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| - The Viscount immediately showed himself to be a typical specimen of second sons of nobility (myself being a notable exception) – a drunken lout apparently indisposed to work of any kind. He was so appallingly tardy that the odd-looking mage (whom I have come to understand is called Doctor Orpheus) was forced to use a summonation to force his appearance. This impressive feat of sorcery did a great deal to increase my respect for the wizard. I must remember to stay in his good graces. We stowed the semi-conscious Viscount in a cabin, and I proposed to pass the time in a game of cards. With the exception of a few hands, I won handily: it was apparent that none of my companions were well schooled in games of skill and chance. I am quite accustomed to having a game turn sour when I begin winning, but what happened next was certainly unexpected. Things were going quite well, and my personal accounts were flourishing when our game was interrupted by a most peculiar intrusion – our steward collapsed in the doorway, killed by some sort of star-shaped weapon. A mob of bizarrely dressed individuals in black, pajama-like uniforms burst into the room. They seemed intent on killing the lot of us, and a melee ensued. I drew my revolver and fired at the nearest. He collapsed against the wall. Colonel Gentleman (an oddly named and fancily dressed man who featured well in our last adventure) managed to wound another. We were then engaged fiercely, and the Colonel was wounded. I set to scuffling with one of the black-clad men, who was wielding a chain. He was no mean combatant, and I was only just able to avoid being disarmed. I managed a clear shot and brought him down. The crack of pistols and the sound of our attackers’ cries raised quite a din, and the air was cloudy with gun smoke – it was difficult to assess the condition of our side. I was unable to intervene before the good Doctor’s lady companion, Triana, was overwhelmed. I fired a third shot and wounded him; the Colonel finished the job, and he fell. At this point, the leader of our attackers produced some manner of explosive and threw it into the room. The explosion produced a toxic gas, which wreaked havoc upon all within. I escaped the explosion only slightly scathed, and engaged the man, a red-haired man of apparent Chinese origin, in swordplay. He proved my inferior, though he did manage to give me a scratch. I saw no reason to fight honorably, he having employed explosives and surprise to his advantage; once he had managed to push me back and leapt up on a bulkhead, I quickly drew one of my dueling pistols and fired on him. The impact of the bullet knocked him off his balance and his body spiraled into the water with a splash. That second, I heard a cry from below decks. I sprinted down to find the good Doctor under assault by one of the invaders. I gunned him down to find that the Doctor had been badly wounded. The attack was over and we were able to save the lives of most of our party (the Captain and Steward were unfortunate casualties), but worse perils yet awaited us. The ship was proceeding full steam and was utterly unguided. As the others scrambled to take the helm, I ran below decks to see what might be done with the boiler. The boiler was overheating badly. Ting Wu (as the china woman who featured so prominently in our last adventure turns out to be called) was able to use some manner of sorcery to cool the boiler down, and she set to attempting to slow the engines. This she somehow managed, and she dashed above decks to see what other aid she might offer. Ting Wu turned out to be, in addition to a more than capable hand-to-hand fighter, a tremendous sorceress. She used her magicks to slow the ship and put it on course. The good (I apply the term loosely) Doctor was employing some manner of profane sorcery to speak with fallen members of the crew in order to gain assistance with piloting and navigation. Their input proved indispensable, and we brought the ship to port in Calais without further casualties, excepting the dock itself, which would require extensive repair. Ting Wu pulled me aside with questions regarding the fate of the attackers’ leader. I told her as plainly as I could what had happened. She seemed particularly concerned as to whether I was certain he had been killed. I could give her no such assurance. It would not be the first time a man dead to all rights had returned to some semblance of life to wreak revenge. Ting Wu’s concern with the fate of the leader, along with his plainly Oriental appearance, piqued my curiosity, but I had precious little to work with. I can only guess that our attackers bore some specific enmity toward Ting Wu, but what it might have been I cannot say. Ting Wu seemed unready to divulge further enlightenment on the topic, and I was disinclined to press the issue. After an evening in a local hotel courtesy of the young Viscount, we set out on a voyage by train and carriage to La Bonne Dame de Ranton, where our the scroll awaited us. On our way through Orléans, we spied some adverts for the auction indicating that only invitees were welcome to bid. The young Viscount assured us that we would be made welcome, despite his inability or unwillingness to produce an invitation. La Bonne Dame de Ranton was a small country church, but the auction was apparently quite exclusive. Men wearing uniforms of the French army barred us access, notwithstanding the Viscount’s pathetic and racist attempt to use his clout. The Colonel managed to negotiate access for most of us, but the Viscount was barred (no doubt thanks to his atrocious manners). A potentially tense situation was defused when Ting Wu managed to artfully plant him in the mud, and he was forced to leave for a change of clothing. Nobility. Once inside, we set to work attempting to identify the piece upon which we were to bid. The manifest showed something likely to be our item as lot no. 71 – a sandalwood scroll case emblazoned with a cobra. At my suggestion, the Colonel attempted to secure an inspection of the case, and was marginally successful – the object would be displayed, but only at the time of auction. We split up and took an assessment of the room. Two Frenchmen turned out to be members of a sorcerous cult. They and two Italian patrons had (like ourselves) bribed their way in. A short conversation with the guards (helped along by an infusion of francs) indicated that trouble was expected. Apparently more than one lot at the auction was suspected of being of magickal origin, and the local priest, suspecting interference requested (and received, thanks to connections) a military guard. For all the good it did him, he may as well not have bothered. Lot 71 (predictably) went missing, and the Frenchmen exited discretely upon hearing the news. Several guards sent to investigate were found unconscious. When we arrived, we spotted two figures skulking about atop the wall. Ting Wu and I ran for a nearby tower in an attempt to ascend to the wall. We were promptly ambushed. The two Frenchmen assaulted us with monstrous hammers. Ting Wu was nearly hurt. She let loose with a massive spell that rained rocks down on our heads. Miraculously we both escaped injury. The Frenchmen were crushed, but shortly thereafter, their bodies vanished. Certainly this was eerie, but we felt there was no choice but to move on. Doctor Orpheus joined us. Exiting the tower, we saw the two Frenchmen (again!) attempting to escape in a flying machine. Surrounding us were several very similar Frenchmen, perhaps sorcerous copies(?). I fired on the flying machine and managed to damage it. My suspicions regarding sorcery were confirmed when the duplicates vanished into thin air following some chanting and waving about of hands by my magick-wielding compatriots. We set upon the Frenchmen as they attempted to make their escape in the flying machine. We managed to wound them, but they mounted the machine and prepared to take off. I fired on the machine again, damaging it slightly. Ting Wu assaulted the riders and cast one overboard as the machine took awkwardly to the air. The driver shot Miss Wu at close range as she struggled to stay aboard. I returned fire and killed him. Ting Wu leapt from the machine and into my arms as the flying contraption spun to the ground, impacting with a crash and emitting a massive, mushroom-shaped cloud of steam. We rushed to the site of the crash as quickly as we were able. There we found the ever-resourceful Colonel pillaging the wreck. He’d found a set of odd little items, circular in shape with raised hollow spots in the center. We took them and returned to the carriage, only to find it making an escape. Ting Wu entangled the horses, but the Americans (who were absconding with the scroll and our carriage) disembarked, dropped some sort of explosive device, which released a massive cloud of smoke and ran for the woods. We attempted to give chase, with the Colonel staying behind to explain our circumstance to the guards. His success was marginal, buying us a bit of time. Sadly it was not enough. We arrived just in time to see the Americans escaping in a balloon, and the French soldiers were at our heels. The scroll was lost and those of us who remained behind (Ting Wu and I) were arrested and jailed. The Doctor managed to escape, but in all the entire affair was a loss, despite the Colonel’s capable diplomacy in getting us released. We did get away with the odd circular objects, but that was all. These we returned to Count Masterson in London. He will be commissioning research on them, with (perhaps) more work to follow.
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