Spencer watches on, curious.
Lucian watches restlessly, his closed fist held to his lips in an anxiously thoughtful pose. He looks back and forth from his tape to the scratching line appearing in front of them. "It's nothing like ours," he says quietly. "It's... peaceful."
At around 11:30, an hour has passed and you wake Mr. Snow and Mr. Poole.
"Anything unusual?" inquires the groggy parapsychologist as he rubs his eyes.
Twisting his mouth with distaste as he sits up, Martin reaches into his vest pocket for a cigar. "That was...not at all unusual," he says.
"Me either. And the readings are typical. I has expected Mr. Reeves' to resemble these- but he dreamed strangely and his readings bore it out, so it isn't the machine..."
"So what does it all mean? That some of us are still unsettled by that madness at the Scala? Could there have been some drug served to the audience?"
Martin shakes his head, as confused as Spencer. "If there was some drug, I should have been affected by it as well. I can't think of why everyone else seems to be influenced while I have not." He stood and glanced at Mr. Snow.
"You mind if I smoke, Grayson?"
Expecting consent, Martin lights his cigar and puffs slowly at it. "According to that device, your brain patterns were indicating that you were no longer sleeping, though it was obvious to the two of us that you still were. Grayson and I, however, were asleep and had ordinary dreams, as supported by the device."
He blew a large cloud of blueish smoke up at the ceiling and turned to face the others. "I wonder if perhaps the instrument is correct. What if you were not dreaming? What if what you saw was real?"
"Then I really must be going, because I have a current engagement with a large pit that I really must be falling down," Lucian says drily. "Also, if any of you happen to see my violin anyplace? I must find it before I'm expected to play at the next opening night of some devilish play. Oh wait - I don't own a damned violin! Really, Martin, what do you think you're getting at?"
Victor looks at Lucian with a raised eyebrow "Playing a violin and falling into a pit?" then shrugs "I suppose that isn't any more bizarre then my dream.. Maybe we should talk about them. The dreams, I mean. Maybe we can piece something together if we all know what the other has experienced."
"Surely my dream could not have been real, perhaps it is a metaphor? When I consider it that way there are several things taht would make perfect sense"
Spencer can't but help shift a quick glance at his 'rival'.
Unable to remain still, Martin crosses the room again and turns to face the others.
"I understand that what I say sounds impossible, even ridiculous, but consider."
He holds up a thick hand and lifts his index finger. "First we see a riot break out in the audience at a play of all things. Not only did we have ordinarily stalwart gentlemen losing their heads but old women beating on their daughters. That alone defies explanation, gentlemen and had I not been there to see it I would have found it hard to believe."
He raised a second finger, the middle one. "Two: Two of you have been 'inspired' by this play, to the point that you've produced vivid representations of the images evoked within it. Images that, I daresay, you might never have considered otherwise."
His ring finger goes up next. "Third, we have the graffiti appearing all over the city. Graffiti that hails the King in Yellow, and other like images, again from a play that was presented only once. Not exactly the actions expected of the crowd we saw at the theater that night, at least not previous to the play's beginning, would you agree?"
The last finger shoots up. "Fourth, these dreams. All of you dreaming in ways that show up unusually on the brainscan. And I, the only one who thinks there is something dreadfully wrong with what happened that night, also the only one who did not experience something. Are all these things simply coincidences, gentlemen? One item alone beggers the imagination, but together? I think it's something more."
He looks at Victor. "Your suggestion is an excellent one, Mr. Sixsmith. Perhaps once you share your dreams we'll have a fifth item to add to an already impossible list."
Satisfied with his presentation, Martin stuck his cigar into his mouth and drew deeply on it.
"Could it be possible that something was slipped into the tea, and only some of us reacted to it? I rather suspected that strange symbol was perhaps some sort of voodoo sign or the like, possibly from the New Hebridies, perhaps someone had laced some exotic jungle plant in with our tea?" He looks for a moment, pensive "then again that sounds like the whimsy of a hack penny-novelist"
"Much as I would prefer a mundane explanation, I don't believe anyone drugged the refreshments. For one thing, they were served after the play and the riot occurred prior to the reception. It's also been a week since the play...", Walter says.
"I don't believe Talbot would do that. He's eccentric, but certainly not dangerous. And... Well, my first experience in this was during rehearsals when I saw that ghoulish costume Michael was wearing."
"Well if we remove the notion of some sort of compound being served either via conspiracy or accident then we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomenon. Perhaps a mixture of lighting and colours? the sort that might clash and trigger some kind of mental aberration? Hmmm, nothing makes much sense..."
Martin shakes his head. He sometimes forgets that the more unusual elements of life that he had long become accustomed to accepting were not so easily grasped by others.
"At present, I suppose there isn't any sure way to determine just what it might be. At any rate, I would like to hear what each of you experienced during the experiment, if you would share."
Victor nods to Martin "Well my dream started out as if often does, sailing somewhere on a lake. Large creatures swim below me through the water and I can see their silhouettes. Suddenly one of the creatures raises from the water and looms above me. This is when I normally wake up. This time, I did not. Instead, I stepped off of the boat and seemed to fall through the water, landing far below in a graveyard. Somehow I know that this graveyard is Carcosa. I see all of our tombstones.. we're all buried there.." Victor trails off a bit. Clearly disturbed by the conclusion of his dream.
Walter chews his lip a moment before he starts to speak.
"I'm stretching a canvas, pulling it taught with my pliers. Except- the frame isn't squares or rectangular. It's all odd angles and the canvas is very thin- more like muslin or a softer material. Once I've stapled it... The canvas moves of it's own and I see that it's a vast wing on the back of a black beast. It's skin was glossy and black with an equine head and instead of my staple gun or canvas pliers I held a whistle made of... bone I think."
"It screeched and I climbed onto it's back. It bore me out the balcony and up into the night sky, past the atmosphere and into the stars toward Taurus. We drew close to a spired city on the shores of a lake and.... and it flung me from it's back. I woke just as my bones shattered on the ground."
Walter looks up. He was staring at his hands, which tremble slightly.
"What could this all mean?"
Spencer puts on his best British stoicism.
"Well I have had plenty of time in the company of Miss Jean, and she hasn't said anything about matters such as these, nor did I notice anything troubling the girl. Certainly there is something troubling us chaps, but we needn't get too carried away and become old washerwomen about it"
Victor turns a curious eye toward Mr Reeves "What are you getting at Spencer? What did you dream?"
"Well, in the interest of cynicism, perhaps either Miss Jean doesn't trust you enough to tell you of her maddened dreams, or she exists in such a state as Martin here - somehow inured to the effects of whatever has gotten us in it's claws," Lucian says with a hint of bitterness. "In either case, I feel quite young and un-washerwomanly about all this, so I would sooner continue to discuss and delve, and hopefully defeat, whatever's gotten us into this tizzy."
Speech done, he pulls out his cigarette case and lighter and lights up, without offering one to anyone else - he seems preoccupied with thoughts, and the cigarette is only in his hands as a distraction. He closes his eyes for the first inhalation, and then begins speaking.
"I'm in an orchestra, odd enough in itself, as I never showed much interest in the violin. But there I am, surrounded by a mass of other players, trying their best to wreck ear drums with their screeching. I look at my music, and it twists and turns like a serpent in front of me, the sign of the King In Yellow, defying the laws of print and music simultaneously. I play to keep it at bay.
"Around me, the other musicians have changed. They are men no longer, but black bat-things, winged and stretched past the human form. My violin is gone. The orchestra pit has become precisely that - a hole, descending down. One by one my fellow players are leaping in, their wings spreading as they fall and soar down. The conductor points to me, tattered robes flapping round his outstretched arm. So it must be my turn. I leap. But I have no wings."
The story sits, unfinished, as Lucian takes a second long drag of the slowly burning cigarette. He stares at a point that must exist under the floorboards as the smoke curls about him. He doesn't expand upon the dream any further.
"I simply drempt I was back at the Scala watching that damnable play again, although some parts were different and it was all very real, it seemed there was a part with a sword that rather resembled real wounding instead of play acting, and then there were some other bits of nonsense, but I well understand what they represent" he looks once again at his rival subconsciously "though it did end rather strangely as it seems the audience and I were sucked up into a vortex, though obviously that was just my mind entering its waking state and the end of the dream"
"Hmm." Martin exhales a cloud of thick blue smoke.
"I must confess, I had not expected your dreams to be so varied. They all share common elements but, naturally, they're all related to the play itself. I'm afraid I don't know what to make of them."
Spot Hidden:
Psychology (anyone but Spencer):
Mr. Snow finishes the notes he's been taking while the four of you discuss your dreams. He looks up to all of you from his chair, stifles a yawn, and asks:
"Have you noticed other effects since the play? Mr. Reeves, am I to understand this is the only occasion on which you have dreamt of the play? Victor, Walter, Lucian- would you be willing to give me a description of some other dreams you've had during the week?"
Lucian nods and begins to recount his dreams, numbering them with his fingers as he goes. "Well, the violin one came first - I told you of that one, but it hadn't finished before today. Then came one of hunting on a moor, and remembering a story of a man lost on that same moor - the damnedest thing being me remembering a story that I never heard in a dream. The tale was of the man falling in love with a woman and then finding her long-dead grave - one of those tales that children tell each other in the dead of night to startle each other."
Lucian's tone grows a little darker. "Then one of watching myself in a strange house. I saw myself wander strange hallways, wrapped in tattered and torn sheets. I placed a mask upon myself, and took up a sword - the spitting image of the King in Yellow. I see me watching myself, if you can make sense of that. The masked me, I get angry, and begin to shout. I think I meant to strike myself down, but I awakened before that."
Lucian has now grown especially quiet. "Then one instance of... not a dream. Dreaming while awake, I suppose. I suspect it to be a matter of lack of sleep, of too much toil, or... But only one instance. A mundane poster, a tobacco ad of all things." He laughs in a way that expresses no mirth. "But it began to twist and wriggle, and reach... Like the damned Sign in my dreams. In the middle of the street." He laughs again. "Preposterous," he finishes, sounding unsettled at having aired all of this.
:
:
Martin slowly shakes his head. "I'm not ashamed to say that had I experienced the same, Mr. McAllistair, I'd have taken quite the fright."
Victor nods knowingly to the artist. "Lucian, though the content of our dreams have been different, the pattern seems the same." A bit of excitement creeps into Victor's voice as he goes on. "My first dream was, as you say, the same as this most recent one, just... incomplete or unfinished. The second dream, I was creeping through a forest, on my way to meet with some imaginary creatures.. maybe characters from a story? Anyway, while I walked, i noticed a woodsman keeping pace with me. Then the woodsman began to change and so does the rest of the woods. I realize that I was never in the woods and he was never a woodsman. I was on a stage and he was.. well I don't know who he was. I do know that it was he who was in control of the dream though, not me."
Seeming more focused now, Victor goes on. "After that I decided I needed some help. I began to see a Dr. Samuel Bridgman in south Islington. We had a few sessions and I felt like I was making some progress. After one of my visits, I headed out to a favorite tea house of mine and on the way, a flapping curtain above me caught my eye. When it flipped for a moment out of the way, there was a pale thin face, in the window, staring at me, expressionless. A second later, it was gone. It may sound strange, but I tell you. It felt like something in my mind was fighting back against the therapy I was receiving. Like something was clutching to my mind and didn't want to let go."
"No the play has only really been on my mind in terms of looking for another venue for it as a...well a favour to Jean, yes she seemed a spot disappointed at the Scalas' decisions, so I thought possibly a new venue might be found so that Jean could continue on in that role. I don't think I'd coutenance such action now, as it seems that perhaps the play is attached to some less desirable outcomes, so would not subject Jean to such misguided chivalry, indeed I think its time to turn that page for good"
Walter pulls out his cigarette case and opens it with a snap.
"Mr. Reeves, I believe you may want to take out a newspaper ad. I don't believe you've underlined your point quite well enough.",he says dryly, lighting his cigarette with a match.
"So, Victor, I'm curious: what do you think the good Dr. Bridgman's professional opinion would be of, say, a man seeing a woman half his age and insisting on making a spectacle of it? Perhaps even displaying a controlling pretense of chivalry?"
"Or can we simply take the widely held notion that he's making up for his own sense of inadequacy and indulging in something perhaps withheld from him in the spring of his life? Ah! Why idly wonder, when we can consult someone right here? Mr. Reeves, you're an apparent "expert" on matters of psychology- what would you say of such a case?"
Grayson Snow clears his throat.
"Gentlemen, I believe it's getting entirely too close in here. Perhaps it's time we all got some rest?"
Spencer does his best to conceal satisfaction at making the other man spill. his best is rather short of the mark.
"Yes Mr Snow, a little crowded indeed, maybe it is time to get some fresh air and a change of scenery, all these bodies seem to be making for a lot of hot air."
"Indeed," Lucian says, the look he's splitting between Walter and Spencer becoming withering. "Almost as if some people weren't focusing on the matter at hand, and instead toying with more petty concerns."
Martin nods and seeks out an ashtray to snuff out his cigar. "It is perhaps time to move on. What say we take some time to consider what has happened this day and what we've learned and reconvene at another time and place. Grayson, have you any final thoughts as to what might be done next?"
Snow yawns.
"I haven't a clue just yet. I'll need some time to review this... the only conclusion we can make is that there is indeed something happening and I wouldn't be surprised if there are many more people out there so afflicted. All we can do at present is try to get some rest and come at it with a clear head in the morning."
Martin nods decisively. "Well then, let's adjorn. Grayson, I'll ring you up in the morning and we can discuss any plans from there. I would like to thank the rest of you for coming."
He offers a firm handshake to each of the men there before thanking Snow again for his assistance and heading out.
Once in the lobby, Martin pauses and gestures to Lucian and Victor.
"A moment, gentlemen. There's something else I'd wanted to discuss with you and what with everything else I'd almost forgotten to mention it. Spencer and I have been asked to help a psychiatrist with a case. It's a simple manner of a curious request by the patient's family. I must conduct a few interviews here in London but afterwards we've been invited to visit the good doctor in Weobly, out in the country. You are both welcome to come along...it might do you good to get out of the city and away from our troubles here. Breathe the fresh air, perhaps seek inspiration from more natural environs, eh?"
"Yes we could all head off together, maybe a bit of country air will do us all a turn for the best. I believe that dandy has at least been forced into the open, and now I can rest easy knowing his true feelings."
"And that way, if I start whaling on poor Victor here again, there's a nice doctor right next door! How convenient!" Lucian gives a wan, tired smile. "That sounds absolutely splendid, Martin. I'll pack - and leave as much of this behind as I can."
Victor chuckles, trying to keep the mood a little lighter.."I certainly didn't need a doctor last time. Perhaps Spencer knows a guy who can teach you to throw a proper punch!" The carpenter claps a scarred hand on Lucian's back "And someone to teach me how to defend one." Victor adds with a smile "But yes, a trip away seems like a great idea. Martin, what do you already know about the patient? Would it help if I tried to do a bit of research before we left?"
Martin gives a brief overview of the situation as he understands it, explaining that he has plans to meet with Dr. Trollope at the first opportunity.
"I confess that I'm not sure if they'll even consent to meet with me, but I promised I would try. Regardless, I welcome the opportunity to get away from the city for a short time in return for taking in the country air."
"Well that is quite the tale," Lucian says soberly. "While I can't imagine what good I'll be in the diagnosis of the patient, I can always supply the layman's analysis. Or just turn it into a plain vacation! Leave you all to playing doctor," he says with a light laugh.
Victor makes a mental note of the names that Martin mentions. "Right, I think I'll do a bit of research on these folks. It may or may not help your investigation, but it should at least put my mind on something other than Talbot's damned play for a while."
You all feel a bit taxed after taking those doses of barbital, however small, Lucian and Victor feeling more drained than usual after their own experiences tonight. Stepping out of Mr. Snow's hotel home the wind immediately sinks its teeth into you, chilling you to the bone despite it still being early in the season.
As everyone is leaving, Martin says, "Anyone who has any access to old newsprints might into the matter of the murders. I've not had a chance to check into that yet."
"I'm always game for a spot of procrastination from what I'm supposed to be doing, and a double murder makes for fun reading - I'll go ahead and see what I can find," says Lucian.
In the lobby you say your farewells, resolving to speak soon about your findings. Through the frigid and empty streets you head home, the wind whipping your scarves and coats to its indifferent whims. Where the streetlights are out and London has gone to bed, the stars watch from the celestial vault- Taurus' red eye ever gazing out across the inestimable void.
Lucian and Victor find their evening's rest dreamless and peaceful, however- weary psyches opting to give them a brief respite.
Library Use:
29th October 1928
Lucian and Victor
Waking a bit late after your long evening, you meet at the newspaper archives at the British Library nearest Charing Cross. It takes little time and effort under your keen researching skills to pull up two newspaper articles from the Daily Express related to the Roby case-
The first is dated 15th October 1926:
Murder At Mayfair Mansion- Family Member Held For Questioning
"A double murder was committed last night at the home of Mr. Herbert Roby, 4 Curzon St., Mayfair. The police were called to the house at 10:45 p.m. by domestic staff to discover the bodies of two family members: Mr. Herbert Roby himself and his daughter Miss Georgina Roby. Police say that this does not appear to be a random attack or the work of burglars and that the motive is as yet unknown. A family member has been detained to assist with their inquiries which are ongoing. Mr. Herbert Roby, 64, was retired from the Foreign Office and the father of the well known merchant banker Mr. Grahame Roby who was not in town at the time of the tragedy."
The only other mention is on the 17th October 1926:
Obituary
"HERBERT ARTHUR ROBY Suddenly, on 14th October 1926 at his home in Mayfair aged 64 years. Survived by two sons, Grahame and Alexander. A private service will be held on 23rd October. Flowers should be sent to Ames Funeral Home in Westminster."
Martin and Spencer
After a bottle of port and some cigars chased by a good night's sleep, Martin phones Dr. Trollope's office at an early hour. Dr. Highsmith's letter of introduction has smoothed the path of discourse- Martin gets the impression from the phone call that Dr. Trollope is both civil and accommodating. The Doctor agrees to meet with the two of you- perhaps this afternoon at his home in Long Acre around tea time?