Dominic starts to wakefulness as the motley crew enters the hotel. He looks them over thinking that they seem the type that Anatoly would end up with... but no. He wasn't with them. He sat back down to quietly wait for his friend to appear.
Almost simultaneously the hotel clerk informs him that this is the group he has been waiting for, and he hears the young lady moan Anatoly's name.
He leaps to his feet. "You know Anatoly! I am here to find him. Is he hurt? Where is he"? The young man approaches the group wistfully wringing his hands. They notice his pale complexion, and hands obviously not used to hard work... then the steel in his eyes, and the collar about his neck.
Freddy's face becomes ashen. "Um, maybe we had better head to our room to talk." The PI wave Dominic on and makes his way toward their room.
Amadeus chokes a little. "Yes, we need privacy. And alcohol."
Leave it to Westmore to know the only liquor store in Valletta open before dawn. The wealthy playboy gets quite a few stares on his way through town, given that he's covered in dust, grit and worse with a thousand-yard stare. (The liquor store owner is used to this kind of thing and doesn't even blink.) But he returns shortly with a box of street medicine grade whiskey for the suite.
Oh god... Evelyn thinks as she looks up at Dominic, lamenting their horrendous timing. She opens her mouth to say something, but cannot quite get a meaningful sound out. Fortunately, Freddy and Amadeus were there to steer them all back to the room. Any other day, she would be chastising Joseph for walking out like that, but lo' and behold, she really did need a drink.
Dominic begins to feel panic set in, as the obviously ragged group, avoids his question.
"I.. honestly don't know. I dont think any of us have the information to answer that question truely. We can give you the details that we do know, though, i wont speak of if in this public place."
Amadeus waves off the man's protests. "He's dead and that's merciful, because he saved our lives and maybe a great deal many more with his sacrifice. But I need to drink more before we tell the tale. It's not a fit thing for sober minds."
Evelyn skips the shower, opting instead to pour herself a glass. Her hand trembles something fierce, but the liquid all makes into the cup, not one drop wasted. She flinches when she hears the word "mouth," and drowns her drink in one short draught.
"The cult we were investigating," she says finally, fueled either by liquid courage, or by what underlying resolve she still had. "They were producing this foul, foul drug, and were giving it to people. To hospitals. They were planning to ship it out of the country. But we found out where they were making it. And we stopped them. Anatoly... he... died to make sure that it happened."
It was a terribly oversimplified version of events, but Evelyn was not certain that she could trust this stranger with the truth - or that he could bear to hear it. She could hardly bear experiencing it.
Has science gone too far...?
A look of horror spreads across the stranger's face as Anatoly's demise is revealed. He seems for a moment to sway as though he's going to faint, then steels himself. Hi gaze hardens into one of resolve and it is apparent to all that he has filed away his grieving for now into a place to be dealt with at a later time.
"This is... disturbing news... I...I... I can't tell his uncle this via telegram. This terrible news should be delivered in person, by a caring individual. Please tell me everything".
With trembling hands Dominic follows the others to the room, and gets the whole story.
He listens often pausing the narrative to wipe away tears, and after the story is told addresses the others.
Anatoly's death should not be in vain. We should end this curse once and for all. I must fly back to the states to pass on word of Anatoly's death, but would help you to eradicate this threat if you would have me. You can leave word for me at Father Dudko's church, and I'll meet you wherever your next destination might be. Keep in mind that I have access to some of the writings of the Vatican. Perhaps I can call in a favor, and have some friends find out what they can from these archives".
Freddy sips his drink and nods to Dominic. "I'm not exactly sure what our next step is, in so far as tackling this thing, but I know i'll need some recuperation time after this trip. Seeing that.. thing and what happened to Anatoly.. I think that I may need to see a professional. At the very least, I need to see my wife and kids soon. I need something to remind me that the world outside all of this still exists." The PI's hands tremble as he takes another long draw from his whiskey.
Evelyn's expression darkens when Dominic announces his intention to join them, but instead of protesting, she nods stiffly. She did not want to admit it, but she, too, needed someone to talk to. But to who?
"If... if you're certain... You should probably speak with our employer," she says, taking out her handkerchief to dab away the tears under her eyes. Not paying any mind to the fact that it was soaked with filth, just like the rest of her. "We will be heading Stateside ourselves. I'm... done with this place."
With that matter settled, Evelyn excuses herself to finally take that shower.
Freddy nods to Evelyn and and polishes off his glass of whiskey. "Right, I'm going to clean up too, then I think we should contact Janet and see how soon we can get the heck out of here."
A final toast is made to your fallen comrade before you all disperse to get ready for your departure. The shared bathroom gets a lot of use- clothing with suspicious blood stains, bullet holes and gunpowder residue along with sewer water and Nectar are discretely tied in bags and thrown out in public waste bins. You acquire food, though you've little appetite remaining since the act of chewing feels obscene in a way you never could have imagined.
An explosion at the docks carried out by a group of terrorists is the talk of Valletta- some reports say it was anarchists targeting an arms dealer for the Spanish fascists, others say it must have been French partisans, still more say a group of Americans were behind it. The warehouse's owner is mysteriously absent and assumed dead. It becomes clear very quickly that the sooner you leave Malta, the better- sleep and grief will have to wait for the voyage home.
You ring Janet's pilot Frank Kearns at the landing strip to start getting the plane ready for take off back to New York before checking out of your hotel, Anatoly's luggage and the materials contained therein carried back with you. Kearns takes one look at you all as you approach the gleaming silver plane and seems to understand the circumstances immediately. A sad twist to his mouth is the most he offers, focusing instead on getting the plane prepared.
Early afternoon finds you in the air over the Mediterranean, looking down at the tiny but nonetheless vital island of Malta and the thousands of people living there or just passing through. They're ignorant of all the horrible things you know, the awful things you've seen and the terrible things you've had to do to keep them safely unaware. And the terrible price you're still paying to see Walter Winston's work through to the end.
The plane's engine pushes you forward, away from Malta and the horrors you faced there, back toward your normal life.
But how can you ever really return to it?
** spoiler omitted **
"Thanks Joseph. I talked to a shrink back at Fort Harrison after I got back stateside from the war, but I never took it very seriously. I think I will this time.."
You all split up to spend some much-needed time at home, agreeing to meet again in a month's time to continue the fight against the global cult.
During a late summer storm in Savannah, the power in Freddy's apartment goes out and he has to head down to the basement with a flashlight to flip the breakers. But he doesn't get more than ten steps down before his pulse starts quickening, sweat beading on his brow. It's difficult to breathe for a minute and he's filled with an all-encompassing panic. He has to retreat back up the stairs and gather himself for a few moments before he can go back down to fix the power.
You all sit once more in Janet's private hangar after a month of recuperation. It's now October in New England, the weather crisp and cool. What's your next move?
George Ayers (the third pillar of the '24 cult along with Echavarria and Trammel, the archaeologist that introduced Edgar Job to Echavarria) disappeared in Ethiopia on a cult sponsored dig. A weird reel-to-reel recording and several letters (to Trammel and from Donovan) lead to Mexico City and several more letters in Trammel's correspondence lead to someone in Bangkok, an 'S.S.' that spoke to Trammel as an equal rather than as a subordinate.
Evelyn spends her first week home locked in her study, catching up on the most up-to-date medical journals and flipping through old college textbooks. She is almost never without a glass of wine in her hand. Eventually, even her infallible work ethic lags behind her intake of red wine. Pulling herself together (for the most part), she finally summons up the nerve to tell her loved ones that yes, she was still alive.
It takes a few hours and far more white lies than Evelyn is comfortable with, but she manages to convince her father that she was being melodramatic when she wrote the letter he received. Jeffery proves far more difficult. The beautiful evening she spends with him nearly becomes a romantic one, but thinking better (or worse) of it, Evelyn abruptly takes her leave. Doing so pains her, but not as much as dragging him further into her mess would. Fortunately, she has to the good sense to assuage her depression with work instead of alcohol, she checks into Lenox Hill, mostly just to meet up with Dr. Hastings... and to let them know that she will be extending her sabbatical.
It would be a miracle if she is still employed by the end of all this.
Dominic has much to do to get his affairs in order. He takes a sabbatical from his work at the library in the Vatican, after attending services for Anatoly. Spends some time with Father Dudko, and has a meeting with Janet, imploring her to find a good home for Anatoly's horse.
Before leaving the Vatican library, he does some research on the mouths, Nectar, and any other information shared with him, to see if any additional information can be gleaned.
In terms of the drug Nectar and The Thing With A Thousand Mouths, Dominic can find next to no mention in the Vatican's library in the time he is allotted. It would appear this scourge upon the earth is either new or intentionally hidden.
Evelyn arrives at the hangar wearing another one of her tweed suits, with a familiar handbag hanging from her arm. As always, its slight bulge suggests that it is filled with more than just make-up and other day-to-day amenities. The doctor looks much better off than she did the last time the others saw her, though her eyes are still somewhat sullen, a fact she took care to conceal with strategic applications of powder.
Dominic is the second to arrive at the hanger. He had been in communication with Janet concerning what to do about Anatoly's horse, and had begged his way into helping avenge his death. He is obviously pale, with dark circles under his eyes from trying to read and research anything he could that might help. He has a canvas duffle at his feet, and a small leather shoulder bag. He had been sitting on an empty fuel can at the entrance to a hanger door, reading the bible it it's conveniently provided sunlight, when Evelyn entered.
"Hello", the gaunt priest says summoning a smile, and rising to greet her, "I have been in touch with Janet, and she has agreed to let me join your group in ridding the earth of this menace. The final decision however lies with your group. If you'll have me I'd like to lend you my skills and strengths in your campaign... for Anatoly".
After meeting Janet at Anatoly's funeral, Dominic found her to be cautiously supportive of his hopes to join the investigation. Given the circumstances, she felt little need to warn him- the risks involved are quite clear now- but she nonetheless required a bit of convincing to bring anyone else into this grave mission.
In terms of leads, Samsons Trammel's disgusting Testament of the Dripping Mouthes' Emanates provides information on cults in Bangkok and Mexico City-
Bangkok
Correspondence pasted into the pages from an "S.S." in Siam discusses the metaphysical nature of the Thing With A Thousand Mouths. Trammel's correspondent believes that to have this knowledge is critical and that it's likely as not that Trammel is wrong in his own conclusions. (Trammel revealed in the Testament that Echavarria deceived the '24 cult that they were venerating Gol-Goroth when the Thing's voice told Trammel that he was truly Nyarlathotep).
The tone of the correspondence suggests that "S.S." considered themselves to be an equal to Trammel, not a subordinate. Handwriting analysis concludes that S.S. is well-educated and likely female. After steaming the letters from the pages the return address in Bangkok can be read on the back of the letter.
One interesting passage is an explicit invitation to Trammel personally or his Los Angeles followers to "fight in our rites" in Bangkok followed by explicit instructions on where to go and what to say to find the proper location.
Mexico City
An unfinished chapter in the Testament, mixing handwritten passages and pasted-in letters considers the power of a Mouth's voice or "song". Few conclusions are made; the text consists of suppositions and possibilities like "the voice of a great Mouth may have the power to enchant or enlighten!" Eventually handwritten speculation gives way to letter, written on Luz Records stationary (whose address appears to be a Mexico City post office box: #1629), which excitedly report in Spanish about "our next recording" and "the profound possibilities of new songs!"
A close reading detects a lot of tension between the lines of the letters. Each letter is more grandiose, and more defensive, than the last. It seems clear that the author of these letters- "J.B."- was not delivering the anticipated results from the earlier handwritten passages and eager letters. The letters promise "a new experience to rival that of Nectar's" and that "Nectar distribution will return to its original rates once we've prepared our album." Numerous references are made to "de la Luz" and how "the next record will change everything".
The last letter from J.B. shows a new tone: buried hostility. At two points in the letter, J.B. refers to "the god" and "your god" rather than using the reverential tone of earlier letters. The last such letter is dated to August 5th 1937.
Furthermore, Trammel had in his possession a reel-to-reel sound master of a hypnotic song in Spanish- the singer rhythmically croons, "mi corazon, mi amor, mi nombre, mi boca" ("my heart, my love, my name, my mouth").
A letter from Montgomery Donovan in Malta to J.B. also discusses the Liar's true location on Earth, "The Devouring Mountain" which opens a flexing crack when the "moon is dark and the stars shine down" to reveal the slumbering titan within, Donovan speculates that it could be useful to know exactly where this mountain is in case the cult has to take drastic action against its own foul god.
And snooping around in LA and talking to Edgar Job at Joy Grove turned up a lead to Africa:
Ethiopia
UCLA archaeology professor George Ayers was a central figure in the '24 cult Walter Winston, Douglas Henslowe and his friends dismantled though he was not present at the summoning where so many met their ends or left shattered. Instead, he was on a dig in Ethiopia near the village of Dallol in the Afar region(likely the hottest place on Earth) when he apparently disappeared completely. Not, however, before he sent back a fragment of a carving containing ancient warding symbols- a carving meant for Echavarria but intercepted by Douglas Henslowe on his mad flight from Los Angeles in 1924.
There is a moment of hesitation on Evelyn's part when she sees Dominic in the hangar, for two main reasons. Firstly, the fact that he was there betrayed the reality of his resolve to join their dangerous mission. And secondly, even after a month, she finds herself embarrassed by the disgraceful state she had been in during their first meeting. However, she quickly gathers her wits and returns the priest's smile.
"You don't know what you are getting yourself into," she says earnestly, tightly clutching her handbag in both hands. "But then, neither did I. If Janet is convinced, then I have no objections."
Mexico City, October 1937
Much like Washington DC in the United States, Mexico City (el Distrito Federale or Mexico, D.F.) is the capital of Mexico yet is not technically a part of any of the country's states. The city itself and it's many boroughs are their own distinct place within the nation.
Driving into town from Balbuena Airport, where Frank Kearns has parked the airplane once again, you're struck that the city itself is not the sprawling metropolis you expected but is rather a central city surrounded by a collection of green and varied boroughs separated by fields and wetlands connected by a few main roads.
You secure lodgings in downtown Mexico City to determine where the cult's post office box may be located. The streets are cramped and maze-like, the buildings not nearly as tall as those in New York and Providence but nonetheless Art Deco and modern. Men wear light suits predominantly, though you see splashes of color in their ties and handkerchiefs. The sun is high and bright, reflecting off of the myriad windows in the financial district and the humidity already has you fanning yourselves.
After the group arrives, Father Dominic suggests that he should probably check in with the local parish, and set up communications with the Church in Vatican City. Let them know that he can be communicated with here, and maybe look for a helpful priest for clues about the location of the box. Wouldn't hurt to see if there are any rumors about the Mouth or the nectar her as well.
Dominic finds a church not far from the hotel, talking at length with a Father Dominguez about the local parish and Mexico City over coffee.
The Padre has a lot to say about vice in D.F.- "Marijuana and cocaine: the Devil's tools to lead a man astray. D.F. is rife with them, Father, especially in Coyoacán. Artists, musicians, political dissidents - they all gather there nightly in debauchery. Confession, of course, wipes it all clean but someday, mark my words..."
After nodding along with his diatribe, the priest mentions that he doesn't know where the specific post office box you're looking for might be but the local library would be sure to have it for you.
Armed with directions to the library, Father Pizzaro easily looks up where he might find box #1629- a post office in the north end of the downtown neighborhood.
The post office containing box #1629 is an art deco edifice, all steel and glass in geometric patterns catering to the suit and tie set that work downtown. A steady stream of patrons enter and exit the building, going about their daily routine.
Amadeus agrees to the mid-range tourist hotel, though he aches for a bit of the luxury that is his due.
Regarding the PO Box, he smiles. "I have no doubt that they are used to the strange and eccentric where this cult is involved. Let us simply stroll in and see what we find!"
You walk into the post office- it's busy but not overwhelmingly so. Four clerks are manning the windows, accepting parcels and letters or selling stamps. Several people are checking over their post office boxes or filling out forms at the available surfaces. The line seems long, but it's moving fairly quickly.
Amadeus strolls to the clerk, removing his turban and looking sheepish. "Please, can you help me? I seem to have lost my Postal Box key!"
The clerk at the counter looks at Amadeus with some confusion, then responds with something in Spanish that the medium doesn't understand. After looking blankly back at him for a moment, the clerk slows down.
"Cómo se llama usted?... What is, uh, your name?"
"Jose Borges. It might be under J.B. I use a pen name you see, I'm an author." Amadeus fibs.
The clerk writes the name down on a slip of paper. He looks back up.
"Your, uh... forward address and box number?", he asks.
After supplying a fake address and indicating the box #, the clerk walks away to check the files for the P.O. box. He comes back after a short time, shaking his head.
"Sorry.", he says in English,"You sure that your box? Name and address are different on the file card- I can't open it for you."
Amadeus sighs. "See, my friend, this is why agents are useless creatures. My agent, he is always trying to protect me from my fans. He makes up new names and forgets half of them. It's a terrible bother but what can I do? Can you tell me what strange name he logged this under THIS time?"