You sit, hunched over your desk, poring over your latest notes. Translating these Sumerien texts has been fascinating. Gathering information on Enki, the ancient Sumerian water god has been consuming you all day. God of wisdom and magic also, he's of particular interest to you, but then your family has long been appreciative of any such wisdom. The oldest magic is always the most powerful you've found. So much of it has been lost to time. Restoring it has been a passion of the Harkness line for years and you're no different.

Beside you the wax from your candle melts messily onto the table. You really should have lit a lantern instead but you had planned to go to bed hours ago. But no. It's simply too fascinating. Enki is suggesting they make servants for the gods. Men, fashioned of clay and blood. Your weary eyes scan the scroll with delight but your research is abruptly stopped by a loud and hurried knocking at your door. Who on earth could that be at this hour? You glance at the clock over your mantle. It reads 1:17 in the morning. Surely your landlady, Mrs. Bunting couldn't be up this late? The sour faced old woman who runs the boarding house often raps in such a manner, but even her curmudgeon temper can't keep her awake past ten o clock. Who could it be? As you rise to answer it, the knocking comes even louder. A woman's muffled voice sounds on the other side. Harkness! It's Miss Easting! Please, please let me in! She sounds frantic. Easting. Easting. Where do you know that name? Ah yes! She was the secretary for the men of letters chapter in town. A mousy, shy thing if you recall. She's barely spoken ten words to you, why is she at your door? Please Harkness! I'm as good as dead if you don't let me in!