Marianne Trevors had a stack full of books that was not cooperating at all.  She needed them for her research, a novel set in a jungle locale, but the field guide kept slipping off the stack and taking the "Animals of Danger" with it, every time, and both of them were endangering the rest of the stack.  They had fallen twice now and the librarian was about to have kittens if it happened a third time.  She grabbed "Expedition to the Amazon" before it joined the others in a mad dash for freedom and suddenly, to her horror, noticed she'd ripped the spine from the cover.

Well, Mrs. Dowling the Librarian was vindictive enough not to agree to any more interlibrary loans if Marianne did the slightest thing to annoy the old bag.  Maybe a little bit of glue could fix it.  She hurried out with the sliding stack of books, heading to her car and tumbling them in.

The binding of "Expedition to the Amazon", author James Peach, published 1902 and signed by the author, ripped some more, and there was something in the binding, something yellowy and thin.  Careful application of a fingernail eased it out.  It was a map, drawn in faded brown ink on thin paper, and someone had very carefully put it there.

Marianne held her breath and gingerly held the map in front of her delicate nose. Her nose twitched once in response, and her authorly instincts went into overdrive. No question, this old-map-hidden-in-book reeked of adventure. And adventure was her stock in trade.

She carefully opened it, studying it curiously. Whatever it was, it was sure to be interesting. Marianne's nose never let her down.

Marianne looked at the map.  It was old, at least twenty years, if she had to guess, and it was written in English by someone with slightly notional spelling. The shading was extremely scribbly, in faded colours - blues, reds, and greens, now mostly looking brownish, and showed a LOT of jungle.  A long, winding path was detailed, with such place-names as "Devvil's Eye", "River of Big Lizzards", and "God's Heads", with the final destination being "The Blood of Goolah".  The starting place was a dot named "Maras-cat."  There was no country that was listed as the point of origin.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:30, Sun 05 Dec 2004.

It was a bit of a struggle for Marianne to stop herself from grabbing a pen and correcting the horrendous spelling on the map. She couldn't stop herself from muttering in annoyance however, as she tried to decipher the scribbles.

"Maras-cat. Now is that Mara's cat? Or Marascat? Or maybe Maras-cat as written? Unlikely...

Devvil's eye! Devvil's eye! It's Devil's eye, you ninny, and I'd like to poke your's out!

River of Big Lizzards. Charming.

God's Heads?" Marianne paused for a moment, confused by that one, but decided to let it go for now. She followed the trail of names out loud to the very last one.

"Blood of Goolah" she pronounced with satisfaction, savoring the thrill that ran down her spine at the images it conjured. "How delightfully lurid! I must remember to put that in Chapter 3."

She folded the map and put it in her pocket as the wheels turned in her head. A jungly place, probably very tropical with big lizards. Africa maybe? Or India? Or South America? Or South East Asia? She wanted to call Lucas and ask him if he knew anything about Maras-cat or the Blood of Goolah, but suddenly remembered she was still mad at him. "Tasteless pap indeed! The old curmudgeon hasn't even read any of them!" Marianne took her job - no, her calling - as a writer very seriously. "Nobody insults my books, not even Lucas Walter!"

"It's going to have to be the old bag, then," she muttered to herself.

Marianne got out of the car and headed back towards the library to throw herself on Mrs. Dowling's questionable mercies again. There had to be an atlas and a complete set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica in there, and she would go through them page by page if she had to.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:36, Mon 06 Dec 2004.

Mrs. Dowling sniffed and pushed her glasses up to view Marianne.  "Yes ?  Something you wanted, Mizz Trevors ?"  That grating North England accent.  "MORE request forms ? I shall have to enquire at the printers."  It looked like an uphill battle, but the woman reluctantly directed Marianne to the atlas section and the Encyclopaedias.  There was no mention of Maras-cat in them, but plenty of rivers and jungles.  It seemed that the map was very pointedly directing to something...just the start point, or a main town name, were missing.  Hours passed, and she was forced to admit that there had to be more clues...just not where she was looking.

Defeat was not something that Marianne Trevors admitted lightly, but a few hours of fruitless searching under the baleful glare of Mrs. Dowling proved to be too much, even for her. With a sigh, she got up and walked to her car, making a childish face at the librarian behind her back.

Inspiration struck while she was driving through Piccadilly, and so very nearly did disaster, as Marianne let go of the wheel for a few critical seconds to grab one of the books from the backseat instead.

Shrugging off the shouts of two oncoming drivers who seemed very upset by her litle mishap, she pulled over and surveyed her prize. Peach, James. Expedition to the Amazon. Published 1902. Why had the mysterious cartographer taken pains to hide his map in this particular book? She hoped it wasn't coincidence, not only because she wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery, but also because that dent along the side of her Crossley would be entirely justified.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:33, Tue 07 Dec 2004.

Marianne ignored the honking horns and shouts, and seized the broken book.  The cover now hung half off.  A faded bookplate proclaimed this to be from the library of Basil Rose, and donated to the library about ten years ago. She flipped through the gently yellowing pages and noticed something.  Someone had gone into the book and painstakingly underlined a letter here, or a page number there, in some sort of code.

A clue! Marianne couldn't contain the beaming smile that spread on her face. Her nose never led her wrong! Now she just had to figure out this wretched code and she would be well on her way to adventure.

Feeling like a heroine from one of her own novels, Marianne drove home, her mind filled with possible scenarios of what the code could be and where the map could be pointing to.

She locked herself away in her bedroom and opened up the precious book, lingering over every page. Her eagle eye did not miss a single part of the code and she was very careful to take meticulous notes.

Whether she could make sense of this code or not remained to be seen. But Marianne was an optimist. If nothing else came of this, she had enough plot ideas for her next ten bestsellers. Her publisher would be ecstatic, and she would be the most celebrated author in the country!
This message was last edited by the player at 21:32, Thu 09 Dec 2004.

Marianne was picking up code, going from the first page to the back.  From what she was skimming, it was a tale of adventure written by an adventurer, who had a relaxed style of life and reported shooting a Cayman that was coming at him, and being fed up on Cayman meat for a week, and nothing, not even all the chilis, made it taste better than mud.  The rest of the book was similar in style. The code was:

7-g 8-r 11-t 20-e 23-u 26-a  31-s  37-c  43-d  47-w  50-v 51-j  54-e 56-u  62-i 65-h  68-m  73-a 76-q  82-i  87-b  89-k 91-p  98-x  103-f  111-k  118-n  121 -l 131-o  142-y  147-o  154-e  161-g  166-v 191-o  202-z  214-t  241-r  250-n  269-u 282-e

Marianne carefully copied out the code and stared at it for a long time. Letters. And numbers. And all of them seemingly random. It was no use. She just couldn't make sense of what she was staring at.

If she could only crack the code! It might be the key to discovering buried treasure, or a lost civilization, or the principles of interstellar travel!

But the mysterious book refused to give up its secrets no matter how malevolently she glared at it.

With an annoyed sigh, Marianne poured herself a rather generous glass of wine. It was the best cure for writer's block she knew. If that failed, she might have to find Mrs. Dowling again and ask for a book of military codes or puzzles or some such. The thought was enough to carry her through the next few glasses and more.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:12, Sat 11 Dec 2004.

Marianne settled back with her wine and mulled it over.  Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to put the map and a code together, for apparently a fairly long time, as the glue was old on the hidden compartment in the binding.  There had to be thousands of ciphers and codes around, but only one would work.  The person who had so marked up the book and hidden the map would doubtless know the code....but what if it was contained with the book and map themselves....

The last known owner of the book...

Basil Rose.

What a romantic name! It suggested genteel old age - a gentleman who had fallen on hard times perhaps? He was slender, stooped with age. He walked with a cane, but was still very particular and old fashioned about his clothes and shoes. His larders were painfully empty, but there were two possessions he kept with him always, until the very end - a gold fob timepiece that had been gifted to him by his father, and a plain gold wedding band that he wore in memory of his long lost love.

He had died tragically alone, this Basil Rose, slipping away unnoticed with the name of his beloved on his lips and his faithful dog by his bedside. Marianne wiped away a tear at the picture she formed of him in her mind, sighing romantically. What could such a gentleman have to do with such a dreadful sounding place as the Blood of Goolah? Perhaps he had not actually created the map. Maybe someone after him had discovered the book and decided it was the best hiding place for the map - in plain sight.

She studied the book and the map carefully, poring over them for clues to break the code, squinting at them and holding them up to the light to detect any invisible ink. She even contemplated throwing them in the fire just to see if there was any hidden writing. Luckily the book and the map were saved from the flames as Marianne reminded herself that old sour-face wouldn't rest until she was behind bars if she mistreated one of her beloved books.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Wed 15 Dec 2004.

Marianne's talent for Obscure Trivia again rose to her aid. Invisible ink required something to make it show up.  She held the map up to a light, reading through it, squinting at the map until her eyes crossed.

In the jungle, under all that scribble meant to represent trees and other junglish growth, someone had written something, so faintly she had to look three times to see if it was there, or just her imagination.

Marianne stared at the paper until tears poured down her eyes. No, she wasn't mistaken. There was writing underneath all the scribbles. Faint, but definitely there. She patted her nose proudly and set about examining the writing, holding the paper up against the fire and squinting for as long as she could. If she had her father's spectacles that magnified everything to frightening proportions perhaps...

She traced the faint words lightly to make sense of them, wondering what could make the now not-so-invisible ink even more visible.

In a short time, Marianne had a headache and eyestrain.  She was reading numbers, all sorts of numbers, hidden under the scribbly ink.  They were all over the jungle, hidden, awaiting some reagent or filter to make them stand out beyond what her lamp and squinting could do.  There were also tiny little drawings, glyphs of some sort, mostly faces.  She copied down what was easiest to read before her eyes blurred out totally from the stress she was putting on them.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make this map and put it here.  It wasn't some school child's prank, to be sure.

Marianne frowned as the map that refused to give up its secrets. She quickly ran through a list of what the secret to making the invisible writing show up could be. Perhaps lemon juice? Or heating it on the flames? But Marianne hesitated to do anything that could damage the map. It looked like she would have to live at the library, under Mrs. Dowling's eagle eye, until this mystery was solved.

Marianne concentrated on the various common means of revealing the map's secrets, and looked around.  She had a rather wrinkled lemon in the icebox, but for heat, what to use, what to use.....

Finally she held it up to the window, hoping the warmth of the sun would assist.

The map began to smoke slightly, with a nasty, acrid smell, and the numbers began to show through the scribbly brown jungle.  She had them !

And then, someone was rapping loudly on her door.

The knock startled her, though her surprise turned into annoyance instantly. She was so close to solving the mystery! Why now?

Marianne contemplated not answering the door at all. She never had company. It must be some poor, hapless salesman. His day would probably be better for not hearing what she had to say to him.

With a quiet snicker at the thought, Marianne put the map and book away carefully and went downstairs. She opened the door just a little bit and peeked out, ready to slam it shut if it happened to be a deranged fan. A girl had to be careful these days, especially a famous author like herself. The two gentlemen standing outside seemed rather ... normal, but Marianne knew better than to go by appearances.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone unfriendly, though there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

With a gentle smile and a moment to remove his hat, Jason gave the lady a fair second or two to assess her two callers.  He consulted the card in a slightly official manner and cleared his throat deferentially.  His voice was cultured and well mannered, "Yes Ma'am.  If you are Marianne Trevors, I do believe that you may assist us."

Here he half turned, "Or, more precisely you might help my Uncle here."  Again a second half turn back to Marianne.  He introduced his uncle deferentially, "This is the Honorable Mister Basil Rose, Associate Fellow of the Royal Society, Archeological Department".  Jason was mentioning one of he major scientic establishments in London.

He continued, "I am Jason Rose his nephew. I'm sorry to say the there has been a small hiccup.  One of my uncle's books was inadvertently donated to the library.  It appears that you have taken out the book 'Expeditions to the Amazon, by James Peach'.  We had to go to the Borough Council offices to have the librarian give us your address."  Jason added the last because he was sure that the Librarian from Hell wouldn't have budged on any authority less than that.

He smiled at his Uncle Basil and figured that Marianne would be more comfortable if she had the oportunity to deal with only one of them, "I'll wait outside if you like Uncle.  Though I'd dearly like a cup of tea soon."

Jason returned his hat to his head then doffed it politely to Marianne, "Thank you Ma'am"  Then began to turn slowly away.

Basil Rose?! This portly gentleman standing on her doorstep showed no signs of being dead. This was the slender, stooped old man of her imagination? Marianne couldn't help staring at him a little incredulously.

"Basil Rose? You're Basil Rose? Do you have any proof?" she demanded.

For a few seconds suspicion warred with curiosity as she seemed to debate whether or not to let them inside, before a thought struck her.

"I knew it wasn't a fake!" she announced, grinning proudly. "It's my nose for adventure, it never leads me wrong," she confided.

She looked over the two of them consideringly.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:55, Fri 14 Jan 2005.

Outside, on her steps, was the plump old man with white muttonchops and an umbrella, the picture of respectability, and a younger man, also quite respectable.  "I beg your pardon to be so much trouble, Miss Trevors,"  the old man said, in a polished Midlands-gentry tone, every syllable a sweet and gentle one, "But what my nephew says is quite correct.  I would be delighted of course to furnish you with your own copy of the book, but that particular copy holds a great deal of sentimental value for me.  Y'see, it was signed to me by the author himself.  I am indeed Basil Rose."  He withdrew the gold pocketwatch from his vest, and showed her the case; a beautifully engraved rose, its stem through a ring, and the monogram "BR".  "If you would be so kind as to allow me to take it ?"

He didn't mention tea, but somehow, those soft eyes seemed to beg for it.  And if he flinched at the word 'fake', it was difficult to notice.  "Errrmm....Miss Trevors....did you say, fake ?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:23, Thu 23 Dec 2004.

Marianne melted at the man's words. Why, he was even sweeter than she had imagined! A delighted smile lit up her face as she examined the watch. This was better than she had expected! If he was really Basil Rose she might at last get some answers to the mystery.

She opened the door to let them both in. "Please come in Mr. Rose, and your nephew as well. You look like you could use a spot of tea," she invited, walking into the room and surreptitously shoving a few of her scattered belongings under the couch before putting the kettle on.

Her cheerful voice floated in from the kitchen. "And yes, Mr. Rose, I knew the map wasn't a fake at once. I have a talent for discovering things," she confessed.

She appeared in the doorway to the living room for a second, smiling at them, but there was a question in her eyes. "I will gladly return your book, Mr. Rose, seeing as it's yours. But I was hoping that perhaps you could indulge my curiosity."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:34, Thu 23 Dec 2004.

At the mention of tea Jason broke into a boyish grin, "Yes, Miss Trevors.  Tea sounds a splendid idea.  Thankyou."  Politely he allowed Uncle Basil to enter first. Once again he removed his hat, smoothing out a few errant strands of hair, as he entered.

Jason settled onto the couch at one end, and naturally overlooked the small amount of tidying that Marianne attended to.  His gaze drifted over the books and paraphenalia around the room.  He noticed one or two with the lady's name on them.  With a slightly awed expression he said, "I say, Miss Trevors,  Are you an author?"

He smiled at Marianne when she re-entered the room momentarily.  Jason continued after a brief pause, "I'm afraid I haven't read any of your work.  In fact I have had very little opportunity to do much liesure reading for a while.  Though I do know a little about books and maps... not my speciality mind... but well enough to give a quick assesment and point people in the right direction."

By way of explanation Jason added, "I used to work for one of the London auction houses, but found that freelance appraisal paid better.  Wider market and all that.  Though now it has become one of several entrepernerial endeavors I am trying my hand at."

"Why yes, I am an author. Mostly adventure and intrigue with a good dash of romance. You'd never know it if you looked at the cover art though." She scowled fiercely. "It's a long standing issue with my publisher."

Marianne brought the tea out and carefully poured three cups. "Entrepreneurial endeavours? Are you a businessman then?" She studied him for a moment when he mentioned knowing a little bit about maps, unsure of what he or Mr. Rose knew, but hoping they could help her. If there was one thing Marianne hated it was an unsolved mystery.

Jason sipped at his tea, relishing the pleasnt tannic beverage.  An obviously clear picture of satisfaction crossed his face. "Lovely", he said as ne nodded approval of the tea.

Again he nodded in affirmation, "Quite so. Entreprenerial Enterprises.  Simply having more than one string to the bow.  Diversity, you see. We have a world of opportunity rising. So, in addition to my appraisal work, I am considering the purveyance of Exotic and Fine Goods. There is a serious market for such things."

He shrugged slightly and continued with a voice just a tad distant, as though talking to himself, "Early days yet though.  One stage at a time.  So, although I might be self employed, it is free agent commission work for established enterprises.  I think becoming a business man per se is still a little distant."

With a wide eyed look he said, apropos of nothing at all, "Oh, nearly forgot... let us all have a look at the book. I can authenticate it quite qickly. But, as I say, it really isn't my specialty." Jason took another sip at his tea looking encouragingly enthusiastic to help out.