Jason and Basil Rose were already aboard, having located the bar without delay
once their gear was stowed in their staterooms. Both staterooms were sizeable
and well-appointed, with portholes to the starboard side.  A whiskey to the
better, Basil Rose was again in more settled spirits.  "Got my valet bringing
her along,"  he said. "We'll be on the ocean soon enough.  Hope you don't get
seasick, nephew !"

(From Marianne's Lucky Day)

"No, that will be all. Thank you very much, Carson," she said. After he had left, Marianne took a few minutes to explore the room and put away her papers, the map and the book safely before leaving in search of the Misters Rose.

She greeted them with an excited smile. "Thank you for sending Carson. Isn't this just a charming ship?"

Carson nodded and quietly withdrew, taking along the other bags that had been in the car.

The two men were in the bar, drinking, and Basil Rose immediately offered to purchase a libation for Marianne.  "Don't hold with that foolishness about temp'rance," he said, "Dashed foolish idea, why, those Colonies are mad over it, barking mad !  Jolly good ship, jolly good company, jolly good adventure, here here !"

He raised his glass to toast.

"Hear, hear! I'll gladly drink to that." Marianna smiled and raised her glass, sipping her drink appreciatively. "I can't believe that we're about to set off on our adventure! Some day when you have time, I'd like to hear the actual story behind this. How did you and Mr. Peach meet, and how did you even know about..." Here Marianne lowered her voice as thrills chased up her spine. "The Blood of Goolah? It would make a fascinating start to my - your story."

"To the Blood of Goolah,"  Basil Rose said, dropping his tone
to a conspiratorial whisper, and winked broadly at her before
drinking.   He shooed them to a quiet table, muttering about it being a long story and his knees not caring to stand that long.

 "Ah, my dear young lady...it was all so long ago, I
was ever so young.  By good fortune my position with the
government had placed me in South America.  I was experimenting
in the local vintages at an establishment much less fine than
this one...and there was a fellow who came in out of the deep
jungle.  He was wearing tatters and had a rifle strapped to his
back, a machete on his hip, and two pistols on his chest, and
looked quite dangerous, with long unkempt hair and wild eyes.
The management made a stir about his coming in, but after he
tossed the one bouncer out on his ear and the other received a
punch that would have felled an ox, he sat down and had his
drinks peaceably.  I should never see the like of Mr. Peach
again, an adventurer of the old school.  He was well-educated,
especially for an American.  On impulse I bought him a scotch,
and then he came to chat with me.

"It is no secret that a clark of the British Empire does not
see a fine outlay of pay.  There is an expectation that one
must make his own fortune from opportunities offered.  Thus I
was seeking my opportunity, and it came in the form of the
inestimable Mr. Peach.  He had found something was in the
jungle, he told me, that was worth looking at.  If I could
arrange for an expedition, with my credit - he would lead it
forth, to all our benefit."  Basil paused, and drank, draining his glass and ordering another.

Marianne listened wide-eyed as Basil narrated his story. "You didn't know what he had found, then?" she asked, surprised.

"Mr. Peach did not speak of what it was, and my head spun with thoughts of
gold, emeralds, and similar.  The sort of thing to set a man up for life, if
he was bold enough.  I begged and promised to gain the required money and
gear for the trip, and even pawned my pocket-watch, even 'borrowed' a few
things without permission from the government."  Basil Rose smiled fondly
then, as if looking at something very far away.  "He did not tell me, he
just said it was something quite amazing.  I am pleased to say that he was
right...but what was found, that is the subject of another day.  Unless I
miss my guess, that's the bell for dinner !  Come on, we don't dare miss out
on the appetizer, I heard it was prawns.  I love prawns."

He set off to the dining room, keen to add to his considerable waist.

With a grin, Marianne followed Basil to the dining room. She had completely lost track of time during their conversation, and looking forward to hearing more of the story. There was much that was still unknown to her, but she was certain that this trip would be very enjoyable.

Basil Rose proceeded to dine with gusto, and while he kept up a pleasant conversation, he did not speak again of James Peach and the discovery that was made.

The ship had a decent band, which provided songs mostly Spanish in origin.  At the captain's table, the morose-looking Spaniard in an impeccable uniform was hosting a few well-to-do passengers.  After dinner, a magic show, complete with wispy assistants in silk and sequins and a magician in black tails and tophat proceeded to conjure doves, rabbits, and do similar clever illusions.

"So, then, Miss Trevors...will you tell me something about yourself ?"  Basil Rose asked winningly.  Jason Swift had been fairly silent, and pleaded an exit, blaming seasickness.   "You wouldn't have any mature, charming ladies in your family, that might be willing to tolerate an old man ?  I don't mean to pry, but seeing the long looks m'nevvie has been giving you, sets a man to thinking."

Marianne sent Basil an amused look at his remark, but she seemed pleased all the same.

"No, unfortunately, all my aunts are married, or I would have introduced them to you. It isn't often you meet a charming, generous, perfectly eligible gentleman," she said with a twinkle.

"As for me, well, you already know I'm an author. Always wanted to be one, since I was a little girl. Would you believe I trained as an archaeologist?" She chuckled wryly.

"It was perfect for me, though. I always thought the line between history and fiction was very, very thin."

Basil Rose blushed in a becoming fashion, red roses in his plump cheeks and an abashed look.  "Can't blame a man for asking, hem-hem."

"Did you really ?  Oh, that's quite amazing,"  Basil Rose, upon hearing of Marianne's other talents.  "I should have to agree, having heard plenty a campside tale that had more than a little grain of truth in it.  Well, there was one you might like to jot down, that always stuck in my mind, recall tellin' my nevvie the tale when he was a little lad. Seems there was this Indian legend, of a woman who fell from the sky.  Do you care to hear it ?  It is a bit silly, I suppose."

"The sillier the better, Mr. Rose. Please, do tell the story," Marianne said with an encouraging smile, hiding her amusement at his blush.

"As you wish, Miss Trevors."  Basil Rose replied, and ordered up some brandy to accompany the tale.  "A very long time ago, the world was a different place, with the animals having strange shapes and purposes.  There were giant creatures bigger than any ever seen today, bigger than elephants, and even the pink dolphins had teeth.  There were creatures that were strange and wonderful, and they were the children of Pacari.  But they were the old creatures of the earth, and when the god Apotachul fell to earth when he fought with Inci, he slew them in fire and lightning.  Quilla, the wife of the sun, wept to see these animals die, and from her tears sprang the first woman, Goolah, and she fell to earth, with all the new animals that we see today.

Goolah saw the devastation and wept too, and her tears became the Amazon.  She took the ashes of some of the old creatures back to the Pacari and breathed life into them, and gave them of her blood, and they live hidden in the jungle, which is her place, for it is full of life.  She hides from Inci and from Apotachul, and her creatures guard her. Goolah was born of a goddess' tears and she fell to earth to save lives, and if you despair of losing life, you must seek her and praise her, and give gifts to her.  For, though she was only a woman, she was a woman born of a goddess."

"It's Marianne, please. We're going to be hiking up and down the jungle together," she insisted. When Basil finished his story, Marianne was lost in some dream of her own. "So that's the legend of Goolah," she said. "And to think, you actually saw it."

Then she sat up straighter and gave him a look. "So tell me the truth, Mr. Rose. Why did you really invite me on this trip?" she asked in a perfectly serious tone.

Basil Rose took a reflective sip of his whiskey, the alert old eyes on hers.  "I am grown old,"  he said at last. "When a man grows old, he can accept it or try to do all those things he said he'd do with his life.  I have never been one to stand by and let it go.  So here I am, and I find I want my life to go on for as long as may be...so I want something from you, an authoress.  I have something to give you, when this journey is done - my journals - and I want you to get them published.  I have led a full life, Miss Trevors...Marianne, and I fancy there is some entertainment to be had by reading of my adventures.  I insist you call me 'Basil', may I add.  And even if they must be severely abridged, I would like them to be published.  By your acquaintance, it put me in mind to bring you along and shamelessly ask that you assist me in my quest."

Marianne found herself blinking back tears as she gently laid a hand on his. "It would be an honor," she said, in a solemn tone that quickly lightened. "But I hope you aren't planning to leave us anytime soon, Mr... Basil. You haven't reached the end of your adventures! And you haven't really told me much about your travels. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"I should not like to leave at all !"  Basil Rose said, with a merry smile. "And yes, tales of more adventures, for another day.  It's been rather more wearing, travelling, on me.  I fancy a nap, or perhaps just an early evening.  If you should need anything, my valet ought to be around and about.  Just ask him.  Good night, dear Marianne."

With that, he took polite leave of her, and strolled out of the dining hall, just as the clock was striking 9 pm.

Marianne was too excited to retire, so she bid Basil a good night and wandered out onto the deserted deck. It was a beautiful night, a time for star-gazing and dreaming. The ocean was all around, black in the reflected moonlight. Marianne sipped her wine and stood in the bow of the ship, her dress whipping in the wind, looking outward into the horizon, where the sea met the sky and blended into darkness.

Marianne enjoyed the cool wind in her face, and the way the moonlight glinted on the water.  Presently she saw a couple strolling along, holding hands; the girl was smiling so happily.  All seemed well.

There was a glint of yellow light, over to the south and the west, on the water.  Then there was a shadow that blotted out the moon, overhead, with a thrumming noise, like an engine - she looked up and could see a cigar-shape, a zeppelin.  Now that was a way to travel ! Very fast and what a view.

Marianne grinned at the sight of the young couple hand in hand. It was a very romantic night, clear and still and beautiful. She idly watched the Zeppelin's progress as it flew overhead and wondered what it would be like to travel in one of those. It must all look so absolutely beautiful from up there! When she had finished the book, or ten, that she planned to write about this trip and made her millions she would try it someday.

The zeppelin flashed its lights, once, and continued onwards, in the same direction as the yellow light out on the water.

She saw a man in a white uniform run along the deck and rush down the stairs, heading for one of the doors marked "Staff only"; he seemed to be in a dreadful hurry.  Soon two more men in uniform were hurrying along, and one of them with gold braid on his shoulders.  The one with the braid stopped by the couple and spoke to them in heavily accented English, asking them to please return to their cabin.

Marianne's authorly instincts were roused at once by this. She looked around quickly for a place to hide. Something important seemed to be happening, and she was not about to miss it.

More crew were hurrying around, some armed now; they were looking anxiously over at the light out on the water, and Marianne saw the Zeppelin flash its lights again - it was far out there now, much closer to the yellow light.  One man with gold braid on his shoulders came up to her, his expression worried.  "Please, Miss, to your cabin, return."  He shooed her along.

There was clearly something serious going on.  She watched from her cabin porthole, and saw the yellow light go out.  A rap was at her door; it was Carson.  "Are you all right, Miss Trevors ?" the man enquired politely. "I shall stand outside the door in case I am needed."

But he was not, for in a half-hour there was a great to-do on deck, as the Queen of Emerald Bay was pulling aboard passengers that had been on that ship the Zeppelin had gone towards, with a story of mutiny and abandonment at sea.

The bullhorn cracked to life; the Captain spoke, first in Spanish, then French, then English, from the top deck.  "Ladies and gentlemen, and crew,"  he said, "We have taken aboard some unfortunate people who will be travelling with us to our port of call.  Please welcome them."

Marianne looked down, and saw a surprising sight; it was Bertrilla Browne, aka Elizabeth Waters, the suspense-thriller novelist, looking much the same as the picture on the back of her books - she was standing there in an evening gown, with a cup of coffee !

Days like these were never forgotten! Brent was thankful to be alive having been dragged out of the sea which was teeming with sharks. He didn't mind losing all his worldly possesions, those things could be won back, even his beloved revolver could be replaced - what he hated was not knowing 'why?' and 'what was going on?' Those questions kept popping into his mind even while people shoved blankets and coffee in his face. The coffee was good though.

Having sulked for a while over cups of coffee and people asking if he was 'okay', Brent thought it time to find Liza and thank her for saving his life - even though he had nothing to offer her. Brent being a man of great honour would offer her his most humble thanks, as well as to the others that dragged him aboard the lifeboat. Brent had one last hope, that his wallet dried out well enough for the last few notes to be legal tender, at least that way he might be able to win some money before reaching port!

Bertrilla Browne, here? Marianne resisted the impulse to pinch herself as she stared openly in disbelief. The best-selling suspense author of the year was standing on the deck of her ship in a wet evening gown, clutching a cup of coffee in her famous hands. It was a rising young novelist's dream. Bertrilla was everything Marianne wanted to be, would be in a few years, and Marianne was in danger of being seriously starstruck at that moment. She went out on deck to speak to her fellow writer and offer her assistance.

Liza Waters sweetly and politely accepted Brent's thanks.  "It would not do to leave a gallant gentleman to the sharks." she said.  "Odd, though, I had the thought in the back of my head that the Baroness was a real rotter."

Bertrilla, though damp and bedraggled, with a cup of coffee instead of her usual goblet of wine, was still cheerily chatting to some other passengers, including a handsome young man.  She turned as Marianne came down the steps toward her, and suddenly beamed delightedly.  "Marianne !  Goodness gracious, my dear girl, it's so good to see you.  Gave dreary old London up for some adventure, have you ?  Oh, Marianne; may I introduce Brent Lockyer, and you know the Colonel and his wife.  Brent, this is Marianne Trevors.  She's a cracking good writer, one of the up-and-comers.

Brent had cursed to himself, he was soaking wet having given away his blankets and not looking great, as he spotted this wonderous red-head was approaching them. It seemed like she knew Liza, apparently everybody did. Brent had wondered how Liza came to be sitting with a Colonel but never bothered to ask. Brent began to explain to Liza the little he'd found out from the lower decks and that passengers onboard this ship had seen a Zepplin when Liza spotted Marianne. Green eyes, red-hair all thoughts of the Baroness disappeared in one instant.

'Marianne, it is a pleasure to meet you. And before we get to know each other any better, may I ask a favour? So long as this does not offend anyone you may be travelling with, I a currently freezing to death - may I use your room to shower and dry off, the sailors say they have located some dry clothes.' Brent hated to ask favours from anyone but firstly Liza and Marianne clearly wanted to chat and secondly he was very cold. Also, Brent might find out about Marianne's marital status.

"High praise, from Bertrilla Browne! You've made my entire trip, Liza," Marianne responded with a grin, delighted that an author of Liza's calibre thought well of her work.

"Colonel, Mrs. Davidson-Heartly, good to see you again, though one would have wished for better circumstances."

At Brent's rather unconventional request, Marianne was taken by surprise for a second, before amusement caught up with her as she wondered how suspect his motives were. His bedraggled state vouched for the legitimacy of his request, but a man who looked this good after being abandoned at sea was one to watch out for. It was a rule out of one of her own novels.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lockyer," she said politely, an amused smile on her face. "My sensibilities are not so easily offended, and I'm not so selfish that I would refuse to help in such circumstances. I would offer the use of my room to you, but," and here there was a definite twinkle in her eyes, "I have a feeling Carson would be most scandalized," she confided, looking around for the unflappable valet.

'I do apologies for imposing. I'll grab my much needed shower in the crew's quarters, and while I'm their try and find some real coffee or even better some whiskey!' It''ll allow tiime for and Liza to have a good chat,  I only wish that I didn't have to share her. I shall see you both later.' Brent was polite to a T. Smiling to both Liza and Marianne, a new found treasure, a nod to the Colonel and Brent was gone.

Brent was now on a duel mission, firstly to get warm. This involved following a sailor to the lower decks and grabbing a beautifully long hot shower, only cost him a small ammount of his slightly damp Francs. Secondly, Brent was determined to find out as much about the incident as possible. The Zepplin was intriguing and a bit to co-incidental. Now, if he could just find some whiskey... and Marianne. Was that twinkle aimed at him?

As Brent left in search of a shower, Marianne turned back to Liza with a smile. "Interesting man, Mr. Lockyer... And he's right. We've been poor hosts on board the Queen of Emerald Bay, letting you stand out in the cold. If there is any assistance I can offer, you must let me know!"

"What actually happened on your ship? I heard rumors of mutiny and abandonment, and constructed quite a gory tale in my mind."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:06, Mon 28 Feb 2005.

"Oh, thank goodness, Marianne, I didn't want to mention it in front of a man, but could I impose upon you for a change of clothes ?  I'm bloody well freezing, and this gown is done for.  Pity is, it's my favourite."  Liza said, lowering her voice conspiratorally to Marianne.  "As for the ship, this wretched German Baroness organised some kind of mutiny and killed the command crew, forced the rest of us onto the lifeboats.  Sounds dashing, but really, it was cold and frightening.  There were sharks.  And you're right - he's quite a charmer, is dear Brent."

The Colonel and his wife were taken up by a fellow officer from the Frontier, and waved a brief farewell.

------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Brent found a shower and got a change of clothes - very basic cloth trousers and shirt, but it was clean and dry.  The bar was open and in light of events, was being liberal with the drinks.  The place was packed, with survivors and with curious passengers, who were avidly listening to their tales.

"German...all Germans !"
"Bloody Huns !"  someone said in sympathy.
"Shot the Captain, just shot him, in cold blood.  Then this zeppelin came over, and we were sent to the boats...thrown in, if we didn't move fast enough !"
"That was The Hexe," came another voice, an old man at the end of the bar, an old scar wandering over a wrinkled cheek, his clothes suggesting money and respectability. "That was Harry Smith, a man who cannot be killed, an air pirate."
"Give over, old man !" there was laughter.
"Harry Smith isn't his real name," the old man insisted, at those who scoffed.  "It's just one he uses."

Brent didn't hear anything useful about the mutiny until the old man piped up from the end of the bar. Fortunately he was drowned out by the stories of the survivors allowing Brent to take up a seat next to him. Brent's wallet had dried quite well and the Francs seemed tohave survived. Brent offered the old man a drink and urged him to continue his story. What has the Zepplin's involvement? Was it picking people/something up or was it dropping off? Brent kept the questions coming, wanting to find out as much as he could

"Killed the command crew?! A german baroness, you say?" Marianne was shocked. "I thought that kind of thing only happened in novels... My novels, to be exact."

She ushered Liza into her room and held up a pretty blue dress from her closet.
'What do you think? It'll be warm enough, and its just the color for you," she said with a smile.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:57, Sat 05 Mar 2005.

Brent went over to the old man, who was more saddened than angry at those who dismissed his words as fantasy.  He accepted the offer of a drink, and got another whiskey, neat, and hobbled with a cane, to a table with Brent.  "That was the Hexe...she has been a pirate vessel since the War ended,"  the old man said, then lowered his voice.  "My name is Fredrick Horscht, and I was a Sergeant in the German army - I was a translator, mostly, but also a spy. I retired after the Great War.  I knew Smith as Count von Schlacht, and also as Manfred Dracken, many years ago.  In 1860 we duelled and he gave me this scar - and I cut his throat.  He lived...no one thought he would...and he has not aged a day in over 60 years.  Whatever business the Hexe had with your previous ship - it could not have been good."

Horscht's English was very good indeed, to be sure, and the faded blue eyes were alert enough, though his gnarled hands had a tremor and he was clearly suffering maladies of age.  "I have seen a lot in my life, young man,"  the old man said. "I have kept a lot of secrets.  I see no reason to keep them anymore."

---------------------

Marianne took Liza to her quarters. "Oh, it's lovely,"  Liza enthused over the dress, and promptly got out of her wet gown, frowning at the distressed satin, and got into the fresh dress. "Much better," she declared, and tried to reassemble her hair-do at Marianne's mirror.  "You're so terribly kind to me, Marianne, and I must admit, it does sound like the plot of a book.  I shall have to write out some notes, I'm sure we can both get a plot out of it all.  Oh, it reminds me of when Davis was alive, and we were in Morocco - adventures all over the place.  Still, I admit, I'm not getting any younger !"

There was a knock on the door; a crewman had come up with an armload of poodle, wrapped in towels and happily yipping to see Liza.  "Mizz Waters, your cabin is ready," the crewman added.
"Oh, wonderful,"  Liza said, pulling a damp bill from her purse to tip him, and accepting the dog.  "Marianne, I shan't impose on you for a moment longer, but I insist we have breakfast and discuss the plots. Will you meet me, oh, say at 8 o'clock ?  Or do you fancy a cocktail now ?  I could do with a good belt of brandy.  I can put Dibbles in my room."

Brent was not a vindictive man, but if he had anyway to get back at the Baroness then he would. The most important thing was his gun - one of a kind - and no evil henchman in the world would be stupid enough the throw it away. This old man had infomation, some of which was useless but every so often a place or a person was mentioned and Brent noted it mentally. That Zepplin would be the first piece, find that and follow the trail.

"Nonsense, Liza. You aren't imposing. We authors have to stick together, you know. And a cocktail sounds lovely," Marianne replied enthusiastically.

Brent's companion seemed to be a man of many secrets.  "If you are looking for the Hexe, there is one place that he will go to, every 40 years.  The time draws near, now.  He is going there; it is in the Amazon jungle.  Look for a one-eyed man; he will know the way."
Brent spotted Liza and Marianne sitting at a table nearby, with drinks.

---------------------------

Marianne and Liza got into the bar at last, the elderly writer demanding to pay for the first two rounds.  She ordered a large brandy, neat, and displaced two men from their seats at a table merely by turning on the charm.  "Oh, what a bloody mess of a night. I can't tell you how vexing it is to be chucked into a boat; I shall be stiff as a board from the arthritis, tomorrow.  Oh, look, there's Brent !"  She waggled her fingers at him, in a happy little wave.  "Looks like he's found a fellow to chat with.  Old geezer; no prospects.  Well, then, Marianne, what are you onto ?  Or do you want to hear the details of the mutiny, such as I know ?"

Brent had seen Marianne and Liza enter and smiled politely, he'd join them once this old man finished telling his story. However, most of the tale, fasinating as it was, didn't help Brent - just the mention of a one-eyed man and the Amazon. Brent had a few francs left and seeing the ladies needed a top up Brent bought some drinks and invited himself to join them.

"I asked the barman what you were drinking! Hope i'm not interupting but it seems you've bullied your way onto  a table and my battered body is desperate to sit down. Brent pulled a chair over and listened to the ladies chat away, a one-eyed man....

"Bullied? You obviously haven't seen Liza in action. I should take notes," Marianne replied with a grin, and saluted Liza with her glass. "Well, what I'm onto is a new novel set in the Amazon. But we can talk about that later! Tell me more about the mutiny."

Brent left the strange old man, and when he glanced back, Horscht had gone.

Liza beamed at Brent, apparently the widow was irrepressible.  "Oh, it was cleverly done, it seems.  The Baroness, if she really was one, had gotten a lot of her men on board as sailors.  They started bumping off the command crew...the first mate went missing sometime during the day, I know that, I overheard some of the crew talking about it.  My Spanish is good enough for that.  Her lackeys started running about with weapons, ordering us to go to the deck and to the lifeboats; then she shot the captain."

Brent winced inside as he remembered the shooting of the Captain, he had time between seeing the dumping of the dead body over-board to warn the Captain but chose not to. That had been a bad decision and Brent took it heart, that man's death was on his shoulders. Bretn listened as Liza revealed all she knew of the mutiny, something she might think as trivial could prove important - especially in finding the Zepplin.

"You say they spoke Spanish, I overheard some sailors talking German - but if you're certain I'll speak to the Captain and find out if any ports in Spain have heard anything off schedule." Brent was keen to keep track of the Baroness, finding where they land would be the first and most important piece to the chase.

"Oh, no, Brent dear, I meant the crew of the ship, the real crew of the ship, the officers.  They spoke Spanish, most of them, and some of them Portugee.  Her sailors, they were the ones speaking German."  Liza sipped her brandy, with a happy smile. "Why, Brent, are you planning on chasing her down for the villain that she is ?"  The ageing lady's eyes sparkled; this was a plot for a bestseller, to be sure.

"There's me jumping to conclusions, I might speak to the Captain anyway, the Zepplin must go over land at some point and there not exactly quiet!"" Bernt was intending to track down the Baroness, unsure why he felt the need to. If anything Bernt should be thankful to be alive and get on with his life but ask that unfortunate cat, curiosity was getting the better of Brent.

"You know, I heard stories of a German with a Zeppelin, an air pirate,"  Liza said, happily finishing off her brandy and ordering another.  "Can you imagine how dashing that is, and what a good plot for a book.  Handsome Hun, swashbuckling, aeroplanes...wonderful good stuff."

"Tell me all you know of this air-pirate, rumours usually start with a little truth and at the moment I really need an angle to get me started."

Brent enjoyed talking to Liza so even if the story of this pirate came to nothing at least he could kill some time with these two ladies.

"Oh, there's supposed to be some German who's got a Zeppelin after the Great War, and he's gone along as an air pirate,"  Liza said.  "Having seen that zeppelin tonight, I think we can say it's a true enough tale.  Supposed to be a nobleman, rather dashing fellow, war hero, great fighter, handsome of course, just the thing for a great novel !"  She giggled, somewhat tipsily.

Marianne grinned to see the best selling novelist and her personal idol giggling tipsily. "Yes, it would make a great story. Maybe I'll write about it when I'm done with the hundred or so ideas I've got already..."

Brent was finally relaxing in the company of these two ladies, given all that had happened today that it was a surprise to even get a few minutes to gather thoughts but here they were chatting away almost as if nothing had happened. Brent should have probably left these two authors to brew a bestseller but where would he have gone to and in all honesty, this was an effective way to forget the horrors of the  evening.

Brent was actually receiving some envious looks, possessing a table where two ladies - even if one of them was solidly middle-aged - were so cheerfully in his company.  "Oh, yes, a bestseller indeed, don't you think ?"  chortled Liza.  "We shall have to have Brent in it too, he's a dark and handsome sort; he went slinking off after dinner, smart move too cos she went and shot the poor captain.  Where DID you go, Brent ?"

'I went for a breath of fresh air and saw something quite disturbing. Two sailors throwing a dead body overboard, wrapped in a a carpet. I rushed back to my room to collect my revolver and then pusued the men below deck.  It was there I managed to get myself caught, I almost wish that I had stowed away onboard but then Marianne I would never have met you, most definately a silver-lining on such a cloudy day!'

Brent had avoided telling the two ladies that if he had acted quick enough the Captain could have been warned, saying that the Baroness had many men answering to her, if she wanted the Captain dead, Brent suspected, she would have found a way.

'Do excuse me ladies, it is getting late and I must speak with the Captain and find out if there is anyway we can track that Zepplin. Hopefully other ships and ports in the area have recorded her location. I shouldn't be long but don't wait up for me!'

With that Brent smiled, it would be good to allow these two to chat away - if Marianne said anything about him Liza seemed the type to pass that infomation on! Brent waved as he left the room and headed straight towards the bridge. With all the commotion of the night it was likely the Captain would be awake, if not Brent could easily use the keen abilities of younger officers.

After he left, Marianne remarked to Liza with a chuckle, "You know, I could really see  Mr. Lockyer as the hero in my next novel. Very smooth, quite charming, and the dark looks don't hurt at all."

She studied Liza with a grin. "And you are in exceptional good looks tonight. Adventure must agree with you. I know someone who would love to meet you. He's the sweetest, most adorable man ever! We'll be breakfasting together tomorrow if you'll join us."

Liza giggled.  "My goodness, Marianne, you're becoming a matchmaker like me now.  Very well, I shall have a look at your gentleman-friend at breakfast; I am sure I can come up with a new outfit by then.  So, then, let me tell you something else while our lad Brent's away...this Baroness...well, she called herself a Countess last time I saw her, in '87, not that I think she has a drop of blue blood in her, and I don't think I'm that old my eyes are gone bad.  Her very double - but I rather think it was her, cos those black diamonds were the same - which makes her the best-preserved faker around !"

Meanwhile, Brent made his way up to the bridge, to speak with the Captain.  The Captain was a morose Spaniard, speaking to an alert-looking dark-skinned man in spotless uniform, in Spanish of course; Brent caught a few words of their conversation. "...keep everyone on alert; double the watches.  She cannot fall into their hands..."  And then Brent was noticed, and the two men turned to look at him.  "Yes ?"  the Captain said, in accented English.

Brent had no idea what to say even though he'd been thinking about it for nearly an hour. The Captain seemed on edge, quite rightfully, and was clearly concerned about a strange man walking onto his bridge.

'I was just wondering if there is anything I could do to assist at all Captain? But you seem very busy, so I shan't take up your time. Brent turned to leave the bridge wondering why he'd even thought he'd be able to trace a Zepplin.

Marianne frowned thoughtfully, her authorly instincts on alert at Liza's words.

"In '87... But that's 39 years ago! Are you quite certain it's the same person, Liza? How old was she when you met her? This might be her daughter. Either that, or she has enviable genes."

"Yes, smashingly well preserved,"  slurred the slightly smashed authoress, with a smirk.  "Doesn't look a day older, that's not bloody fair, isn't it ?" Then the clever eyes narrowed.  "Oh, you don't think...Marianne, this could be a faschin...fastening...fastinatin' story....."

The Captain had a slight Castillian lisp, but was all authority and competence, even if the worried hound-dog eyes seemed to say more.  "I don't suppose you are a man of military experience, sir ?"  he asked politely of Brent.

'Ah no. Apparently I didn't respond well to authority but as your ship saved my life I feel slightly obligated in maintaining her safety' Brent could se worried faces, it had been awhile since Brent had been thrown in the dark seas so why was there so much tension on the bridge. 'But I can handle myself with a gun if you need any extra firepower!'

"Then I would appreciate it if you would take your place among the passengers and remain...on guard...against any difficulties." the Captain said, with his accent and his good manners.  "Is there anything else, sir ?"

The night sky betrayed no trace of the zeppelin, but one could tell from the tension in the air that the crew of this ship still feared its return.

'Very well, and thank you once again for you hospitality.' Brent nodded and left, it was late and the crew were working into the night and Brent decided against pushing the issue. Maybe the Captain would be more approachable tomorrow.

"No, it isn't fair," Marianne agreed gravely, her lips twitching in suppressed amusement. "And it would be a great story. It fits right into the novel I'm working on actually."

"Why don't we go out on deck for a breath of fresh air and talk about it?" she suggested.

Brent went to bed, which was merely a berth he had to share with two sailors, though both of them were on deck working at the moment.  It was quiet, warm, and no one was trying to shoot at him, so it was perfect to sleep in.

---------

Liza nodded at Marianne's suggestion.  "I could do with some fresh air," she slurred, and wobbled along after Marianne, clearly having had her fill of amber blessings.  Once on deck, she sighed and folded her arms, looking up at the moon, the refreshing cool air clearing her head.  "Damn that man," she said, more to herself than anyone. "I DO miss him so."

Reverie over, she looked back at Marianne.  "You know," she said, "I don't think I'm so old that I can't have one more adventure.  I shall speak to your gentleman friend, inveigle myself into his confidence and force him to take me along."

Marianne blinked in confusion. Adventure? Confidence? She hadn't blurted out something about Basil's secret while she was drinking, had she?

"Look out, Basil! I've seen you in action, Liza. He doesn't have a chance," she laughed. "And you certainly aren't too old to have some fun and adventure! But where will you force him to take you along to?" she asked.

Liza grinned mischievously.  "I don't care if you're just going to interview workers on the rubber plantations, my dear, if there's a place for me, I'm there, and that's adventure enough compared to my little cottage in the lake district.  Where are you going, anyway ?  Hope it's not got snakes. I dread snakes."

"Well, in that case, you may want to reconsider. We're heading out to the Amazon to research a book, and I've heard stories about a lot of creepy things, including snakes." Marianne grinned, remembering the map.

"I'd love to have you with us, Liza, but you'd have to ask Basil. He's my intrepid guide into the unknown!"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:33, Sat 07 May 2005.

"So I shall,"  Liza declared.  "But the snakes, I might just stay in the hotel or something."  It was clear she wasn't accustomed to 'roughing it'.  "So then, my dear, I think I might turn in now -- I'm feeling in a writing mood, and I made sure to rent a typewriter on this ship, because you never know when the urge will hit. Hope that nice purser fellow got it up to my cabin.  Good night, my dear girl."  Liza's money also made things simple for her.  She gave Marianne a hug, kissing the air by her cheek, and wobbled off towards her cabin.

"It's late, and I have a few notes to write up before I go to sleep as well. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Have a good night," said Marianne and headed to her room.

Brent and Marianne both had a restful evening; they awakened to a grey drizzle of a morning.  In light of the extra passengers, breakfast was a simple affair of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, fried potatoes and similar items, buffet style.

Marianne spotted Basil Rose busily stuffing his face and scribbling notes onto a notepad.  "Ah, my dear authoress...how are you today ?" he asked, beaming at her.

Brent was in queue for the buffet when he was jostled by a teenage girl in a red dress that was a little too 'mature' for her...and felt a feather-light touch on his coat as the little minx tried to lift his wallet !

"I'm very well, thank you. It's a lovely morning isn't it? I hope your nephew is feeling better?" asked Marianne, taking a seat opposite Basil.

"And I hope you don't mind, but I've invited a friend to join us for breakfast. I thought you'd be interested in meeting her." She grinned at him.

She tucked into her breakfast with relish. "Did you hear about what happened last night with the Zeppelin?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:29, Wed 11 May 2005.

The indefatigable Basil Rose was putting paid to a plateful of breakfast. "Charmed, I am certain," he said, rising to bow to the impishly smiling Liza Waters.  Introductions being made, he sat down again.  "Neffie's still a bit green, shame about that.  Can't imagine why, ships always put a big appetite on me.  Food's definitely improved from the last time I sailed !"

He shook his head, looking curiously at her, as she mentioned the Zeppelin.  (Marianne...roll spot hidden - % dice !)

"Well, I'll let you get the eyewitness account," she said, smiling at Liza. "We have the Baroness to thank for the pleasure of Liza's company today."

"I'll have to take notes. It's a great story! Maybe I'll even write about it when I'm done with current projects," she added with a grin at Basil.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:24, Sun 15 May 2005.

Alert as Marianne was, there was something she felt she missed, though at the moment she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Liza rattled off a demure story of her travel, which included how she got to come on board the ship - wrapping her pearls and diamonds around the furry neck of her little poodle so as to hide them from the pirates - and did her best to charm Basil, who was indeed charmed.  Basil declared that it was his duty to look after a lady in distress, so he promised to find her quarters in Manaus.  "Cos that's where we're headed...the mouth of the Amazon.  Sent a man ahead to arrange things, Marianne, so all should be settled."

Breakfast was enjoyable enough, and Basil was again charming and sweet.  Marianne could tell that Liza liked him, and considered it Job Well Done.
It seemed that Liza would at least get as far as her Hotel.

The day passed on, with a relaxing opportunity to rest and enjoy it.  The rescued passengers were settling in, and all seemed well, even if the weather was a little grey.  She heard a shout from the crew, and then looked out at the water, where they were pointing - the water was a muddy brown.  They were getting close to the Amazon.

She heard a rumbling sound, and saw a plane cruising along, rising steadily up off the water and heading north.  It was red and white, and had the pontoons on it for a sea landing.

"Thank you, Basil," Marianne replied with a smile. He really was being his best adorable self, and Liza had a sparkle in her eyes. Her mind returned to the feeling she had had of something she had missed. But she was unable to pinpoint what it was, so she turned her gaze out to the sea.

She saw the plane descending in surprise and curiosity. First the Zeppelin, and now a plane. This was a busy time at sea.

The seaplane was off and cruising northward, on whatever errand.

The liner headed onward, chugging along in the now muddy water.  She saw land; emerald green and tan, and from it came a sweet breeze, full of the smells of earth and forest.  A pair of tugboats were coming along their way; they would guide the liner to its place in port, and the passengers would disembark onto the New World.

Basil appeared, his valet behind him.  Despite the warm air, the old man was wearing a rather long jacket, that seemed to half-hide some bulges that looked suspiciously like gun holsters.  Carson was just plain armed, with a bandolier across his chest, a machete strapped to his thigh, and a shotgun in a case over his shoulder.  Basil's things had been packed into a backpack, which was on Carson's back.  "Oh, don't fret, it's just better to be a bit cautious around here." Basil said, but his usual cheerful tone sounded strained.

Liza, wearing a pretty cotton print dress and a sun-bonnet, soon appeared, her little dog trotting smartly along beside her, and her few belongings in a satchel over one shoulder.  "Ready to proceed !"  she said brightly.

"Very good - my man should be waiting for us, with a boat to take us to Manaus,"  Basil said.  It struck Marianne as a bit unusual that Basil had not asked to see the map again....didn't he need it ?

If Marianne was just the slightest bit concerned about the situation, it seemed she had ample reason. She took in the sight of Basil and Carson armed to the teeth with a thoughtful expression, her lips pursed, an eyebrow lifted consideringly. She couldn't help but feel that there was a particularly nasty one lying in wait for them. Except it didn't seem to be a surprise to her intrepid guides.

"Basil." She stopped him and pulled him aside, gesturing at a suspicious bulge under his arm. "You're obviously expecting trouble of some sort. Would you please tell me what is going on?"

"This is a...less civilised place," Basil said, with a thoughtful sincerity, after she had dragged him away and quizzed him. "Still, no need to be alarmed; we'll be fine."  He smiled the charming smile. "Fortune favours the prepared, m'dear."

Marianne nodded, still uneasy, but she couldn't put her finger on what was bothering her. She looked out over the mouth of the river to the port. It all seemed very civilized. Manaus couldn't be too different either.

"If you say so, Basil," she said a little worriedly. "Will we all need to be armed?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I don't have much experience with weapons, but I know which end to point at the bad guys."

"Oh, I shouldn't think so - I doubt we'll even have to look too threatening.  Carson's a good man - served in the Great War, don't-you-know.  Shouldn't worry about it," Basil gave the smile again, with a nod.  "Shall we proceed, then, m'dear ?"  He offered his elbow to her, to Liza's dismay.

Marianne nodded and took his arm with a hesitant look at Liza. But she did have a few more questions to ask him. "Yes, please! Let's go on. I can't believe I am in Brazil! Even the air smells different here." She grinned, taking it all in.

"And Basil, let me know whenever you want to see the map. You haven't asked for it once!"

Basil laughed, a charming sound.  "Plenty of time for that, m'dear, plenty of time,"  he replied to Marianne, and went forth.  His eyes traced the city as if seeking the past.

At the end of the dock was a nervous-looking man, thin, dressed in khaki.  He was obviously waiting for Basil, for a look of relief crossed his face as he spied the man.  This soon faded as he took in the two ladies present.  "Sir, oh sir,"  he said, his voice also thin and nervous, "I've arranged a taxicab."

He took the valise that Carson shoved toward him and scurried off along the busy throughway, to where a pony-drawn vehicle was waiting.

The city itself was a grand mix of noise and variety.  Locals in colorful shawls and shirts were moving around on their own business, sailors were everywhere, and there was a grand variety of Europeans going back and forth.  The buildings were a combination of scrap-built wrecks, glorious Spanish-style buildings, Edwardian mansions still being built, and everything inbetween.  It was crowded, noisy and full of sights, and smells...spices, people, and factories.

Liza's little poodle barked and wagged its tail, and the nervous fellow startled again, nearly dropping the valise.  Carson snorted derisively and loaded the pony-cart, and helped Liza up; Basil assisted Marianne, and began to point out the sights.  "Changed a lot since I was last here,"  he said. "But the hotel's a good one, isn't it, Smythe ?"  this was directed to the nervous fellow, who nodded with a muted, "Yes, Sir."  Carson seemed the least impressed...and the most watchful of his surroundings.  The tiny old man who was the driver beamed a toothless grin at them and set the ponies clopping along at a good pace.

Marianne relaxed and looked around, watching everything around her with growing excitement. She had thrown in with Basil, and if he was satisfied, she had to be.

The sights and smells of the city were intoxicating. Marianne eagerly took it all in, trying to impress her first sight of Brazil on her memory so she could recapture the experience on paper later that night.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:44, Tue 31 May 2005.

The city had some charm to it, though Smythe looked mortified at every turning.  Their hotel was new, an Edwardian structure with a lovely fountain out front; it was also clearly the Europeans' favourite hotel, to judge from the people milling around the lobby.  Smythe fetched bellhops and got the travellers to their rooms; pair of lavish rooms with an adjoining balcony.  Liza and Marianne would have to share one huge room, which had two beds, for the hotel was full up.

Basil retired early, citing weariness, so that left Liza and Marianne to look around.

Marianne was a little disappointed that Basil would not be joining them. She had many, many questions to ask him, and she was still puzzled by some of his answers. But Liza was great company and had an author's nose for adventure.

"Well? We're not staying in all day, are we? Let's go for a stroll around the city!" she suggested excitedly.

Marianne went to fetch Liza, who was just as keen to go look around.  "Good heavens, I need to go shopping, I've clothes to buy !" she agreed.  "I'll leave my little one in the room, I think he's had enough excitement for the day."  They left the poodle behind and hurried out, to see the sights.

Across the street, past the fountain where the women were drawing water, was an old church, its Spanish glory still beautiful in the afternoon light.  The streets were quiet - it was still siesta time, it seemed, but the market wasn't shut down on the next street.  A tiny child holding a massive melon waddled up toward them, speaking in rapid Spanish, trying to get them to buy it; a man with a snake around his neck was trying to show them some cheap pottery-bead jewellery.

Marianne managed to haggle the beads down and triumphantly wound them around her neck. She was certain she had still paid a ridiculously high price for them, but the man with the snake had fascinated her and she had not bargained too much. They explored the square, escorted by the persistent child, until Marianne finally gave in to him too. She wandered into the lovely old church, loaded with fruit.

Her beads clicked gently, shining in the sunlight; the man with the snake had nodded and smiled at her, the snake's head bobbing the same way.

Word spread fast that the tourists had money, so they were soon assailed by cloth-merchants, weavers, and all else.  Liza quickly selected a white and blue dress in thin, fine cotton, a shawl in blue, and a pair of sensible leather shoes.

Marianne was headed into the church, which had rich wooden pews, and a beautifully carved crucifix at the front, by the altar.  She carried the melon, already weary of the weight.  A man in a black robe was there, polishing a silver cup, clearly some sort of priest.  Two old ladies, their heads bowed in prayer, sat in the back of the church.   The locals didn't follow her in, but persisted in trying to sell Liza more things.  The man in the black robe glanced up at her and offered a gentle smile; he was about 60 years old, with a face that had seen a lot of smiles and tears, and wise old eyes of pale grey.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, causing colored shadows to dance across the floor of the church. Marianne took a seat in the first pew, quietly appreciating the peace and the atmosphere inside. "Hello," she greeted the priest, returning his smile, though she wondered if he spoke English. "This is a lovely place."

The elderly priest's eyes showed warm recognition. "Thank you, Miss," he said, in a very soft voice, very suitable to such a place, his accent a slightly Spanish one, but very well schooled. "Please, be welcome; there will be a service in a little while, if you would like to attend."

He straightened again, noting someone else arriving; a swarthy man, with a wiry form, short and strong, his dark hair cut short, showing a bald spot. An elegant black mustache curled along a perfect mouth.  The man was dressed in a plain loose-sleeved canvas shirt, much like any of the peasants milling about outside, but his trousers were tightly cut leather, that showed each muscle of the man's legs, and quite a bit else besides, and were tucked into tall leather boots.  He had a pack of some sort over one shoulder, also in black leather, and the unmistakeable shape of a sword hilt was poking up out of it.

Marianne noted the priest's stance - very wary - and the way the stranger swaggered past, genuflected at the cross, and then sauntered to the candles, to flip a coin - she caught a flash of gold - and light a candle to join the dozens already lit.

Marianne smiled back at the priest and nodded. "I'd love to attend. Thank you," she said. The arrival of the stranger drew her attention as well as the priest's and she watched him curiously at first, but then more intently as she recognized the shape that was sticking out of his pack -  a sword hilt. Why was this man so casually carrying a sword around, and in a church at that? And why was the priest so wary of him? Her mind raced to puzzle it out.

The swashbuckler sat in a pew to her immediate right, about ten feet away.  He assumed a prayerful position, elegant hands clasped in front of him, and then shot her a look that promised lasciviousness in abundance.  Then the eyes shifted back to the beautifully carved Christ, and the man gave all seeming of praying...in Latin.  She had heard the language enough, to realize he wasn't just intoning a simple prayer, learned by rote.

The old priest's gentle face was still formed in a frown, but he would apparently not do anything about this fellow.  Padding silently away, the priest began to ready the altar for a service, and picked up a worn bible, holding it as if wishing to derive comfort from it.

Marianne didn't disguise her interest and stared curiously as the swashbuckler prayed in Latin. His lascivious look outraged her, but he was really too interesting to ignore. She surreptitiously watched the man, throwing an occasional glance at the wary priest.

The priest seemed distressed that this individual was in the church, but did nothing about it.  At last a gangly boy, clad in a mostly-white robe, hurried into the church, apparently some kind of altar boy.  A few more locals came in, most of them giving nervous glances at the rakehelly fellow, who continued to pray in Latin.  The priest suddenly winced, at a particular phrase, and the prayer was finished.

The man winked at Marianne...winked at her !  As rogueish as they come !  And got up and sauntered over to sit next to her !

Marianne was outraged to say the least as the man nonchalantly winked at her, and then took a seat next to her. She turned her nose up and looked away, determined to ignore him though he was sitting less than two inches from her.

The rakehelly fellow merely found this amusing, to judge from the glint in his dark eyes and the raffish smile. He spoke softly, the English sounding honeyed with the accent of Spain.  "Most beautiful one, I am drawn to you as a moth to the flame; as a bird must fly, I fly to you."

His soft greeting and exotic accent sent a shiver down her spine. Marianne stared into his dark eyes, fascinated. Here was a man straight out of one of her own novels! She knew, of course, he was no good. She had (literally) written the book on him. But he exuded such a rakish air that he was completely irresistible.

His next words, however, elicited startled laughter from her as the spell broke. She really couldn't help it - his words were bordering on the ridiculous.

"And who might you be, senor?" she asked interestedly, all anger forgotten.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:57, Fri 24 June 2005.

The Hispanic bloke with the silver tongue smiled, a smile like the downfall of saints.  He had charisma by the bucketload.  "I am Don Miguel dos Silandros de Vega, and humbled before your grace, lovely one. May I ask the name of an angel ?"

"Oh, my," breathed Marianne, a silly grin spreading across her face in response to his smile. She could almost feel herself melting.

"I'm Marianne... Marianne Trevors," she said weakly, staring into his eyes as she gave him her hand, butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach. "And believe me, I'm no angel," she added, a little smile that might have been a bit... brighter than her usual style rising automatically to her lips. She did manage to quash the uncharacteristic urge to wink, though.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:16, Mon 22 Aug 2005.

"The joy of my heart tells me she is no angel, but instead Aphrodite," the smooth little charmer said, capturing her hand and kissing it, his warm lips lingering just a shade too long for propriety.  "It is my honour to meet you, my lady Marianne,"  and the Spanish accent turned it into an exotic name.  The black eyes held a great deal of promise...

...then suddenly flicked to the entranceway, where a figure all in black was standing, a cowled, robed figure like an angel of death.  Instantly the Spaniard tensed; she could feel the change in the warm calloused hand that held hers so gently.

"If my lady will forgive...there is a score that I must settle..." He rose, smooth as a snake, eyes fixed on the figure in the doorway, and slunk that way, one hand holding his pack, the other hand reaching for something in it.  The elderly priest quickly moved out of the way, to stand near Marianne, clutching the Bible; the altar boy hurriedly ducked down behind a pew, and the peasants similiarly took shelter. Worried brown eyes were fixed on the developing scene.

"Bastian," de Vega spat, like a curse.
"Miguel," came the crisp voice, sounding Midlands English to Marianne's trained ears.  The figure all in black stepped aside and backed off a few paces, also reaching into a pack that he carried on one shoulder.  It looked like a fight was brewing, and they were going to have it in the town square, just outside the church.

Marianne stared after the two men in shock as they swept out of the church. She turned to the priest with an expression that was partly confused and partly fascinated. "What is happening? Who are those men?"

"They are not men, they are not men !"  the old priest said, his elegant voice stressed with fear, his pale eyes staring.  "They are aligned with the devil !" The Bible that he gripped to his chest creaked under the strain.

Curiouser and curiouser... "Aligned with the devil? What do you mean?" she asked, her interest and her confusion both growing by the minute.

The old priest continued to watch and cling to his Bible, as if the whole spectacle  was too much for him.  He spoke in a gasping, near-hysterical tone.  "That man, the Spaniard, the nobleman, he came to this holy place forty years ago, and I had it from my predecessor that he returns, every forty years.  He does not age. He looks the same.... Last time, a youth came to the door and they fought, and the youth killed him...but he does not die !"  Overcome by this, the priest sank down wearily down onto the pew and mopped at his sweating, ashen face with a handkerchief, clearly having some kind of spell.  You could not have taken the Bible from him without breaking his arm, Marianne knew, from the way he was clutching it.

She didn't believe a word of it, of course, and yet... To say Marianne was confused would be an understatement, but she was more intrigued than turned off by the prospect of a puzzle. The story the priest told her brought to mind the Baroness who had hijacked Brent and Liza's ship. Hadn't Liza insisted that she hadn't aged in forty years either?

She rose, intent on going outside to witness what was sure to be an amazing scene, but then stopped with an unsure look at the priest, who did not look well at all.

"Father, your story brings something to mind. I must go see for myself. Will you be alright?" she asked gently.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:28, Wed 29 June 2005.