"Mm, perhaps. What do you two think?" He asks, turning to Gnarok and Green.
"Hmmm. Yes, that's as good an approach as any. I'll be your local guide, a Saan tribeswoman. We're probably out of Upington, most recently. Perhaps the horse drawing our carriage was injured on the ride, and that's the reason we're walking up."
Gnarok nods, "It shall be so. What role am I to play? A partner in business? Or perhaps his brother, misguided but seeking to get on the straight and narrow, as endlessly strange of a concept that is."
That or... a man of his statue may require a security detail. Whichever you two feel most comfortable with.
Perhaps a combination.
"Business partner, please. If we could share the burden of talking with the locales, I'd be much appreciative." Jerimiah spoke, well aware that he was more a man of science and philosophy than of discourse.
By the time you reach the mine area, the gates have been closed, and four British soldiers stand at alert.
"Stop right there." one of the men, a fit man in his early 30s with a black thick mustache orders. "What's your purpose here?"
Jerimiah had on the way thought back to how some of his senior collegues had acted around those they felt inferior to their station, and had started to try channeling that through his posture. Head held high, tilting at an angle so that he was always looking down his nose towards someone even if they were of equal or somewhat greater height than his own. "Why else does anyone risk their lives in this God forsaken sun-scorched land. I'm working as a supplier to a number of stores across the western front, and right now what they need is a little of something of which I know this location has quite a lot."
He made a play of fishing into his pocket, and scowling when he finds seemingly nothing. "Jerimiah Whatsit. I'd provide a card, but it seems this horrid place has yet to cease taking it's fill of my belongings. This man here is my good friend and associate Jaric Nikolić." Nodding to the taller Gnarick, choosing a Serbian name off the top of his head. Keeping in character for the time, he gave neither acknowledgment nor mention of either of the woman that accompanied him. Much as it pained his soul to dehumanize them so.
“Jaric” nods. He plays up his accent, trusting these men not to recognize where he’s from, ”Travelling for days through this damn scorching wasteland, cannot stand the dust and the bugs. Let us cut to chase, I understand you have diamonds, да? We wish to buy.”
"This IS the DeBeers mine at Orange River," the soldier confirms, "under protection of His Majesty King Edward VII. Unfortunately, we have had an...incident recently, that's lead to the foreman closing ingress to the operation for the rest of the day." The soldier appeared almost apologetic.
"An incident?" Jerimiah exaggerates his exasperation, "Me and my company have traipsed all the way out here suffering all manner of trials, and you meant to tell me that it is now at the final leg of my journey that we're forced back? Unbelievable."
He throws up his hands, shaking his head. After an exhale of breath, he acts as if he's gathered some calm and turns towards the soldier. "Tell me, just what manner of 'incident' is it that's stopping things here anyway?"
"There's been a murder, sir," the soldier responds grimly.
”Murder? Sounds not good. You’re in luck, back in homeland I was enforcer of law. You need help, we need diamond. We give to you, you give to us.”
Heavens! But, a murder of whom?
Heavens! But, a murder of whom?
Bekkah is not sure if it's racism, sexism, or both, but the man seems quite startled she actually spoke to him, let alone asked a question.
"Ehem. Well, ma'am, I'm not really at liberty to give that information out."
You need help, we need diamond. We give to you, you give to us.”[/b]
"Oh? Well, perhaps we could at least take you inside to speak to the foreman's assistant?" he says half-questioningly, looking at the man beside him, who nods.
"Yes, come on then." The soldier unlocks the gate to allow the party entrance. Another leads you inside.
Inside the mining operation is best described as organized chaos. Dirty organized chaos. Carts hauling dirt, goods, equipment pulled by sun-hardened, muscular African miners all rushed back and forth in seemingly random directions. Several large trenches have been dug into the earth, and support beams 20' high and higher hold makeshift bridges for mine cars pulled on rails up from the ground below.
Several dozen structures exist in the mine, both within the trenches and up here. You are being lead toward the most prominent one, a sign that says "DeBeers Mining Operation at Orange River, James Hoyle Foreman."
Jerimiah pulls a face at the state of things without much acting. Having spent much of his life within lab environments or the comfort of his townhouse, he was ill-prepared for the harsh realities of actual back-breaking labor. Little doubt in his mind that he'd crumble under the weight of all these preasures, and for that alone he could respect the men working here.
Well, to a given definition of 'working' he grimaced.
Pulling his attention from the crimes of an outdated society, he looked on ahead towards their destination. "Nothing for it, I suppose. Let's get this on with. Watch your step, all of you."
The steps virtually breathed dust as Jerimiah moved up them to the door. Knocking, Jerimiah is greeted with a gruff "Come in!", and upon entering the room, finds a very typical factory office, though quite untidy compared to those he was used to.
A man who might, in other circumstances, have had a face that was considered jolly now looked unnerved and quite grumpy. Wearing the customary very full English mustache of the time, Hoyle was several pounds past prime weight, and several years past his prime in age.
Hoyle sat at a disheveled desk with an electric desk-fan (quite the luxury in 1909) which seemed to be doing little to cool the sweating man.
"Might I have the pleasure of knowing whom I'm addressing?"
Bekkah demurely looks around, remaining silent.
"Jerimiah Whatsit, jeweler. This is my associate Jaric Nikolić, Miss. Clarkson, and a local we commissioned to bring us here." The man stated, grabbing a name for Bekkah out of a metaphorical hat. He felt terrible for snubbing D'Nisha of even a name, though he needed to keep in character with the times. "We were told that something truly dreadful has happened that we just might be able to assist you with. Jaric use to be an officer in his homelands, and I've something of a keen eye myself thank you very much. Comes with the trade."
"Well, splendid, because none of those British Army men seem to have done me a bit of good," the man says in a frustrated voice. "Persons unknown just wheeled in here in a horse and buggy and shot one of my surveyors!"
Bekkah gasps hand to mouth, channeling her genuine distaste for gun-play.
"Jaric" takes a moment to study the man before nodding in agreement with Jerimiah, "Da, he says true. Let me be direct. Tell me first, what did men who came and shot surveyor look like? Natives, Brits, others? Second, does company have enemies, people who wish to be seeing you fail?"
"That's just it. No one was there to see it. Well, I mean no one but the menials. Most of them don't even speak the King's English."
"As far as enemies, there are many. First, I'd guess, the Oppenheimers over at The Premier Mine. It's a long journey to the Northwest, but they have been scouting locations nearer ours."
"Next would be the her people," the man says, gesturing at the thus far unnamed D'Nisha. "Trouble with the tribals has ever been a plague here in Africa, and the DeBeers mines are no different. Primitives who can't grasp the idea of profit or progress."
"Then of course the Dutch, who'd love to diminish the influence of The British Empire in any capacity here in Africa."
Gnarok has half a mind to unleash fire and pain onto this man in the face of his sneeringly aristocratic racism, but settles for balling his fists and taking a deep breath, ”Once again, you find yourself in luck by our coming. We are small company, Whatsit and Nikolić, just the two of us. Often, we cannot afford not to work with locals. We bring one with to work as translator and guide. We can assist in talking to your workers.”
Bekkah leans into D'Nisha, whispering... Maybe they will more readily speak with us? I wonder the ethnicity of the surveyor.
D'Nisha bows "subserviently" toward "Jaric." Then she leans in to hear Bekkah's wisper.
"We'll soon find out." she replies quietly to her teammate.
Hoyle leans his head and chest back slightly in his chair, a look of bemusement on his face.
"Ah. Very good then. I'll have someone escort you down into the trenches to find the witnesses. They were sent right back to work afterword, naturally. Got a schedule to keep!"
With that Hoyle gets up for the first time and marches toward the door. The man is carrying more than a few extra pounds; it's obvious he does little in the way of manual labor himself. He whistles, and soon, the same soldier who escorted you here stands waiting for you out front.
The "trenches" are a vast array of connected walkways below surface level, similar to the battle trenches that the world would see soon enough on the Western Front in Europe. Except these trenches are much wider; down here is like a miniature, very dirty, city. Small covered stalls serve as rest and dining areas for the miners, as well as various functional needs, so that the only part of the operation done on at ground level is pulling the rough diamond carts to their eventual destination.
"Quite a lot of people about. Who's the man that saw what happened?" Jerimiah finally asks, after spending what seems like a week just overanalysing the dastardly conditions they all found themselves in. It was a relief that practices such of thesehave largely been phased out by the temporal modern era.
"I'll ask around."
After a few minutes, D'Nisha returns with a grizzled, sinewy man who was probably younger than he appeared. His arm was a bit crooked, due no doubt to a poorly set broken bone years ago.
"This is Tumo. He was there at the time of the shooting of the surveyor."
"How can I help you? What do you want to know?" Tumo asks. You can, of course, all understand him, and innately understand he is speaking Khoemana, a local tribal language.
You can perceive that D'Nisha is "speaking" to him in the same language. All of you could do the same, of course, though that might appear odd to Toma.
Jerimiah looks to D'nisha, making an effort to strain his original, pre-temporal understanding of English. He didn't want to allow the virus even a single chance to reflexively take over his language facilities. "We need to know what exactly this man saw that day. Tell him to describe the events in as good detail as he's capable."
Gnarok stays quiet. Though he could possibly push his brain to speak English, he might end up defaulting to his native Proto-Indo-European and raise many, many more questions for himself.
D'Nisha nods as she perceives what's happening, and continues to funnel questions.
Tumo nods as D'Nisha explains.
"A carriage came up to the gate," D'Nisha "translates", "and spoke with the guards for a moment. They were motioned through. The carriage turned around in the main courtyard, as if to depart. I was confused, because they had just arrived, and turned back to my work. Then I heard a commotion. Several men had jumped out of the carriage, Africans, and shot Abby Fitzroy dead. Then they jumped back in and all fled."
"The guards tried to shoot as they fled, but I do not know if they hit anyone in the carriage. They managed to escape."
"Was there anything notable about the men aside from their coloring? Scars, tattoos, or any peculiarities to their clothing? How about the carriage itself? He asked.
Someone must have been giving orders, any distinctive languages or accents?
"Was there anything notable about the men aside from their coloring? Scars, tattoos, or any peculiarities to their clothing? How about the carriage itself? He asked.
"Oh!" The man acts as if he'd forgotten something, then draws out a locket from his pocket.
"One of the shooters had dropped this!" He hands the locket to D'Nisha, and she in turn back to Jerimiah.
Someone must have been giving orders, any distinctive languages or accents?
"Sorry ma'am but I didn't hear any orders. The shooters were tribals though; Xhosa I think."
Jeremiah adjusts his glasses, getting a closer look at the item.
The locket bears the family crest of Beyers. That name stands out in this time and place as Christian Frederick Beyers was a hero of the 2nd Boer War, a South African rebellion against the British Army. Jeremiah knows Beyers dies in 1914 in the third Boer War, but at the moment, history says there is peace between the Boers (descendants of the first South African colonists) and the British.
Inside the locket is a picture of a young caucasian woman.
"Hm, how curious... Thank the man for his contribution please." He turns towards Gnarok and, by extension, Bekkah. Drawing upon his native German, he's well aware that both his companions should understand and be able to communicate in turn while leaving those nearby unaware. To be sure of things though, he speaks innanely. "<Seems we've a most interesting mystery upon our hands here, don't you think?>"
I suppose it's someone close to the young lady in the locket.
Amy idea what this crest is?
Gnarok returns in kind, ”Strange indeed. These guardians of the stone-taker’s camp seem as if they might know something”
Once alone, We should regroup and see what we know of what actually happens next.
"Give me a momment..." Jerimiah says, finding a spot where he can sit down and lean up against a wall. He sighs, acting like he was taking a momment to rest from the heat while in reality diving deep within his archive. The back of his neck itched from the sudden the implants sudden increase in use.
Though history mentions the family of Beyers and CF Beyers in particular (as stated above), it does not mention his daughters to any extent. Nor are the events that are unfolding now commemorated in historical records, other than the fact that DeBeers did occasionally have conflict with other miners.
None of you can think of a clear motive for the attack, except for the general possibility that Beyers, a former (and future) revolutionary might want to act out against the British establishment, for which DeBeers currently qualifies.
As to why one of the African gunmen was carrying a locket with the image of a British woman, that is an intriguing question for which you also have no answer. If you want more information about what's really going on, tracking down the shooters might be your best option.
That said, this is probably one of those scenarios where you have freedom to act as you will without risk of seriously damaging the timeline. You could just sneak around (given your newfound freedom in the compound), get access to the diamonds you require, and leave.
Coming back up from his dive, "<Mm... There's not much written on this aspect of history. As far as the records go nothing ever really happens with this mine. Scuffles on occasion with the locals, but really it simply dries and shuts down quietly in about ten more years. From a mission standpoint, unless we suspect foul temporal play, All we need to accomplish here is secure a shipment for our operations. Anything more might be considered meddling.>"