Re: England to Egypt
Dr. Weston's meeting with his colleague at the Pazzarella Hospital on the Via Lata was rather early, but this understandable as Dr. Giovanni Dellupo said (over the telephone) things were very unsettled after some mass incident of a week or so earlier.
When he arrived by taxi, his old friend could only spare a few moments from his hectic schedule. The story was the same as in France; around the 5th of April most of the patients became agitated, many had vivid dreams of the "walking mountain" rising from the ocean. There was much delerium and raving, a few of the catatonic patients actually became conscious, awoken from their sleep, and some of those commenced to try and injure themselves and the staff.
At ten o'clock, Giovanni apologised profusely and said it was time for Dr. Weston to leave.
"I thank you for coming, my friend! But truly, we are very busy. Things have calmed down but there's so much for me to do, I am so sorry I can't devote more time! Come back soon, I will have Magdalena cook some of her pasta for you, we'll drink some wine, it will be like old times, yes?"
At the pensione Mingarelli, the pilots (Roger, Karlheinz and John-Marc) ate a leisurely breakfast. There was a knock on the door.
It was Americo, a handsome young wiry man in his early 20's. He was from the rural part of Italy, apparently working for a time in his uncle's pensione. His English was poor and thickly accented, but he could make himself be understood. He took his cap off his head and held it in both hands, revealing thick curly black hair hanging over dark eyes.
"Scusi, Signores? There is-a problema? I-a go to the cafe. Get bread, yes? I see my cousin Francisco Battaglia across the street. In Post Office. He's-a the Black Shirt? You know? No good fascisti. There are many fascisti there, ten, twelve. He call-a me over, so I go. He says they are-a looking for three foreign men staying in the pensione. He says these foreigners, they are pederasti! Looking to buy-a Italian boy from filthy Gypsies. That is crazy! I say you-a gonna be here all day, I come and warn you.
"They gonna come in ten minutes. You go now! I show you back way. Down alley!"
At the hotel, Cynthia was able to find an English language paper. She was able to obtain a French-language paper, Le Progrès Egyptien, which she she could read. There didn't seem to be much of interest other than left-wing political opinion, but she did see an article about how, earlier in the month, several villages in French Polynesia were wiped out in a mysterious tidal wave that struck late on night and left no survivors.
At around 9am, the immaculately-suited concierge came up to the table where Cynthia and Molly were waiting. He was holding a yellow envelope and politely excused his interrupting of their repast. " Pardonatemi, Signoras. I have an urgent telegram from London for Conti Bathony. You checked in with him, do you kindly know of his whereabouts or when he might return?"
As there was no convenient cafe inside the Holy See, Perkins had to content himself with pretending to buy stamps at the Vatican Post Office just down the street from the closest entrance to the Library and the Archives, behind St. Peter's Basilica. The Archives were part of the Vatican Library, a truly massive structure with over 35,000 volumes in the selected catalogue alone, and the inventory of the Secret Archive was kept on 1,300 parchment volumes.
There was little traffic in the lane on this rainy weekday. The few faithful who had made the pilgrimage to the heart of the Catholic church would much rather see the magnificent Basilica and not be wandering down the lane behind it in the Vatican's administrative, lodging and quarters blocks. A pair of Swiss Guards in ceremonial dress and carrying halberds wandered down towards the barracks just inside the Porto di S. Anna (which led out into the city to the Via di Porta Angelica). Mainly, there were some Catholic priests and officials in their black and grey cassocks and capes. Ordinary Italians weren't absent either; the Holy City needed deliverymen, handymen and craftsmen to function, like any secular city.
About two hours after Bathony entered the Archives, Perkins spotted a horse-drawn delivery wagon clattering down the lane that led from the Porta di St. Anna past the Swiss Guard barracks. It looked like a typical delivery wagon, probably given a quick check by the Swiss Guard at the gate and then passed through. The wagon stopped outside the Archive entrance, and a group of four men climbed out and glanced around, furtive and unsure. They looked like street toughs, probably Sicilian, wearing caps low against the rain. Their rough moustachioed faces were thick with stubble, shabby coats long enough to conceal weapons of some kind. One knocked at the door, and it was immediately opened. Looking around, the men began entering the door to the archives, trying not to look too suspicious. Perkins was about 2 blocks away from the entrance, to the right was an open areas with trees and a cobbled courtyard where a delivery truck was parked, to the left were the towers at the rear of St. Peter's Basilica.
Out at the Aeroporto di Ciampino, Alexander waited in the cold hangar as rain drummed on the tin roof. It seemed odd the structure was deserted at this time of the morning, there should at least be a watchman to keep it secure. As he pondered this, he smelled smoke. Looking around, he saw tendrils of smoke beginning to seep from around the wood door to the rear offices. He knew that inside was a wood-burning stove that the watchman would have lit for warmth and to boil water for tea or coffee.
Father Salvio led the Count deeper and deeper through the galleries and winding passages of the Archives. Doors led off into different parts of the stacks, revealing books, documents, scrolls and other reading materials in hundreds of languages. Once they passed an ancient monk in a brown robe tied with a white rope silently pushing a cart laden with worm-eaten volumes. They stopped in one section obviously devoted to all aspects of the occult.
After a couple hours of poring through the volumes, Bathony could tell that while all manner of heresy and blasphemy were detailed, anything relating to the corrupt Mythos worshipped by the cultists of the Bloody Tongue and the Brotherhood of the Black Pharoah. Father Salvio admitted he was not experienced with the part of the archive housing the most blasphemous materials. It was said there were deeper vaults that kept volumes of writing so horrifying that the Church denied their very existence, keeping them in the lowest level. Only a few of the most trusted archivists knew of their location and possessed the means to access them.
"I must get the archivist's assistant to show us. He will have the key. Please wait here."
In a few moments, Salvio returned with another monk, different than the one they'd seen before, yet equally ancient. The silent monk led them to a tiny winding stairwell that descended deep into the earth beneath the Vatican and Rome. They ended up in a series of small stone-lined subterranian corridors lined with metal-bound wood doors. The air was cool and dry, and Monk lit an oil lamp as he them into the labyrinth under the Archive and Library. It looked like there were some electric lights although only the main corridors were wired as such. Bathony thought he might be able to navigate back, if need be, but wasn't 100% sure.
Finally, after snaking their way down narrow side passages, they arrived at a thick metal-shod door into a cell-like room. The small window was barred. Their guide produced a thick iron key and, turning it in the lock, opened the door with a squeal of hinges. He stepped aside and motioned for them to enter, and Father Savio, after making the sign of the cross and breathing a silent prayer, did so. As Bathony was about to enter he noted a glint of silver around the right wrist of the monk. He was holding something down by his side. It was a silver wrist chain. And attached to that chain was an inverted ankh, also made of silver.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:01, Sat 02 Nov 2013.