brother Clary could venture a guess.   The elephant crooked her trunk at him in greeting.

"Hey, Pretty Lady," the Indian said, with a smile.  "Who you got there ?"

In reply to Drake (msg #7):

"Name's Brother Clary." The lean, black-clad Texan nodded his greeting to the man in overalls.  He half-expected that this was the elephant's destination, but with the way things have gone to this point, he wasn't sure.

"I'm lookin' fer Chang," he added with another nod to the poster.  "He wouldn't by any chance be Billy, now would he?"  It was a shot in the dark, but something seemed awfully familiar about the situation.

The Indian nodded, serenely taking this in.  "Billy Chang, down in Texas - is his nephew.   I am sure Chang will see you if you know Billy.  Let him down, Queenie, please."  The last was directed to the elephant, who obligingly knelt for Brother Clary to dismount.

A young kangaroo hopped over towards the preacher, and nibbled idly at the man's shoes, then paused to scratch an itch behind one ear.  The Indian shook his head at this.  "He's young.  My name is Joe; I work for Chang.   Please come inside."  He led the way into the large tent, and rang a small bell, three sharp strikes, making a snoozing zebra wake up and shake its head.

The lanky Texan slid down, and after adjusting his walk a bit, followed the Indian.



Brother Clary took a long look at the oversized jackrabbit, then shook his head in imitation of Joe. Once again, he fell silent taking it all in.

Chang appeared; if you had added about sixty years to Billy Chang, this guy was it.  He was old, wearing a robe, and leaning on a cane.  "Ah.  I have been expecting you." he said, with a smile that crackled up all his face into wrinkles, his accent not Texas, but Chinese.

In reply to Drake (msg #11):

All Brother Clary could manage as a reply was a low "huh."

After he thought a moment, he added "Expecting me, huh?  Did Billy call or somethin'?"

He was deeply curious about this old man and his family, but decided to let the cards fall where they would before he made any kind of a play.

Old Chang nodded once, enigmatically, and gestured for Brother Clary to precede him into the vast depths of the tent.  Along in a pleasantly decorated alcove, a tea service was laid out, the spicy-sweet smell of jasmine tea mingling - not unpleasantly - with the various aromas of the animals.  A tiny monkey was sitting on the back of one of the chairs, idly nibbling on a cracker.  "Join me for tea," Chang invited, "I have heard of you in letters from my nephew, and am pleased to meet you, Brother Clary.   You are the keeper of the Lupino cross - and we may need it."

In reply to Drake (msg #13):

Brother Clary looked somewhat suspiciously at the steaming cup of greenish-brown liquid, and asked, "got any ice?"

At the mention of the Lupino Cross, the black-clad Texas preacher looked sharply at the elder Chang.

"So that's it, eh?  If'n you want to see it, I'm afraid I got in a safe place.  Near, but safe..." His mind wandered to the area behind the seat of his truck where he stashed his shotgun, reasoning it wouldn't do to carry firearms among the celebrants of the fair.  It wasn't Texas, after all.

"So, what are we up agin' this time?"

"Demons," Chang replied, pouring out tea and inhaling the fragrance, as if he was discussing pleasant weather.  "We have demons, Brother Clary.  This place is a haven for strangeness, a point where trouble can gather all too easily.  The web between worlds is fragile here.  Keep the cross safe, I do not want it; it was never mine to carry.  I have had many omens, and I believe I have been the target of surveillance by a certain demon in the shape of a raven, and a falcon.  I will be happy to assist you in anything you require, to deal with this problem.  Something is brewing - something big, and I don't have all the details."

In reply to Drake (msg #15):

Brother Clary bowed his head.  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...

Exhaling slowly, he looked up at the elder Chang.  "Last time I squared off agin' demons, I had help, and now yer tellin' me I gotta it alone?  I'm willin' to do what I gotta do, but I gotta know what I'm lookin' fer."

He watched the Chinese gentleman through narrowed eyes.

"You may have help," Chang said, after a pause in which he seemed to be considering many things.  "I know there is a man who knows the old arts of magic, who has done no evil that I can discern, and who also seeks...to learn more of the world.  He is here in Chicago.  There is also a man who seeks the truth, but he is a detective.  I have a feeling your paths may cross - and I can help that happen, it is your choice."  Chang paused again, to look at the pattern of tea leaves in Brother Clary's cup.  "The sign of the dragon.  It begins."

In reply to Drake (msg #17):

Brother Clary looked down at the mass of tea leaves in the bottom of the cup, realizing that he must have drunk the stuff without thinking.  He couldn't remember exactly the taste.

"So where do I go from here?" He said with a heaviness in his tone that exposed his concern.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:25, Fri 01 Aug 2008.

"I will send you to the White Mage," Chang replied.  "He is at the French Cafe; that is where his underlings go to find him.  Be careful, Brother Clary.  Not all is as it seems...there is a demon watching my tent.  I will distract it so that you may proceed - unimpeded."

With the last comment, the lanky Texas preacher followed Chang's lead, wishing for all the world that he had brought his shotgun into the fairgrounds.  He didn't like this business of demons spying on him, and if he was going to have to face them, he certainly didn't want to do it alone.  What was the verse in Ecclesiastes? He mused, fretfully. And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.(Ecclesiastes 4:12).

So consumed was he about escaping the baleful watch of the demons, he didn't allow himself to be concerned about consorting with a 'white mage'...

Chang was good to his word - there was a huge ruckus raised, with the old man in the middle of it, at the front of the tent, and Brother Clary slipped out the back.  He quickly mingled with the crowds and got to the French Cafe, where all was peace and quiet, the nasal drone of French washing over him just as he imagined it might in Paris.  He scanned the tables at the cafe, finding one that seemed to suit the bill.

There was a man seated at a table in the shade, a man with white hair; his skin was pale, bordering on albino, and his ice-blue eyes were gazing calmly at Brother Clary.  He wore a nicely tailored but not exceptional dove grey suit, and a matching fedora was resting on the chair peg next to him.  A stack of papers were in front of him, as well as a coffee cup and pitcher.

In reply to Drake (msg #21):

The black-clad Texas preacher looked at the man in the dove grey suit for a long time, then moved to an open table nearby.  When a snooty-looking waiter asked impatiently what he wanted, Brother Clary simply stated, "Dr. Pepper.  With ice."

The pale man said something to the waiter in what sounded like very good French, then directed his full attention to Brother Clary.  "Ah, I believe you want a few words," he said, sounding Boston to the preacher's ears.   "And I believe, if the information is correct, we have similar goals.  Tell me what you want to know about the Star gems, and what you intend to do, and I'll see if I can help you."

In reply to Drake (msg #23):

Bother Clary's eyes narrowed at being addressed by the man in grey.  His mind raced back to what Chang had told him, and searched vainly for an idea what the stranger might be talking about.

"You must have me confused with somebody else," he said, shaking his head.  I don't know nothin' 'bout no gems.  I'm a man o' God and I'm here lookin' to put down some o' the Lord's enemies.  Ugly ones too.

"I may want a few words, but I don't think its with you, unless you know who sent me."

"I can imagine you came from Master Chang," the man in grey replied.  "You're carrying an important artefact - which means you're not a tourist.  I will explain.  Would you care for lunch ?"  Without waiting for an answer, he waved his right hand at the waiter, who rushed off.   "I find that stories go better on a full stomach.  My name is Benjamin White.  My job is to keep bad things from happening to innocent people of this modern age, and I am hoping you will be able to help me in that, as we have common goals.  And, so long as I am here at this cafe, there will be no demons in the immediate vicinity - they don't care for me.  Please sit down."

In reply to Drake (msg #25):

Still suspicious, the black-clad Texan slid his chair over to the grey man's table.  Ben White, he thought, is this Chang's 'white mage?'

"Well, you know how mysterious Billy is.  He didn't tell me everything about you, 'zactly."

He feigned nonchalance while watching the man's reaction.  His unease at consorting with anyone who dabbled in forbidden arts was growing, no matter the person's intentions.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Mon 11 Aug 2008.

"Billy ?" the pale eyebrow lifted with elegant nonchalonce.  "I was under the impression Chang's name was Hsu-Tsi Tzu.  And he doesn't know everything about me - just that we share certain interests.   I will tell you about the Star Gems, since time is drawing short and I know full well that there are at least two powerful factions keenly interested in getting the Morning Star gem - and the recipe for its....opening.  Big crystal orb; currently in Sultan Rashid's treasure display.  The sceptre that went with it, which contains a way of triggering the gem, has been stolen.  I'm not so worried about the sceptre, but I certainly am worried about the gem."

In reply to Drake (msg #27):

Inwardly, Brother Clary relaxed a little bit.  He had gotten more information here than he had since he had arrived at the fair.

"Well," he drawled casually, "I guess I kin spare a few moments to hear 'bout yore purty rocks.  That is, ifn' you got time to tell me more."  He leaned in slightly to let White know he was interested, but not so much he appeared over-eager.

"Certainly," Benjamin White replied.  "May I have the pleasure of your name ?  I can already see your aura, and that tells me I can trust you, so there's no need to display the item you have control of."
The Doctor Pepper arrived at the table in a crystal glass, fizzing nicely, along with a tray of small sandwiches that looked very foreign.

The lanky Texan didn't know how thirsty he was until he looked down at his glass and it was already empty.

"I'm known as Brother Clary.  Pleased to meet ya.  And...much obliged for the grub."  He added this last as he eyed the 'furrin'-lookin' sandwiches suspiciously.

"What's in these?  They don't look like they'd be enough to fill up a feller."

"Shrimp salad, relish, and cheese with onion," Ben White replied. "I didn't know if you'd be hungry or not, merely that you were searching for me."  He snapped his fingers and the waiter practically materialized in front of them, then rushed off to get another soda and more food.  "It's all right; I have an expense account for such matters.  Tell me what you need to know.  Oh, and I must tell you; there's another gentleman also on the trail of the gems, so to speak.  He was hired to recover the sceptre.   Perhaps the two of you can work together, or at least not get in each other's way ?"

In reply to Drake (msg #31):

"Okay, so you want the jewel, this other guy wants the scepter." Brother Clary appeared thoughtful as he munched on the delicate sandwiches.

"Where do I find this guy?  Any idea what his name is?"  Then he leaned in close again.  "And more importantly, where and when do I start?"

"I don't want either of them; I just want them in the right hands," White replied.  "Which might be mine, if nothing else presents itself, and that's a responsibility I'd rather not have at the moment.  His name is Steve Cable; he's a detective, rather hard-boiled.  I believe he's keeping company with an old acquaintance of yours - Hans Gruber.  I'd start at the airfield, where you'll find Gruber's Junker - he's never far from it."

"Well, if it ain't old home week," Brother Clary said with a wry chuckle.  He had fond memories of Gruber, and not so fond ones of his pet snake.  He hoped that Gruber had improved his choice of companions somewhat.

"Cable y'say?  A detective huh?"  The lanky Texan rubbed his grizzled chin thoughtfully.  "He wouldn't happen to be from Arkansas, now would he?"

After the conclusion of the conversation, the black-clad preacher took one last bite, tipped his hat and returned to his truck.  After checking to ensure that his gun and the Cross were still present, he set off on a deliberate pace for the airfield, looking for a German Junker.

Clary's truck and equipment were unmolested.   The airfield was easy to find; and under a large tree, at the side of the field, the Junker was sitting, a fresh coat of paint making it look bright.  The side panel was partly open, to catch the breeze, and inside Clary could see a hammock swinging, and hear the deep breathing of someone well asleep.    There was no sign of the snake - but there was a sort of watchfulness about the plane, that suggested that Clary was being observed.

There was a clicking sound, as the hammer of the broomhandle was eased back, and Hans Gruber sat up in the hammock and stowed the sidearm.  "Preacher !"  he said, with a grin.  "You haff come to Chicago for fair ?"  The pilot looked skinnier and shabbier than when Clary had seen him last, and the blonde hair was shaggy, in need of a cut, but it was Gruber, all right.

Grabbing his rucksack and stuffing his Bible and the cross inside, then taking up his shotgun, Brother Clary greeted the German pilot with an equally cheery air.

"Gruber, as I live and breathe!  It is you!  The plane looks good, but you..." he shook his head.  "How's life?"

As he approached closer, he lowered his voice "I'm lookin' fer a feller named Cable.  Heard he was hangin' around.  You seen him?"

Hans Gruber smiled at the mention of his beloved plane, but as for his own appearance, he shook his head lightly with a sigh.  "Dot verdammter Prohibition, is over.  No good money coming in.  But here I am, asked by a friend for the air show.  I am flying Fokker triplane, also Albatros."

At the mention of Cable, Gruber raised one eyebrow.  "Dot man hire me, to bodyguard him.  He need a lot of guarding, already been shot at.  He is looking for sceptre, has ruby in it, gold, was stolen from Sultan.  I meet him later today, to go to try to get it, in Cairo streets.  But  - is shooting, is trouble.  Not safe."

"Yeah, I'm lookin' fer it too.  Think he'd mind a man o' th' cloth taggin' along?  It might not hurt to have someone guardin' not jest his body but his soul as well."

Brother Clary fidgeted with his pack and his shotgun slung over the same arm, while he looked around the field.  His mind turned over the events of the day, and Gruber's assertion that there had already been shooting made him wonder what was coming next.

Gruber considered this in the same manner Clary was familiar with, the slow and steady thought process.  "I cannot stop you from going there," the German said eventually. "But I do not know what you will find.  Is trouble. I would be unhappy if you were hurt."

It remained a question to Clary why the German hadn't taken part of the Fountain of Youth; he'd been there, and it was tempting.

The black clad Texas preacher grinned a grin that belied his age and made him seem boyish.  "Yeah, I wouldn't be too happy if'n I got hurt either.  But I believe that the Lord is my sun and shield, so I'll be fine, unless, of course, He decides to take me home."

While looking at the German pilot, his mind wandered back to their first encounters.  "Friend Gruber, I been thinkin'.  I know why I didn't wet my whistle at that fountain back in them South American jungles.  How come you didn't?"

Gruber looked back at Clary, blue eyes as open as the sky.  "Why would I want to be anything other than what I am ?"  he asked, with a simple shrug.  "So, you are here, and I know that means there is trouble.  It may be big trouble, but I do not know any more than that, just that I will be there, with a rifle, on a roof, to help.  I speak some Arabic, too."

Brother Clary stared back at the German flyer.  Here is a strange one.

"There may be trouble," the preacher said with a shrug.  "But as the Good Book said, adversity breeds patience and patience, character."  He sighed.  "On the roof?  Who is this private eye meeting?"

Gruber shrugged.  His policy of "not asking questions" left gaps in his informational value.  "He is looking for this thing, this gold...Scapul...scepta, something like that," the German said.  "I am going to made a fire in a trash bin, to make distraction, to help.  You will go to Cairo ?"

"Yup," was the Texan's typical answer, declining to elaborate further.

"Need any help with the distraction?"

"Nein, I have done so before," Gruber had said, revealing another talent.

The evening at the Streets of Cairo went by in a rush.  Clary arrived late, to see a brawny detective type holding a large firearm on a man who had possession of the Sceptre, a gold and ruby item of some worth.  He was about to move forward when Hans Gruber, quite suddenly, was in front of him.  "Is too dangerous.  I tell you later what happen, now I must go.  Stay out of these streets.  Go to Osama the Rug Seller and say you are my friend, if you will not leave !"

Brother Clary nodded, adjusted his pack and shotgun, and staying close to the shops, looked for Osama's shop.

Once inside, he introduced himself to Osama as a friend of Gruber's, then positioned himself in the doorway in such a way as to take advantage of cover, while still being able to watch what has surely about to happen.

The brawny detective type and Gruber left with the Sceptre, as the crowd suddenly dispersed and the man who'd owned the Sceptre vanished in a puff of smoke.

Osama the Rug Seller was a wizened old man, with the shrewdest eyes Brother Clary had ever seen.  "Aha, the Flyer, he is a clever one," Osama chortled, "But not clever enough.  Tell me, man of the Christian God, can you turn aside demons ?  For one will be raised now, you can bet on that, it will be after that Sceptre.  To control that Sceptre is to control a great power.  And to protect them this night, they will be able to go only a few places.  I would bet on one, if you want to know which one; Chang's Animal Emporium is the best defended.   There you will be able to find that demon, and it will be looking for them - not you.  Usually I charge for this information, but since you are a friend of my friend, I will put it on his tab."

Outwardly, the black-clad Texan thanked Osama graciously.  Inwardly, he was kicking himself from here to next Tuesday for being deceived by the wily German.

Once outside the rugseller's shop, he readjusted his pack and made sure the shotgun was loaded.  Then he set off for Chang's, his mouth set in a grim line at the thought of what was to come.

Chang gave Brother Clary a warm reception, and invited him to stay.  "I expect company this evening, and it would be dangerous to be out tonight, even for a skilled demon hunter such as yourself.  But, do me this favour; when Hans Gruber comes here, with his companion, they will have the Sceptre.  Remain behind the screen and listen - and observe. You may learn much, Brother Clary."

In reply to Drake (msg #49):

Brother Clary gripped his shotgun tightly.  He could see the scepter from behind the screen, but the conversation among the various players made him stay his hand.  He wanted no truck with a curse, even though he was sure his God would pull him through even the 'valley of the shadow of death.'

Better to avoid the appearance of evil, he thought, with a small inward chuckle.  But how do I get the gem stone from the scepter?  His mind raced through various scenarios.  He decided to bide his time a little while yet to see how things would continue to play out.

Hans Gruber had stopped eating long enough to fiddle with a bootlace that really didn't need tying, and Brother Clary was certain that the pilot knew the preacher was there, hidden behind a screen carved with dragons.  But the German didn't do anything but pick up another bowl of noodles and start eating again.

The Sceptre sat, inert in its box, the ruby catching a stray ray of lamplight every so often and gleaming softly.  It was within reach; what was Chang up to ?

Brother Clary stiffened at the suggestion of moving the screen, his only concealment in Chang's tent.  Knowing that his presence would have been discovered one way or the other, decided that when he was discovered, it would be in a position of strength.

As silently as possible, he raised his shotgun to a 'ready' position, so that when the screen was moved, he would not be defenseless.

Brother Clary watched Hans Gruber, who clearly could see him, saunter up, move the screen - and   There was no reaction from the detective or the professor to Clary's presence.

In reply to Drake (msg #53):

Stunned at the lack of reaction to his presence, the lanky Texan stared, mouth agape at the tableau which presented itself to his eyes.

He lowered his shotgun slightly, while weighing in his mind what to do.  Should he present himself?  Should he continue to watch?  He offered a silent prayer for wisdom in this completely unearthly situation.

There was a dull-sounding crash of metal, as if from far away or if it had to penetrate some layers to reach them.  Otherwise, all seemed normal in the room; the detective was looking around, the professor was looking pensive, and Gruber was reddened up under Pearl's admonishment.  The girl stood up and offered to take the professor to a telephone, and to bring cots.  It looked as if Clary was in there for a while, sight unseen, but with nothing to block him from view.

Cradling the shotgun in his arm, Brother Clary scratched his head.  He still didn't understand why he wasn't seen.  He tried waving at the people in the room.

He needed to get the stone, but based on the conversation in the room, he wasn't about to do it alone.  How to make contact without causing a major ruckus at this point?

His head began to hurt.

Hans Gruber considered this, then suddenly jumped to his feet.  "If line goes out....line can come in !  It can get in !"  He bolted towards the exit, knocking aside the screen in his haste, and was yelling in a mix of German and English about not making the telephone call.

Too late.

Suddenly the canvas was shredding, an icy wind whipping into the tent, and horribly loud booming laughter was shaking his very bones.

"God Almighty..." began a less-than-formal prayer.  Brother Clary rapidly brought his shotgun back up to a firing position and began looking for a likely target amidst the shredding canvas, wind and demonic laughter.

There seemed to be a form taking shape, humanoid; the Lupino Cross was a warm, heavy weight, comforting, and the wind buffeting the room was having less effect on Brother Clary.  Hans grabbed the Sceptre and darted off with it, faster than Brother Clary had ever seen the German move.