Roland's steps slow and then stop completely as they leave the cover of the trees and take it the expansive view. "This is..." and just trails off there, apparently too taken with the scene to continue. After several moments he looks around at the others, "That city might hold some answers, and I can't help but feel like we're woefully low on information." Roland takes a few steps forward, eyes straining to see if the road they are on will take them to the city in the distance.
Jossem stops beside Roland. "Well, finally some civilization. Perhaps we can find passage home." He looks at Roland. "It would have been nice for Madam Eva to have left us some food when she departed in the middle of the night." He shrugs and starts walking towards the city again.
Ang continues to lag behind the group of Englishmen. He takes in the scenery and notes the city in the distance. Perhaps there he can divest himself of these bumbling Shǎguā!there.
He keeps a sharp look out as they move towards the city.
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"Civilization... we shall see. When was the last time you were in a city with functional walls?" The priest shakes his head at the sight. Where are we? This is no where near London, not even anywhere in England... Well, the Lord brought us here for a purpose, and I think it is to bring this Ripper to justice.
Looking around the the men with him the priest continues, "I think we should not be surprised if this place is like none we have ever seen. I know some of us were complete strangers a matter of hours ago, but I dare say that we are as brothers-in-arms in this strange land and we need to stick together."
From behind Tommys back, where Richards head hangs as he is carried, he can be heard mumbling, neither awake or unconcious, but floating somewhere in between. The words are mostly too unintelligible to make out, although what few words can be heard, hint at the man being quite content in whatever fevered dream he is having.
Roland looks over at the Father as they walk, face solemn when presented with the dire straights they are truly in, "Amen Father."
Tommy drops Richard like a sack of potatoes when they stop, and looks up to admire the view. A walled city indeed. This was getting more and more like some tale from the old country, and less like any sort of reality he was comfortable with.
"Walls or not, it's a city," he says. "And if it's a city, it'll have whores. We came here following someone, and that's where we'll find him. If there's a way home for us, serving justice to that monster is going to be on the way. Let's do this together."
Looking down at Richard, he grabs him by the ankle, to drag him for a while.
When Tommy first mentions the likely presence of whores in the distant city, Roland looks over at him with wide eyes, an immensely incredulous expression on his face, shocked at the mans inappropriateness. But then Tommy continues, and Roland realizes Tommy's actual meaning, letting out a brief, barely audible sigh of relief.
The party presses forward, and the day passes. The heat increases, growing more humid as they approach the city.
Proximity to the city brings the little metropolis into better light. Rows of tightly spaced, three-story town-homes are visible over what is an old, and largely dilapidated wall.
A few wagons laden with farm goods or carriages pass the party. Greetings called out in an accent that sounds French.
The masts of sailing ships and steamers mark the docks, and to the north of the city, lower-class housing, one, maybe two stories, tightly packed (even more than the townhomes) dominate.
Passing finally into the city, the group comes to a market square, sellers hocking their goods at full-throated volume, while men and women in fine clothes go about, arms entwined. The women wear elaborate dresses with even more elaborate hats, and the men wear stiff woolen pants and linen shirts; black top hats being the norm among them.
As they pause in the market square, Tommy drops Richard roughly into a convenient puddle. He looks around with his usual belligerent expression. The world may be alien, but at least he is in a city again, and the rhythms of the city are familiar and comforting after the night spent in the forest.
"We should start at the docks," he says. "Sailors will know where on Earth* we are, and where to find a girl, and that's where we'll find our boy."
Roland looks around, somewhat disheartened, "So much for asking about a strange man in a top hat! Any ideas where we should start looking for him?" He looks over as Tommy talks right over the top of his question, "Ah, yes, just what I was curious about. To the ocean then?" and starts heading that way. Seeing as their in a market area, he slows by a vendor, looking for something in the way of breakfast.
With a groan, Richard stirred in his puddle, moving his hands from one spot on his body to the next, clearly touching them to every aching spot. Shoulders, spine, neck. Everything pulsed with the legacy of Tommys rough handling.
"Nnnngghh...bwuh...what..happened?"
Realizing he was wet, he sat up in the puddle. Resigning himself to the fact that there was no saving his clothes from getting any more soaked, he remained sitting. Brushing at the gravel and dirt which was sticking to his sweaty face, he cleared his eyes and looked around at their new surroundings.
"Are we back in London? Did we ever leave?" he mumbled to himself. It was doubtful he would be able to stand on his own, let alone walk, wearing the disguise of a common working man, covered in grime and bearing the gaunt expression of a starved castaway.
Ang looks over the city. It looks western to his eyes, and he sees no other orientals. A tightness grips his bowels as the realization that there may not be any other easterners here washes over him.
Could I be the only one of my kind in this strange new world? What will become of me when my ancestors cannot see me anymore...
He continues to walk with the others, but upon seeing Richard wake, he stoops to the man and quickly sees to his bruises and cuts
Healing:
Whether he was too embarrased by his previous actions, or simply too dazed to remember, Richard did not speak a word to Ang, but simply sat there while the chinaman did his work.
"Must be a new sort of fashion. Havnt seen that style of clothes in London yet." he mumbled.
When Ang had finished, Richard made a few brave attempts at standing, waving off any assistance before finally managing to keep on his feet. Walking around in a couple of circles, testing his balance like a newborn foal, he adressed the others with a raspy voice.
"My, im quite thirsty, parched even. Anyone else fancy a drink?"
Jossem sighs as Richard is dumped out on the street. "Might as well. The best place to find answers is usually where people are drinking. This place does seem French. Perhaps they have decent wine."
As they walk, Joss tries to listen for any English or Arabic being spoken. He stops wi Clive around the markets to see what kind of wares people were selling.
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Feeling merciful, the good priest unscrews the top of his flask and hands it to Richard. "Take a pull on that lad... It won't cure what ails ya, but it will take the edge off until we find a suitable tavern." As Richard comes close the priest whispers in his ear, "For the other, you might want to beg Ang's forgiveness and ask his aid in earnest. The lad knows his herbs and might be able to help you through the pangs that are coming."
Looking about, Father Paidraig says to the group, "Not London or anywhere else I have heard of, but I agree with the detective that our killer dresses like he is from here. Tommy has got a good thought that he might go after the same type of victim here... A tavern on the rougher side of town sounds like what we need.
The priest seems oddly at ease with the idea of a seedy tavern, but then he hasn't shown himself to be a judgmental Puritan it hypocrite as far as you've known him. A Man of God to be certain, bit a man of the world as well.
If there's a rough area, it's usually close to the docks. As the group make their way toward them, the dress and mannerisms certainly take a turn. Elaborate dresses and fancy footwear are replaced with the worn, stitched and serviceable clothing of the poor. The housing becomes cramped, smaller, and less regal, and the eyes of the populace have a harder look about them.
Within range of the docks, a tavern that fits the Father's description sits on a corner. The sign hanging from an iron bar reads Le Voile Ouverte, the image of a ship with sails full of wind.
the Open Sail
Entering, the party finds a mostly empty tavern, too early for an evening meal, and too late for a lunch, this is hardly unexpected. A sullen looking, gaunt man labors behind the bar to put things in order. In the corner, a man who could only be a sailor snores loudly, face down on a rough wooden table.
As the door open, the barkeep turns and nods to the group in turn.
Roland steps forward, "Good day... uh, Bonjour.." he seems to falter, unsure of himself in the strange setting. "Pardon me, I'm Roland Clive, and we are new in town. What is the name of this town we're in? We are tracking a villain of the worst kind, and believe he may be in the vicinity." He stops there, feeling he may be rambling a bit, and looks back at his companions with a look of mild consternation.
Accepting the flask, Richard looked at the Father with a puzzled look as the man whispered in his ear.
"Whats that now? Ang? The chinaman? Forgiveness for what? Look I dont know what you are thinking, but I happen to hold no prejudice again the man, yellow or not. You are preaching to the wrong man Father."
Handing back the flask he tugged his hands under his arms, shivering lightly.
"But good of you to mention his skill though, I shall have to ask him about that."
he started moving towards Ang.
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The priest shakes his head and pats Richard on the shoulder consolingly.
"You accosted him and attempted to steal from him during one of your... episodes. The fact that you cannot recall doesn't change the fact that the reason you are muddy was from wrestling with him. He is quite skilled by the way, it didn't go well for you. Regardless of your memory lapse, I would apologize before asking for further aid."
Richard gave the Father a puzzled look, then turned his eyes to the ground.
"That...does sound like me. God why does this keep happening? I think its best if I let him cool down a bit first. I know I wouldnt want to talk to me right away."
Joss comes up to the bar behind the Detective. "Excusez-moi. Parlez-vous Anglais?" He waits for some response from the man before showing a gold piece. "Drinks for my friends?"
Tommy is in no way surprised by the Father's comfort in the squalid surroundings, having passed many a pleasant evening with him in such places before. Nor is he surprised by Richard's confusion. Seeing that Joss and Roland are handling the important business, he takes a position behind the sleeping sailor, gesturing to Roland to buy a drink for the sailor as well.
Ang stands by while the others make their orders and find seats. He has been in many a squalid tavern before, but has never felt so out of place. He is surprised the locals have not noticed or said anything about his looks. Perhaps there are others like him somewhere in this city. He will have to keep his eyes open. For the time being, he keeps his coolie hot pulled down and tries not to attract too much attention to himself...he doubts the Englishmen would afford him much protection if push came to shove.
The barkeep raises an eyebrow.
"Never heard a' no Anglais,friend, but I speak Zherisian well enough." His accent is mellow, but would pass for French. He takes the coin and examines it, before shrugging. "Drinks, aye. Any food for you lot? Still have some soup and bread left."
Nodding in the affirmative and making sure the transaction goes smoothly, Roland assists Jossem in bringing food and drink for everyone back to the table, waving Ang over if he has not joined them already, "Come Mr. Ang! We cannot deliver justice on an empty stomach. Fortunately, the locals seem decent enough. Though they are clearly foreign, and what language did he claim? 'Zhersan' was it. I've never heard the like, perhaps a local dialect?"
"Zherisian I believe it was Mr. Clive." Richard corrected the detective. "I doubt any dialect would call it anything but English. The Crown owns damn near half the world, I cant imagine anyone who speaks it with any fluency wouldnt know it by its proper name."
As he spoke, his eyes found Ang. He suddenly became very interested in his own hands, staring down at them.
Roland considers this and nods, "You make a valid point, unless they refer to English as Zherisian in their native tongue, like the french call it Anglais, for example." The detective grimaces as he knows the likelihood of him being correct is looking slimmer and slimmer the more he learns and observes the culture in this place.
"Some food would be excellent. Zherisian? Never heard of it. I guess we're new here. Do you know if we can get passage to England" Jossem waits until the food is presented and then he helps carry it to the table. "Something is odd. I've been to a lot of places around the world and 'England' is fairly well known, especially by places with French background. We don't seem to be in some backwater village, so the Crown should hold some recognition."
At the mention of England the barkeep shrugs.
"Might ask down at the docks, perhaps. We get sailors from all over in Port-au-Lucine."
The food is a simple repast, the kind that is a staple of all inns and taverns, across borders, both known and unknown. A thick stew, bread, a mug of ale. It is in all ways unremarkable, but in all ways welcome after a long night and morning without supplies.
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Father Paidraig settles into his food and drink while looking around. Listening to the conversation and thinking of all that has happened, the priest takes on a serious expression.
"Lads, I don't know that we're going to get much help from the Crown... not the Crown of England in any case. I think either the Lord or his Adversary has intervened in a real way in our lives and those mists didn't just confuse us, but transported us to someplace different all-together. The Church well knows that witchery is real, just like angels and demons, and we know something odd is about... and we're in a place that has never heard of England."
The priest takes a long pull on his drink and begins talking quietly, trying to keep his voice from strangers.
"St. Patrick's miracles that got him cannonized were often invoking the Lord's power to counter the spells of witchraft cast by the Druids of the ancient Celts. Those old wizards were said to be able to access other worlds, similar to ours but different. St. Patrick defeated them, but their powers were real and I think that mist and those gypsies... well. It has a feel of witchery and mysticism to it... and perhaps we are being tested in a game between the Lord and his Adversary as Job was in ancient times. Instead of sending torments upon us, our test is to follow the evil we saw in London back to its own world. This world. And I would guess that we aren't getting back until we settle things here... If any of you have a better explainaion as to what has been going on, I'm happy to consider it. But I know miracles are real. I've experienced them first hand. I know there is more to the world than what most expect, and I think that we have found our way beyond what can normally be expected."
Roland listens to the father with a sinking feeling in his stomach, and then his eyes get wide. "Did we somehow get taken to the America's!? How else would they speak english so well?"
Joss finds the meal quite enjoyable. Peasant food, clearly, but the thick stew and the ale held quite an appeal especially when they hadn't had much to eat all day.
Joss shakes his head at Clive. "I doubt it. Unless we're out in Indian country, people have still heard of the Crown. And these don't seem like redmen to me. Too civilized. I was thinking perhaps a French colony in the East, but if that were true, then our friend here wouldn't look out of place." He nods towards Ang.
"Perhaps the Father is right. We've been swept up in some witchcraft." He chuckles at the thought.
Roland raises his eyebrows skeptically, but doesn't refute Joss's points about their location. He chooses not to comment on witchcraft. When he's eaten his fill of the stew he looks around for a kerchief, but see's none. Sighing he wipes at his mouth with his sleeve and turns to the others, "So what is our plan? I agree that the ladies of the night are probably the most in danger from the Ripper, and they likely congregate near the docks, but it seems a most ineffective mode of searching. We don't even know if the man is still in this city."
Ang quietly says, "Maybe we should ask someone if there has been a spree of murders. Of find a newspaper and check. Do they have newspapers here?"
"Best I can tell, he only got here last night, though I don't trust time so well here." Tommy says to Ang. "Our best bet is still the docks. Or talk to our sleepy friend here." He pats the sailor on the shoulder.
Joss shrugs and kicks the sailor hard under the table. "Ey! You awake, Chap?"
Richard remained mostly quiet, adding his thoughts here or there on matters discussed but keeping from ever really joining. When everyone else had eaten their fill and started really getting into their talks, he was still sitting with a half full bowl, slowly forcing himself to eat. "Slow and steady now Richard, dont let the hunger get to you, it might all come back up if you arent careful."
The man Jossem accosts snorts, grumbles and spews saliva, and cursing.
"Je vais trancher le cou de vos mères de pute, salaud sans valeur!"
"I will cut the throt of your whore mother, you worthless swine!"
The man fumbles at his belt for a moment before bringing a jagged knife to bear, jamming it into the table.
He whirls at Jossem, glaring, but the fire in his eyes goes out when he sees he is rather outnumbered.
"'Ne vous savez que c'est la malchance de se réveiller un homme endormi?" he snorts, before retrieving his blade.
Don't you know it is bad luck to wake a sleeping man?
Roland is unprepared for the mans sputtering, and he scarcely has time to react as the man slams his knife into the table. Luckily things settle quickly and he wishes he was better versed in languages as he realizes he hasn't understood a word the man just said. "Do-you-speak-English?" he asks, speaking slowly and carefully to help the man understand him.
"My apologies, chap. I was just stretching my legs. The Father is right, the least I can do is buy you a drink for your troubles." Jossem waves to the bartender for another ale. He smiles at the man, not even glancing at the knife.
"Where are you from, mate? We're from a place called London or England. Ever heard of it? " He waits until the ale is brought. "So maybe you can help me. We're new in town, but it's my friend's birthday. I'd like to get him some fun, you know? Maybe a girl for the night. You know a good place to find one? You must, right? I'm sure they love sailors!" He laughs knowingly.
The man grumbles rather unintelligible stream of syllables as he regains his composure, drinking deeply of the proffered drink.
"Merci, merci..." he leans back in his chair. "I grew up here, and I've never heard of any Angland or Lundun, sorry, but we get travellers from all over."
At the mention of girls, a knowing grin sprouts on his face.
"La Fleur Rose, mes amis. The ladies, they are never sad to see you after long months on the Sea of Sorrows!" he winks knowingly, because that's what one does after such an exchange.
"Excellent! I'm sure he will have a wonderful time." Joss smiles. "How about a place for a room? It seems we might be here for a while."
He looks to the others. "Shall we try out luck at La Fleur Rose, gentlemen? Perhaps the madam there knows something, and I could do with some better looking company."
Roland nods, with a touch of excitement and a touch of embarrassment. While this won't have been the first time he's been to such an establishment, it certainly was the first time with a man of the cloth in tow! "Indeed, we are in desparate need of a lead, and La Fleur Rose is as good a place as any. Thank you good sailor, may the wind be ever at your back!"
Tommy frowns at the back of the sailor's head, but then shrugs and makes an inviting gesture to the others. A hot meal and a drop of liquor has taken the edge off his nerves, but he is still troubled. The fact remains that they have been taken by strange means to a place where England and London are unheard of, in pursuit of a madman. Not to mention the existential puzzle that was put before him last night by the fortune teller.
"When we find this Flurry Rose place, try to remember what we're there for," he mutters, as much to himself as to the others.
The party leaves with a curt nod from the bartender. It only takes some quick wandering and the questioning of a few grinning and winking locals (even those who speak no English recognize the name of La Fleur Rose) to find rudimentary directions. Which, surprisingly, lead away from the docks and back toward the more gentrified area of the city.
At first, it seems that there was some mistake. The group found themselves outside a spotless, beautiful building, reaching several stories into the sky in a square alongside many similar buildings. Surely this couldn't be? No working women dally outside, selling their wares, no hired muscle keep the door, but such things would seem out of place in this part of the city.
But the sign hanging above the door, a wrought metal lily, painted a very specific shade of pink, seems to remove any doubt.