Although they were a ways away to prevent discovery, Singh recognised the language the dark-skinned men were speaking. It was Hindi, which he spoke. The men were Indian, not Arabs! Their voices were loud, obviously they had no fear of being overheard (or, more precisely, no fear of being understood if they were).


Shadows danced in the bright light spilling out from the open warehouse doorway. They saw the high windows had been blacked out from the inside. Perhaps from the war, or a precaution by the current owner to conceal their activities.

After considerable struggle, the men loaded up the crate onto the truck bed. One of them seemed to be directing the efforts, a short thick man with a mustache. While his rough-looking confederates seemed to be somewhat careless, the leader seemed a little sharper and wary. He seemed to be looking straight at the group for a moment, but then looked past. Perhaps blinded by the light inside the warehouse. The driver didn't leave right away, instead, he joined the others for a fag and some more joking outside the open doorway.

If they left right away, they could be at their truck and in position to tail the delivery to the docks.

Behind and between Falcon and Bathory, Singh whispers very quietly: "These men are Indians. The truck will go to the docks with most of the men, but will return. The boss says he thinks they will not be needed tomorrow night."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #314):

Darlington motioned for the others to gather by him, around the corner.

"Blimey! Right. Thanks, Mr. Singh. I'll stay 'ere wiv Ralph, keep an eye on da place. You lot trail da truck. Meet back 'ere in a 'alf-haaahr, awer back at da town 'ouse. Nuff said, yeah?"

He got out his sap in one hand, revolver in the other.

In reply to Albert Darlington (msg #315):

The Count nodded his agreement, before heading to the delivery truck. He buried his head in his coat to ward off the night chill while being aware of his surroundings as he walked.

JM nodded in agreement and headed back to the truck also.  "Might we instead meet back here and perhaps attempt an entry into the warehouse?  With these men gone we might find the odds more in our favor."

They quickly made it back to the truck, let the Major know what was going on. "We'll talk when you return!"

Within a few minutes, they followed the slow-moving truck to a crumbling Limehouse wharf. There were a few streetlights there, making it a little lighter. Silent dilapidated warehouses fronted a deserted waterfront. A few ancient, rusting ships were tied up.

The fog was thick with coal smoke and sewage. Out in the darkness, a bell rang to warn of the dangers of the Thames. Oily water slapped against decaying piers.

Eventually, the flatbed stopped by a decrepit tramp steamer, the Ivory Wind. From this angle, they could see the stern and the Ivory Wind was registered out of Darwin, Australia.

JM will drive keeping well back from the other truck.  He'll stop well away from the ship, hopefully near enough another ship to look like they have business there.  Once out he'll creep towards the Ivory Wind if there is cover.

The Count was glad Mr Falcon had offered to drive. His first encounters with motor vehicles had happened once he had arrived in London. Even though Perkins had given him lessons there had been "incidents".

He noted the name and the ships registration port for a more detailed investigation at Lloyds. Sitting there he felt that this was as much as need to be done as the cargo was obviously back at the warehouse. He waited in silence.

Aside from the truck parked by the Ivory Wind, the wharf was deserted at the midnight hour. There were a few dim lights in the foul-smelling riverside murk, plus a few on the rustbucket. No one had any legitimate business there that time of night. The three men they were following got out, one went up the gangplank to the ship while the others lit fags while they waited.

JM disappeared into the darkness heading towards the ship. Out in the river, an unseen foghorn blew a mournful note.

There was abundant cover from the crates and boxes piled precariously alongside barrels and massive coils of rope and cable. Disreputable-looking sailors sauntered down the gang-plank to the truck, and soon, a cargo derrick was lowering a block and tackle over the bed of the truck.

A very rumpled unshaved fellow, probably the Captain, came down the gangplank to direct the loading operation. Dressed in a peaked officer's cap and dark peacoat, he yelled directions at the crew in broken Chinese and Scandanavian-accented English. "Ya, ya, bring dat t'ing down! Slowly, slowly...."

Molly had finally finished getting together the room to develop the pictures she would take and started on the slow process of going through them.  She looked over the tomes available and separated them into three categories:  large hard bound tomes, smaller tomes that were in different languages and scrolls.

She estimated that it would take several hours to do the hard bound tomes not to mention that she wasn't necessarily looking for taking pictures of pages that had mice turds on it but such would be necessary.  She decided to start on the scrolls and took the pictures first in the tubes in case they held some secrets of their own and then of the scroll out of the tube.  Molly soon had a system going and was taking picture after pictures only pausing periodically to look at the scrolls.  She made herself not look too deeply at them or else she'd get sidetracked and never finish.  She was surprised to discover that most of the time it took her around 15 minutes per scroll.  Where she had thought to just take a picture was soon laid to rest and she found that most of the time she had to be very careful with the scrolls due to their age and condition.  Once that was finished she was very happy to discover that she had time to work on some of the books.

Molly next tackled the multi languaged books.  There were two English books altbough she wasn't sure what Seeing the Alle-Consumyng Lhyte would actually mean and just guessed that the  Booke of Benevolent Praises might be prayers or something similar.  They were in English, even if it was Old English, so she would start there.  Better to have something that you might be able to read later if need be.  12 hours later she stretched her back and rubbed her eyes from the strain of going through all the books.  She still wasn't done though.  She had three large tomes to deal with.

The tomes had such interesting if unreadable names such as Book of Dyzan, G'Harne Fragments and Liber Ivonis.  Once again the Old English and Latin were the languages but Molly wasn't a reporter for nothing.  She knew that she had to persevere and push on.  First though she would take a picture of the covers of all three of the books and then start in earnest to take the pictures.  She cringed when she saw the condition they were in and even hazard a guess that some of those stains were actually blood.  She lost track of time as she kept snapping picture after picture...and would keep it up until the men returned and interrupted her.


OOC:  if she had help doing the pictures, I think somebody was going to help then assume she was conversing with them while taking the pictures.  Didn't mean to purposefully leave them out.

Singh steps from the truck, but stays near the open rear door, watching back the way they had come. He was uneasy and not pleased to be lingering. His right hand held his revolver thrust under his jacket.

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #323):

The crew finished loading the crate. Finishing their smokes, the men from the warehouse mounted up and then drove off.

The Captain spoke a few words to his mate, then instead of following him up the gangplank turned and walked down the wharf. He seemed to be trudging towards one of the riverside pubs that catered to merchant sailors, various foreigners, derelicts and prostitutes into the wee hours.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:34, Sat 09 June 2012.

The Count watched the Captain as he walked along the wharf once he was a ways off the Count exited the truck. Seeing Mr Singh he asks:

"Fancy a night cap Mr Singh. I seemed to have developed a thirst that the fine establishment yonder may quench."

"Unwise, I think, sir. We have a party still at the warehouse without transport. If the others will return, we should be getting back.

"There are less obvious ways of getting information on the Ivory Wind."

Cynthia will help Molly. As long as Molly is sorting through anyway, Cynthia can assist in translating a few titles, and glancing through some of the books for special images or bits of text. Even if Cynthia isn't convinced a photo log will really help with research, cataloging the haul will be critical. Only once she has an idea of what she's looking at can we begin the actual researching.

Once they're wrapped up with the books and scrolls, Cynthia leans in to Molly. "You know, we did take another chest. If you think you'd be interested in photographing that too."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #327):

Molly grins at Cynthia.  "I'm not sure we'll have enough time but at the minimum we can snap the covers to know what we're looking for.  Yeah, let's go for it.  That's what the guys get for leaving us females behind."  Molly smiles and winks at Cynthia.

"On to the new adventure...I mean chest of treasure or whatever.  By the way, not sure if I mentioned it yet but thanks for the help.  It saved time having you hold those scrolls for me to snap the pictures as well as knowing what some of those titles were."

In reply to Imran Singh (msg #326):

"As you say Mr Singh."

The Count moved into the shadows cast by the building they had parked next to. He had not expected much to have come of their observation and maybe engagement of the Captain, but finding the nature of a man was always an achievement.

He continued to wait for the others to return.

"Well ... thank you. You should probably know, the chest contains some sort of a statue. I don't know that you'll really want to look at it. It's hideous, simply ... disturbing.. But if we could find some way to identify it, I wonder what clues it might provide. I thought though that you, being quite as heedless of unsettling events as you are, might perhaps be better equipped to get some of those clues than I."

Cynthia will lead her to the chest. She's torn between wanting to peek in and the urge to lock it in the basement forever.

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #330):

Well what could Molly say about that.  Of course she now was bound to take a look because her reputation was at stake.

"Well I'm not sure about the "heedless of frightening events" part but we do what we have to do, etc., but I'll take a look if you think it is important."

There really wasn't a way that Molly would NOT look at it now...no matter how hideous and disturbing it was.  Those pictures she had seen before were pretty bad so this couldn't be worse...could it?

At the Count's town house, Dr. Weston did some reading of the scrolls as they were photographed.

He was unable to read the scrolls that were written in Arabic, Medieval French or Egyptian hieroglyphs. He could read the three in Latin and one in Old English.

"My God... the psychoses these rantings represent! There's a whole new school of criminal psychology contained here."

Dr. Westong sighed in disgust. "All I can tell is that these are prayers to a God known as the "Black" or "Unseen Pharaoh". Prayers for power, for money, for women, little boys and girls in some cases. Blasphemous products of disease minds."

The Count's Town House

On one of the floors, an ornate clock chimed midnight.

Perkins retired for the night, and a young, haunted-looking man by the name of "McAdam" took over the watch downstairs, playing a game of solitaire. A double-barreled shotgun rested against his chair.

The unopened crate sat in the sitting room where Perkins had brought it, calling them. This was the larger, heavier case, with an address postmarked in China ("HO FONG IMPORTS").

Limehouse Docks

The Ivory Wind's Captain disappeared into the darkness. JM was still unseen, someplace nearby.

JM crept back to the truck and the others. "I don't feel like storming the ship.  I say we investigate the ship tomorrow; her registry and what not and head back to the warehouse."

Cynthia leads the way down, giving a quick greeting to McAdam before moving to the chest in question. She unlatches it and stands behind it, imagining the foulness seeping between the leather bindings of the chest.

"When you're ready."

In reply to Cynthia Jane Holloway (msg #335):

Molly took a deep breath and got her camera ready.  She found it good to take pictures as soon as some things were open for a couple of reasons.  One being that it put a barrier between her and whatever evil and foulness might be in there and second being it was a shot of it being undisturbed.  Both could be useful and crutches for Molly to grab on to.

"Ok.  I'm ready.  As soon as it is open, I'm going to take a pix of it and then I'll look at it without the camera.  Just to let you know that there will be a flash going off and you might want to turn your head or close your eyes against it."

Molly took a second breath and nodded.  "Go for it.  Open it up."

Cynthia opens the chest, averting her eyes (for the flash, of course).