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January 3, 1931 -- Letter from Gregory Parkhurst

2014-02-01T00:24:27Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Carl_Ellis_January_1931_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Buffalo, New York''
 
::::'''''Ellis Institute For''''' 
::::'''''Medical Research''''' 
::::'''''1950 Water Road''''' 
::::'''''Buffalo, New York''''' 
 
January 3, 1931
 
 
Dear Mr. Ellis;
 
Enclosed please find the completed budgetary review for our just concluded year of 1930, and our projected needs for the coming year of 1931.
 
I am pleased also to include our medical data that indicates the current progress made in the areas of research funded in the past years. Copies of these materials have been also forwarded per our agreement with the other principals - Mr. Weiss care of Chalone-Sur-Saone, and Dr. Cromwell, in Lyon.
 
First, and again, I would like to thank you and the other principals for your continued financial support and for access to biological resources that have contributed significantly to our progress. It has also allowed us to branch out further, and to begin to offer some small services to those who are now suffering through no fault of their own. While I understand that perhaps this was not your original intent in helping to found the Institute - I felt that you would not object if our medical staff opened our doors to help in a small way those who can no longer afford the services of a doctor.
 
If this is an unwarranted use of the funds provided to us, I will take full responsibility for the decision, and will take steps to insure that the Institute is reimbursed.
 
There is a great deal of good news. Our focus for the last year and a half has been to determine the nature of the illness, and to cure or at least mitigate the symptoms and advance of the disease.
 
From my previous reports to you, you are aware that once the infection reaches a critical stage within the patient, there is no means of removing or attempting a cure that does not result in the mortality of the subject.
 
With the shift and mutation of the disease causing agent this past year, we have been able to conclude testing that appears to offer an alternative to the subjects as to the control of the symptoms of the disease. The very mutation that appears to have evolved to allow the causal agent to become more resistant has also allowed us to find the key that did not exist before to alleviate the symptoms.
 
The documentation enclosed here details the medical procedures and processes necessary to replicate my work. With the proper biological materials, it is a simple process to culture the basis for the serum in living animals. Due to ethical concerns, I have not pursued the possibility of culturing the serum in human subjects. There is some theoretical data to suggest that the serum so cultured would be more potent, and perhaps free of the side effects that occur.
 

In summary:
 
1. The serum must be cultured in living animals - we have had the most success with primates -- perhaps due to their close biological relation to man. In primates the serum required less purification, and produced a higher volume of serum. The purification process is simple, and can be preformed even by non-medical personal. Typically a primate (our animals were spider monkeys) once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of two to three patients on a regular basis.
 
2. Other experimental animals used in culturing the serum, included laboratory rats and mice, rabbits, dogs, and goats. During the course of our experimentation we found that the optimal animal for serum reproduction other than primates were rabbits. Which produced a serum lower in both quantity and quality, which required further filtration in conjunction with processing in order to be effective. This further processing is also simple enough that it can be performed by non-medical personal. Typically a rabbit once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of a single patient on a regular basis.
 
3. Serum cultured in experimental animals, is unfortunately highly perishable, and must be administered through inoculation within two hours of preparation for maximum effectiveness. The serum degrades quickly after two hours, and beyond three hours turns into a virulent poison.
 
4. The serum is effective in preventing the symptoms of the disease from reasserting itself for a period of about 90 - 100 hours after inoculation. Variants in the time factor depend on body weight of the patient, the length of time that the patient has been infected, the type of animal used in culturation, and the purity and strength of the serum.
 
5. Patients treated with the serum lose entirely their need and/or desire to ingest blood (either animal or human) in order to stem the progress of the disease.
 
6. The serum is not a cure, rather a replacement for the need to ingest blood, therefore repeated and continual dosages of the serum are required to maintain life.
 
7. After administering the serum exclusively for a period of six months, it was discovered that blood (both human and animal) became poisonous to the patient's system. We have not yet concluded studies to determine if a gradual withdrawal of the serum will alter the progress of the disease to allow the patient to return to the ingestion of blood. While the focus of the research is to free the patients from the need to ingest blood - concerns on that point were raised by the patients participating in the experimental trials.
 
8. There is a small, but measurable diminishment of acuity of senses with exclusive use of the serum. Patients reported that this reduction of sensorium was not life threatening, and easily adapted to within a period of a few weeks.
 
While the serum does not offer the cure that we sought originally, it does offer a more acceptable means of allowing the patients to manage the symptoms of their disease than they did previously. Further research may allow us to entirely eliminate the side effects of the serum. Our studies have not advanced further than the last nine months, to indicate that there are any further long term effects from using the serum exclusively.
 
Nor have we been able to test the serum in non-laboratory conditions, which can not replicate the pressures of stress, environment, or the interaction of the patient in relationship with others.
 
Because of the perishablilty of the serum, our next step in this research is to create a procedure that allows the patient to both create and administer the serum outside of laboratory supervision. In accomplishing this, the patient would be freed of the current necessity of remaining within or close to the Institute.
 
The current focus is to test the effectiveness of the serum under natural and daily living conditions. To begin to educate the patients in the processes required to maintain their health without medical supervision. This second goal is easily accomplished with those patients here at the Institute that have volunteered themselves to be subjects. The first we can accomplish with additional subjects who are willing to use the serum as directed in the enclosed documents, and to submit written observations on their on-going condition. Ideally I would like to speak directly to any volunteers; a central location where I could meet with a number of patients at once would be ideal.
 
While I have not broached the subject previously, it is my conclusion from the medical data, and the nature of the disease that an attempt to eliminate or mitigate the unfortunate side effects of the serum's usage might require its culture in human subjects. While I do not believe that this is a course of action we should consider, I would be remiss in not including it as a possibility.
 
While there are draw backs to the exclusive use of the serum, I do believe that our researches may have progressed as far as they can toward the goal of remission of the disease. I feel it is necessary to have further direction from you and the principals. The facility and staff here in Buffalo are dedicated to progress in the area of treating disease. It is my hope that our limited success in this specific area will not conclude the very important contributions we might be able to continue to make in other fields.
 
Respectfully Yours:
 
 
Dr. Gregory Parkhust, Director 
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
 
 

Cc: Mr. Theo Weiss 
Cc: Dr. Jonathan Cromwell 
Cc. Tealson, Mercator & Finch 
Enclosures. 
 
 

The enclosures consist of the following:
 
1. 15 pages of detailed budgetary information regarding the expenses of the Institute and projected expenses for the coming year, assuming that research is to continue. Built into the budget is the expectation of adding four to five full time medical staff, at least two more clerical positions, and expansion into additional space to offer additional medical clinical medical services free of charge.
 
The budgetary enclosures will be included only in the letter to Carl and in the copy to Tealson, Mercator and Finch.
 
2. 152 pages of typewritten medical text, detailing the last nine months of experimental work to develop the serum, and the processes for culturing and purifying for use in patients.
 
All but the summary is beyond anyone who does not have extensive medical and biochemical training. The summary is a simplified overview of the procedures that indicate the following.
 
A. Biological material from the infected patients are processed and broken down to the purest form to be introduced into the "first phase" animals.
 
B. The disease cultured in these animals is extracted after a period of incubation, (these animals are then destroyed) and treated with further biological material from the patients as well as fresh blood to encourage a large pool of the material to use for further experimentation. (Noted is the fact that this material is highly contagious in this form).
 
C. A very minute amount of the evolved material is introduced into new animals in which the culture will be grown. Through careful monitoring, which includes a restrictive diet and other complicated medical procedures (complete with icky diagrams) - a balance within the animal's system is reached in which the animal's own blood is replaced by the production of the serum. The process of reaching this balance is where the majority of the animals die before the balance is reached - or are required to be killed when the process multiplies too quickly. Success rate to produce the hybrid creature is about one in ten.
 
D. Once an animal is determined to reach stability (in more or less three months) - and proper maintaince procedures are followed (detailed instructions included) - it will continue to live and produce the serum (it is assumed) for the course of its natural life. Exposure to sunlight however is as deadly to the animals as it is to the patients.
 
E. The serum is extracted from the animal by syringe, and is purified using filtration in a cool environment. Heat above body temperature during this process immediately kills the living elements in the serum, rendering it useless. Several passes through the filtration process may be required. Purification is complete when the serum no longer contains particulate matter, and is a clear, faintly yellow color.
 
F. The serum should be administered by syringe directly into a vein by syringe within two hours recommended dosage based on chart that cross-references body weight and how long the patient has been infected. Typical dosage is between 900 - 1500 millilieters.

January 3, 1931 -- Letter from Gregory Parkhurst

2014-02-01T00:21:52Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Carl_Ellis_November_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Buffalo, New York''
 
::::'''''Ellis Institute For''''' 
::::'''''Medical Research''''' 
::::'''''1950 Water Road''''' 
::::'''''Buffalo, New York''''' 
 
January 3, 1931
 
 
Dear Mr. Ellis;
 
Enclosed please find the completed budgetary review for our just concluded year of 1930, and our projected needs for the coming year of 1931.
 
I am pleased also to include our medical data that indicates the current progress made in the areas of research funded in the past years. Copies of these materials have been also forwarded per our agreement with the other principals - Mr. Weiss care of Chalone-Sur-Saone, and Dr. Cromwell, in Lyon.
 
First, and again, I would like to thank you and the other principals for your continued financial support and for access to biological resources that have contributed significantly to our progress. It has also allowed us to branch out further, and to begin to offer some small services to those who are now suffering through no fault of their own. While I understand that perhaps this was not your original intent in helping to found the Institute - I felt that you would not object if our medical staff opened our doors to help in a small way those who can no longer afford the services of a doctor.
 
If this is an unwarranted use of the funds provided to us, I will take full responsibility for the decision, and will take steps to insure that the Institute is reimbursed.
 
There is a great deal of good news. Our focus for the last year and a half has been to determine the nature of the illness, and to cure or at least mitigate the symptoms and advance of the disease.
 
From my previous reports to you, you are aware that once the infection reaches a critical stage within the patient, there is no means of removing or attempting a cure that does not result in the mortality of the subject.
 
With the shift and mutation of the disease causing agent this past year, we have been able to conclude testing that appears to offer an alternative to the subjects as to the control of the symptoms of the disease. The very mutation that appears to have evolved to allow the causal agent to become more resistant has also allowed us to find the key that did not exist before to alleviate the symptoms.
 
The documentation enclosed here details the medical procedures and processes necessary to replicate my work. With the proper biological materials, it is a simple process to culture the basis for the serum in living animals. Due to ethical concerns, I have not pursued the possibility of culturing the serum in human subjects. There is some theoretical data to suggest that the serum so cultured would be more potent, and perhaps free of the side effects that occur.
 

In summary:
 
1. The serum must be cultured in living animals - we have had the most success with primates -- perhaps due to their close biological relation to man. In primates the serum required less purification, and produced a higher volume of serum. The purification process is simple, and can be preformed even by non-medical personal. Typically a primate (our animals were spider monkeys) once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of two to three patients on a regular basis.
 
2. Other experimental animals used in culturing the serum, included laboratory rats and mice, rabbits, dogs, and goats. During the course of our experimentation we found that the optimal animal for serum reproduction other than primates were rabbits. Which produced a serum lower in both quantity and quality, which required further filtration in conjunction with processing in order to be effective. This further processing is also simple enough that it can be performed by non-medical personal. Typically a rabbit once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of a single patient on a regular basis.
 
3. Serum cultured in experimental animals, is unfortunately highly perishable, and must be administered through inoculation within two hours of preparation for maximum effectiveness. The serum degrades quickly after two hours, and beyond three hours turns into a virulent poison.
 
4. The serum is effective in preventing the symptoms of the disease from reasserting itself for a period of about 90 - 100 hours after inoculation. Variants in the time factor depend on body weight of the patient, the length of time that the patient has been infected, the type of animal used in culturation, and the purity and strength of the serum.
 
5. Patients treated with the serum lose entirely their need and/or desire to ingest blood (either animal or human) in order to stem the progress of the disease.
 
6. The serum is not a cure, rather a replacement for the need to ingest blood, therefore repeated and continual dosages of the serum are required to maintain life.
 
7. After administering the serum exclusively for a period of six months, it was discovered that blood (both human and animal) became poisonous to the patient's system. We have not yet concluded studies to determine if a gradual withdrawal of the serum will alter the progress of the disease to allow the patient to return to the ingestion of blood. While the focus of the research is to free the patients from the need to ingest blood - concerns on that point were raised by the patients participating in the experimental trials.
 
8. There is a small, but measurable diminishment of acuity of senses with exclusive use of the serum. Patients reported that this reduction of sensorium was not life threatening, and easily adapted to within a period of a few weeks.
 
While the serum does not offer the cure that we sought originally, it does offer a more acceptable means of allowing the patients to manage the symptoms of their disease than they did previously. Further research may allow us to entirely eliminate the side effects of the serum. Our studies have not advanced further than the last nine months, to indicate that there are any further long term effects from using the serum exclusively.
 
Nor have we been able to test the serum in non-laboratory conditions, which can not replicate the pressures of stress, environment, or the interaction of the patient in relationship with others.
 
Because of the perishablilty of the serum, our next step in this research is to create a procedure that allows the patient to both create and administer the serum outside of laboratory supervision. In accomplishing this, the patient would be freed of the current necessity of remaining within or close to the Institute.
 
The current focus is to test the effectiveness of the serum under natural and daily living conditions. To begin to educate the patients in the processes required to maintain their health without medical supervision. This second goal is easily accomplished with those patients here at the Institute that have volunteered themselves to be subjects. The first we can accomplish with additional subjects who are willing to use the serum as directed in the enclosed documents, and to submit written observations on their on-going condition. Ideally I would like to speak directly to any volunteers; a central location where I could meet with a number of patients at once would be ideal.
 
While I have not broached the subject previously, it is my conclusion from the medical data, and the nature of the disease that an attempt to eliminate or mitigate the unfortunate side effects of the serum's usage might require its culture in human subjects. While I do not believe that this is a course of action we should consider, I would be remiss in not including it as a possibility.
 
While there are draw backs to the exclusive use of the serum, I do believe that our researches may have progressed as far as they can toward the goal of remission of the disease. I feel it is necessary to have further direction from you and the principals. The facility and staff here in Buffalo are dedicated to progress in the area of treating disease. It is my hope that our limited success in this specific area will not conclude the very important contributions we might be able to continue to make in other fields.
 
Respectfully Yours:
 
 
Dr. Gregory Parkhust, Director 
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
 
 

Cc: Mr. Theo Weiss 
Cc: Dr. Jonathan Cromwell 
Cc. Tealson, Mercator & Finch 
Enclosures. 
 
 

The enclosures consist of the following:
 
1. 15 pages of detailed budgetary information regarding the expenses of the Institute and projected expenses for the coming year, assuming that research is to continue. Built into the budget is the expectation of adding four to five full time medical staff, at least two more clerical positions, and expansion into additional space to offer additional medical clinical medical services free of charge.
 
The budgetary enclosures will be included only in the letter to Carl and in the copy to Tealson, Mercator and Finch.
 
2. 152 pages of typewritten medical text, detailing the last nine months of experimental work to develop the serum, and the processes for culturing and purifying for use in patients.
 
All but the summary is beyond anyone who does not have extensive medical and biochemical training. The summary is a simplified overview of the procedures that indicate the following.
 
A. Biological material from the infected patients are processed and broken down to the purest form to be introduced into the "first phase" animals.
 
B. The disease cultured in these animals is extracted after a period of incubation, (these animals are then destroyed) and treated with further biological material from the patients as well as fresh blood to encourage a large pool of the material to use for further experimentation. (Noted is the fact that this material is highly contagious in this form).
 
C. A very minute amount of the evolved material is introduced into new animals in which the culture will be grown. Through careful monitoring, which includes a restrictive diet and other complicated medical procedures (complete with icky diagrams) - a balance within the animal's system is reached in which the animal's own blood is replaced by the production of the serum. The process of reaching this balance is where the majority of the animals die before the balance is reached - or are required to be killed when the process multiplies too quickly. Success rate to produce the hybrid creature is about one in ten.
 
D. Once an animal is determined to reach stability (in more or less three months) - and proper maintaince procedures are followed (detailed instructions included) - it will continue to live and produce the serum (it is assumed) for the course of its natural life. Exposure to sunlight however is as deadly to the animals as it is to the patients.
 
E. The serum is extracted from the animal by syringe, and is purified using filtration in a cool environment. Heat above body temperature during this process immediately kills the living elements in the serum, rendering it useless. Several passes through the filtration process may be required. Purification is complete when the serum no longer contains particulate matter, and is a clear, faintly yellow color.
 
F. The serum should be administered by syringe directly into a vein by syringe within two hours recommended dosage based on chart that cross-references body weight and how long the patient has been infected. Typical dosage is between 900 - 1500 millilieters.

January 3, 1931 -- Letter from Gregory Parkhurst

2014-02-01T00:18:01Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Carl_Ellis_November_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Buffalo, New York''
 
::::Ellis Institute For 
::::Medical Research 
::::1950 Water Road 
::::Buffalo, New York 
 
January 3, 1931
 
 

Dear Mr. Ellis;
 
Enclosed please find the completed budgetary review for our just concluded year of 1930, and our projected needs for the coming year of 1931.
 
I am pleased also to include our medical data that indicates the current progress made in the areas of research funded in the past years. Copies of these materials have been also forwarded per our agreement with the other principals - Mr. Weiss care of Chalone-Sur-Saone, and Dr. Cromwell, in Lyon.
 
First, and again, I would like to thank you and the other principals for your continued financial support and for access to biological resources that have contributed significantly to our progress. It has also allowed us to branch out further, and to begin to offer some small services to those who are now suffering through no fault of their own. While I understand that perhaps this was not your original intent in helping to found the Institute - I felt that you would not object if our medical staff opened our doors to help in a small way those who can no longer afford the services of a doctor.
 
If this is an unwarranted use of the funds provided to us, I will take full responsibility for the decision, and will take steps to insure that the Institute is reimbursed.
 
There is a great deal of good news. Our focus for the last year and a half has been to determine the nature of the illness, and to cure or at least mitigate the symptoms and advance of the disease.
 
From my previous reports to you, you are aware that once the infection reaches a critical stage within the patient, there is no means of removing or attempting a cure that does not result in the mortality of the subject.
 
With the shift and mutation of the disease causing agent this past year, we have been able to conclude testing that appears to offer an alternative to the subjects as to the control of the symptoms of the disease. The very mutation that appears to have evolved to allow the causal agent to become more resistant has also allowed us to find the key that did not exist before to alleviate the symptoms.
 
The documentation enclosed here details the medical procedures and processes necessary to replicate my work. With the proper biological materials, it is a simple process to culture the basis for the serum in living animals. Due to ethical concerns, I have not pursued the possibility of culturing the serum in human subjects. There is some theoretical data to suggest that the serum so cultured would be more potent, and perhaps free of the side effects that occur.
 

In summary:
 
1. The serum must be cultured in living animals - we have had the most success with primates -- perhaps due to their close biological relation to man. In primates the serum required less purification, and produced a higher volume of serum. The purification process is simple, and can be preformed even by non-medical personal. Typically a primate (our animals were spider monkeys) once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of two to three patients on a regular basis.
 
2. Other experimental animals used in culturing the serum, included laboratory rats and mice, rabbits, dogs, and goats. During the course of our experimentation we found that the optimal animal for serum reproduction other than primates were rabbits. Which produced a serum lower in both quantity and quality, which required further filtration in conjunction with processing in order to be effective. This further processing is also simple enough that it can be performed by non-medical personal. Typically a rabbit once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of a single patient on a regular basis.
 
3. Serum cultured in experimental animals, is unfortunately highly perishable, and must be administered through inoculation within two hours of preparation for maximum effectiveness. The serum degrades quickly after two hours, and beyond three hours turns into a virulent poison.
 
4. The serum is effective in preventing the symptoms of the disease from reasserting itself for a period of about 90 - 100 hours after inoculation. Variants in the time factor depend on body weight of the patient, the length of time that the patient has been infected, the type of animal used in culturation, and the purity and strength of the serum.
 
5. Patients treated with the serum lose entirely their need and/or desire to ingest blood (either animal or human) in order to stem the progress of the disease.
 
6. The serum is not a cure, rather a replacement for the need to ingest blood, therefore repeated and continual dosages of the serum are required to maintain life.
 
7. After administering the serum exclusively for a period of six months, it was discovered that blood (both human and animal) became poisonous to the patient's system. We have not yet concluded studies to determine if a gradual withdrawal of the serum will alter the progress of the disease to allow the patient to return to the ingestion of blood. While the focus of the research is to free the patients from the need to ingest blood - concerns on that point were raised by the patients participating in the experimental trials.
 
8. There is a small, but measurable diminishment of acuity of senses with exclusive use of the serum. Patients reported that this reduction of sensorium was not life threatening, and easily adapted to within a period of a few weeks.
 
While the serum does not offer the cure that we sought originally, it does offer a more acceptable means of allowing the patients to manage the symptoms of their disease than they did previously. Further research may allow us to entirely eliminate the side effects of the serum. Our studies have not advanced further than the last nine months, to indicate that there are any further long term effects from using the serum exclusively.
 
Nor have we been able to test the serum in non-laboratory conditions, which can not replicate the pressures of stress, environment, or the interaction of the patient in relationship with others.
 
Because of the perishablilty of the serum, our next step in this research is to create a procedure that allows the patient to both create and administer the serum outside of laboratory supervision. In accomplishing this, the patient would be freed of the current necessity of remaining within or close to the Institute.
 
The current focus is to test the effectiveness of the serum under natural and daily living conditions. To begin to educate the patients in the processes required to maintain their health without medical supervision. This second goal is easily accomplished with those patients here at the Institute that have volunteered themselves to be subjects. The first we can accomplish with additional subjects who are willing to use the serum as directed in the enclosed documents, and to submit written observations on their on-going condition. Ideally I would like to speak directly to any volunteers; a central location where I could meet with a number of patients at once would be ideal.
 
While I have not broached the subject previously, it is my conclusion from the medical data, and the nature of the disease that an attempt to eliminate or mitigate the unfortunate side effects of the serum's usage might require its culture in human subjects. While I do not believe that this is a course of action we should consider, I would be remiss in not including it as a possibility.
 
While there are draw backs to the exclusive use of the serum, I do believe that our researches may have progressed as far as they can toward the goal of remission of the disease. I feel it is necessary to have further direction from you and the principals. The facility and staff here in Buffalo are dedicated to progress in the area of treating disease. It is my hope that our limited success in this specific area will not conclude the very important contributions we might be able to continue to make in other fields.
 
Respectfully Yours:
 
 
Dr. Gregory Parkhust, Director 
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
 
 

Cc: Mr. Theo Weiss 
Cc: Dr. Jonathan Cromwell 
Cc. Tealson, Mercator & Finch 
Enclosures. 
 
 

The enclosures consist of the following:
 
1. 15 pages of detailed budgetary information regarding the expenses of the Institute and projected expenses for the coming year, assuming that research is to continue. Built into the budget is the expectation of adding four to five full time medical staff, at least two more clerical positions, and expansion into additional space to offer additional medical clinical medical services free of charge.
 
The budgetary enclosures will be included only in the letter to Carl and in the copy to Tealson, Mercator and Finch.
 
2. 152 pages of typewritten medical text, detailing the last nine months of experimental work to develop the serum, and the processes for culturing and purifying for use in patients.
 
All but the summary is beyond anyone who does not have extensive medical and biochemical training. The summary is a simplified overview of the procedures that indicate the following.
 
A. Biological material from the infected patients are processed and broken down to the purest form to be introduced into the "first phase" animals.
 
B. The disease cultured in these animals is extracted after a period of incubation, (these animals are then destroyed) and treated with further biological material from the patients as well as fresh blood to encourage a large pool of the material to use for further experimentation. (Noted is the fact that this material is highly contagious in this form).
 
C. A very minute amount of the evolved material is introduced into new animals in which the culture will be grown. Through careful monitoring, which includes a restrictive diet and other complicated medical procedures (complete with icky diagrams) - a balance within the animal's system is reached in which the animal's own blood is replaced by the production of the serum. The process of reaching this balance is where the majority of the animals die before the balance is reached - or are required to be killed when the process multiplies too quickly. Success rate to produce the hybrid creature is about one in ten.
 
D. Once an animal is determined to reach stability (in more or less three months) - and proper maintaince procedures are followed (detailed instructions included) - it will continue to live and produce the serum (it is assumed) for the course of its natural life. Exposure to sunlight however is as deadly to the animals as it is to the patients.
 
E. The serum is extracted from the animal by syringe, and is purified using filtration in a cool environment. Heat above body temperature during this process immediately kills the living elements in the serum, rendering it useless. Several passes through the filtration process may be required. Purification is complete when the serum no longer contains particulate matter, and is a clear, faintly yellow color.
 
F. The serum should be administered by syringe directly into a vein by syringe within two hours recommended dosage based on chart that cross-references body weight and how long the patient has been infected. Typical dosage is between 900 - 1500 millilieters.

January 3, 1931 -- Letter from Gregory Parkhurst

2014-02-01T00:16:13Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Carl_Ellis_November_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Buffalo, New York''
 
{{center}}
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
1950 Water Road 
Buffalo, New York 
 
{{left}}

January 3, 1931
 

Mr. Carl Ellis 
Whispers Estate 
Chalone-Sur-Saone 
France 
 
 

Dear Mr. Ellis;
 
Enclosed please find the completed budgetary review for our just concluded year of 1930, and our projected needs for the coming year of 1931.
 
I am pleased also to include our medical data that indicates the current progress made in the areas of research funded in the past years. Copies of these materials have been also forwarded per our agreement with the other principals - Mr. Weiss care of Chalone-Sur-Saone, and Dr. Cromwell, in Lyon.
 
First, and again, I would like to thank you and the other principals for your continued financial support and for access to biological resources that have contributed significantly to our progress. It has also allowed us to branch out further, and to begin to offer some small services to those who are now suffering through no fault of their own. While I understand that perhaps this was not your original intent in helping to found the Institute - I felt that you would not object if our medical staff opened our doors to help in a small way those who can no longer afford the services of a doctor.
 
If this is an unwarranted use of the funds provided to us, I will take full responsibility for the decision, and will take steps to insure that the Institute is reimbursed.
 
There is a great deal of good news. Our focus for the last year and a half has been to determine the nature of the illness, and to cure or at least mitigate the symptoms and advance of the disease.
 
From my previous reports to you, you are aware that once the infection reaches a critical stage within the patient, there is no means of removing or attempting a cure that does not result in the mortality of the subject.
 
With the shift and mutation of the disease causing agent this past year, we have been able to conclude testing that appears to offer an alternative to the subjects as to the control of the symptoms of the disease. The very mutation that appears to have evolved to allow the causal agent to become more resistant has also allowed us to find the key that did not exist before to alleviate the symptoms.
 
The documentation enclosed here details the medical procedures and processes necessary to replicate my work. With the proper biological materials, it is a simple process to culture the basis for the serum in living animals. Due to ethical concerns, I have not pursued the possibility of culturing the serum in human subjects. There is some theoretical data to suggest that the serum so cultured would be more potent, and perhaps free of the side effects that occur.
 

In summary:
 
1. The serum must be cultured in living animals - we have had the most success with primates -- perhaps due to their close biological relation to man. In primates the serum required less purification, and produced a higher volume of serum. The purification process is simple, and can be preformed even by non-medical personal. Typically a primate (our animals were spider monkeys) once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of two to three patients on a regular basis.
 
2. Other experimental animals used in culturing the serum, included laboratory rats and mice, rabbits, dogs, and goats. During the course of our experimentation we found that the optimal animal for serum reproduction other than primates were rabbits. Which produced a serum lower in both quantity and quality, which required further filtration in conjunction with processing in order to be effective. This further processing is also simple enough that it can be performed by non-medical personal. Typically a rabbit once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of a single patient on a regular basis.
 
3. Serum cultured in experimental animals, is unfortunately highly perishable, and must be administered through inoculation within two hours of preparation for maximum effectiveness. The serum degrades quickly after two hours, and beyond three hours turns into a virulent poison.
 
4. The serum is effective in preventing the symptoms of the disease from reasserting itself for a period of about 90 - 100 hours after inoculation. Variants in the time factor depend on body weight of the patient, the length of time that the patient has been infected, the type of animal used in culturation, and the purity and strength of the serum.
 
5. Patients treated with the serum lose entirely their need and/or desire to ingest blood (either animal or human) in order to stem the progress of the disease.
 
6. The serum is not a cure, rather a replacement for the need to ingest blood, therefore repeated and continual dosages of the serum are required to maintain life.
 
7. After administering the serum exclusively for a period of six months, it was discovered that blood (both human and animal) became poisonous to the patient's system. We have not yet concluded studies to determine if a gradual withdrawal of the serum will alter the progress of the disease to allow the patient to return to the ingestion of blood. While the focus of the research is to free the patients from the need to ingest blood - concerns on that point were raised by the patients participating in the experimental trials.
 
8. There is a small, but measurable diminishment of acuity of senses with exclusive use of the serum. Patients reported that this reduction of sensorium was not life threatening, and easily adapted to within a period of a few weeks.
 
While the serum does not offer the cure that we sought originally, it does offer a more acceptable means of allowing the patients to manage the symptoms of their disease than they did previously. Further research may allow us to entirely eliminate the side effects of the serum. Our studies have not advanced further than the last nine months, to indicate that there are any further long term effects from using the serum exclusively.
 
Nor have we been able to test the serum in non-laboratory conditions, which can not replicate the pressures of stress, environment, or the interaction of the patient in relationship with others.
 
Because of the perishablilty of the serum, our next step in this research is to create a procedure that allows the patient to both create and administer the serum outside of laboratory supervision. In accomplishing this, the patient would be freed of the current necessity of remaining within or close to the Institute.
 
The current focus is to test the effectiveness of the serum under natural and daily living conditions. To begin to educate the patients in the processes required to maintain their health without medical supervision. This second goal is easily accomplished with those patients here at the Institute that have volunteered themselves to be subjects. The first we can accomplish with additional subjects who are willing to use the serum as directed in the enclosed documents, and to submit written observations on their on-going condition. Ideally I would like to speak directly to any volunteers; a central location where I could meet with a number of patients at once would be ideal.
 
While I have not broached the subject previously, it is my conclusion from the medical data, and the nature of the disease that an attempt to eliminate or mitigate the unfortunate side effects of the serum's usage might require its culture in human subjects. While I do not believe that this is a course of action we should consider, I would be remiss in not including it as a possibility.
 
While there are draw backs to the exclusive use of the serum, I do believe that our researches may have progressed as far as they can toward the goal of remission of the disease. I feel it is necessary to have further direction from you and the principals. The facility and staff here in Buffalo are dedicated to progress in the area of treating disease. It is my hope that our limited success in this specific area will not conclude the very important contributions we might be able to continue to make in other fields.
 
Respectfully Yours:
 
 
Dr. Gregory Parkhust, Director 
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
 
 

Cc: Mr. Theo Weiss 
Cc: Dr. Jonathan Cromwell 
Cc. Tealson, Mercator & Finch 
Enclosures. 
 
 

The enclosures consist of the following:
 
1. 15 pages of detailed budgetary information regarding the expenses of the Institute and projected expenses for the coming year, assuming that research is to continue. Built into the budget is the expectation of adding four to five full time medical staff, at least two more clerical positions, and expansion into additional space to offer additional medical clinical medical services free of charge.
 
The budgetary enclosures will be included only in the letter to Carl and in the copy to Tealson, Mercator and Finch.
 
2. 152 pages of typewritten medical text, detailing the last nine months of experimental work to develop the serum, and the processes for culturing and purifying for use in patients.
 
All but the summary is beyond anyone who does not have extensive medical and biochemical training. The summary is a simplified overview of the procedures that indicate the following.
 
A. Biological material from the infected patients are processed and broken down to the purest form to be introduced into the "first phase" animals.
 
B. The disease cultured in these animals is extracted after a period of incubation, (these animals are then destroyed) and treated with further biological material from the patients as well as fresh blood to encourage a large pool of the material to use for further experimentation. (Noted is the fact that this material is highly contagious in this form).
 
C. A very minute amount of the evolved material is introduced into new animals in which the culture will be grown. Through careful monitoring, which includes a restrictive diet and other complicated medical procedures (complete with icky diagrams) - a balance within the animal's system is reached in which the animal's own blood is replaced by the production of the serum. The process of reaching this balance is where the majority of the animals die before the balance is reached - or are required to be killed when the process multiplies too quickly. Success rate to produce the hybrid creature is about one in ten.
 
D. Once an animal is determined to reach stability (in more or less three months) - and proper maintaince procedures are followed (detailed instructions included) - it will continue to live and produce the serum (it is assumed) for the course of its natural life. Exposure to sunlight however is as deadly to the animals as it is to the patients.
 
E. The serum is extracted from the animal by syringe, and is purified using filtration in a cool environment. Heat above body temperature during this process immediately kills the living elements in the serum, rendering it useless. Several passes through the filtration process may be required. Purification is complete when the serum no longer contains particulate matter, and is a clear, faintly yellow color.
 
F. The serum should be administered by syringe directly into a vein by syringe within two hours recommended dosage based on chart that cross-references body weight and how long the patient has been infected. Typical dosage is between 900 - 1500 millilieters.

January 3, 1931 -- Letter from Gregory Parkhurst

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''Mailed From Buffalo, New York''
 <center>
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
1950 Water Road 
Buffalo, New York 
 
<left>

January 3, 1931
 

Mr. Carl Ellis 
Whispers Estate 
Chalone-Sur-Saone 
France 
 
 

Dear Mr. Ellis;
 
Enclosed please find the completed budgetary review for our just concluded year of 1930, and our projected needs for the coming year of 1931.
 
I am pleased also to include our medical data that indicates the current progress made in the areas of research funded in the past years. Copies of these materials have been also forwarded per our agreement with the other principals - Mr. Weiss care of Chalone-Sur-Saone, and Dr. Cromwell, in Lyon.
 
First, and again, I would like to thank you and the other principals for your continued financial support and for access to biological resources that have contributed significantly to our progress. It has also allowed us to branch out further, and to begin to offer some small services to those who are now suffering through no fault of their own. While I understand that perhaps this was not your original intent in helping to found the Institute - I felt that you would not object if our medical staff opened our doors to help in a small way those who can no longer afford the services of a doctor.
 
If this is an unwarranted use of the funds provided to us, I will take full responsibility for the decision, and will take steps to insure that the Institute is reimbursed.
 
There is a great deal of good news. Our focus for the last year and a half has been to determine the nature of the illness, and to cure or at least mitigate the symptoms and advance of the disease.
 
From my previous reports to you, you are aware that once the infection reaches a critical stage within the patient, there is no means of removing or attempting a cure that does not result in the mortality of the subject.
 
With the shift and mutation of the disease causing agent this past year, we have been able to conclude testing that appears to offer an alternative to the subjects as to the control of the symptoms of the disease. The very mutation that appears to have evolved to allow the causal agent to become more resistant has also allowed us to find the key that did not exist before to alleviate the symptoms.
 
The documentation enclosed here details the medical procedures and processes necessary to replicate my work. With the proper biological materials, it is a simple process to culture the basis for the serum in living animals. Due to ethical concerns, I have not pursued the possibility of culturing the serum in human subjects. There is some theoretical data to suggest that the serum so cultured would be more potent, and perhaps free of the side effects that occur.
 

In summary:
 
1. The serum must be cultured in living animals - we have had the most success with primates -- perhaps due to their close biological relation to man. In primates the serum required less purification, and produced a higher volume of serum. The purification process is simple, and can be preformed even by non-medical personal. Typically a primate (our animals were spider monkeys) once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of two to three patients on a regular basis.
 
2. Other experimental animals used in culturing the serum, included laboratory rats and mice, rabbits, dogs, and goats. During the course of our experimentation we found that the optimal animal for serum reproduction other than primates were rabbits. Which produced a serum lower in both quantity and quality, which required further filtration in conjunction with processing in order to be effective. This further processing is also simple enough that it can be performed by non-medical personal. Typically a rabbit once fully engaged with the biological material was capable of producing enough serum weekly to meet the needs of a single patient on a regular basis.
 
3. Serum cultured in experimental animals, is unfortunately highly perishable, and must be administered through inoculation within two hours of preparation for maximum effectiveness. The serum degrades quickly after two hours, and beyond three hours turns into a virulent poison.
 
4. The serum is effective in preventing the symptoms of the disease from reasserting itself for a period of about 90 - 100 hours after inoculation. Variants in the time factor depend on body weight of the patient, the length of time that the patient has been infected, the type of animal used in culturation, and the purity and strength of the serum.
 
5. Patients treated with the serum lose entirely their need and/or desire to ingest blood (either animal or human) in order to stem the progress of the disease.
 
6. The serum is not a cure, rather a replacement for the need to ingest blood, therefore repeated and continual dosages of the serum are required to maintain life.
 
7. After administering the serum exclusively for a period of six months, it was discovered that blood (both human and animal) became poisonous to the patient's system. We have not yet concluded studies to determine if a gradual withdrawal of the serum will alter the progress of the disease to allow the patient to return to the ingestion of blood. While the focus of the research is to free the patients from the need to ingest blood - concerns on that point were raised by the patients participating in the experimental trials.
 
8. There is a small, but measurable diminishment of acuity of senses with exclusive use of the serum. Patients reported that this reduction of sensorium was not life threatening, and easily adapted to within a period of a few weeks.
 
While the serum does not offer the cure that we sought originally, it does offer a more acceptable means of allowing the patients to manage the symptoms of their disease than they did previously. Further research may allow us to entirely eliminate the side effects of the serum. Our studies have not advanced further than the last nine months, to indicate that there are any further long term effects from using the serum exclusively.
 
Nor have we been able to test the serum in non-laboratory conditions, which can not replicate the pressures of stress, environment, or the interaction of the patient in relationship with others.
 
Because of the perishablilty of the serum, our next step in this research is to create a procedure that allows the patient to both create and administer the serum outside of laboratory supervision. In accomplishing this, the patient would be freed of the current necessity of remaining within or close to the Institute.
 
The current focus is to test the effectiveness of the serum under natural and daily living conditions. To begin to educate the patients in the processes required to maintain their health without medical supervision. This second goal is easily accomplished with those patients here at the Institute that have volunteered themselves to be subjects. The first we can accomplish with additional subjects who are willing to use the serum as directed in the enclosed documents, and to submit written observations on their on-going condition. Ideally I would like to speak directly to any volunteers; a central location where I could meet with a number of patients at once would be ideal.
 
While I have not broached the subject previously, it is my conclusion from the medical data, and the nature of the disease that an attempt to eliminate or mitigate the unfortunate side effects of the serum's usage might require its culture in human subjects. While I do not believe that this is a course of action we should consider, I would be remiss in not including it as a possibility.
 
While there are draw backs to the exclusive use of the serum, I do believe that our researches may have progressed as far as they can toward the goal of remission of the disease. I feel it is necessary to have further direction from you and the principals. The facility and staff here in Buffalo are dedicated to progress in the area of treating disease. It is my hope that our limited success in this specific area will not conclude the very important contributions we might be able to continue to make in other fields.
 
Respectfully Yours:
 
 
Dr. Gregory Parkhust, Director 
Ellis Institute For 
Medical Research 
 
 

Cc: Mr. Theo Weiss 
Cc: Dr. Jonathan Cromwell 
Cc. Tealson, Mercator & Finch 
Enclosures. 
 
 

The enclosures consist of the following:
 
1. 15 pages of detailed budgetary information regarding the expenses of the Institute and projected expenses for the coming year, assuming that research is to continue. Built into the budget is the expectation of adding four to five full time medical staff, at least two more clerical positions, and expansion into additional space to offer additional medical clinical medical services free of charge.
 
The budgetary enclosures will be included only in the letter to Carl and in the copy to Tealson, Mercator and Finch.
 
2. 152 pages of typewritten medical text, detailing the last nine months of experimental work to develop the serum, and the processes for culturing and purifying for use in patients.
 
All but the summary is beyond anyone who does not have extensive medical and biochemical training. The summary is a simplified overview of the procedures that indicate the following.
 
A. Biological material from the infected patients are processed and broken down to the purest form to be introduced into the "first phase" animals.
 
B. The disease cultured in these animals is extracted after a period of incubation, (these animals are then destroyed) and treated with further biological material from the patients as well as fresh blood to encourage a large pool of the material to use for further experimentation. (Noted is the fact that this material is highly contagious in this form).
 
C. A very minute amount of the evolved material is introduced into new animals in which the culture will be grown. Through careful monitoring, which includes a restrictive diet and other complicated medical procedures (complete with icky diagrams) - a balance within the animal's system is reached in which the animal's own blood is replaced by the production of the serum. The process of reaching this balance is where the majority of the animals die before the balance is reached - or are required to be killed when the process multiplies too quickly. Success rate to produce the hybrid creature is about one in ten.
 
D. Once an animal is determined to reach stability (in more or less three months) - and proper maintaince procedures are followed (detailed instructions included) - it will continue to live and produce the serum (it is assumed) for the course of its natural life. Exposure to sunlight however is as deadly to the animals as it is to the patients.
 
E. The serum is extracted from the animal by syringe, and is purified using filtration in a cool environment. Heat above body temperature during this process immediately kills the living elements in the serum, rendering it useless. Several passes through the filtration process may be required. Purification is complete when the serum no longer contains particulate matter, and is a clear, faintly yellow color.
 
F. The serum should be administered by syringe directly into a vein by syringe within two hours recommended dosage based on chart that cross-references body weight and how long the patient has been infected. Typical dosage is between 900 - 1500 millilieters.

Carl Ellis January 1931 - Personal Letters

2014-02-01T00:01:51Z

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==[[January 3, 1931 -- Letter from Gregory Parkhurst]]==

Carl Ellis January 1931 - Personal Letters

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Carl Ellis January 1931

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 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

==[[Carl Ellis January 1931 - Personal Letters|PERSONAL LETTERS]]==

These letters are found only amongst Carl Ellis' private papers, kept currently at the library in Whispers Estate, France. Not available to the general public, but presented here for completion sake.

== [[Carl Ellis January 1931 - Newspapers|NEWSPAPERS]] ==

These newspaper articles reference and/or are connected to Carl Ellis, and maybe found in the public records and other archives as noted.

Carl Ellis January 1931

2014-01-31T23:57:02Z

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== 1931 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1931 through December 1931.

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

===[[Carl Ellis January 1931|JANUARY 1931]]===

CARL ELLIS 1931 DOCUMENTS

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== 1931 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1930 through December 1931.

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

===[[Carl Ellis January 1931|JANUARY 1931]]===

The Stars Are Right: Carl Ellis

2014-01-31T23:50:02Z

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back to [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers|Inactive Players]]

[[File:Carl Ellis.jpeg|frame|Carl Ellis]]

==Carl Ellis==

''played by Chaz Engan''

==Biography==

Originally a radio engineer, now through his experiences and delving into the occult origins of things, Carl is now a mystic and a visionary. Though some would say that he is beginning to slide into madness due to having ‘seen too much’. Married to [[The Stars Are Right: Julian Ellis | Julian Ellis]].

==[[CARL ELLIS TIMELINE|TIMELINE]]==

==Affiliations==

==Associates==

; [[The Stars Are Right: Julian Ellis | Ellis, Julian]]
: wife

==Documents==

===[[CARL ELLIS 1928 DOCUMENTS]]===

===[[CARL ELLIS 1929 DOCUMENTS]]===

===[[CARL ELLIS 1930 DOCUMENTS]]===

===[[CARL ELLIS 1931 DOCUMENTS]]===

[[category: The Stars Are Right | Ellis, Carl]]
[[category: Inactive Characters | Ellis, Carl]]

November 1, 1930 -- Letter To Jack Armstrong

2014-01-31T23:34:51Z

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''Mailed From London, England''
 
1st November, 1930 
 
Jack,
 
I am glad to hear that you are well. Your letter of 12 October raises more questions than it answers, but I suppose that is as it should be. May your road never be dull, my friend.
 
This letter is written in passing from one concern to the next. If it seems scattered, please forgive me and read on, for there is much I must say.
 
You ask, Jack, for advice and for forgiveness. I grant you both, freely. How could I not? The advice follows here; the forgiveness has always been yours, for you have never been untrue to yourself as I have known you.
 
I must, however, ask you this question. Will you be a Soldier, Jack? Will you fight, with us, for the future of the world? If the answer is yes, then we must speak very soon. The attorneys in London can tell you where I am at any time. I hope that you will come.
 
Now let us speak of your letter, and the things written there. Firstly:
 
I know somewhat of the Armitage, though I have not seen it myself. There are reports at the House of several such forays as yours. None of them, however, have brought forth all that you have. There is no record of any connection between the creature called Ithaqua (your "eethakwa" it seems) and the Chandlers. Can you tell me more of this, or of the thing it fought, or of the boat itself? We do not know much about the Armitage, save that the nature of its awareness is not akin to that of the House, or of the Amun. Any impressions you may have gained are useful, however fragmentary or distorted they may be.
 
A previous visitor to the Armitage came away with a box of enchanted lenses, which perform interestingly and enigmatically. Perhaps, with your sight and your experience on the vessel, you might make of them something more than I have. Let me know if you are interested in working with them.
 
Secondly:
 
I shall pass your warning regarding Mary Tilson to Theo at once. Give me your thoughts in this, however: Do you feel there is some particular reason to believe that she will fall prey to the Dark Man's hand again before Theo can finish his plan? If so, then you -- all of us -- must act at once to ensure that it is not so. Do not misunderstand me, Jack, Theo is capable and I will apprise him of the danger; but Miss Tilson is far too important in other ways to allow her into Spain's hands again, until this business of the assumption of Trujillo's mantle is done. On no account, for no purpose whatsoever, must she be allowed to come into contact with the Dark Man or his lieutenants! Her freedom is in part a sham; they expect her to come, and await her coming, for she is a vital part of their immediate plans.
 
I will not say more in this letter, but we can speak of it if you like face to face.
 
Thirdly:
 
On the matter of Miss Neville, I do not know what to say. She came once to Wisphers, Jack, and in fact was most helpful in retranslating the Prophecy texts. She has seen the Tablets, and read Chase's commentaries and my own; and if she does not see the pattern, or her own face in it, it may be because she does not wish to -- or because it is not there.
 
If you have spoken to her solely of facts -- of what is known -- then you have done her no disservice. But if you have given her suspicions, guesses, and hopes -- if you have forced knowledge upon her that she did not ask for and did not desire -- then you have indeed wronged her, my friend. Miss Neville is already both an innocent and a victim, trapped by her heritage and her father's, denied a normal life. It is not our place to tear aside what peace remains, but to preserve it! That is one of our oldest and most important tenets, Jack, I hope you understand, and will do all you can to allow her freedom from all of this if she desires.
 
In that regard, I must say, I do not regard further education of any sort as a solution unless she seeks it out on her own. Like you, I believe that Miss Neville may be a candidate for Aspiration; but if that is true then she will find her way willingly; if she denies it or turns aside, then that is her right. None must deny it, nor force her hand.
 
Lamont Coleman, it seems, does disapprove of us. He too has been to Wisphers; and it does seem that his mistrust of us stems from that visit. If you can learn the source of his emnity, then do so, for I would like to know. One thing that is very apparent is that he is protective of the woman. Perhaps the two are closely tied, but I cannot say.
 
Should you decide to protect her, then, do so unobtrusively, and think long and hard about what you would protect her from. She is in no danger from the Outside, only from us and others like us who would tear her out of her already fragile world.
 
There; that is enough about your letter. Now let me tell you a few things of my own.
 
Jack, by the time you read this, the House will be closed. I have given instructions for all visitors to be denied entry, save by my personal invitation. Any resident guests, including young Romanov and his staff, have been asked to leave. The villagers continue to work the fields, but the entire valley is now on alert and the House's barriers are fully engaged. They will remain so until the end of the year, or until this business with the Tower is done.
 
You must be asking why I would do such a thing. I order it for several reasons, not least of which is defense. I fully expect some sort of strike against us in the coming month, the better to distract us from the business in Spain; I will not have the House damaged or destroyed.
 
There are other reasons too. I ask everyone, as I have asked you, to come to me, to work wholly and actively with me or to walk away; times grow short and we no longer have the luxury of a generous openness to all who might be someday useful. The closure of the House, and of other facilities elsewhere, will cause those casual dilettantes of the Fight to sit up and take notice. Things must change; we are almost out of time.
 
Julian is well, and sends her love.
 
Be well, and happy; I pray we will speak soon.
 
Carl

November 1, 1930 -- Letter To Jack Armstrong

2014-01-31T23:34:19Z

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''Mailed From London, England''
 
1st November, 1930 
 

Jack,
 
I am glad to hear that you are well. Your letter of 12 October raises more questions than it answers, but I suppose that is as it should be. May your road never be dull, my friend.
 
This letter is written in passing from one concern to the next. If it seems scattered, please forgive me and read on, for there is much I must say.
 
You ask, Jack, for advice and for forgiveness. I grant you both, freely. How could I not? The advice follows here; the forgiveness has always been yours, for you have never been untrue to yourself as I have known you.
 
I must, however, ask you this question. Will you be a Soldier, Jack? Will you fight, with us, for the future of the world? If the answer is yes, then we must speak very soon. The attorneys in London can tell you where I am at any time. I hope that you will come.
 
Now let us speak of your letter, and the things written there. Firstly:
 
I know somewhat of the Armitage, though I have not seen it myself. There are reports at the House of several such forays as yours. None of them, however, have brought forth all that you have. There is no record of any connection between the creature called Ithaqua (your "eethakwa" it seems) and the Chandlers. Can you tell me more of this, or of the thing it fought, or of the boat itself? We do not know much about the Armitage, save that the nature of its awareness is not akin to that of the House, or of the Amun. Any impressions you may have gained are useful, however fragmentary or distorted they may be.
 
A previous visitor to the Armitage came away with a box of enchanted lenses, which perform interestingly and enigmatically. Perhaps, with your sight and your experience on the vessel, you might make of them something more than I have. Let me know if you are interested in working with them.
 
Secondly:
 
I shall pass your warning regarding Mary Tilson to Theo at once. Give me your thoughts in this, however: Do you feel there is some particular reason to believe that she will fall prey to the Dark Man's hand again before Theo can finish his plan? If so, then you -- all of us -- must act at once to ensure that it is not so. Do not misunderstand me, Jack, Theo is capable and I will apprise him of the danger; but Miss Tilson is far too important in other ways to allow her into Spain's hands again, until this business of the assumption of Trujillo's mantle is done. On no account, for no purpose whatsoever, must she be allowed to come into contact with the Dark Man or his lieutenants! Her freedom is in part a sham; they expect her to come, and await her coming, for she is a vital part of their immediate plans.
 
I will not say more in this letter, but we can speak of it if you like face to face.
 
Thirdly:
 
On the matter of Miss Neville, I do not know what to say. She came once to Wisphers, Jack, and in fact was most helpful in retranslating the Prophecy texts. She has seen the Tablets, and read Chase's commentaries and my own; and if she does not see the pattern, or her own face in it, it may be because she does not wish to -- or because it is not there.
 
If you have spoken to her solely of facts -- of what is known -- then you have done her no disservice. But if you have given her suspicions, guesses, and hopes -- if you have forced knowledge upon her that she did not ask for and did not desire -- then you have indeed wronged her, my friend. Miss Neville is already both an innocent and a victim, trapped by her heritage and her father's, denied a normal life. It is not our place to tear aside what peace remains, but to preserve it! That is one of our oldest and most important tenets, Jack, I hope you understand, and will do all you can to allow her freedom from all of this if she desires.
 
In that regard, I must say, I do not regard further education of any sort as a solution unless she seeks it out on her own. Like you, I believe that Miss Neville may be a candidate for Aspiration; but if that is true then she will find her way willingly; if she denies it or turns aside, then that is her right. None must deny it, nor force her hand.
 
Lamont Coleman, it seems, does disapprove of us. He too has been to Wisphers; and it does seem that his mistrust of us stems from that visit. If you can learn the source of his emnity, then do so, for I would like to know. One thing that is very apparent is that he is protective of the woman. Perhaps the two are closely tied, but I cannot say.
 
Should you decide to protect her, then, do so unobtrusively, and think long and hard about what you would protect her from. She is in no danger from the Outside, only from us and others like us who would tear her out of her already fragile world.
 
There; that is enough about your letter. Now let me tell you a few things of my own.
 
Jack, by the time you read this, the House will be closed. I have given instructions for all visitors to be denied entry, save by my personal invitation. Any resident guests, including young Romanov and his staff, have been asked to leave. The villagers continue to work the fields, but the entire valley is now on alert and the House's barriers are fully engaged. They will remain so until the end of the year, or until this business with the Tower is done.
 
You must be asking why I would do such a thing. I order it for several reasons, not least of which is defense. I fully expect some sort of strike against us in the coming month, the better to distract us from the business in Spain; I will not have the House damaged or destroyed.
 
There are other reasons too. I ask everyone, as I have asked you, to come to me, to work wholly and actively with me or to walk away; times grow short and we no longer have the luxury of a generous openness to all who might be someday useful. The closure of the House, and of other facilities elsewhere, will cause those casual dilettantes of the Fight to sit up and take notice. Things must change; we are almost out of time.
 
Julian is well, and sends her love.
 
Be well, and happy; I pray we will speak soon.
 
Carl

November 1, 1930 -- Letter To Jack Armstrong

2014-01-31T23:33:23Z

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''Mailed From London, England''

 1st November, 1930 
 

Jack,
 
I am glad to hear that you are well. Your letter of 12 October raises more questions than it answers, but I suppose that is as it should be. May your road never be dull, my friend.
 
This letter is written in passing from one concern to the next. If it seems scattered, please forgive me and read on, for there is much I must say.
 
You ask, Jack, for advice and for forgiveness. I grant you both, freely. How could I not? The advice follows here; the forgiveness has always been yours, for you have never been untrue to yourself as I have known you.
 
I must, however, ask you this question. Will you be a Soldier, Jack? Will you fight, with us, for the future of the world? If the answer is yes, then we must speak very soon. The attorneys in London can tell you where I am at any time. I hope that you will come.
 
Now let us speak of your letter, and the things written there. Firstly:
 
I know somewhat of the Armitage, though I have not seen it myself. There are reports at the House of several such forays as yours. None of them, however, have brought forth all that you have. There is no record of any connection between the creature called Ithaqua (your "eethakwa" it seems) and the Chandlers. Can you tell me more of this, or of the thing it fought, or of the boat itself? We do not know much about the Armitage, save that the nature of its awareness is not akin to that of the House, or of the Amun. Any impressions you may have gained are useful, however fragmentary or distorted they may be.
 
A previous visitor to the Armitage came away with a box of enchanted lenses, which perform interestingly and enigmatically. Perhaps, with your sight and your experience on the vessel, you might make of them something more than I have. Let me know if you are interested in working with them.
 
Secondly:
 
I shall pass your warning regarding Mary Tilson to Theo at once. Give me your thoughts in this, however: Do you feel there is some particular reason to believe that she will fall prey to the Dark Man's hand again before Theo can finish his plan? If so, then you -- all of us -- must act at once to ensure that it is not so. Do not misunderstand me, Jack, Theo is capable and I will apprise him of the danger; but Miss Tilson is far too important in other ways to allow her into Spain's hands again, until this business of the assumption of Trujillo's mantle is done. On no account, for no purpose whatsoever, must she be allowed to come into contact with the Dark Man or his lieutenants! Her freedom is in part a sham; they expect her to come, and await her coming, for she is a vital part of their immediate plans.
 
I will not say more in this letter, but we can speak of it if you like face to face.
 
Thirdly:
 
On the matter of Miss Neville, I do not know what to say. She came once to Wisphers, Jack, and in fact was most helpful in retranslating the Prophecy texts. She has seen the Tablets, and read Chase's commentaries and my own; and if she does not see the pattern, or her own face in it, it may be because she does not wish to -- or because it is not there.
 
If you have spoken to her solely of facts -- of what is known -- then you have done her no disservice. But if you have given her suspicions, guesses, and hopes -- if you have forced knowledge upon her that she did not ask for and did not desire -- then you have indeed wronged her, my friend. Miss Neville is already both an innocent and a victim, trapped by her heritage and her father's, denied a normal life. It is not our place to tear aside what peace remains, but to preserve it! That is one of our oldest and most important tenets, Jack, I hope you understand, and will do all you can to allow her freedom from all of this if she desires.
 
In that regard, I must say, I do not regard further education of any sort as a solution unless she seeks it out on her own. Like you, I believe that Miss Neville may be a candidate for Aspiration; but if that is true then she will find her way willingly; if she denies it or turns aside, then that is her right. None must deny it, nor force her hand.
 
Lamont Coleman, it seems, does disapprove of us. He too has been to Wisphers; and it does seem that his mistrust of us stems from that visit. If you can learn the source of his emnity, then do so, for I would like to know. One thing that is very apparent is that he is protective of the woman. Perhaps the two are closely tied, but I cannot say.
 
Should you decide to protect her, then, do so unobtrusively, and think long and hard about what you would protect her from. She is in no danger from the Outside, only from us and others like us who would tear her out of her already fragile world.
 
There; that is enough about your letter. Now let me tell you a few things of my own.
 
Jack, by the time you read this, the House will be closed. I have given instructions for all visitors to be denied entry, save by my personal invitation. Any resident guests, including young Romanov and his staff, have been asked to leave. The villagers continue to work the fields, but the entire valley is now on alert and the House's barriers are fully engaged. They will remain so until the end of the year, or until this business with the Tower is done.
 
You must be asking why I would do such a thing. I order it for several reasons, not least of which is defense. I fully expect some sort of strike against us in the coming month, the better to distract us from the business in Spain; I will not have the House damaged or destroyed.
 
There are other reasons too. I ask everyone, as I have asked you, to come to me, to work wholly and actively with me or to walk away; times grow short and we no longer have the luxury of a generous openness to all who might be someday useful. The closure of the House, and of other facilities elsewhere, will cause those casual dilettantes of the Fight to sit up and take notice. Things must change; we are almost out of time.
 
Julian is well, and sends her love.
 
Be well, and happy; I pray we will speak soon.
 
Carl

Carl Ellis November 1930 - Personal Letters

2014-01-31T23:22:46Z

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 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

==[[November 1, 1930 -- Letter To Jack Armstrong]]==

Carl Ellis November 1930

2014-01-31T23:21:09Z

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 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

==[[Carl Ellis November 1930 - Personal Letters|PERSONAL LETTERS]]==

These letters are found only amongst Carl Ellis' private papers, kept currently at the library in Whispers Estate, France. Not available to the general public, but presented here for completion sake.

== [[Carl Ellis November 1930 - Newspapers|NEWSPAPERS]] ==

These newspaper articles reference and/or are connected to Carl Ellis, and maybe found in the public records and other archives as noted.

CARL ELLIS 1930 DOCUMENTS

2014-01-31T23:19:26Z

Chazathoth: /* NOVEMBER 1930 */

[[Carl_Ellis|Return To the Carl Ellis Archives]]

== 1930 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1930 through December 1930.

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

===[[Carl Ellis November 1930|NOVEMBER 1930]]===

CARL ELLIS 1930 DOCUMENTS

2014-01-31T23:19:04Z

Chazathoth: Created page with "Return To the Carl Ellis Archives == 1930 ARCHIVES == This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1930 through Dec..."

The Stars Are Right: Carl Ellis

2014-01-31T23:16:43Z

Chazathoth:

back to [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers|Inactive Players]]

[[File:Carl Ellis.jpeg|frame|Carl Ellis]]

==Carl Ellis==

''played by Chaz Engan''

==Biography==

Originally a radio engineer, now through his experiences and delving into the occult origins of things, Carl is now a mystic and a visionary. Though some would say that he is beginning to slide into madness due to having ‘seen too much’. Married to [[The Stars Are Right: Julian Ellis | Julian Ellis]].

==[[CARL ELLIS TIMELINE|TIMELINE]]==

==Affiliations==

==Associates==

; [[The Stars Are Right: Julian Ellis | Ellis, Julian]]
: wife

==Documents==

===[[CARL ELLIS 1928 DOCUMENTS]]===

===[[CARL ELLIS 1929 DOCUMENTS]]===

===[[CARL ELLIS 1930 DOCUMENTS]]===

[[category: The Stars Are Right | Ellis, Carl]]
[[category: Inactive Characters | Ellis, Carl]]

September 29, 1930 -- Letter From Dacia Neville

2014-01-31T23:11:12Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Lamont_Colman_September_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Zuni, NM''

 Sep. 29, 1930 
Zuni Reservation 
New Mexico
 

My Dear
 
Our friend the [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Vishnevesky.2C_Alexi|Big Russian]] has just been and gone. He, and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Armstrong.2C_Jack|Jack]] and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Kruglinsky.2C_Kyle|Kyle]] and Mary are on their way to San Francisco.
 
Jack Armstrong has gone over to the Boy Scouts it seems. Made some sort of promise to throw in with them, and do what he can to "save the world." Alexi looks well, and has brought me the wonderful news that Idrinna and he are expecting their first child, perhaps due to arrive sometime in early spring. Mary and Kyle . . . . well . . . they were pretending to be married so as not to offend the Pattersons. I don't know if you would have laughed to see them -- or would have been looking for something to settle a stomachache. I've never heard such outlandish baby talk and billing and cooing . . . it fell entirely past the moment of good taste and into the realm of absurd. If I hear "Who's my oopsy-boopsy babykins?" ever again - - - -
 
But they're gone now. Along with some scatter-brained idea of Alexi's to open a restaurant in Washington D.C. populated by the locals here - cooking their native foods. Where does he get these ideas?
 
All right . . . I’m rattling on. Not my usual self, and I don't know where to begin or how to start. I wish you were here. More than anything in the world right now, because I simply need to have your presence and your good common sense to tell me that everything will be all right. Not to worry. Not to be afraid.
 
They were in France. They brought back from that House In France - something more than just Jack promising to work with those people. Some sort of story . . . no, not a story -- because they have evidence to prove what they say. Maybe only circumstances - but all of the pieces fit. And you and I know so well, how the flimsiest of things fall together on the least sort of pretext . . .
 
Lamont -- I am so afraid right now. Because if what they tell me is true there is something larger and darker and different than anything that we've seen. Waiting to swallow me up, and change everything before we have a hope of a life together. I don't want it to be true, but I know somewhere, with that same certainty that tells me that the tiger is approaching, that it is true.
 
It's complicated, and even Alexi and Jack and Kyle don't seem to know the whole of it. But they know enough to convince me of their honesty, and their faith, and their need. They are just as afraid as I am -- maybe in a different way -- or for a different reason - but it is still there.
 
I'm just terrified that having found you . . . it will all be snatched away. They are afraid that if I refuse . . . the entire world will all be snatched away.
 
Where do we draw the line, my dear? Between what is our obligation to others, what our duty to the greater good is? Between what we ought to do and what we want to do? You see this so much clearer that I do, you always know what the right choice is. How not to compromise who you are. How to set aside everything else, and do the right thing . . . even when it exacts a personal cost.
 
How can I do less than you have?
 
They want me to . . . oh, I don't know really. Become something else, something important and greater than just Dacia Neville. They've given me names, people to talk to, others who have gone through this --- transformation, change . . people who seem to have gone through this event and come out on the other side of it. Different - but also it seems still themselves.
 
There is a folklore amongst the Boy Scouts - something even that Jack believes in with the faith of a churchman -- if you can believe that of him. A folklore that is coming true with each passing day, that is known, understood and predictable. That now seems to be bearing down on me, and on you too of course. Both because you're in my orbit for good or bad - and because they believe that you too are part of it.
 
I don't know the whole truth of this. Even Alexi and the rest seem to know only parts of it. They are urging me to go back to France, or to at least write or meet with Mr. Ellis. Or to write and talk to those who have already undergone this . . . pledge? Mrs. Hannalore Wiess, Miss Constance Talmadge, Miss Alexndria Durrell. I don't know any of these names, but I have addresses . . . places to look, places to ask questions.
 
But, but . . . opening the door means no going back. You know that.
 
I will always remember, Lamont . . . the look in Jack's eyes. Just after they told me of their suspicions. Just after they told me that I fit the description . . . that they were convinced beyond any doubts what so ever -- that I was desperately needed to help remake the world. To make it safe. For everyone . . . for innocents like Idrinna's child.
 
Jack took my hands in his, standing out in the chill, under the stars, in the dust and dark. I thought Lamont, that he was . . . I don't know . . . I've never seen a man close to tears. But maybe it was just an illusion - something I imagined.
 
"I'm sorry, my dear." Is what he said.
 
That was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. About how important this is.
 
But . . . I'm afraid. I can't leave the children, there's no one here for them.
 
I need your advice, I need your strength.
 
I love you
 
Dacia.

September 29, 1930 -- Letter From Dacia Neville

2014-01-31T23:09:01Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Lamont_Colman_September_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Zuni, AZ''

 Sep. 29, 1930 
Zuni Reservation 
New Mexico
 

My Dear
 
Our friend the [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Vishnevesky.2C_Alexi|Big Russian]] has just been and gone. He, and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Armstrong.2C_Jack|Jack]] and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Kruglinsky.2C_Kyle|Kyle]] and Mary are on their way to San Francisco.
 
Jack Armstrong has gone over to the Boy Scouts it seems. Made some sort of promise to throw in with them, and do what he can to "save the world." Alexi looks well, and has brought me the wonderful news that Idrinna and he are expecting their first child, perhaps due to arrive sometime in early spring. Mary and Kyle . . . . well . . . they were pretending to be married so as not to offend the Pattersons. I don't know if you would have laughed to see them -- or would have been looking for something to settle a stomachache. I've never heard such outlandish baby talk and billing and cooing . . . it fell entirely past the moment of good taste and into the realm of absurd. If I hear "Who's my oopsy-boopsy babykins?" ever again - - - -
 
But they're gone now. Along with some scatter-brained idea of Alexi's to open a restaurant in Washington D.C. populated by the locals here - cooking their native foods. Where does he get these ideas?
 
All right . . . I’m rattling on. Not my usual self, and I don't know where to begin or how to start. I wish you were here. More than anything in the world right now, because I simply need to have your presence and your good common sense to tell me that everything will be all right. Not to worry. Not to be afraid.
 
They were in France. They brought back from that House In France - something more than just Jack promising to work with those people. Some sort of story . . . no, not a story -- because they have evidence to prove what they say. Maybe only circumstances - but all of the pieces fit. And you and I know so well, how the flimsiest of things fall together on the least sort of pretext . . .
 
Lamont -- I am so afraid right now. Because if what they tell me is true there is something larger and darker and different than anything that we've seen. Waiting to swallow me up, and change everything before we have a hope of a life together. I don't want it to be true, but I know somewhere, with that same certainty that tells me that the tiger is approaching, that it is true.
 
It's complicated, and even Alexi and Jack and Kyle don't seem to know the whole of it. But they know enough to convince me of their honesty, and their faith, and their need. They are just as afraid as I am -- maybe in a different way -- or for a different reason - but it is still there.
 
I'm just terrified that having found you . . . it will all be snatched away. They are afraid that if I refuse . . . the entire world will all be snatched away.
 
Where do we draw the line, my dear? Between what is our obligation to others, what our duty to the greater good is? Between what we ought to do and what we want to do? You see this so much clearer that I do, you always know what the right choice is. How not to compromise who you are. How to set aside everything else, and do the right thing . . . even when it exacts a personal cost.
 
How can I do less than you have?
 
They want me to . . . oh, I don't know really. Become something else, something important and greater than just Dacia Neville. They've given me names, people to talk to, others who have gone through this --- transformation, change . . people who seem to have gone through this event and come out on the other side of it. Different - but also it seems still themselves.
 
There is a folklore amongst the Boy Scouts - something even that Jack believes in with the faith of a churchman -- if you can believe that of him. A folklore that is coming true with each passing day, that is known, understood and predictable. That now seems to be bearing down on me, and on you too of course. Both because you're in my orbit for good or bad - and because they believe that you too are part of it.
 
I don't know the whole truth of this. Even Alexi and the rest seem to know only parts of it. They are urging me to go back to France, or to at least write or meet with Mr. Ellis. Or to write and talk to those who have already undergone this . . . pledge? Mrs. Hannalore Wiess, Miss Constance Talmadge, Miss Alexndria Durrell. I don't know any of these names, but I have addresses . . . places to look, places to ask questions.
 
But, but . . . opening the door means no going back. You know that.
 
I will always remember, Lamont . . . the look in Jack's eyes. Just after they told me of their suspicions. Just after they told me that I fit the description . . . that they were convinced beyond any doubts what so ever -- that I was desperately needed to help remake the world. To make it safe. For everyone . . . for innocents like Idrinna's child.
 
Jack took my hands in his, standing out in the chill, under the stars, in the dust and dark. I thought Lamont, that he was . . . I don't know . . . I've never seen a man close to tears. But maybe it was just an illusion - something I imagined.
 
"I'm sorry, my dear." Is what he said.
 
That was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. About how important this is.
 
But . . . I'm afraid. I can't leave the children, there's no one here for them.
 
I need your advice, I need your strength.
 
I love you
 
Dacia.

September 29, 1930 -- Letter From Dacia Neville

2014-01-31T23:07:41Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Lamont_Coleman_September_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Zuni, AZ''

 Sep. 29, 1930 
Zuni Reservation 
New Mexico
 

My Dear
 
Our friend the [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Vishnevesky.2C_Alexi|Big Russian]] has just been and gone. He, and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Armstrong.2C_Jack|Jack]] and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Kruglinsky.2C_Kyle|Kyle]] and Mary are on their way to San Francisco.
 
Jack Armstrong has gone over to the Boy Scouts it seems. Made some sort of promise to throw in with them, and do what he can to "save the world." Alexi looks well, and has brought me the wonderful news that Idrinna and he are expecting their first child, perhaps due to arrive sometime in early spring. Mary and Kyle . . . . well . . . they were pretending to be married so as not to offend the Pattersons. I don't know if you would have laughed to see them -- or would have been looking for something to settle a stomachache. I've never heard such outlandish baby talk and billing and cooing . . . it fell entirely past the moment of good taste and into the realm of absurd. If I hear "Who's my oopsy-boopsy babykins?" ever again - - - -
 
But they're gone now. Along with some scatter-brained idea of Alexi's to open a restaurant in Washington D.C. populated by the locals here - cooking their native foods. Where does he get these ideas?
 
All right . . . I’m rattling on. Not my usual self, and I don't know where to begin or how to start. I wish you were here. More than anything in the world right now, because I simply need to have your presence and your good common sense to tell me that everything will be all right. Not to worry. Not to be afraid.
 
They were in France. They brought back from that House In France - something more than just Jack promising to work with those people. Some sort of story . . . no, not a story -- because they have evidence to prove what they say. Maybe only circumstances - but all of the pieces fit. And you and I know so well, how the flimsiest of things fall together on the least sort of pretext . . .
 
Lamont -- I am so afraid right now. Because if what they tell me is true there is something larger and darker and different than anything that we've seen. Waiting to swallow me up, and change everything before we have a hope of a life together. I don't want it to be true, but I know somewhere, with that same certainty that tells me that the tiger is approaching, that it is true.
 
It's complicated, and even Alexi and Jack and Kyle don't seem to know the whole of it. But they know enough to convince me of their honesty, and their faith, and their need. They are just as afraid as I am -- maybe in a different way -- or for a different reason - but it is still there.
 
I'm just terrified that having found you . . . it will all be snatched away. They are afraid that if I refuse . . . the entire world will all be snatched away.
 
Where do we draw the line, my dear? Between what is our obligation to others, what our duty to the greater good is? Between what we ought to do and what we want to do? You see this so much clearer that I do, you always know what the right choice is. How not to compromise who you are. How to set aside everything else, and do the right thing . . . even when it exacts a personal cost.
 
How can I do less than you have?
 
They want me to . . . oh, I don't know really. Become something else, something important and greater than just Dacia Neville. They've given me names, people to talk to, others who have gone through this --- transformation, change . . people who seem to have gone through this event and come out on the other side of it. Different - but also it seems still themselves.
 
There is a folklore amongst the Boy Scouts - something even that Jack believes in with the faith of a churchman -- if you can believe that of him. A folklore that is coming true with each passing day, that is known, understood and predictable. That now seems to be bearing down on me, and on you too of course. Both because you're in my orbit for good or bad - and because they believe that you too are part of it.
 
I don't know the whole truth of this. Even Alexi and the rest seem to know only parts of it. They are urging me to go back to France, or to at least write or meet with Mr. Ellis. Or to write and talk to those who have already undergone this . . . pledge? Mrs. Hannalore Wiess, Miss Constance Talmadge, Miss Alexndria Durrell. I don't know any of these names, but I have addresses . . . places to look, places to ask questions.
 
But, but . . . opening the door means no going back. You know that.
 
I will always remember, Lamont . . . the look in Jack's eyes. Just after they told me of their suspicions. Just after they told me that I fit the description . . . that they were convinced beyond any doubts what so ever -- that I was desperately needed to help remake the world. To make it safe. For everyone . . . for innocents like Idrinna's child.
 
Jack took my hands in his, standing out in the chill, under the stars, in the dust and dark. I thought Lamont, that he was . . . I don't know . . . I've never seen a man close to tears. But maybe it was just an illusion - something I imagined.
 
"I'm sorry, my dear." Is what he said.
 
That was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. About how important this is.
 
But . . . I'm afraid. I can't leave the children, there's no one here for them.
 
I need your advice, I need your strength.
 
I love you
 
Dacia.

September 29, 1930 -- Letter From Dacia Neville

2014-01-31T23:02:30Z

Chazathoth:

Back to [[Lamont_Colman_September_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Zuni, AZ''

 Sep. 29, 1930 
Zuni Reservation 
New Mexico
 

My Dear
 
Our friend the Big Russian has just been and gone. He, and Jack and Kyle and Mary are on their way to San Francisco.
 
Jack Armstrong has gone over to the Boy Scouts it seems. Made some sort of promise to throw in with them, and do what he can to "save the world." Alexi looks well, and has brought me the wonderful news that Idrinna and he are expecting their first child, perhaps due to arrive sometime in early spring. Mary and Kyle . . . . well . . . they were pretending to be married so as not to offend the Patternson's. I don't know if you would have laughed to see them -- or would have been looking for something to settle a stomachache. I've never heard such outlandish baby talk and billing and cooing . . . it fell entirely past the moment of good taste and into the realm of absurd. If I hear "Who's my oopsy-boopsy babykins?" ever again - - - -
 
But they're gone now. Along with some scatter-brained idea of Alexi's to open a restaurant in Washington D.C. populated by the locals here - cooking their native foods. Where does he get these ideas?
 
All right . . . I’m rattling on. Not my usual self, and I don't know where to begin or how to start. I wish you were here. More than anything in the world right now, because I simply need to have your presence and your good common sense to tell me that everything will be all right. Not to worry. Not to be afraid.
 
They were in France. They brought back from that House In France - something more than just Jack promising to work with those people. Some sort of story . . . no, not a story -- because they have evidence to prove what they say. Maybe only circumstances - but all of the pieces fit. And you and I know so well, how the flimsiest of things fall together on the least sort of pretext . . .
 
Lamont -- I am so afraid right now. Because if what they tell me is true there is something larger and darker and different than anything that we've seen. Waiting to swallow me up, and change everything before we have a hope of a life together. I don't want it to be true, but I know somewhere, with that same certainty that tells me that the tiger is approaching, that it is true.
 
It's complicated, and even Alexi and Jack and Kyle don't seem to know the whole of it. But they know enough to convince me of their honesty, and their faith, and their need. They are just as afraid as I am -- maybe in a different way -- or for a different reason - but it is still there.
 
I'm just terrified that having found you . . . it will all be snatched away. They are afraid that if I refuse . . . the entire world will all be snatched away.
 
Where do we draw the line, my dear? Between what is our obligation to others, what our duty to the greater good is? Between what we ought to do and what we want to do? You see this so much clearer that I do, you always know what the right choice is. How not to compromise who you are. How to set aside everything else, and do the right thing . . . even when it exacts a personal cost.
 
How can I do less than you have?
 
They want me to . . . oh, I don't know really. Become something else, something important and greater than just Dacia Neville. They've given me names, people to talk to, others who have gone through this --- transformation, change . . people who seem to have gone through this event and come out on the other side of it. Different - but also it seems still themselves.
 
There is a folklore amongst the Boy Scouts - something even that Jack believes in with the faith of a churchman -- if you can believe that of him. A folklore that is coming true with each passing day, that is known, understood and predictable. That now seems to be bearing down on me, and on you too of course. Both because you're in my orbit for good or bad - and because they believe that you too are part of it.
 
I don't know the whole truth of this. Even Alexi and the rest seem to know only parts of it. They are urging me to go back to France, or to at least write or meet with Mr. Ellis. Or to write and talk to those who have already undergone this . . . pledge? Mrs. Hannalore Wiess, Miss Constance Talmadge, Miss Alexndria Durrell. I don't know any of these names, but I have addresses . . . places to look, places to ask questions.
 
But, but . . . opening the door means no going back. You know that.
 
I will always remember, Lamont . . . the look in Jack's eyes. Just after they told me of their suspicions. Just after they told me that I fit the description . . . that they were convinced beyond any doubts what so ever -- that I was desperately needed to help remake the world. To make it safe. For everyone . . . for innocents like Idrinna's child.
 
Jack took my hands in his, standing out in the chill, under the stars, in the dust and dark. I thought Lamont, that he was . . . I don't know . . . I've never seen a man close to tears. But maybe it was just an illusion - something I imagined.
 
"I'm sorry, my dear." Is what he said.
 
That was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. About how important this is.
 
But . . . I'm afraid. I can't leave the children, there's no one here for them.
 
I need your advice, I need your strength.
 
I love you
 
Dacia.

September 29, 1930 -- Letter From Dacia Neville

2014-01-31T23:01:14Z

Chazathoth: Created page with "Back to Lamont_Colman_September_1930_-_Personal_Letters ''Mailed From Zuni, AZ'' Sep. 29, 1930 Zuni Reservation New Mexico My Dear Our friend the Big ..."

Back to [[Lamont_Colman_September_1930_-_Personal_Letters]]

''Mailed From Zuni, AZ''

 Sep. 29, 1930
Zuni Reservation
New Mexico
 

My Dear
 
Our friend the Big Russian has just been and gone. He, and Jack and Kyle and Mary are on their way to San Francisco.
 
Jack Armstrong has gone over to the Boy Scouts it seems. Made some sort of promise to throw in with them, and do what he can to "save the world." Alexi looks well, and has brought me the wonderful news that Idrinna and he are expecting their first child, perhaps due to arrive sometime in early spring. Mary and Kyle . . . . well . . . they were pretending to be married so as not to offend the Patternson's. I don't know if you would have laughed to see them -- or would have been looking for something to settle a stomachache. I've never heard such outlandish baby talk and billing and cooing . . . it fell entirely past the moment of good taste and into the realm of absurd. If I hear "Who's my oopsy-boopsy babykins?" ever again - - - -
 
But they're gone now. Along with some scatter-brained idea of Alexi's to open a restaurant in Washington D.C. populated by the locals here - cooking their native foods. Where does he get these ideas?
 
All right . . . I’m rattling on. Not my usual self, and I don't know where to begin or how to start. I wish you were here. More than anything in the world right now, because I simply need to have your presence and your good common sense to tell me that everything will be all right. Not to worry. Not to be afraid.
 
They were in France. They brought back from that House In France - something more than just Jack promising to work with those people. Some sort of story . . . no, not a story -- because they have evidence to prove what they say. Maybe only circumstances - but all of the pieces fit. And you and I know so well, how the flimsiest of things fall together on the least sort of pretext . . .
 
Lamont -- I am so afraid right now. Because if what they tell me is true there is something larger and darker and different than anything that we've seen. Waiting to swallow me up, and change everything before we have a hope of a life together. I don't want it to be true, but I know somewhere, with that same certainty that tells me that the tiger is approaching, that it is true.
 
It's complicated, and even Alexi and Jack and Kyle don't seem to know the whole of it. But they know enough to convince me of their honesty, and their faith, and their need. They are just as afraid as I am -- maybe in a different way -- or for a different reason - but it is still there.
 
I'm just terrified that having found you . . . it will all be snatched away. They are afraid that if I refuse . . . the entire world will all be snatched away.
 
Where do we draw the line, my dear? Between what is our obligation to others, what our duty to the greater good is? Between what we ought to do and what we want to do? You see this so much clearer that I do, you always know what the right choice is. How not to compromise who you are. How to set aside everything else, and do the right thing . . . even when it exacts a personal cost.
 
How can I do less than you have?
 
They want me to . . . oh, I don't know really. Become something else, something important and greater than just Dacia Neville. They've given me names, people to talk to, others who have gone through this --- transformation, change . . people who seem to have gone through this event and come out on the other side of it. Different - but also it seems still themselves.
 
There is a folklore amongst the Boy Scouts - something even that Jack believes in with the faith of a churchman -- if you can believe that of him. A folklore that is coming true with each passing day, that is known, understood and predictable. That now seems to be bearing down on me, and on you too of course. Both because you're in my orbit for good or bad - and because they believe that you too are part of it.
 
I don't know the whole truth of this. Even Alexi and the rest seem to know only parts of it. They are urging me to go back to France, or to at least write or meet with Mr. Ellis. Or to write and talk to those who have already undergone this . . . pledge? Mrs. Hannalore Wiess, Miss Constance Talmadge, Miss Alexndria Durrell. I don't know any of these names, but I have addresses . . . places to look, places to ask questions.
 
But, but . . . opening the door means no going back. You know that.
 
I will always remember, Lamont . . . the look in Jack's eyes. Just after they told me of their suspicions. Just after they told me that I fit the description . . . that they were convinced beyond any doubts what so ever -- that I was desperately needed to help remake the world. To make it safe. For everyone . . . for innocents like Idrinna's child.
 
Jack took my hands in his, standing out in the chill, under the stars, in the dust and dark. I thought Lamont, that he was . . . I don't know . . . I've never seen a man close to tears. But maybe it was just an illusion - something I imagined.
 
"I'm sorry, my dear." Is what he said.
 
That was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. About how important this is.
 
But . . . I'm afraid. I can't leave the children, there's no one here for them.
 
I need your advice, I need your strength.
 
I love you
 
Dacia.

Lamont Colman September 1930 - Personal Letters

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==[[September 29, 1930 -- Letter From Dacia Neville]]==

Lamont Coleman September 1930

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==[[Lamont Colman September 1930 - Personal Letters|PERSONAL LETTERS]]==

These letters are found only amongst Lamont Coleman's private papers, kept currently at his residence in Brookline, MA. Not available to the general public, but presented here for completion sake.

== [[Lamont Coleman September 1930 - Newspapers|NEWSPAPERS]] ==

These newspaper articles reference and/or are connected to Lamont Coleman, and maybe found in the public records and other archives as noted.

LAMONT COLEMAN 1930 DOCUMENTS

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== 1930 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1930 through December 1930.

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===[[Lamont Coleman July 1930|JULY 1930]]===

===[[Lamont Coleman September 1930|SEPTEMBER 1930]]===

===[[Lamont Coleman October 1930|OCTOBER 1930]]===

The Stars Are Right: The Irish Rose: Nightsider Treaty

2014-01-30T20:38:19Z

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Return to [[The Stars Are Right: The Irish Rose: Documents]].

''This copy received 6 September 1932 from Meridon Caine of New York.''

==Overview==
This document describes a treaty to be drawn up between certain specific members of the community of natural humans and their allies, referred to collectively in this document as "daysiders" or "the Family", and certain specific members of the community of natural vampires, referred to collectively herein as "nightsiders" or "the People".

The purpose of this document is fourfold. It outlines the reasons for the proposed alliance; it presents a possible structure for the resultant organization; it lists the conditions under which such an alliance may become practical; and it discusses some of the benefits that members of the alliance may expect to gain from the association.

The primary assumption made throughout this document is that all members and groups signatory to the treaty are to be considered equals. This equality must be one of deed as well as word; that is to say, all responsibilities must be shared equally amongst the various groups if the alliance is to prosper.

To this end, throughout this document, most of the references to specific groups, such as "daysiders", "the People", et cetera, have been removed. It is assumed that wherever the term "group" or "person" appears, any person or group will be equivalent from the standpoint of the treaty and the alliance. The exceptions to this rule are places where a specific point is made, or where the physical necessities of the different groups have an impact of the subject in question.

==Introduction==
Daysiders and nightsiders are not natural allies. Such alliance does not naturally arise when one group is the sole and necessary prey of the other. Nightsiders must feed off of daysiders to survive; yet this feeding sometimes results in the deaths of daysiders, or in the victim's subsequent acquisition of the Condition of vampirism.

Also, the differences in the life styles and perceptions of the two peoples, their instincts, drives, customs, and folklore, serve normally to drive the two groups apart, so that the usual meeting place of the two societies is over the edges of weapons.

Many nightsiders have come to consider daysiders as cattle, as their natural inferiors, or as the just target of their sport. Many daysiders have come to consider the nightsiders as devils, as soulless bestial ravagers of the good and the beautiful, or as unclean and evil abominations to be swept off of the earth with a cleansing flame.

Both views are wrong.

It is understood by the signers of this document that the two peoples will never have interests entirely in common. Nevertheless, a threat exists that both communities must face in order to survive; and this treaty is proposed because a common effort against the threat has a greater chance of ensuring the survival of both groups than two such efforts directed separately.

===Reason for the Alliance===

Our Earth, and all life upon it, are in danger of imminent destruction.

For centuries, ancient Beings of great power known variously as the Elder Gods, the Great Old Ones, or simply Those Outside have sought, for unknown reasons, to enter into our world and rule it with chaos and destruction. The thoughts and motives of these Beings are unknown to us, and probably unknowable; attempts to understand or communicate directly with the things have invariably resulted in madness or violence; but it is clear that they are malevolent. Should these Beings break through into the world in large numbers, one likely result would be the eradication of life as we know it on this planet.

This means that both daysiders and nightsiders face extinction.

Although happily these Beings are seldom able to touch the world directly, they are worshiped and aided by groups of people who seek to achieve the goals of their masters by proxy. These people will be referred to collectively in this document as "the Dark". The Dark is not a single organization, but a wide variety of individuals, cults, and groups, working alone or together to common ends. Not all of the Dark are human. Not all of the human Dark are daysiders.

Opposing the Dark are a similar assortment of individuals and groups, known here collectively as "the Light". We, the signers of this document, consider ourselves to be members of this faction.

The Light seek to stop the Dark from succeeding in their plans, and to protect the earth and the people on it. This we do by seeking out and opposing the works of the Outside Ones wherever they may be found, and scattering or destroying those who would support Them with as little damage to the world or loss of innocent lives as possible. The Dark, in turn, oppose us by hunting us and by releasing chaos and violence in society, thus making it more difficult to uncover them and their works.

In the past hundred years or so the tide of battle has turned so that, even though neither side has succeeded in permanently disabling the other, the Dark now hold a superior position in terms of men, resources, and organization. They are close, we believe, to achieving their goals; and have recently begun maneuvering to throw world society into still greater turmoil, to further hamper the efforts of the Light and to weaken mankind's resistance to the incursions to come.

Within the next two to five years, the Dark will be ready to attempt their final assault upon the walls of the Universe. During this period conditions will be more favorable to such an endeavour than for centuries before or since. It is thus nearly certain that the Dark will throw all their energies into succeeding in their master plan in the very near future; and, given the current state of the conflict, they have a good chance of succeeding.

Therefore the alliance is proposed for the purpose of mutual defense; and for the defense of all natural life on Earth. If the People are willing to fight for the Light alongside the Family, they will serve the best interests of all mankind, daysider and nightsider alike.

==Document Scope==

The first section of this document outlines a proposed structure for the alliance, and provides working definitions of its duration, scope, organization, chains of command, and jurisdictional and grievance structures and procedures.

The remaining chapters provide the background information and procedures necessary to support the members of the alliance in day-to-day operations.

===Intended Audience===

This document is directed at members of the Alliance, at candidates for membership, and at potential applicants for membership.

===Level of Understanding===

It is assumed that all readers of this document are familiar with the necessities of the Fight, and are aware at least generally of the advantages and limitations inherent in the natures of the two peoples. Readers should also have some knowledge of, or experience with, the Occult.

==Section One. Organization.==

This treaty proposes an alliance, not an amalgamation. The Family and the People shall continue to be separate groups, with separate internal structures, organization, and politics. Personnel and resources will be committed to joint field actions as needed; and information relevant to the performance of such field teams must be able to pass back and forth freely between the two groups.

The purpose of this section is to outline what is seen as a minimum structure for effective interaction.

===1A. External Structure of the Alliance Groups.===

The internal structure of groups entering the alliance is not within the scope of this document. For the purpose of group interaction, all such groups shall be considered to have a single group '''Leader'''. The Leader shall be chosen from within the group by whatever means is proper to that group. He shall speak for, and be responsible for, his people to the alliance; and his authority and ability to make decisions for his group in matters pertaining to the alliance shall be firm.

The Leader may designate a '''Representative''' to act or speak for him as his proxy in meetings between the allies, if he so chooses. In the event that the Leader dies or is otherwise made incapable of handling his responsibilities, the Representative ( if one has been chosen ) shall become the acting Leader until such time as a new Leader may be properly designated in the manner appropriate to the affected group. If no Representative is chosen within a group, the Leader of that group must make provisions for the continuance of communications between his and the other groups in the event of his or her incapacitation.

It is the responsibility of the Leader to communicate with the Leaders of other allied groups, to discuss and affirm matters of alliance policy, and to pass information and/or requests for assistance either in or out of the group. He may or may not have power within his own group's internal hierarchy; that is immaterial. To the alliance, his responsibility and authority is supreme.

Aside from the Leader, there are no fixed ranks within the groups. Individual members of the alliance may have more or less authority at various times, according to need and manpower available. The Leaders are responsible for notifying each other of any special skills or equipment that may be available for a given field mission, and for assigning temporary duties and responsibilities to the members of their groups.

===1B. Field Teams.===

The basic structure used in fieldwork is the ''field team''. A field team is a group of one or more persons assigned together for a specific assignment. A typical team might be composed of three to five persons.

Unusually large or spread-out assignments might be handled by several teams working together, or even by teams of teams.

A field team is headed by a '''Team Leader'''. The Team Leader is responsible for the success of the mission in all ways, for the safety of all of the team members, for the recovery of the team and any information it may have gathered at the conclusion of the mission, and for the transmission of such information to his group Leader and to the alliance. His is the authority; his is the burden of success. The Team Leader is to the field team what the Leader of a group is to the alliance.

The Team Leader is expected to be attentive to the needs of the members of his team, to listen to any suggestions or opinions they may have with respect to the proper performance of the mission, and to take these things into consideration when planning the mission details.

In general, the Team Leader may structure his team in any fashion he desires in order to get the job done. Generally, he will have a '''Team Second''', who will take command if the Team Leader is lost or killed. It is also advisable to assign one person the role of '''Recorder'''. The Recorder's job is to ensure that pertinent information reaches the alliance even if the team itself is lost.

The membership of the alliance is seen as a pool of persons, to be assigned to various projects and field teams according to the needs of the mission, the availability of personnel, and the abilities of the individuals involved. It is primarily at the level of the field team that persons from different groups in the alliance will interact

===1C. Service and Duty.===

Service in the Fight is, and must be, entirely voluntary. No member may be coerced or otherwise forced to accept a mission assignment. This includes the assumption of positions of responsibility in the field, unless necessity leaves no other choice. Thus, a member may be asked if he wishes to go on a mission, but he may not be commanded to go. Likewise, he may accept the mission but turn down the Team Leader's role. Once a member has accepted a mission, and accepted the Team Leader as well, he is considered to have agreed to obey the Team Leader and abide by his authority. He should accept all direct commands from the Team Leader that have bearing on the team's mission, and do not otherwise conflict with the letter or spirit of this treaty; he should perform them to his best ability. It is expected that some argument or objection will arise from time to time; however the Team Leader's authority is binding on his team, unless the orders given are clearly irrational, or are against the letter and spirit either of this treaty or of whatever contracts a group may have established internally.

It is understood that personal friction between members of different groups can and will occur, both in and out of field activity; nonetheless, at all times in the field, and in general whenever members of the alliance work together, such members are expected to act with respect and decorum towards one another. In particular, this means that:

* At no time shall any member harm another member deliberately, nor shall he through word or deed deliberately cause such harm to be done.
* No member shall attempt to coerce another through means of threats, intimidation, violence, or hypnotic or other persuasive means, save only those of verbal discourse.
* No member shall allow his personal feelings or opinions about another member to affect either his performance as a team member or the effectiveness of the entire team.
* No member shall deliberately speak or act in such a way as to be offensive to another member; or to steal from another member, or in general to behave in a criminal or unseemly fashion, without the tacit consent of that other.

===1D. Grievances and Violations.===

It is conceivable that, in the future, signatories of the alliance may act in violation of the treaty, either against the alliance itself or against its members. To this end, the following structures and procedures are proposed.

In the event that one person or group claims a grievance against another, that person or group has the irrevocable right to call a grievance panel. Such a panel of judges shall be composed of an equal number of persons from each signatory group. None of the panel members shall have been involved in the incident in question Persons under close personal influence or obligation to those who are directly involved with the incident in question shall likewise be disallowed. This panel shall hear the testimony available to both sides of the case, and shall render both verdict and sentence.

These judgments shall normally be considered final. In the event that the panel is incapable of coming to a decision, an appeal may be made by the judges. In this case, the case will be reheard by the Leaders of the groups involved at the earliest possible occasion. There is no appeal from the decision of the Leaders' panel.

In situations where a panel cannot be convened within ten days of the grievance claim, all parties concerned with the claim shall be considered ineligible for new field investigations. In case of emergency, if the grievance claimant agrees, judgment on the grievance can be delayed until the emergency has passed.

There is no limit to the size of a judges' panel. Any members wishing to perform this duty may so serve; provided they had no connection to the grievance incident; and provided they swear publicly to the entire party assembled that they shall hear all sides of the case fairly and without prejudice or coercion.

Persons from any group may claim a grievance, and call for judgment. Persons from all groups must be able to sit on such panels of judgment; no bias or prejudice shall be held against any members of such a panel for their decisions by persons of either party, no matter what the outcome.

In all grievance cases, witnesses or proofs are necessary. These shall be admitted publicly where possible. Such witnesses shall be considered under the protection of the panel; any harassment or interference with such witnesses shall be considered a violation of some severity, and dealt with accordingly.

Once sentence or penalty has been delivered, it shall be the responsibility of the party that is judged to be the victim to see that sentence is carried out. No changes or additions to that sentence shall be made by its executor.

===1E. Promotion.===

At this time, no permanent ranks or positions within the alliance are envisioned. Duties will be assigned on the basis of need, availability, and perceived ability, as indicated by the Leaders and the Team Leaders in the field. It is the duty of all Team Leaders to make information on the capacities, strengths, and weaknesses of their team members available, as part of the assignment debriefing, in order to better assign future tasks. It is further the duty of the Leaders to communicate this information to each other, so that members who work in mixed parties may be aware of their strengths and positions.

It is expected that the duties assumed by individual members will change over time, according to the capacity, availability, temperament, and growth of the persons themselves. Dissemination of this information to all concerned parties within the Alliance is a necessity

==Section Two. Membership.==

At the time of this writing, the alliance is very new. It is seen by most interested persons as something of an experiment; participation in the alliance is very much a voluntary thing. Not all of the Family are expected to sign the treaty agreement. Certainly not all of the People will be expected to do so. Those who do decide to sign will be committed to the alliance and the terms of the treaty for the duration of its existence. They will be bound to its provisions, and will be expected to uphold them in word and deed. Refusal to do so carries penalty. Thus, a candidate should consider very carefully before signing.

===2A. Conflicts of Interest.===

In order to help ensure that the Alliance and its members remain safe both from assault by nonmembers and from betrayal by members, several sorts of formal oaths, contracts, debts or promises are ordinarily forbidden to the signatories. These are outlined below.

* Any promise or similar contract requiring a member to attack, or to provide aid in attacks against, fellow Alliance members or the Alliance itself. Such aid may include passive assistance such as "looking the other way" or refusal to aid in defending the Alliance members against such attacks. Such promises are in direct contravention of other sections of this treaty.
* Any promise or similar contract to reveal, or cause to be revealed, proprietary information about the Alliance or its members to any nonmember. This includes information about its more detailed goals, plans of action, or membership. This threatens the Alliance directly, and is in contravention of other sections of this treaty.
* Any promise to bear false witness to members, or to knowingly deliver false or erroneous information to the Alliance or its members, without immediately informing those members of the true facts in the most effective manner. This harms the alliance because such misinformation, were it believed and acted upon, might be a serious setback to our goals.

No person shall ordinarily be accepted for membership who is bound by such promises. Any candidates for membership who contract such oaths or promises shall be required to make the fact and the details of the contract known to the Alliance and its members prior to their acceptance as members, or their participation in any further Alliance activities. The holding or contracting of such oaths and promises shall ordinarily be grounds for rejection of the candidate; exceptions to this rule may be made only by a unanimous consensus of the conjoined Leaders of the affected groups within the alliance, or their appointed Representatives.

No member of the Alliance shall be permitted to enter into formal oaths, contracts, debts, or promises of the sorts outlined above during his or her membership, unless the contract in question is with another member or with the Alliance as a whole. Debts of other sorts shall not be restricted by this treaty, although non-specified debts or promises shall not be redeemable in such a way as to violate these clauses.

===2B. Duration.===

This initial treaty will take effect for the period of one year from its inception and formal signing. Signatory members will be bound to the terms of the treaty for that entire period. New members from any group who join later shall be so bound until the treaty itself expires; their membership does not continue past the initial expiration.

At or before that time, the members of the alliance may decide to extend the duration of the treaty, or to append or supersede it. Such amendments may be made at any time; however, they must be ratified by a majority from each of the member groups in the alliance; and in no event will any modifications or amendments take effect until the expiration of the treaty's current term.

At this time it is suggested that, should all parties wish to extend the treaty, with or without modifications, the (possibly amended) treaty be reinstated for a period of an additional year, under the same conditions as the first. Signatories may withdraw from the alliance at this time without penalty simply by refusing to sign; however, they remain responsible to the alliance for any and all acts committed by them while they were members, and even should evidence of misdeeds come to light after their withdrawal they will be liable for these acts. There is no statute of limitations for crimes committed against the alliance.

===2C. Adding Members.===

The Leader of a group is responsible for all alliance members within that group. An applicant for membership may be recommended by any member of the alliance, but it is the prerogative and responsibility of the group's Leader to accept or veto the candidate. It is also the responsibility of the Leader to ensure that the member, should he prove acceptable, is educated in all facets of the alliance pertinent to his position.

Finally, acceptance of the new member must be ratified by the presence of responsible persons from all signatory groups within the alliance to witness his signing. In general, all additions to the alliance, and all amendments or promises made under its terms shall be formally sworn to at least one person from each group before witnesses from all groups.

The new member enters the alliance as an equal in all respects. He shall be considered a signatory member until such time as the active treaty expires.

===2D. Resigning Membership.===

There is no provision in the current treaty for formal resignation of membership. New members enter into the treaty with the expectation that they shall serve the alliance faithfully for the full duration of the treaty. Persons who feel that they are temporarily or permanently incapable of serving the alliance should communicate this to their Leader; he will pass the information on to other groups as needed. Regardless of this, however, that person is still bound by all the laws of the treaty until its expiration.

Signatories who, for whatever reason, voluntarily undergo a change of name, habits, and/or identity during the course of their membership in the Alliance shall continue to be considered members under the terms of the treaty agreement which they signed before the change, for the remainder of the original duration, and will continue to adhere to the clauses in that agreement until its expiration.

===2E. Relations with Nonmembers.===

This treaty makes no provision for nonmembers within the alliance.

No nonmember may be introduced into any mixed field team without the full prior knowledge and consent of ALL members of that team. Introduction of a nonmember within a team by any member is considered a violation of the treaty.

No member shall reveal, or cause to be revealed, any personal or private facts or secrets about another member to a nonmember, without the full consent of the person whose secrets are thus revealed. This includes such information as: the true names of any members; their places of residence; or the fact of their membership. It also includes any personal or private information about such persons as may be acquired during the course of acquaintance with them.

No member shall take any deliberate action to harm or coerce the known dependents of any other member. Identification of such dependents may be made through introduction or description of the dependents to the alliance members. Alternately, such dependents may wear or carry a small insignia, device, or cachet which will identify them to the alliance members; particularly the nightsiders, whose senses are known to be more acute than those of the daysiders. Any assault by a member upon a dependent of another member shall be considered in this light.

Any breach of the above clauses by any member shall be considered a serious violation of the treaty.

==Section Three. Scope of the Alliance.==

The primary purpose of the alliance is to protect and defend natural life on Earth, especially human life. It is not supposed that the various groups within the alliance will ever merge into a single whole. Therefore, this section outlines standards of communication and service to be used as guidelines between groups.

For the purpose of the alliance, the various member groups shall be considered akin to separate nations working together on the field of battle. They will have different customs and laws within their ranks, yet they must define standards so as to work together. The situation here is analogous.

It is assumed that each group, by pledging its support to the alliance and to the Fight, is willing to act in search of or in opposition to the Dark. No member group is expected to bear the burden alone; rather all groups shall work as necessary and upon request to seek out the enemy and act to oppose them. The Leader of each group shall be considered responsible for continued direction and control of this activity.

===3A. Communication.===

Means of convenient communication shall be set up between the Leaders of all allied groups, or their appointed Representatives. These channels shall serve as conduit for the following types of information:

* Information on available resources and/or personnel,
* Information about newly discovered Dark activity or sites,
* Information about investigations or combat actions that have been concluded or are in progress,
* Requests for men or materials for a specific mission,
* Requests for the convention of a Leader's panel of judgment.

This sort of interchange may not be continuous; but should be fairly regular. Also, some mechanism must be maintained for making contact with all groups on an emergency basis.

===3B. Service Requests.===

As mentioned above, from time to time one group may contact another for the purpose of gaining assistance. There is no requirement for the field teams of the alliance always, or even usually, to be mixed; however, due to the strengths and weaknesses unique to the different groups, mixed teams will from time to time be useful in both combat and investigative projects.

In this event, one Leader may request resources or personnel from another, either generally or specifically, according to the needs of the moment. These resources must not be thrown away, stolen, or used frivolously; and the personnel, as always, will have the right to refuse the mission once it is described. However, once the personnel of a team have been assigned, they will be expected to work together in good faith, under the assigned Team Leaders, until the mission is completed or the Team Leaders withdraw the mission teams from the field and disband them. It is understood that the same or similar missions may be attempted more than once, but that the complements of the field teams involved will be chosen anew for each mission, and thus may change.

===3C. Terms of Duty.===

All persons who are signatory to the treaty shall at all times work towards the goals set out in the mission requirements, and shall strive at all times to aid the other members of the field team as best they may in good faith, regardless of personal proclivity or group of origin.

At no time will any signatory act deliberately to the detriment of any member of a field team or of the team's mission.

In the event of an attack on an alliance member by an outside party, all members shall be prepared to render whatever aid they may in defense of the attacked member. This shall include, if necessary, the use of deadly force.

All team members are considered equal, with the exception of the team Leader, whose authority is absolute but extends only over those members who are a part of his team, and for the duration of the mission only.

The rules of decorum, as described previously, apply to all members of all teams.

No members of the alliance shall be ordered against their desires to expose themselves to any materials or situations that are hazardous to their persons, as outlined in Section Four.

All members may choose to voluntarily place themselves into such hazardous situations if they so desire. This is the right of the individual to determine; and involuntary coercion or threats are not permitted.

Persons who are weakened, wounded, or otherwise physically or mentally unfit or unstable shall be allowed healing and recuperation time. Consideration shall be given to all such wounded according to their needs, without regard to their group of origin. No person shall be ordered back into the field if he is wounded or otherwise insufficiently recovered from exertion, unless there is no adequate replacement who is more fit to perform the desired task. They may, of course, voluntarily return to their duties if they so desire and are capable of doing so, provided they inform others in their team of this decision.

All field teams shall have a single designated Leader. Any disputes that occur in the field shall be resolved by the Leader of the team, save only those which require the formation of a panel of judgment. The Leader shall be responsible for the success of the mission and the safety of all under his command, regardless of their nature.

In any situations where field teams are still active, and the mission is complete and/or the environment does not make further mission activity possible, all effort must be made by those field teams to recover all friends, allies, and team members as are lost on the field of battle. This includes the bodies of the dead or wounded, unless it is shown to be beyond the abilities of the members of the team to transport them. In no case shall the bodies of the dead be left for the Dark to collect and use.

==Section Four. Hazards and Protections.==

Each member group in the alliance is different, with different natures and restrictions upon their activities. This section of the document attempts to describe the various environments and materials that are to be considered hazardous to each group separately; however the list is not considered exhaustive, and may not be considered exclusive.

General rules for dealing with hazardous environments and substances are as follows:

* No member shall be required to expose themselves directly to a hazardous environment, unless there is no alternative, i.e., contact with the environment is unavoidable.
* In the event that such contact must be made, steps must be taken to provide all such members with adequate protection against the environment in question.
* In the event that such protection is not available, all members involved shall be given such freedom as time and circumstances allow to secure their own protection in whatever fashion they deem necessary, subject to the discretion of the team Leader and the restrictions imposed by this treaty.
* In any case, members who are better protected or otherwise less affected by such an environment shall protect and give aid freely to those members that are weakened or otherwise incapacitated by it.
* No member shall be expected to expose himself unnecessarily to any hazardous substance. He may, however, choose voluntarily to expose himself to such substances or environments if he so desires.
* In the event that such contact is deemed to be unavoidable, steps must be taken to provide all such members with adequate protection against contact with the substance, and/or provide them with such means as are available to lessen or eliminate the symptoms resultant to such contact.
* In the event that anticipated contact with such substances is predictable, members shall be offered the option of proceeding toward the team goal along another path that does not necessitate such contact, at the discretion of the team Leader and the restrictions imposed by this treaty.
* In the event that such protections are not available, and alternate courses or procedures are deemed impractical, any members involved shall be given such freedom as times and circumstances allow to secure their own protection in whatever fashion they deem necessary, subject to the discretion of the team Leader and the restrictions imposed by this treaty.
* No member of any team shall carry any hazardous substance into proximity with any other member; nor shall he knowingly cause any member to come into contact with a hazardous substance or environment; nor cause such contact to become unavoidable, without the full knowledge and consent of that member
* Hazardous substances that are carried within a team shall be kept bagged, bottled, sheathed, or otherwise properly contained and isolated when not in use. The presence of such objects shall be announced freely and openly to all members of the team, in order to avoid accident.

Any violation of the above clauses shall be considered violations of the treaty; and shall be grounds for a grievance.

===4A. Nightsiders.===

The following environments are considered hazardous to nightsiders:

'''Sunlight.''' Bright sunlight is a danger to nightsiders, as it is distracting and confusing to the mind. It also blinds them, and may lead to catatonia and eventual death. Proper protections against sunlight are: A secure enclosed area, with no direct sunlight entry; or heavy all-encompassing clothing, gloves, dark veils or glasses or hats.

The following substances are considered hazardous to nightsiders:

'''Cold-forged iron; Silver; Any enchanted metals.''' These substances cause irritation and pain when touched; they cause wounds that do not heal, or heal only very slowly; and continued proximity to large amounts of these materials may cause disorientation, dizziness, lack of coordination, or even unconsciousness in some cases. Proper protections against these substances are: Gloves, masks, personal armors of conventional types. In addition such things shall be kept in protected places where there is little risk of accidental contact.

===4B. Daysiders.===

The following environments are considered hazardous to daysiders:

'''Total darkness.''' Daysiders rely on their sight far more than any of their other senses. In total darkness they cannot function properly; they become confused, disorganized, and usually both noisy and clumsy as well. Proper protections against total darkness are: A fire, torch, lamp, or similar means of producing light; or a secure and enclosed place without unknown contents in which to wait.

The following substances are considered hazardous to daysiders:

'''Nightsider blood; nightsider saliva.''' These substances may cause contamination of the daysider, and may lead to acquisition of the Condition of vampirism, with its accompanying needs and limitations. Proper protections against these substances are: Avoidance of contact; gloves, personal hygiene, and lack of oral contact or other exchange of fluids. There must be no introduction of such substances into the bodies of the daysiders, unless such introduction is requested freely and without coercion.

'''Many conventional or unconventional disease cultures.''' These substances may cause contamination of the daysider, and may lead to sickness, disability, even death. Proper protections against these substances are: Avoidance of contact. Gloves, masks, or total isolation from infected persons or disease cultures may be necessary.

===4C. General.===

The following environments are considered hazardous to everybody:

'''Poisonous gas; areas where there is an unusually high concentration of ponic energies.''' These regions affect different individuals differently, but are generally considered to be damaging or lethal to all. Avoid them wherever possible.

The following substances are considered hazardous to everybody:

'''Acid; contact poisons; unknown or narcotic drugs.''' Gloves, masks, armors and avoidance of physical contact are the recommended remedies.

The following situations are considered hazardous to everybody:

'''Contact with extraterrestrial beings, entities or Forces of extra-universal origin, or objects manufactured by same.''' These are dangerous, as they are not only unknown and potentially lethal, but they may cause extreme loss of composure and/or control in any members who encounter them. Treat with extreme caution at all times. Nevertheless, contacts such as these are normal and expected in the course of some investigative and combat field missions. It is expected that field teams shall proceed against such beings and forces voluntarily. Voluntary participation in such field teams is considered implicit acceptance of this fact.

==Section Five. Field Activity.==

This chapter discusses procedures and principles covering day-to-day activity in the field. In general, the basic types of requirements of members of each group are the same; only the details differ.

===5A. Food.===

As of this writing, all proposed members of the alliance need to eat. Each person in a field team must be allowed time and opportunity to take nourishment in the manner natural to him, so long as this does not interfere with the proper function of the field team.

In situations where it is expected that no proper food will be available for a period exceeding the normal time between meals, provision must be made for the carrying of nourishment with the party.

In the case of the daysiders, this means that each team member must be allowed to eat at least once each day under normal conditions; and in cases where no food shall be available naturally for more than a day or two, food should be transported or provided.

In the case of the nightsiders, this means that each team member shall be allowed time away from the group in which to acquire nourishment. Such periods need not be more frequent than once every two to three days; and will not exceed a few hours in duration. Notice will be given to the team members in advance, if it is expected that the absence will be lengthy, or occur at an important time. In the event that nourishment is not conveniently available, or if it is not practical to leave the team; live animals or similar substitute shall be provided to each person as emergency rations. It is understood that such feeding is not entirely nourishing, and that it may not continue for more than a week or two. If the emergency period extends beyond that time, nightsider members of a team shall be given leave to find their nourishment as they must.

Mixed teams containing nightsiders, who anticipate the possibility of such a shortage of available food, must carry equipment for the drawing of blood from the daysider contingent for the purposes of emergency nourishment without risk of contagion. Such equipment shall remain in the care of the daysider members of the party.

In any mixed team containing nightsiders, there should be one or more daysider members who voluntarily and without coercion agree to act as donor should such situations arise. Nightsiders who are assigned to a field team where such a person has not been designated may have the option of withdrawal from the team before it enters the activity area. Continued presence beyond that point constitutes acceptance of the risk.

===5B. Housing.===

In general, the housing and provision of members of a field team shall be up to the individuals in question. At all times, however, such decisions are subject to the review of the team Leader. Provision shall always be made for contact and communication by other members of the team; that is, no team member shall house himself out of contact from his team for any length of time, without the full knowledge and consent of the team Leader.

===5C. Protection.===

All members of team in the field shall be prepared to protect and defend each other from assault at any time. No team member shall refuse such aid if it is asked, unless such refusal is necessary for the completion of the team's mission, as decided by the team Leader. This includes attacks from outside the team and treacherous assaults from within.

All team members shall be defended equally, as the needs and situations of the field allow. No team member shall be considered more expendable than any other.

===5D. Independence.===

A field team is not a rigid entity; subject to commands and guidance by the team Leader, each member shall have the right to make his own decisions in the field. It is understood that independence of action is of great value in field situations, particularly when the team members know and are able to make the best use of their own strengths and weaknesses. However, wherever possible, independent action will not be undertaken unless such intent is communicated to the team leader.

===5E. Reporting.===

Information is the most valuable thing produced by field missions. It is considered vital that the fact and details of field missions shall not be lost.

To this end, it is expected that periodic passing of interim information shall occur during the mission. Responsibility for doing this shall be given to one team member, in addition to his or her other duties.

In addition, at the end of the mission, the team Leader shall be expected to prepare a written report synopsizing the events that occurred in the field. This shall be submitted to be read by his group Leader; and shall be passed along to all other groups as well.

Also, individual members of field teams should expect to be debriefed regarding their own experiences while in the field.

===5F. Field Positions===

For the most part, field jobs will be assigned as needed by the team Leader. The team Leader should offer these on the basis of ability, and should not behave preferentially according to personal bias. As with all such positions, these may be refused by the member to whom they are offered, unless such refusal will cripple the field team and there is no better alternative.

It is recommended that teams contain an assigned Second, whose job is to take the place of the team Leader should the team Leader disappear or be killed.

It is also recommended that most teams shall contain a member whose sole job shall be to collect and send away the reports on the mission, as described in 5E above. This person shall be called the Recorder, and shall not engage in any hazardous investigation or combat himself, unless the situation leaves no alternative; however, he shall at all times place himself in positions where the most information can be gained through observation without personal hazard; and shall be expected to debrief the other team members subsequent to any team actions in which the Recorder does not participate. The Recorder shall strive diligently to put together, and to communicate to the Alliance, as complete a picture of the mission activity as he is able without personally endangering the mission or the transmission of his reports. It is understood that nightsiders might not ordinarily wish to be considered for this position; but that they have the right to volunteer for it should they desire.

==Section Six. Medical.==

===6A. Wounds.===

In the event of injury, all alliance members shall be properly treated whenever and wherever possible. If wounds occur which are not treatable in the field, all effort will be made to get the wounded member to some safe place where such treatment may be performed. It is understood that no nightsider requiring medical care shall be introduced to any nonmember physician, or hospital, or placed under the care of anyone who is not either a nightsider or a member of the alliance.

Wounds shall be attended to in order of severity, and according to the availability of aid. In particular, group of origin shall not be a factor in deciding the order of treatment.

Special medical considerations with respect to the identification and treatment of wounds for the various different member groups shall be discussed more fully in the appendices of this document.

===6C. Transfusions. [sic]===

Transfusions are an emergency procedure which may become necessary in the case of extreme blood loss; this is particularly true of the nightsider members.

All groups containing nightsider members who engage in combat should arrange to carry with them equipment for performing transfusions. At least one member of each such group should be trained in the use of that equipment. The daysider members of the team shall be responsible for its transportation and upkeep.

All transfusions shall be performed by use of this equipment. In particular, at no time shall nightsiders be allowed to take blood in the natural fashion from a team member unless such equipment is damaged or otherwise unusable or unavailable.

Each mixed group containing nightsider members shall contain at least one designated donor who voluntarily allows his blood to be used in the event such transfusions become necessary.

Any other members who volunteer for this duty in need shall be allowed to proceed. Daysiders who voluntarily and without coercion wish to donate blood in the fashion natural to the nightsiders shall be allowed to do so without hindrance.

Nightsiders shall at all times be exempt from donation of blood.

===6D. Death and Coma.===

Excessive blood loss on the part of a nightsider may cause that person to sink into a very deep coma. This coma may at times seem indistinguishable from death; but it is not death. Death in nightsiders is evidenced by dissolution of the body. Until this dissolution begins, the person in question shall be considered wounded, and shall be treated accordingly. At no time should such wounded be exposed to hazardous substances or conditions, as mentioned in section Four.

Certain members of the daysider group may also evidence this sort of coma. In their case, they should be encouraged to keep breathing, et cetera, until natural function resumes. In general such attention shall be the responsibility of the daysider members of a team.

==Section Seven. Signatures.==

We, the Undersigned, having read and understood the entirety of this Document, and having agreed to uphold and defend each clause herein in both word and deed, do now with our signatures announce our membership in the Alliance herein described. We recognize that this membership is not revocable within one year's time of the initial date inscribed upon the page below; and that as members we shall be answerable to the Alliance for all acts which we may perform, knowingly or unknowingly, in violation of the clauses herein during that time.

20th December, 1928

{| class="wikitable sortable" style="width:100%"
! Daysiders !! Nightsiders
|-
| [[The Stars Are Right: The Irish Rose: Theo Weiss | Hardeen]] || Zelda
|-
| Galileo || Molly McGuire
|-
| Ariel || Hannibal King
|-
| [[The Stars Are Right: Dale Parsons | James Hunter]] || Captain Van der Veckyn
|-
| J. Brinton Rowdybush || Moth
|-
| [[The Stars Are Right: The Irish Rose: Antonio Grimaldi | Comte de la Fere]] || Fletcher Christian
|-
| Icarus || Diamond
|-
| Hippocrates || General Robert E. Lee
|-
| || Voison du Montaine
|-
| || Rudolph Valentino
|}

[[category: Documents|Nightsider Treaty]]
[[category: Daysiders|Nightsider Treaty]]
[[category: Nightsiders|Nightsider Treaty]]
[[category: Seelie Court|Nightsider Treaty]]
[[category: Unseelie Court|Nightsider Treaty]]

TheStarsAreRight:Updates

2014-01-28T22:29:09Z

Chazathoth:

[http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/TheStarsAreRight:Main_Page '''Return to Main Page''']

01/28/2014: Chaz added journal entries for [[Carl_Ellis_December_1928_-_Diary|December 1928]] to Carl Ellis Page.

01/28/2014: Chaz added journal entries for [[Carl_Ellis_Journal_January_1929|January 1929]] to Carl Ellis Page.

1/27/2014: Janyce added the following to the New York Incursion Page: [[TheStarsAreRight:Lenore_VanValkenburg_Diary|Lenore VanValkenberg Diary]], [[TheStarsAreRight:Three_Women,_No_Grave,_One_Fool|Andrew Scott Memorial]]

01/27/14: Andrew finished standardizing all the Active and Inactive Players and Important NPCs. [[TheStarsAreRight:Players_Alphabetical | Look on my works, ye mighty, and tremble!]] If I hadn't spent a week sick in bed, I'd feel kind of hollow now!

01/21/2014: Updated the active characters list with the deaths following the New York Incursion. :-(

01/15/2014: Andrew added all active and inactive (darn!) characters to the giant alphabetical list. Also created a page for books written by characters -- who wrote Pirate In My Bedchamber?

01/13/2014: Andrew standardized and tidied up the [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers|Active Players]] page as part of his ongoing love affair with tables.

01/07/2014: Added journal entries for [[Carl_Ellis_November_1928_-_Diary|November 1928]] to Carl Ellis Page.

12/28/2013 - Set up character pages for [[Antonio_Grimaldi#General_Information|Antonio Grimaldi]], cross linked character page to information at the [[The_Stars_Are_Right:_The_Irish_Rose:_Characters#Persons_of_Interest|The Irish Rose Characters Page]]. Added October 1932 [[To:_Redland_Jack_-_October_12,_1932|letter to Redland Jack]] to Antonio Grimaldi character page.

12/19/2013 - Set up, formatted and copied transcribed copies of Carl Ellis' journal entries from the Redland Jack page to the [[CARL_ELLIS_1928_DOCUMENTS|Carl Ellis 1928 Documents page]]

12/18/2013 - Completely finished Carl's journal entries (July 25 - October 10, 1928)

11/30/2013 - Finished Carl's August journal entries (1928). Added some more letters from Victor.

09/22/2013 - Added photos to [[CARL_ELLIS_BIOGRAPHY|Carl Ellis]], [[Jason_Coleman|Jason Coleman]]. Added [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Thompson.2C_Maggie|Maggie Thompson]]. Began work on the background of [[The_Penthus_Corporation|The Penthus Corporation]]

09/19/2013 - Briefly sketched out the timeline from Aug. 28 - Sep. 06, covering the last three or four sessions.

09/18/2013 - Added most of the letters sent and received by Redland Jack and Victor Grayson to their respective pages.

09/14/2013 - Separated Faction and NPC information for The Irish Rose Matter. Added portraits, where it seemed appropriate. Also bios, etc; should allow for more useful cross-referencing.

09/03/2013 - Finished up the July entries for Carl's journal. Of course, I started on July 25, so that's not overly impressive...

08/31/2013 - Started transcribing Carl's journal [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|(here)]] from the back half of 1928. Currently looks to be about Madisonville and the fallout from that.

07/07/2013 - Andrew added character pages for Candide and Michael McMann, and updated other pages accordingly. Also generated category pages for various factions affiliated with player characters within Detroit.

06/24/2013 - Added a brief (biased) summary of the last Redland Jack group (China edition) session. [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileySessionJune2013|June 2013 Session]]

06/24/2013 - Andrew made (more!) substantial revisions to the Irish Rose page.

06/13/2013 - Updated Jack's [[TheStarsAreRight:Sanity|Sanity Tracker]] and added [[TheStarsAreRight:Journal4|Another Whiny Journal Entry]]

06/11/2013 - Janyce updated the [[Cross_Reference_Index|Cross Reference Index]]

06/11/2013 - Janyce created the [[Maturine_DeBonnevault|Maturine De Bonnevault Character Page]] including biography and personal letters (and managed to misspell his first name in every instance)

06/11/2013 - Added Sophia's timeline for the Junior J-Men (and women) to the front page to make it easier to find.

06/11/2013 - Merged the Timeline and Narrative Timeline for the Irish Rose and then eliminated the Narrative Timeline.

06/11/2013 - Added Gunner "Stabby" Waa and Montgomery Scott to [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers|Active Player Characters]].

06/03/2013 - Added some [[TheStarsAreRight:VictorGraysonRuminations|Ruminations]] from Victor Grayson.

06/03/2013 - Andrew made substantial revisions to the Irish Rose page.

06/01/2013 - Updated the [[TheStarsAreRight:TheIrishRoseTimeline |Irish Rose Timeline]] and made some moves on the active/inactive members for the Rose.

04/26/2013 - Janyce created the [[Cross_Reference_Index|Cross Reference Index]], added new information about [[Steele|Steele]], added information to [[Entire Game History Time Line|Campaign Timeline]] for 1900 and 1932

04/25/2013 - Janyce added a photo of [[GREGORY_PARKHURST|Gregory Parkhurst]]

04/12/2013 - Janyce updated and extended information about [[GREGORY_PARKHURST|Gregory Parkhurst]]

04/12/2013 - John updated the Irish Rose timeline with lots of info.

11/26/2012 - Added to the Irish Rose timeline. As always, I have the best grip on what happened to my character, so if I'm missing anything, feel free to add and/or amend!

11/24/2012 - Andrew added a large stack of information to the Irish Rose page

11/14/2012 - Janyce added information to Samuel, Esther, Ruth and Adam Hopkins at [[TheStarsAreRight:OtherCharacters|Other Characters]]

06/10/2012 - Andrew spiffed up the [[The_Stars_Are_Right:_The_Irish_Rose|Irish Rose]] info, added a bunch of stuff, and posted the newspaper articles from Lovejoy.

06/10/2012 - John added a group-specific introduction and timeline to the main page for the Irish Rose game.

11/20/2011 - Created a [[TheStarsAreRight:VictorGrayson|Victor Grayson]] page.

11/20/2011 - Added characters to [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers|Active Player Characters]]. Moved characters from Active to [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers|Inactive Player Characters]].

11/20/2011 - Added the Irish Rose groups first exploits to the [[Entire Game History Time Line|Campaign Timeline]].

11/16/2011 - Added a short November session summary to [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileyInfo|Other Bailey Info]]

11/13/2011 - Added a journal entry and a conversation with Maxine Scott at the usual spot: [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|Redland Jack's page]]

11/13/2011 - Updated the [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileyTimeline|Bailey Timeline]]. I think I actually have the dates correct this time!

11/10/2011 - John added a June session summary to [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileyInfo|Other Bailey Info]]

11/09/2011 - Added excerpts from 1929 Carl Ellis [[CARL_ELLIS_1929_DOCUMENTS|Journals]]

10/26/2011 - Added information to [[The_Island_Family#References|The Island Families]]

10/26/201l - Added text of [[March_15,_1929_-_Letter_To_Carl_Ellis|letter]] from Jon Riswold to Carl Ellis - March 1929

10/26/2011 - Added the first of the [[TheStarsAreRight:Andrew_Scott|Andrew Scott]] archives, added [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Rasmul.2C_Katyana_aka_Albina_Mercade|Katyana Rasmul]] to important NPCs. Added [[Entire_Game_History_Time_Line#JUNE_1928|June 1928]] to the history time-line.

06/19/2011 - [[DIRK_MICHAELS_BIOGRAPHY|Dirk Michaels Biography]] added by Sophianna Ardinger

06/17/2011 - Added character sheet; updated 'ongoing thoughts 2' and 'sanity tracker' on [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|Redland Jack]] page. Readded link to Henrik's character sheet [[Henrik Mueller|here]].

06/15/2011 - Added substantially to the [[Terms_Used_Within_The_Campaign|Glossary]]

06/14/2011 - Added the first of articles to [[TheStarsAreRight:Newspapers|Newspapers]], and some small additions to the 1929 time line.

06/13/2011 - Added [[July_20,_1930_--_Letter_To_Alexi_Vishnevesky]] to the [[Lamont_Coleman|Lamont Coleman Archives]]

06/13/2011 - Added [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Kruglinsky.2C_Kyle|Kyle Kruginsky]], [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Vishnevesky.2C_Alexi|Alexi Vishnevesky]] and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Armstrong.2C_Jack|Jack Armstrong]] to the Inactive Players page.

06/13/2011 - Added a conversation with Maxine to the [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|Redland Jack]] page.

06/12/2011 - Added Van der Decken and Reynard to 'Important NPCs'. My descriptions are brief and I may have misspelled their names... so, job well done... (Van der Decken -- corrected to Van Der Vecken)

06/12/2011 - Updated the [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileyTimeline|Bailey Timeline]]. I think we've agreed that it is August 5, so I've mildly amended a couple of dates to be consistent with this.

06/12/2011 - Added [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers#Waters.2C_James|James Waters]] to Active Player Characters.

06/12/2011 - Added to 1928 letters section of the Carl Ellis Archives [[November_21,_1928_--_Letter_To_Hannalore_Rhyner]]

06/12/2011 - Added first of the glossary words to [[Terms_Used_Within_The_Campaign]]

06/12/2011 - Added to the letters section of the Carl Emerson Archives. [[Carl_Emerson_January_1927_-_Personal_Letters|January 1927]] and [[Carl_Emerson_May_1927_-_Personal_Letters|May 1927]]

06/01/2011 - Added [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers#Kingston.2C_Jacob_.22Deuce.22|Jacob "Deuce" Kingston]] to Active Player Characters.

05/31/2011 - Small update to notes for Redland, including [[TheStarsAreRight:ThePlan|The Redland Jack Plan]]

05/23/2011 - Added some notes from [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|Redland Jack]].

05/20/2011 - Added a conversation, updated Sanity Tracker, and updated 'Ongoing Thoughts 2' on [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|Redland Jack's page]]

05/18/2011 - Updated Important NPC page - adding Lawrence Eveling (though my description is pretty crummy).

05/18/2011 - Updated the [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileyTimeline|Bailey Timeline]]. As always, the dates may be off by a little bit.

05/18/2011 - Added Gezak and Jake to Active Player Characters. Moved Dale Parsons and Frank Pallucelli to Inactive Player Characters.

05/18/2011 - Updated - Inactive Player Characters [[Steele]], [[Entire_Game_History_Time_Line#1928|Entire Game History - 1928]]

05/14/2011 - Updated - [[Entire_Game_History_Time_Line#1929|Entire Game History]] - dates 1894, 1919. 1929

05/14/2011 - Updated Important NPC page - adding Dacia Coleman (nee Neville)

05/13/2011 - Updated Important NPC page - adding Peter Fagin

05/13/2011 - Updated Hannelore Rhyner 1929 Documents [[Hannelore_Rhyner_April_1929]]

01/21/2011 - Updated entry for Baron Hauptmann on 'Important NPCs'

01/11/2011 - Added Session Recap to Other Bailey Info, updated 'Bailey Timeline', updated 'Sanity Tracker'.

12/23/2010 - Added 'Sanity Tracker' to Redland Jack's page.

12/21/2010 - Added Session Recap and Summoning Extract to [[TheStarsAreRight:BaileyInfo|Other Bailey Info]]

12/21/2010 - Updated/Added some 'Important NPCs': Roger LaForge, Prometheus, Diana Stevenson, Petter Varr

12/21/2010 - Updated 1 'conversation' on Redland Jack's page (in bold).

12/21/2010 - Updated 'Bailey Timeline'

11/13/2010 - Added/updated 3 'conversations' on Redland's page.

10/30/2010 - Updated the 'Bailey Timeline'

10/30/2010 - Added 2 new 'conversations' to Redland's page.

10/26/2010 - Added 5 new 'conversations' to Redland's page.

09/29/2010 - Added Tsarina Ineska to 'Important NPCs', Dale Parsons to 'Active Players', and updated the 'Bailey' Timeline.

07/19/2010 - Added an extract of a letter to Redland's page. Updated Redland's stats.

07/08/2010 - Added Idrinya to 'Important NPCs'

07/01/2010 - Added Yuri to 'Important NPCs' (whether he is or not...) 

07/01/2010 - Updated 'Ongoing Thoughts 2' on the Redland Jack page (to include some new information on Donal).

06/28/2010 - Updated the 'Bailey Timeline'.

04/12/2010 - Added Father Patrick(sp) to the 'Active Players' list.

04/12/2010 - Updated the 'Bailey Timeline'. The dates there are getting really sketchy, so if I remember, I'll try to shore them up next time we meet.

03/12/2010 - Added a weak journal entry and the first part of a conversation between Carl and Redland. The usual spot, [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|here.]]

03/08/2010 - Updated the 'Bailey Timeline' [http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/TheStarsAreRight:BaileyTimeline '''here'''].
As usual, it's not a world-beater of an update, so feel free to fill it out with more details if you like.

03/06/2010 - Carl/Jack conversation finished. As usual, Carl has a lot of interesting things to say ... Redland also participates. It's pretty long, so I broke it into two pieces:

* [[TheStarsAreRight:RedlandJack|Redland Jack's page]]

After the Meeting (1st and 2nd half)

02/16/2010 - information added to the following pages:

* [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters|Important Non Player Characters]]
::Pierre Farquelle

* [[TheStarsAreRight:OtherCharacters|Other Non Player Characters]]
::Jon Riswold

:[[GAME TIME LINE 1903]]
::Added information to September
::Added information to October

:[[Jonathan Riswold October 1903]] Letter From Pierre Farquell

:[[Hannelore Rhyner January 1929 - Personal Letters]]

:[[DETAILED TIME LINE JANUARY 1929]]

[http://wiki.rpg.net/index.php/TheStarsAreRight:Main_Page '''Return to Main Page''']

Carl Ellis Journal January 1929

2014-01-28T21:54:47Z

Chazathoth: typos

[[CARL_ELLIS_1929_DOCUMENTS|Return To The Carl Ellis 1929 Documents]]

'''Tuesday, 1 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
King has made his move. Nothing unexpected in the essence -- yet somehow there is a repulsion and an abhorrence in the concrete words that I do not feel in theory.
 
A claim. Protection -- ownership -- betrothal. By right of name. He weds himself to Mrs. Williams in all but fact.
 
It is so, merely because he says so?
It is so, merely because he wishes it?
Where is the right in that? !!!
 
It is monstrous! Appalling! The essence behind what he has done! By right of name, he says; She is mine because I want her to be? The colossal GALL of him !!!
 
He calls her Medea. Why? All of his moves, even the impassioned ones, are reasoned. What the Devil is he up to? WHAT?
 
The alliance has become his tool, a means to buy him time. I begin to grimly regret starting this venture. The cost, I see now, will be very high.
 
Let us hope. Hope that that time is also ours; that the tool comes also to our hands, and that we gain commensurate to the costs. It will be difficult. Very. But I shall call him tonight -- and say nothing if he does not.
 
Softly, Carl, softly. Do not weep -- ssh! Do what you have done before: think! Feel, but understand what it is you feel!
 
Consider -- ALL of us are trapped by the Alliance, from both sides. They are as affected by King's pronouncement as we; more so, in some ways. Word is deed, to them.
 
Consider scapegoats. Pawns. Even they have homes and families. War within the Alliance will hurt them too, far more deeply than they may avoid; it will cast them out, strip them of status and security -- for even in revolt, they may not void the treaty, even if we do, even though it places them as pawns at the mercy of King's enemies.
 
Consider -- and understand why we must not rebel.
 
By right of name. Protectorship may come to King from Faigon, by way of others. But right of name? IS she really named? Did Faigon name her? Can I know? Can I ask? I will speak to Cromwell. He will know.
 
Consider, a bit more rationally, what King has said. It is not entirely "I am right because I wish it," however much it sounds that way.
 
It is, in effect, a wager. A bet -- and a dare.
 
"I want her, and I lay claim to her. I shall wager everything -- my life, my position, everything -- on that claim, and on my ability to keep it."
 
Within the Alliance, he cannot touch her. His words are empty -- so long as it exists, and we are both members. Empty to us, without deed; but an important driving goad to others! We shall have other assaults to weather too: political ones against King, from those who do not see us.
 
We are not pawns. There are yet things we can do. I have sworn to give her a watchdog; it is now time.
 
Time to call Dani? Perhaps she is best. The other alternative is ... less satisfactory.
 
Time to call King.
 
'''Wednesday, 2 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
Early morning. Soon we will take Rachel to France. I am tired, but ready. I think it will be a long day. She is excited! Ah, it is so good to see. Adam is quiet today, small wonder.
 
A line from a poem strikes me, heard or learned long ago. I do not remember the writer's name, or the body of the work, but one line remains clear:
 
"The ceremony if innocence is drowned."
 
There was more -- something about goodness being faded, weakened, and Evil filled with passion -- I wish I could remember. It seems topical just now.
 
(Yeats? "The best are something something, and the worst are filled with passionate intensity...?")
 
More, I hope, later. Time to go.
 
Late Evening, Same Day --
 
Back from France, about which more later. Cromwell talk. He convinces me that to meet with Faigon is a mistake; though he calls himself Dante and is King's foe, one of the Five. Could he be the one we seek? Uncertain -- or unlikely -- but I am told that in order to announce a prior naming, or otherwise challenge King on that basis, Dante would have to become Faigon once again -- and he is bound by nothing. No treaty, no common understanding, not necessarily his own word! A different sort of creature, one whose limits we do not know. Best not to tamper -- but to be on guard.
 
Another interesting point: it seems that FC has decided to make his own claim! He cries foul, wishes to state grievance against King! His right -- but who will judge? In any event I consider myself disqualified; but his case, what I have heard, sounds like no case at all.
 
I remain uncertain as to what my part in this ought to be; Cromwell thinks I know one thing, King tells me another, and what do they want of me? Dante was one of the Five, but now he is become Rasputin -- what then? If King is right to say he has designs on Mrs Williams, ought Cromwell not to know? How is it I found out first?
 
Cromwell's holiday must be pleasant indeed.
 
France was lovely in the snow, postcard-perfect in whites and smoke and icicles. Everything is shrouded in packed white, and there are no autos on the roads. We took a sleigh out to the House.
 
There are children everywhere. Flushed, excitable, noisy in tatterdemalion wraps and scarves, startling contrast to the serene and skeletal trees. And so many. I think they must import them for the season.
 
Rachel will get along there just fine.
 
It was sunset, more or less, when we came through. Alex has been working on the gatehouse; some of the portals have been moved to the doorways of partitioned rooms which he is building, with beds, facilities, food. I recall him mentioning this to me; safe rooms, he called them. A place to sleep, out of danger. The work is far from done, most of the rooms are unfinished, and there are a lot of tools & supplies lying around. It will be very clever when he is through.
 
Woodsmoke and cool bite of air; Christmas green and holly berries or something like them everywhere; picture book porches done up in garlands. Everybody waved hello or called out season's greetings. Rachel loved it. Eyes big as saucers, everywhere at once, torn between hiding and sitting forward for a better view.
 
The House is not so decorated, but there is a green wreath on the door, and a line of tall candlestaves to either side of the chapel walk that were not there before. I wonder what it was like here at Candlemas -- or Christmas Eve -- or Solstice? I imagine wonderful fragments, full of ancient love and ancient ritual. Someday we shall have to be here as well, to take part.
 
Full circle. The ancient ritual renewed. We put winter roses on Pierre's grave. I prayed.
 
Later, dinner. Lunch for us. Met and spoke with Bent and the tutor, whose face I shall always remember but whose name escapes me now. We discussed Rachel. Plans, methods, schooling, religion. Many things that had not occurred to me.
 
Still later, business with Bent. I brought with me a number of papers, written requests to be passed on to the attorneys. Should we need funding, it will soon be available. My visit to London next month ought to finalize things. Bank accounts, wire addresses, establishment of signature identities in three countries and under several names, with options to add. Bent seems pleased. Dunno why, it's his money I am spending!
 
Lastly, I spoke about the House, and about the Eyes that See. I was concerned that march might bring hardship here, or open conflict.
 
Sleighride back home after midnight, and here we were, sunset once again. Warmer, gusty, raining, foggy.
 
I liked France.
 

'''Thursday, 3 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
Up early today, though it is unlike me. Bought some roll paper, pens, and several small clocks. I want to have several of the recorders to ship out to King, & one to take with me when we travel. Adam can make a few more while we are gone. Everything is simple but the pens -- difficult to find the proper balance between too much ink and too little. Too much and it blotches, or runs out too fast; too little and it dries out, clogging the pen. And the assembly is sensitive to vibration -- not well suited to trasin travel at all. Lots to try yet, but only two days -- and now Clay is here.
 
Clay has agreed to take Adam with him to Mexico; maybe to Silverton afterwards. JNot too impressed with the boy's loquacity or manner though ... but Clay is quite intolerant in his way, even though he does not mean much by it. Toward Tony, though -- animosity! Why?
 
He is trying to convince me that I should leave a lot of my things behind. I suppose he is right ... sigh ... and I have come to the conclusion that Clay is one of the few who still knows nothing about Julian and I. I am torn as always, between playing it out and playing along.
 
Hm. Wonder how Carl and Alex are doing. Knorri .. brr!
 

'''Friday, 4 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
I have been thinking some more about the things I discussed with Bent. My initial reaction was to say, "Yes -- something must be done!" and prepare the place for self-sufficiency. Now I see that that will not be enough.
 
Pierre built the Estate from the ground up, with his own hands, his own insight, his own love. The House and the Village are proud and happy tributes to those things, but it is not sufficient to acknowledge the debt. It must be built upon.
 
Beginning all this is easy. Moving the funds is a start; it allows for the opening of many channels. Land; buildings; equipment -- if the gates of Hell open in a year or two, someone must be prepared to keep the mails going, and feed the hungry. We cannot do it all, even the enormous amount of money in the Estate coffers is insignificant to this much need. Perhaps Friedman will help -- if I ask him. In the event, we begin with what we have.
 
The Estate -- reopen the old outbuildings, clear some of the scrublands, prepare to buy livestock. See towards hiring an estate manager, to know and care for the place as I only wish I could, and make a place for him to live on the grounds somewhere. And prepare to learn it myself! French, for starters -- also husbandry, estate economics, oenology, politics, and people people PEOPLE! I have been handed a tremendous responsibility, but it is one that ought also to be a great joy. I do not wish to shirk it! Even if I must share the burden, and never become as well-loved as he obviously was, I shall not abandon it, no! People -- my Lord -- the lifeblood of the World Soul! What better chance to grow, to touch them?
 
In the summer I shall return here for a month or so, and we shall begin. It occurs to me that, differences aside, Adam with his quick hands and industry and Rachel with her love of growing things might each do well by helping here.
 
Let the clearing begin after harvest; let the stock and the new buildings start with Spring. Within two years, God willing, the Estate will be ready to weather the storms.
 
The Village -- Meet the important people, learn their concerns and their needs. See to the neglected things -- money, school, Church; clear the wells, build new deeper cisterns. Let the Estate buy up the fallow lands, and try to turn foreign interests over to local folks. Have a powerhouse built locally, if there is none; begin careful stockpiling of necessities such as fuel and food. Fill the cisterns. Clothing. Medicine. How many doctors do we need?
 
Discuss with Bent the possible need for armament.
 
Horses, pigs, cattle, sheep -- what works best there? Why? If the "bounty of the Mother is withdrawn," could it mean famine? Drought? What survives the best?
 
I feel like Joseph, interpreting for the Pharaoh. Joseph the Dreamer -- hmmm!
 
Elsewhere -- England is strong, so is America. Good. Stay out of Germany, it is an economic shambles. I know too little about other places.
 
America is a key! It must be -- she is the greatest threat to world-wide chaos -- the richest -- and she is self-sufficient. Much attention here!
 
Purchase land, build generators, stockpile fuel. I want radios to keep in touch if there is no other way. Supplies -- lots of them -- but this time to store. Food, drink, medicine, fuel, clothing. Gold & silver -- especially the latter! And how to do all this with as little attention as possible drawn to it? And LEGALLY! I will have no Treasury men looking for Carl Ellis, dear me no!
 
Newhaven must get the same treatment as the House needs. Speak to Straight -- how quickly may we begin? Alex & I must speak soon. Can we buy nearby farms? What about water?
 
Amûn i well cared-for; but what about the Lightbringer?
 
I am going to have a LOT to speak to Juan about, I think!
 
The list is enormous. The time required is even greater. I shall have to speak to Julian -- but more & more it seems clear that this house will not be home for much longer. Between meeting with my people and recruiting and building up the safe places I shall have to be most often zig-zagging between France and the East Coast. California is simply too far away. (Oh yes. Remember to move or duplicate the Lab.)
 
Julian? What do you want, my dear heart? Will you help me, be at my side -- can you love this work? Or are we to begin finding dissatisfaction? Will we slowly drift apart? No -- say no -- say never! But it is possible.
 
In some things it is good that I have begun already to plan ... for more than ever it is clear that, if I wish to devote myself to developing the Nation, I must relinquish in greater part my command and hold on the Army -- and I am frightened of doing so.
 
By the end of Spring, or maybe Summer. Unless something changes my mind. Unless another way is found.
 
Troublesome, this is. And frightening. But encouraging too, in a sense. The Fight is too pervasive: we shall never be able to fully protect anything from it. There is no Maginot Line, imagined or otherwise. Not yet. But this is a concrete plan for the good, something real, a chance to grow and to build. It feels ... hopeful.
 
And on that note: Two letters came today, one from Meagan, one from Franklin. Franklin's is a well-detailed report on the Ireland situation. A very good job -- I hope Andrew agrees to take it on, when he gets home. I do not wish to leave the boy waiting for word any longer than is needful.
 
Meagan's, however, is the wonderful one!
 
She is in Beirut, with her husband; and she is happy. More than that -- she seems a different woman! Something has touched her; she writes as though she has begun to see, or to think, in ways she never did before. I feel as though she has joined us at last.
 
Granted, we shall never agree on anything, God forbid! But there is a feeling of some truthfulness or insight in her letter that I had not seen. If marriage has given her this, then even if Chandler is the foullest villain, he has blessed us all in this much.
 
----
 
Somewhat later, and a new bottle of ink. The waxed-reed nibs hold the ink much better, and are not so subject to spillage. Had I the time, I might seek to compensate better for the train's motion & other shocks ... but these will have to do for a first try. Hopefully the changes in the ambient flux will be spread out over some noticeable area, so as to make the pen sweep rather than spike. That way, one may note the difference between motion and flux.
 
Telegram from Cromwell -- informs me that I may contact a man, upon my arrival East, to negotiate terms of contract. Gah. The man sounds like a Nightsider. What a dismal life he must lead, to sour him so.
 
Clay and Adam. Hmm. No natural chemistry, and worse, no real understanding. Must speak to each of them in private; but Clay must learn not to talk down to the boy so much! Adam is typically quiet -- but when they talk it still feels like abuse, however glad Adam may be to think of ge3tting away from here. Poor fellow.
 
Now it occurs to me that by turning up the gain on the difference engine, I can eliminate the motion problem! means an amplifier -- thus triodes -- thus big power supply, & split the boxes so all the iron & AC does not hurt things. Can do - must try - will report later.
 
----
 
Much later. Almost midnight. One done -- will not have time to make the ones for King. not this way. Drat. Something to lv in Adam's hands? Have to send for supplies -- mail order -- hmm. Make a list in the morning, he can finish & ship them out.
 

'''Saturday, 5 January 1929; On the Road -- '''
 
Heading south towards Bakersfield. Rather more luggage than I expected, but a good bit of it is "scientific" things for Mule's Eye. Hope the Box is all right; it is in the passenger-access section of the baggage car. Took a bit of talking to the porter to let me leave it there, as it is rather larger than the usual run of handbags -- but once I explained that it was for measuring certain aspects of the weather, and I had to be able to wind the mechanism and change the paper (and showed him) he complied readily enough. Heh. Now I feel like a spy.
 
After all this fuss I sure do hope it yields something interesting by way of results. I am jotting down arrival times and so forth in a little notebook, to match later with the paper rolls. Night time will have to fend for itself -- but the train schedules will help greatly, and it should be simple to determine how far off schedule the train is, come morning.
 
Two telephone calls this morning before we left: One from Andrew Scott, who is FINALLY back in London, and one from Lazlo, who is worried about Rebecca and all of that.
 
Andrew will speak to Franklin, and then we will see what he says about Ireland. Everything went well, he has found no signs of Avilenes, but the burned house yielded some papers which he wishes me to see. Another quote (from a third book?) and a lot of stuff about grave-robbers. Seems the Dark are trying very earnestly to find some ancient device, or perhaps someone long-dead who knows how to use it. Another, and a very powerful, Key? Or what? Intriguing, and fascinating. I cannot wait to see the papers.
 
Lazlo is concerned about Eveling. Very. He feels, perhaps rightly, that if I feel so strongly against what we are doing, perhaps it is more than just nerves. Maybe what we contemplate really IS wrong.
 
There is no way to know for certain, and someone has to take on those burdens and make those decisions. It might as well be me -- at least I know the desperate price I am paying in grief and sin and peace of mind!
 
But <<fill in notes from Lazlos' phone call here; the call was never role-played and so no notes were actually taken.>>
 
Almost six PM. Time to check the paper tape, then to dinner.
 

'''Sunday, 6 January 1929; Flagstaff, AZ -- '''
 
We are here. Not much to see of Arizona so far, but what there is is impressive in a stark sort of way. Dry, flat, with few trees and lots of ruddy tan coarse soil. Buttes and mesas loom upwards with startling abruptness, gaunt and much larger and more massive than I expected. The sense of sheer GIANTNESS surprised me; almost I feel the very earth moaning under the colossal mass of a vertical mountain. Awesome. And a bit frightening, in some creepy back-of-the-neck sort of way. It is as though I half expect them to look at me; or to begin to walk.
 
Everywhere there is a fitful, bitter wind, and a restless shroud of snow. It is COLD! I am glad of my warm clothing ... and of the comfort of this fine, though simple, hotel. Getting to the caves will be no picnic.
 
Tomorrow we catch the 10 o'clock bus north, to the town of Tuba City. Then east to Mule's Eye, and then north and north until we fall off of the world.
 
Cold. Empty. Desperate. Thank God for her.
 
One grat consolation is the Box, which seems to have picked up something at least. The tape has all sorts of fuzzy spots, and a few little spikes that are either ponic events or times when the porter walked too near the crate. Either way, a return trip along the same path would prove very revealing. If this works -- then there are an AWFUL lot of things we can learn about the structure of the Earth's ponic field! And some of them may be vitally important. If shapes like those on the covers of the Books are actually significant structures waiting to be Opened, then finding those same structures naturally occurring in the Earth's flow would be a boon to he Dark! Such places are places we might find them ... or perhaps greater locks we might use to close doors they try to open.
 
It occurs to me now that I need not make the things with the rolled paper, if there are people to travel with them. Instead, perhaps a tank circuit attached that would ignore the slow changes near towns, and catch only the spikes! Connect this to a bell or a buzzer or light; mapping crews might catch on fast! The sensors would still have to be far from the people, of course; and the box is still large and heavy; but the back of a big wagon or stakebed truck would be sufficient. With a dozen trucks and trained crews, we might have a rough force map of the USA in six months -- or one of Europe in a year! Yes! Must begin on these as soon as practicable. King will get Adam's pair, I hope, within ten days, and more can be made....
 
Have to speak to Clay, he knows lots of folks that are good at trailblazing, & making or reading maps. Hmm.... This sounds more & more like American Products Co -- An assembly shop, to turn out a few dozen of the things, ship them out and give them to the explorers -- and wasn't that Barnes fellow some sort of guide or drover? I wonder where he went. I wonder where THEY are now! Hmm, indeed!
 
A couple of hours ago, the first of two rather remarkable things happened. I had only just handed a couple of letters to the porter for mailing and returned to pack up my stuff, when I received a telepathic call from Carl ... AND from Alexander ... at the same time! Never felt its like before -- very bizarre indeed.
 
The news they brought me was sobering. The Knorri mission is over; the last known Knorri in Chicago are dead. Accident or otherwise, it is done ... they attacked the party, King set off a charge, and the things were crushed under a hundred tons of rock.
 
And all of their history with them.
 
No, not all, really. Carl says there are miles of tunnels down there, and rooms, galleries, all filled with writings and the like. An archaeological treasure trove! The two of us agree that we ought to get some university sponsorship and send teams down to photograph and preserve it all. Like Egypt in Chicago -- must not let it go ignored!!
 
The last of them, he says, were bestial. Degenerate. They no longer thought -- only acted. A sad end... though not the most tragic. Perhaps there remain others, somewhere, who still think and dream ....
 
King and Carl nearly died -- thank God for Alex! They would all be gone, if it were not for him. Must remember to properly thank him.
 

'''Later -- '''
 
The other thing. Rebecca. When we parted company: another Unfolding.
How extraordinary.
 
A unique and wonderful things, this; yet in all I am of mixed feelings about what I have learned.
 
An example of his art, I think. Gah.
 
She is beautiful, that way. Like a poisonous fish, or a waterfall -- beauty that has nothing to do with peace or repose. A symphony of scar tissue? A mosaic of miseries? Perhaps.
 
Uncounted numbers of facets; angles; delicate threads that are needle-thin, needle-sharp; yet each intertwined with the others, a Chinese puzzle that is rigid and strong. Armor. It protects well whatever is inside, IF there is anything inside; but all of the needle points are directed OUTWARDS.
 
Grim; remorseless, yet beautiful.
 
I once again am moved to question just what it is that I see ... and just what the purpose is of this creation. For creation it is, I believe, deliberate artistry, whatever its design.
 
"Stay away. Stay away. Stay away. I bite."
How lonely.
 
I note, too, my own changes, my own preoccupation. Once, the mere occurrence of the Unfolding would have been enough to transport me, unnerve me for days. Now it is what I saw, not how or why, that commands my thoughts. Have I been jaded? No indeed! The significance is not lost on me, & fascination remains; but my fascinations are merely my own -- while others' problems affect all of us.
 

'''Monday, 7 January 1929; Tuba City, AZ -- '''
 
Spent the day in a large, beaten motorbus, swaying and rattling north along a road that was at times nearly impossible to find. Light gusts and flurries of snow kept visibility down, and wisps of freezing air crept in through the cracks in the windowsills, but overall the bus was warm enough, and the snowfall never got too heavy. The three of us were comfortable enough, and the coach was far from crowded -- usually only two or three others, with room for twice as many -- but there was not much to say. I asked Clay about surveyors for the mapping parties (he suggested hiring Geology students) and commented on the similarity of what I was thinking about to the bits we know of APC. To Clay it was elementary: he has long felt sure that the APC devices and those of Maserk and Interigal were related, so the things I mentioned only clarified the issue. He believes that all of the ponic batteries and fancy locators are designed to help do in deep ocean just what I hope to do on land: Map the flows, and chart the conjunctions.
 
If it helps them find certain long-lost places of Power ... so much the better ....
 
A disquieting thought.
 
Sometime this afternoon, another telepathic message, this time from Dani: "Call me!" That's all. Well! I cannot return her "call", I do not know her well enough ... and here, on a bus, there are no regular telephones. What am I to do?
 
Well, I tried and I tried -- and in the end she obviated the difficulty by calling back, an hour or so later. She is concerned about my letter vis. Marklin and Caldwell -- it seems that Lenore's brother Roger is one of her beaux. Imagine my surprise ... I can certainly understand her distress.
 
I eased her mind somewhat, learned to my astonishment that they were introduced by Zelda (!!!) and asked her to contact Theo and to think about watchdogging Mrs. Williams. So that issue is now well in hand. I'd match Dani against a Nightsider with confidence, if I had to.
 
So -- Tuba City. Funny little town, not much here; though I seem to recall DAF saying something about owning some establishment here? It was long ago, and I forget now. Makes little difference anyway.
 
My principal concern on the long ride was for my equipment, strapped onto the top of the coach in the grip of the elements, but it all seems okay.

Carl Ellis Journal January 1929

2014-01-28T21:43:03Z

Chazathoth: Jan 1-7

[[CARL_ELLIS_1929_DOCUMENTS|Return To The Carl Ellis 1929 Documents]]

'''Tuesday, 1 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
King has made his move. Nothing unexpected in the essence -- yet somehow there is a repulsion and an abhorrence in the concrete words that I do not feel in theory.
 
A claim. Protection -- ownership -- betrothal. By right of name. He weds himself to Mrs. Williams in all but fact.
 
It is so, merely because he says so?
It is so, merely because he wishes it?
Where is the right in that? !!!
 
It is monstrous! Appalling! The essence behind what he has done! By right of name, he says; She is mine because I want her to be? The collosal GALL of him !!!
 
He calls her Medea. Why? All of his moves, even the impassioned ones, are reasoned. What the Devil is he up to? WHAT?
 
The alliance has become his tool, a means to buy him time. I begin to grimly regret starting this venture. The cost, I see now, will be very high.
 
Let us hope. Hope that that time is also ours; that the tool comes also to our hands, and that we gain commensurate to the costs. It will be difficult. Very. But I shall call him tonight -- and say nothing if he does not.
 
Softly, Carl, softly. Do not weep -- ssh! Do what you have done before: think! Feel, but understand what it is you feel!
 
Consider -- ALL of us are trapped by the Alliance, from both sides. They are as affected by King's pronouncement as we; more so, in some ways. Word is deed, to them.
 
Consider scapegoats. Pawns. Even they have homes and families. War within the Alliance will hurt them too, far more deeply than they may avoid; it will cast them out, strip them of status and security -- for even in revolt, they may not void the treaty, even if we do, even though it places them as pawns at the mercy of King's enemies.
 
Consider -- and understand why we must not rebel.
 
By right of name. Protectorship may come to King from Faigon, by way of others. But right of name? IS she really named? Did Faigon name her? Can I know? Can I ask? I will speak to Cromwell. He will know.
 
Consider, a bit more rationally, what King has said. It is not entirely "I am right because I wish it," however much it sounds that way.
 
It is, in effect, a wager. A bet -- and a dare.
 
"I want her, and I lay claim to her. I shall wager everything -- my life, my position, everything -- on that claim, and on my ability to keep it."
 
Within the Alliance, he cannot touch her. His words are empty -- so long as it exists, and we are both members. Empty to us, without deed; but an important driving goad to others! We shall have other assaults to weather too: political ones against King, from those who do not see us.
 
We are not pawns. There are yet things we can do. I have sworn to give her a watchdog; it is now time.
 
Time to call Dani? Perhaps she is best. The other alternative is ... less satisfactory.
 
Time to call King.
 
'''Wednesday, 2 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
Early morning. Soon we will take Rachel to France. I am tired, but ready. I think it will be a long day. She is excited! Ah, it is so good to see. Adam is quiet today, small wonder.
 
A line from a poem strikes me, heard or learned long ago. I do not remember the writer's name, or the body of the work, but one line remains clear:
 
"The ceremony if innocence is drowned."
 
There was more -- something about goodness being faded, weakened, and Evil filled with passion -- I wish I could remember. It seems topical just now.
 
(Yeats? "The best are something something, and the worst are filled with passionate intensity...?")
 
More, I hope, later. Time to go.
 
Late Evening, Same Day --
 
Back from France, about which more later. Cromwell talk. He convinces me that to meet with Faigon is a mistake; though he calls himself Dante and is King's foe, one of the Five. Could he be the one we seek? Uncertain -- or unlikely -- but I am told that in order to announce a prior naming, or otherwise challenge King on that basis, Dante would have to become Faigon once again -- and he is bound by nothing. No treaty, no common understanding, not necessarily his own word! A different sort of creature, one whose limits we do not know. Best not to tamper -- but to be on guard.
 
Another interesting point: it seems that FC has decided to make his own claim! He cries foul, wishes to state grievance against King! His right -- but who will judge? In any event I consider myself disqualified; but his case, what I have heard, sounds like no case at all.
 
I remain uncertain as to what my part in this ought to be; Cromwell thinks I know one thing, King tells me another, and what do they want of me? Dante was one of the Five, but now he is become Rasputin -- what then? If King is right to say he has designs on Mrs Williams, ought Cromwell not to know? How is it I found out first?
 
Cromwell's holiday must be pleasant indeed.
 
France was lovely in the snow, postcard-perfect in whites and smoke and icicles. Everything is shrouded in packed white, and there are no autos on the roads. We took a sleigh out to the House.
 
There are children everywhere. Flushed, excitable, noisy in tatterdemalion wraps and scarves, startling contrast to the serene and skeletal trees. And so many. I think they must import them for the season.
 
Rachel will get along there just fine.
 
It was sunset, more or less, when we came through. Alex has been working on the gatehouse; some of the portals have been moved to the doorways of partitioned rooms which he is building, with beds, facilities, food. I recall him mentioning this to me; safe rooms, he called them. A place to sleep, out of danger. The work is far from done, most of the rooms are unfinished, and there are a lot of tools & supplies lying around. It will be very clever when he is through.
 
Woodsmoke and cool bite of air; Christmas green and holly berries or something like them everywhere; picture book porches done up in garlands. Everybody waved hello or called out season's greetings. Rachel loved it. Eyes big as saucers, everywhere at once, torn between hiding and sitting forward for a better view.
 
The House is not so decorated, but there is a green wreath on the door, and a line of tall candlestaves to either side of the chapel walk that were not there before. I wonder what it was like here at Candlemas -- or Christmas Eve -- or Solstice? I imagine wonderful fragments, full of ancient love and ancient ritual. Someday we shall have to be here as well, to take part.
 
Full circle. The ancient ritual renewed. We put winter roses on Pierre's grave. I prayed.
 
Later, dinner. Lunch for us. Met and spoke with Bent and the tutor, whose face I shall always remember but whose name escapes me now. We discussed Rachel. Plans, methods, schooling, religion. Many things that had not occurred to me.
 
Still later, business with Bent. I brought with me a number of papers, written requests to be passed on to the attorneys. Should we need funding, it will soon be available. My visit to London next month ought to finalize things. Bank accounts, wire addresses, establishment of signature identities in three countries and under several names, with options to add. Bent seems pleased. Dunno why, it's his money I am spending!
 
Lastly, I spoke about the House, and about the Eyes that See. I was concerned that march might bring hardship here, or open conflict.
 
Sleighride back home after midnight, and here we were, sunset once again. Warmer, gusty, raining, foggy.
 
I liked France.
 

'''Thursday, 3 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
Up early today, though it is unlike me. Bought some roll paper, pens, and several small clocks. I want to have several of the recorders to ship out to King, & one to take with me when we travel. Adam can make a few more while we are gone. Everything is simple but the pens -- difficult to find the proper balance between too much ink and too little. Too much and it blotches, or runs out too fast; too little and it dries out, clogging the pen. And the assembly is sensitive to vibration -- not well suited to trasin travel at all. Lots to try yet, but only two days -- and now Clay is here.
 
Clay has agreed to take Adam with him to Mexico; maybe to Silverton afterwards. JNot too impressed with the boy's loquacity or manner though ... but Clay is quite intolerant in his way, even though he does not mean much by it. Toward Tony, though -- animosity! Why?
 
He is trying to convince me that I should leave a lot of my things behind. I suppose he is right ... sigh ... and I have come to the conclusion that Clay is one of the few who still knows nothing about Julian and I. I am torn as always, between playing it out and playing along.
 
Hm. Wonder how Carl and Alex are doing. Knorri .. brr!
 

'''Friday, 4 January 1929; Home -- '''
 
I have been thinking some more about the things I discussed with Bent. My initial reaction was to say, "Yes -- something must be done!" and prepare the place for self-sufficiency. Now I see that that will not be enough.
 
Pierre built the Estate from the ground up, with his own hands, his own insight, his own love. The House and the Village are proud and happy tributes to those things, but it is not sufficient to acknowledge the debt. It must be built upon.
 
Beginning all this is easy. Moving the funds is a start; it allows for the opening of many channels. Land; buildings; equipment -- if the gates of Hell open in a year or two, someone must be prepared to keep the mails going, and feed the hungry. We cannot do it all, even the enormous amount of money in the Estate coffers is insignificant to this much need. Perhaps Friedman will help -- if I ask him. In the event, we begin with what we have.
 
The Estate -- reopen the old outbuildings, clear some of the scrublands, prepare to buy livestock. See towards hiring an estate manager, to know and care for the place as I only wish I could, and make a place for him to live on the grounds somewhere. And prepare to learn it myself! French, for starters -- also husbandry, estate economics, oenology, politics, and people people PEOPLE! I have been handed a tremendous responsibility, but it is one that ought also to be a great joy. I do not wish to shirk it! Even if I must share the burden, and never become as well-loved as he obviously was, I shall not abandon it, no! People -- my Lord -- the lifeblood of the World Soul! What better chance to grow, to touch them?
 
In the summer I shall return here for a month or so, and we shall begin. It occurs to me that, differences aside, Adam with his quick hands and industry and Rachel with her love of growing things might each do well by helping here.
 
Let the clearing begin after harvest; let the stock and the new buildings start with Spring. Within two years, God willing, the Estate will be ready to weather the storms.
 
The Village -- Meet the important people, learn their concerns and their needs. See to the neglected things -- money, school, Church; clear the wells, build new deeper cisterns. Let the Estate buy up the fallow lands, and try to turn foreign interests over to local folks. Have a powerhouse built locally, if there is none; begin careful stockpiling of necessities such as fuel and food. Fill the cisterns. Clothing. Medicine. How many doctors do we need?
 
Discuss with Bent the possible need for armament.
 
Horses, pigs, cattle, sheep -- what works best there? Why? If the "bounty of the Mother is withdrawn," could it mean famine? Drought? What survives the best?
 
I feel like Joseph, interpreting for the Pharaoh. Joseph the Dreamer -- hmmm!
 
Elsewhere -- England is strong, so is America. Good. Stay out of Germany, it is an economic shambles. I know too little about other places.
 
America is a key! It must be -- she is the greatest threat to world-wide chaos -- the richest -- and she is self-sufficient. Much attention here!
 
Purchase land, build generators, stockpile fuel. I want radios to keep in touch if there is no other way. Supplies -- lots of them -- but this time to store. Food, drink, medicine, fuel, clothing. Gold & silver -- especially the latter! And how to do all this with as little attneion as possible drawn to it? And LEGALLY! I will have no Treasury men looking for Carl Ellis, dear me no!
 
Newhaven must get the same treatment as the House needs. Speak to Straight -- how quickly may we begin? Alex & I must speak soon. Can we buy nearby farms? What about water?
 
Amûn i well cared-for; but what about the Lightbringer?
 
I am going to have a LOT to speak to Juan about, I think!
 
The list is enormous. The time required is even greater. I shall have to speak to Julian -- but more & more it seems clear that this house will not be home for much longer. Between meeting with my people and recruiting and building up the safe places I shall have to be most often zig-zagging between France and the East Coast. California is simply too far away. (Oh yes. Remember to move or duplicate the Lab.)
 
Julian? What do you want, my dear heart? Will you help me, be at my side -- can you love this work? Or are we to begin finding dissatisfaction? Will we slowly drift apart? No -- say no -- say never! But it is possible.
 
In some things it is good that I have begun already to plan ... for more than ever it is clear that, if I wish to devote myself to developing the Nation, I must relinquish in greater part my command and hold on the Army -- and I am frightened of doing so.
 
By the end of Spring, or maybe Summer. Unless something changes my mind. Unless another way is found.
 
Troublesome, this is. And frightening. But encouraging too, in a sense. The Fight is too pervasive: we shall never be able to fully protect anything from it. There is no Maginot Line, imagined or otherwise. Not yet. But this is a concrete plan for the good, something real, a chance to grow and to build. It feels ... hopeful.
 
And on that note: Two letters came today, one from Meagan, one from Franklin. Franklin's is a well-detailed report on the Ireland situation. A very good job -- I hope Andrew agrees to take it on, when he gets home. I do not wish to leave the boy waiting for word any longer than is needful.
 
Meagan's, however, is the wonderful one!
 
She is in Beirut, with her husband; and she is happy. More than that -- she seems a different woman! Something has touched her; she writes as though she has begun to see, or to think, in ways she never did before. I feel as though she has joined us at last.
 
Granted, we shall never agree on anything, God forbid! But there is a feeling of some truthfulness or insight in her letter that I had not seen. If marriage has given her this, then even if Chandler is the foullest villain, he has blessed us all in this much.
 
----
 
Somewhat later, and a new bottle of ink. The waxed-reed nibs hold the ink much better, and are not so subject to spillage. Had I the time, I might seek to compensate better for the train's motion & other shocks ... but these will have to do for a first try. Hopefully the changes in the ambient flux will be spread out over some noticeable area, so as to make the pen sweep rather than spike. That way, one may note the difference between motion and flux.
 
Telegram from Cromwell -- informs me that I may contact a man, upon my arrival East, to negotiate terms of contract. Gah. The man sounds like a Nightsider. What a dismal life he must lead, to sour him so.
 
Clay and Adam. Hmm. No natural chemistry, and worse, no real understanding. Must speak to each of them in private; but Clay must learn not to talk down to the boy so much! Adaqm is typically quiet -- but when they talk it still feels like abuse, however glad Adam may be to think of ge3tting away from here. Poor fellow.
 
Now it occurs to me that by turning up the gain on the difference engine, I can eliminate the motion problem! means an amplifier -- thus triodes -- thus big power supply, & split the boxes so all the iron & AC does not hurt things. Can do - must try - will report later.
 
----
 
Much later. Almost midnight. One done -- will not have time to make the ones for King. not this way. Drat. Something to lv in Adam's hands? Have to send for supplies -- mail order -- hmm. Make a list in the morning, he can finish & ship them out.
 

'''Saturday, 5 January 1929; On the Road -- '''
 
Heading south towards Bakersfield. Rather more luggage than I expected, but a good bit of it is "scientific" things for Mule's Eye. Hope the Box is all right; it is in the passenger-access section of the baggage car. Took a bit of talking to the porter to let me leave it there, as it is rather larger than the usual run of handbags -- but once I explained that it was for measuring certain aspects of the weather, and I had to be able to wind the mechanism and change the paper (and showed him) he complied readily enough. Heh. Now I feel like a spy.
 
After all this fuss I sure do hope it yields something interesting by way of results. I am jotting down arrival times and so forth in a little notebook, to match later with the paper rolls. Night time will have to fend for itself -- but the train schedules will help greatly, and it should be simple to determine how far off schedule the train is, come morning.
 
Two telephone calls this morning before we left: One from Andrew Scott, who is FINALLY back in London, and one from Lazlo, who is worried about Rebecca and all of that.
 
Andrew will speak to franklin, and then we will see what he says about Ireland. Everything went well, he has found no signs of Avilenes, but the burned house yielded some papers which he wishes me to see. Another quote (from a third book?) and a lot of stuff about grave-robbers. Seems the Dark are trying very earnestly to find some ancient device, or perhaps someone long-dead who knows how to use it. Another, and a very powerful, Key? Or what? Intriguing, and fascinating. I canot wait to see the papers.
 
Lazlo is concerned about Eveling. Very. He feels, perhaps rightly, that if I feel so strongly against what we are doing, perhaps it is more than just nerves. Maybe what we contemplate really IS wrong.
 
There is no way to know for certain, and someone has to take on those burdens and make those decisions. It might as well be me -- at least I know the desperate price I am paying in grief and sin and peace of mind!
 
But <<fill in notes from Lazlos' phone call here; the call was never role-played and so no notes were actually taken.>>
 
Almost six PM. Time to check the paper tape, then to dinner.
 

'''Sunday, 6 January 1929; Flagstaff, AZ -- '''
 
We are here. Not much to see of Arizona so far, but what there is is impressive in a stark sort of way. Dry, flat, with few trees and lots of ruddy tan coarse soil. Buttes and mesas loom upwards with startling abruptness, gaunt and much larger and more massive than I expected. The sense of sheer GIANTNESS surprised me; almost I feel the very earth moaning under the collosal mass of a vertical mountain. Awesome. And a bit frightening, in some creepy back-of-the-neck sort of way. It is as though I half expect them to look at me; or to begin to walk.
 
Everywhere there is a fitful, bitter wind, and a restless shroud of snow. It is COLD! I am glad of my warm clothing ... and of the comfort of this fine, though simple, hotel. Getting to the caves will be no picnic.
 
Tomorrow we catch the 10 o'clock bus north, to the town of Tuba City. Then east to Mule's Eye, and then north and north until we fall off of the world.
 
Cold. Empty. Desperate. Thank God for her.
 
One grat consolation is the Box, which seems to have picked up something at least. The tape has all sorts of fuzzy spots, and a few little spikes that are either ponic events or times when the porter walked too near the crate. Either way, a return trip along the same path would prove very revealing. If this works -- then there are an AWFUL lot of things we can learn about the structure of the Earth's ponic field! And some of them may be vitally important. If shapes like those on the covers of the Books are actually significant structures waiting to be Opened, then finding those same structures naturally occurring in the Earth's flow would be a boon to he Dark! Such places are places we might find them ... or perhaps greater locks we might use to close doors they try to open.
 
It occurs to me now that I need not make the things with the rolled paper, if there are people to travel with them. Instead, perhaps a tank circuit attached that would ignore the slow changes near towns, and catch only the spikes! Connect this to a bell or a buzzer or light; mapping crews might catch on fast! The sensors would still have to be far from the people, of course; and the box is still large and heavy; but the back of a big wagon or stakebed truck would be sufficient. With a dozen trucks and trained crews, we might have a rough force map of the USA in six months -- or one of Europe in a year! Yes! Must begin on these as soon as practicable. King will get Adam's pair, I hope, within ten days, and more can be made....
 
Have to speak to Clay, he knows lots of folks that are good at trailblazing, & making or reading maps. Hmm.... This sounds more & more like American Products Co -- An assembly shop, to turn out a few dozen of the things, ship them out and give them to the explorers -- and wasn't that Barnes fellow some sort of guide or drover? I wonder where he went. I wonder where THEY are now! Hmm, indeed!
 
A couple of hours ago, the first of two rather remarkable things happened. I had only just handed a couple of letters to the porter for mailing and returned to pack up my stuff, when I received a telepathic call from Carl ... AND from Alexander ... at the same time! Never felt its like before -- very bizarre indeed.
 
The news they brought me was sobering. The Knorri mission is over; the last known Knorri in Chicago are dead. Accident or otherwise, it is done ... they attacked the party, King set off a charge, and the things were crushed under a hundred tons of rock.
 
And all of their history with them.
 
No, not all, really. Carl says there are miles of tunnels down there, and rooms, galleries, all filled with writings and the like. An archaeological treasure trove! The two of us agree that we ought to get some university sponsorship and send teams down to photograph and preserve it all. Like Egypt in Chicago -- must not let it go ignored!!
 
The last of them, he says, were bestial. Degenerate. They no longer thought -- only acted. A sad end... though not the most tragic. Perhaps there remain others, somewhere, who still think and dream ....
 
King and Carl nearly died -- thank God for Alex! They would all be gone, if it were not for him. Must remember to properly thank him.
 

'''Later -- '''
 
The other thing. Rebecca. When we parted company: another Unfolding.
How extraordinary.
 
A unique and wonderful things, this; yet in all I am of mixed feelings about what I have learned.
 
An example of his art, I think. Gah.
 
She is beautiful, that way. Like a poisonous fish, or a waterfall -- beauty that has nothing to do with peace or repose. A symphony of scar tissue? A mosaic of miseries? Perhaps.
 
Uncounted numbers of facets; angles; delicate threads that are needle-thin, needle-sharp; yet each intertwined with the others, a Chinese puzzle that is rigid and strong. Armor. It protects well whatever is inside, IF there is anything inside; but all of the needle points are directed OUTWARDS.
 
Grim; remorseless, yet beautiful.
 
I once again am moved to question just what it is that I see ... and just what the purpose is of this creation. For creation it is, I believe, deliberate artistry, whatever its design.
 
"Stay away. Stay away. Stay away. I bite."
How lonely.
 
I note, too, my own changes, my own preoccupation. Once, the mere occurrence of the Unfolding would have been enough to transport me, unnerve me for days. Now it is what I saw, not how or why, that commands my thoughts. Have I been jaded? No indeed! The significance is not lost on me, & fascination remains; but my fascinations are merely my own -- while others' problems affect all of us.
 

'''Monday, 7 January 1929; Tuba City, AZ -- '''
 
Spent the day in a large, beaten motorbus, swaying and rattling north along a road that was at times nearly impossible to find. Light gusts and flurries of snow kept visibility down, and wisps of freezing air crept in through the cracks in the windowsills, but overall the bus was warm enough, and the snowfall never got too heavy. The three of us were comfortable enough, and the coach was far from crowded -- usually only two or three others, with room for twice as many -- but there was not much to say. I asked Clay about surveyors for the mapping parties (he suggested hiring Geology students) and commented on the similarity of what I was thinking about to the bits we know of APC. To Clay it was elementary: he has long felt sure that the APC devices and those of Maserk and Interigal were related, so the things I mentioned only clarified the issue. He believes that all of the ponic batteries and fancy locators are designed to help do in deep ocean just what I hope to do on land: Map the flows, and chart the conjunctions.
 
If it helps them find certain long-lost places of Power ... so much the better ....
 
A disquieting though.
 
Sometime this afternoon, another telepathic message, this time from Dani: "Call me!" That's all. Well! I cannot return her "call", I do not know her well enough ... and here, on a bus, there are no regular telephones. What am I to do?
 
Well, I tried and I tried -- and in the end she obviated the difficulty by calling back, an hour or so later. She is concerned about my letter vis. Marklin and Caldwell -- it seems that Lenore's brother Roger is one of her beaux Imagine my surprise ... I can certainly understand her distress.
 
I eased her mind somewhat, learned to my astonishment that they were introduced by Zelda (!!!) and asked her to contact Theo and to think about watchdogging Mrs. Williams. So that issue is now well in hand. I'd match Dani against a Nightsider with confidence, if I had to.
 
So -- Tuba City. Funny little town, not much here; though I seem to recall DAF saying something about owning some establishment here? It was long ago, and I forget now. Makes little difference anyway.
 
My principal concern on the long ride was for my equipment, strapped onto the top of the coach in the grip of the Elements, but it all seems okay.

CARL ELLIS 1929 DOCUMENTS

2014-01-28T21:33:20Z

Chazathoth:

[[Carl_Ellis|Return To the Carl Ellis Archives]]

== 1929 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1928 through December 1928.

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

===[[Carl Ellis Journal January 1929|JANUARY 1929 JOURNAL]]===

===[[Carl Ellis Journal February 1929|FEBRUARY 1929 JOURNAL]]===

===[[Carl Ellis Journal March 1929|MARCH 1929 JOURNAL]]===

Carl Ellis Journal 1929

2014-01-28T21:32:50Z

Chazathoth: Chazathoth moved page Carl Ellis Journal 1929 to Carl Ellis Journal February 1929: Misnamed; contains only Feb 1929 journal entries.

#REDIRECT [[Carl Ellis Journal February 1929]]

Carl Ellis Journal February 1929

2014-01-28T21:32:50Z

Chazathoth: Chazathoth moved page Carl Ellis Journal 1929 to Carl Ellis Journal February 1929: Misnamed; contains only Feb 1929 journal entries.

[[CARL_ELLIS_1929_DOCUMENTS|Return To The Carl Ellis 1929 Documents]]

'''Wednesday, 27 February 1929 -- Wisphers Estate - Chalone-Sur-Saone, France'''

Goodbye [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Emerson.2C_Carl|Carl]]. In a few minutes we shall be leaving for the funeral, and I shall have to say goodbye once and for all to a very dear friend.

 It seems as though, in some ways, his death has not been official until now. Not final. In my heart, like [[TheStarsAreRight:OtherCharacters#Zelda aka Miranda|Zelda]], I have waited near the coffin, searching for some sign or signal, some hint of motion or return. Now that is done with. In an hour, two, he will be placed forever in the vault of the dead. The door will be closed, and it will be finished.

 Let the record show that I miss my friend. I loved him, and he is gone. So bright, so agile, so beautiful in his daring... now I am Daedalus, watching my glorious Icarus fall helplessly to the sea. There is no fault to be taken, no one to blame, yet he went forth for me, for our common dream, and died.

 It is a bitter thing.

 The day has been hushed, overly still. Everyone waits for the evening, for the end. So many of them. Even [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Cromwell.2C_Jonathan|Cromwell]] will attend. Even [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers#White.2C_Andrew|Andrew White]], who left his home in Cuba the moment he read my letter, and has only now arrived. A heroic testimonial.

 After the service we will come here. I hope it will not be so quiet and sad, then. This could be another Gathering; yet everyone is alone within themselves.

 I am ready to move on, though setting aside my mourning will be no small task. A small space of grief inside -- it colours everything in the world.

 The cars are here. It is time. I do not think I will write again to-night.

'''Thursday, 28 February 1929 -- On a Train -'''

 We are off again. The two of us, [[TheStarsAreRight:ActivePlayers#Grimaldi.2C_Antonio|Tony]], [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Stanton.2C_Alexandria_Elyse_.28nee_Durrell.29|Alexandria]], and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Lameroux.2CCarole|Miss Lamoreaux]], who will be leaving us in Paris. The rest of us are off for London.

 Miss Carole, it seems, took train with us this morning with the express purpose of speaking to me. She had a great may questions, which I have answered as I could, and a problem or two of her own.

 Another receptacle? If true, engendered in Cuba. Ai! What is happening to us? Is there not one of us who is to be left alone, rather than playing pawn to something else? MADDENING! Each of us tainted by the Other - for good or ill - even myself - and to what purpose? Who is human, anymore?

 The term 'innocents' takes on a new and ominous meaning ... one that chills me quietly with dread. What will we become, when the smoke clears?

God in Man in God. Avatar as Apotheosis.
Ripples. Unity. The 'Fate Factor.'
Being as Essence. Perception as Life.

 ''--WHAT?''

 Muddle, muddle! Taste on the tongue, but it has no FORM! Touch, and touch again, with the [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Islie.2C_Goddard_.28The_Dark_Man.29|Black Man]], and [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Eveling.2C_Loren|Loren]], and the [[The_Island_Family|Lady]] - dreams and crystal Vision - the Sign of Despair, the blind glory of Inside Out - but what what WHAT DOES IT SIGNIFY?

 Blast. Beat my head on a rocky ground, there is nothing but confusion here! Oh, the taste of it, the Touch; and then it slips between the fingers like water, like weaving sunbeams into lace. A grinding angry frustration grips. What are we for?

 Something of ethics and essence, too, I can feel it. If we insist on merely fighting the war, we lose! There is a change that must sweep through us - a thing inside! How to show it? How?

 Change. Growth. Desperation. Resolve. Hunted, we are strong. Victorious, we become weak. No? Yes - but incomplete. "The ceremony of innocence is drowned."

 Ascetics/discipline/mastery. Puritanism - no - yet there is a strength there. Feel it: the delicate balance, cycle between sloth and starvation - see? Why is it that people who are well on the road to a thing step aside, lose the way, become confused in their plethora? Abundance does not cause sloth or laziness - but see how often they arise in plenty! Not penury, not luxury: Balance. I have been so busy seeking that I have forgot to live. It blinds me.

 Oh, the maddening fragments! I want to cry, to throw stones, to pace frantically! The vision returns, I can feel it, it is back - yet it waltzes at the edges of my thoughts, sneakily. Enough.

 ''Later'' -- Tirade over. I felt a need to race about for a while, so I did. I think [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Ellis.2C_Julian_.28nee_Foundry.29|Julian]] is confused by this erratic vehemence; it is compounded of frustration, trepidation about the coming sortie, and a very singular taste of that feeling of something RIGHT impending that I have not felt in any amount for some time. Now I must accept it, let it stew a bit, and in a day or a week perhaps a notion will grow whole.

 Miss Carole leaves us in an hour. Paris. A change of trains, then onward. She will return to the House for a bit, to study a few things, then she is bound for New Orleans with a cheque in her pocket, ready to find me a house to build upon. I am eager to see what she will do there; for one of her race the commission I have set will not be simple.

 A forge of necessity. Hmm.

 Freedom, hah! A new journal; pages stretching endlessly before me; watch me ramble! I am tired; last night went very late.

 Discussion. These are not merely ramblings, there is some murky picture behind them, pressing hard to be seen. Unfortunately, I have no clear idea of how to pursue the thing, or of where it leads.

 The core of the visible part seems to be the notion that, however necessary (or otherwise) fighting the War may be, that road cannot and will not lead to total victory. Conflict and confrontation may slow them, divert them, buy time for us and the innocent world (though at what cost?) but a chance path to the end of the conflict will come from a different direction entirely. Some sort of inward change, a leap of perspective or faith or discovery that will touch, bind, and unite us in some way I do not yet grasp. I feel echoes of the thing, sometimes; dim whispers of an exalted rightness that urge me toward joyous wonder and leave me shaken when they pass; but not yet any way to give shape to the feeling, or to pass it on to others.

 The second part is this concept of BEING. To BE is to do; if I can only find and embody the elusive thing sufficiently within myself, will the others not feel it, see it too? Yet it is not a code of behaviour, this I am sure -- it is something deeper, more intimate and pervasive. To be a teacher, one must merely teach; to be a Teacher, one must inspire.

 The third thing is all caught up in the concepts of Fate, or Ripples, or the Hand of God as an active, moving principle. These on the one hand, the Unity and the binding nature of Power on the other. It is all one thing -- two sides of a mirror. The first makes the second necessary; the second makes the first possible. So then, what? Is there a "guiding hand"? I know of one: the Dance. The further one is along one's Path, the less "blind" he becomes -- or is 'blind' the right word? Say rather he knows the right way to move, perhaps without even knowing that he knows. Yet, it seems there is a difference between knowing and the sense of being driven. I do not know; perhaps it is more a case of 'necessary opportunity.' Let this one rest a while.

 The fourth. God in Man in God;, and Receptacles. This touches all the other points in one way or another. Given the rest, i.e., the guiding hand, the exaltation of being and so forth, how does one reconcile this with the fact that more and more of us are being tainted by the alien? What Path does one follow, then one is no longer fully human? And IS THIS SIGNIFICANT, this taint, this spread of difference? Is it a good thing or a bad one, regardless of its danger to us? "You will put your worlds before the others" -- what does it mean? What does it portend? Are we in gravest danger? Or unknowingly granted a gift of great price?

 Fifth. Magic. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Witches and magicians are assumed evil throughout the classical texts. Why? Often they seem merely proud and self-interested. Waite says it is because a sorcerer places his own interests before God's, and seeks to force his will upon the natural world. Perhaps he is right ... or perhaps that is merely an outgrowth of the common conception of magic as a secret hidden knowledge that makes it seem so. In any event, sorcerers are always pictured as either a) Solitary and selfish, or b) in servile thrall to demons or Satanic forces. The occasional references to "good wizards" would appear to be a modern idea, at least in the West, and the message there is muddled. Hmm.

 Priests are a different story, are they not? But there are god priests, and evil priests, and the distinctions blur again. [[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Farquell.2C_Pierre|Pierre]] was a priest; was he a good priest? I like to think so. But what about the Black Man? What about him? "The physical reality of God upon the Earth" -- eesh! Where does priesthood stop and sorcery begin, regardless of good and evil? And what about the others? The Templars, who reportedly worshiped mummified heads? Or the Inquisitors who hunted down and destroyed them with an unbelievably vicious fervor? What about Gootes, whose Daemonolatria describes with perverse avidness each vileness performed by the fiends? Or Spencer and Kramer, whose eagerness to describe the proper ways to torture a witch is nothing less than lustful? Shape of Evil, indeed! The Malleus is nasty! Yet, in their defense, hey were not priests but bounty hunters. It is the men who hired them that I despise.

---

 Two classes filled so far. Tony/Alexandria/[[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Hollyfeldt.2C_Lazlo|Lazlo]]/White is the first, and [[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Chase.2C_Alexander|Alex]]/[[TheStarsAreRight:ImportantNonCharacters#Mueller.2C_Rebecca_.28nee_Hopkins.29|Rebecca]]/[[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Scott.2C_Franklin|Franklin]]/[[TheStarsAreRight:InactivePlayers#Parsons.2C_Dale|Dale]] (hopefully) the second. That is, if he is willing; we have been out of touch for a while, though his reports so far are very interesting. The third class may have to wait until after Gathering if the proper mixture of people is not forthcoming.

 Theo will be joining us more fully then. Hmm.
 Paris is outside my window.
 Awful thought: What if the choice of 'Them or Us' is more real than we have dreamed? What if it must be either their Receptacle or ours on the crossing points, when the gates open and the Time arrives? Brr!

CARL ELLIS 1929 DOCUMENTS

2014-01-28T21:31:51Z

Chazathoth:

[[Carl_Ellis|Return To the Carl Ellis Archives]]

== 1929 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1928 through December 1928.

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

===[[Carl Ellis Journal January 1929|JANUARY 1929 JOURNAL]]===

===[[Carl Ellis Journal 1929|FEBRUARY 1929 JOURNAL]]===

===[[Carl Ellis Journal March 1929|MARCH 1929 JOURNAL]]===

Carl Ellis December 1928 - Diary

2014-01-28T21:26:02Z

Chazathoth: Added Dec 22-31

[[Carl_Ellis_December_1928|Return to the Carl Ellis December 1928 Archives]]

[[CARL_ELLIS_1928_DOCUMENTS|Return To the Carl Ellis 1928 Archives]]

Note: additional information for clarification has been added in italicized ( )

'''''Saturday, 1 December 1928; At Home --''''' 
Quietly busy ... and a few things are starting to move. Received King's last package today, full of responses to my most recent offering. I was interested to see how this stuff would go over, as it contains those amendments made as a result of the Gathering. Now I have my answer.
 
King sends me a long list of objections and corrections. Some are his, some are the others'. I have been impressed with two things about this list: how many more items were on there than I expected, and how trivial they were, by and large.
 
The Nightsiders are hairsplitters.
 
I suppose I have known that since our last face-to-face meeting.... but it has been impressed upon me once again. There are elements of ritual in all of their speech, their writing, that must be observed if they are to be understood. Such a curious phenomenon: it is as though the thing which gives them life, the Condition, whatever lies behind and supports the mask, has no real intelligence or understanding of its own -- as if it is only the mask which can think or deduce intuitively.
 
Imagine. To have a mind, perceptions, desires ... but no thought, no intelligence, and little memory to provide continuity. No wonder they need the masks so!
 
It may be thought of, in a sense, as the same sort of communications problem as that of exchange with the powerself. The Nightsiders are hybrid creatures ... and the mask is the part that thinks and remembers; it is subordinate to the part that lives, which is little more than a beast!
 
That is an important element of the King's proposal, in my estimation: it is a way to give the man supremacy over the beast some of the time.
 
We, however, must do our part as well. We must learn the signals and rituals that the beast understands. Only in this way will we truly be understood -- for in the elders, no doubt only the beasts' needs are of value.
 
I shall have to speak to Carl. He will need to learn -- and then to teach us all -- the ritual and language of the others.
 
Good! A purpose. !important. Salvation?
 
...So I have King's list. It will not, I think,m take me more than a day or two to re-draft my response ... and then we will be ready. We may be able to move up the date! I should like to see Mrs. Williams free by Christmas; I shall call king tomorrow, or the next day, and see if this is possible. Then we shall begin.
 
Received a call from Carl yesterday. (Wish I had known about the Treaty stuff then!) He telephoned me to ask if there was anyone available to help Franklin Scott (of all people!) on some kind of archaeological dig in Ireland. Unfortunately, most folk are busy or out of touch for the moment, and will be until the new year or so.
 
Maybe we can discuss it at the Signing.
 
For the interim, I told Carl to send me the details and I would distribute them as I could.
 
I Visited the house yesterday too. After my Visits to the Estate and Amûn, I thought it might be interesting, with a different perspective. It was.
 
The house is easier to find, now, since I know what I am looking for. The signs of its adult form are clear to see ... but that maturity is yet far away. Channels and structures have been created,m within the house, but the Wellspring flux is not yet "trained" sufficiently into them. The paths that will one day be solid arabesques of shining light are now merely brighter regions within a dimmer fog.
 
This child is very young.
 
Stupid, too. And awfully self-centered. What little awareness there is, is of the house. Not the contents, never the grounds. The only real recognizable "structure" that is already present is the barrier. And even that is tissue-thin.
 
Maybe we ought to call the house "Big Peanut."
 
Thick frost last night, and the ground was frozen this morning. I love the feel of frosted grass when one walks upon it; Crunch, crunch! Introduced the kids to it today, reactions mixed. Also noticed a crack in one of the lab windows this afternoon. I shall order a new pane on Monday when I go into town.
 
About time, too, to start Christmas shopping! Oh boy -- the carols, the tree and the stories. A & R have no experience with these things. Well, it's never too late to begin!
 
Blessings of the Season. To all of us.
 
'''''Sunday, 2 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Spent most of the day thinking, and working out alternate responses to the list King sent me. I wish we were in closer communication. When I am done defining our position, probably tomorrow, I shall call him on the telephone and discuss alternatives. If we meet no insurmountables, this pile of notes will be typed, carboned, and sent off to him.
 
More and more, I think we will be able to finish before Christmas!
 
Frost again this morning, and the kind of heavy fog that seems to come with bad weather here in the Valley. Tulee fog, they call it. And, sure enough, the rain began about noon. Nearly dinner now, and it is still coming down.
 
Hope it stops before morning. Rain is such a difficulty, when one wishes to go shopping.
 

'''''Monday, 3 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

The rain did stop, though none of us made it to town today. I worked late into the night, finishing the document, and put in my call to King this morning early. We discussed which of the various approaches was best; all that remains now is to type the final draft and send it off. Already since the call I have had some thoughts which I shall embody in the finished document ... things that are innocuous or simple now, but which hold great promise for the future. One is never certain what they will object to -- but I believe it all will pass.
 
That project, however, was shelved for the day.
 
Shortly before noon we received a visitor. A Mister David Crawford, of all people; Meagan's brother, the "Rake." He is, it seems, a Government field investigator, and I am indirectly responsible for his arrival.
 
Crawford has been put onto our case. Theo's investigation into conspiracy, and my own. Yet he is not here because I am a prompter of the investigation, he has come because he was given free rein by his employers, and because his sister told him that I had a lot of information about matters obscure or arcane. Huh! So -- he was fishing for lots of things, including names of others to see and subjects to look up.
 
He also, he says, wishes to join our activities to his own for the common benefit of both.
 
This last I feel less sanguine about, for several reasons. First, he already serves another master, and we cannot ensure that the two will not come into conflict (Tony's Kentucky letter comes to mind.) Second, his attitude is the same one I have seen so many times, that "you obviously do not know what you are doing so move over and let me lead you the RIGHT way" approach that is supremely hateful. Third, I will not saddle him or others without their knowledge; and fourth, I hate to say, he is a Crawford and a conduit to his sister. I feel unworthy, that some of these sentiments are ones I ought not to hold; however my people are my responsibility.
 
We spoke at length for the afternoon. I repeated for him the story told in Washington -- he saw through some portions of it, but not most -- and brought him up to date on the public version of that end of things. I gave him Theo's name, and his telephone number, and now must write to Theo and warn him that the man is coming.
 
No shopping today at all.
 

'''''Tuesday, 4 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Typed up the Treaty draft this morning and took it into town to send it off. The rain of the last few days has mercifully faded to a rather dispirited drizzle, which does not impede me much. Then I spent the afternoon shopping, hee hee!
 
Holly berries, and a cake; a pair of new records; some new clothing for the kids and Julian; a few toys and games; some decorations, some books; and a car.
 
The car, of course, is the big surprise. It will not be here until Friday. A brand-new maroon Model A. Such fun!
 
----
 
Re-reading earlier entries. I am struck, suddenly, by a sense of similarity between the Plague, the Glow, and the Condition. Add it together: Her sensitivity; their use, and attempted recruitment of, the Nightsiders; Avila -- vampires, the Glow, AND the Plague, where they all come together under one hand...!
 
LOOK!
 
There it is! TYPES of a thing! Ponically aware -- gaseous or micro-organic -- and ARE the Flu and the Condition so different? Fusion! His.
 
Likeness.... likeness ... and that implies what? Similarity of essence, or of action? The Glow -- bodiless, carnivore, what does it consume?
 
Life force.
 
And the Nightsiders: the hybrids: they sense it, they drink it -- AND the blood? (Didn't he always say, the life force was in the blood?) Didn't we already KNOW?) Food for flesh, food for spirit.
 
HOW can I use this?
 
The Dead Spot. Dear Lord -- They are in danger.
 
----
 
Imagine: could the Flu be an UNDEAD bacterium? Ee-yuk! What a horrid thought! And not strictly true I suspect. So consider the opposite: Are impact sites like the Dead Place the origins of the Condition?
 
It has to come from somewhere.
 
I have to tell Gordon -- but what precisely should I say? How much does he know about vampires? Dear me, what a quandary. This is rich indeed. Rich, and dangerous.
 
Again, again ... Avila: caught and created them. Lived by the Dead Place. Cooked up the first Plague. And the infusion of the Energy, as part of the concoction ... !
 
Again! "Power is fuelled by the life force; it is guided by the Intellect." Is it Power they see? Or life force? Or both?
 
What, again? What what what! I feel, once more, as though I am tiptoe-ing around the edges of a key, a fundamental essence, a basic SOMETHING. But, as always, it eludes me.
 
"The Blood is the Life." Gawd. In print, even!
 
!!!!!!!!
 
This is going to be a long night.
 

'''''Wednesday, 5 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Having spoken to Andrew Scott, passed on my warning, and assured myself of their safety (the party is hale and hearty in Ankara with little to report; they've not yet been to the Mansion or the Dead Spot) , I turn attention to domestic matters. I spoke to the Children about plans and the future. Not an easy task, this; for one thing, as Julian points out, they must be approached separately, otherwise nothing will come out of it. (She was right, as usual.) Adam I am teaching the craft, which he is good at, and I think that the responsibility of running the workshop and lab will both be good for him and help assuage his urgent desire to DO THINGS. With the coming of Spring there will be sand-lot ball and teenagers all over town to meet and get to know. If I can convince him of the urgency of not seeming too different, I think he will be happy in the coming months. No; my concerns are for Rachel.
 
What a dear thing she is, and how carefully she needs to be nurtured! So fragile; the same things that would make Adam thrive and grow would crush her. She needs a quiet, peaceful home, filled with smiles and soft laughter, surrounded by green growing things.
 
I, we, cannot give her all that she deserves. Not now. Not while the needs of the job are so great. Yet I do not want to give her up; it hurts to think that I might; not only would I miss her, and she us, it would surely feel as though we had betrayed her trust in some fashion. I cannot help but think of my own distaste when I imagined Julian left to rattle around Wisphers for all that time ....
 
Yet that is precisely what I am contemplating.
 
They will not willingly separate, yet what each needs would make the other miserable, and I am not enough of a parent to bring it all together while I am away. Am I?
 
France for both? Perhaps. I do not like it though.
 
Letters out to Theo and to Gordon, and a whopping great big one from Lazlo! The core of the things is King's report on Eveling, Chandler et al; long, diverse, and tentacular enough that it bears multiple readings before I may view the whole of it; but for me the real meat of the thing is Lazlos' own letter.
 
What a marvelous thing! Not happy, really; but so FULL! It wavers back and forth between his usual objective distance and the sort of intensely personal dynamism that rivets one to a book, or makes an orator's fortune. He has seen some of my letters to Emerson -- Carl loaned him one or two of the more frantic ones -- and they have touched him. Intense, intimately passionate .... How can he possibly feel that he has lost through this?
 
Cuba. One hand, Cuba; my letters on the other. he walks a fine line in shadow, poised between love and remembered fury, an awareness of joy and an awareness of desolation equally personal.
 
But, he has seen. Touched. Grown. Ahh.
 
That joy. Yes; how lovely. Another beginning. I only wish I might soothe his fears more easily. Such a passionate man he is; so good to see the echoes of this change.
 
/// Ah! Think, man! Columbo, in '19! See! To know to grow to BE the quarry -- Again! Clues in the past, so obvious in retrospect. Ah! ///
 
Passion without vision. A necessary start, perhaps; but a true danger to him as well as a beginning. The doorway has changed! All of them have -- but he will not be consumed if he does not deny.
 
\\\ It touches me, too -- Beware, I must not lose the whole for the part! Else I am only the half-breed of the accusation. The fullness of the power, AND the futility! \\\
 
And he dreams. But what does he dream?
 
His first step is a true one: Her. But I think he still does not see the fullness of it. Thought without knowledge, knowledge without thought; where is the balance, the happy medium?
 
To thine own Self be true; God is within thee.
 
Huh.
 
We must come to him in the Spring. If there is time.If Miriam does not make it impossible.
 
So; he talks -- and talks -- of the Light and Colbert and so forth. Light! Dark! Names to him, things without substance, and what are they? He treats them as objects, distances himself in speculation; "the need to prevent, and even destroy, the Dark where they exist and do."
 
Philosopher! Augh, Lazlo -- we must talk.
 

'''''Thursday, 6 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Spoke to the Children last night. The results surprised me, but in hindsight, they were for the most part expectable. Rachel wants to go to school; she will be going to France after the New Year. A shall try to arrange a tutor for her, perhaps the person who is giving young Ian lessons would be willing.
 
Adam's case is sadder. He dotes on the girl, and the possibility of their separation has devastated him. Oh, he is strong, he does not bend ... but his heart has been broken, silently, from within.
 
Parenting is difficult. I grieve with him; I want to shield him from all of his grief, and I cannot; but it hurts just the same.
 
I need to continue our talk later, perhaps tonight. He would be happy to take over the lab ... but all alone, here, in this house? Not good for either of them. Possibilities suggest themselves. If we may reach an understanding about Rachel -- then perhaps he too need not be alone.
 
Lord. Watch me manipulate. The worst kind of parent: Lax, yet sneaky.
 
Rain, rain, rain. A sodden day. What am I going to do?
 
-- LATER --
 
Things will resolve themselves one way or another. They are neither of them unintelligent or unperceptive. Ad they understand themselves and each other rather more deeply than I might have given them credit for, had I not been watching and listening all this time.
 
Rachel is going to France. Adam is staying here. His choice. It is a chance to be away from the pain. Maybe.
 
Some concern, here, over the bond that exists between them. It is uncomfortably like a bondsman's link -- or even a Balance's. Not well exercised, but very real. Rachel says it has been there since the first day she remembers after the Promise... but she does not have any idea how much time she has lost to the White Men, nor what occurred during it. She is afraid, now, that she and Adam may have been "married" then -- even though she does not recall.
 
What a horrid thought -- and all too likely. Damn them! Is there nothing they will not desecrate?
 
I have not yet asked Adam what he knows. Dare I?
 
Oh, I do not want to abandon them! It hurts to contemplate -- how I shall miss them so! Rachel will be happy I know ... but the thought of Adam rattling around alone here with no one to talk to, even to say hello to in the mornings -- Eh!
 
There must be some alternatives. Oh, help, help, help, help. I am sad., So sad.
 
Christmas. Rain -- and blustery wind -- and Salvation Army Santas huddling under the awning at the five-and-dime. "God's Birthday," shrugs Adam.
 
The Ford arrives tomorrow. Rachel and I are going shopping.
 
Christmas, and the Treaty coming up. What other blows are in store?
 

'''''Friday, 7 December 1928; Evening At Home --''''' 

Still rainy, but at least it is not pouring down; rather, we are blessed with a slow steady drip-drip-drip that is curiously peaceful. Received a call from Morriss about two o'clock, and went into town to pick up my automobile. How nice! The smell of a new machine, all oil and leather and a certain indefinable freshness that was complemented by the rain, rather than being detracted from by it. Picked up the mail; letters from Carl and Mrs. Williams, about which more later, and joyrode about a bit just for the pleasure of owning the thing, trying it all out.
 
Later, Rachel and I returned to town for some shopping. The girl was absolutely overwhelmed by it all; she has never been out in public before, at least not when she was expected to interact with others. All the strangers! All the NEW THINGS! And money -- how does it work? Why do they give us change? Who is Santa Claus?
 
Imagine. Who is Santa Claus?
 
We bought candy, and books and records for the holidays, some groceries, and a few select gifts for Christmas. Rachel knew -- literally -- precisely what Adam wants most, so we did our best to find it: a Buck Explorer's folding knife. Lord only knows where he saw one, that he wants it so precisely, but it shall be his come Christmas. The difficulty, now, will be to keep it all secret. My own gifts for the children have not yet arrived from the mail-order, and I cannot discuss what either of us found for Julian lest Certain Persons read this entry, but suffice to say the day was a smashing success. The girl was terrified -- but enormously excited also. She bought a bag of giant penny jaw-breakers, and for reasons known only to her insisted that the big blue one was for Julian.
 
No more talk of marriage, though.
 
The more I think about it, the more concerned I am about the bond betwen them. It is undisciplined, nearly uncontrollable; they seem nearly unable to keep things from one another. Something must be done; if the thing is here to stay, then both of them must learn to handle it. In any event, the situation calls for expert help. Someone needs to look at them. Hmm.
 
I wonder what Adam thinks?
 
Hmm... the letters. Yes. Bad news all around; but between the lines, not in them. Carl is falling further and deeper into his infatuation with the Nightsiders (in the form of Zelda), sees them now as the brutal but innocent victims of centuries of unfortunate hatred and superstition. "Noble savages" of a sort, who may someday be redeemed and brought to civilization.
 
Eeshh. Crawly, makes me. Even if he is right, he is also wrong. There is no one ignorant here but us.
 
As for Mrs. Willams -- She is under pressure. King is coming close to violating his promises to me; I am more determined than ever to wrap this thing up soon and free her from his grasp! It seems that other members of the community have come to know of her, and are trying to seek her out. Her protector has already had to destroy one -- the details were not given. An interesting fellow by all accounts; everyone I know seems to hate him, yet she cannot praise him highly enough! I wonder what the story is that I am not hearing. A doctor. With a lot of the taint in him. His skills and perceptions might prove invaluable to Gordon's work ... once we broaden Gordon's assignment to include the Nightsiders. Consider -- is it possible to immunize against the Condition?
 
I doubt it. I cannot imagine a leucocyte that could stand up against a poniphagic killer. Still, there may be something. Some bastion against the tide.
 
This is no betrayal, King. Your people are safe from me... but, like you, I have plans that your people might cry foul about, if they knew.
 
Lots of plans. Hopes -- and little time to make them reality.
 
Must get a tree before we leave.
 

'''''Saturday, 8 December 1928; Downtown --''''' 

The rain has stopped again, hurrah! The newspaper says that the next few days will be dry ones. Hallelujah, I say.
 
We all went out today on a shopping trip. Our first family outing! All bundled together in the family Ford. How prosaic. Makes me smile. Lunch at Alice's on Monroe Street, with Adam watching all the people while trying not to be caught doing it, and Rachel taking the food and drink service in stride but flabbergasted every time the waitress smiled or spoke to her. Such fun.
 
Now, the girls have scooted off together, causing secrets to be born, and Adam is loose out there with three dollars in his pockets and a world of ingenuity in his head; and me? I have been buying paper, and strings, and ribbons, and things for the tree, dreaming up ideas for gifts for our friends. Simple things, not extravagances. Finding the right thing takes more than money; and what do you find for the one who has everything?
 
For Zigfried, a finely woven carpet. For Maddy, a leather diary and a box of Eskimo ivory; for Lazlo ad Julia, a silver coffee service; for Byron, a smart new hat and a monogrammed attaché case; for Theo, a marvellously intricate astronomical clock that I saw at an auction in Boston; for Andrew, a carved oaken hatrack; for Meagan a necklace of jade flowers, and for both of them a carved crystal pane. For Alexandria a teardrop pendant and for Ceryous a pair of driving gloves.
 
But what should I get for Clay? For Tony? Or Carl, or Miriam, or Alex Chase? These people I care about, I should be able to come up with just the right thing. Haven't found it yet, though. So I sit here in Alice's, coffee at hand, and watch for the others to return.
 
Julian will know. She always does.
 

Postscript -- A fancy compass for Clay? J's idea, and a good one, though more than that is deserved I think. For Miriam, a music box and a note of apology for our curious pagan practices. Have to be small -- I want it to be bring-able when she comes. Alex ... Alex ... something in crystal. A tabletop, for a sunny room? Something for the family to enjoy. Aha! Carl and Clay both -- get elegant evening coats ... possibly a grey camelhair, very Civilized.
 
Tony is always difficult... but for him, the finest world atlas I can buy. He needs maps -- yes.
 
... I cannot get the thought of Adam from my mind. Oh, Adam, dear boy! The look on his face! Lord, how I hurt for him! His world, his dreams, shatter and burn -- and in the silence I hear only sobs.
 
Yet what can I do? Perhaps separation is best ... yet how can I help heal this pain that hurts me so as well? Such a burden he has held, all the years -- a burden of memory, a command to protect -- he must break, eventually. The weight is too great. Bitter, bitter. Damn them all.
 

'''''Sunday, 9 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Industrious me. It seems easy, these days, to be a virtuous and diligent worker in the afternoons, when I have spent the entire morning loafing first. Delightful after years of prompt arrival at the factory ... I hope I never entirely get used to it.
 
Yesterday was very good for me. I am much in the spirit of the season now. New phonograph records later tonight.
 
Today's project was wandering around the house and grounds, making written notes on all the things that need doing to keep the place up. Doors, windows, keys, food, utilities, mail, oil, firewood, laundry, dishes, the lawn, weeds, bicycles, money, the alarms, the lab, the baker, the butcher, and so on and so forth. What a lot of it! In the end I shall have made a sort of booklet of names, procedures, helpful hints for Adam. He need not actually use it ... but it will be there.
 
Awful lot of work though.
 
New Ceryous Outt letter. Rather an apology for the previous one. I do wish he would come out and visit, but he will not. Ah well. His gift is on the way, and a white linen overdrape for the back of their sofa too.
 
Must remember to send Lisel Harden a card.
 
And then, when all my lists and inspections had put me into a meticulous and slightly weary mood, I sat down to reply to Mister White's letter. He wants to play in our game -- and some of the things he has said make me wary. In particular he sounds as intolerant of the bizarre and different as the best of them (and I am thinking of the Nightsiders here.) I hesitate to think of how he might react to some of out more open-minded efforts!
 
So I wrote, and it's gone. I told him we appreciated all his help in Cuba -- but that our counsels were our own, and that we were best off keeping them that way. Was it the right thing to do? Even now, I wonder.
 
Poor Carl. How he must think we disdain him. All he got from us at Gathering was alarm, or pity, or concern .... He is wrong to reject all our efforts to counsel him, but he is right to decide for himself!
 
I only wish I could be more sure that he is capable of making those decisions on his own just now.
 
Sure or not, however, he is an adult. I must allow him the freedoms I insist upon for myself!
 
I believe I owe Carl an apology.
 
I will write to him, tonight or tomorrow. This whole business -- which I got him into -- has opened a rift between us that must be healed. If it is not too late; if I even can LIKE this strange new man he writes of; then it behooves me to try.
 
Such a strange letter, his last ... almost as if he knew what I felt a need to say before I did. Hmm.
 
Tomorrow.
 
Tonight is for Christmas stories.
 

'''''Monday, 10 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Here at last! Now! It is done! The treaty is complete -- King's last comments and corrections have arrived, and they are trivial. Nothing! In two hours I was able to draft clauses and repair the breaches, and King, on the telephone, confirms them. We are ready!
 
Now, I must write the formal draft. Oh, there are so many people to write! Everyone needs to be notified, and they all require copies of the thing. I do not think I have enough photo paper in the lab -- but what I do have will be gone tonight. And the rest tomorrow.
 
We shall set it for the twentieth. She will be HOME for Christmas, if I have a say!
 
Carl's letter has gone out too. I went to the post with it; that was when I received King's stuff. Maybe he will get a packet and the letter on the same day. If I work fast enough.
 
Eleven o'clock, same evening --
 
Eyes burning. Mouth dry. Fingers sore. Black smudges everywhere, and no more carbon paper. Thirteen packets done, mailed, gone. Everyone else has gone to bed; I am tired too.
 
More than half of the packets out. I feel a tremendous relief, a lightening of a burden. The arrow is in the air, we are finally committed. Now I can relax.
 
We leave for Chicago on Saturday.
 

'''''Tuesday, 11 December 1928; At Home so far--''''' 

Wonders don't cease. Another promise redeemed. El Juan has answered my letter.
 
The messenger arrived during lunch: a boy. Quick, travel-stained, alert, he was hungry so we fed him. A vagabond at our door, until he delivered the note.
 
El Juan has agreed to my request. We shall meet. That I must rearrange all my travel plans to do it is merely irksome; a price paid for a thing of value.
 
The boy speaks only Spanish; wonderful exercise for me! I have not so much as thought in the language in nearly nearly a decade -- it is amazing how much of it may be persuaded to return with only a little prodding. So we spoke nonetheless, and I am quite proud of myself today.
 
I wonder of the boy will be there when we speak? I think perhaps he will. Hmm.
 
Most interesting, more even than the descriptions of Juan's life, were the questions the boy asked me on his behalf. Was I one with the changed blood, one "who lives very long?" Was I alone, or had I a wife, a friend, a companion? And other things -- proper questions all for one in my place. We have measured one another, through this wise-eyed youth; when we meet, he will know something of what to expect.
 
I did not mention the children. Julian was a trouble for the boy, at first, until he found out that she and my wife were the same person. The expression of relief on his face was almost comical.
 
Juan wants to meet me alone. In the most inconvenient place! We will have to move more quickly than I had wished, and not stay so long in Mule's Eye. We can do it though.
 
But, to go without my lady --! I will be so deprived. It is just not the same, alone. Ever.
 

'''''Wednesday, 12 December 1928; Still Here--''''' 

Depressed, dejected, impressed with the deadly weight of the burden of my duties. Sometimes the only thing to do is to lose oneself.
 
I have been thinking again. The past; the future; the ominous foreshadowing of what may be. I am afraid.
 
So I spent the day mapping the paths to the Blind Dance. It helped, a lot ... now I am merely tired, drawn out and empty. I am once again at peace with myself. For now. I know already that it will not last.
 
Wrote another letter to Andrew White. More of an apology for the first one. Hmm... tomorrow we go treeing. Adam and I. Therapy? Perhaps.
 
We need to touch -- my people and I. Pompous? Could be -- but the need remains. We must travel, must touch; must talk; must grow together.
 
Are you at peace with yourselves, and with your friends?
 
There is a chance here -- like a glimmer down an overgrown path. A glimpse that feels right, but how to make it real?
 
Sometimes I feel as though I am losing the vision. It guides me, sustains me ... but more and more I cannot truly taste it myself.
 
It is time to move. Something must be done.
 

'''''Friday, 14 December 1928; Home Again --''''' 

Shortly before dinner of a long day. Gordon called me this morning to report. Seems he is doing well and prospering. For all of Tony's worries about this Lanter fellow (and for all that I tend to agree with Tony!) Gordon at least seems supremely pleased. Says the fellow is brilliant though unorthodox, and he gets results at speed.
 
Gordon attributes the death at the Dead Spot to the action of a phosphorescent mold which he says permeates all the samples we took from the place. This does not sound right -- it explains neither the moving trees nor whatever yanked back at my bucket! -- but it is a start. He has described the activity of the mold (nasty stuff, grows through and within the unfortunate host!) and more importantly, notes and charts a fundamental similarity between the mold, the Type I, and the Nightsider disease!
 
Imagine my surprise when that came up! I have been reluctant to discuss the NSs with him for obvious reasons; but Lanter, apparently, a) recognized the similarity on his own, b) went looking for corroboration, in the form of a vampire, c) found one, in the form of Zelda, d) through her, made contact with Emerson, and e) managed to persuade both of them to part with blood samples which he has subjected to exhaustive testing!
 
Well! Quick results, indeed!
Did he know just what he wanted to find?
 
All of this is very suspicious, but not criminally so. You may imagine, though, that I shall certainly ask Carl about it when we meet one another next week!
 
Treeing yesterday. Just the two of us, back to the same farm Tony and I visited last year. Good therapy for AdAm... but not enough. He thinks. And says little. But attacks the trees with angry, suffering gusto.
 
Quite a hike getting the Bush back to the car. Adam is not so strong as he wishes ... but he insisted on carrying the heavy end, so I let him.
 
He keeps asking me: Will she be all right, Sir? Will she be safe there? I tell him yes, it is the safest place I know ... but in my heart I am unsure. Safe from danger without, certainly. But who can be sure about that within?
 
Now the tree is filling the living room, alive with bulbs and baubles. The entire place smells so nice, so piney-fresh. Where is the joy that should go with?
 
Rachel has it. And Julian. And, when she smiles at me that way, or touches my heart so gently, so do I. Oh, so do I.
 
Poor Adam. How lonely he is.
 
Tomorrow we leave. A week, only; but I dread leaving them. Oh hush, they'll be fine, they'll be fine....
 
Silence! (Poor Adam.) It's Christmas! (How lonely.)
 
Ho, ho, ho.
 

'''''Saturday, 15 December 1928; Sacramento --''''' 

In the train depot, waiting for our connection. Julian admonishes me to leave well enough alone and enjoy the trip. Oh, shes right, she's right; it is merely difficult to let go. Thank Heavens I have no real children of my own! I should have gone bald, and lived my life in dark corners, counting fingernails.
 
And I DO enjoy it! Every time! These trips we make, these travels, are always a joy to me, whenever she is here. Away from the familiar, away from people who know us, we are released, freed from unnamed yet omnipresent burdens. It always astonishes me, how happy I am, these times. We touch, we smile, giggle, laugh, make faces, chase each other around, simply enjoying the frowns and astonishment of our fellow passengers. They simply do not understand.
 
Love does it! SHE does it! My life. Julian! I love you forever.
 

'''''Sunday, 16 December 1928; The Rockies? --''''' 

We have spent the day traveling through ugly, rugged terrain. No, not ugly, it is serely beautiful; but I should dislike having to farm here. All rocks, dust, jagged outlines; towns and gardens vividly out of place like windowboxes. Patches of snow on the ground; I hope the tunnels are not closed.
 
For the last couple of hours the terrain has gotten higher, more mountainous. I believe we are finally entering the Rockies from eastern Utah.
 
The train is cool; so much the better for snuggling. We have a window, we have each other - yes! - It is more than enough. Who needs to eat or sleep? She electrifies me.
 
Dinner may be our only meal today.
 

'''''Monday, 17 December 1928; Nebraska? Iowa? --''''' 

Somewhere flat anyway. We have paid little attention to our location this trip; we, after all, going to the end of the line.
 
I feel reborn. Vital. This vacation has done me a world of good. Or perhaps it is merely my golden girl. We had only been home three weeks, after all.
 
Late rising, long afternoon naps, exotic evenings. That is, she drowses, not I. My time has been spent pathfinding. A couple hours here, there ... o, it is not enough, I may never understand that road completely! There is so much of it, and the new turnings are so difficult to pick out!
 
I do not mind. WhenI tire of seeking, I return... and here she is.
 
Home.
 

'''''Tuesday, 18 December 1928; Chicago --''''' 

Arrived a couple of hours ago, in time for a bath and dinner in our rooms. Checked into a suite -- luxurious and practical, if there are to be meetings. In a little while I go to see King.
 
Tony is already here; a message was waiting when we checked in. I shall call him tomorrow.
 
LATER -- Tony called me, as I was on my way out. We met for late dinner after King's appointment. The meeting with King was interesting: oscar W and Madame will not be signing. Oscar for obvious reasons; but Madame G is in the grip of something peculiar, a thing that makes King profoundly uneasy -- perhaps because he's not seen it before. Some sort of ultimate dissolution? I do not know.
 
Good to see Tony. We had dinner with Alexandria. Both well, but my! How he dotes on her! Things, it seems, have continued since Gathering. She will be joining us at Christmas. Rebecca as well, although Tony intimates that there has been some trouble of late between he and she. I cannot say I am surprised.
 
So: Tomorrow is for shopping, and setup, and single meetings with whomever shows up early.
 

'''''Wednesday, 19 December 1928; Chicago --''''' 

Stupid stupid stupid! Blind! Yes, I mean me! Took Theo to point it out: I have been viewing this alliance for so long from an us-and-them perspective that I had lost track of the original purpose of the thing. Thank heavens for Theo -- he quietly pointed out one small clause that would have barred any of the Avowed from signing! Boy, do I feel like a simpleton!
 
Fixed now. I shall clear the fix with King tonight.
 
Today was shopping. Icy gusts & flurries of sleet, but my word, they have a lot of fine stores here! All kinds of goodies are now mine: To keep, to carry home, to send away. Got Carl's & Clay's (lucky I had the flysuit lists!) and Tony's (but he doesn't get it yet!); Miriam's and Alex's are sent, though they won't arrive til next year (hah!); and most of the rest have long since been on their way.
 
Today was writing. A half million Christmas cards, including ones to Lisel H. and to my family, and a letter to Andrew Scott about Franklin. I shall have to speak to Arc about Samuel, Tony about Rebecca ... but in any case I should feel much better knowing he was on top of things.
 
Today was business. Arrangements for tomorrow's meeting room; talks with Tony, Alex, Theo; a phone chat with Lazlo, and with King.
This is getting exciting.
 
My Word, I forgot. I must send cards, at least, to the Turkey people, Gordon, etc! Tomorrow, I suppose. Should've thought of it sooner,. Gah.
 

'''''Thursday, 20 December 1928; Midafternoon --''''' 

We're on a brief pause. Such a lot to do! And so many new things to consider. Not all of them pleasant.
 
The meeting went well. Quite smoothly. Remarkably so, I think ... even Tony has agreed to sign, though I was not sure he would. We meet tonight to do the deed. Us and the ten of them. It makes me pause.
 
Then, a few moments ago, Alex drew me aside. He wants me to go with him tomorrow to meet Dr. Scott. It is a complicated and unpleasant matter, but the gist of it is that he believes Scott was possessed by an Elder thing at the time of the murder; and that it, not he, killed the woman. Without this knowledge, it is an open and shut case.
 
No court in the world will admit it into evidence. Therefore, says Alex, we must.
 
He wants me to sit in judgement on the doctor. To try, and if necessary to condemn, him. If he is acquitted, to help free him; and if he is found guilty, to pass sentence.
 
I cannot do that! Can I? I have no right! Have I? I have no authority! Do I?
 
And yet -- who does? WHO DOES? Who else will hear the case fairly ... and admit such supernatural evidence as is necessary with understanding?
 
I told Alex I would go with him, and that I would hear the case. It feels like my duty --
 
-- but what a burden! It does not feel proper, does not feel RIGHT for me to do so! Yet I must. Lazlo has agreed to come also. To him, the whole thing is very simple: Did the Doctor CALL the Elder thing of his own will? Or was it forced upon him? And, is it gone now?
 
I feel very bad about this. Very bad.
 
LATER -- The meeting is over. I have the document. King, Zelda, Galileo, Ariel, Icarus, Diamond, Lee, de la Fer, Vandervecken, Hardín, Moth, Maguire, Hunter, Rowdybush, Lee, Valentino, Christian, Voisin, Hippocrates....
 
Nine of us; ten of them. Mrs. Williams is free again; I spoke briefly with Mr. Cromwell who does not appear to want much of anything to do with me. (Remarkable, how indignant that makes me feel!)
 
Lots of plans, arrangements. A start; I feel drained. So many people, flying about in myriad directions! And tomorrow I must meet and hear Doctor Scott.
 
It seems as though I ought to have more to say about the Eight and the meeting. I do not. It is done -- cast -- a fait accompli -- and, except for their fascinating personalities, their loves and hates, there seems to be little TO say.
 
No; my mind is already on tomorrow.
 
I have thought - and thought - and thought through the past hours, even when I ought to have been attentive to other things. I still do not know what to do.
 
Julian agrees with me: This "judgement" is a bad thing. For me personally it is improper; and for the group as a whole, it is a dangerous and irresponsible precedent.
 
We should not mildly contemplate thwarting Justice for our own ends. The only reason I agreed to be involved at all is because the Court, and not the Law will through unknowing prejudice ignore or discount evidence that is vital to the case. We have no thte right to rewrite laws of this country, or to ignore them for our own convenience! That way lies dangerous arrogance. It is a road I wish to avoid.
 
No... no... the Law is not the issue, not in spirit anyway. What matters here is responsibility. Did he fall or was he pushed? Did he kill or was he used? Yes; these issues are vital.
 
It all falls back onto the Doctor. They say he is "once again sane." But is he?
 
Who may properly judge this case? ONLY HE. Only the Doctor himself may take the choice ... IF he is capable, IF he is responsible enough to do so. Yes, that is right. Not Alex; not me, not the Court -- HE. The Law is for handling people who are not capable of shouldering these burdens. We ourselves must be so capable -- otherwise we ought not to be in this Fight.
 
Accountability for one's own actions.
 
Is Doctor Scott capable? Responsible? Honest? Then let him judge his own case -- I take as my task the job of deciding his fitfulness to be that judge. Let us then be the jury; let the judge pass sentence.
 
Now -- what if he is NOT so capable?
 
Scott is not one of us. He has never been called to responsibility for his own acts. The dreadful Friedman-like anarchy of former days must not continue; I will not help him if that is what he insists upon. I will rather bow to my hypocrisy, and allow the man himself, or the Court, to determine his fate -- for I am not responsible for his crimes.
 
But what of free will, then? Is he to be allowed no redemption? That's not right either! Does he understand the wrong? Does he regret? Does he repent? WILL HE CHANGE? It must be his choice; but if he does, I say he ought to be allowed to have it.
 
Thirdly, How much of his will is free? if that thing did the work, how much control does it have? Is it still there?
 
Is he a perpetual danger to us?
 
I think it is our job to see to it that Doctor Scott is his own man, capable of judging himself. If that is possible, then he will decide his fate. If not, then he is not as sane as he seems, and he stays here, a clear and present danger. Only if he is set free, without and within, will we address the issue of his participation in the Family.
 
That will be a thorny path. Many folks will not trust him -- perhaps ever.
 
But ... that is for the future. Now -- how will I tell Lazlo and Alex, so as to make them understand?
 

'''''Friday, 21 December 1928; St Louis at Dusk --''''' 

Up early early this morning, after a very late night last evening, thus am feeling a bit worn. To the hospital by nine o'clock after a brief but heartfelt explanation of the stuff on the previous pages . They remove shoes, ties, buckles, anything stiff, hard or potentially dangerous (including my glasses!) and all things in pockets, jewelry et cetera before allowing entry. Daunting.
 
Scott ... looks sad. Pale, thin, beaten. And all silent and closed up, like Andrew fighting off a rage. Not an encouraging sign. But he seems rational. Cautious, careful, unsure of how much to say in front of strangers (us); lots of Ten manerisms showing through clearly. Funny -- it is like nostalgia; no matter how much they always irked me, it is such a pleasure to see them in him, this stranger. Like a familiar signpost in a foreign land.
 
Lots of talk, back and forth. The end result is yes, he thinks he is responsible -- he himself -- but that the thing is still stuck to him tenuously ... enough to watch, and perhaps to act? So the point is moot-- he is too dangerous to release by any means -- unless and until that Thing is removed.
 
First order of business.
 
"Physician, heal thyself" -- they say he is a "soul healer;" Alex, Zigfried will spearhead efforts to ward him and free him of the attachment. Until then, he is not "sane." Further, it is unsafe to try him ... the Thing might conceive of a threat, and show up and "defend" him against judge, jury, spectators, et al. Certainly execution is out of the question!
 
So -- he is not sufficiently rational. Zigfried, it is hoped, can state this case until the people and the tools are amassed sufficiently to attempt the surgery.
 
On that note we ended ... there was little more to say to him.
 
Next, we packed and headed for the airfield. Our pilot, Jacques, was friendly but brusque, and did not want us anywhere near the controls; the aeroplane itself, a twin-engine Boeing, is endlessly fascinating, but extremely loud and often uncomfortable.
 
Several hours of bumpy, noisy flight; even this excellent aircraft is wearying. I am no aerobat I fear ... the prospect of two more days of this daunts me. We scooted into Saint Louis just at dark; at least we shall sleep in fine hotel beds! A small supper and early to bed -- we rise at dawn.
 
Thank heavens for Jacques' competence. Winter flying is no picnic. Tomorrow we try for Albuquerque, or even Tucson, and we HOPE that the ugly storm front in western Texas does not head North or West. Otherwise we may never make it home.
 
Ten o'clock. I wonder if Carl has read his letter yet?
 
'''''Saturday, 22 December 1928; Albuquerque --''''' 

I do prefer trains! I do, I do! Nine hours, more or less in this snug little cabin. The same tomorrow. Egad.
 
It was wonderful to sit up there amidst all the levers and dials. The engines distant -- humming -- loud, but not irritating. Feeling of power! And so amazing to look out and down at the world! Cows, houses, roads ... all specks. Boats like leaves in the mighty rivulets. Wonderful indeed! And how FLAT everything becomes! Hills, valleys, all look the same; forests become inkstains; and fields and fields and fields and more fields, all brown and dead, glimpsed like graveyards without headstones, between and below the clouds as we flew. I love to fly! Clouds are so lovely from above! Or below -- but please God not within!
 
Yes, flying is wondrous ... for an hour or two. Then I want to land. Blue balmy days are my sort of flying weather. Not this nastiness.
 
We arrowed severely slantwise across Missouri (I resisted the temptation to ask Jacques to overfly Holliday, Kansas ... knew there would be nothing to see) and snaked westward somewhere around the Kansas/Oklahoma border, trying to avoid the line of storms inching their way toward us. We were not very successful.
 
Ugh! We were knocked all over the sky! Updrafts, downdrafts, flying through small clouds (they are NOT calm inside!) with thunderheads looming left and right and the fuselage quivering from staccato bursts of raindrops. Exciting, yes! An excitement to avoid.
 
The fronts caught us somewhere nowhere, either western Kansas or eastern Colorado, advancing across our path toward the mountains. After forty five minutes of clawing around and through, Jacques pulled us up into clearer skies ... and fairyland.
 
Lovely! Lovely! I was sick as a dog from nausea, yet could not help being transported at the sight. Huge towering cumuli, round and hammer-topped, marching below and beside us in vast expanses of white, silver, grey, purple, black. Julian was less impressed, I think; but she took the storm worse than I and scarcely appreciated the view. Like walking between ranks of cyclopean statues, spun of light and marble into unfathomable forms. Wow.
 
Of course, by then it was midafternoon and we had last taken fuel in soggy Wichita; we wanted to be on the ground before dark ... and all we could see was storms. So we flew. South, west, west some more, until the beautiful deadly cumuli were no more ... and a blanket of overcast covered the ground. Came down through it (shake, shake!) and spent three hours clawing south along the Eastern side of the Sangre de Christos until we thankfully set down through a light drizzle into Albuquerque. And here we stay, Christmas or no, unless the weather improves.
 
The good news, it is clear or cloudy all the way home, no more storms. The bad news, the trip will take at least ten hours, only one good fuel stop on the way. Means we start before dawn, if it is dry, and IF we are lucky we shall make it just as everything goes black.
 
Sigh. And sigh again.
 
Another light supper; and a kiss from my darling.
 

'''''Sunday, 23 December 1928; At Home, by God! --''''' 

We made it! What a trip! I shall definitely remember this one for a long time .. but I think I shall strive diligently to avoid a repetition. Yes.
 
Well.. at least we beat Tony home.
 
We took off into the gloom jusdt before dawn. Leaden skies but no rain; we climbed into the blue and turned west.
 
Compared to yesterday, today was easy. Anti-climactoc. We sailed over the classic Old West. Saw rather little of it, actually, as much was clouded over; but passed over some lovely country! We actually flew along the Grand Canyon for twenty minutes in the afternoon before heading down to Las Vegas. So beautiful! I took lots of pictures.
 
Las Vegas is a little dusty town surrounded by dusty fields and orchards. (This is the winter, so at least the dust has settled.) We stayed only long enough to fuel up and eat lunch in the new airfield coffee shop. Saw some new building going on out towards the Canyon; apparently they've been running regular air service out here from Los Angeles twice a week for a couple of years. Cannot imagine why.
 
From there, west across the Mojave, then north along the Valley and HOME. So nice to see all the green growth below! Funny to think that California is green in winter and brown in summer, where most places the reverse is true. ...
 
Landed ahead of schedule, just as the sun was going down, at the airstrip across town. (I forgot about saving daylight going west!) A taxi home -- Jacques will stay the night here -- and I intend to treat him as royally as possible in thanks!
 
Had to fight down the urge to call Chicago as soon as we arrived; but to do so would help nothing. He will do as he will do .. I have armed him as best I could, the rest is up to him. I hope, I hope he is wise!
 

'''''Monday, 24 December 1928; Still at Rest --''''' 

Woken up this morning with a call from Tony from back East. Tony? I mean Carl. Bad news amidst the good: he has become convinced that the Black Man has sent him a note. Biblical thing -- something from Ezekiel. Sounded a lot like something from one of the Books of Prophecy! Cannot imagine, otherwise, who might have sent it ... but I find myself unable to put it in proper perspective.
 
It simply doesn't feel right.
 
Other news ... Z is on the trail, has no news as yet to report; and he has met the Five. Faigon is alive. Hannalore dreams again (ech.) And one of the Five is an ex-board-member of a certain English clinic! Interesting -- must speak with Clay about that.
 
A little later ... NOW, messages from Tony! He is in Oakland and will be here tonight with the others. Also a pair of notes from Gordon, written before all the ballyhoo, in praise of this, or that, or Lanter. Apparently, he says his family was a vampire victim some time ago, thus his interest in and knowledge of. Still, though it seems plausible enough, after all the shouting & revelations of the past few days I am convinced that, at most, it's only part of the story.
 
Hmm. Zelda is on him, any way. We shall see.
 
Spoke vriefly with Adam after my talks to ZVH et al. I only wish I could have been more encouraging. Deep in my heart I expect that there is nothing to be done; that the wrong is unrightable & must merely be accomodated, but I could not just tell him that. He needs hops & encouragement just like the rest of us.
 
Besides, I need his help. So does she -- when her Trouble Times come. He may be the best, the only, bastion for her then.
 
Thus we gamble. Cast on the winds of fate, I told him, and so it seems to me. Every one of us comes to a point where all we may do is cross our fingers and pray.
 
Church tonight. looking forward to it.
 

'''''Tuesday, 25 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

Christmas afternoon! Again I am struck by the difference that a years' passage has made. Last year we were three: Myself, Julian, Tony. This time, seven. How long ago it seems. How simple everything was.
 
Midnight service was a great success. Beautiful: the low murmur of people, cool air, flicker of candles, hint of incense in the air. A Christmas mass, and a message to all of us to love one another, and walk in His footsteps.
 
Love one another. Give.
 
Again I touch, barely; and it is gone. That glimmer of openness, of heady exaltation. God-in-Man-in-God. Are we all Christ? Once again, I am deeply moved.
 
The others: Adam in half-startled reverie, murmuring half-remembered replies he might never have heard again, worried that we shall see and take note. Tony deep in his own reverie, moved by beloved ritual far beyond himself, into a depth and contemplation I have not seen on him for a long time. Alexandria serene and comfortable, paying more attention to Tony than to God. Julian rapt, enjoying the ritual even if the words are unknown. And Rachel.
 
Rachel! Touched and more, swept away by the newness and the magnificence. Eyes everywhere, seeing everything, soaking it up like a sponge,. never to forget. She will remember this for a long time. Already she has asked to read our Bible, to learn the rest of the story. I can see I am going to have to invest time, help her understand about God. She deserves it. I look forward to it.
 
Home again, silenced by the feeling of fellowship and the golden moment. I feel sure once more, placed back on the path from which I did not realize I had strayed. The kids quickly to bed, and a few murmured words over Christmas toasts for the four of us. Then sleep.
 
Morning, and for once I am the first up. Stockings, honey cakes, tes and coffee, then Tony's help moving the big gifts in from the lab. The day is bright, cold, silver-dry. About as nice a day as one might expect for Christmas here. No wind, the grass thick with frost, breath crackling steam-white in the stillness, and that clear crisp smell to it all.
 
Kids down for the stockings about half- past nine, and the Main Event starts after breakfast; maybe ten thirthy. Once again, Tony is Santa -- Ho ho ho! Loud, clumsy, good-natured Santa. So silly, we all had to laugh, even Rebecca! And then, from big-eyed little Rachel behind my chair: "Look! Is that the Salvation Army man, Mister Carl?"
 
Ah, rich. Rich indeed.
 
Gifts exchanged, and a Christmas story read by all of us, and some new records played; now it is quiet afternoon. Tony and Miss Durrell are off on a walk through the orchard. She has become quite fond of him it seems.
 
Quiet. Rebecca and Rachel reading; Adam in his shed; the records back in their sleeves and the radio silent. Julian napping a few feet away, a tiny smile on her lips; and me, here, writing and thinking. I have a lot to think about.
 
'''''Evening --''''' 

Sometimes I wonder at myself. How have I changed? What has happened to me, in the silent inside of my heart?
 
What a heretic I have become! blasphemer, perhaps. Yet I do not feel as though I have strayed, from grace or from salvation. No! Instead I feel closer to God than in my adolescence. I feel ... how best to say ... as if only in these past months has the wonder and the truth of all the Teachings I was ever taught come clear at last. I am buoyed up, both great and small at once; both proud and humble, and amidst the deepest dreads and fears, which are themselves new and troubling to me, I nonetheless touch briefly on the occasional glimpse of peace. Peace. Faith. A greater thing than I have ever known.
 
Why, then, will it not become complete? Why is the strength so rare, and the wailing ice of unspoken fear and doubt so common? I am glad it was dark in the church. Sometimes I could not see, for weeping.
 
All of this, the good and the ill, is part of me. Yet I am troubled. Rachel looks to me to teach her about God -- and what do I think? I say to myself, "How can I explain the mistakes and the lies?" What happened to revealed Truth? What has happened to the Word of God?
 
Beware false prophets! Have I condemned myself with the sin of Thought? The blasphemy of Inquiry? I believe in god -- in God! -- more now than ever before, but who else in the world recognize Him in my eyes? How can I say, now, that the Bible is Truth, when it has become merely another document to be picked apart for shreds of clues and meaning? When I find more echoes of the things I know exist in the holy texts of alien pagan cults than those of my own people? Jesus Christ is still the Saviour, and more than ever a revered Teacher -- but what Christ is this whose very divinity lies in his being no more and no less than a man like me???
 
Oh, listen to me! Hear the Heretic's words! O, what false pride, to dare to claim kinship with the Son of God!!
 
I feel neither falsehood nor pride. An awe, a sacred mystery, a revelation of a thing so precious that I hold it in unrestrained reverence and wonder.
 
The reality of God on Earth. In all of us. In everything.
 
Sometimes I feel I could embrace all the faithful, in love and kinship. Sometimes I feel it is they who are the pagans, the heretics, who must be kept far away. Hmm.
 
I am a warlock, aren't I? A dealer in mysteries; a man whose learning is not sanctioned or understood. I traffic in magic, I practice dark deeds. The tools of my trade are numbers, and alchemy, and the deepest of arcana. But, as Glinda might ask, am I a good witch or a bad witch? The answer would not have mattered, for centuries. The question itself was meaningless. Witches are Evil. Q.E D.
 
Jesus Christ never met a witch. I wonder why? There are sorcerors, a few, in the Old Testament; and Simon Magus in the New; but none in the story of Christ itself. I wonder why?
 
Is this important? Am I missing something?
 
Magic; miracles. Hmm.
 
Man is flawed; but what is the answer?
 
Rachel, Littlebit, you may have just opened my eyes!
 
Still Later --
 
Rebecca. My my my my.... Rebecca. More problems; more burdens. What was I thinking of before? No matter; it has been swept away. NOW what am I going to do?
 
How can I allow it? How can I not? It frightens me -- it disgusts me -- but I have no right to forbid. none.
 
What have I, to ensure our safety, if she fails in what she wishes to do? How DARE I let her go...?
 
I will let her go. I will help her. As much as I can; cringing inwardly at the things I condone, feeling so desperate, soiled, unclean because I have made this thing come to be. Unclean! How can I face them? Will they not know? See it in my eyes?
 
I fear for her ... and I fear her. I am afraid, not of betrayal, but of failure. We are so open, inside, so trusting. Helpless, if they learn what she knows! But she wishes it, and her life is hers. So -- God help me! -- I will plan with her. Together we shall conceive of this abomination, so she will live past its finish.
 
We have a week. I hope it is enough.
Pontius Pilate? No. Herod, perhaps.
 

'''''Friday, 28 December 1928; At Home still --''''' 

For the past few days I have not written in these pages. There is a reason for this: I find that I have not wished to -- and that I have been deliberately, though unconsciously, avoiding opportunities to do so.
 
It is this realization that prompts me to write now. I still do not wish to write, and find it more burden than pleasure, yet I fear that silence now will begin a pattern of silence,, and I really must speak.
 
I do not like what is happening. I fear for what is being done to me, and for what I in turn am doing.
 
Rebecca's intended journey is wrong! I know it is, everything in me screams threats and dire warnings. There is no 'sense' of warning -- merely an impending weight. A sense of doom. Evil? I do not know. Yet -- IS it her decision? IS she free to make her choice? I fear she may not be; but I have no proof, no way of knowing. Seldom have I felt so helpless ... so demeaned. And yet -- in the next breath -- I act to compound the folly. Look at what I am doing! See the growing roots of disaster ... the threads of dishonesty and manipulation that threaten to undo everything I have made. Starting with my peace of mind.
 
I spoke to Lazlo this morning. I could feel it! I could feel the lies -- the half truths, the evasions -- and the worry in him. Worry for me ... and a lessening of trust!
 
That trust that is the heart and core of our friendship: how could I risk it? How dare??? And then it came to me: What I felt was shame.
 
I have become ashamed of my own plans.
 
Something must be done; yet I know not what. I am at the mercy of an intangible inertia. IS this another clever bit of planning to undermine us, as Tony might suspect? I know this "necessity" is at least in part a lie -- but there is nothing I can say or feel that will sway her, and she herself does not seek fuller understanding of her motives.
 
So we prepare. Once again, I condone and plan wholesale slaughter. Forgive me, O Lord, but I DO know what it is I do. Oh,. bitter tears! Someone please weep for me. Someone, please, weep for all of us.
 
----
 
Somewhat later. Tantrum over. Im am embarrassed; nothing will be answered by these tirades. They come and they go, driven by despair and despondency. Yet if I do not go on despite it all, nothing will get done, and that is worse than my guilt must be. So.
 
Rebecca intends to return to theValley, and kill her onetime playmaster. She will do it, or at least make the attempt; short of continuous restraint, I know of no way to stop her, and imprisonment is the sort of thing they do, not we. Besides, I keep telling myself, it is her decision. I disapprove -- I will not condone needless death -- but she claims it is needful. I do not understand her arguments, but if it is so, then there are few better equipped to carry out the task.
 
I cannot, however, shake myself of the suspicion that this plan is not wholly hers. She says she has intended this since she left there; she freely admits she cannot explain her own feelings that she must do it; certainly she has been amply tampered with by the Black and White Men! I keep wondering if it is a simple command, buried deep within her, designed either to allow recapture or simply to nullify a man and an establishment that is is compromised and no longer of use.
 
These are suppositions, more question than answer. I do not know how to answer them, though I will do my poor best. In the meantime she readies herself to go -- and I will aid her. I know that, if she succeeds, the site will become a crazed uproar; little if anything of use to us will long remain. Timetables must be changed, manpower shifted. A lot of things have to happen NOW, before it is too late:
 
- If we are to perform a quiet survey of the valley and/or the Glory Hole, it must be soon;
- If we are to get any further knowledge from the Others there, it must be before the uproar.
 
So, three things. A quiet probe team, a team on site to help her get away, and an assault team to savage the place, strip it of its value before it is all withdrawn.
 
Oddities and considerations: Does the business go to brother or daughter? In either event, is Loren a Key, and is it safe for her to become one? How much of a threat does Dargan remain? In the event the elder Eveling takes command, Rebecca deems it likely that he will defy the Black Man for his own reasons; dare we offer him aid, with or without his knowledge?
 
I feared explaining this to Lazlo. I enviion only too clearly the scorn in his voice -- the disappointment in Theo's. But they deserve to know nonetheless. And Theo is, I recall, a hypnotist. He may perhaps be able to gain some answers, even from her.
 
Rachel is readying for her great adventure. She must have catalogued and ordered everything she owns four times by now -- very excited. Not so, Adam, as might be expected.
 
I have spent my time variously experimenting with hypnosis and working in the Lab. Rebecca was kind enough to aid me -- I have learned a lot with her help. Adam is present but nearly invisible; and I now learn that he speaks Castilian Spanish! Makes me wonder what secrets are locked inside his private walls.
 
So -- on Sunday we move Rachel; if I am lucky, Clay will show up next Thursday or so, and we leave Friday. Or Saturday, perhaps.
 
So busy again. Must remember ....
- Phone King, Theo, Gordon, Samuel.
- Letters to Lazlo, Ceryous, Alex, DAF.
- Package for Rebecca.
 
So much to do! Faint consolation, but something.
 

'''''Saturday, 29 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

A few more perturbations later, and a call to Theo. The more I think about it, the more I am inclined to believe that Rebecca's mission is indeed her own. I am not happy about the timing however -- too much at the same time, all at once all over. If Tony is in Spain when He gets the news, things could be disastrous for our hero.
 
Nevertheless, we go ahead. I have a lot to learn -- I must try to appreciate and remember those who may die. Dear God -- to lose Rebecca now -- ! How even to contemplate it! To lose a treasure of such great price -- unimaginable.
 
Speaking to Theo was intersting, but it left me uneasy. I am not certain why; but then, I am often uneasy these days. I discussed my hypnosis idea with him; he is interested and has agreed to help, but suggests working in conjunction with a therapist. I mentioned Mrs Willams to him, and have written her a letter of introduction. Perhaps she will agree.
 
Meanwhile, he continues to hunt lost Lenore. As one might (perhaps) have expected, the trail now leads him to, of all places, Ohio. A tiny farming town, he says; how chagrined he must feel. What is more, he has a house and a key -- and a name. "Uncle Geffory." Geoffrey Berman? I wonder.
 
I look forward to hearing more of his hunt, particularly since both Marklin and the Black Man seem to be involved. But Theo seems hesitant, secretive, reluctant to speak to me. Have I somehow lost his trust & his friendship? Or was it ever really given to me in the first place? Am I somehow destroying that trust myself?
 
I wonder what the Devil that pocketwatch is?
Lord! I have being a general.
 

'''''Sunday, 30 December 1928; At Home --''''' 

An uneasy, restless night, and miles to go yet. Many letters written and many, many more to come. So much to do before Saturday!
 
I am unhappy. Julian was right. Perhaps this sort of work is not good for me. Yet, now, there is no one else to do it. Hurry, March; hurry. I want to pass part of this burden on.
 
Rebecca says that our interference with Eveling will infuriate Isilie. Will it cause him carelessness? Somehow I doubt it, however much I wish it were so. One way or another we shall be committing ourselves to the heart of battle.
 
I am very much afraid that we will be unable to withstand the reprisals. If that is so, then our only hope is to hit hard and devastatingly with our single blow -- and then hide & scatter before the storm. If, on the other hand, we are not so exposed as I fear, such a move would only tell them more about our strengths and numbers than I wish them to know. We are so ignorant of our enemy; can we not keep them likewise?
 
Late now. Julian is waiting to console and council. WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THEY MEET?
 
Oh dear.
 

'''''Monday, 31 December 1928; At Home --''''' 
The final day of a remarkable year. It was -- what? A year ago yesterday that we found poor Mister Armius fighting for his life in that alley.
My word, how much has changed.
My WORLD -- how much has changed!
 
Call from Dale this morning. He is in town, with M. We spoke for a good while, about APC, and the NWI/Eveling/Chandler connections. I shall send him what I have on these things, and off he goes.
 
Tomorrow I shall inform D of his work.
Tomorrow I call King, and get -- who? Rudy? -- for a watchdog, and free V and REL for Madisonville.
Wednesday we take Rachel to France. Remember to speak to Bent about contracting TMF. (Papers!)
Thursday Clay arrives, I hope.
Friday we pack and prepare.
Saturday we're off!
 
That is just the beginning. How busy we are!
 
I have made arrangements for dinner at Cabot's, and we will ring in the New Year there. Just we two; Rebecca seems to have no interest, either in the holiday or in the company. Considering what she faces, I am unsurprised. Laurence's story is stranger even than I thought.
 
For Auld Lang Syne. For all that is gone, and passed away ....
 
I need the people. To touch them, to be with them. The warnings were true; it is too easy to become isolate, separate from the rest of humanity!
 
Not tonight. Tonight, Julian and I will be people. No more , no less, merely two more faces in the crowd. How splendid to be away from it all for a few hours ... and the reminder of our brotherhood, our kinship with all the wonderful homely secret strivings, the joys and sorrows, the needs and generosities. Oh, it will be good. This is the ending of the old year -- tonite there will be no stealth, no secrets. Let them think what they may -- tomorrow we are reborn!
 
For auld lang syne, my love; for auld lang syne....
Time to get ready for the party.

Carl Ellis December 1928 - Diary

2014-01-28T21:16:41Z

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Carl Ellis December 1928 - Diary

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Carl Ellis December 1928

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[[CARL_ELLIS_1928_DOCUMENTS|Return To the Carl Ellis 1928 Archives]]

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

==[[Carl Ellis December 1928 - Diary|DECEMBER 1928 DIARY]]==

The complete diaries are kept currently at the library in Whispers Estate, France. Edited versions of the diaries may be found in the hands of Carl Ellis' friends.

==[[Carl Ellis December 1928 - Personal Letters|PERSONAL LETTERS]]==

These letters are found only amongst Carl Ellis' private papers, kept currently at the library in Whispers Estate, France. Not available to the general public, but presented here for completion sake.

== [[Carl Ellis December 1928 - Newspapers|NEWSPAPERS]] ==

These newspaper articles reference and/or are connected to Carl Ellis, and maybe found in the public records and other archives as noted.

CARL ELLIS 1928 DOCUMENTS

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== 1928 ARCHIVES ==

This page contains links to transcripts of documentation during the period of January 1928 through December 1928.

 <center>CAUTION!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS AND CURRENT PLOT THREADS.</center>

===[[Carl Ellis January 1928|JANUARY 1928]]===

===[[Carl Ellis July 1928|JULY 1928]]===

===[[Carl Ellis August 1928|AUGUST 1928]]===

===[[Carl Ellis September 1928|SEPTEMBER 1928]]===

===[[Carl Ellis October 1928|OCTOBER 1928]]===

===[[Carl Ellis November 1928|NOVEMBER 1928]]===

===[[Carl Ellis December 1928|DECEMBER 1928]]===

Carl Ellis November 1928 - Diary

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'''''Thursday, 1 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
All Saint's Day; Dia de los Muertos; the dawn after the Hallow Eve. I wonder if the priests of Voudun give any significance to this day? A change day, indeed; the season's beginning, the true start of winter, even though the equinox was long ago. 
How significant, somehow, to be far from land today, asea riding on this wondrous, magical ship. I feel renewed, refreshed, more vital, more alive. New beginnings are everywhere, even in my mind, my heart. How good it is to live. 
The passage has been fair, delightfully so. ''Amun'' heels hard, and while the seas are not rough, one can nonetheless feel the swells strongly; yet I have not felt ill from the motion, nor indeed anything worse than a sunburn from standing hatless on the deck embracing the world. 
Captain Amar (that's how it sounds!) is gracious in an exotic, vaguely piratical way; I respect him immensely and enjoy his company though we have little enough to say to one another. he's quite the taskmaster with his crew however. Discipline is quite strict -- but the crew seems to love the ship and the sea with passionate fervor, and everything is undertaken with verve and good humor. 
The crew have quite taken to Julian, as I might have expected. Her "other talent" again. A number of the younger fellows are openly fascinated by her golden hair, but they are very nice and not at all burdensome. I suspect it's partly because they have all been told she is "the Master's woman." Huh. I do not like this Master business; but it does seem to ave some benefits. Huh, indeed. 
It is, simply, exciting to be here. Relaxed and polished-oak gracious amidst the gleaming brass and ebony of the cabin. Wine and candles with dinner; napkins and silver, attentive service, and gracious conversation; yet always, ALWAYS the pulse of ''Amun'', secretly exulting; alive, joyfully free, at every brush, every touch. A fabulous secret thrill. 
And every night, ''every night'', secure and warm, the arms of my darling darling around me. Without fears, without deception; bliss. It is heaven to be able to live without deception this way. 
Julian particularly enjoys it - this I know. It is a new thing for her, this proud public companionship; she stays close at my side all the time, clinging to my arm and making google-eyes, "showing me off" to all and sundry with pride. Zigfried, I think, is quietly pleased; Theo is taken with the whole thing, in his own wry way; but I know that it took both of them aback a bit -- it was that much of a surprise. 
Give them time. They will become accustomed. 
I wonder what is happening in the world. The best of ships are cut off from civilization in the deep ocean, at least at times, but they have their radios, and other passing vessels, and most of all the busy society doings of their own passengers to catch their interests. Here we have none of that. Merely the broad sky, the endless sea, the colorful but very separate crew, and ourselves. Four unique and fascinating persons, each with our own share of mysteries and wonderments on which to ponder. 
Let the world wait. I am content here. 
'''''Saturday, 3 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
Zigfried has been teaching me Arabic. Just a few words and phrases, really -- I should have to learn the writing, were I to wish to pick it up very fast, and that is beyond me just now. But numbers, and Yes, No, Please, Thank You, Hello, Goodbye, that sort of thing. I do not know how they conjugate the verbs, if indeed they do so at all, buut I do not want to burden Zigfried, we are just fooling around with it really. 
The crew are delighted (and doubtless quite amused) by my fumbling attempts; on occasion I receive a torrent of lalala in reply; and in my rush not to disillusion them I fear my hastily-blurted phrase for "I do not understand Arabic" must come out sounding like "I eat only purple elephants" or some such thing! Languages are fun. 
Should I? Should I not? I want to commune with ''Amun''; I have not worked up the nerve. Time is short; should I? 
''Later on, same day -- '' 
One of the crew lads has offered to teach Julian to climb into the rigging. "May I, Carl?" Wel, I saw no harm in it, she so excited and he so earnest; I told her to be careful and wear trousers, and we all went out to watch. They had fun; she even got about twenty feet up the mast, and then the ship heeled a bit, Julian looked DOWN, she saw that she really was quite high up over an unstable platform -- and came down again. I took a hand at it myself -- it was fun, but I didn't really want to go all the way up there today, so... that was the end of that. 
Useful skill, climbing. Good not to lose track of it. 
'''''Sunday, 4 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
Done it! Done it! The freedom and laughter, and the wild wild ride! How similar to the other, and yet how very different. Salt, and the caress of the water; and GOGOGOGO a wild and unrestrained enthusiasm for motion and speed. NOT tender, but compelling; not nurturing, but exalted. No responsibilities, no cares for the passengers, or the crew, or even ''where'' we go... so long as we ''do'' go, on and on. 
Pastless -- futureless -- NOW forever now. 
How different, indeed. Amazing, how much so. A similar type of "life"... but every precept is oppositely grown, contrarily designed. ''More'' than merely different people. ''More'' than the change between wise parent and willful child, though that feels more correct. A different set of perceptions, understanding, sense, purpose. Literally: different worlds. 
More interesting to me is the feeling of similarity. of familiarity, between ''Amun'' and the Lady. Perhaps it is merely a similar wildness; certainly they are different enough in other ways! But a thought occurs, what if? 
What if the Lady ''is'' such a spiritself? A wellspring entity, perhaps, naturally occurring or even grown or built for unknown ends by some ancient builders long ago? SG seemed to hint at something similar (though there is no reason to conclude that that's what he meant!) A spiritself that has outgrown its function ... become too big for its "body", its prison -- wishes also to be free to move, to DO? Might that happen to all of them, given centuries or millenia to grow and change? 
Loa ... lloigor ... now this. How do they fit together? Wonders -- wonders -- see the patterns multiply! Look beyond the common, see the windows into wonder and mystery! 
Oh! Look! See how large and myraculous this strange new world may be! Like echoes of an unknown footfall, or shadows across a twilit landscape -- I begin again to be surrounded by hints of pattern, whispers of greater and more awesome mysteries. 
God! How I love this work! How it frustrates ... and goads me on! 
Zigfried is my watchdog. He sat beside me, saw what there was to see. Helps me to learn about myself -- to see the things I never can. 
He says he could watch, but could not understand. 
The Knothole has changed. Unfolded, expended. He says it's a shining thing now, all filled with light and motion, attached everywhere in a thousand strings. Says it's doing something to me. Changing me. 
I could have told him that. 
I wish I could see the change. 
I wish I knew where it was going. 
...Hmm.... Change again. Evolution. Growth. Images of the Estate grown strange and wondrous in a distant age. Crystal Shapes swimming in a sea of brilliance... 
...how? Hmm. 
Things I have Learned: "I" does not "disappear" when resting in Still, or at Springboard. "I" disappears when I Dive. Not before. Until then, Zigfried says he could watch, says that he could feel work and motion, flowing, but not what was being done nor where it was going. And of course it all vanished at once when "I" went. He could not follow either. 
See the whispers. See. See. 
Consider the Circle of the House. Consider that of ''Amun''. The House pervades, is aware, shares the lives of all within; this makes up the Circle. ''Amun'' does less so... more self-indulgent, more isolated. But similar in its knowledge. So young. 
Something. Life force and Power. Closer, closer. What? Estatecircle / Ladygifts / Power / Lifeforce -- the one ''nurtured'' by the other -- circle and return! 
WHAT? 
Another layer! Consider: NOTHING exists in isolation. All phenomena are repeatable; therefore multiple occurrences are MANDATORY! Damnme! I wish I had KNOWN: House in Turkey / what kind? 
MURDERER! 
I killed it! 
I helped ...! 
WHAT did I kill? 
Oh!! o o o ! 
Wait -- no -- stay on track. Too much here, must record it. Multiple occurrences: Spiritselves/Wellsprings/Ships/Lady?/Loa? And think of a SET of ways to perceive. Lady is NOT the same, exotic - nonterrestrial. Might She be of the same ''class''? 
Circles. Contacted/seen through the ''life force''? Perception via existence, not merely senses? Something here -- big -- nebulous -- confusing. What am I grabbing at? I feel such tiny pieces! 
Power is nurtured by the Life Force, focused by the Intellect. What, then, ''is it''? 
May the House-selves perceive one another? May they communicate? What of Shipselves? 
Is there s Circle of Circles? 
Look up! Look up and see! 
Bubble, bubble: WHAT AM I REACHING FOR? 
This is going to drive me crazy. 
'''''Monday, 5 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
No more revelations yet. The shape of the things continues to elude me; how frustrating. Even my own words of yesterday do no more than tantalize me now; they can no longer take me back to the brink of that vision, nor fill in the gaps between my fevered thoughts. It saddens me to have lost it so; even when it is not truly gone. 
Further experiments... there does seem to be a barrier of some kind between us and the rest of the world, although it is one that I cannot seem to discern directly. Merely, we are alone here. The Circles of life on distant land are weak, muddled, empty; we are alone. Is it merely distance? Or has she walls of her own to guard us? I suspect the latter. 
Shipwright says we shall dock today. 
We spoke this afternoon, on a variety of topics. He is a fascinating and engaging fellow. I did not expect to have an awful lot to say to him -- but we chatted for nearly two hours before I felt like I had taken too much of his valued and valuable time. 
He has served aboard her now for perhaps twenty years, at my guess. He knows her well; however willful and free she is, his hand is upon her. It is a quiet devotion; they must be good for each other. 
He is no immortal warrior, my Captain. His father served her, and his grandfather; and the marks of his predecessors are clear to him within her, like familiar lines in a well-known face. She is his life work, his posterity ... and to guide and grow her well is satisfaction enough. He does not envy the soldiers, though he admires their dedication and purpose. To be willing to watch your entire world, all that is beloved or familiar,. grow strange and die away; well, that is an awesome and terrifying thing to him. 
To him. I am not certain that he is not right. 
As for her, well! She is a Valkyrie's mount, an Arabian charger, waiting impatiently to bear her warriors into battle. And, he says, she feels the tides of change that rise around us, and she is eager to begin. 
Yes, we spoke of many things. Of loyalty and pride. Of greatness past and yet to come. The Old Man. Zigfried. Each other and ourselves. Hopes; fears; and this cautious new beginning. 
So little of it was spoken aloud ... I will remember. 
He is like ''Amun''. Strong, impressive, unchained... yet good for the soul. 
Our things are packed. The horizon is in sight. We move much more sedately now. others might see. 
''--Later--'' 
Funny, to see her now, lashed to the dock. Inside, she seethes .... Unhappy, frustrated, wishing once again to Go, to be free. She creaks; she twitches, urgent to be gone. Her whole existence, honed to a fine desire for speed. 
Amar says he thinks se was made for a reason; that there was a perceived need for, her a place in a Plan; else, why no others? 
He was not indiscriminate. He was not lax. He trusted too much to his own safety, and that is the tragedy. 
Loss without redemption. How deep it bites. 
Yet, dimly, there are hints of something greater. A Man, a Plan, a ... what? Something. 
The Age of Miracles is not dead. Perhaps there will be time -- to discover -- to grow into what is needed. 
There ''must'' be that much time. 
We cruised serenely into harbour, surrounded by other craft, who floated close to see this gleaming black curio. Our Lady of Bedloe Island did not care. She has seen us before ... and stranger things besides, I feel certain. 
In a few minutes we will part company. Amar and''Amun'' will return to the sea, Zigfried and Theo will go home for a few days, and my lady and I will hop the night train to Chicago. 
I look forward to it ... but I tire of saying goodbye. 
'''''Wednesday, 7 November 1928; Chicago! --'''''' 
I am, for the moment, alone again. Julian is off with Meagan, swept up and whirled away in a cavalcade of dress measurements and wedding plans. We keep in touch, of course; but it is not the same as truly being together. 
So here I sit. At the Zoo. 
Animals have always fascinated me; these days it seems there may be more to learn here than I once thought. So I sit by the Monkey House ... listening. 
I am at last convinced that there is, at least, some element of distance governing the perception of the Circles. Certainly the Smarts and the Quicks are very strong here! And the Circle(s) of the Sea Life very much in evidence when I am by the water, and not elsewhere. Even here, it is not gone... but dim, murky, faded. By distance, I think. 
So I watch. And I learn. I will try hard to learn the Path to Smart; but it is so very long, so very complex, that I despair of ever finishing. My progress seems so very slow; the watchmarks so hard to find; then one must hold it all in the mind at once, building it piece by piece like a crystal puzzle. 
I persevere. 
(Huh! Julian just got stuck by a pin or something.) 
Dinner, tonight, with Meagan. Then a late night meet with King. I want to go over ''my'' version of the treaty, pick points apart, get objections, and further ideas. Tomorrow, I meet his protege, go over plans for the wedding. How silly I feel, making such a fuss! Really, it galls. 
'''''Thursday, 8 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
Met with Daphne today. Not my cup of tea at all ... and I suspect the opinion was mutual. Hard, mannish, aggressive, used to getting her way. Admirable enough in the industry, I suppose, but she cannot have many friends. She dismissed Julian without a thought. We discussed the reception, the options, the contingencies. No real surprises. It will be fun to see what she is like at the wedding -- out of her element indeed! -- but for now I am nothing but an intelligently docile client. 
More zoo today, while Julian is shoe-shopping. 
'''''Saturday, 10 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
The Day Before. Meagan is more frantic by the hour -- she calls, she cannot think of what to say, she checks and double-checks things she's checked before -- amazing! Gone the serene priestess: Pouf! Enter one very crazed woman. 
It makes me smile. I wonder how ''he'' is doing? 
Tonight is the rehearsal, then the dinner. We have not seen much of Edward this week, he is off doing Chandler-things. They are both excited, it seems to me; I only hope they stay happy. So many questions! But far too late to turn aside. 
In an hour or so, Julian's wardrobe will arrive. Tailrs work ''fast'' in Chicago! If you have money. I cannot wait to have her model it for me. 
Yesterday was Our Day Together. We escaped from all of them and zipped about on our own. Such a pity it was winter. The beach was cold; the park was cold. We had lunch in a sunny rooftop glasshouse restaurant a few blocks from here and spent the afternoon -- where else? -- at the Zoo. 
Julian had never been to a zoo before, and Brookfield is a splendid one. Aside from the weather, the animals all live in spacious comfort, with few walls and no bars. As always, I went first to the Monkey House, to greet my friends there; the peanut man nodded hello, he's seen me before. I love to watch the Gibbons and Siamangs leap about the way they do -- Julian was open-mouthed! It is such fun to astonish her. 
One of the gorillas threw some of his lunch at us, which amused the crowd but rather took her aback. She kept asking why us, what was wrong with us; of course I couldn't say. 
Later, at the Reptile House, we watched the crocs feed. Brr! Messy. She was not pleased at all... cowered in my arms in disgust. Hah! I think she merely wanted to steal a snuggle. 
I thought she would like the big cats, but they were lazy and uncooperative, sleeping in dim recesses of their hutches where we could barely make them out. The elephants were popular though, and so especially were the giraffes. I believe they were the beast of the day, she went on and on about how strange and different they were. 
It was a lovely afternoon. 
We talked a bit about the future as well. I have been thinking a lot about my family, and how I am a danger to them now. It hurts to think so, but I am resolved not to endanger them, so I must go away, cut myself off for a long time, perhaps years. How could I explain? And Julian -- even if they understood our marriage -- how to explain the obvious fact that ''she does not age''? Amar's words come back to me. So many things pass.... 
I want them to understand. 
I want them to know Julian, to accept her. 
She is heartbroken that she may not see them again. 
Eh! The Time may be a blessing in disguise! There will be no room for lies, nor need, when it is over. 
'''''Sunday, 11 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
Such a day! Enough to fill up the rest of he book with, I think; but it is late and I am tired. So, just a bit to check in, and I shall fill the details tomorrow. The thing is done, the happy couple are on their way amidst sprawling splendor. 
And Meagan gave me a whole pile of letters to deliver at Gathering. Winder what they are? 
'''''Monday, 12 November 1928; On a Train --'''''' 
Where to start? We are once again in the first-class compartment of an Estward-bound train, heading for Arc's and Gathering. Julian is sound asleep across from me; yesterday was exhausting for her. But I digress.... 
Saturday night was the rehearsal and dinner. The rehearsal took place over two hours, despite a very competent staff, simply because the whole thing was ''so elaborate.'' Meagan told me the wedding would be quiet and simple, compared to the reception, and perhaps that was true; but simple ''only'' in comparison. Neither bride nor groom seem to have an awful lot of truly close friends, so the inner bridal party itself was small -- but they made up for it by creating dozens of "staff" positions for distant friends and relations, each of which had to be instructed. Yawn! Ushers, flower-bearers, candle-carriers, a little girl in matching frock to turn pages for the organist, black-suited servers with silver trays to hand favors and rice to the guests... you see. But the church was lovely, and the ceremony, though carefully nonsectarian, was serene and pleasant. To that, add the bride and groom themselves, radiant and blind with smiles; Meagan blushing red with her eyes full of tears, Edward nervously capable in a glassy sort of way that convinced me that only his professionalism kept him from the shakes. 
Amazing. 
But I digress, again. The dinner was uncomfortable. Julian and Maddie chattered away as they do, but neither of them knew anyone else there but Meagan and myself. The Bride- and Groom-to-be spent the whole time cooing at each other; I felt very much the outsider. Most of the rest of them seemed to know each other fairly well, but they were all businessmen or relatives, with little respect for itinerant engineers like me. 
I did get to meet Meagan's father finally. Impressive fellow; the Patriarch type. I can see where she gets it! 
Andrew Scott came into town on Saturday, and I took him to meet King. I have discussed the possibility of the two of them working together, so I thought they ought to meet and chat. Andrew pulled the most alarming stunt! We are in the sanctum, I introduce them, and without any warning Scott has this idiot grin pasted on his face and starts behaving like a boorish simpleton! I could not believe my eyes! It was an awfully crass thing to do; I was upset, but King seemed merely amused by it, so I left them to work things out for themselves. 
I went back, alone, later in the evening. I eagerly await an explanation from Scott. Why on Earth...? But King seems to have taken it all with good graces. No harm done, apparently. 
We talked about several diverse things; rituals (especially the ceremony of signing), our outstanding assignments (He has not yet found Cairo), the Eight, the Twelve, names and magic, Scott, the Knorri, and (of course!) the Treaty. We spent quite a while going over the counterproposal ... some of the points he raised are going to be troublesome but I do understand something of his reasoning; in the main there were fewer objections, and smaller ones, than I had feared. 
(Than "I" had feared. I wonder how the others will take it all? I shall try to explain, to warn some of them in advance as much as possible ... but how much can I do?) 
And then, in the end when everything was settled, THEN we fought. It was a close thing; almost, we threw the treaty in the waste-can and walked away. And though we reached understanding, though we continue to forge ahead, there is a forced quality that will not be erased. A rift has grown between us now that will affect everything we do from now on. 
Trust is threatened. I will not forget. 
I am not sure how it happened now. We were discussing the Envoys, Mrs Williams in particular, whom ehe tells me is an excellent example of the sort of daysider most attractive and alluring to his folk. (There is in his attitude a yearning intensity, when he speaks of her, that tells me quite clearly that he is far from immune to that attraction himself! It seems that he has found it necessary to guard her carefully, like a fragile treasure never to be touched. I have felt the same yearning from some of my college chums, when faced with a lovely companion who will no longer receive them, and I wonder how strong is his control and self-esteem.) In the midst of this, he admitted to me that he has his own motives which he will not reveal, for the Alliance and all of it. He says now that none of these hidden plans hold harm for the Alliance, or for any of us or for our goals; but that for us to know these plans would doom our relationship to violence and an early end, and how can that be? What awful secrets does he hold? And how can they be so dangerous if there is no harm in them? 
Enough. he has not lied to me; King is playing far, even to admitting this much; but my trust is no longer pure and my faith shall not be blind. It hurts to lose that security! Forever, now, I must watch him carefully -- I shall question his motives and the things that he does. 
A secret betrayal. In my heart. 
But we shall continue -- and someday it will all be clear. 
Sunday was an all-day whirlpool of this and that and whatever. Julian was swept away sometime around nine o'clock to 'get ready'. This apparently meant facials, manicures, hair-do and getting laced into her costume ... all of which I thought was normally reserved for the bride. The ladies naturally did not want me lurking about, so I had myself groomed appropriately, checking in with J every once in a while. Then the ceremony, described above. Chandler's "small" gathering nearly filled the church, several hundred guests present when the organ began to play. And there I was, in the fourth row on the bride's side with a couple of dozen others, like box seats at the Opera. Caught a glimpse of Daphne once, lurking in the crowds further back in the church, but of course she had no "ribbon" card. Just as well. 
The groom and his people were all nattily handsome, but I really have little enough to say about them... I was watching the ladies. 
Jewels on a string, they stood there; each one different, all young, all lovely in their silk and sparkle. The high collars and loose drop-cowls made them all look like priestesses, or fairies out of an Arthurian tale. Meagan, all in white shimmer with miles of train; Maddy, taller and perky with a big big grin; Meagan's friend Alexis, coolly serene and perfect, every dark hair in place; and Julian. 
I do not know how many others were watching her, but I could scarcely look elsewhere. She stood there, radiant, absorbing the attention of a thousand eyes and bathing in it, her own excitement pouring out of her even when she did not move. 
I hope she did not steal the show! For me, that is excusable; but for ''everyone''? Luminous; absorbed in spectacle, ecstatic and yet terrified of making a tiny mistake -- how could I bear to look away? 
Listen, my love, listen! I urged her during the sermon. Feel the cadence, Peter and Paul's ancient words eternally renewed. And when the vows were exchanged, we spoke them too, silently, just for ourselves, thin thread of touch between us making everything holy. 
Lord! How I love that girl! 
Afterward: The recessional, the interminable wait while the wedding pictures were taken, standing around outside with little packets of rice and rose petals .... The caravan behind their coach all the way to the Chandler Building, meekly following Daphne's orders, so filled with the warm glow of the thing that I almost did not wish to go at all; instead, to sneak away and be alone with my own love, even though I knew we must attend. 
The Reception was an anticlimax. 
Huge, loud, scattered throughout the Building, filled with thousands of milling people whom I never care to meet. Our little room was a haven of comparative stillness -- the more so since so few of my friends showed up. Alex Chase was there, I spent the time talking to him and to Andrew Scott. 
Tony never showed. Too bad. 
Wish I could have chatted more with Maddy, but there was not time for everything, and whenever I looked she was doing bridal-party things. 
I was glad when it was over. My distrust of Chandler has not entirely abated, and this makes me uncomfortable with simple well-wishing. Yet I cannot continue to beleaguer poor Meagan with ominous doomsayings -- she has had enough of that! She is happy, she has made her choice, as well-informed as she needed to be to be satisfied; who am I to ignore that? 
Still. It hurts to think she may be wrong. But this is ''her'' day, and I will wish her well as fervently as any of them. And with more pressing reasons besides! 
Thus, in the end, it was over. The dinner; the toasts; dancing; speeches; bouquets and garters (neither of which came our way, despite Meagan's urgins to Julian!); and the endless rounds of Thankyous, Hellos, and the inevitable startled or speculative looks when "my wife Tess" was introduced. Off they went, in a long black car, with a hug and a handshake, kiss and a tear, to the train station and away. 
Whew! Such a sigh of relief. 
I fear we were a bit rude to some of our fellow guests; in our desperation to be away together we quite ignored the friendly overtures of one or two folks we met. Daphne was hard-put to cover us as we went! But oh, how good it felt to be alone together again! So much excited energy when the burdens were dropped --! I swear it was some hours before we spoke another intelligible word aloud.... 
.... and it was not until this morning that I realized I had no way of reaching Maddy until she shows at Gathering! What will she think of me? I hope my rudeness has not offended her. 
In any event, here we are somewhere in Indiana I think. The end of the book, not a moment too soon. I shall start a new one at Gathering; ancient tradition reborn, and a time of newness and change for all of us. 
I wonder what the coming year will bring? 
'''''18 November 1928; Arkham, 3:15 AM --'''''' 
''"They have left, finally. All of them off to their respective homes, or to wherever they feel needed. A blessed relief to see them all, and too, a blessed relief to see them gone.... Perhaps, despite my good intentions, I shall be up until dawning again. 'Tis always the way, after a Gathering. So much to set down before the memories fade...." ''From the diary of Pierre Farquell''

 
His words; more than seventy-five years gone, and still so clear. They mean much more now. 

I felt at first as though I ought to open this book with something clever, something important-sounding. But important-sounding things have a deplorable tendency to sound trite or hollow when re-read later; therefore, this. A simple beginning. 

And here we are. 

The Gathering. First in years, since 1921. Twenty-two of us collected together: To meet, to talk, to laugh and to argue; to share, to plan, and to dream. 

To honor the ones who are gone; and to begin again, I hope, to rekindle a spark of the dream. A beginning -- yes. Please let it be a true one. 

They have laid the mantle of leadership upon me. Formal acclaim, unwanted or not; the elders as well as the new. A unanimous vote of confidence, both heartening ... and terrifying. 

It is like SG says; now they are depending on me. Arc approached me after, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Carl," he said to me. "I remember what happened to the last two leaders we had. I'm sorry." 

The party was GOOD! All those people, all the ideas ... there were some terrific debates! Like a live wire -- vital -- immediate! Unexpected and rewarding appearances by Alex Chase, and Sir Cedric Fentingmore, back from somewhere distant and strange. Odd to meet him at last after all the build-up. Funny little monkey of a man ... possessor of quite a brilliant and incisive mind, but on so many things we disagree. 

It is difficult to forge a new Family, and so hard to tell what has just been born. This Gathering has not become what I initially hoped for ... our simple, intimate hopes for closeness and caring have become impossible. The thing has gotten too large, with too many people with too many needs and plans. Nevertheless, it has begun. 

Now, we must build -- must wait and see. 

Miss Durrell was glorious as Speaker for the Dead. I was moved, truly moved ... and so were they all. Clear, precise in the light of the single candle, and with each name, a blow felt around the circle, eyes flinched in sorrow at an unrecoverable loss. We were together, then. All of us. Remembering. 

They all banded together against Miss Crawford's letters too. Mrs. Chandler. How sad! I do not see why she did it -- but she has driven them all away, knowingly or not; she could not have created more anger and repugnance had she set out to do so. A tragedy ... so many of them will never speak to her again -- and have asked me never more to use their names with her. Such a beginning. Sigh! 

The unveiling of the Treaty was almost anticlimactic by comparison. They listened; they read; they agreed to poner, to suggest, to visit and study Zelda, and ultimately to decide. No fuss, really. Will it work? We shall see. 

A moment of quiet truth, after dinner. The Ten all gathered in the breakfast room and closed the door in private conference. After their open support a few moments earlier, I was worried and upset by this schismatic act, but after twenty minutes I was called in. "We wish it understood, Carl, that we are no longer a separate group. Do not single us out because we are Trained ... we join you fully and wish our difference forgotten." 

Well! Such a surprise -- and so obvious that they did not understand. I told them that they were welcome, wholly equally and joyously; but I would not condone such a forgetting. What they were, what they had been, was part of them and part of us, a rich tapestry of experience linking them to a lovely and noble history. Remember it with pride, for you have been something great; let your experience help us all to grow. Welcome, I said, and took them all in warmly. It was a heady instant. 

Impressions, before I get back to work; I shall not sleep this night: 

- Tony squiring Alexandria around, as belligerently proud and nervous as I've seen him, obviously possessive and doting;

- Theo's words, after the vote: "Please, Carl! I believe that what you do is sometimes necessary -- but be careful what you choose to do!"

- Alex's words, about the Nightsiders: "Can they be helped? Can they be saved? I have fought all my life to drive them out -- but if they can be cured, I HAVE TO TRY!"

- Emerson's appearance: Haggard, thin, unhealthy from lack of sleep ... but with a fierce excitement in his eyes that makes me uneasy.

- Lazlo; and Tony; and Alex: Promise us, Carl: Never tell Meagan anything about us!

- Julian, glowing glorious gold at dinner, so proud and happy for her man I could burst with it;

- Hollyfeldt's stunned disbelief, when at last he was introduced to Alexandria Durrell. 

Oh, so rich, so rich! The jokes, the laughter; the suggestions to Clay that he Cross soon, or else he'll die first! Such a marvelous couple of days! 

And tomorrow -- today -- it concludes, with plans and assignments for all. The Turkey group leaves in the morning by air; the others less precipitously, each in his fashion. We shall stay to Friday, and go to Tony's Thanksgiving. 

And all of us will meet again, at the Big House, in July! A ritual re-born. 

Oh! Oh! 

In silence, my heart sings. 

'''''Monday, 19 November 1928; Arkham --''''' 

Once we begin, we move quickly. A number of tasks assigned, though most do not start up until after the New Year. Sunday was devoted to interviews and long private talks with various folk. Maddy arrived at last! Only too late for all the fun. She looks splendid, and is on her way to the Estate for private study. 

Tony, Gordon and I went out to the Reservoir site early this morning to looksee. We took Andrew's warning very seriously, and went well equipped with protective masks and garments. I am glad we did. 

The place is foul; eerie, gray and dead; encrusted with sickness and a patina of phosphorescent grey ash ... and something more. Nothing lives there, save for the Thing in the well. Andrew warned us. It is all indescribably repugnant. 

The water in the reservoir has not yet approached the dead spot, so there is still time. We collected samples and took a lot of photographs of the things we found. Of special note, the bodies of the two farmers are still in the old house after forty years, simple piles of bone and unhealthy grey ash. They never sought to leave, and nobody thought to seek after them, or give them proper rest. 

When I clipped a sample from one of the dead trees in the yard, every one of the trees shuddered like a live thing! There is something there yet, binding everything together into an unhealthy semblance of function. 

The well is the center of the place. The water there is thick, murky, bright with the taint of the thing. Its bottom is fouled with bits and pieces of ... prey. Bones, hair, jewelry -- I was so frightened, I wanted to leave more than anything lest It should awaken or return and find us unprepared. 

Egghhh! Poison, death, corruption. 

When we left, with our samples carefully placed in sealed containers, we left our gloves and galoshes and other outerwear there. The feeling of contamination was too strong -- we wished nothing of that Place to touch us! I am more than ever convinced that this alien thing is somehow connected with the Plague. 

I HOPE the folk in Turkey will be careful!! 

All in all we collected more than enough convincing stuff to show the Medical Examiner's people that the place is unhealthy and should not be allowed into the water supply. Gordon will now do some work with the samples to try and put a more formal conclusive face on the thing, and I shall get the photos developed. I'm sure Clay will help. We're all meeting tomorrow morning at Gordon's to plan the next move -- such a relief to be able to do something decisiv, legitimate, and above-boards! 

Eh. I took two baths. I felt unclean. 

A letter from Hannah Rhyner was waiting for me back at the house. She is well, but is concerned. King, it seems, is paying her rather more attention then she feels is strictly cricket. Why? 

Doesn't sound cricket to me ... either! 

She has been ensconced somewhere with this Cromwell as her protector. Something is very wrong in Chicago -- Are we being betrayed? 

Maddy spent some time with Carl, says he is openly and gleefully infatuated by Zelda... I am scared. This is not like him! He seems to have lost sight of what we are up to, of his own part and purpose -- what seduction is this? 

I shall not be caught --- Lord! How pompous and grandiose I sound! -- I do not wish to have our fragile little band caught up and torn asunder by the desires and politics of the Nightsiders. Emerson's obsession, or seeming obsession, with Zelda is unexpected and alarming. Vigilance! Vigilance! She has needs of her own, they all do; I feel threatened. 

The whole thing reeks suddenly. 

I called Alex Chase up to talk to Gordon about what we've found, and this evening I shall go to speak with Carl and Zelda myself. 

Much Later --- 

Better ... a little. Long interesting talk with the two of them; I am in some measure put at ease. For the moment at least, I no longer feel that she is merely being devious ... she, as Zelda, seems honestly to care about him quite a bit, though it is not really a human sort of affection.... and I thing I begin to see the measure of their masks. They are not piecemeal things, but wholes; difficult to change a piece without changing it all. 

But Zelda will not always be Zelda. Someday the whole will change, and what then? One of the importances of the treaty is that it defines standards of behaviour that are external to the individual. 

Curious to note that perhaps her interest in Carl may be the one thing that keeps Zelda Zelda. That "keeps things interesting," as she might say. 

Yet, despite all this, it does not improve my worries overmuch. It is not Zelda that occupies my thoughts; it is Carl,. Carl seems to have decided suddenly that all of his responsibilities can simply be "put on the shelf" while he runs out and plays! I can certainly understand some of this -- after all, he is more or less locked up with Zelda and ought yo try to enjoy his incarceration -- but what of the rest? 

- What of his ongoing investigations?

- What of his experiments?

- What of Pembroke, whom he is guiding?

- What of the Children who are supposed to be in his care?

- What, dear God, of Mrs. Hannelore Williams? He no longer seems to care. It is not that he has forgotten about her, no; but he dismisses her from conversation! Where, now, is the intensely caring fellow who has asked her to marry him? Who has been her devoted friend for years, and her protector? Where is the man who vowed, ashen-faced, that whomsoever so much as touched her would be destroyed at his hands? He has heard from her, as I have, and he dismisses her worries offhandedly, between telling me of a wild gin party he is planning and reassuring me that "he knows what he is doing." 

Sure, he knows. Hah. 

''
'''Tuesday, November 20, a928; Evening in NYC --''''' 

Events move quickly still, and I am even more upset and worried now. 

Theo and I have stopped in New York City this evening, on our way to Washington. I took the opportunity to develop our pictures of the Dead Spot at Carl's house. The luminescence does not show up well in the prints, but the barren devastation of the site is starkly clear. 

We met this morning at Gordon's house to discuss the Plague situation. Gordon showed us the results of some tests he's done -- very grim. He fed some of the well-water to a mouse or two ... within minutes it was dead, and less that twelve hours later the poor creature was literally flaking apart before us, the body decomposing into loose flakes of grey ash!!! 

Like the farm. Like the farmers. 

Tony brought along his huge body of notes and documents taken from the clinics. We shared them around, and were dismayed by the lethality and virulence of the stuff. 

There is no way around it. We must go public. 

So, three parallel plans: 

ONE: Gordon is putting together a preliminary review of the things we found at the Farm. Together with my photos, and the autopsy results done on the poor mouse, this will be put in Clay's hands tomorrow, for presentation to the state Medical Examiner's office. Our goal is to get them to stop the flooding of the valley before this nastiness gets into our water supply. At least, Clay's report will get them to send their own investigators to the site. Its danger will not be questioned. 

TWO: Once this is done, probably by tomorrow, Gordon will start work full-time on the problem of the Plague. The notes and samples which we have, of the various forms of Disease, make up a substantial body of work with which to begin. We shall cover his expenses, and arrange for the eventual creation of a research facility where we may continue study of all of these things in safety. Alex Chase has a serious interest as well; perhaps he will also take part. 

THREE: Theo and I are taking the bull by the horns, and are now going to Washington to present the Authorities (in this case, a friend of Theo's in the Secret Service) with a carefully trimmed case showing the existence of a conspiracy of unknowns to disrupt the peaceful livelihood of our nation, and possibly others as well. We spent hours yesterday and today working out the details; I am convinced that we may do this without implicating ourselves or our friends in any of the criminal things that have happened. It will be such a relief to pass it on to competent authority!! But scary too -- VERY scary -- to lose control of things this way. 

The biggest danger will be of the Dark discovering our little plot through their people inside; so we have emphasized the existence of known conspiracy members in and near the government, and the likely existence of other unknowns. 

We shall see. Brr! Scary -- but it feels good, too ... Things -- IMPORTANT things -- are moving at last! 

'''''Wednesday, 21 November 1928; Washington --''''' 

Another night spent on trains, and a late morning arrival here, in the nation's Capitol. 

I have never been to Washington before, and I really had no idea what it would be like. Oh, one reads the stories, and hears all the same descriptions of monuments and governmental houses as all the other schoolchildren, but once again experience has no substitute. 

My principal regret is that I have had so little time to see it now -- and I have been, understandably, distracted. Someday Julian and I must come here to explore this rather impressive place. But, I suppose, it is best that she is not here now, else I should constantly be waiting for Marklin to leap out of the shadows and try a grab! 

Hum. 

Washington is broad and park-like, spread gracefully along the banks of the Potomac. Everywhere, newly-wintered trees spider into the sky, the last few leaves still clinging to their branches. 

Central to it all is the Mall, a broad sweep of open land that stretches a couple of miles, from the river to the Capitol building. Across the river lies Arlington, where the Great War's thousands lie buried. And, midway between the Capitol and the Potomac, the George Washington Monument spears into the sky, like Cleopatra's Needle grown impossibly huge and graceful in a dream. Five hundred fifty five feet of smooth white marble, looking down on red brick mansions, elegant hotels and theaters, the galleries, the museums, the great Library, and of course the White House, lovely classical mansion not far from the Monument's foot. 

It is a city of memorials and symbols, and an inspiring reminder to me of what this nation truly is. America! How unfashionable, these days, to praise her name so fervently ... yet here, and now, I am filled with patriotic love for this great homeland. Everywhere here is simple artistry, renderings in stone of homage to the Principles on which this country stands. 

Truth! Freedom! Liberty! Equality! How much more they mean, now, than before. America is made by the hands and lives of men, a flawed but glorious earthly attempt at Unity, carved from soil and spirit. I am inspired. 

We met Theo's friend in the afternoon, in a small room-behind-one-of-a-thousand-identical-doors sort of place. A pleasant fellow, obviously holds Theo in high esteem; and once we laid our case, he was quite concerned and serious about the whole thing, 

The evidence was laid out just as we'd planned, including the admonishment about possible high-ranking conspiracy members; he very convincingly agrees that something must and will be done. 

So -- the die is case, the arrow loosed from the bow. We shall never know what steps they take, or what, precisely, they find; the thing will be done very quietly, by Friend and his trusted comrades. If we learn anything, it will be through Theo, and long after the fact. We shall also have to curtail our own activities in certain areas -- else we might be caught up by the folks who, unknowing, are our allies! But it's done. Now we can look forward to another long train ride through the night; then I shall be with her once again. 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. The three hundredth one, more or less; I forget precisely. 

Amazing, how much I have to be thankful for. 

'''''Thursday, 22 November 1928; Boston; Evening --''''' 

Fate twists us cruelly, it seems, and it is as well that I have a sense of humor and perspective, else I should be bitterly angry as well as merely cut to the core. I look upon my last line above and laugh, but it is not a happy laughter. 

No surprises getting here. Washington to New York to Boston; long but peaceful. The others met us at the station. It was good, it was good: Prodigal sons come home, reunited after a successful venture. Good: to shake the others' hands, look them in the eyes, and know that we have done well. 

Simple pleasures. And of course, my lady was there; feast after famine. A look, a smile, a touch; silly words spoken small; and that tremulous radiance that fills me, golden and warm to the heart. Complete once again! 

The trouble began when we arrived at Tony's house. That is when we were shown the article, and knew that the Dark has started firing back. 

They have loosed the Plague. People are starting to die. 

The article is small, of interest but little alarm to most folks. It describes an outbreak of influenza in a region near Kansas City. Twenty or thirty people have already caught it and succumbed... it is clearly a warning shot, a threat aimed directly at us. There can be no other reason ... and the non-coincidence of JOSEPHINE RINGER as a Health Service spokeswoman is too deliberate to ignore: 

"You have hurt us, but we are strong. Tamper no more, or we shall obliterate the things you hold most dear!" 

There was much anguish in the house, and much heated debate, but the simple truth is that there is nothing that we can do, now. The stuff is too easy to distribute -- whomever was there is now long gone. 

Still, the shot has been fired. It changes everything, in small ways. It is one more thing to point to -- one more bit of evidence. 

And I must confess this: that the first thing I thought of, when the shock had settled and the icy chill ceased numbing my brain, was: "Thank God! Thank God we got to tell our story first. They would never believe us now." 

Those poor people. What a loss And they will never know why, nor believe it if they were told. The victims of a war that has now truly begun: the Enemy has started killing civilians. 

...but we were guests in Tony's home, here for the holiday festivities, and so it was our duty to join them in good cheer. Difficult at first -- but they were so friendly, so homey, that it became easier after a while. 

Impressions: Grimaldis everywhere! Actually there are only the three -- Tony, and his aunt and uncle -- but all of their Family friends are cut from the same cloth. Too, the elder Grimaldis are both naturally charismatic; they fill the room for several. Gracious, used to wielding authority, yet not pushy. Nice folk; even if I have a hard time condoning their way of life. 

(Yet ... are we so different? Sigh.) 

We -- our people -- easily dominated the table. It must have been a bit uncomfortable for the others; we so diverse, and so unknown. Rebecca was there, and Carl, and Zelda; and the three of us; Theo; with only three Grimaldis and a quartet of "friends", how strange indeed! 

I do not know what we are to do. 

''
'''Friday, 23 November 1928; westward bound --''''' 

Again! Another blow! It does not stop, does it? No! Oh, I know, I know it is no further sorrow, we were merely living in borrowed ignorance. I should not rail on so; but the magnitude of the loss fills me -- and I feel the touch of blame in it too strongly to set it all aside. 

Today, the President-Elect, Herbert Hoover, died. Of the Ponic Plague, I believe; the Kansas City Flu, they're calling it now. 

What a disaster! DID THEY KNOW??? 

It seems his train passed through Holliday, Kansas a few days ago. 

How could they have been so sure? Or, did they seed the place because they knew? 

Westward bound. I have nothing more to say. 

'''''
Monday, 26 November 1928; South of Oregon --''''' 

Another day or two and we will be home. Home. It seems like forever. 

We passed through Montana yesterday, Big Timber some time mid-morning. Less than fifty miles from his house; one could not see the peak from the train. I wonder how he is? Wrote a letter, in a passing mood of extravagance; he should have it by the time we are home. 

I have been poor company these past few days. So many things have happened! From Gathering to the Reservoir, Washington to the news of the Plague, all in a week's time. It has affected me. Up and down, elation to despair. More than anything else, I have been impressed by an enormous sense of BURDEN. 

The task just seems so impossible sometimes. 

I feel as though I should have so much to say. So many thoughts on the subject. I must, I suppose; yet none of them are clear, none articulate enough to write here. Merely a blur of washed, turmoiled emotions, and scattered fragments of scenery I do not recognize. 

Thank Heavens for Julian. 

We left Friday morning from Boston, on a grey windless day rather suited to my mood. The route we took was northerly, through Chicago, so as to miss the quarantined area. 

Damnation! Still it hurts! 

Chicago, through Minnesota, and along the Great Northern tracks to Seattle. We came close, again, to Lucius' island, and to ruined Wintershaven. 

Enough. This contemplation hurts my mood. 

Wonder how he is? Have heard nothing so far. 

I feel as though we're fleeing the scene of a crime. 

...Julian, as always, has been very helpful. Thank God for her! She is used to my moods, and is so good for me. Jewel beyond price indeed! 

Home. Two days. 

Hurry. 

'''''Wednesday, 28 November 1928; Home --''''' 

At last! It feels so good to be here! The healing is beginning, amidst my things and the enormous amount of work that must be done after a long absence. 

There has been a lot of rain, so that even though the watering cans are long empty, the window boxes are green and the cat is healthy. It is easy to see where he has been living: there are well-marked trails of dried paw prints and shed fur between the kitchen, the door, and his favorite haunts. Quite a creature of habit, our Peanut! 

The yard is overgrown and the lawn is rank and uneven ... but it is wet winter now , and most of the gardening must wait 'til Spring. We shall, however, plant new seeds for Rachel's indoor flowerpots, so we will have blooms inside where it is warm when the frosts come. That will be soon. 

Ah, home! Evening now -- the radio playing a fugue, the fireplace filled with light -- Ah! So nice! 

We arrived shortly after one and set things right and switched things off before collecting the Children. The house and lab were undisturbed. 

Now I can feel the relaxation coming over me. Flicker-flicker; and glimpses of new things too, plots and plans for the new year. 
- Will I hear from New Mexico?

- Will King accept the latest Treaty?

- Will Theo's friends find the plot, and cripple it without being destroyed?

- Will WE?

- Will Gordon be able to help us?

- Will the Old Guard have success in Turkey, or Byron and the rest in Ithaca? 

And, too .... What what? How can I help? What is my next move? Hmm.... 

I am filled with a desire to meet my House once again, now that I have met the others, now that I know more of what to look for. But, I think, not now. Not tonight -- not while the fire burns, while the music plays and the rain caresses the roof overhead, and my beautiful girl smiles at me from the throw rug by the hearth. 

Oh! I feel like a King!

Carl Ellis November 1928 - Diary

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'''''Thursday, 1 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
All Saint's Day; Dia de los Muertos; the dawn after the Hallow Eve. I wonder if the priests of Voudun give any significance to this day? A change day, indeed; the season's beginning, the true start of winter, even though the equinox was long ago. 
How significant, somehow, to be far from land today, asea riding on this wondrous, magical ship. I feel renewed, refreshed, more vital, more alive. New beginnings are everywhere, even in my mind, my heart. How good it is to live. 
The passage has been fair, delightfully so. ''Amun'' heels hard, and while the seas are not rough, one can nonetheless feel the swells strongly; yet I have not felt ill from the motion, nor indeed anything worse than a sunburn from standing hatless on the deck embracing the world. 
Captain Amar (that's how it sounds!) is gracious in an exotic, vaguely piratical way; I respect him immensely and enjoy his company though we have little enough to say to one another. he's quite the taskmaster with his crew however. Discipline is quite strict -- but the crew seems to love the ship and the sea with passionate fervor, and everything is undertaken with verve and good humor. 
The crew have quite taken to Julian, as I might have expected. Her "other talent" again. A number of the younger fellows are openly fascinated by her golden hair, but they are very nice and not at all burdensome. I suspect it's partly because they have all been told she is "the Master's woman." Huh. I do not like this Master business; but it does seem to ave some benefits. Huh, indeed. 
It is, simply, exciting to be here. Relaxed and polished-oak gracious amidst the gleaming brass and ebony of the cabin. Wine and candles with dinner; napkins and silver, attentive service, and gracious conversation; yet always, ALWAYS the pulse of ''Amun'', secretly exulting; alive, joyfully free, at every brush, every touch. A fabulous secret thrill. 
And every night, ''every night'', secure and warm, the arms of my darling darling around me. Without fears, without deception; bliss. It is heaven to be able to live without deception this way. 
Julian particularly enjoys it - this I know. It is a new thing for her, this proud public companionship; she stays close at my side all the time, clinging to my arm and making google-eyes, "showing me off" to all and sundry with pride. Zigfried, I think, is quietly pleased; Theo is taken with the whole thing, in his own wry way; but I know that it took both of them aback a bit -- it was that much of a surprise. 
Give them time. They will become accustomed. 
I wonder what is happening in the world. The best of ships are cut off from civilization in the deep ocean, at least at times, but they have their radios, and other passing vessels, and most of all the busy society doings of their own passengers to catch their interests. Here we have none of that. Merely the broad sky, the endless sea, the colorful but very separate crew, and ourselves. Four unique and fascinating persons, each with our own share of mysteries and wonderments on which to ponder. 
Let the world wait. I am content here. 
'''''Saturday, 3 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
Zigfried has been teaching me Arabic. Just a few words and phrases, really -- I should have to learn the writing, were I to wish to pick it up very fast, and that is beyond me just now. But numbers, and Yes, No, Please, Thank You, Hello, Goodbye, that sort of thing. I do not know how they conjugate the verbs, if indeed they do so at all, buut I do not want to burden Zigfried, we are just fooling around with it really. 
The crew are delighted (and doubtless quite amused) by my fumbling attempts; on occasion I receive a torrent of lalala in reply; and in my rush not to disillusion them I fear my hastily-blurted phrase for "I do not understand Arabic" must come out sounding like "I eat only purple elephants" or some such thing! Languages are fun. 
Should I? Should I not? I want to commune with ''Amun''; I have not worked up the nerve. Time is short; should I? 
''Later on, same day -- '' 
One of the crew lads has offered to teach Julian to climb into the rigging. "May I, Carl?" Wel, I saw no harm in it, she so excited and he so earnest; I told her to be careful and wear trousers, and we all went out to watch. They had fun; she even got about twenty feet up the mast, and then the ship heeled a bit, Julian looked DOWN, she saw that she really was quite high up over an unstable platform -- and came down again. I took a hand at it myself -- it was fun, but I didn't really want to go all the way up there today, so... that was the end of that. 
Useful skill, climbing. Good not to lose track of it. 
'''''Sunday, 4 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
Done it! Done it! The freedom and laughter, and the wild wild ride! How similar to the other, and yet how very different. Salt, and the caress of the water; and GOGOGOGO a wild and unrestrained enthusiasm for motion and speed. NOT tender, but compelling; not nurturing, but exalted. No responsibilities, no cares for the passengers, or the crew, or even ''where'' we go... so long as we ''do'' go, on and on. 
Pastless -- futureless -- NOW forever now. 
How different, indeed. Amazing, how much so. A similar type of "life"... but every precept is oppositely grown, contrarily designed. ''More'' than merely different people. ''More'' than the change between wise parent and willful child, though that feels more correct. A different set of perceptions, understanding, sense, purpose. Literally: different worlds. 
More interesting to me is the feeling of similarity. of familiarity, between ''Amun'' and the Lady. Perhaps it is merely a similar wildness; certainly they are different enough in other ways! But a thought occurs, what if? 
What if the Lady ''is'' such a spiritself? A wellspring entity, perhaps, naturally occurring or even grown or built for unknown ends by some ancient builders long ago? SG seemed to hint at something similar (though there is no reason to conclude that that's what he meant!) A spiritself that has outgrown its function ... become too big for its "body", its prison -- wishes also to be free to move, to DO? Might that happen to all of them, given centuries or millenia to grow and change? 
Loa ... lloigor ... now this. How do they fit together? Wonders -- wonders -- see the patterns multiply! Look beyond the common, see the windows into wonder and mystery! 
Oh! Look! See how large and myraculous this strange new world may be! Like echoes of an unknown footfall, or shadows across a twilit landscape -- I begin again to be surrounded by hints of pattern, whispers of greater and more awesome mysteries. 
God! How I love this work! How it frustrates ... and goads me on! 
Zigfried is my watchdog. He sat beside me, saw what there was to see. Helps me to learn about myself -- to see the things I never can. 
He says he could watch, but could not understand. 
The Knothole has changed. Unfolded, expended. He says it's a shining thing now, all filled with light and motion, attached everywhere in a thousand strings. Says it's doing something to me. Changing me. 
I could have told him that. 
I wish I could see the change. 
I wish I knew where it was going. 
...Hmm.... Change again. Evolution. Growth. Images of the Estate grown strange and wondrous in a distant age. Crystal Shapes swimming in a sea of brilliance... 
...how? Hmm. 
Things I have Learned: "I" does not "disappear" when resting in Still, or at Springboard. "I" disappears when I Dive. Not before. Until then, Zigfried says he could watch, says that he could feel work and motion, flowing, but not what was being done nor where it was going. And of course it all vanished at once when "I" went. He could not follow either. 
See the whispers. See. See. 
Consider the Circle of the House. Consider that of ''Amun''. The House pervades, is aware, shares the lives of all within; this makes up the Circle. ''Amun'' does less so... more self-indulgent, more isolated. But similar in its knowledge. So young. 
Something. Life force and Power. Closer, closer. What? Estatecircle / Ladygifts / Power / Lifeforce -- the one ''nurtured'' by the other -- circle and return! 
WHAT? 
Another layer! Consider: NOTHING exists in isolation. All phenomena are repeatable; therefore multiple occurrences are MANDATORY! Damnme! I wish I had KNOWN: House in Turkey / what kind? 
MURDERER! 
I killed it! 
I helped ...! 
WHAT did I kill? 
Oh!! o o o ! 
Wait -- no -- stay on track. Too much here, must record it. Multiple occurrences: Spiritselves/Wellsprings/Ships/Lady?/Loa? And think of a SET of ways to perceive. Lady is NOT the same, exotic - nonterrestrial. Might She be of the same ''class''? 
Circles. Contacted/seen through the ''life force''? Perception via existence, not merely senses? Something here -- big -- nebulous -- confusing. What am I grabbing at? I feel such tiny pieces! 
Power is nurtured by the Life Force, focused by the Intellect. What, then, ''is it''? 
May the House-selves perceive one another? May they communicate? What of Shipselves? 
Is there s Circle of Circles? 
Look up! Look up and see! 
Bubble, bubble: WHAT AM I REACHING FOR? 
This is going to drive me crazy. 
'''''Monday, 5 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
No more revelations yet. The shape of the things continues to elude me; how frustrating. Even my own words of yesterday do no more than tantalize me now; they can no longer take me back to the brink of that vision, nor fill in the gaps between my fevered thoughts. It saddens me to have lost it so; even when it is not truly gone. 
Further experiments... there does seem to be a barrier of some kind between us and the rest of the world, although it is one that I cannot seem to discern directly. Merely, we are alone here. The Circles of life on distant land are weak, muddled, empty; we are alone. Is it merely distance? Or has she walls of her own to guard us? I suspect the latter. 
Shipwright says we shall dock today. 
We spoke this afternoon, on a variety of topics. He is a fascinating and engaging fellow. I did not expect to have an awful lot to say to him -- but we chatted for nearly two hours before I felt like I had taken too much of his valued and valuable time. 
He has served aboard her now for perhaps twenty years, at my guess. He knows her well; however willful and free she is, his hand is upon her. It is a quiet devotion; they must be good for each other. 
He is no immortal warrior, my Captain. His father served her, and his grandfather; and the marks of his predecessors are clear to him within her, like familiar lines in a well-known face. She is his life work, his posterity ... and to guide and grow her well is satisfaction enough. He does not envy the soldiers, though he admires their dedication and purpose. To be willing to watch your entire world, all that is beloved or familiar,. grow strange and die away; well, that is an awesome and terrifying thing to him. 
To him. I am not certain that he is not right. 
As for her, well! She is a Valkyrie's mount, an Arabian charger, waiting impatiently to bear her warriors into battle. And, he says, she feels the tides of change that rise around us, and she is eager to begin. 
Yes, we spoke of many things. Of loyalty and pride. Of greatness past and yet to come. The Old Man. Zigfried. Each other and ourselves. Hopes; fears; and this cautious new beginning. 
So little of it was spoken aloud ... I will remember. 
He is like ''Amun''. Strong, impressive, unchained... yet good for the soul. 
Our things are packed. The horizon is in sight. We move much more sedately now. others might see. 
''--Later--'' 
Funny, to see her now, lashed to the dock. Inside, she seethes .... Unhappy, frustrated, wishing once again to Go, to be free. She creaks; she twitches, urgent to be gone. Her whole existence, honed to a fine desire for speed. 
Amar says he thinks se was made for a reason; that there was a perceived need for, her a place in a Plan; else, why no others? 
He was not indiscriminate. He was not lax. He trusted too much to his own safety, and that is the tragedy. 
Loss without redemption. How deep it bites. 
Yet, dimly, there are hints of something greater. A Man, a Plan, a ... what? Something. 
The Age of Miracles is not dead. Perhaps there will be time -- to discover -- to grow into what is needed. 
There ''must'' be that much time. 
We cruised serenely into harbour, surrounded by other craft, who floated close to see this gleaming black curio. Our Lady of Bedloe Island did not care. She has seen us before ... and stranger things besides, I feel certain. 
In a few minutes we will part company. Amar and''Amun'' will return to the sea, Zigfried and Theo will go home for a few days, and my lady and I will hop the night train to Chicago. 
I look forward to it ... but I tire of saying goodbye. 
'''''Wednesday, 7 November 1928; Chicago! --'''''' 
I am, for the moment, alone again. Julian is off with Meagan, swept up and whirled away in a cavalcade of dress measurements and wedding plans. We keep in touch, of course; but it is not the same as truly being together. 
So here I sit. At the Zoo. 
Animals have always fascinated me; these days it seems there may be more to learn here than I once thought. So I sit by the Monkey House ... listening. 
I am at last convinced that there is, at least, some element of distance governing the perception of the Circles. Certainly the Smarts and the Quicks are very strong here! And the Circle(s) of the Sea Life very much in evidence when I am by the water, and not elsewhere. Even here, it is not gone... but dim, murky, faded. By distance, I think. 
So I watch. And I learn. I will try hard to learn the Path to Smart; but it is so very long, so very complex, that I despair of ever finishing. My progress seems so very slow; the watchmarks so hard to find; then one must hold it all in the mind at once, building it piece by piece like a crystal puzzle. 
I persevere. 
(Huh! Julian just got stuck by a pin or something.) 
Dinner, tonight, with Meagan. Then a late night meet with King. I want to go over ''my'' version of the treaty, pick points apart, get objections, and further ideas. Tomorrow, I meet his protege, go over plans for the wedding. How silly I feel, making such a fuss! Really, it galls. 
'''''Thursday, 8 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
Met with Daphne today. Not my cup of tea at all ... and I suspect the opinion was mutual. Hard, mannish, aggressive, used to getting her way. Admirable enough in the industry, I suppose, but she cannot have many friends. She dismissed Julian without a thought. We discussed the reception, the options, the contingencies. No real surprises. It will be fun to see what she is like at the wedding -- out of her element indeed! -- but for now I am nothing but an intelligently docile client. 
More zoo today, while Julian is shoe-shopping. 
'''''Saturday, 10 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
The Day Before. Meagan is more frantic by the hour -- she calls, she cannot think of what to say, she checks and double-checks things she's checked before -- amazing! Gone the serene priestess: Pouf! Enter one very crazed woman. 
It makes me smile. I wonder how ''he'' is doing? 
Tonight is the rehearsal, then the dinner. We have not seen much of Edward this week, he is off doing Chandler-things. They are both excited, it seems to me; I only hope they stay happy. So many questions! But far too late to turn aside. 
In an hour or so, Julian's wardrobe will arrive. Tailrs work ''fast'' in Chicago! If you have money. I cannot wait to have her model it for me. 
Yesterday was Our Day Together. We escaped from all of them and zipped about on our own. Such a pity it was winter. The beach was cold; the park was cold. We had lunch in a sunny rooftop glasshouse restaurant a few blocks from here and spent the afternoon -- where else? -- at the Zoo. 
Julian had never been to a zoo before, and Brookfield is a splendid one. Aside from the weather, the animals all live in spacious comfort, with few walls and no bars. As always, I went first to the Monkey House, to greet my friends there; the peanut man nodded hello, he's seen me before. I love to watch the Gibbons and Siamangs leap about the way they do -- Julian was open-mouthed! It is such fun to astonish her. 
One of the gorillas threw some of his lunch at us, which amused the crowd but rather took her aback. She kept asking why us, what was wrong with us; of course I couldn't say. 
Later, at the Reptile House, we watched the crocs feed. Brr! Messy. She was not pleased at all... cowered in my arms in disgust. Hah! I think she merely wanted to steal a snuggle. 
I thought she would like the big cats, but they were lazy and uncooperative, sleeping in dim recesses of their hutches where we could barely make them out. The elephants were popular though, and so especially were the giraffes. I believe they were the beast of the day, she went on and on about how strange and different they were. 
It was a lovely afternoon. 
We talked a bit about the future as well. I have been thinking a lot about my family, and how I am a danger to them now. It hurts to think so, but I am resolved not to endanger them, so I must go away, cut myself off for a long time, perhaps years. How could I explain? And Julian -- even if they understood our marriage -- how to explain the obvious fact that ''she does not age''? Amar's words come back to me. So many things pass.... 
I want them to understand. 
I want them to know Julian, to accept her. 
She is heartbroken that she may not see them again. 
Eh! The Time may be a blessing in disguise! There will be no room for lies, nor need, when it is over. 
'''''Sunday, 11 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
Such a day! Enough to fill up the rest of he book with, I think; but it is late and I am tired. So, just a bit to check in, and I shall fill the details tomorrow. The thing is done, the happy couple are on their way amidst sprawling splendor. 
And Meagan gave me a whole pile of letters to deliver at Gathering. Winder what they are? 
'''''Monday, 12 November 1928; On a Train --'''''' 
'''''18 November 1928; Arkham, 3:15 AM --'''''' 
''"They have left, finally. All of them off to their respective homes, or to wherever they feel needed. A blessed relief to see them all, and too, a blessed relief to see them gone.... Perhaps, despite my good intentions, I shall be up until dawning again. 'Tis always the way, after a Gathering. So much to set down before the memories fade...." ''From the diary of Pierre Farquell''

 
His words; more than seventy-five years gone, and still so clear. They mean much more now. 

I felt at first as though I ought to open this book with something clever, something important-sounding. But important-sounding things have a deplorable tendency to sound trite or hollow when re-read later; therefore, this. A simple beginning. 

And here we are. 

The Gathering. First in years, since 1921. Twenty-two of us collected together: To meet, to talk, to laugh and to argue; to share, to plan, and to dream. 

To honor the ones who are gone; and to begin again, I hope, to rekindle a spark of the dream. A beginning -- yes. Please let it be a true one. 

They have laid the mantle of leadership upon me. Formal acclaim, unwanted or not; the elders as well as the new. A unanimous vote of confidence, both heartening ... and terrifying. 

It is like SG says; now they are depending on me. Arc approached me after, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Carl," he said to me. "I remember what happened to the last two leaders we had. I'm sorry." 

The party was GOOD! All those people, all the ideas ... there were some terrific debates! Like a live wire -- vital -- immediate! Unexpected and rewarding appearances by Alex Chase, and Sir Cedric Fentingmore, back from somewhere distant and strange. Odd to meet him at last after all the build-up. Funny little monkey of a man ... possessor of quite a brilliant and incisive mind, but on so many things we disagree. 

It is difficult to forge a new Family, and so hard to tell what has just been born. This Gathering has not become what I initially hoped for ... our simple, intimate hopes for closeness and caring have become impossible. The thing has gotten too large, with too many people with too many needs and plans. Nevertheless, it has begun. 

Now, we must build -- must wait and see. 

Miss Durrell was glorious as Speaker for the Dead. I was moved, truly moved ... and so were they all. Clear, precise in the light of the single candle, and with each name, a blow felt around the circle, eyes flinched in sorrow at an unrecoverable loss. We were together, then. All of us. Remembering. 

They all banded together against Miss Crawford's letters too. Mrs. Chandler. How sad! I do not see why she did it -- but she has driven them all away, knowingly or not; she could not have created more anger and repugnance had she set out to do so. A tragedy ... so many of them will never speak to her again -- and have asked me never more to use their names with her. Such a beginning. Sigh! 

The unveiling of the Treaty was almost anticlimactic by comparison. They listened; they read; they agreed to poner, to suggest, to visit and study Zelda, and ultimately to decide. No fuss, really. Will it work? We shall see. 

A moment of quiet truth, after dinner. The Ten all gathered in the breakfast room and closed the door in private conference. After their open support a few moments earlier, I was worried and upset by this schismatic act, but after twenty minutes I was called in. "We wish it understood, Carl, that we are no longer a separate group. Do not single us out because we are Trained ... we join you fully and wish our difference forgotten." 

Well! Such a surprise -- and so obvious that they did not understand. I told them that they were welcome, wholly equally and joyously; but I would not condone such a forgetting. What they were, what they had been, was part of them and part of us, a rich tapestry of experience linking them to a lovely and noble history. Remember it with pride, for you have been something great; let your experience help us all to grow. Welcome, I said, and took them all in warmly. It was a heady instant. 

Impressions, before I get back to work; I shall not sleep this night: 

- Tony squiring Alexandria around, as belligerently proud and nervous as I've seen him, obviously possessive and doting;

- Theo's words, after the vote: "Please, Carl! I believe that what you do is sometimes necessary -- but be careful what you choose to do!"

- Alex's words, about the Nightsiders: "Can they be helped? Can they be saved? I have fought all my life to drive them out -- but if they can be cured, I HAVE TO TRY!"

- Emerson's appearance: Haggard, thin, unhealthy from lack of sleep ... but with a fierce excitement in his eyes that makes me uneasy.

- Lazlo; and Tony; and Alex: Promise us, Carl: Never tell Meagan anything about us!

- Julian, glowing glorious gold at dinner, so proud and happy for her man I could burst with it;

- Hollyfeldt's stunned disbelief, when at last he was introduced to Alexandria Durrell. 

Oh, so rich, so rich! The jokes, the laughter; the suggestions to Clay that he Cross soon, or else he'll die first! Such a marvelous couple of days! 

And tomorrow -- today -- it concludes, with plans and assignments for all. The Turkey group leaves in the morning by air; the others less precipitously, each in his fashion. We shall stay to Friday, and go to Tony's Thanksgiving. 

And all of us will meet again, at the Big House, in July! A ritual re-born. 

Oh! Oh! 

In silence, my heart sings. 

'''''Monday, 19 November 1928; Arkham --''''' 

Once we begin, we move quickly. A number of tasks assigned, though most do not start up until after the New Year. Sunday was devoted to interviews and long private talks with various folk. Maddy arrived at last! Only too late for all the fun. She looks splendid, and is on her way to the Estate for private study. 

Tony, Gordon and I went out to the Reservoir site early this morning to looksee. We took Andrew's warning very seriously, and went well equipped with protective masks and garments. I am glad we did. 

The place is foul; eerie, gray and dead; encrusted with sickness and a patina of phosphorescent grey ash ... and something more. Nothing lives there, save for the Thing in the well. Andrew warned us. It is all indescribably repugnant. 

The water in the reservoir has not yet approached the dead spot, so there is still time. We collected samples and took a lot of photographs of the things we found. Of special note, the bodies of the two farmers are still in the old house after forty years, simple piles of bone and unhealthy grey ash. They never sought to leave, and nobody thought to seek after them, or give them proper rest. 

When I clipped a sample from one of the dead trees in the yard, every one of the trees shuddered like a live thing! There is something there yet, binding everything together into an unhealthy semblance of function. 

The well is the center of the place. The water there is thick, murky, bright with the taint of the thing. Its bottom is fouled with bits and pieces of ... prey. Bones, hair, jewelry -- I was so frightened, I wanted to leave more than anything lest It should awaken or return and find us unprepared. 

Egghhh! Poison, death, corruption. 

When we left, with our samples carefully placed in sealed containers, we left our gloves and galoshes and other outerwear there. The feeling of contamination was too strong -- we wished nothing of that Place to touch us! I am more than ever convinced that this alien thing is somehow connected with the Plague. 

I HOPE the folk in Turkey will be careful!! 

All in all we collected more than enough convincing stuff to show the Medical Examiner's people that the place is unhealthy and should not be allowed into the water supply. Gordon will now do some work with the samples to try and put a more formal conclusive face on the thing, and I shall get the photos developed. I'm sure Clay will help. We're all meeting tomorrow morning at Gordon's to plan the next move -- such a relief to be able to do something decisiv, legitimate, and above-boards! 

Eh. I took two baths. I felt unclean. 

A letter from Hannah Rhyner was waiting for me back at the house. She is well, but is concerned. King, it seems, is paying her rather more attention then she feels is strictly cricket. Why? 

Doesn't sound cricket to me ... either! 

She has been ensconced somewhere with this Cromwell as her protector. Something is very wrong in Chicago -- Are we being betrayed? 

Maddy spent some time with Carl, says he is openly and gleefully infatuated by Zelda... I am scared. This is not like him! He seems to have lost sight of what we are up to, of his own part and purpose -- what seduction is this? 

I shall not be caught --- Lord! How pompous and grandiose I sound! -- I do not wish to have our fragile little band caught up and torn asunder by the desires and politics of the Nightsiders. Emerson's obsession, or seeming obsession, with Zelda is unexpected and alarming. Vigilance! Vigilance! She has needs of her own, they all do; I feel threatened. 

The whole thing reeks suddenly. 

I called Alex Chase up to talk to Gordon about what we've found, and this evening I shall go to speak with Carl and Zelda myself. 

Much Later --- 

Better ... a little. Long interesting talk with the two of them; I am in some measure put at ease. For the moment at least, I no longer feel that she is merely being devious ... she, as Zelda, seems honestly to care about him quite a bit, though it is not really a human sort of affection.... and I thing I begin to see the measure of their masks. They are not piecemeal things, but wholes; difficult to change a piece without changing it all. 

But Zelda will not always be Zelda. Someday the whole will change, and what then? One of the importances of the treaty is that it defines standards of behaviour that are external to the individual. 

Curious to note that perhaps her interest in Carl may be the one thing that keeps Zelda Zelda. That "keeps things interesting," as she might say. 

Yet, despite all this, it does not improve my worries overmuch. It is not Zelda that occupies my thoughts; it is Carl,. Carl seems to have decided suddenly that all of his responsibilities can simply be "put on the shelf" while he runs out and plays! I can certainly understand some of this -- after all, he is more or less locked up with Zelda and ought yo try to enjoy his incarceration -- but what of the rest? 

- What of his ongoing investigations?

- What of his experiments?

- What of Pembroke, whom he is guiding?

- What of the Children who are supposed to be in his care?

- What, dear God, of Mrs. Hannelore Williams? He no longer seems to care. It is not that he has forgotten about her, no; but he dismisses her from conversation! Where, now, is the intensely caring fellow who has asked her to marry him? Who has been her devoted friend for years, and her protector? Where is the man who vowed, ashen-faced, that whomsoever so much as touched her would be destroyed at his hands? He has heard from her, as I have, and he dismisses her worries offhandedly, between telling me of a wild gin party he is planning and reassuring me that "he knows what he is doing." 

Sure, he knows. Hah. 

''
'''Tuesday, November 20, a928; Evening in NYC --''''' 

Events move quickly still, and I am even more upset and worried now. 

Theo and I have stopped in New York City this evening, on our way to Washington. I took the opportunity to develop our pictures of the Dead Spot at Carl's house. The luminescence does not show up well in the prints, but the barren devastation of the site is starkly clear. 

We met this morning at Gordon's house to discuss the Plague situation. Gordon showed us the results of some tests he's done -- very grim. He fed some of the well-water to a mouse or two ... within minutes it was dead, and less that twelve hours later the poor creature was literally flaking apart before us, the body decomposing into loose flakes of grey ash!!! 

Like the farm. Like the farmers. 

Tony brought along his huge body of notes and documents taken from the clinics. We shared them around, and were dismayed by the lethality and virulence of the stuff. 

There is no way around it. We must go public. 

So, three parallel plans: 

ONE: Gordon is putting together a preliminary review of the things we found at the Farm. Together with my photos, and the autopsy results done on the poor mouse, this will be put in Clay's hands tomorrow, for presentation to the state Medical Examiner's office. Our goal is to get them to stop the flooding of the valley before this nastiness gets into our water supply. At least, Clay's report will get them to send their own investigators to the site. Its danger will not be questioned. 

TWO: Once this is done, probably by tomorrow, Gordon will start work full-time on the problem of the Plague. The notes and samples which we have, of the various forms of Disease, make up a substantial body of work with which to begin. We shall cover his expenses, and arrange for the eventual creation of a research facility where we may continue study of all of these things in safety. Alex Chase has a serious interest as well; perhaps he will also take part. 

THREE: Theo and I are taking the bull by the horns, and are now going to Washington to present the Authorities (in this case, a friend of Theo's in the Secret Service) with a carefully trimmed case showing the existence of a conspiracy of unknowns to disrupt the peaceful livelihood of our nation, and possibly others as well. We spent hours yesterday and today working out the details; I am convinced that we may do this without implicating ourselves or our friends in any of the criminal things that have happened. It will be such a relief to pass it on to competent authority!! But scary too -- VERY scary -- to lose control of things this way. 

The biggest danger will be of the Dark discovering our little plot through their people inside; so we have emphasized the existence of known conspiracy members in and near the government, and the likely existence of other unknowns. 

We shall see. Brr! Scary -- but it feels good, too ... Things -- IMPORTANT things -- are moving at last! 

'''''Wednesday, 21 November 1928; Washington --''''' 

Another night spent on trains, and a late morning arrival here, in the nation's Capitol. 

I have never been to Washington before, and I really had no idea what it would be like. Oh, one reads the stories, and hears all the same descriptions of monuments and governmental houses as all the other schoolchildren, but once again experience has no substitute. 

My principal regret is that I have had so little time to see it now -- and I have been, understandably, distracted. Someday Julian and I must come here to explore this rather impressive place. But, I suppose, it is best that she is not here now, else I should constantly be waiting for Marklin to leap out of the shadows and try a grab! 

Hum. 

Washington is broad and park-like, spread gracefully along the banks of the Potomac. Everywhere, newly-wintered trees spider into the sky, the last few leaves still clinging to their branches. 

Central to it all is the Mall, a broad sweep of open land that stretches a couple of miles, from the river to the Capitol building. Across the river lies Arlington, where the Great War's thousands lie buried. And, midway between the Capitol and the Potomac, the George Washington Monument spears into the sky, like Cleopatra's Needle grown impossibly huge and graceful in a dream. Five hundred fifty five feet of smooth white marble, looking down on red brick mansions, elegant hotels and theaters, the galleries, the museums, the great Library, and of course the White House, lovely classical mansion not far from the Monument's foot. 

It is a city of memorials and symbols, and an inspiring reminder to me of what this nation truly is. America! How unfashionable, these days, to praise her name so fervently ... yet here, and now, I am filled with patriotic love for this great homeland. Everywhere here is simple artistry, renderings in stone of homage to the Principles on which this country stands. 

Truth! Freedom! Liberty! Equality! How much more they mean, now, than before. America is made by the hands and lives of men, a flawed but glorious earthly attempt at Unity, carved from soil and spirit. I am inspired. 

We met Theo's friend in the afternoon, in a small room-behind-one-of-a-thousand-identical-doors sort of place. A pleasant fellow, obviously holds Theo in high esteem; and once we laid our case, he was quite concerned and serious about the whole thing, 

The evidence was laid out just as we'd planned, including the admonishment about possible high-ranking conspiracy members; he very convincingly agrees that something must and will be done. 

So -- the die is case, the arrow loosed from the bow. We shall never know what steps they take, or what, precisely, they find; the thing will be done very quietly, by Friend and his trusted comrades. If we learn anything, it will be through Theo, and long after the fact. We shall also have to curtail our own activities in certain areas -- else we might be caught up by the folks who, unknowing, are our allies! But it's done. Now we can look forward to another long train ride through the night; then I shall be with her once again. 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. The three hundredth one, more or less; I forget precisely. 

Amazing, how much I have to be thankful for. 

'''''Thursday, 22 November 1928; Boston; Evening --''''' 

Fate twists us cruelly, it seems, and it is as well that I have a sense of humor and perspective, else I should be bitterly angry as well as merely cut to the core. I look upon my last line above and laugh, but it is not a happy laughter. 

No surprises getting here. Washington to New York to Boston; long but peaceful. The others met us at the station. It was good, it was good: Prodigal sons come home, reunited after a successful venture. Good: to shake the others' hands, look them in the eyes, and know that we have done well. 

Simple pleasures. And of course, my lady was there; feast after famine. A look, a smile, a touch; silly words spoken small; and that tremulous radiance that fills me, golden and warm to the heart. Complete once again! 

The trouble began when we arrived at Tony's house. That is when we were shown the article, and knew that the Dark has started firing back. 

They have loosed the Plague. People are starting to die. 

The article is small, of interest but little alarm to most folks. It describes an outbreak of influenza in a region near Kansas City. Twenty or thirty people have already caught it and succumbed... it is clearly a warning shot, a threat aimed directly at us. There can be no other reason ... and the non-coincidence of JOSEPHINE RINGER as a Health Service spokeswoman is too deliberate to ignore: 

"You have hurt us, but we are strong. Tamper no more, or we shall obliterate the things you hold most dear!" 

There was much anguish in the house, and much heated debate, but the simple truth is that there is nothing that we can do, now. The stuff is too easy to distribute -- whomever was there is now long gone. 

Still, the shot has been fired. It changes everything, in small ways. It is one more thing to point to -- one more bit of evidence. 

And I must confess this: that the first thing I thought of, when the shock had settled and the icy chill ceased numbing my brain, was: "Thank God! Thank God we got to tell our story first. They would never believe us now." 

Those poor people. What a loss And they will never know why, nor believe it if they were told. The victims of a war that has now truly begun: the Enemy has started killing civilians. 

...but we were guests in Tony's home, here for the holiday festivities, and so it was our duty to join them in good cheer. Difficult at first -- but they were so friendly, so homey, that it became easier after a while. 

Impressions: Grimaldis everywhere! Actually there are only the three -- Tony, and his aunt and uncle -- but all of their Family friends are cut from the same cloth. Too, the elder Grimaldis are both naturally charismatic; they fill the room for several. Gracious, used to wielding authority, yet not pushy. Nice folk; even if I have a hard time condoning their way of life. 

(Yet ... are we so different? Sigh.) 

We -- our people -- easily dominated the table. It must have been a bit uncomfortable for the others; we so diverse, and so unknown. Rebecca was there, and Carl, and Zelda; and the three of us; Theo; with only three Grimaldis and a quartet of "friends", how strange indeed! 

I do not know what we are to do. 

''
'''Friday, 23 November 1928; westward bound --''''' 

Again! Another blow! It does not stop, does it? No! Oh, I know, I know it is no further sorrow, we were merely living in borrowed ignorance. I should not rail on so; but the magnitude of the loss fills me -- and I feel the touch of blame in it too strongly to set it all aside. 

Today, the President-Elect, Herbert Hoover, died. Of the Ponic Plague, I believe; the Kansas City Flu, they're calling it now. 

What a disaster! DID THEY KNOW??? 

It seems his train passed through Holliday, Kansas a few days ago. 

How could they have been so sure? Or, did they seed the place because they knew? 

Westward bound. I have nothing more to say. 

'''''
Monday, 26 November 1928; South of Oregon --''''' 

Another day or two and we will be home. Home. It seems like forever. 

We passed through Montana yesterday, Big Timber some time mid-morning. Less than fifty miles from his house; one could not see the peak from the train. I wonder how he is? Wrote a letter, in a passing mood of extravagance; he should have it by the time we are home. 

I have been poor company these past few days. So many things have happened! From Gathering to the Reservoir, Washington to the news of the Plague, all in a week's time. It has affected me. Up and down, elation to despair. More than anything else, I have been impressed by an enormous sense of BURDEN. 

The task just seems so impossible sometimes. 

I feel as though I should have so much to say. So many thoughts on the subject. I must, I suppose; yet none of them are clear, none articulate enough to write here. Merely a blur of washed, turmoiled emotions, and scattered fragments of scenery I do not recognize. 

Thank Heavens for Julian. 

We left Friday morning from Boston, on a grey windless day rather suited to my mood. The route we took was northerly, through Chicago, so as to miss the quarantined area. 

Damnation! Still it hurts! 

Chicago, through Minnesota, and along the Great Northern tracks to Seattle. We came close, again, to Lucius' island, and to ruined Wintershaven. 

Enough. This contemplation hurts my mood. 

Wonder how he is? Have heard nothing so far. 

I feel as though we're fleeing the scene of a crime. 

...Julian, as always, has been very helpful. Thank God for her! She is used to my moods, and is so good for me. Jewel beyond price indeed! 

Home. Two days. 

Hurry. 

'''''Wednesday, 28 November 1928; Home --''''' 

At last! It feels so good to be here! The healing is beginning, amidst my things and the enormous amount of work that must be done after a long absence. 

There has been a lot of rain, so that even though the watering cans are long empty, the window boxes are green and the cat is healthy. It is easy to see where he has been living: there are well-marked trails of dried paw prints and shed fur between the kitchen, the door, and his favorite haunts. Quite a creature of habit, our Peanut! 

The yard is overgrown and the lawn is rank and uneven ... but it is wet winter now , and most of the gardening must wait 'til Spring. We shall, however, plant new seeds for Rachel's indoor flowerpots, so we will have blooms inside where it is warm when the frosts come. That will be soon. 

Ah, home! Evening now -- the radio playing a fugue, the fireplace filled with light -- Ah! So nice! 

We arrived shortly after one and set things right and switched things off before collecting the Children. The house and lab were undisturbed. 

Now I can feel the relaxation coming over me. Flicker-flicker; and glimpses of new things too, plots and plans for the new year. 
- Will I hear from New Mexico?

- Will King accept the latest Treaty?

- Will Theo's friends find the plot, and cripple it without being destroyed?

- Will WE?

- Will Gordon be able to help us?

- Will the Old Guard have success in Turkey, or Byron and the rest in Ithaca? 

And, too .... What what? How can I help? What is my next move? Hmm.... 

I am filled with a desire to meet my House once again, now that I have met the others, now that I know more of what to look for. But, I think, not now. Not tonight -- not while the fire burns, while the music plays and the rain caresses the roof overhead, and my beautiful girl smiles at me from the throw rug by the hearth. 

Oh! I feel like a King!

Carl Ellis November 1928 - Diary

2014-01-09T23:54:47Z

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'''''Thursday, 1 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
All Saint's Day; Dia de los Muertos; the dawn after the Hallow Eve. I wonder if the priests of Voudun give any significance to this day? A change day, indeed; the season's beginning, the true start of winter, even though the equinox was long ago. 
How significant, somehow, to be far from land today, asea riding on this wondrous, magical ship. I feel renewed, refreshed, more vital, more alive. New beginnings are everywhere, even in my mind, my heart. How good it is to live. 
The passage has been fair, delightfully so. ''Amun'' heels hard, and while the seas are not rough, one can nonetheless feel the swells strongly; yet I have not felt ill from the motion, nor indeed anything worse than a sunburn from standing hatless on the deck embracing the world. 
Captain Amar (that's how it sounds!) is gracious in an exotic, vaguely piratical way; I respect him immensely and enjoy his company though we have little enough to say to one another. he's quite the taskmaster with his crew however. Discipline is quite strict -- but the crew seems to love the ship and the sea with passionate fervor, and everything is undertaken with verve and good humor. 
The crew have quite taken to Julian, as I might have expected. Her "other talent" again. A number of the younger fellows are openly fascinated by her golden hair, but they are very nice and not at all burdensome. I suspect it's partly because they have all been told she is "the Master's woman." Huh. I do not like this Master business; but it does seem to ave some benefits. Huh, indeed. 
It is, simply, exciting to be here. Relaxed and polished-oak gracious amidst the gleaming brass and ebony of the cabin. Wine and candles with dinner; napkins and silver, attentive service, and gracious conversation; yet always, ALWAYS the pulse of ''Amun'', secretly exulting; alive, joyfully free, at every brush, every touch. A fabulous secret thrill. 
And every night, ''every night'', secure and warm, the arms of my darling darling around me. Without fears, without deception; bliss. It is heaven to be able to live without deception this way. 
Julian particularly enjoys it - this I know. It is a new thing for her, this proud public companionship; she stays close at my side all the time, clinging to my arm and making google-eyes, "showing me off" to all and sundry with pride. Zigfried, I think, is quietly pleased; Theo is taken with the whole thing, in his own wry way; but I know that it took both of them aback a bit -- it was that much of a surprise. 
Give them time. They will become accustomed. 
I wonder what is happening in the world. The best of ships are cut off from civilization in the deep ocean, at least at times, but they have their radios, and other passing vessels, and most of all the busy society doings of their own passengers to catch their interests. Here we have none of that. Merely the broad sky, the endless sea, the colorful but very separate crew, and ourselves. Four unique and fascinating persons, each with our own share of mysteries and wonderments on which to ponder. 
Let the world wait. I am content here. 
'''''Saturday, 3 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
Zigfried has been teaching me Arabic. Just a few words and phrases, really -- I should have to learn the writing, were I to wish to pick it up very fast, and that is beyond me just now. But numbers, and Yes, No, Please, Thank You, Hello, Goodbye, that sort of thing. I do not know how they conjugate the verbs, if indeed they do so at all, buut I do not want to burden Zigfried, we are just fooling around with it really. 
The crew are delighted (and doubtless quite amused) by my fumbling attempts; on occasion I receive a torrent of lalala in reply; and in my rush not to disillusion them I fear my hastily-blurted phrase for "I do not understand Arabic" must come out sounding like "I eat only purple elephants" or some such thing! Languages are fun. 
Should I? Should I not? I want to commune with ''Amun''; I have not worked up the nerve. Time is short; should I? 
''Later on, same day -- '' 
One of the crew lads has offered to teach Julian to climb into the rigging. "May I, Carl?" Wel, I saw no harm in it, she so excited and he so earnest; I told her to be careful and wear trousers, and we all went out to watch. They had fun; she even got about twenty feet up the mast, and then the ship heeled a bit, Julian looked DOWN, she saw that she really was quite high up over an unstable platform -- and came down again. I took a hand at it myself -- it was fun, but I didn't really want to go all the way up there today, so... that was the end of that. 
Useful skill, climbing. Good not to lose track of it. 
'''''Sunday, 4 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
Done it! Done it! The freedom and laughter, and the wild wild ride! How similar to the other, and yet how very different. Salt, and the caress of the water; and GOGOGOGO a wild and unrestrained enthusiasm for motion and speed. NOT tender, but compelling; not nurturing, but exalted. No responsibilities, no cares for the passengers, or the crew, or even ''where'' we go... so long as we ''do'' go, on and on. 
Pastless -- futureless -- NOW forever now. 
How different, indeed. Amazing, how much so. A similar type of "life"... but every precept is oppositely grown, contrarily designed. ''More'' than merely different people. ''More'' than the change between wise parent and willful child, though that feels more correct. A different set of perceptions, understanding, sense, purpose. Literally: different worlds. 
More interesting to me is the feeling of similarity. of familiarity, between ''Amun'' and the Lady. Perhaps it is merely a similar wildness; certainly they are different enough in other ways! But a thought occurs, what if? 
What if the Lady ''is'' such a spiritself? A wellspring entity, perhaps, naturally occurring or even grown or built for unknown ends by some ancient builders long ago? SG seemed to hint at something similar (though there is no reason to conclude that that's what he meant!) A spiritself that has outgrown its function ... become too big for its "body", its prison -- wishes also to be free to move, to DO? Might that happen to all of them, given centuries or millenia to grow and change? 
Loa ... lloigor ... now this. How do they fit together? Wonders -- wonders -- see the patterns multiply! Look beyond the common, see the windows into wonder and mystery! 
Oh! Look! See how large and myraculous this strange new world may be! Like echoes of an unknown footfall, or shadows across a twilit landscape -- I begin again to be surrounded by hints of pattern, whispers of greater and more awesome mysteries. 
God! How I love this work! How it frustrates ... and goads me on! 
Zigfried is my watchdog. He sat beside me, saw what there was to see. Helps me to learn about myself -- to see the things I never can. 
He says he could watch, but could not understand. 
The Knothole has changed. Unfolded, expended. He says it's a shining thing now, all filled with light and motion, attached everywhere in a thousand strings. Says it's doing something to me. Changing me. 
I could have told him that. 
I wish I could see the change. 
I wish I knew where it was going. 
...Hmm.... Change again. Evolution. Growth. Images of the Estate grown strange and wondrous in a distant age. Crystal Shapes swimming in a sea of brilliance... 
...how? Hmm. 
Things I have Learned: "I" does not "disappear" when resting in Still, or at Springboard. "I" disappears when I Dive. Not before. Until then, Zigfried says he could watch, says that he could feel work and motion, flowing, but not what was being done nor where it was going. And of course it all vanished at once when "I" went. He could not follow either. 
See the whispers. See. See. 
Consider the Circle of the House. Consider that of ''Amun''. The House pervades, is aware, shares the lives of all within; this makes up the Circle. ''Amun'' does less so... more self-indulgent, more isolated. But similar in its knowledge. So young. 
Something. Life force and Power. Closer, closer. What? Estatecircle / Ladygifts / Power / Lifeforce -- the one ''nurtured'' by the other -- circle and return! 
WHAT? 
Another layer! Consider: NOTHING exists in isolation. All phenomena are repeatable; therefore multiple occurrences are MANDATORY! Damnme! I wish I had KNOWN: House in Turkey / what kind? 
MURDERER! 
I killed it! 
I helped ...! 
WHAT did I kill? 
Oh!! o o o ! 
Wait -- no -- stay on track. Too much here, must record it. Multiple occurrences: Spiritselves/Wellsprings/Ships/Lady?/Loa? And think of a SET of ways to perceive. Lady is NOT the same, exotic - nonterrestrial. Might She be of the same ''class''? 
Circles. Contacted/seen through the ''life force''? Perception via existence, not merely senses? Something here -- big -- nebulous -- confusing. What am I grabbing at? I feel such tiny pieces! 
Power is nurtured by the Life Force, focused by the Intellect. What, then, ''is it''? 
May the House-selves perceive one another? May they communicate? What of Shipselves? 
Is there s Circle of Circles? 
Look up! Look up and see! 
Bubble, bubble: WHAT AM I REACHING FOR? 
This is going to drive me crazy. 
'''''Monday, 5 November 1928; At Sea --'''''' 
No more revelations yet. The shape of the things continues to elude me; how frustrating. Even my own words of yesterday do no more than tantalize me now; they can no longer take me back to the brink of that vision, nor fill in the gaps between my fevered thoughts. It saddens me to have lost it so; even when it is not truly gone. 
Further experiments... there does seem to be a barrier of some kind between us and the rest of the world, although it is one that I cannot seem to discern directly. Merely, we are alone here. The Circles of life on distant land are weak, muddled, empty; we are alone. Is it merely distance? Or has she walls of her own to guard us? I suspect the latter. 
Shipwright says we shall dock today. 
We spoke this afternoon, on a variety of topics. He is a fascinating and engaging fellow. I did not expect to have an awful lot to say to him -- but we chatted for nearly two hours before I felt like I had taken too much of his valued and valuable time. 
He has served aboard her now for perhaps twenty years, at my guess. He knows her well; however willful and free she is, his hand is upon her. It is a quiet devotion; they must be good for each other. 
He is no immortal warrior, my Captain. His father served her, and his grandfather; and the marks of his predecessors are clear to him within her, like familiar lines in a well-known face. She is his life work, his posterity ... and to guide and grow her well is satisfaction enough. He does not envy the soldiers, though he admires their dedication and purpose. To be willing to watch your entire world, all that is beloved or familiar,. grow strange and die away; well, that is an awesome and terrifying thing to him. 
To him. I am not certain that he is not right. 
As for her, well! She is a Valkyrie's mount, an Arabian charger, waiting impatiently to bear her warriors into battle. And, he says, she feels the tides of change that rise around us, and she is eager to begin. 
Yes, we spoke of many things. Of loyalty and pride. Of greatness past and yet to come. The Old Man. Zigfried. Each other and ourselves. Hopes; fears; and this cautious new beginning. 
So little of it was spoken aloud ... I will remember. 
He is like ''Amun''. Strong, impressive, unchained... yet good for the soul. 
Our things are packed. The horizon is in sight. We move much more sedately now. others might see. 
''--Later--'' 
Funny, to see her now, lashed to the dock. Inside, she seethes .... Unhappy, frustrated, wishing once again to Go, to be free. She creaks; she twitches, urgent to be gone. Her whole existence, honed to a fine desire for speed. 
Amar says he thinks se was made for a reason; that there was a perceived need for, her a place in a Plan; else, why no others? 
He was not indiscriminate. He was not lax. He trusted too much to his own safety, and that is the tragedy. 
Loss without redemption. How deep it bites. 
Yet, dimly, there are hints of something greater. A Man, a Plan, a ... what? Something. 
The Age of Miracles is not dead. Perhaps there will be time -- to discover -- to grow into what is needed. 
There ''must'' be that much time. 
We cruised serenely into harbour, surrounded by other craft, who floated close to see this gleaming black curio. Our Lady of Bedloe Island did not care. She has seen us before ... and stranger things besides, I feel certain. 
In a few minutes we will part company. Amar and''Amun'' will return to the sea, Zigfried and Theo will go home for a few days, and my lady and I will hop the night train to Chicago. 
I look forward to it ... but I tire of saying goodbye. 
'''''Wednesday, 7 November 1928; Chicago! --'''''' 
I am, for the moment, alone again. Julian is off with Meagan, swept up and whirled away in a cavalcade of dress measurements and wedding plans. We keep in touch, of course; but it is not the same as truly being together. 
So here I sit. At the Zoo. 
Animals have always fascinated me; these days it seems there may be more to learn here than I once thought. So I sit by the Monkey House ... listening. 
I am at last convinced that there is, at least, some element of distance governing the perception of the Circles. Certainly the Smarts and the Quicks are very strong here! And the Circle(s) of the Sea Life very much in evidence when I am by the water, and not elsewhere. Even here, it is not gone... but dim, murky, faded. By distance, I think. 
So I watch. And I learn. I will try hard to learn the Path to Smart; but it is so very long, so very complex, that I despair of ever finishing. My progress seems so very slow; the watchmarks so hard to find; then one must hold it all in the mind at once, building it piece by piece like a crystal puzzle. 
I persevere. 
(Huh! Jullian just got stuck by a pin or something.) 
Dinner, tonight, with Meagan. Then a late night meet with King. I want to go over ''my'' version of the treaty, pick points apart, get objections, and further ideas. Tomorrow, I meet his protege, go over plans for the wedding. How silly I feel, making such a fuss! Really, it galls. 
'''''Thursday, 8 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
Met with Daphne today. Not my cup of tea at all ... and I suspect the opinion was mutual. Hard, mannish, aggressive, used to getting her way. Admirable enough in the industry, I suppose, but she cannot have many friends. She dismissed Julian without a thought. We discussed the reception, the options, the contingencies. No real surprises. It willbe fun to see what she is like at the wedding -- out of her element indeed! -- but for now I am nothing but an intelligently docile client. 
More zoo today, while Julian is shoe-shopping. 
'''''Saturday, 10 November 1928; Chicago --'''''' 
'''''Monday, 12 November 1928; On a Train --'''''' 
'''''18 November 1928; Arkham, 3:15 AM --'''''' 
''"They have left, finally. All of them off to their respective homes, or to wherever they feel needed. A blessed relief to see them all, and too, a blessed relief to see them gone.... Perhaps, despite my good intentions, I shall be up until dawning again. 'Tis always the way, after a Gathering. So much to set down before the memories fade...." ''From the diary of Pierre Farquell''

 
His words; more than seventy-five years gone, and still so clear. They mean much more now. 

I felt at first as though I ought to open this book with something clever, something important-sounding. But important-sounding things have a deplorable tendency to sound trite or hollow when re-read later; therefore, this. A simple beginning. 

And here we are. 

The Gathering. First in years, since 1921. Twenty-two of us collected together: To meet, to talk, to laugh and to argue; to share, to plan, and to dream. 

To honor the ones who are gone; and to begin again, I hope, to rekindle a spark of the dream. A beginning -- yes. Please let it be a true one. 

They have laid the mantle of leadership upon me. Formal acclaim, unwanted or not; the elders as well as the new. A unanimous vote of confidence, both heartening ... and terrifying. 

It is like SG says; now they are depending on me. Arc approached me after, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Carl," he said to me. "I remember what happened to the last two leaders we had. I'm sorry." 

The party was GOOD! All those people, all the ideas ... there were some terrific debates! Like a live wire -- vital -- immediate! Unexpected and rewarding appearances by Alex Chase, and Sir Cedric Fentingmore, back from somewhere distant and strange. Odd to meet him at last after all the build-up. Funny little monkey of a man ... possessor of quite a brilliant and incisive mind, but on so many things we disagree. 

It is difficult to forge a new Family, and so hard to tell what has just been born. This Gathering has not become what I initially hoped for ... our simple, intimate hopes for closeness and caring have become impossible. The thing has gotten too large, with too many people with too many needs and plans. Nevertheless, it has begun. 

Now, we must build -- must wait and see. 

Miss Durrell was glorious as Speaker for the Dead. I was moved, truly moved ... and so were they all. Clear, precise in the light of the single candle, and with each name, a blow felt around the circle, eyes flinched in sorrow at an unrecoverable loss. We were together, then. All of us. Remembering. 

They all banded together against Miss Crawford's letters too. Mrs. Chandler. How sad! I do not see why she did it -- but she has driven them all away, knowingly or not; she could not have created more anger and repugnance had she set out to do so. A tragedy ... so many of them will never speak to her again -- and have asked me never more to use their names with her. Such a beginning. Sigh! 

The unveiling of the Treaty was almost anticlimactic by comparison. They listened; they read; they agreed to poner, to suggest, to visit and study Zelda, and ultimately to decide. No fuss, really. Will it work? We shall see. 

A moment of quiet truth, after dinner. The Ten all gathered in the breakfast room and closed the door in private conference. After their open support a few moments earlier, I was worried and upset by this schismatic act, but after twenty minutes I was called in. "We wish it understood, Carl, that we are no longer a separate group. Do not single us out because we are Trained ... we join you fully and wish our difference forgotten." 

Well! Such a surprise -- and so obvious that they did not understand. I told them that they were welcome, wholly equally and joyously; but I would not condone such a forgetting. What they were, what they had been, was part of them and part of us, a rich tapestry of experience linking them to a lovely and noble history. Remember it with pride, for you have been something great; let your experience help us all to grow. Welcome, I said, and took them all in warmly. It was a heady instant. 

Impressions, before I get back to work; I shall not sleep this night: 

- Tony squiring Alexandria around, as belligerently proud and nervous as I've seen him, obviously possessive and doting;

- Theo's words, after the vote: "Please, Carl! I believe that what you do is sometimes necessary -- but be careful what you choose to do!"

- Alex's words, about the Nightsiders: "Can they be helped? Can they be saved? I have fought all my life to drive them out -- but if they can be cured, I HAVE TO TRY!"

- Emerson's appearance: Haggard, thin, unhealthy from lack of sleep ... but with a fierce excitement in his eyes that makes me uneasy.

- Lazlo; and Tony; and Alex: Promise us, Carl: Never tell Meagan anything about us!

- Julian, glowing glorious gold at dinner, so proud and happy for her man I could burst with it;

- Hollyfeldt's stunned disbelief, when at last he was introduced to Alexandria Durrell. 

Oh, so rich, so rich! The jokes, the laughter; the suggestions to Clay that he Cross soon, or else he'll die first! Such a marvelous couple of days! 

And tomorrow -- today -- it concludes, with plans and assignments for all. The Turkey group leaves in the morning by air; the others less precipitously, each in his fashion. We shall stay to Friday, and go to Tony's Thanksgiving. 

And all of us will meet again, at the Big House, in July! A ritual re-born. 

Oh! Oh! 

In silence, my heart sings. 

'''''Monday, 19 November 1928; Arkham --''''' 

Once we begin, we move quickly. A number of tasks assigned, though most do not start up until after the New Year. Sunday was devoted to interviews and long private talks with various folk. Maddy arrived at last! Only too late for all the fun. She looks splendid, and is on her way to the Estate for private study. 

Tony, Gordon and I went out to the Reservoir site early this morning to looksee. We took Andrew's warning very seriously, and went well equipped with protective masks and garments. I am glad we did. 

The place is foul; eerie, gray and dead; encrusted with sickness and a patina of phosphorescent grey ash ... and something more. Nothing lives there, save for the Thing in the well. Andrew warned us. It is all indescribably repugnant. 

The water in the reservoir has not yet approached the dead spot, so there is still time. We collected samples and took a lot of photographs of the things we found. Of special note, the bodies of the two farmers are still in the old house after forty years, simple piles of bone and unhealthy grey ash. They never sought to leave, and nobody thought to seek after them, or give them proper rest. 

When I clipped a sample from one of the dead trees in the yard, every one of the trees shuddered like a live thing! There is something there yet, binding everything together into an unhealthy semblance of function. 

The well is the center of the place. The water there is thick, murky, bright with the taint of the thing. Its bottom is fouled with bits and pieces of ... prey. Bones, hair, jewelry -- I was so frightened, I wanted to leave more than anything lest It should awaken or return and find us unprepared. 

Egghhh! Poison, death, corruption. 

When we left, with our samples carefully placed in sealed containers, we left our gloves and galoshes and other outerwear there. The feeling of contamination was too strong -- we wished nothing of that Place to touch us! I am more than ever convinced that this alien thing is somehow connected with the Plague. 

I HOPE the folk in Turkey will be careful!! 

All in all we collected more than enough convincing stuff to show the Medical Examiner's people that the place is unhealthy and should not be allowed into the water supply. Gordon will now do some work with the samples to try and put a more formal conclusive face on the thing, and I shall get the photos developed. I'm sure Clay will help. We're all meeting tomorrow morning at Gordon's to plan the next move -- such a relief to be able to do something decisiv, legitimate, and above-boards! 

Eh. I took two baths. I felt unclean. 

A letter from Hannah Rhyner was waiting for me back at the house. She is well, but is concerned. King, it seems, is paying her rather more attention then she feels is strictly cricket. Why? 

Doesn't sound cricket to me ... either! 

She has been ensconced somewhere with this Cromwell as her protector. Something is very wrong in Chicago -- Are we being betrayed? 

Maddy spent some time with Carl, says he is openly and gleefully infatuated by Zelda... I am scared. This is not like him! He seems to have lost sight of what we are up to, of his own part and purpose -- what seduction is this? 

I shall not be caught --- Lord! How pompous and grandiose I sound! -- I do not wish to have our fragile little band caught up and torn asunder by the desires and politics of the Nightsiders. Emerson's obsession, or seeming obsession, with Zelda is unexpected and alarming. Vigilance! Vigilance! She has needs of her own, they all do; I feel threatened. 

The whole thing reeks suddenly. 

I called Alex Chase up to talk to Gordon about what we've found, and this evening I shall go to speak with Carl and Zelda myself. 

Much Later --- 

Better ... a little. Long interesting talk with the two of them; I am in some measure put at ease. For the moment at least, I no longer feel that she is merely being devious ... she, as Zelda, seems honestly to care about him quite a bit, though it is not really a human sort of affection.... and I thing I begin to see the measure of their masks. They are not piecemeal things, but wholes; difficult to change a piece without changing it all. 

But Zelda will not always be Zelda. Someday the whole will change, and what then? One of the importances of the treaty is that it defines standards of behaviour that are external to the individual. 

Curious to note that perhaps her interest in Carl may be the one thing that keeps Zelda Zelda. That "keeps things interesting," as she might say. 

Yet, despite all this, it does not improve my worries overmuch. It is not Zelda that occupies my thoughts; it is Carl,. Carl seems to have decided suddenly that all of his responsibilities can simply be "put on the shelf" while he runs out and plays! I can certainly understand some of this -- after all, he is more or less locked up with Zelda and ought yo try to enjoy his incarceration -- but what of the rest? 

- What of his ongoing investigations?

- What of his experiments?

- What of Pembroke, whom he is guiding?

- What of the Children who are supposed to be in his care?

- What, dear God, of Mrs. Hannelore Williams? He no longer seems to care. It is not that he has forgotten about her, no; but he dismisses her from conversation! Where, now, is the intensely caring fellow who has asked her to marry him? Who has been her devoted friend for years, and her protector? Where is the man who vowed, ashen-faced, that whomsoever so much as touched her would be destroyed at his hands? He has heard from her, as I have, and he dismisses her worries offhandedly, between telling me of a wild gin party he is planning and reassuring me that "he knows what he is doing." 

Sure, he knows. Hah. 

''
'''Tuesday, November 20, a928; Evening in NYC --''''' 

Events move quickly still, and I am even more upset and worried now. 

Theo and I have stopped in New York City this evening, on our way to Washington. I took the opportunity to develop our pictures of the Dead Spot at Carl's house. The luminescence does not show up well in the prints, but the barren devastation of the site is starkly clear. 

We met this morning at Gordon's house to discuss the Plague situation. Gordon showed us the results of some tests he's done -- very grim. He fed some of the well-water to a mouse or two ... within minutes it was dead, and less that twelve hours later the poor creature was literally flaking apart before us, the body decomposing into loose flakes of grey ash!!! 

Like the farm. Like the farmers. 

Tony brought along his huge body of notes and documents taken from the clinics. We shared them around, and were dismayed by the lethality and virulence of the stuff. 

There is no way around it. We must go public. 

So, three parallel plans: 

ONE: Gordon is putting together a preliminary review of the things we found at the Farm. Together with my photos, and the autopsy results done on the poor mouse, this will be put in Clay's hands tomorrow, for presentation to the state Medical Examiner's office. Our goal is to get them to stop the flooding of the valley before this nastiness gets into our water supply. At least, Clay's report will get them to send their own investigators to the site. Its danger will not be questioned. 

TWO: Once this is done, probably by tomorrow, Gordon will start work full-time on the problem of the Plague. The notes and samples which we have, of the various forms of Disease, make up a substantial body of work with which to begin. We shall cover his expenses, and arrange for the eventual creation of a research facility where we may continue study of all of these things in safety. Alex Chase has a serious interest as well; perhaps he will also take part. 

THREE: Theo and I are taking the bull by the horns, and are now going to Washington to present the Authorities (in this case, a friend of Theo's in the Secret Service) with a carefully trimmed case showing the existence of a conspiracy of unknowns to disrupt the peaceful livelihood of our nation, and possibly others as well. We spent hours yesterday and today working out the details; I am convinced that we may do this without implicating ourselves or our friends in any of the criminal things that have happened. It will be such a relief to pass it on to competent authority!! But scary too -- VERY scary -- to lose control of things this way. 

The biggest danger will be of the Dark discovering our little plot through their people inside; so we have emphasized the existence of known conspiracy members in and near the government, and the likely existence of other unknowns. 

We shall see. Brr! Scary -- but it feels good, too ... Things -- IMPORTANT things -- are moving at last! 

'''''Wednesday, 21 November 1928; Washington --''''' 

Another night spent on trains, and a late morning arrival here, in the nation's Capitol. 

I have never been to Washington before, and I really had no idea what it would be like. Oh, one reads the stories, and hears all the same descriptions of monuments and governmental houses as all the other schoolchildren, but once again experience has no substitute. 

My principal regret is that I have had so little time to see it now -- and I have been, understandably, distracted. Someday Julian and I must come here to explore this rather impressive place. But, I suppose, it is best that she is not here now, else I should constantly be waiting for Marklin to leap out of the shadows and try a grab! 

Hum. 

Washington is broad and park-like, spread gracefully along the banks of the Potomac. Everywhere, newly-wintered trees spider into the sky, the last few leaves still clinging to their branches. 

Central to it all is the Mall, a broad sweep of open land that stretches a couple of miles, from the river to the Capitol building. Across the river lies Arlington, where the Great War's thousands lie buried. And, midway between the Capitol and the Potomac, the George Washington Monument spears into the sky, like Cleopatra's Needle grown impossibly huge and graceful in a dream. Five hundred fifty five feet of smooth white marble, looking down on red brick mansions, elegant hotels and theaters, the galleries, the museums, the great Library, and of course the White House, lovely classical mansion not far from the Monument's foot. 

It is a city of memorials and symbols, and an inspiring reminder to me of what this nation truly is. America! How unfashionable, these days, to praise her name so fervently ... yet here, and now, I am filled with patriotic love for this great homeland. Everywhere here is simple artistry, renderings in stone of homage to the Principles on which this country stands. 

Truth! Freedom! Liberty! Equality! How much more they mean, now, than before. America is made by the hands and lives of men, a flawed but glorious earthly attempt at Unity, carved from soil and spirit. I am inspired. 

We met Theo's friend in the afternoon, in a small room-behind-one-of-a-thousand-identical-doors sort of place. A pleasant fellow, obviously holds Theo in high esteem; and once we laid our case, he was quite concerned and serious about the whole thing, 

The evidence was laid out just as we'd planned, including the admonishment about possible high-ranking conspiracy members; he very convincingly agrees that something must and will be done. 

So -- the die is case, the arrow loosed from the bow. We shall never know what steps they take, or what, precisely, they find; the thing will be done very quietly, by Friend and his trusted comrades. If we learn anything, it will be through Theo, and long after the fact. We shall also have to curtail our own activities in certain areas -- else we might be caught up by the folks who, unknowing, are our allies! But it's done. Now we can look forward to another long train ride through the night; then I shall be with her once again. 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. The three hundredth one, more or less; I forget precisely. 

Amazing, how much I have to be thankful for. 

'''''Thursday, 22 November 1928; Boston; Evening --''''' 

Fate twists us cruelly, it seems, and it is as well that I have a sense of humor and perspective, else I should be bitterly angry as well as merely cut to the core. I look upon my last line above and laugh, but it is not a happy laughter. 

No surprises getting here. Washington to New York to Boston; long but peaceful. The others met us at the station. It was good, it was good: Prodigal sons come home, reunited after a successful venture. Good: to shake the others' hands, look them in the eyes, and know that we have done well. 

Simple pleasures. And of course, my lady was there; feast after famine. A look, a smile, a touch; silly words spoken small; and that tremulous radiance that fills me, golden and warm to the heart. Complete once again! 

The trouble began when we arrived at Tony's house. That is when we were shown the article, and knew that the Dark has started firing back. 

They have loosed the Plague. People are starting to die. 

The article is small, of interest but little alarm to most folks. It describes an outbreak of influenza in a region near Kansas City. Twenty or thirty people have already caught it and succumbed... it is clearly a warning shot, a threat aimed directly at us. There can be no other reason ... and the non-coincidence of JOSEPHINE RINGER as a Health Service spokeswoman is too deliberate to ignore: 

"You have hurt us, but we are strong. Tamper no more, or we shall obliterate the things you hold most dear!" 

There was much anguish in the house, and much heated debate, but the simple truth is that there is nothing that we can do, now. The stuff is too easy to distribute -- whomever was there is now long gone. 

Still, the shot has been fired. It changes everything, in small ways. It is one more thing to point to -- one more bit of evidence. 

And I must confess this: that the first thing I thought of, when the shock had settled and the icy chill ceased numbing my brain, was: "Thank God! Thank God we got to tell our story first. They would never believe us now." 

Those poor people. What a loss And they will never know why, nor believe it if they were told. The victims of a war that has now truly begun: the Enemy has started killing civilians. 

...but we were guests in Tony's home, here for the holiday festivities, and so it was our duty to join them in good cheer. Difficult at first -- but they were so friendly, so homey, that it became easier after a while. 

Impressions: Grimaldis everywhere! Actually there are only the three -- Tony, and his aunt and uncle -- but all of their Family friends are cut from the same cloth. Too, the elder Grimaldis are both naturally charismatic; they fill the room for several. Gracious, used to wielding authority, yet not pushy. Nice folk; even if I have a hard time condoning their way of life. 

(Yet ... are we so different? Sigh.) 

We -- our people -- easily dominated the table. It must have been a bit uncomfortable for the others; we so diverse, and so unknown. Rebecca was there, and Carl, and Zelda; and the three of us; Theo; with only three Grimaldis and a quartet of "friends", how strange indeed! 

I do not know what we are to do. 

''
'''Friday, 23 November 1928; westward bound --''''' 

Again! Another blow! It does not stop, does it? No! Oh, I know, I know it is no further sorrow, we were merely living in borrowed ignorance. I should not rail on so; but the magnitude of the loss fills me -- and I feel the touch of blame in it too strongly to set it all aside. 

Today, the President-Elect, Herbert Hoover, died. Of the Ponic Plague, I believe; the Kansas City Flu, they're calling it now. 

What a disaster! DID THEY KNOW??? 

It seems his train passed through Holliday, Kansas a few days ago. 

How could they have been so sure? Or, did they seed the place because they knew? 

Westward bound. I have nothing more to say. 

'''''
Monday, 26 November 1928; South of Oregon --''''' 

Another day or two and we will be home. Home. It seems like forever. 

We passed through Montana yesterday, Big Timber some time mid-morning. Less than fifty miles from his house; one could not see the peak from the train. I wonder how he is? Wrote a letter, in a passing mood of extravagance; he should have it by the time we are home. 

I have been poor company these past few days. So many things have happened! From Gathering to the Reservoir, Washington to the news of the Plague, all in a week's time. It has affected me. Up and down, elation to despair. More than anything else, I have been impressed by an enormous sense of BURDEN. 

The task just seems so impossible sometimes. 

I feel as though I should have so much to say. So many thoughts on the subject. I must, I suppose; yet none of them are clear, none articulate enough to write here. Merely a blur of washed, turmoiled emotions, and scattered fragments of scenery I do not recognize. 

Thank Heavens for Julian. 

We left Friday morning from Boston, on a grey windless day rather suited to my mood. The route we took was northerly, through Chicago, so as to miss the quarantined area. 

Damnation! Still it hurts! 

Chicago, through Minnesota, and along the Great Northern tracks to Seattle. We came close, again, to Lucius' island, and to ruined Wintershaven. 

Enough. This contemplation hurts my mood. 

Wonder how he is? Have heard nothing so far. 

I feel as though we're fleeing the scene of a crime. 

...Julian, as always, has been very helpful. Thank God for her! She is used to my moods, and is so good for me. Jewel beyond price indeed! 

Home. Two days. 

Hurry. 

'''''Wednesday, 28 November 1928; Home --''''' 

At last! It feels so good to be here! The healing is beginning, amidst my things and the enormous amount of work that must be done after a long absence. 

There has been a lot of rain, so that even though the watering cans are long empty, the window boxes are green and the cat is healthy. It is easy to see where he has been living: there are well-marked trails of dried paw prints and shed fur between the kitchen, the door, and his favorite haunts. Quite a creature of habit, our Peanut! 

The yard is overgrown and the lawn is rank and uneven ... but it is wet winter now , and most of the gardening must wait 'til Spring. We shall, however, plant new seeds for Rachel's indoor flowerpots, so we will have blooms inside where it is warm when the frosts come. That will be soon. 

Ah, home! Evening now -- the radio playing a fugue, the fireplace filled with light -- Ah! So nice! 

We arrived shortly after one and set things right and switched things off before collecting the Children. The house and lab were undisturbed. 

Now I can feel the relaxation coming over me. Flicker-flicker; and glimpses of new things too, plots and plans for the new year. 
- Will I hear from New Mexico?

- Will King accept the latest Treaty?

- Will Theo's friends find the plot, and cripple it without being destroyed?

- Will WE?

- Will Gordon be able to help us?

- Will the Old Guard have success in Turkey, or Byron and the rest in Ithaca? 

And, too .... What what? How can I help? What is my next move? Hmm.... 

I am filled with a desire to meet my House once again, now that I have met the others, now that I know more of what to look for. But, I think, not now. Not tonight -- not while the fire burns, while the music plays and the rain caresses the roof overhead, and my beautiful girl smiles at me from the throw rug by the hearth. 

Oh! I feel like a King!

Carl Ellis November 1928 - Diary

2014-01-09T22:31:17Z

Chazathoth:

Carl Ellis November 1928 - Diary

2014-01-09T21:22:40Z

Chazathoth:

Carl Ellis November 1928 - Diary

2014-01-09T21:09:38Z

Chazathoth:

Carl Ellis October 1928 - Diary

2014-01-09T20:47:11Z

Chazathoth:

[[Carl_Ellis_October_1928|Return to the Carl Ellis October 1928 Archives]]

[[CARL_ELLIS_1928_DOCUMENTS|Return to the Carl Ellis 1928 Archives]]

Note: additional information for clarification has been added in italicized ( )

''Monday, 1 Oct 1928, morning; back at Newhaven'' 
Tony called me this morning. Cold; distant; a brisk professional veneer thing covering desperation and despair. I do not know what it was that he did not say, but it spoke volumes in its absence – and what he did say was bad enough. 
They hit the Boston house after a week’s worth of watching. Labs; manufactory, and four or five people, led by one of the Avowed. Not KR ''(note - Katyana Rasmul)'' – but someone like her. All dead now save one prisoner. Prisoner?! What are we to do with prisoners? We are not prepared to handle such things, even if I thought it a good idea. Which I do not. But G ''(note - Antonio Grimaldi)'' has him now, for good or ill. 
Proof at last, of the Dark-Trained. 
The Black Man has used his own as traps. Traps! Triggered by questioning-? They tear themselves apart. Does he know? Lord God in Heaven, how can we possibly touch this fiend!! Beautiful soaring melodies, indeed!! Oh, lost, lost, lost and afraid…..! 
And Tony! I am losing you too, aren’t I? I watch you, feel you slipping away …. One of the best, more lost by the hour; and what can I do? You will not touch me, will not let me touch you! Helpless! I can do nothing if you will not let me help you …. Oh, how sad and bitter it all is. 
They say he never laid blame or condemned his people; and so I shall try to do the same. To stay silent is easy; but not to TRY-! That is hard, so hard. 
I am afraid. So afraid. 
Is the whole fragile family dying? 
I have NO TIME to learn how to heal! The whole delicate edifice may be in shards before the Gathering, which once seemed so close! 
How can the face of things change so fast? 
Be careful, Tony! Oh, how I dread your works to come! California may be our undoing; I have no reason to feel that way, I merely do. Oh, please – step softly! We need that link so badly, let it not be shattered! Desperation leads to blindness, Tony; and blindness can kill. Beware! 
Now I have done it to myself. My hand shakes as I write; my chest is cold with sorrow. What will happen? WHAT? 
GOD DAMN YOU, CLOCK: MOVE ON! MOVE ON! 
I will have to speak with G, when I go east. But I cannot think of what to say or ask. Hmm. 
Reminder. Talk to Alex about populating the house. The children are so happy here. 
 
Will Meagan ''ever'' understand me? I fear not. Clever, even brilliant ... but a plodder -- no, that is unkind. Say rather that she is ''deductive'' exclusively; I wonder if there is a speck of inductiveness in her? There are so many others like her -- but it is strange in one with so many "mystical leanings." 
I think that she frequently touches, but is never herself ''touched''. But that is so hard to believe; could it be that she deliberately denies the touch's understanding? 
Is she so afraid? 
How can she be in love, and ''not'' see? 
Obviously, this humble person is unworthy of his position. I think he will pray for further enlightenment and understanding. 
Trite. 
''Tuesday, 4 October 1928; Dinnertime, Arkham'' 
Everybody is gone! This is irksome. Carl has not yet returned; Mrs. Williams has not yet returned; Lazlo has not yet returned …. And now it seems they are all in the same place! Cuba? Why Cuba, why now? Is there something going on that I missed completely? Dear me. And now G is missing too. I cannot talk to him. Or his ‘prisoners’. I confess I am relieved …. But what happened? What have they done with him? What happened in California? No. I will not make a fuss. Tony knows how to reach me, if there is a report to make. 
Arc’s place is, if anything, more lovely now than it was when I was last here two years ago. Or is it just me? In the event, the turning of the leaves adds a poignant beauty to everything that is both exhilarating and softly tragic. But I digress, as always. And the place is all over maple trees! I did not know what they were, last time; but one of the servants pointed them out this morning. 
This is going to be a lovely place for the party. 
Harper (one of the staff) tells me that Arc wired a few days ago, says he is on his way. Good! I want to speak to him. 
Funny about the servants. They are quiet, discrete, competent, and oh-so-professional; but after Straight …. Well, it is not the same. 
Julian loves it here. I do not think she has been here before, and like me she finds it magnificent. At the same time, however, she constantly makes it clear to me that the place is nothing next to the French Estate. I surely am getting curious about that big old House!
The kids …. Ah, the kids. I feel like such a heel, dragging them all over kingdom come and then leaving them with nothing to do when we get there. 
But it is hard to please them both. Poor Rachael is in love with Newhaven. Truly, she is blossoming, under the care of Straight and the peace of the estate there. It broke her heart to leave; I was really tempted to let her stay awhile …. But I promised her there were nicer places ahead, and I do want to get all four of the kids together. 
Hmm …. I suppose I shall have to stop thinking of them as children soon. It’s not right, I know, Lord knows they have been denied childhood long enough! But otherwise there is a present danger that I/we will come to think of them always as children, merely because of their appearance. 
Think of them as patients involved in a cure. No, wait …. Students. Students of life. That is Better. 
I have gotten awfully fond of those two. Even Adam, despite his spikiness. He was not reluctant to let go, dear me no! He is bored. Needs something to do. That is what started me off on this train of thought, after all …. He is a doer, not a thinker. Passive study does not sit well on him. 
So. Tonight or tomorrow, with Julian’s help, he and I will go to Stockton. Check the house, feed the cat, fill the water tanks, and so forth. A good hour or two’s work; something to do. Right. And I must talk to him about his future. 
Letters. One from Lazlo, one from Carl. 
I did not realize that Lazlo and his young lady were so cozy already. Yet here she is, cooking him breakfast in his home. Dare I be salacious? Me, of all people? (Snicker) Ah, well. It could be innocent; and these are, after all, the ‘twenties. 
I wonder what he is thinking, right now? 
He seems to be in a musing state of mind. Catching the edges of the Principle, as it were – or perhaps merely skirting the edge of danger is making him hold more dearly to everything simple and beautiful? A lesson for me. 
I must write to him. What are they up to down there? 
Carl’s letter is more recent. A post-mortem on Kentucky, some chat. He has not received my most recent one. 
Lots to say about Rebecca, especially her influence on Tony. Hmm …. Influence …. In view of the changes I have noticed in him, is it safe to think that she is bad for him? Not enough information yet, I think … but something to ponder. 
She DOES need training and experience. A leader’s role in a hothouse environment has not prepared her for the variety of scenaria which she may face. 
Morenotes on the Glory Hole and its activity. I have long thought that they did some of their first Gate work there … but could the others be right? Might those folk have broken through to other tunnels, or Something Else? I must not dismiss this out of hand. They will not abandon the site. 
Some comments on Pierre. They sadden me. 
More stuff on Faigon.''(note - aka Boyer Rulininov)'' Hah! Oh Carl, if you only knew what I know! Why the Devil aren’t you home? And in King, as well. Ex-vampire? Oh, dear boy, you are in for a sur-prise!! 
And, last Gathering. Delight – and loneliness. He strives to come closer even as he pushes me away. “It is a lonely job, how lonely I don’t think you know and will never know.” Why does he think that? Is is something in him he speaks of, or something he sees in me? A puzzle. 
But there is real warmth in his closing. 
Dinnertime – and I have written far too long. 
''Friday, 5 October, 1928; afternoon, Arkham'' 
This morning, early, Julian, Adam, and I went into the basement and through the Door. Uf! What a feeling! Unpleasant – I do not like it, at all! – but not so bad as that awful thing we went through to and from China. I do not believe I shall ever enjoy using these Doors. Ever. Even putting the unpleasantness aside, it just does not feel RIGHT, somehow. Like cheating, in a way. 
(But, says the small voice, just look! See how amazingly CONVENIENT they are…!) 
Well, they are that, surely. Draining, though. Julian went back to Arkham, after pointing out the way; and I dithered a bit. Did not really want to use the Doors again, nobody likes discomfort; but the real reason was a sly compelling need to Go Upstairs and Look! There I was – in France! – within sight, perhaps, of the Big House! Should I peek? 
No, I decided. If I was going to go to the Estate, I was going to WALK! 
Adam was getting impatient. Through the door, then, to Stockton. 
A hottish, dry day in California – real Indian Summer weather. The house is still in order, merely looking a bit run-down after nearly a month’s disuse. Tony has evidently been through; a few things are moved, the documents I left for him are gone, the flowers have been watered even though the tanks are dry. Nice of him to do that for us. Peanut was sunning Itself on the back porch, sassy as ever and, if anything, larger than before. 
Adam was ecstatic. Something to do, at last! He has been frustrated and increasingly bored – one reason for this trip. So we filled the flower tanks, topped off the cat food machine, and he spent a happy couple of hours in the morning cool (the time difference is noticeable!), puttering around the yard, cutting grass, and so forth while I performed a few tests and gathered some things. 
The Doorway is …. Interesting. Unfortunately, it is draining for me to use; equally unfortunately, when I attempt to activate it with energy from one of my discharge units, though it does fill up as before, the flip-flip is erratic and the image dim or distorted. I do not know why; but I would not want to put my safety into a Doorway that behaved like that! 
Also pulled a few textbooks out of mothballs – different ones this time, calculus and physics – and have decided to give him lessons every day or two. Who knows? Perhaps he will enjoy it – and then maybe I shall have someone around to talk of my hobbies with. Sometime this week I shall have to look for others: a book on astronomy, lens-grinding, radios, & electricity. Fun things. We shall see. He has been bored long enough! 
I showed him how to use the Doorway for himself, at which he quickly became adept; and we returned to Arc’s around one-thirty ... And here we are! The home house is all locked up; and I pressed the iron doors mostly closed and left a note of warning to others not to enter. We shall see if they believe it; but I truly do not want my home used as a railway terminal! 
''Saturday, 6 October 1928; 2 PM, Arkham'' 
Our passports are here! They’re lovely: I do enjoy official documents. Always so stiff, with seals and such …. I feel as though a thousand bureaucratic ritual mysteries lurk behind each still-lipped page. Nice. Very. 
Then came dinner – and Arc ''(note - Arcturus Rand)'' arrived. 
He looks well. Strong and tan from his travelling. He came through the Portal from England, having received my letter. We worked for a while, putting some of his odder mementos into storage (that big fish’s head on the wall in the den was a Deep One!) and packing away some of the more unsettling books. And we talked. 
And talked. And talked. And talked. 
There was a lot to catch him up on. China. San Francisco. The search for the Black Man. Eveling. The Children. Buffalo. Silver Twilight. The Disease. Boston, Redmun, London. 
And, at last, the Treaty. 
I suppose it is fitting that he be the first; after all, he was the first to openly answer my questions. There were things I did not tell him – the Exchange, and the name of our Ambassador candidate – but all of the rest, yes. And the results were as good as I ought to expect. 
Arc is tentative. He agrees that it could work, but does not wish to commit himself to an opinion on the subject until after all the facts are clear. He has grave doubts, but allows that they are in the main irrational, and is willing to try to set them by if necessary. 
But he did promise me this: That, even should he decide against this thing, he will not actively oppose this treaty or me, but will merely withdraw. 
I respect him; I am grateful for that much. 
I was thinking just now about my letter yesterday to Alex Chase. Did not realize that, for all my professions of camaraderie and forgiveness, I still have not asked him to come to gathering. Well. I can justify it in the privacy of my own head …. But it still looks pretty hypocritical when considered from without. 
So hard to control! The party is getting bigger and bigger – already I see I have lost the intimate beginnings I so urgently sought when we began this. But even now, even now, there are those I wish to begin with, and those to whom I hope to show a completed beginning. The Gathered will be special – they will be the first, present at the opening and the rebirth. Yet, with each new voice, each new desire added to the consensus, the chances of a harmonious whole become smaller and smaller. 
Fie! It is out of my hands. Let the games begin! 
''Sunday, 7 October 1928; still at Arc’s, 10 PM'' 
More and more; we are picking up speed! Called Tony back this morning with my “revelations” about the Gregory House. Seventeen eight four, hah? How convenient. 
Not much of a Place of Refuge. But useful. 
Now my mind is awhirl. If the plague is really being tested or disbursed here, then this place is likely to be very dangerous. 
Right. No kidding. They know. Calm down. 
Tony has changed. He seems a lot more relaxed, more in control of himself. Why, we actually managed to have two complete talks without anyone clamming up or marching away furiously! Makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing. 
So….. once I was up, there was nothing to it but to set about the business of the day. 
Morning trip out of town to visit Cassandra Felion ''(note - once a model for the painter Jeremiah Lambert)''. Poor woman. I am very disheartened. The place she is kept is nice enough … for a hospital. That is to say, the staff is no doubt quite comfortable. Her room, however, is white and sterile; and she is in no position to appreciate any of it. 
Miss Felion has become a cause célèbre amongst us; but as I sat and looked at her haggard dreaming face, I was overwhelmed with a sense of futility. I cannot help her. There is nothing in my power to perform that will ease her burden. 
Yet, here she lies; mirror and symbol of one possible future. 
Julian? Perhaps. Though I wonder about that as well. Hers is a delicate talent, for all its power; and I am reluctant now to try and put it to the test on that poor girl. 
I scarcely even considered the painting. She would have to be awake to see it, for one thing; and she would begin her tirade long before becoming fully conscious. Not to mention my reservations about the thing’s effectiveness. 
Poor Meagan. Well, she is happy now. 
I wonder if Zigfried … but he too has places to go. 
So. Afternoon we all bundled off to New York City, to Emerson’s house on Copeley Road. The kids were quietly delighted to see one another, and quickly closeted themselves away together. Even Rachel is chipper – talking to them all, smiling a bit in an easy way she never has with us. O well. 
I spent some time speaking with the staff who take care of them; then Julian and I went out into the city to buy a few things. Toiletries and travel supplies; several books for each, including more texts and an ephemeris for Adam; and (o treasure!) a telescope. Not a big one; but quite enough for he and I to explore the sky. Expensive! I had not thought. Ah, well. 
Back home an hour or so ago, and the kids to bed, sleepy and happy. And here I am. 
Good luck, Tony. 
Just as I finished the above, the telephone rings. Lazlo, from Cuba! And boy – does he have a lot to say! 
This vacation of his has not been a lot of fun. 
Lazlo, Carl, Andrew (?!), Pembrook (!!), and their respective young ladies all meet at the home of Andrew White, near Havana. For some reason, local Voodoo cultists are very interested in them: Images of Carl & Lazlo made into dolls (!!!) and a lovely white woman named Chiennie Faraday, a ‘priestess’ from Jamaica, is interested in them. She, it seems, has come to the island a few days previous on some business of her own. 
There is also a seedy planter named LeFarb who shows too much interest in the ladies – and then, a few days later, several of the women and Lazlo are attacked by bandits and zombies at White’s house, while the others are away fighting a (convenient?) fire! 
They escape; they run; the women are carried off by big black things that almost have to be night gaunts (!!!!); and a long chase follows, to a cave up in the mountains where the women are being fed to some sort of “tumescent, white and beige, slimy, tentacular, sluglike thing.” 
Messy. The women are rescued; the cultists are all killed (sigh); lots of elder symbol glows; and they march back to the coast. 
Lazlo says that all of the women are in deep shock, and have confused memories of some alien, ethereal beauty that fade by the hour. They also have, on the hands that were enclosed by the Thing, fine scars across the knuckles and the joints, very thin, like razors!!!! Familiar? 
Terrible terrible. Lazlo says his Julia is often unaware of him. “She leaves this world and enters another,” he says. Glowing madonnalike perfection. “All so bright and beautiful.” Massive blood and life-force loss; she has dropped 15 lbs. since the incident. 
This is horrible! Our people – THEIR dear ones! – grabbed up and WRENCHED like this! Horrible! I feel so powerless – yet what can I do? Lazlo and Julian are preparing to leave …. The rest of the others have headed to LeFarbe’s plantation for some answers. I do not think they will be gentle about getting them! 
What about the White Lady? What about Jamaica? What connection does she have with the zombies and LeFarbe? Why was she here? The mask, the shopkeeper … what does it mean? And those scars, so like HIS …. What is the connection? 
Of special interest is Lazlo’s description of the Faraday woman – the Lady in White. She had a glamour, he says, very strong, alluring, primal. Familiar? He says it is like J’s, “but different.” 
Could there be a connection between this Jamaica group and the Islanders?? 
Wait – wait – wait. My God. I am remembering a description. 
On Sandoo – ruins – and bright-white, invisible snakelike things. Loigon. Guardians of the Lady? Or echoes? Or aspects of the Lady herself? 
Could there be a connection? 
Loigon – Loa? My God! 
“Like – yet different.” Hmm! So few things on this earth are unique and alone … it seems possible that there may be others. 
Loa. Baby Ladies? O dear o dear o dear. Time to start studying voudun! 
Dear Heavens – How can I ask anything of her now, after all this? How? I cannot – but who, then? Shall I speak to Carl first? Yes – he has been around, and he knows her – he will know what to do. 
Balderdash. This is my plan, my burden; I must not try to put it off on him! We shall go on as before, and the Lady will make her own choice. 
But oh, oh, oh. I do not LIKE this! 
<Dammit, it TIES TOGETHER!> 
Another few minutes. J is rousing the kids for their trip to France. She will be back tomorrow evening; and we shall go to New York. 
''Wednesday, 10 October 1928; At sea'' 
It is Anchors Aweigh at last! There is something quite special about setting sail. Like a ritual turning away from the old, facing about to look upon the new. When the dock is left behind, the band stops playing, and the bow points cleanly toward an unbroken horizon, salt air upon my cheeks, I feel a lifting; washed free, for a time, of burdens behind us. Set forth to face the wonders of the new. 
The last couple of days have been busy ones. After the three of them left I sat and thought for a bit; then slept. The following day, that I had thought to spend in idle tourism, was instead turned to research on voodoo. 
Interesting stuff. I had time only to skim the surface, of course – and the subject is quite complicated. As with all such things, the closer one gets to the particular, the more the seeming similarities are obscured by detail; but again and again there are hints of similarity, of a basic sort of familiarity between the one and the other. 
One difficulty lies in the stripping of fact from folklore. Voodoo lore contains elaborate explanations of why things are as they are; but these differ strongly from tribe to tribe, cult to cult; and they do not present a coherent picture of the sort I am seeking in any case. 
Serpent mages appear throughout the religion, in connection with most of the powerful loa. Too, loa influence is passed through the blood – and the feminine loa pass through the women, as the male ones do through the men! The practice of ritual possession is ubiquitous; the spirits are said to wind down a pole from the sky, or enter the body from the earth; and always first there is a distancing between the man and the world, a setting back and withdrawal from control. 
The tie between loa and Earth is very strong and pervasive. Even those loa associated with the sky or the cosmic forces appear in conjunction with the earth in rituals and histories. There is something primal, something fundamental about this association that should not be ignored. 
I wonder if there is any information about voodoo at the Big House? It will be interesting to see what they thought important. 
So … That night, Julian came back, tired but happy, and reported success. The kids were settled in, not without some distress, but safely. We took the evening train back to New York. 
I find it a constant delight to be alone with Julian, even for a few days. Hidden holds are removed; our lives, oir words, the way we look and react come easier, more harmoniously. Even when we are ''doing'' things, they are done simply, naturally. It is a gentle, joyous thing, and one that does not happen when there are others around. 
Oh, how much my Golden Girl means to me! Like oxygen; like music; I need her to ''live''. Apart, we survive; together, we are magnificent!
 
The poor dear had been up for more than a full day and night; she nodded off on the train, and practically had to be poured into bed when we arrived at the hotel. But a night’s sleep works wonders for the young, even the forever-young, and we were on the road in a rented car, bathed and fresh, well before noon. 
Charot is a tiny town on the North Jersey coast, and Mrs. Harden’s home is a white Gull Cottage sort of affair set about a mile back from the beach. The sky was high but grey, and there was a constant cool breeze off the water. Good Easter October weather – a nice day for sailing. The gulls seemed happy too, far away. 
I have no idea of Lisel Harden’s true age; but if she married young, say eighteen, and appeared right after at Gathering in 1852, that would make her born in 1834 … and her age somewhere around ninety-five! Remarkable. She is still a lovely woman, even now; but sadly she shows every one of those years. 
I did not know how coherent her thoughts would be, after Tony’s comments. She was charming. She has a grim and defensive housekeeper who guards her ferociously, and whose name I fear I have already forgotten. 
We talked for perhaps a half hour. I introduced myself as a compatriot of Ceryous Outt’s, and said I had come by to pay my respects. I admit to a bit of a shock when she mentioned that Benjamin ''(note - Lisel Harden's deceased husband)'' was not home but would return shortly, and would we care to wait? But this, and a slight tendency to be a bit time lost, not having been apprised of the terrible events of the past few years, were the only barriers to what might otherwise have been a gracious and effortless visit. 
Poor, dear woman. She does not know all that has happened. If she did, it would break her heart. That, more than anything else, was my reason for cutting the interview short. I could not bear the thought of shattering her fragile gracious world. 
I was immensely moved by her love and devotion for her husband. One could hear it in her voice when she spoke of him. “Dear Benjamin has been very quiet lately,” she said. “Sometimes I hear him downstairs, when he thinks I am asleep.” So much. So much. It wrenched my heart, so I felt I wanted to weep. 
I do not think she will live much longer. Her housekeeper said her strength has failed much in the past few months. I left my card with them: I hope she will get my letter, but if not … perhaps I shall hear in time to attend the funeral. 
Benjamin will be home soon. Dear God. 
Julian was nearly as distressed as I, though for different reasons. She had never met a very elderly person before. The tragedy of mortality has never made an impression on her life until now. 
We drove to the seashore, walked on the beach, and ate the picnic lunch I brought, and talked. In a while, things got better. The edge of sorrow eased. 
I shall send her a scarf, from Paris. 
We drove back to the City -- had dinner at the hotel restaurant -- went out to see the Jazz Singer at the Metro (my second talkie, her first); spent the night, and this morning set sail. 
Steamers are always immense amounts of fun, and this one, the ''Prince William'', is no exception. Cunard has a typically British sort of understated luxury -- and for the first time in either of our lives, we are riding High, in a first-class luxury stateroom on board one of the queens of the sea! Three hundred crew; eight hundred passengers; two dining salons, two bars, a nightclub, a ballroom, a theater, a swimming pool, and more. 
So, let the worries and wants stand aside for the moment. My Wife and I are On Holiday! 
''Friday, 12 October 1928; At sea'' 
Life on board this floating Fun House is doing things to my mood. I feel more relaxed, expansive, even giddy in a way. A true "vacation" feeling. It affects the way I act. I wrote a letter to C. Outt today that was much the same way -- flamboyant, brash, even a bit bragging. Ah well. What it says is true, and it matches my mood and possibly his as well. Send it. Send it. 
Julian is off on deck somewhere, lazing around in a deck-chair like a happy cat, occasionally importuned by young hopefuls eager to make acquaintance. She has quite settled in, and is enjoying herself immensely. Last night they offered us a musical revue in the Victoria Lounge (an incongruity which appeared quite amusing to me!) and we both enjoyed it immensely. Tonight is the Captain's Reception, for all of the First Class passengers, that is to say Us, followed by the Officer's Ball which is supposed to be a swanky affair in the Grand Ballroom on main deck. All furs, feathers, silk and satin; jewels and champagne-- Julian is absolutely ecstatic. 
Quite a bit of bubbly on this boat, all of it legal and a good portion of it destined for my golden girl. We shared two bottles at the gala splash when the Prince entered international waters, and got very silly. Don't know when the real party ended; our private one lasted until dawn and beyond. Gives me a warm glow just to think of it! And scarcely a hangover following. Although I will say, the seas seemes a bit rougher than they ought. 
Speaking of weather, it has so far been quite calm, though October-chilly as expected. Lovely to wake nights and feel the thrum and slow sway of the ship in the darkness! We went out on the upper deck last night and found a secluded spot where we sat, held each other close, and were briefly the only things alive in a magically infinite world. Julian -- your scent lingers in my heart; your warm softness close to me in your furs; no sight nor sound but the hiss of the waves and the endless moving sea beneath the clouds and the moon, and your heart singing music silently with mine! 
Travelling openly with my darling as wife is splendid, exhilarating, fun for me! A bit of a sense of guilty freedom, relief and caution mingled in a brew that is very heady. I do not know ''what'' the others we have met think of us -- they have been quite tolerant of us so far, but we do carry on so at table, you may imagine! I am so overflowing with happiness and love for my darling darling that even without the bond we share I feel that I could know down inside the warmth of her; and when she smiles my whole world sings; and when she laughs, or makes fun of something, I am quite swept along and carried away. The others, as I said, are very polite; but I have seen the glances they give one another, and the way they watch us. I do not think they approve much of me. My wife is SO YOUNG, after all! And we have been silly. 
In any event, our tablemates are a pleasant crowd. We have the second sitting at the second officer's table, along with five others. Officer Black is an impressive man, tall and lean in his mid-40s, with neatly trimmed brown hair and a pencil moustache. He is infallibly British and very polite; says he comes from Salisbury. Miss Sherrell (I believe her first name is Alice) is a schoolmistress from Virginia, about thirty but solemn beyond her years in a disapproving and rather cliché fashion. The Huxleys, Robert and Caroline, are large and amiable people. He is the manager of a steelworks not far from Manchester, and his wife the raiser of their three children, all of whom are married and moved away. I think the Huxleys view us rather paternally; Robert has twice asked us to his cabin for cards, and Mrs. Huxley loves to chat away about weddings, homes, and grandchildren to Julian, who is not quite sure how to take it all. They are on their way home from a visit to Eric, their eldest, and his family in New York, and have decided that we are on our honeymoon, which is not so far from the truth. 
Max Hasselblad is an aeroplane designer from Ohio who is on his way to take a position with Dornier in France. He is young, intense, and slightly unkempt despite his best efforts. Gregory Patten, on the other hand, is immaculate in the way that only those born to wealth and leisure can be. His family has a big place somewhere on Chesapeake Bay, and he likes to sail and is not shy to remind us. He is traveling to Italy with his "fiancée" Lydia, who looks a lot like Maddy but who has a strong New York Irish accent and finery is very very new. That's six in all; but Max has not eaten with us since the first night's dinner; none of us know why. Quite a diverse crew indeed. 
Eager to try out the best the ship has to offer, the two of us had ourselves "done over" yesterday, she by a beautician, me by one of the barbers. Haircut, shave, manicure, eyebrows and some hairstyling for the lady; and Voilá! The Fight's Most Elegant Couple! I do not find that I look any different myself (well, not much anyway,) after all I always look like this in my mind's eye. But HER! 
Boy oh boy!! Positively tasty; enough to burn my eyes out & melt my heart away. Enough said. 
A few new clothes in London for me; some things from Paris for the Lady; and we shall indeed be ready to take tea with the King and Queen. 
''Saturday, 13 October 1928; At sea'' 
The Ball was tremendous fun! The Reception was, well, a Reception. We met a lot of folks whom I shall never remember later, and a few whom I most certainly will. There's a Knight, a Baron, and two or three The Honorables on board, whom we saw. We even spoke briefly to Captain Sir Donald Shaftsbury (retired) during the course of the evening. It was not very memorable. 
Anyhow, it went on everso long, and we danced ourselves silly on a tide of music and bubbles. I suspect that the breakfast seating was empty this morning; certainly ''we'' didn't go! Julian is still asleep, I only got up to write this before bathing. 
I wonder what the Circles look like on shipboard? There are a few animals on board - most likely more than I am aware of - but nothing like the normal distribution. Pets: dogs, cats, a monkey or two, and I've seen a chinchilla and a fox! 
No, the chief inhabitants of this place are people. So! Today, some time, probably after our noontime game of shuffleboard with the Huxleys, I shall spend some time looking over Springboard, just to see what the Circles look like; then try a new dive -- try to look for the Gate to the Blind Dance! 
''Monday, 15 October 1928; London, Evening'' 
It happens, you know. One forgets. And frankly ... the mad social whirl rather carried us away. Oh yes, lots of fun, to be sure, and a bit of good research as well. But nothing conclusive. No big advances or major insights. What does one expect on holiday, after all? 
I am not really much interested in writing, even now. But we're here, at the hotel in London, and it's late, and - well - it's a bit of a habit by now. 
Docked this afternoon under leaden skies and occasional desultory showers. Goodbye to the Huxleys; a cheery wave-off; and any time you're in Manchester, don't you know, do drop by won't you. Customs and clearace; a bit of fuss, I noticed, from Lydia, who by now seems to have had a parting of the ways from her glittering young friend. Something about some jewelry? 
So -- a few hours by fast rail, and now, here. An excellent, though heavy, meal at the Carvery. Soft music, pleasant atmosphere ... and behold! 
I am very tired. 
My lady is already asleep. 
Sigh.... 
''Wednesday, 17 October 1928; Evening; In the Channel'' 
On the train. Tomorrow, Paris; a rendezvous with painted scarves; and then finally on to Mecca. Yes. 
Some few surprises in London this trip. Tony's message at the Express office leaves no doubt where to look, and the papers are full of the business of the burning Clinic, so it was simple enough to take score of all the public knows. Harry has, he says, a lot of long leads but nothing hard and fast for me; and I did not put him on the Thasylwaite thing, precisely because of the public furor. Tony! So messy! I wonder what you missed? 
As for TMF -- well, helpful and not. The usual ahem-ahem attitude, and I ''am'' sorry, Sir, but you know we cannot divulge that to anyone, etcetera, etcetera. I learned a bit of thia and that (turns out Tony has the keys to the Lyon house) but nothing hard and fast, nothing USEFUL. 
If I knew more already! If I knew when I walked in the proper questions to ask! Then ... yes. Perhaps they would answer. But not otherwise. 
There is, for example, a safe box in keeping for the Estate. TMF admits it freely. They will not, however, discuss the contents, let alone show them. And so it went. 
But Miriam -- ! Ah, surprise indeed! I came to see her on a social call, of course; after her last letter I reluctantly promised myself that there would be no more cat-and-mouse games, no questing for forbidden hints and knowledge any more. Such sparring was bringing only upset to us, and threatening to undermine our friendship. Thus: no more. Merely friends. The visit solely for conversation. 
Surprise! 
Scarcely have we poured our tea -- scarcely have the amenities been satisfied -- when it is ''she'', not I, who throws wide the door! 
I have always trusted ''her''. From the first beginnings of our acquaintance I have felt that she waqs both honest and open with me. Yet, her actions and words were so unexpected, so much at odds with everything I knew of her, that I felt the sting of mistrust despite my faith. 
She asks for sanctuary from her people. 
Such a shock! 
Her reasons are still a bit muddled, at least to me; but they are understandable (or perhaps I am merely naïve.) She has had a flash of premonition, of her future or her child's; she does not wish that future for either Clarice or herself. And, she says, she does not wish her final child to be placed in the Foundry's hands. 
So, her bid to escape. Come february, come March, we will spirit her away -- across the waters, perhaps, to Newhaven, or perhaps to France -- where her child will be out of the grasp of the Lady and the rest. 
I hope. 
It is yet unclear to me just how far the Lady can reach, to find one of Her own whom She knows well. Might Wisphers' walls shield Miriam? Might Newhaven's? Certainly either, while a lovely prison, would be a prison still. Not the best way to raise a daughter, though far from the worst. 
So the future once again holds excitement and interesting changes, great storybook deeds to perform ... and (just possibly) an innocent life or two to make whole or redeem. Hmm. 
Give meaning to? No, still too grandiose. Hum. 
Sigh; so romantic! 
I wonder what she'll make of Julian? 
''Thursday, 18 October 1928; Paris at Sunset'' 
A diversion from our original itinerary, though I think a day will not hurt us. We had to stop, you see, in order to look for some painted scarves for Mrs. Harden; and as long as we were here, why not get some new outfits made up for Julian? So it has been a busy day. 
We found the scarves, all right, lots of them here and there about town, but just to make everything proper we spent some time looking for just the shop Mrs. Harden remembered. It is still there, as it happens -- on a corner by the river, right across from the Shakespeare & Company bookstore - and went in. The place was modern and very busy, not at all the quaint little boutique Mrs. Harden recalls. But the scarves were there, and other lovely things. We bought several and had them wroapped and packaged for mailing. I shall send them along with a letter I have yet to write. 
Poor dear woman. Even now she is beautiful. 
Echoes of an age that is ending. 
... and then we went shopping. Not much, not long this time, the stores we visited already had Mademoiselle's sizes; but three hours or so of watching models display frocks ad gowns is enough for ''me'' for one day, thank you! Julian is not a greedyguts, but she does like more than she dislikes (and be honest, Mister Carl, she looks awfully good in most of it!) so I had to work a bit to keep her down to one new gown, two new outfits, a shawl, a hat, and some shoes. 
Thank heavens I am well-paid! My wife has expensive tastes. I shall have to develop some myself to keep up. 
Ah, Julianjulianjulian! I loveyouloveyouloveyou! All the joy and the laughter and the golden honey glow of your smile and the tender warmth of your arms --- ! 
Forever, Beloved. Forever! 
''Friday, 19 October 1928; On a Train Somewhere'' 
We're nearly there! I can feel it inside; the excitement bubbling up and spilling out all over! Julian says the countryside is starting to look familar; according to the timetable we have less than an hour to go (if we are on time, which is somewhat less than likely. The train keeps slowing and stopping, then starting up again, and the last big town we passed was nearly half an hour behind schedule.) It is nearly sunset now, and the landscape is beautiful, a panoply of greens, reds, oranges and browns, and all those long, long shadows, reaching toward the mountains. It has been getting hilly too, a bit -- the little towns and farms perched on the hillsides and in the valleys between like bits of flotsam floating on a rolling green and orange sea. Some vineyards, none very large, filled with great long rows of spiney clumpy grape trees like they have in the Valley of the Moon back home; but here they are well-tended, here they have not gone wild or been torn out since '17! 
The people on the train are very nice and friendly, even though they tend to leave us alone, foreigners that we obviously are. Most of them regulars, local types, they greet one another familiarly and settle down for a chat, or simply head for Their Seat and fall asleep after a long day. The car is filled with the music of their speech: Darker, throaty, more singsong than the guttural nasality of Parisian French. A pleasing, homey sound. 
Soon. Soooon. 
''Saturday, 20 October 1928; Wisphers Estate'' 
I cannot explain this place. Neither can I describe it; not if I have any hope of doing it justice. It is too big, too grand; too full. 
Everything is meaningful. Everything is redolent of echoes. Ghosts. Memories. I stand in a room, or in the hall, or on the staircase -- and everywhere the silence is filled with the secret sussurus of a thousand lives. 
THERE is where it happened! 
THERE is where they met! 
THERE --! And THERE --! And -- 
Oh, I am immersed in it! This place, this ''hopme'', this amazing, WONDERFUL part of the tyapestry of ourselves and the Fight! I feel it around me, like a thick thick bath, each new touch or angle makes it reborn, fresh, anew! All those hopes, all those lives, all those dreams! They live on, alive, vibrant within these walls; silent only because for a time there has been no one to ''taste'' them, no one to FEEL! 
Hello. Hello. I know you. I feel you part of me. We are one. 
History. Mine. I am a part of this thing. 
The whole place is like that. Beauty, serenity, peace .... I had suspected it might be, from seeing Newhaven; but I had not given thought to the rest. THIS is no mere manifestation of the house-soul, magnificent though that may be, I have not dared to look. No; THIS is ... is ... I cannot think of the proper words. History; tradition; the sheer ''reality'' of all those lives, left here, in the walls, in the very air, silent music for all time. An echo of the Dance made substance! Not mystical, but ''human''; wrought in every shadow, every scar, every scuff on a chair, or bent leaf in a book. 
Four centuries. One life. One dream. 
I am supremely awed, and humbled. 

We arrived only a little bit late at the station in Chalon, which is really no more than a platform and a watchman's hut. It was so peaceful, once the train had gone. The country quiet was a joy to hear, along with the darkening colors and the sharp autumn air. The old man in the hut was only too happy to call for a boy to pick us up in his wagon. Henri, the boy is; bright, chipper, maybe sixteen and immensely voluble in that lovely patois which I cannot follow well. I rode beside him, Julian in the bed with the luggage -- her choice -- through the town (which is small but exceedingly prosperous) to the town house where the autos are. 
It seemed to me that I did not wish to finally arrive here in a clattering loud smelly machine; so I turned down the car, and we rode the wagon up to the Estate through the deepening gloom. 
Passed Henry Williams' farm. A ragged sight, now. Disused for some years; once a prosperous vineyard. What a terrible shame. 
And through the forest, along the road and the drive, to the great iron gates. Henri opened them and walked us through. 
Into the Estate. 
Furlongs and furlongs of parkland. Trim grass, tidy trees, everything in its place, healthy, balanced. The magic of the house-soul at work, I think. Up the drive, over a rise, and there: 
Shining, bright, all immense white facade of Georgian sparsity and gleaming columns. Every window brightly aglow -- the whole place lit up like a cathedral at night -- smoke rising from a half-dozen chimneys, thin and straight to the sky. 
The Big House. At last! 
To the door; it opens; there ''he'' is. Bent. Self-contained, proper, bent-over wizened gnome of a man; dry and formal, but commanding in his way. 
"Welcome Sir!" he says, and bows deeply. 
Inside (shock of warm air and the smell of oiled wood) he has the ''entire staff'' lined up in the main hall! Every one, waiting to be introduced. The cook; maids, gardeners, hostler; all of them. 
Gathered to meet the new Master. 
Me. 
Ye Gods and Little Fishes! 
The biggest "Ah!" of all. 
-- There was more later, of course. A set of keys to everything. A thick sheaf of legal papers. I can look at them here, as I write. Huge! I have only skimmed them so far. Prepared by TMF: Itemized inventories of everything in the House; staff and salary lists; deeds of properties all over the world; more, and more, and more: 
Assumption of the power of attorney. 
Me! Why me? I don't have the knowledge, nor the experience, nor the expertise. 
I have ''not'' been groomed for this! 
You may always refuse to sign, Sir, he says/ He knows it is not so simple. 
Why me? I asked him. Why did you choose ''me''? 
The choice was not mine, Sir, he said. 
Whose, then? I asked. 
It was the decision of the House, Sir, he said. 

The House. Lord God above -- the House. Beloved partner; centuries old; with its eyes that see so far. Shadows of things to come. 
What, dear Heaven, does it see? 
And so I sit. And toss, and turn, and sit some more. Thinking. Afraid. It is so much ''larger'' than I had thought! So much more ''immediate''! 
I have walked the grounds, seen everything, unseeing. I have looked down the halls, entered the rooms, held the ancient treasures in my hands. I have been everywhere -- briefly -- except one. The locked room. The War Room. There I will not go. 
Not until I am ''sure.'' 
''Later, Same Evening -- '' 
Tony and Rebecca have arrived. He is being so strange, so formal; does he know what has happened? Ah, Tony, you seem so far away .... Where is the ease, the camraderie? 
He has been to Lourdes -- and found nothing. I am not too surprised. 
Where are they? Where ''are'' they? 
And what am I to ''do''? 
''Sunday, 21 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tonight we see if the stars are right. I have set the telescope outside on the patio, and Adam has been studying his algebra and the ephemeris. I have started him on the Mathematics of Motion, and we shall work toward Newtonian mechanics and Kepler's law. Should be fun. 
So many people. So many worries. Am I to be everything to everyone? 
A short but pleasant visit with Zigfried; a chance at last to meet Mister Parsons, a bright and likeable fellow though rather irreverent; and a long and turmoiled talk with Tony. 
Ah me; ah me. How can he be so troubled all the time? Next to him, I have no troubles of my own.... though I have quite a few to give ''to'' him. 
He is not happy about the treaty. Upset and unhappy about a lot of things, generally, I think; but the treaty for certain. There is nothing I can do about it , of course, and truthfully I would not risk trying; but so much of our old superficial camraderie has vanished over time with the assumtion of new burdens. I hope that this basic disagreement about the treaty will not be the final straw, the thing that breaks us at last. 
We went "riding" today. Um. Well. At least, we sat on horses and they moved. Quite fast. Whee. Tony and Julian are both quite graceful on horseback. Not so, myself; I never had the need nor the means, except for occasional pony rides. It was troublesome, and no doubt quite amusing; I hurt now. The only small consolation was that Rebecca was even less happy than I. She clung grimly to her mount and was rather upset about the whole thing. I should hate to be in Tony's shoes -- he suggested the ride! 
Afterwards I spoke to Zigfried. For the first time in, oh, I don't know how long it's been. About the Light, and this and that, what he said to DAF, and so forth. Emerson has shown him the bragging letter -- he say only that it ''is him'', the Black Man, one and the same for certain. There is more; I can tell it in his eyes, but he did not say. As for the rest -- he is not comfortably eloquent with poesy, it is difficult for him to speak of things that are not rational, things of the heart or spirit. Ah well. We will talk again. We must; there is so much I have to learn from this man, and perhaps a bit to give as well. 
Parsons is a curious fellow. A Jazz musician with connections to the Mob. Receptive, but aloof, I am unsure what to make of him -- how much hope I may place in him. But Tony has invited him to Gathering, so what will happen will happen. 
''Monday, 22 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tony is gone. Scooted off this morning. Told no one. Blast. 
But, Theo is up! He's well -- he's talking -- he met us at breakfast. Thank Heavens! What a wonderful thing, a gift for the day. 
Zigfried says Theo remembers nothing of the attic, or of subsequent events. It is clear he's not yet read my letters either. Keeps asking questions that I wrote him about already. Ah well. Time is all he needs now. That, he has. Thank Heavens! 
''Tuesday, 23 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
She agrees. I have spoken to him; I have spoken to her. He is desperate. She agrees to the task. It may break him. 
Dear God, I hope not. I hope I have not caused a terrible thing. 
Have I destroyed a friend for this treaty? 
Lots of talk. Lots. He was, by degrees, intrigued, excited, elated -- and devastated, when he heard the terms. But he is still with me. With me. Oh dear. 
''Wednesday, 24 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Contact! A touch, a trembling fragment of meaning in the morass. At last -- a piece of the bigger thing -- oh, I am babbling! So difficult to simply say what I've seen -- always the words are too many and too small. 
Today I met the House. How bright! How joyous, how magnificent! And how slippery-easy, once the voyage is begun. Calling, pulling, guiding, ''drawing''. One has to work to stay ''away''. Certainly no labor to arrive. 
Brilliant, electric, living vibration; a thing that both feeds and excites as it draws. 
The House has eyes that see far. 
It is so strong, this thing, so ''alive'' and immediate --! 
-- A thought: Might the twists of the Paths from Springboard be somehow related to, or representative of, the signatures of the Circles? What a lovely thought! It does feel right, it fits; but how to test, how to find out for sure? 
The path to the House is ''part'' of the House, somehow. And the thing ITSELF: 
Faerie! 
Feel the whole world all at once as a thing alive; feel the House. Feel the bright outwelling of Life, and Joy, brilliance of Being; feel the House. 
Become what you feel; BE the House! 
And see far. 
O Bright! O Quick! So huge, so huge, ripple out and out in circles toward awesome distant walls; read the shadows and BE BE BE! So big so big and all ME, all ONE, the Unity in miniature, the loving the sheer Happiness of outpouring ...! 
But I ramble. I shall return. 
DAF came today. So abrupt he is. So demanding. He unbalances me. Zip, zip, zip! Like a hummingbird with no respect for anyone. 
Wants gossip. Wants information. 
Wants a job to toy with. I gavce him Gundoni. 
Good luck. 
It would be wonderful to show him. I want to show him. Show all of them! But the laughter stays within me, the marvellous murmurs of transcendant meaning, so clear to me, are silent elsewhere. They do ''not'' see! 
They cannot know, like I do. 
Humbling. 
''Friday, 26 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
I am contnually impressed and amazed by the sheer ''immensity'' of the thing! Both within and without; as above, so below. 
Deep inside, the Motherspirit of the house continues to touch and fill things with joy and meaning. So huge, so long ... so QUICK! Laughter, like ripples of whitegold music caressing a million-million souls -- instant -- forever -- harmony and crystal and green silver wood grass SELF and that whirling, spinning Radiance in the center! Patience; love; protection; Giving; so wonderfully HAPPILY generous it is! 
On the surface, the Estate is serene and perfect. The trees turning to fall; the rocks, the pond, the birds and small animals rustling in the undergrowth; like a fairytale. The enchanted land. All of the valley is owned by the estate; but the Estate itself, the Person within the walls, is more than a mile on a side, and so full! So full. 
Beyond, the estate itself is huge! The entire valley, thirty-four square miles, the whole village, all the vineyards; properties in France, Spain, England; mines in America; treasures and more treasures, priceless antiques; the ''Amûn'' itself; ... and .... 
So much. So much. 
SO MUCH! Oh, oh, oh -- how can I explain? I am so small, to be given all this! So young, so new! It fills my heart, my chest, the ache of need, and responsibility, and all the joy and sorrow bubble up and outward, coloring the world around me and the silence behind my eyes. Shades of significance touch me, all the time. I want to share. 
Do the see? Do they know? 
Everything is ... deeper. Further away and closer, more important, all at once. I feel as though the light has thickened, coloring things comehow new, different, more importantly. And I look for that hint of awareness in others' eyes, a touch, a glance that says: I know. 
Do they? 
Daily, I feel it around me more easily. An electric thrill underneath the obvious -- like the prickly feel of an oncoming storm. Whenever I touch the House I know; I feel it; aware, loving, THERE. 
I am becoming more attuned to it, and it to me. 
And sometimes, just for an instant, I hear echoes of footfall before Bent arrives, or know he is present before he speaks. 
I am going to sign. 
''Sunday, 28 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Early morning. Early. I cannot sleep. I am consumed anew by tragedy, sense of loss, dear things taken before they were ever known. Weep, my heart of hearts! To feel the closing of a dooe, so dear -- Oh! 
I want to cry. I want to pray. 
These words are blind, fumbling caricatures of meaning. They mock me. Not sorrow -- not loss -- but a thing richer, so deep and poignant in its power that I cannot speak through tears, cannot even truly perceive the shape of the thing that sweeps through me. Too close. Too deep. Too dear. 
It is done. Midnight. Bent, and the candle. The keys. The last door. The last room. 
Walls and maps. Cabinets. The table. Smell of dust, age, things neglected. So much darkness here, at the heart -- the secret center of the dream. 
Silence. Rich and thick -- like a dagger to the inside of me. 
He offered cognac. Heady red in the candle. A scent from across the room, tangs the nose and tongue in memory. Simple silver tray -- decanters -- two glasses. 
Gone. I am alone with the letter. 
Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed man that is borne of woman is Dearly beloved, we are gathered here.... 
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no Evil, for Thou art with me. Thy Rod, and They Staff, they comfort me. 
Amen. 
Until death do us part. Oh, my beloved. 
Thick, old, hand-folded; the glue gone to dust at the edges, the paper yellowed. The envelope. Nothing on it, no name or date. A sacrilege to open it. 
A fear of learning what is written within. 
Given to me. By all of them. 
Bent; the House; and dear lost Pierre. 
How can I love the man so much? How can I grieve, can I mourn so deeply his passing? We never met; yet he has shaped my life in infinite ways. I am his son, newly born; and he my father and my friend. 
Gone, oh gone in the hour of my awakening. Now we may never meet, never know the joy. 
Touch fingertipe, yet never shake hands. 
His only regret. 
REGRET! DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN! IN AM NOT YET STRONG ENOUGH FOR THIS! 
The page blurs. I think of it again. I cry. Tonight the ghosts are very thick, very real. I cry. For loss; for loneliness; for the spirit of a good and gentle man, who looked with calm and ''knowing'' eyes beyond the end of his own days; and for all of us who remain, scattered and confused, a pitiful parody of what we might be. 
What we may become. If I can find the way. 
Resolve helps. Fills the hollow weeping emptiness. So does Julian. My wife, my darling, my ''life''. 
Will you walk with me, beloved? Will you pray with me, at the grave of an old and much-loved friend? 
Flowers, my love. Flowers and folded hands. Eyes closed, pure before God. 
Help me to find the way. 
Amen. 
''Later, same day --'' 
Andrew Scott arrived this morning, shortly after breakfast. He was tired, in body and spirit, but I fear I was unable to help him. All I could do was ramble. Babble. My own heart and spirit were far away. 
He will stay on here for a few days, to rest and relax. It will be good for him. May he enjoy. 
The four of us left in the afternoon. Bent formally tendered farewell, and we were driven to the station in one of the House autos. It is strange not having that second trunk with us any more. 
Theo is quiet but interested, taking in everything. He is quite an experienced traveler. Zigfried too, but his approach is different: he folded himself into a seat and went promptly to sleep. Clever man. 
And so I watch the countryside. Full daylight now, rather than sunset; so much more familiar than before. I feel now as if I belong, I am no longer a stranger any more. 
Julian watches me with concern. She does not entirely understand what happened to me last night, but it affected her deeply as well. We are one, we are one, and the folio at the House is correct. merely by ''being'', she lightens my load. 
It is, however, strange and irksome to be once again a stranger. The whole subterfuge of distance now seems bothersome and unnecessary. I am become spoiled, but how necessary is it all, really? These two men are my friends. Why should they not know? I am being petty about this. And, just now, I need the comfort of her presence by my side. So let them draw their own conclusions. Just now I do not care. 
''Monday, 29 1928; London'' 
It is shortly before dinner. We arrived here this morning, put up for the day; since then I have been locked in offices. The transfer of the Estate required more than a few signatures. There were more forms to fill out, seals and notarys to attach, and I wanted to ensure that we'd gotten to all of it. I also treid to set up some sort of account so that the available funds could be drawn upon, but, international finance being what it is, that would take longer than a day to do. So it will wait til next time, no hurry. 
All that was left was to pick up my suits that I ordered on the way east and get our tickets changed. There was some difficulty in doing the latter, since the vessel departed France about the same time I walked into the offices in London, but we shall see. We sail tomorrow morning, and they cannot assign cabins at this late date; we shall have to take whatever's available from the Purser when we get there. What fuss. 
''Tuesday, 30 October 1928; At sea'' 
Changes. New things. Old things reborn! I am instilled with an excitement, a sense that there ''is'' a chance, that we ''shall'' succeed: 
Amazing things. Even now, I find it hard to believe! We are ''here'', we are ''here'', sailing the High Sea on eyes that see far ...! Wonderful. 
At the docks, half-lit gloom at 8:30 in the morning. Picture it: The cold grey day, everything damp from fog; the assistant Purser at his podium, and me there with him. Julian and the others a few feet away, with the luggage piled up nearby. Other passengers arriving intermittently; the odd dockworker here and there, and the redcaps and stevedores. 
No Sir, says he; I do not have you on my passenger list. Yes, I see your tickets, they are French tickets. Even though they are endorsed, I have no record of it here. Yes, your two friends may go, their tickets are in order, but yourself and your daughter, sir, (shrug) I am sorry, can you wait for the Purser? 
Imagine it: Me, worn out from arguing, in a melancholy mood; and then the rush, the stir, and a passel of huge burly swarthy men walk up and begin to carry all our bags away! 
Look there, down the dock: Zigfried, grinning, and behind him that sleek black shape, masts high in the sky, the Eyes of Horus on her brow. 
Amun. Back, at last. Amun! 
They are here for us. They want us to go with them. Amun! Back from years of vanishment, come at last to meet Zigfried. No one could think it was coincidence -- no one who knows the House. 
Zigfried speaks to the Captain. Come aboard! Tell us where you need to go! 
Elation! A sense of growing wonder, thankfulness, renewal. Spring is here! Spring, for our people; time to grow again, to move out of the shadow where all is past and memory, and walk proud in sunlight once again! 
Oh yes! I want to ride this creature of wonder! But there is a problem. 
We need to be in New York in six days. 
Six days! In a sailing ship? Impossible! Tell the Captain! ...but the Captain says, It shall be done. 
The Age of Miracles is not dead. 
On board, surprises. What a ship! How clean, how proud! Sleek black lacquer -- gleaming brass and polished ivory -- white silk sails with edges of gold -- and never a nail, never an iron bolt. Of course. Lay your hand on the taffrail, and feel it! The thrum of power, that secret thrill of LIFE! Like the House! Amun is alive, she sings to me. 
Surprise! We are told the vessel is not here for Zigfried, but for ME! For the Master, he says. So it begins. 
I can feel the ripples spreading.... Be not proud, Mister Carl; but how heady it is to be a part of something so large! 
So it all burst out. I could stand it no longer. In one great, silly, heady rush of exultation and freedom, I told them. My friends, my dear friends, rejoice! My golden girl and I are MARRIED! Be happy with us!! 
And rejoice we did -- and then we flew into the light of morning to watch the ship set sail! 
How she sails! Fast! I can believe, now, that we shall arrive on time. What a lady! With a skip, a shiver, she runs! Dances! Plays upon the surface of the sea! 
The wind is in our faces, clean and fresh; it is ''good'' to be alive!

Carl Ellis October 1928 - Diary

2014-01-08T23:27:16Z

Chazathoth:

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''Monday, 1 Oct 1928, morning; back at Newhaven'' 
Tony called me this morning. Cold; distant; a brisk professional veneer thing covering desperation and despair. I do not know what it was that he did not say, but it spoke volumes in its absence – and what he did say was bad enough. 
They hit the Boston house after a week’s worth of watching. Labs; manufactory, and four or five people, led by one of the Avowed. Not KR ''(note - Katyana Rasmul)'' – but someone like her. All dead now save one prisoner. Prisoner?! What are we to do with prisoners? We are not prepared to handle such things, even if I thought it a good idea. Which I do not. But G ''(note - Antonio Grimaldi)'' has him now, for good or ill. 
Proof at last, of the Dark-Trained. 
The Black Man has used his own as traps. Traps! Triggered by questioning-? They tear themselves apart. Does he know? Lord God in Heaven, how can we possibly touch this fiend!! Beautiful soaring melodies, indeed!! Oh, lost, lost, lost and afraid…..! 
And Tony! I am losing you too, aren’t I? I watch you, feel you slipping away …. One of the best, more lost by the hour; and what can I do? You will not touch me, will not let me touch you! Helpless! I can do nothing if you will not let me help you …. Oh, how sad and bitter it all is. 
They say he never laid blame or condemned his people; and so I shall try to do the same. To stay silent is easy; but not to TRY-! That is hard, so hard. 
I am afraid. So afraid. 
Is the whole fragile family dying? 
I have NO TIME to learn how to heal! The whole delicate edifice may be in shards before the Gathering, which once seemed so close! 
How can the face of things change so fast? 
Be careful, Tony! Oh, how I dread your works to come! California may be our undoing; I have no reason to feel that way, I merely do. Oh, please – step softly! We need that link so badly, let it not be shattered! Desperation leads to blindness, Tony; and blindness can kill. Beware! 
Now I have done it to myself. My hand shakes as I write; my chest is cold with sorrow. What will happen? WHAT? 
GOD DAMN YOU, CLOCK: MOVE ON! MOVE ON! 
I will have to speak with G, when I go east. But I cannot think of what to say or ask. Hmm. 
Reminder. Talk to Alex about populating the house. The children are so happy here. 
 
Will Meagan ''ever'' understand me? I fear not. Clever, even brilliant ... but a plodder -- no, that is unkind. Say rather that she is ''deductive'' exclusively; I wonder if there is a speck of inductiveness in her? There are so many others like her -- but it is strange in one with so many "mystical leanings." 
I think that she frequently touches, but is never herself ''touched''. But that is so hard to believe; could it be that she deliberately denies the touch's understanding? 
Is she so afraid? 
How can she be in love, and ''not'' see? 
Obviously, this humble person is unworthy of his position. I think he will pray for further enlightenment and understanding. 
Trite. 
''Tuesday, 4 October 1928; Dinnertime, Arkham'' 
Everybody is gone! This is irksome. Carl has not yet returned; Mrs. Williams has not yet returned; Lazlo has not yet returned …. And now it seems they are all in the same place! Cuba? Why Cuba, why now? Is there something going on that I missed completely? Dear me. And now G is missing too. I cannot talk to him. Or his ‘prisoners’. I confess I am relieved …. But what happened? What have they done with him? What happened in California? No. I will not make a fuss. Tony knows how to reach me, if there is a report to make. 
Arc’s place is, if anything, more lovely now than it was when I was last here two years ago. Or is it just me? In the event, the turning of the leaves adds a poignant beauty to everything that is both exhilarating and softly tragic. But I digress, as always. And the place is all over maple trees! I did not know what they were, last time; but one of the servants pointed them out this morning. 
This is going to be a lovely place for the party. 
Harper (one of the staff) tells me that Arc wired a few days ago, says he is on his way. Good! I want to speak to him. 
Funny about the servants. They are quiet, discrete, competent, and oh-so-professional; but after Straight …. Well, it is not the same. 
Julian loves it here. I do not think she has been here before, and like me she finds it magnificent. At the same time, however, she constantly makes it clear to me that the place is nothing next to the French Estate. I surely am getting curious about that big old House!
The kids …. Ah, the kids. I feel like such a heel, dragging them all over kingdom come and then leaving them with nothing to do when we get there. 
But it is hard to please them both. Poor Rachael is in love with Newhaven. Truly, she is blossoming, under the care of Straight and the peace of the estate there. It broke her heart to leave; I was really tempted to let her stay awhile …. But I promised her there were nicer places ahead, and I do want to get all four of the kids together. 
Hmm …. I suppose I shall have to stop thinking of them as children soon. It’s not right, I know, Lord knows they have been denied childhood long enough! But otherwise there is a present danger that I/we will come to think of them always as children, merely because of their appearance. 
Think of them as patients involved in a cure. No, wait …. Students. Students of life. That is Better. 
I have gotten awfully fond of those two. Even Adam, despite his spikiness. He was not reluctant to let go, dear me no! He is bored. Needs something to do. That is what started me off on this train of thought, after all …. He is a doer, not a thinker. Passive study does not sit well on him. 
So. Tonight or tomorrow, with Julian’s help, he and I will go to Stockton. Check the house, feed the cat, fill the water tanks, and so forth. A good hour or two’s work; something to do. Right. And I must talk to him about his future. 
Letters. One from Lazlo, one from Carl. 
I did not realize that Lazlo and his young lady were so cozy already. Yet here she is, cooking him breakfast in his home. Dare I be salacious? Me, of all people? (Snicker) Ah, well. It could be innocent; and these are, after all, the ‘twenties. 
I wonder what he is thinking, right now? 
He seems to be in a musing state of mind. Catching the edges of the Principle, as it were – or perhaps merely skirting the edge of danger is making him hold more dearly to everything simple and beautiful? A lesson for me. 
I must write to him. What are they up to down there? 
Carl’s letter is more recent. A post-mortem on Kentucky, some chat. He has not received my most recent one. 
Lots to say about Rebecca, especially her influence on Tony. Hmm …. Influence …. In view of the changes I have noticed in him, is it safe to think that she is bad for him? Not enough information yet, I think … but something to ponder. 
She DOES need training and experience. A leader’s role in a hothouse environment has not prepared her for the variety of scenaria which she may face. 
Morenotes on the Glory Hole and its activity. I have long thought that they did some of their first Gate work there … but could the others be right? Might those folk have broken through to other tunnels, or Something Else? I must not dismiss this out of hand. They will not abandon the site. 
Some comments on Pierre. They sadden me. 
More stuff on Faigon.''(note - aka Boyer Rulininov)'' Hah! Oh Carl, if you only knew what I know! Why the Devil aren’t you home? And in King, as well. Ex-vampire? Oh, dear boy, you are in for a sur-prise!! 
And, last Gathering. Delight – and loneliness. He strives to come closer even as he pushes me away. “It is a lonely job, how lonely I don’t think you know and will never know.” Why does he think that? Is is something in him he speaks of, or something he sees in me? A puzzle. 
But there is real warmth in his closing. 
Dinnertime – and I have written far too long. 
''Friday, 5 October, 1928; afternoon, Arkham'' 
This morning, early, Julian, Adam, and I went into the basement and through the Door. Uf! What a feeling! Unpleasant – I do not like it, at all! – but not so bad as that awful thing we went through to and from China. I do not believe I shall ever enjoy using these Doors. Ever. Even putting the unpleasantness aside, it just does not feel RIGHT, somehow. Like cheating, in a way. 
(But, says the small voice, just look! See how amazingly CONVENIENT they are…!) 
Well, they are that, surely. Draining, though. Julian went back to Arkham, after pointing out the way; and I dithered a bit. Did not really want to use the Doors again, nobody likes discomfort; but the real reason was a sly compelling need to Go Upstairs and Look! There I was – in France! – within sight, perhaps, of the Big House! Should I peek? 
No, I decided. If I was going to go to the Estate, I was going to WALK! 
Adam was getting impatient. Through the door, then, to Stockton. 
A hottish, dry day in California – real Indian Summer weather. The house is still in order, merely looking a bit run-down after nearly a month’s disuse. Tony has evidently been through; a few things are moved, the documents I left for him are gone, the flowers have been watered even though the tanks are dry. Nice of him to do that for us. Peanut was sunning Itself on the back porch, sassy as ever and, if anything, larger than before. 
Adam was ecstatic. Something to do, at last! He has been frustrated and increasingly bored – one reason for this trip. So we filled the flower tanks, topped off the cat food machine, and he spent a happy couple of hours in the morning cool (the time difference is noticeable!), puttering around the yard, cutting grass, and so forth while I performed a few tests and gathered some things. 
The Doorway is …. Interesting. Unfortunately, it is draining for me to use; equally unfortunately, when I attempt to activate it with energy from one of my discharge units, though it does fill up as before, the flip-flip is erratic and the image dim or distorted. I do not know why; but I would not want to put my safety into a Doorway that behaved like that! 
Also pulled a few textbooks out of mothballs – different ones this time, calculus and physics – and have decided to give him lessons every day or two. Who knows? Perhaps he will enjoy it – and then maybe I shall have someone around to talk of my hobbies with. Sometime this week I shall have to look for others: a book on astronomy, lens-grinding, radios, & electricity. Fun things. We shall see. He has been bored long enough! 
I showed him how to use the Doorway for himself, at which he quickly became adept; and we returned to Arc’s around one-thirty ... And here we are! The home house is all locked up; and I pressed the iron doors mostly closed and left a note of warning to others not to enter. We shall see if they believe it; but I truly do not want my home used as a railway terminal! 
''Saturday, 6 October 1928; 2 PM, Arkham'' 
Our passports are here! They’re lovely: I do enjoy official documents. Always so stiff, with seals and such …. I feel as though a thousand bureaucratic ritual mysteries lurk behind each still-lipped page. Nice. Very. 
Then came dinner – and Arc ''(note - Arcturus Rand)'' arrived. 
He looks well. Strong and tan from his travelling. He came through the Portal from England, having received my letter. We worked for a while, putting some of his odder mementos into storage (that big fish’s head on the wall in the den was a Deep One!) and packing away some of the more unsettling books. And we talked. 
And talked. And talked. And talked. 
There was a lot to catch him up on. China. San Francisco. The search for the Black Man. Eveling. The Children. Buffalo. Silver Twilight. The Disease. Boston, Redmun, London. 
And, at last, the Treaty. 
I suppose it is fitting that he be the first; after all, he was the first to openly answer my questions. There were things I did not tell him – the Exchange, and the name of our Ambassador candidate – but all of the rest, yes. And the results were as good as I ought to expect. 
Arc is tentative. He agrees that it could work, but does not wish to commit himself to an opinion on the subject until after all the facts are clear. He has grave doubts, but allows that they are in the main irrational, and is willing to try to set them by if necessary. 
But he did promise me this: That, even should he decide against this thing, he will not actively oppose this treaty or me, but will merely withdraw. 
I respect him; I am grateful for that much. 
I was thinking just now about my letter yesterday to Alex Chase. Did not realize that, for all my professions of camaraderie and forgiveness, I still have not asked him to come to gathering. Well. I can justify it in the privacy of my own head …. But it still looks pretty hypocritical when considered from without. 
So hard to control! The party is getting bigger and bigger – already I see I have lost the intimate beginnings I so urgently sought when we began this. But even now, even now, there are those I wish to begin with, and those to whom I hope to show a completed beginning. The Gathered will be special – they will be the first, present at the opening and the rebirth. Yet, with each new voice, each new desire added to the consensus, the chances of a harmonious whole become smaller and smaller. 
Fie! It is out of my hands. Let the games begin! 
''Sunday, 7 October 1928; still at Arc’s, 10 PM'' 
More and more; we are picking up speed! Called Tony back this morning with my “revelations” about the Gregory House. Seventeen eight four, hah? How convenient. 
Not much of a Place of Refuge. But useful. 
Now my mind is awhirl. If the plague is really being tested or disbursed here, then this place is likely to be very dangerous. 
Right. No kidding. They know. Calm down. 
Tony has changed. He seems a lot more relaxed, more in control of himself. Why, we actually managed to have two complete talks without anyone clamming up or marching away furiously! Makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing. 
So….. once I was up, there was nothing to it but to set about the business of the day. 
Morning trip out of town to visit Cassandra Felion ''(note - once a model for the painter Jeremiah Lambert)''. Poor woman. I am very disheartened. The place she is kept is nice enough … for a hospital. That is to say, the staff is no doubt quite comfortable. Her room, however, is white and sterile; and she is in no position to appreciate any of it. 
Miss Felion has become a cause célèbre amongst us; but as I sat and looked at her haggard dreaming face, I was overwhelmed with a sense of futility. I cannot help her. There is nothing in my power to perform that will ease her burden. 
Yet, here she lies; mirror and symbol of one possible future. 
Julian? Perhaps. Though I wonder about that as well. Hers is a delicate talent, for all its power; and I am reluctant now to try and put it to the test on that poor girl. 
I scarcely even considered the painting. She would have to be awake to see it, for one thing; and she would begin her tirade long before becoming fully conscious. Not to mention my reservations about the thing’s effectiveness. 
Poor Meagan. Well, she is happy now. 
I wonder if Zigfried … but he too has places to go. 
So. Afternoon we all bundled off to New York City, to Emerson’s house on Copeley Road. The kids were quietly delighted to see one another, and quickly closeted themselves away together. Even Rachel is chipper – talking to them all, smiling a bit in an easy way she never has with us. O well. 
I spent some time speaking with the staff who take care of them; then Julian and I went out into the city to buy a few things. Toiletries and travel supplies; several books for each, including more texts and an ephemeris for Adam; and (o treasure!) a telescope. Not a big one; but quite enough for he and I to explore the sky. Expensive! I had not thought. Ah, well. 
Back home an hour or so ago, and the kids to bed, sleepy and happy. And here I am. 
Good luck, Tony. 
Just as I finished the above, the telephone rings. Lazlo, from Cuba! And boy – does he have a lot to say! 
This vacation of his has not been a lot of fun. 
Lazlo, Carl, Andrew (?!), Pembrook (!!), and their respective young ladies all meet at the home of Andrew White, near Havana. For some reason, local Voodoo cultists are very interested in them: Images of Carl & Lazlo made into dolls (!!!) and a lovely white woman named Chiennie Faraday, a ‘priestess’ from Jamaica, is interested in them. She, it seems, has come to the island a few days previous on some business of her own. 
There is also a seedy planter named LeFarb who shows too much interest in the ladies – and then, a few days later, several of the women and Lazlo are attacked by bandits and zombies at White’s house, while the others are away fighting a (convenient?) fire! 
They escape; they run; the women are carried off by big black things that almost have to be night gaunts (!!!!); and a long chase follows, to a cave up in the mountains where the women are being fed to some sort of “tumescent, white and beige, slimy, tentacular, sluglike thing.” 
Messy. The women are rescued; the cultists are all killed (sigh); lots of elder symbol glows; and they march back to the coast. 
Lazlo says that all of the women are in deep shock, and have confused memories of some alien, ethereal beauty that fade by the hour. They also have, on the hands that were enclosed by the Thing, fine scars across the knuckles and the joints, very thin, like razors!!!! Familiar? 
Terrible terrible. Lazlo says his Julia is often unaware of him. “She leaves this world and enters another,” he says. Glowing madonnalike perfection. “All so bright and beautiful.” Massive blood and life-force loss; she has dropped 15 lbs. since the incident. 
This is horrible! Our people – THEIR dear ones! – grabbed up and WRENCHED like this! Horrible! I feel so powerless – yet what can I do? Lazlo and Julian are preparing to leave …. The rest of the others have headed to LeFarbe’s plantation for some answers. I do not think they will be gentle about getting them! 
What about the White Lady? What about Jamaica? What connection does she have with the zombies and LeFarbe? Why was she here? The mask, the shopkeeper … what does it mean? And those scars, so like HIS …. What is the connection? 
Of special interest is Lazlo’s description of the Faraday woman – the Lady in White. She had a glamour, he says, very strong, alluring, primal. Familiar? He says it is like J’s, “but different.” 
Could there be a connection between this Jamaica group and the Islanders?? 
Wait – wait – wait. My God. I am remembering a description. 
On Sandoo – ruins – and bright-white, invisible snakelike things. Loigon. Guardians of the Lady? Or echoes? Or aspects of the Lady herself? 
Could there be a connection? 
Loigon – Loa? My God! 
“Like – yet different.” Hmm! So few things on this earth are unique and alone … it seems possible that there may be others. 
Loa. Baby Ladies? O dear o dear o dear. Time to start studying voudun! 
Dear Heavens – How can I ask anything of her now, after all this? How? I cannot – but who, then? Shall I speak to Carl first? Yes – he has been around, and he knows her – he will know what to do. 
Balderdash. This is my plan, my burden; I must not try to put it off on him! We shall go on as before, and the Lady will make her own choice. 
But oh, oh, oh. I do not LIKE this! 
<Dammit, it TIES TOGETHER!> 
Another few minutes. J is rousing the kids for their trip to France. She will be back tomorrow evening; and we shall go to New York. 
''Wednesday, 10 October 1928; At sea'' 
It is Anchors Aweigh at last! There is something quite special about setting sail. Like a ritual turning away from the old, facing about to look upon the new. When the dock is left behind, the band stops playing, and the bow points cleanly toward an unbroken horizon, salt air upon my cheeks, I feel a lifting; washed free, for a time, of burdens behind us. Set forth to face the wonders of the new. 
The last couple of days have been busy ones. After the three of them left I sat and thought for a bit; then slept. The following day, that I had thought to spend in idle tourism, was instead turned to research on voodoo. 
Interesting stuff. I had time only to skim the surface, of course – and the subject is quite complicated. As with all such things, the closer one gets to the particular, the more the seeming similarities are obscured by detail; but again and again there are hints of similarity, of a basic sort of familiarity between the one and the other. 
One difficulty lies in the stripping of fact from folklore. Voodoo lore contains elaborate explanations of why things are as they are; but these differ strongly from tribe to tribe, cult to cult; and they do not present a coherent picture of the sort I am seeking in any case. 
Serpent mages appear throughout the religion, in connection with most of the powerful loa. Too, loa influence is passed through the blood – and the feminine loa pass through the women, as the male ones do through the men! The practice of ritual possession is ubiquitous; the spirits are said to wind down a pole from the sky, or enter the body from the earth; and always first there is a distancing between the man and the world, a setting back and withdrawal from control. 
The tie between loa and Earth is very strong and pervasive. Even those loa associated with the sky or the cosmic forces appear in conjunction with the earth in rituals and histories. There is something primal, something fundamental about this association that should not be ignored. 
I wonder if there is any information about voodoo at the Big House? It will be interesting to see what they thought important. 
So … That night, Julian came back, tired but happy, and reported success. The kids were settled in, not without some distress, but safely. We took the evening train back to New York. 
I find it a constant delight to be alone with Julian, even for a few days. Hidden holds are removed; our lives, oir words, the way we look and react come easier, more harmoniously. Even when we are ''doing'' things, they are done simply, naturally. It is a gentle, joyous thing, and one that does not happen when there are others around. 
Oh, how much my Golden Girl means to me! Like oxygen; like music; I need her to ''live''. Apart, we survive; together, we are magnificent!
 
The poor dear had been up for more than a full day and night; she nodded off on the train, and practically had to be poured into bed when we arrived at the hotel. But a night’s sleep works wonders for the young, even the forever-young, and we were on the road in a rented car, bathed and fresh, well before noon. 
Charot is a tiny town on the North Jersey coast, and Mrs. Harden’s home is a white Gull Cottage sort of affair set about a mile back from the beach. The sky was high but grey, and there was a constant cool breeze off the water. Good Easter October weather – a nice day for sailing. The gulls seemed happy too, far away. 
I have no idea of Lisel Harden’s true age; but if she married young, say eighteen, and appeared right after at Gathering in 1852, that would make her born in 1834 … and her age somewhere around ninety-five! Remarkable. She is still a lovely woman, even now; but sadly she shows every one of those years. 
I did not know how coherent her thoughts would be, after Tony’s comments. She was charming. She has a grim and defensive housekeeper who guards her ferociously, and whose name I fear I have already forgotten. 
We talked for perhaps a half hour. I introduced myself as a compatriot of Ceryous Outt’s, and said I had come by to pay my respects. I admit to a bit of a shock when she mentioned that Benjamin ''(note - Lisel Harden's deceased husband)'' was not home but would return shortly, and would we care to wait? But this, and a slight tendency to be a bit time lost, not having been apprised of the terrible events of the past few years, were the only barriers to what might otherwise have been a gracious and effortless visit. 
Poor, dear woman. She does not know all that has happened. If she did, it would break her heart. That, more than anything else, was my reason for cutting the interview short. I could not bear the thought of shattering her fragile gracious world. 
I was immensely moved by her love and devotion for her husband. One could hear it in her voice when she spoke of him. “Dear Benjamin has been very quiet lately,” she said. “Sometimes I hear him downstairs, when he thinks I am asleep.” So much. So much. It wrenched my heart, so I felt I wanted to weep. 
I do not think she will live much longer. Her housekeeper said her strength has failed much in the past few months. I left my card with them: I hope she will get my letter, but if not … perhaps I shall hear in time to attend the funeral. 
Benjamin will be home soon. Dear God. 
Julian was nearly as distressed as I, though for different reasons. She had never met a very elderly person before. The tragedy of mortality has never made an impression on her life until now. 
We drove to the seashore, walked on the beach, and ate the picnic lunch I brought, and talked. In a while, things got better. The edge of sorrow eased. 
I shall send her a scarf, from Paris. 
We drove back to the City -- had dinner at the hotel restaurant -- went out to see the Jazz Singer at the Metro (my second talkie, her first); spent the night, and this morning set sail. 
Steamers are always immense amounts of fun, and this one, the ''Prince William'', is no exception. Cunard has a typically British sort of understated luxury -- and for the first time in either of our lives, we are riding High, in a first-class luxury stateroom on board one of the queens of the sea! Three hundred crew; eight hundred passengers; two dining salons, two bars, a nightclub, a ballroom, a theater, a swimming pool, and more. 
So, let the worries and wants stand aside for the moment. My Wife and I are On Holiday! 
''Friday, 12 October 1928; At sea'' 
Life on board this floating Fun House is doing things to my mood. I feel more relaxed, expansive, even giddy in a way. A true "vacation" feeling. It affects the way I act. I wrote a letter to C. Outt today that was much the same way -- flamboyant, brash, even a bit bragging. Ah well. What it says is true, and it matches my mood and possibly his as well. Send it. Send it. 
Julian is off on deck somewhere, lazing around in a deck-chair like a happy cat, occasionally importuned by young hopefuls eager to make acquaintance. She has quite settled in, and is enjoying herself immensely. Last night they offered us a musical revue in the Victoria Lounge (an incongruity which appeared quite amusing to me!) and we both enjoyed it immensely. Tonight is the Captain's Reception, for all of the First Class passengers, that is to say Us, followed by the Officer's Ball which is supposed to be a swanky affair in the Grand Ballroom on main deck. All furs, feathers, silk and satin; jewels and champagne-- Julian is absolutely ecstatic. 
Quite a bit of bubbly on this boat, all of it legal and a good portion of it destined for my golden girl. We shared two bottles at the gala splash when the Prince entered international waters, and got very silly. Don't know when the real party ended; our private one lasted until dawn and beyond. Gives me a warm glow just to think of it! And scarcely a hangover following. Although I will say, the seas seemes a bit rougher than they ought. 
Speaking of weather, it has so far been quite calm, though October-chilly as expected. Lovely to wake nights and feel the thrum and slow sway of the ship in the darkness! We went out on the upper deck last night and found a secluded spot where we sat, held each other close, and were briefly the only things alive in a magically infinite world. Julian -- your scent lingers in my heart; your warm softness close to me in your furs; no sight nor sound but the hiss of the waves and the endless moving sea beneath the clouds and the moon, and your heart singing music silently with mine! 
Travelling openly with my darling as wife is splendid, exhilarating, fun for me! A bit of a sense of guilty freedom, relief and caution mingled in a brew that is very heady. I do not know ''what'' the others we have met think of us -- they have been quite tolerant of us so far, but we do carry on so at table, you may imagine! I am so overflowing with happiness and love for my darling darling that even without the bond we share I feel that I could know down inside the warmth of her; and when she smiles my whole world sings; and when she laughs, or makes fun of something, I am quite swept along and carried away. The others, as I said, are very polite; but I have seen the glances they give one another, and the way they watch us. I do not think they approve much of me. My wife is SO YOUNG, after all! And we have been silly. 
In any event, our tablemates are a pleasant crowd. We have the second sitting at the second officer's table, along with five others. Officer Black is an impressive man, tall and lean in his mid-40s, with neatly trimmed brown hair and a pencil moustache. He is infallibly British and very polite; says he comes from Salisbury. Miss Sherrell (I believe her first name is Alice) is a schoolmistress from Virginia, about thirty but solemn beyond her years in a disapproving and rather cliché fashion. The Huxleys, Robert and Caroline, are large and amiable people. He is the manager of a steelworks not far from Manchester, and his wife the raiser of their three children, all of whom are married and moved away. I think the Huxleys view us rather paternally; Robert has twice asked us to his cabin for cards, and Mrs. Huxley loves to chat away about weddings, homes, and grandchildren to Julian, who is not quite sure how to take it all. They are on their way home from a visit to Eric, their eldest, and his family in New York, and have decided that we are on our honeymoon, which is not so far from the truth. 
Max Hasselblad is an aeroplane designer from Ohio who is on his way to take a position with Dornier in France. He is young, intense, and slightly unkempt despite his best efforts. Gregory Patten, on the other hand, is immaculate in the way that only those born to wealth and leisure can be. His family has a big place somewhere on Chesapeake Bay, and he likes to sail and is not shy to remind us. He is traveling to Italy with his "fiancée" Lydia, who looks a lot like Maddy but who has a strong New York Irish accent and finery is very very new. That's six in all; but Max has not eaten with us since the first night's dinner; none of us know why. Quite a diverse crew indeed. 
Eager to try out the best the ship has to offer, the two of us had ourselves "done over" yesterday, she by a beautician, me by one of the barbers. Haircut, shave, manicure, eyebrows and some hairstyling for the lady; and Voilá! The Fight's Most Elegant Couple! I do not find that I look any different myself (well, not much anyway,) after all I always look like this in my mind's eye. But HER! 
Boy oh boy!! Positively tasty; enough to burn my eyes out & melt my heart away. Enough said. 
A few new clothes in London for me; some things from Paris for the Lady; and we shall indeed be ready to take tea with the King and Queen. 
''Saturday, 13 October 1928; At sea'' 
The Ball was tremendous fun! The Reception was, well, a Reception. We met a lot of folks whom I shall never remember later, and a few whom I most certainly will. There's a Knight, a Baron, and two or three The Honorables on board, whom we saw. We even spoke briefly to Captain Sir Donald Shaftsbury (retired) during the course of the evening. It was not very memorable. 
Anyhow, it went on everso long, and we danced ourselves silly on a tide of music and bubbles. I suspect that the breakfast seating was empty this morning; certainly ''we'' didn't go! Julian is still asleep, I only got up to write this before bathing. 
I wonder what the Circles look like on shipboard? There are a few animals on board - most likely more than I am aware of - but nothing like the normal distribution. Pets: dogs, cats, a monkey or two, and I've seen a chinchilla and a fox! 
No, the chief inhabitants of this place are people. So! Today, some time, probably after our noontime game of shuffleboard with the Huxleys, I shall spend some time looking over Springboard, just to see what the Circles look like; then try a new dive -- try to look for the Gate to the Blind Dance! 
''Monday, 15 October 1928; London, Evening'' 
It happens, you know. One forgets. And frankly ... the mad social whirl rather carried us away. Oh yes, lots of fun, to be sure, and a bit of good research as well. But nothing conclusive. No big advances or major insights. What does one expect on holiday, after all? 
I am not really much interested in writing, even now. But we're here, at the hotel in London, and it's late, and - well - it's a bit of a habit by now. 
Docked this afternoon under leaden skies and occasional desultory showers. Goodbye to the Huxleys; a cheery wave-off; and any time you're in Manchester, don't you know, do drop by won't you. Customs and clearace; a bit of fuss, I noticed, from Lydia, who by now seems to have had a parting of the ways from her glittering young friend. Something about some jewelry? 
So -- a few hours by fast rail, and now, here. An excellent, though heavy, meal at the Carvery. Soft music, pleasant atmosphere ... and behold! 
I am very tired. 
My lady is already asleep. 
Sigh.... 
''Wednesday, 17 October 1928; Evening; In the Channel'' 
On the train. Tomorrow, Paris; a rendezvous with painted scarves; and then finally on to Mecca. Yes. 
Some few surprises in London this trip. Tony's message at the Express office leaves no doubt where to look, and the papers are full of the business of the burning Clinic, so it was simple enough to take score of all the public knows. Harry has, he says, a lot of long leads but nothing hard and fast for me; and I did not put him on the Thasylwaite thing, precisely because of the public furor. Tony! So messy! I wonder what you missed? 
As for TMF -- well, helpful and not. The usual ahem-ahem attitude, and I ''am'' sorry, Sir, but you know we cannot divulge that to anyone, etcetera, etcetera. I learned a bit of thia and that (turns out Tony has the keys to the Lyon house) but nothing hard and fast, nothing USEFUL. 
If I knew more already! If I knew when I walked in the proper questions to ask! Then ... yes. Perhaps they would answer. But not otherwise. 
There is, for example, a safe box in keeping for the Estate. TMF admits it freely. They will not, however, discuss the contents, let alone show them. And so it went. 
But Miriam -- ! Ah, surprise indeed! I came to see her on a social call, of course; after her last letter I reluctantly promised myself that there would be no more cat-and-mouse games, no questing for forbidden hints and knowledge any more. Such sparring was bringing only upset to us, and threatening to undermine our friendship. Thus: no more. Merely friends. The visit solely for conversation. 
Surprise! 
Scarcely have we poured our tea -- scarcely have the amenities been satisfied -- when it is ''she'', not I, who throws wide the door! 
I have always trusted ''her''. From the first beginnings of our acquaintance I have felt that she waqs both honest and open with me. Yet, her actions and words were so unexpected, so much at odds with everything I knew of her, that I felt the sting of mistrust despite my faith. 
She asks for sanctuary from her people. 
Such a shock! 
Her reasons are still a bit muddled, at least to me; but they are understandable (or perhaps I am merely naïve.) She has had a flash of premonition, of her future or her child's; she does not wish that future for either Clarice or herself. And, she says, she does not wish her final child to be placed in the Foundry's hands. 
So, her bid to escape. Come february, come March, we will spirit her away -- across the waters, perhaps, to Newhaven, or perhaps to France -- where her child will be out of the grasp of the Lady and the rest. 
I hope. 
It is yet unclear to me just how far the Lady can reach, to find one of Her own whom She knows well. Might Wisphers' walls shield Miriam? Might Newhaven's? Certainly either, while a lovely prison, would be a prison still. Not the best way to raise a daughter, though far from the worst. 
So the future once again holds excitement and interesting changes, great storybook deeds to perform ... and (just possibly) an innocent life or two to make whole or redeem. Hmm. 
Give meaning to? No, still too grandiose. Hum. 
Sigh; so romantic! 
I wonder what she'll make of Julian? 
''Thursday, 18 October 1928; Paris at Sunset'' 
A diversion from our original itinerary, though I think a day will not hurt us. We had to stop, you see, in order to look for some painted scarves for Mrs. Harden; and as long as we were here, why not get some new outfits made up for Julian? So it has been a busy day. 
We found the scarves, all right, lots of them here and there about town, but just to make everything proper we spent some time looking for just the shop Mrs. Harden remembered. It is still there, as it happens -- on a corner by the river, right across from the Shakespeare & Company bookstore - and went in. The place was modern and very busy, not at all the quaint little boutique Mrs. Harden recalls. But the scarves were there, and other lovely things. We bought several and had them wroapped and packaged for mailing. I shall send them along with a letter I have yet to write. 
Poor dear woman. Even now she is beautiful. 
Echoes of an age that is ending. 
... and then we went shopping. Not much, not long this time, the stores we visited already had Mademoiselle's sizes; but three hours or so of watching models display frocks ad gowns is enough for ''me'' for one day, thank you! Julian is not a greedyguts, but she does like more than she dislikes (and be honest, Mister Carl, she looks awfully good in most of it!) so I had to work a bit to keep her down to one new gown, two new outfits, a shawl, a hat, and some shoes. 
Thank heavens I am well-paid! My wife has expensive tastes. I shall have to develop some myself to keep up. 
Ah, Julianjulianjulian! I loveyouloveyouloveyou! All the joy and the laughter and the golden honey glow of your smile and the tender warmth of your arms --- ! 
Forever, Beloved. Forever! 
''Friday, 19 October 1928; On a Train Somewhere'' 
We're nearly there! I can feel it inside; the excitement bubbling up and spilling out all over! Julian says the countryside is starting to look familar; according to the timetable we have less than an hour to go (if we are on time, which is somewhat less than likely. The train keeps slowing and stopping, then starting up again, and the last big town we passed was nearly half an hour behind schedule.) It is nearly sunset now, and the landscape is beautiful, a panoply of greens, reds, oranges and browns, and all those long, long shadows, reaching toward the mountains. It has been getting hilly too, a bit -- the little towns and farms perched on the hillsides and in the valleys between like bits of flotsam floating on a rolling green and orange sea. Some vineyards, none very large, filled with great long rows of spiney clumpy grape trees like they have in the Valley of the Moon back home; but here they are well-tended, here they have not gone wild or been torn out since '17! 
The people on the train are very nice and friendly, even though they tend to leave us alone, foreigners that we obviously are. Most of them regulars, local types, they greet one another familiarly and settle down for a chat, or simply head for Their Seat and fall asleep after a long day. The car is filled with the music of their speech: Darker, throaty, more singsong than the guttural nasality of Parisian French. A pleasing, homey sound. 
Soon. Soooon. 
''Saturday, 20 October 1928; Wisphers Estate'' 
I cannot explain this place. Neither can I describe it; not if I have any hope of doing it justice. It is too big, too grand; too full. 
Everything is meaningful. Everything is redolent of echoes. Ghosts. Memories. I stand in a room, or in the hall, or on the staircase -- and everywhere the silence is filled with the secret sussurus of a thousand lives. 
THERE is where it happened! 
THERE is where they met! 
THERE --! And THERE --! And -- 
Oh, I am immersed in it! This place, this ''hopme'', this amazing, WONDERFUL part of the tyapestry of ourselves and the Fight! I feel it around me, like a thick thick bath, each new touch or angle makes it reborn, fresh, anew! All those hopes, all those lives, all those dreams! They live on, alive, vibrant within these walls; silent only because for a time there has been no one to ''taste'' them, no one to FEEL! 
Hello. Hello. I know you. I feel you part of me. We are one. 
History. Mine. I am a part of this thing. 
The whole place is like that. Beauty, serenity, peace .... I had suspected it might be, from seeing Newhaven; but I had not given thought to the rest. THIS is no mere manifestation of the house-soul, magnificent though that may be, I have not dared to look. No; THIS is ... is ... I cannot think of the proper words. History; tradition; the sheer ''reality'' of all those lives, left here, in the walls, in the very air, silent music for all time. An echo of the Dance made substance! Not mystical, but ''human''; wrought in every shadow, every scar, every scuff on a chair, or bent leaf in a book. 
Four centuries. One life. One dream. 
I am supremely awed, and humbled. 

We arrived only a little bit late at the station in Chalon, which is really no more than a platform and a watchman's hut. It was so peaceful, once the train had gone. The country quiet was a joy to hear, along with the darkening colors and the sharp autumn air. The old man in the hut was only too happy to call for a boy to pick us up in his wagon. Henri, the boy is; bright, chipper, maybe sixteen and immensely voluble in that lovely patois which I cannot follow well. I rode beside him, Julian in the bed with the luggage -- her choice -- through the town (which is small but exceedingly prosperous) to the town house where the autos are. 
It seemed to me that I did not wish to finally arrive here in a clattering loud smelly machine; so I turned down the car, and we rode the wagon up to the Estate through the deepening gloom. 
Passed Henry Williams' farm. A ragged sight, now. Disused for some years; once a prosperous vineyard. What a terrible shame. 
And through the forest, along the road and the drive, to the great iron gates. Henri opened them and walked us through. 
Into the Estate. 
Furlongs and furlongs of parkland. Trim grass, tidy trees, everything in its place, healthy, balanced. The magic of the house-soul at work, I think. Up the drive, over a rise, and there: 
Shining, bright, all immense white facade of Georgian sparsity and gleaming columns. Every window brightly aglow -- the whole place lit up like a cathedral at night -- smoke rising from a half-dozen chimneys, thin and straight to the sky. 
The Big House. At last! 
To the door; it opens; there ''he'' is. Bent. Self-contained, proper, bent-over wizened gnome of a man; dry and formal, but commanding in his way. 
"Welcome Sir!" he says, and bows deeply. 
Inside (shock of warm air and the smell of oiled wood) he has the ''entire staff'' lined up in the main hall! Every one, waiting to be introduced. The cook; maids, gardeners, hostler; all of them. 
Gathered to meet the new Master. 
Me. 
Ye Gods and Little Fishes! 
The biggest "Ah!" of all. 
-- There was more later, of course. A set of keys to everything. A thick sheaf of legal papers. I can look at them here, as I write. Huge! I have only skimmed them so far. Prepared by TMF: Itemized inventories of everything in the House; staff and salary lists; deeds of properties all over the world; more, and more, and more: 
Assumption of the power of attorney. 
Me! Why me? I don't have the knowledge, nor the experience, nor the expertise. 
I have ''not'' been groomed for this! 
You may always refuse to sign, Sir, he says/ He knows it is not so simple. 
Why me? I asked him. Why did you choose ''me''? 
The choice was not mine, Sir, he said. 
Whose, then? I asked. 
It was the decision of the House, Sir, he said. 

The House. Lord God above -- the House. Beloved partner; centuries old; with its eyes that see so far. Shadows of things to come. 
What, dear Heaven, does it see? 
And so I sit. And toss, and turn, and sit some more. Thinking. Afraid. It is so much ''larger'' than I had thought! So much more ''immediate''! 
I have walked the grounds, seen everything, unseeing. I have looked down the halls, entered the rooms, held the ancient treasures in my hands. I have been everywhere -- briefly -- except one. The locked room. The War Room. There I will not go. 
Not until I am ''sure.'' 
''Later, Same Evening -- '' 
Tony and Rebecca have arrived. He is being so strange, so formal; does he know what has happened? Ah, Tony, you seem so far away .... Where is the ease, the camraderie? 
He has been to Lourdes -- and found nothing. I am not too surprised. 
Where are they? Where ''are'' they? 
And what am I to ''do''? 
''Sunday, 21 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tonight we see if the stars are right. I have set the telescope outside on the patio, and Adam has been studying his algebra and the ephemeris. I have started him on the Mathematics of Motion, and we shall work toward Newtonian mechanics and Kepler's law. Should be fun. 
So many people. So many worries. Am I to be everything to everyone? 
A short but pleasant visit with Zigfried; a chance at last to meet Mister Parsons, a bright and likeable fellow though rather irreverent; and a long and turmoiled talk with Tony. 
Ah me; ah me. How can he be so troubled all the time? Next to him, I have no troubles of my own.... though I have quite a few to give ''to'' him. 
He is not happy about the treaty. Upset and unhappy about a lot of things, generally, I think; but the treaty for certain. There is nothing I can do about it , of course, and truthfully I would not risk trying; but so much of our old superficial camraderie has vanished over time with the assumtion of new burdens. I hope that this basic disagreement about the treaty will not be the final straw, the thing that breaks us at last. 
We went "riding" today. Um. Well. At least, we sat on horses and they moved. Quite fast. Whee. Tony and Julian are both quite graceful on horseback. Not so, myself; I never had the need nor the means, except for occasional pony rides. It was troublesome, and no doubt quite amusing; I hurt now. The only small consolation was that Rebecca was even less happy than I. She clung grimly to her mount and was rather upset about the whole thing. I should hate to be in Tony's shoes -- he suggested the ride! 
Afterwards I spoke to Zigfried. For the first time in, oh, I don't know how long it's been. About the Light, and this and that, what he said to DAF, and so forth. Emerson has shown him the bragging letter -- he say only that it ''is him'', the Black Man, one and the same for certain. There is more; I can tell it in his eyes, but he did not say. As for the rest -- he is not comfortably eloquent with poesy, it is difficult for him to speak of things that are not rational, things of the heart or spirit. Ah well. We will talk again. We must; there is so much I have to learn from this man, and perhaps a bit to give as well. 
Parsons is a curious fellow. A Jazz musician with connections to the Mob. Receptive, but aloof, I am unsure what to make of him -- how much hope I may place in him. But Tony has invited him to Gathering, so what will happen will happen. 
''Monday, 22 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tony is gone. Scooted off this morning. Told no one. Blast. 
But, Theo is up! He's well -- he's talking -- he met us at breakfast. Thank Heavens! What a wonderful thing, a gift for the day. 
Zigfried says Theo remembers nothing of the attic, or of subsequent events. It is clear he's not yet read my letters either. Keeps asking questions that I wrote him about already. Ah well. Time is all he needs now. That, he has. Thank Heavens! 
''Tuesday, 23 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
She agrees. I have spoken to him; I have spoken to her. He is desperate. She agrees to the task. It may break him. 
Dear God, I hope not. I hope I have not caused a terrible thing. 
Have I destroyed a friend for this treaty? 
Lots of talk. Lots. He was, by degrees, intrigued, excited, elated -- and devastated, when he heard the terms. But he is still with me. With me. Oh dear. 
''Wednesday, 24 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Contact! A touch, a trembling fragment of meaning in the morass. At last -- a piece of the bigger thing -- oh, I am babbling! So difficult to simply say what I've seen -- always the words are too many and too small. 
Today I met the House. How bright! How joyous, how magnificent! And how slippery-easy, once the voyage is begun. Calling, pulling, guiding, ''drawing''. One has to work to stay ''away''. Certainly no labor to arrive. 
Brilliant, electric, living vibration; a thing that both feeds and excites as it draws. 
The House has eyes that see far. 
It is so strong, this thing, so ''alive'' and immediate --! 
-- A thought: Might the twists of the Paths from Springboard be somehow related to, or representative of, the signatures of the Circles? What a lovely thought! It does feel right, it fits; but how to test, how to find out for sure? 
The path to the House is ''part'' of the House, somehow. And the thing ITSELF: 
Faerie! 
Feel the whole world all at once as a thing alive; feel the House. Feel the bright outwelling of Life, and Joy, brilliance of Being; feel the House. 
Become what you feel; BE the House! 
And see far. 
O Bright! O Quick! So huge, so huge, ripple out and out in circles toward awesome distant walls; read the shadows and BE BE BE! So big so big and all ME, all ONE, the Unity in miniature, the loving the sheer Happiness of outpouring ...! 
But I ramble. I shall return. 
DAF came today. So abrupt he is. So demanding. He unbalances me. Zip, zip, zip! Like a hummingbird with no respect for anyone. 
Wants gossip. Wants information. 
Wants a job to toy with. I gavce him Gundoni. 
Good luck. 
It would be wonderful to show him. I want to show him. Show all of them! But the laughter stays within me, the marvellous murmurs of transcendant meaning, so clear to me, are silent elsewhere. They do ''not'' see! 
They cannot know, like I do. 
Humbling. 
''Friday, 26 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
I am contnually impressed and amazed by the sheer ''immensity'' of the thing! Both within and without; as above, so below. 
Deep inside, the Motherspirit of the house continues to touch and fill things with joy and meaning. So huge, so long ... so QUICK! Laughter, like ripples of whitegold music caressing a million-million souls -- instant -- forever -- harmony and crystal and green silver wood grass SELF and that whirling, spinning Radiance in the center! Patience; love; protection; Giving; so wonderfully HAPPILY generous it is! 
On the surface, the Estate is serene and perfect. The trees turning to fall; the rocks, the pond, the birds and small animals rustling in the undergrowth; like a fairytale. The enchanted land. All of the valley is owned by the estate; but the Estate itself, the Person within the walls, is more than a mile on a side, and so full! So full. 
Beyond, the estate itself is huge! The entire valley, thirty-four square miles, the whole village, all the vineyards; properties in France, Spain, England; mines in America; treasures and more treasures, priceless antiques; the ''Amûn'' itself; ... and .... 
So much. So much. 
SO MUCH! Oh, oh, oh -- how can I explain? I am so small, to be given all this! So young, so new! It fills my heart, my chest, the ache of need, and responsibility, and all the joy and sorrow bubble up and outward, coloring the world around me and the silence behind my eyes. Shades of significance touch me, all the time. I want to share. 
Do the see? Do they know? 
Everything is ... deeper. Further away and closer, more important, all at once. I feel as though the light has thickened, coloring things comehow new, different, more importantly. And I look for that hint of awareness in others' eyes, a touch, a glance that says: I know. 
Do they? 
Daily, I feel it around me more easily. An electric thrill underneath the obvious -- like the prickly feel of an oncoming storm. Whenever I touch the House I know; I feel it; aware, loving, THERE. 
I am becoming more attuned to it, and it to me. 
And sometimes, just for an instant, I hear echoes of footfall before Bent arrives, or know he is present before he speaks. 
I am going to sign. 
''Sunday, 28 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Early morning. Early. I cannot sleep. I am consumed anew by tragedy, sense of loss, dear things taken before they were ever known. Weep, my heart of hearts! To feel the closing of a dooe, so dear -- Oh! 
I want to cry. I want to pray. 
These words are blind, fumbling caricatures of meaning. They mock me. Not sorrow -- not loss -- but a thing richer, so deep and poignant in its power that I cannot speak through tears, cannot even truly perceive the shape of the thing that sweeps through me. Too close. Too deep. Too dear. 
It is done. Midnight. Bent, and the candle. The keys. The last door. The last room. 
Walls and maps. Cabinets. The table. Smell of dust, age, things neglected. So much darkness here, at the heart -- the secret center of the dream. 
Silence. Rich and thick -- like a dagger to the inside of me. 
He offered cognac. Heady red in the candle. A scent from across the room, tangs the nose and tongue in memory. Simple silver tray -- decanters -- two glasses. 
Gone. I am alone with the letter. 
Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed man that is borne of woman is Dearly beloved, we are gathered here.... 
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no Evil, for Thou art with me. Thy Rod, and They Staff, they comfort me. 
Amen. 
Until death do us part. Oh, my beloved. 
Thick, old, hand-folded; the glue gone to dust at the edges, the paper yellowed. The envelope. Nothing on it, no name or date. A sacrilege to open it. 
A fear of learning what is written within. 
Given to me. By all of them. 
Bent; the House; and dear lost Pierre. 
How can I love the man so much? How can I grieve, can I mourn so deeply his passing? We never met; yet he has shaped my life in infinite ways. I am his son, newly born; and he my father and my friend. 
Gone, oh gone in the hour of my awakening. Now we may never meet, never know the joy. 
Touch fingertipe, yet never shake hands. 
His only regret. 
REGRET! DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN! IN AM NOT YET STRONG ENOUGH FOR THIS! 
The page blurs. I think of it again. I cry. Tonight the ghosts are very thick, very real. I cry. For loss; for loneliness; for the spirit of a good and gentle man, who looked with calm and ''knowing'' eyes beyond the end of his own days; and for all of us who remain, scattered and confused, a pitiful parody of what we might be. 
What we may become. If I can find the way. 
Resolve helps. Fills the hollow weeping emptiness. So does Julian. My wife, my darling, my ''life''. 
Will you walk with me, beloved? Will you pray with me, at the grave of an old and much-loved friend? 
Flowers, my love. Flowers and folded hands. Eyes closed, pure before God. 
Help me to find the way. 
Amen. 
''Monday, 29 1928; London'' 
''Tuesday, 30 October 1928; At sea''

Carl Ellis October 1928 - Diary

2014-01-08T23:09:11Z

Chazathoth:

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''Monday, 1 Oct 1928, morning; back at Newhaven'' 
Tony called me this morning. Cold; distant; a brisk professional veneer thing covering desperation and despair. I do not know what it was that he did not say, but it spoke volumes in its absence – and what he did say was bad enough. 
They hit the Boston house after a week’s worth of watching. Labs; manufactory, and four or five people, led by one of the Avowed. Not KR ''(note - Katyana Rasmul)'' – but someone like her. All dead now save one prisoner. Prisoner?! What are we to do with prisoners? We are not prepared to handle such things, even if I thought it a good idea. Which I do not. But G ''(note - Antonio Grimaldi)'' has him now, for good or ill. 
Proof at last, of the Dark-Trained. 
The Black Man has used his own as traps. Traps! Triggered by questioning-? They tear themselves apart. Does he know? Lord God in Heaven, how can we possibly touch this fiend!! Beautiful soaring melodies, indeed!! Oh, lost, lost, lost and afraid…..! 
And Tony! I am losing you too, aren’t I? I watch you, feel you slipping away …. One of the best, more lost by the hour; and what can I do? You will not touch me, will not let me touch you! Helpless! I can do nothing if you will not let me help you …. Oh, how sad and bitter it all is. 
They say he never laid blame or condemned his people; and so I shall try to do the same. To stay silent is easy; but not to TRY-! That is hard, so hard. 
I am afraid. So afraid. 
Is the whole fragile family dying? 
I have NO TIME to learn how to heal! The whole delicate edifice may be in shards before the Gathering, which once seemed so close! 
How can the face of things change so fast? 
Be careful, Tony! Oh, how I dread your works to come! California may be our undoing; I have no reason to feel that way, I merely do. Oh, please – step softly! We need that link so badly, let it not be shattered! Desperation leads to blindness, Tony; and blindness can kill. Beware! 
Now I have done it to myself. My hand shakes as I write; my chest is cold with sorrow. What will happen? WHAT? 
GOD DAMN YOU, CLOCK: MOVE ON! MOVE ON! 
I will have to speak with G, when I go east. But I cannot think of what to say or ask. Hmm. 
Reminder. Talk to Alex about populating the house. The children are so happy here. 
 
Will Meagan ''ever'' understand me? I fear not. Clever, even brilliant ... but a plodder -- no, that is unkind. Say rather that she is ''deductive'' exclusively; I wonder if there is a speck of inductiveness in her? There are so many others like her -- but it is strange in one with so many "mystical leanings." 
I think that she frequently touches, but is never herself ''touched''. But that is so hard to believe; could it be that she deliberately denies the touch's understanding? 
Is she so afraid? 
How can she be in love, and ''not'' see? 
Obviously, this humble person is unworthy of his position. I think he will pray for further enlightenment and understanding. 
Trite. 
''Tuesday, 4 October 1928; Dinnertime, Arkham'' 
Everybody is gone! This is irksome. Carl has not yet returned; Mrs. Williams has not yet returned; Lazlo has not yet returned …. And now it seems they are all in the same place! Cuba? Why Cuba, why now? Is there something going on that I missed completely? Dear me. And now G is missing too. I cannot talk to him. Or his ‘prisoners’. I confess I am relieved …. But what happened? What have they done with him? What happened in California? No. I will not make a fuss. Tony knows how to reach me, if there is a report to make. 
Arc’s place is, if anything, more lovely now than it was when I was last here two years ago. Or is it just me? In the event, the turning of the leaves adds a poignant beauty to everything that is both exhilarating and softly tragic. But I digress, as always. And the place is all over maple trees! I did not know what they were, last time; but one of the servants pointed them out this morning. 
This is going to be a lovely place for the party. 
Harper (one of the staff) tells me that Arc wired a few days ago, says he is on his way. Good! I want to speak to him. 
Funny about the servants. They are quiet, discrete, competent, and oh-so-professional; but after Straight …. Well, it is not the same. 
Julian loves it here. I do not think she has been here before, and like me she finds it magnificent. At the same time, however, she constantly makes it clear to me that the place is nothing next to the French Estate. I surely am getting curious about that big old House!
The kids …. Ah, the kids. I feel like such a heel, dragging them all over kingdom come and then leaving them with nothing to do when we get there. 
But it is hard to please them both. Poor Rachael is in love with Newhaven. Truly, she is blossoming, under the care of Straight and the peace of the estate there. It broke her heart to leave; I was really tempted to let her stay awhile …. But I promised her there were nicer places ahead, and I do want to get all four of the kids together. 
Hmm …. I suppose I shall have to stop thinking of them as children soon. It’s not right, I know, Lord knows they have been denied childhood long enough! But otherwise there is a present danger that I/we will come to think of them always as children, merely because of their appearance. 
Think of them as patients involved in a cure. No, wait …. Students. Students of life. That is Better. 
I have gotten awfully fond of those two. Even Adam, despite his spikiness. He was not reluctant to let go, dear me no! He is bored. Needs something to do. That is what started me off on this train of thought, after all …. He is a doer, not a thinker. Passive study does not sit well on him. 
So. Tonight or tomorrow, with Julian’s help, he and I will go to Stockton. Check the house, feed the cat, fill the water tanks, and so forth. A good hour or two’s work; something to do. Right. And I must talk to him about his future. 
Letters. One from Lazlo, one from Carl. 
I did not realize that Lazlo and his young lady were so cozy already. Yet here she is, cooking him breakfast in his home. Dare I be salacious? Me, of all people? (Snicker) Ah, well. It could be innocent; and these are, after all, the ‘twenties. 
I wonder what he is thinking, right now? 
He seems to be in a musing state of mind. Catching the edges of the Principle, as it were – or perhaps merely skirting the edge of danger is making him hold more dearly to everything simple and beautiful? A lesson for me. 
I must write to him. What are they up to down there? 
Carl’s letter is more recent. A post-mortem on Kentucky, some chat. He has not received my most recent one. 
Lots to say about Rebecca, especially her influence on Tony. Hmm …. Influence …. In view of the changes I have noticed in him, is it safe to think that she is bad for him? Not enough information yet, I think … but something to ponder. 
She DOES need training and experience. A leader’s role in a hothouse environment has not prepared her for the variety of scenaria which she may face. 
Morenotes on the Glory Hole and its activity. I have long thought that they did some of their first Gate work there … but could the others be right? Might those folk have broken through to other tunnels, or Something Else? I must not dismiss this out of hand. They will not abandon the site. 
Some comments on Pierre. They sadden me. 
More stuff on Faigon.''(note - aka Boyer Rulininov)'' Hah! Oh Carl, if you only knew what I know! Why the Devil aren’t you home? And in King, as well. Ex-vampire? Oh, dear boy, you are in for a sur-prise!! 
And, last Gathering. Delight – and loneliness. He strives to come closer even as he pushes me away. “It is a lonely job, how lonely I don’t think you know and will never know.” Why does he think that? Is is something in him he speaks of, or something he sees in me? A puzzle. 
But there is real warmth in his closing. 
Dinnertime – and I have written far too long. 
''Friday, 5 October, 1928; afternoon, Arkham'' 
This morning, early, Julian, Adam, and I went into the basement and through the Door. Uf! What a feeling! Unpleasant – I do not like it, at all! – but not so bad as that awful thing we went through to and from China. I do not believe I shall ever enjoy using these Doors. Ever. Even putting the unpleasantness aside, it just does not feel RIGHT, somehow. Like cheating, in a way. 
(But, says the small voice, just look! See how amazingly CONVENIENT they are…!) 
Well, they are that, surely. Draining, though. Julian went back to Arkham, after pointing out the way; and I dithered a bit. Did not really want to use the Doors again, nobody likes discomfort; but the real reason was a sly compelling need to Go Upstairs and Look! There I was – in France! – within sight, perhaps, of the Big House! Should I peek? 
No, I decided. If I was going to go to the Estate, I was going to WALK! 
Adam was getting impatient. Through the door, then, to Stockton. 
A hottish, dry day in California – real Indian Summer weather. The house is still in order, merely looking a bit run-down after nearly a month’s disuse. Tony has evidently been through; a few things are moved, the documents I left for him are gone, the flowers have been watered even though the tanks are dry. Nice of him to do that for us. Peanut was sunning Itself on the back porch, sassy as ever and, if anything, larger than before. 
Adam was ecstatic. Something to do, at last! He has been frustrated and increasingly bored – one reason for this trip. So we filled the flower tanks, topped off the cat food machine, and he spent a happy couple of hours in the morning cool (the time difference is noticeable!), puttering around the yard, cutting grass, and so forth while I performed a few tests and gathered some things. 
The Doorway is …. Interesting. Unfortunately, it is draining for me to use; equally unfortunately, when I attempt to activate it with energy from one of my discharge units, though it does fill up as before, the flip-flip is erratic and the image dim or distorted. I do not know why; but I would not want to put my safety into a Doorway that behaved like that! 
Also pulled a few textbooks out of mothballs – different ones this time, calculus and physics – and have decided to give him lessons every day or two. Who knows? Perhaps he will enjoy it – and then maybe I shall have someone around to talk of my hobbies with. Sometime this week I shall have to look for others: a book on astronomy, lens-grinding, radios, & electricity. Fun things. We shall see. He has been bored long enough! 
I showed him how to use the Doorway for himself, at which he quickly became adept; and we returned to Arc’s around one-thirty ... And here we are! The home house is all locked up; and I pressed the iron doors mostly closed and left a note of warning to others not to enter. We shall see if they believe it; but I truly do not want my home used as a railway terminal! 
''Saturday, 6 October 1928; 2 PM, Arkham'' 
Our passports are here! They’re lovely: I do enjoy official documents. Always so stiff, with seals and such …. I feel as though a thousand bureaucratic ritual mysteries lurk behind each still-lipped page. Nice. Very. 
Then came dinner – and Arc ''(note - Arcturus Rand)'' arrived. 
He looks well. Strong and tan from his travelling. He came through the Portal from England, having received my letter. We worked for a while, putting some of his odder mementos into storage (that big fish’s head on the wall in the den was a Deep One!) and packing away some of the more unsettling books. And we talked. 
And talked. And talked. And talked. 
There was a lot to catch him up on. China. San Francisco. The search for the Black Man. Eveling. The Children. Buffalo. Silver Twilight. The Disease. Boston, Redmun, London. 
And, at last, the Treaty. 
I suppose it is fitting that he be the first; after all, he was the first to openly answer my questions. There were things I did not tell him – the Exchange, and the name of our Ambassador candidate – but all of the rest, yes. And the results were as good as I ought to expect. 
Arc is tentative. He agrees that it could work, but does not wish to commit himself to an opinion on the subject until after all the facts are clear. He has grave doubts, but allows that they are in the main irrational, and is willing to try to set them by if necessary. 
But he did promise me this: That, even should he decide against this thing, he will not actively oppose this treaty or me, but will merely withdraw. 
I respect him; I am grateful for that much. 
I was thinking just now about my letter yesterday to Alex Chase. Did not realize that, for all my professions of camaraderie and forgiveness, I still have not asked him to come to gathering. Well. I can justify it in the privacy of my own head …. But it still looks pretty hypocritical when considered from without. 
So hard to control! The party is getting bigger and bigger – already I see I have lost the intimate beginnings I so urgently sought when we began this. But even now, even now, there are those I wish to begin with, and those to whom I hope to show a completed beginning. The Gathered will be special – they will be the first, present at the opening and the rebirth. Yet, with each new voice, each new desire added to the consensus, the chances of a harmonious whole become smaller and smaller. 
Fie! It is out of my hands. Let the games begin! 
''Sunday, 7 October 1928; still at Arc’s, 10 PM'' 
More and more; we are picking up speed! Called Tony back this morning with my “revelations” about the Gregory House. Seventeen eight four, hah? How convenient. 
Not much of a Place of Refuge. But useful. 
Now my mind is awhirl. If the plague is really being tested or disbursed here, then this place is likely to be very dangerous. 
Right. No kidding. They know. Calm down. 
Tony has changed. He seems a lot more relaxed, more in control of himself. Why, we actually managed to have two complete talks without anyone clamming up or marching away furiously! Makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing. 
So….. once I was up, there was nothing to it but to set about the business of the day. 
Morning trip out of town to visit Cassandra Felion ''(note - once a model for the painter Jeremiah Lambert)''. Poor woman. I am very disheartened. The place she is kept is nice enough … for a hospital. That is to say, the staff is no doubt quite comfortable. Her room, however, is white and sterile; and she is in no position to appreciate any of it. 
Miss Felion has become a cause célèbre amongst us; but as I sat and looked at her haggard dreaming face, I was overwhelmed with a sense of futility. I cannot help her. There is nothing in my power to perform that will ease her burden. 
Yet, here she lies; mirror and symbol of one possible future. 
Julian? Perhaps. Though I wonder about that as well. Hers is a delicate talent, for all its power; and I am reluctant now to try and put it to the test on that poor girl. 
I scarcely even considered the painting. She would have to be awake to see it, for one thing; and she would begin her tirade long before becoming fully conscious. Not to mention my reservations about the thing’s effectiveness. 
Poor Meagan. Well, she is happy now. 
I wonder if Zigfried … but he too has places to go. 
So. Afternoon we all bundled off to New York City, to Emerson’s house on Copeley Road. The kids were quietly delighted to see one another, and quickly closeted themselves away together. Even Rachel is chipper – talking to them all, smiling a bit in an easy way she never has with us. O well. 
I spent some time speaking with the staff who take care of them; then Julian and I went out into the city to buy a few things. Toiletries and travel supplies; several books for each, including more texts and an ephemeris for Adam; and (o treasure!) a telescope. Not a big one; but quite enough for he and I to explore the sky. Expensive! I had not thought. Ah, well. 
Back home an hour or so ago, and the kids to bed, sleepy and happy. And here I am. 
Good luck, Tony. 
Just as I finished the above, the telephone rings. Lazlo, from Cuba! And boy – does he have a lot to say! 
This vacation of his has not been a lot of fun. 
Lazlo, Carl, Andrew (?!), Pembrook (!!), and their respective young ladies all meet at the home of Andrew White, near Havana. For some reason, local Voodoo cultists are very interested in them: Images of Carl & Lazlo made into dolls (!!!) and a lovely white woman named Chiennie Faraday, a ‘priestess’ from Jamaica, is interested in them. She, it seems, has come to the island a few days previous on some business of her own. 
There is also a seedy planter named LeFarb who shows too much interest in the ladies – and then, a few days later, several of the women and Lazlo are attacked by bandits and zombies at White’s house, while the others are away fighting a (convenient?) fire! 
They escape; they run; the women are carried off by big black things that almost have to be night gaunts (!!!!); and a long chase follows, to a cave up in the mountains where the women are being fed to some sort of “tumescent, white and beige, slimy, tentacular, sluglike thing.” 
Messy. The women are rescued; the cultists are all killed (sigh); lots of elder symbol glows; and they march back to the coast. 
Lazlo says that all of the women are in deep shock, and have confused memories of some alien, ethereal beauty that fade by the hour. They also have, on the hands that were enclosed by the Thing, fine scars across the knuckles and the joints, very thin, like razors!!!! Familiar? 
Terrible terrible. Lazlo says his Julia is often unaware of him. “She leaves this world and enters another,” he says. Glowing madonnalike perfection. “All so bright and beautiful.” Massive blood and life-force loss; she has dropped 15 lbs. since the incident. 
This is horrible! Our people – THEIR dear ones! – grabbed up and WRENCHED like this! Horrible! I feel so powerless – yet what can I do? Lazlo and Julian are preparing to leave …. The rest of the others have headed to LeFarbe’s plantation for some answers. I do not think they will be gentle about getting them! 
What about the White Lady? What about Jamaica? What connection does she have with the zombies and LeFarbe? Why was she here? The mask, the shopkeeper … what does it mean? And those scars, so like HIS …. What is the connection? 
Of special interest is Lazlo’s description of the Faraday woman – the Lady in White. She had a glamour, he says, very strong, alluring, primal. Familiar? He says it is like J’s, “but different.” 
Could there be a connection between this Jamaica group and the Islanders?? 
Wait – wait – wait. My God. I am remembering a description. 
On Sandoo – ruins – and bright-white, invisible snakelike things. Loigon. Guardians of the Lady? Or echoes? Or aspects of the Lady herself? 
Could there be a connection? 
Loigon – Loa? My God! 
“Like – yet different.” Hmm! So few things on this earth are unique and alone … it seems possible that there may be others. 
Loa. Baby Ladies? O dear o dear o dear. Time to start studying voudun! 
Dear Heavens – How can I ask anything of her now, after all this? How? I cannot – but who, then? Shall I speak to Carl first? Yes – he has been around, and he knows her – he will know what to do. 
Balderdash. This is my plan, my burden; I must not try to put it off on him! We shall go on as before, and the Lady will make her own choice. 
But oh, oh, oh. I do not LIKE this! 
<Dammit, it TIES TOGETHER!> 
Another few minutes. J is rousing the kids for their trip to France. She will be back tomorrow evening; and we shall go to New York. 
''Wednesday, 10 October 1928; At sea'' 
It is Anchors Aweigh at last! There is something quite special about setting sail. Like a ritual turning away from the old, facing about to look upon the new. When the dock is left behind, the band stops playing, and the bow points cleanly toward an unbroken horizon, salt air upon my cheeks, I feel a lifting; washed free, for a time, of burdens behind us. Set forth to face the wonders of the new. 
The last couple of days have been busy ones. After the three of them left I sat and thought for a bit; then slept. The following day, that I had thought to spend in idle tourism, was instead turned to research on voodoo. 
Interesting stuff. I had time only to skim the surface, of course – and the subject is quite complicated. As with all such things, the closer one gets to the particular, the more the seeming similarities are obscured by detail; but again and again there are hints of similarity, of a basic sort of familiarity between the one and the other. 
One difficulty lies in the stripping of fact from folklore. Voodoo lore contains elaborate explanations of why things are as they are; but these differ strongly from tribe to tribe, cult to cult; and they do not present a coherent picture of the sort I am seeking in any case. 
Serpent mages appear throughout the religion, in connection with most of the powerful loa. Too, loa influence is passed through the blood – and the feminine loa pass through the women, as the male ones do through the men! The practice of ritual possession is ubiquitous; the spirits are said to wind down a pole from the sky, or enter the body from the earth; and always first there is a distancing between the man and the world, a setting back and withdrawal from control. 
The tie between loa and Earth is very strong and pervasive. Even those loa associated with the sky or the cosmic forces appear in conjunction with the earth in rituals and histories. There is something primal, something fundamental about this association that should not be ignored. 
I wonder if there is any information about voodoo at the Big House? It will be interesting to see what they thought important. 
So … That night, Julian came back, tired but happy, and reported success. The kids were settled in, not without some distress, but safely. We took the evening train back to New York. 
I find it a constant delight to be alone with Julian, even for a few days. Hidden holds are removed; our lives, oir words, the way we look and react come easier, more harmoniously. Even when we are ''doing'' things, they are done simply, naturally. It is a gentle, joyous thing, and one that does not happen when there are others around. 
Oh, how much my Golden Girl means to me! Like oxygen; like music; I need her to ''live''. Apart, we survive; together, we are magnificent!
 
The poor dear had been up for more than a full day and night; she nodded off on the train, and practically had to be poured into bed when we arrived at the hotel. But a night’s sleep works wonders for the young, even the forever-young, and we were on the road in a rented car, bathed and fresh, well before noon. 
Charot is a tiny town on the North Jersey coast, and Mrs. Harden’s home is a white Gull Cottage sort of affair set about a mile back from the beach. The sky was high but grey, and there was a constant cool breeze off the water. Good Easter October weather – a nice day for sailing. The gulls seemed happy too, far away. 
I have no idea of Lisel Harden’s true age; but if she married young, say eighteen, and appeared right after at Gathering in 1852, that would make her born in 1834 … and her age somewhere around ninety-five! Remarkable. She is still a lovely woman, even now; but sadly she shows every one of those years. 
I did not know how coherent her thoughts would be, after Tony’s comments. She was charming. She has a grim and defensive housekeeper who guards her ferociously, and whose name I fear I have already forgotten. 
We talked for perhaps a half hour. I introduced myself as a compatriot of Ceryous Outt’s, and said I had come by to pay my respects. I admit to a bit of a shock when she mentioned that Benjamin ''(note - Lisel Harden's deceased husband)'' was not home but would return shortly, and would we care to wait? But this, and a slight tendency to be a bit time lost, not having been apprised of the terrible events of the past few years, were the only barriers to what might otherwise have been a gracious and effortless visit. 
Poor, dear woman. She does not know all that has happened. If she did, it would break her heart. That, more than anything else, was my reason for cutting the interview short. I could not bear the thought of shattering her fragile gracious world. 
I was immensely moved by her love and devotion for her husband. One could hear it in her voice when she spoke of him. “Dear Benjamin has been very quiet lately,” she said. “Sometimes I hear him downstairs, when he thinks I am asleep.” So much. So much. It wrenched my heart, so I felt I wanted to weep. 
I do not think she will live much longer. Her housekeeper said her strength has failed much in the past few months. I left my card with them: I hope she will get my letter, but if not … perhaps I shall hear in time to attend the funeral. 
Benjamin will be home soon. Dear God. 
Julian was nearly as distressed as I, though for different reasons. She had never met a very elderly person before. The tragedy of mortality has never made an impression on her life until now. 
We drove to the seashore, walked on the beach, and ate the picnic lunch I brought, and talked. In a while, things got better. The edge of sorrow eased. 
I shall send her a scarf, from Paris. 
We drove back to the City -- had dinner at the hotel restaurant -- went out to see the Jazz Singer at the Metro (my second talkie, her first); spent the night, and this morning set sail. 
Steamers are always immense amounts of fun, and this one, the ''Prince William'', is no exception. Cunard has a typically British sort of understated luxury -- and for the first time in either of our lives, we are riding High, in a first-class luxury stateroom on board one of the queens of the sea! Three hundred crew; eight hundred passengers; two dining salons, two bars, a nightclub, a ballroom, a theater, a swimming pool, and more. 
So, let the worries and wants stand aside for the moment. My Wife and I are On Holiday! 
''Friday, 12 October 1928; At sea'' 
Life on board this floating Fun House is doing things to my mood. I feel more relaxed, expansive, even giddy in a way. A true "vacation" feeling. It affects the way I act. I wrote a letter to C. Outt today that was much the same way -- flamboyant, brash, even a bit bragging. Ah well. What it says is true, and it matches my mood and possibly his as well. Send it. Send it. 
Julian is off on deck somewhere, lazing around in a deck-chair like a happy cat, occasionally importuned by young hopefuls eager to make acquaintance. She has quite settled in, and is enjoying herself immensely. Last night they offered us a musical revue in the Victoria Lounge (an incongruity which appeared quite amusing to me!) and we both enjoyed it immensely. Tonight is the Captain's Reception, for all of the First Class passengers, that is to say Us, followed by the Officer's Ball which is supposed to be a swanky affair in the Grand Ballroom on main deck. All furs, feathers, silk and satin; jewels and champagne-- Julian is absolutely ecstatic. 
Quite a bit of bubbly on this boat, all of it legal and a good portion of it destined for my golden girl. We shared two bottles at the gala splash when the Prince entered international waters, and got very silly. Don't know when the real party ended; our private one lasted until dawn and beyond. Gives me a warm glow just to think of it! And scarcely a hangover following. Although I will say, the seas seemes a bit rougher than they ought. 
Speaking of weather, it has so far been quite calm, though October-chilly as expected. Lovely to wake nights and feel the thrum and slow sway of the ship in the darkness! We went out on the upper deck last night and found a secluded spot where we sat, held each other close, and were briefly the only things alive in a magically infinite world. Julian -- your scent lingers in my heart; your warm softness close to me in your furs; no sight nor sound but the hiss of the waves and the endless moving sea beneath the clouds and the moon, and your heart singing music silently with mine! 
Travelling openly with my darling as wife is splendid, exhilarating, fun for me! A bit of a sense of guilty freedom, relief and caution mingled in a brew that is very heady. I do not know ''what'' the others we have met think of us -- they have been quite tolerant of us so far, but we do carry on so at table, you may imagine! I am so overflowing with happiness and love for my darling darling that even without the bond we share I feel that I could know down inside the warmth of her; and when she smiles my whole world sings; and when she laughs, or makes fun of something, I am quite swept along and carried away. The others, as I said, are very polite; but I have seen the glances they give one another, and the way they watch us. I do not think they approve much of me. My wife is SO YOUNG, after all! And we have been silly. 
In any event, our tablemates are a pleasant crowd. We have the second sitting at the second officer's table, along with five others. Officer Black is an impressive man, tall and lean in his mid-40s, with neatly trimmed brown hair and a pencil moustache. He is infallibly British and very polite; says he comes from Salisbury. Miss Sherrell (I believe her first name is Alice) is a schoolmistress from Virginia, about thirty but solemn beyond her years in a disapproving and rather cliché fashion. The Huxleys, Robert and Caroline, are large and amiable people. He is the manager of a steelworks not far from Manchester, and his wife the raiser of their three children, all of whom are married and moved away. I think the Huxleys view us rather paternally; Robert has twice asked us to his cabin for cards, and Mrs. Huxley loves to chat away about weddings, homes, and grandchildren to Julian, who is not quite sure how to take it all. They are on their way home from a visit to Eric, their eldest, and his family in New York, and have decided that we are on our honeymoon, which is not so far from the truth. 
Max Hasselblad is an aeroplane designer from Ohio who is on his way to take a position with Dornier in France. He is young, intense, and slightly unkempt despite his best efforts. Gregory Patten, on the other hand, is immaculate in the way that only those born to wealth and leisure can be. His family has a big place somewhere on Chesapeake Bay, and he likes to sail and is not shy to remind us. He is traveling to Italy with his "fiancée" Lydia, who looks a lot like Maddy but who has a strong New York Irish accent and finery is very very new. That's six in all; but Max has not eaten with us since the first night's dinner; none of us know why. Quite a diverse crew indeed. 
Eager to try out the best the ship has to offer, the two of us had ourselves "done over" yesterday, she by a beautician, me by one of the barbers. Haircut, shave, manicure, eyebrows and some hairstyling for the lady; and Voilá! The Fight's Most Elegant Couple! I do not find that I look any different myself (well, not much anyway,) after all I always look like this in my mind's eye. But HER! 
Boy oh boy!! Positively tasty; enough to burn my eyes out & melt my heart away. Enough said. 
A few new clothes in London for me; some things from Paris for the Lady; and we shall indeed be ready to take tea with the King and Queen. 
''Saturday, 13 October 1928; At sea'' 
The Ball was tremendous fun! The Reception was, well, a Reception. We met a lot of folks whom I shall never remember later, and a few whom I most certainly will. There's a Knight, a Baron, and two or three The Honorables on board, whom we saw. We even spoke briefly to Captain Sir Donald Shaftsbury (retired) during the course of the evening. It was not very memorable. 
Anyhow, it went on everso long, and we danced ourselves silly on a tide of music and bubbles. I suspect that the breakfast seating was empty this morning; certainly ''we'' didn't go! Julian is still asleep, I only got up to write this before bathing. 
I wonder what the Circles look like on shipboard? There are a few animals on board - most likely more than I am aware of - but nothing like the normal distribution. Pets: dogs, cats, a monkey or two, and I've seen a chinchilla and a fox! 
No, the chief inhabitants of this place are people. So! Today, some time, probably after our noontime game of shuffleboard with the Huxleys, I shall spend some time looking over Springboard, just to see what the Circles look like; then try a new dive -- try to look for the Gate to the Blind Dance! 
''Monday, 15 October 1928; London, Evening'' 
It happens, you know. One forgets. And frankly ... the mad social whirl rather carried us away. Oh yes, lots of fun, to be sure, and a bit of good research as well. But nothing conclusive. No big advances or major insights. What does one expect on holiday, after all? 
I am not really much interested in writing, even now. But we're here, at the hotel in London, and it's late, and - well - it's a bit of a habit by now. 
Docked this afternoon under leaden skies and occasional desultory showers. Goodbye to the Huxleys; a cheery wave-off; and any time you're in Manchester, don't you know, do drop by won't you. Customs and clearace; a bit of fuss, I noticed, from Lydia, who by now seems to have had a parting of the ways from her glittering young friend. Something about some jewelry? 
So -- a few hours by fast rail, and now, here. An excellent, though heavy, meal at the Carvery. Soft music, pleasant atmosphere ... and behold! 
I am very tired. 
My lady is already asleep. 
Sigh.... 
''Wednesday, 17 October 1928; Evening; In the Channel'' 
On the train. Tomorrow, Paris; a rendezvous with painted scarves; and then finally on to Mecca. Yes. 
Some few surprises in London this trip. Tony's message at the Express office leaves no doubt where to look, and the papers are full of the business of the burning Clinic, so it was simple enough to take score of all the public knows. Harry has, he says, a lot of long leads but nothing hard and fast for me; and I did not put him on the Thasylwaite thing, precisely because of the public furor. Tony! So messy! I wonder what you missed? 
As for TMF -- well, helpful and not. The usual ahem-ahem attitude, and I ''am'' sorry, Sir, but you know we cannot divulge that to anyone, etcetera, etcetera. I learned a bit of thia and that (turns out Tony has the keys to the Lyon house) but nothing hard and fast, nothing USEFUL. 
If I knew more already! If I knew when I walked in the proper questions to ask! Then ... yes. Perhaps they would answer. But not otherwise. 
There is, for example, a safe box in keeping for the Estate. TMF admits it freely. They will not, however, discuss the contents, let alone show them. And so it went. 
But Miriam -- ! Ah, surprise indeed! I came to see her on a social call, of course; after her last letter I reluctantly promised myself that there would be no more cat-and-mouse games, no questing for forbidden hints and knowledge any more. Such sparring was bringing only upset to us, and threatening to undermine our friendship. Thus: no more. Merely friends. The visit solely for conversation. 
Surprise! 
Scarcely have we poured our tea -- scarcely have the amenities been satisfied -- when it is ''she'', not I, who throws wide the door! 
I have always trusted ''her''. From the first beginnings of our acquaintance I have felt that she waqs both honest and open with me. Yet, her actions and words were so unexpected, so much at odds with everything I knew of her, that I felt the sting of mistrust despite my faith. 
She asks for sanctuary from her people. 
Such a shock! 
Her reasons are still a bit muddled, at least to me; but they are understandable (or perhaps I am merely naïve.) She has had a flash of premonition, of her future or her child's; she does not wish that future for either Clarice or herself. And, she says, she does not wish her final child to be placed in the Foundry's hands. 
So, her bid to escape. Come february, come March, we will spirit her away -- across the waters, perhaps, to Newhaven, or perhaps to France -- where her child will be out of the grasp of the Lady and the rest. 
I hope. 
It is yet unclear to me just how far the Lady can reach, to find one of Her own whom She knows well. Might Wisphers' walls shield Miriam? Might Newhaven's? Certainly either, while a lovely prison, would be a prison still. Not the best way to raise a daughter, though far from the worst. 
So the future once again holds excitement and interesting changes, great storybook deeds to perform ... and (just possibly) an innocent life or two to make whole or redeem. Hmm. 
Give meaning to? No, still too grandiose. Hum. 
Sigh; so romantic! 
I wonder what she'll make of Julian? 
''Thursday, 18 October 1928; Paris at Sunset'' 
A diversion from our original itinerary, though I think a day will not hurt us. We had to stop, you see, in order to look for some painted scarves for Mrs. Harden; and as long as we were here, why not get some new outfits made up for Julian? So it has been a busy day. 
We found the scarves, all right, lots of them here and there about town, but just to make everything proper we spent some time looking for just the shop Mrs. Harden remembered. It is still there, as it happens -- on a corner by the river, right across from the Shakespeare & Company bookstore - and went in. The place was modern and very busy, not at all the quaint little boutique Mrs. Harden recalls. But the scarves were there, and other lovely things. We bought several and had them wroapped and packaged for mailing. I shall send them along with a letter I have yet to write. 
Poor dear woman. Even now she is beautiful. 
Echoes of an age that is ending. 
... and then we went shopping. Not much, not long this time, the stores we visited already had Mademoiselle's sizes; but three hours or so of watching models display frocks ad gowns is enough for ''me'' for one day, thank you! Julian is not a greedyguts, but she does like more than she dislikes (and be honest, Mister Carl, she looks awfully good in most of it!) so I had to work a bit to keep her down to one new gown, two new outfits, a shawl, a hat, and some shoes. 
Thank heavens I am well-paid! My wife has expensive tastes. I shall have to develop some myself to keep up. 
Ah, Julianjulianjulian! I loveyouloveyouloveyou! All the joy and the laughter and the golden honey glow of your smile and the tender warmth of your arms --- ! 
Forever, Beloved. Forever! 
''Friday, 19 October 1928; On a Train Somewhere'' 
We're nearly there! I can feel it inside; the excitement bubbling up and spilling out all over! Julian says the countryside is starting to look familar; according to the timetable we have less than an hour to go (if we are on time, which is somewhat less than likely. The train keeps slowing and stopping, then starting up again, and the last big town we passed was nearly half an hour behind schedule.) It is nearly sunset now, and the landscape is beautiful, a panoply of greens, reds, oranges and browns, and all those long, long shadows, reaching toward the mountains. It has been getting hilly too, a bit -- the little towns and farms perched on the hillsides and in the valleys between like bits of flotsam floating on a rolling green and orange sea. Some vineyards, none very large, filled with great long rows of spiney clumpy grape trees like they have in the Valley of the Moon back home; but here they are well-tended, here they have not gone wild or been torn out since '17! 
The people on the train are very nice and friendly, even though they tend to leave us alone, foreigners that we obviously are. Most of them regulars, local types, they greet one another familiarly and settle down for a chat, or simply head for Their Seat and fall asleep after a long day. The car is filled with the music of their speech: Darker, throaty, more singsong than the guttural nasality of Parisian French. A pleasing, homey sound. 
Soon. Soooon. 
''Saturday, 20 October 1928; Wisphers Estate'' 
I cannot explain this place. Neither can I describe it; not if I have any hope of doing it justice. It is too big, too grand; too full. 
Everything is meaningful. Everything is redolent of echoes. Ghosts. Memories. I stand in a room, or in the hall, or on the staircase -- and everywhere the silence is filled with the secret sussurus of a thousand lives. 
THERE is where it happened! 
THERE is where they met! 
THERE --! And THERE --! And -- 
Oh, I am immersed in it! This place, this ''hopme'', this amazing, WONDERFUL part of the tyapestry of ourselves and the Fight! I feel it around me, like a thick thick bath, each new touch or angle makes it reborn, fresh, anew! All those hopes, all those lives, all those dreams! They live on, alive, vibrant within these walls; silent only because for a time there has been no one to ''taste'' them, no one to FEEL! 
Hello. Hello. I know you. I feel you part of me. We are one. 
History. Mine. I am a part of this thing. 
The whole place is like that. Beauty, serenity, peace .... I had suspected it might be, from seeing Newhaven; but I had not given thought to the rest. THIS is no mere manifestation of the house-soul, magnificent though that may be, I have not dared to look. No; THIS is ... is ... I cannot think of the proper words. History; tradition; the sheer ''reality'' of all those lives, left here, in the walls, in the very air, silent music for all time. An echo of the Dance made substance! Not mystical, but ''human''; wrought in every shadow, every scar, every scuff on a chair, or bent leaf in a book. 
Four centuries. One life. One dream. 
I am supremely awed, and humbled. 

We arrived only a little bit late at the station in Chalon, which is really no more than a platform and a watchman's hut. It was so peaceful, once the train had gone. The country quiet was a joy to hear, along with the darkening colors and the sharp autumn air. The old man in the hut was only too happy to call for a boy to pick us up in his wagon. Henri, the boy is; bright, chipper, maybe sixteen and immensely voluble in that lovely patois which I cannot follow well. I rode beside him, Julian in the bed with the luggage -- her choice -- through the town (which is small but exceedingly prosperous) to the town house where the autos are. 
It seemed to me that I did not wish to finally arrive here in a clattering loud smelly machine; so I turned down the car, and we rode the wagon up to the Estate through the deepening gloom. 
Passed Henry Williams' farm. A ragged sight, now. Disused for some years; once a prosperous vineyard. What a terrible shame. 
And through the forest, along the road and the drive, to the great iron gates. Henri opened them and walked us through. 
Into the Estate. 
Furlongs and furlongs of parkland. Trim grass, tidy trees, everything in its place, healthy, balanced. The magic of the house-soul at work, I think. Up the drive, over a rise, and there: 
Shining, bright, all immense white facade of Georgian sparsity and gleaming columns. Every window brightly aglow -- the whole place lit up like a cathedral at night -- smoke rising from a half-dozen chimneys, thin and straight to the sky. 
The Big House. At last! 
To the door; it opens; there ''he'' is. Bent. Self-contained, proper, bent-over wizened gnome of a man; dry and formal, but commanding in his way. 
"Welcome Sir!" he says, and bows deeply. 
Inside (shock of warm air and the smell of oiled wood) he has the ''entire staff'' lined up in the main hall! Every one, waiting to be introduced. The cook; maids, gardeners, hostler; all of them. 
Gathered to meet the new Master. 
Me. 
Ye Gods and Little Fishes! 
The biggest "Ah!" of all. 
-- There was more later, of course. A set of keys to everything. A thick sheaf of legal papers. I can look at them here, as I write. Huge! I have only skimmed them so far. Prepared by TMF: Itemized inventories of everything in the House; staff and salary lists; deeds of properties all over the world; more, and more, and more: 
Assumption of the power of attorney. 
Me! Why me? I don't have the knowledge, nor the experience, nor the expertise. 
I have ''not'' been groomed for this! 
You may always refuse to sign, Sir, he says/ He knows it is not so simple. 
Why me? I asked him. Why did you choose ''me''? 
The choice was not mine, Sir, he said. 
Whose, then? I asked. 
It was the decision of the House, Sir, he said. 

The House. Lord God above -- the House. Beloved partner; centuries old; with its eyes that see so far. Shadows of things to come. 
What, dear Heaven, does it see? 
And so I sit. And toss, and turn, and sit some more. Thinking. Afraid. It is so much ''larger'' than I had thought! So much more ''immediate''! 
I have walked the grounds, seen everything, unseeing. I have looked down the halls, entered the rooms, held the ancient treasures in my hands. I have been everywhere -- briefly -- except one. The locked room. The War Room. There I will not go. 
Not until I am ''sure.'' 
''Later, Same Evening -- '' 
Tony and Rebecca have arrived. He is being so strange, so formal; does he know what has happened? Ah, Tony, you seem so far away .... Where is the ease, the camraderie? 
He has been to Lourdes -- and found nothing. I am not too surprised. 
Where are they? Where ''are'' they? 
And what am I to ''do''? 
''Sunday, 21 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tonight we see if the stars are right. I have set the telescope outside on the patio, and Adam has been studying his algebra and the ephemeris. I have started him on the Mathematics of Motion, and we shall work toward Newtonian mechanics and Kepler's law. Should be fun. 
So many people. So many worries. Am I to be everything to everyone? 
A short but pleasant visit with Zigfried; a chance at last to meet Mister Parsons, a bright and likeable fellow though rather irreverent; and a long and turmoiled talk with Tony. 
Ah me; ah me. How can he be so troubled all the time? Next to him, I have no troubles of my own.... though I have quite a few to give ''to'' him. 
He is not happy about the treaty. Upset and unhappy about a lot of things, generally, I think; but the treaty for certain. There is nothing I can do about it , of course, and truthfully I would not risk trying; but so much of our old superficial camraderie has vanished over time with the assumtion of new burdens. I hope that this basic disagreement about the treaty will not be the final straw, the thing that breaks us at last. 
We went "riding" today. Um. Well. At least, we sat on horses and they moved. Quite fast. Whee. Tony and Julian are both quite graceful on horseback. Not so, myself; I never had the need nor the means, except for occasional pony rides. It was troublesome, and no doubt quite amusing; I hurt now. The only small consolation was that Rebecca was even less happy than I. She clung grimly to her mount and was rather upset about the whole thing. I should hate to be in Tony's shoes -- he suggested the ride! 
Afterwards I spoke to Zigfried. For the first time in, oh, I don't know how long it's been. About the Light, and this and that, what he said to DAF, and so forth. Emerson has shown him the bragging letter -- he say only that it ''is him'', the Black Man, one and the same for certain. There is more; I can tell it in his eyes, but he did not say. As for the rest -- he is not comfortably eloquent with poesy, it is difficult for him to speak of things that are not rational, things of the heart or spirit. Ah well. We will talk again. We must; there is so much I have to learn from this man, and perhaps a bit to give as well. 
Parsons is a curious fellow. A Jazz musician with connections to the Mob. Receptive, but aloof, I am unsure what to make of him -- how much hope I may place in him. But Tony has invited him to Gathering, so what will happen will happen. 
''Monday, 22 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tony is gone. Scooted off this morning. Told no one. Blast. 
But, Theo is up! He's well -- he's talking -- he met us at breakfast. Thank Heavens! What a wonderful thing, a gift for the day. 
Zigfried says Theo remembers nothing of the attic, or of subsequent events. It is clear he's not yet read my letters either. Keeps asking questions that I wrote him about already. Ah well. Time is all he needs now. That, he has. Thank Heavens! 
''Tuesday, 23 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
She agrees. I have spoken to him; I have spoken to her. He is desperate. She agrees to the task. It may break him. 
Dear God, I hope not. I hope I have not caused a terrible thing. 
Have I destroyed a friend for this treaty? 
Lots of talk. Lots. He was, by degrees, intrigued, excited, elated -- and devastated, when he heard the terms. But he is still with me. With me. Oh dear. 
''Wednesday, 24 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Contact! A touch, a trembling fragment of meaning in the morass. At last -- a piece of the bigger thing -- oh, I am babbling! So difficult to simply say what I've seen -- always the words are too many and too small. 
Today I met the House. How bright! How joyous, how magnificent! And how slippery-easy, once the voyage is begun. Calling, pulling, guiding, ''drawing''. One has to work to stay ''away''. Certainly no labor to arrive. 
Brilliant, electric, living vibration; a thing that both feeds and excites as it draws. 
The House has eyes that see far. 
It is so strong, this thing, so ''alive'' and immediate --! 
-- A thought: Might the twists of the Paths from Springboard be somehow related to, or representative of, the signatures of the Circles? What a lovely thought! It does feel right, it fits; but how to test, how to find out for sure? 
The path to the House is ''part'' of the House, somehow. And the thing ITSELF: 
Faerie! 
Feel the whole world all at once as a thing alive; feel the House. Feel the bright outwelling of Life, and Joy, brilliance of Being; feel the House. 
Become what you feel; BE the House! 
And see far. 
O Bright! O Quick! So huge, so huge, ripple out and out in circles toward awesome distant walls; read the shadows and BE BE BE! So big so big and all ME, all ONE, the Unity in miniature, the loving the sheer Happiness of outpouring ...! 
But I ramble. I shall return. 
DAF came today. So abrupt he is. So demanding. He unbalances me. Zip, zip, zip! Like a hummingbird with no respect for anyone. 
Wants gossip. Wants information. 
Wants a job to toy with. I gavce him Gundoni. 
Good luck. 
It would be wonderful to show him. I want to show him. Show all of them! But the laughter stays within me, the marvellous murmurs of transcendant meaning, so clear to me, are silent elsewhere. They do ''not'' see! 
They cannot know, like I do. 
Humbling. 
''Friday, 26 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
I am contnually impressed and amazed by the sheer ''immensity'' of the thing! Both within and without; as above, so below. 
Deep inside, the Motherspirit of the house continues to touch and fill things with joy and meaning. So huge, so long ... so QUICK! Laughter, like ripples of whitegold music caressing a million-million souls -- instant -- forever -- harmony and crystal and green silver wood grass SELF and that whirling, spinning Radiance in the center! Patience; love; protection; Giving; so wonderfully HAPPILY generous it is! 
On the surface, the Estate is serene and perfect. The trees turning to fall; the rocks, the pond, the birds and small animals rustling in the undergrowth; like a fairytale. The enchanted land. All of the valley is owned by the estate; but the Estate itself, the Person within the walls, is more than a mile on a side, and so full! So full. 
Beyond, the estate itself is huge! The entire valley, thirty-four square miles, the whole village, all the vineyards; properties in France, Spain, England; mines in America; treasures and more treasures, priceless antiques; the ''Amûn'' itself; ... and .... 
So much. So much. 
SO MUCH! Oh, oh, oh -- how can I explain? I am so small, to be given all this! So young, so new! It fills my heart, my chest, the ache of need, and responsibility, and all the joy and sorrow bubble up and outward, coloring the world around me and the silence behind my eyes. Shades of significance touch me, all the time. I want to share. 
Do the see? Do they know? 
Everything is ... deeper. Further away and closer, more important, all at once. I feel as though the light has thickened, coloring things comehow new, different, more importantly. And I look for that hint of awareness in others' eyes, a touch, a glance that says: I know. 
Do they? 
Daily, I feel it around me more easily. An electric thrill underneath the obvious -- like the prickly feel of an oncoming storm. Whenever I touch the House I know; I feel it; aware, loving, THERE. 
I am becoming more attuned to it, and it to me. 
And sometimes, just for an instant, I hear echoes of footfall before Bent arrives, or know he is present before he speaks. 
I am going to sign. 
''Sunday, 28 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
''Monday, 29 1928; London'' 
''Tuesday, 30 October 1928; At sea''

Carl Ellis October 1928 - Diary

2014-01-08T22:56:43Z

Chazathoth:

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''Monday, 1 Oct 1928, morning; back at Newhaven'' 
Tony called me this morning. Cold; distant; a brisk professional veneer thing covering desperation and despair. I do not know what it was that he did not say, but it spoke volumes in its absence – and what he did say was bad enough. 
They hit the Boston house after a week’s worth of watching. Labs; manufactory, and four or five people, led by one of the Avowed. Not KR ''(note - Katyana Rasmul)'' – but someone like her. All dead now save one prisoner. Prisoner?! What are we to do with prisoners? We are not prepared to handle such things, even if I thought it a good idea. Which I do not. But G ''(note - Antonio Grimaldi)'' has him now, for good or ill. 
Proof at last, of the Dark-Trained. 
The Black Man has used his own as traps. Traps! Triggered by questioning-? They tear themselves apart. Does he know? Lord God in Heaven, how can we possibly touch this fiend!! Beautiful soaring melodies, indeed!! Oh, lost, lost, lost and afraid…..! 
And Tony! I am losing you too, aren’t I? I watch you, feel you slipping away …. One of the best, more lost by the hour; and what can I do? You will not touch me, will not let me touch you! Helpless! I can do nothing if you will not let me help you …. Oh, how sad and bitter it all is. 
They say he never laid blame or condemned his people; and so I shall try to do the same. To stay silent is easy; but not to TRY-! That is hard, so hard. 
I am afraid. So afraid. 
Is the whole fragile family dying? 
I have NO TIME to learn how to heal! The whole delicate edifice may be in shards before the Gathering, which once seemed so close! 
How can the face of things change so fast? 
Be careful, Tony! Oh, how I dread your works to come! California may be our undoing; I have no reason to feel that way, I merely do. Oh, please – step softly! We need that link so badly, let it not be shattered! Desperation leads to blindness, Tony; and blindness can kill. Beware! 
Now I have done it to myself. My hand shakes as I write; my chest is cold with sorrow. What will happen? WHAT? 
GOD DAMN YOU, CLOCK: MOVE ON! MOVE ON! 
I will have to speak with G, when I go east. But I cannot think of what to say or ask. Hmm. 
Reminder. Talk to Alex about populating the house. The children are so happy here. 
 
Will Meagan ''ever'' understand me? I fear not. Clever, even brilliant ... but a plodder -- no, that is unkind. Say rather that she is ''deductive'' exclusively; I wonder if there is a speck of inductiveness in her? There are so many others like her -- but it is strange in one with so many "mystical leanings." 
I think that she frequently touches, but is never herself ''touched''. But that is so hard to believe; could it be that she deliberately denies the touch's understanding? 
Is she so afraid? 
How can she be in love, and ''not'' see? 
Obviously, this humble person is unworthy of his position. I think he will pray for further enlightenment and understanding. 
Trite. 
''Tuesday, 4 October 1928; Dinnertime, Arkham'' 
Everybody is gone! This is irksome. Carl has not yet returned; Mrs. Williams has not yet returned; Lazlo has not yet returned …. And now it seems they are all in the same place! Cuba? Why Cuba, why now? Is there something going on that I missed completely? Dear me. And now G is missing too. I cannot talk to him. Or his ‘prisoners’. I confess I am relieved …. But what happened? What have they done with him? What happened in California? No. I will not make a fuss. Tony knows how to reach me, if there is a report to make. 
Arc’s place is, if anything, more lovely now than it was when I was last here two years ago. Or is it just me? In the event, the turning of the leaves adds a poignant beauty to everything that is both exhilarating and softly tragic. But I digress, as always. And the place is all over maple trees! I did not know what they were, last time; but one of the servants pointed them out this morning. 
This is going to be a lovely place for the party. 
Harper (one of the staff) tells me that Arc wired a few days ago, says he is on his way. Good! I want to speak to him. 
Funny about the servants. They are quiet, discrete, competent, and oh-so-professional; but after Straight …. Well, it is not the same. 
Julian loves it here. I do not think she has been here before, and like me she finds it magnificent. At the same time, however, she constantly makes it clear to me that the place is nothing next to the French Estate. I surely am getting curious about that big old House!
The kids …. Ah, the kids. I feel like such a heel, dragging them all over kingdom come and then leaving them with nothing to do when we get there. 
But it is hard to please them both. Poor Rachael is in love with Newhaven. Truly, she is blossoming, under the care of Straight and the peace of the estate there. It broke her heart to leave; I was really tempted to let her stay awhile …. But I promised her there were nicer places ahead, and I do want to get all four of the kids together. 
Hmm …. I suppose I shall have to stop thinking of them as children soon. It’s not right, I know, Lord knows they have been denied childhood long enough! But otherwise there is a present danger that I/we will come to think of them always as children, merely because of their appearance. 
Think of them as patients involved in a cure. No, wait …. Students. Students of life. That is Better. 
I have gotten awfully fond of those two. Even Adam, despite his spikiness. He was not reluctant to let go, dear me no! He is bored. Needs something to do. That is what started me off on this train of thought, after all …. He is a doer, not a thinker. Passive study does not sit well on him. 
So. Tonight or tomorrow, with Julian’s help, he and I will go to Stockton. Check the house, feed the cat, fill the water tanks, and so forth. A good hour or two’s work; something to do. Right. And I must talk to him about his future. 
Letters. One from Lazlo, one from Carl. 
I did not realize that Lazlo and his young lady were so cozy already. Yet here she is, cooking him breakfast in his home. Dare I be salacious? Me, of all people? (Snicker) Ah, well. It could be innocent; and these are, after all, the ‘twenties. 
I wonder what he is thinking, right now? 
He seems to be in a musing state of mind. Catching the edges of the Principle, as it were – or perhaps merely skirting the edge of danger is making him hold more dearly to everything simple and beautiful? A lesson for me. 
I must write to him. What are they up to down there? 
Carl’s letter is more recent. A post-mortem on Kentucky, some chat. He has not received my most recent one. 
Lots to say about Rebecca, especially her influence on Tony. Hmm …. Influence …. In view of the changes I have noticed in him, is it safe to think that she is bad for him? Not enough information yet, I think … but something to ponder. 
She DOES need training and experience. A leader’s role in a hothouse environment has not prepared her for the variety of scenaria which she may face. 
Morenotes on the Glory Hole and its activity. I have long thought that they did some of their first Gate work there … but could the others be right? Might those folk have broken through to other tunnels, or Something Else? I must not dismiss this out of hand. They will not abandon the site. 
Some comments on Pierre. They sadden me. 
More stuff on Faigon.''(note - aka Boyer Rulininov)'' Hah! Oh Carl, if you only knew what I know! Why the Devil aren’t you home? And in King, as well. Ex-vampire? Oh, dear boy, you are in for a sur-prise!! 
And, last Gathering. Delight – and loneliness. He strives to come closer even as he pushes me away. “It is a lonely job, how lonely I don’t think you know and will never know.” Why does he think that? Is is something in him he speaks of, or something he sees in me? A puzzle. 
But there is real warmth in his closing. 
Dinnertime – and I have written far too long. 
''Friday, 5 October, 1928; afternoon, Arkham'' 
This morning, early, Julian, Adam, and I went into the basement and through the Door. Uf! What a feeling! Unpleasant – I do not like it, at all! – but not so bad as that awful thing we went through to and from China. I do not believe I shall ever enjoy using these Doors. Ever. Even putting the unpleasantness aside, it just does not feel RIGHT, somehow. Like cheating, in a way. 
(But, says the small voice, just look! See how amazingly CONVENIENT they are…!) 
Well, they are that, surely. Draining, though. Julian went back to Arkham, after pointing out the way; and I dithered a bit. Did not really want to use the Doors again, nobody likes discomfort; but the real reason was a sly compelling need to Go Upstairs and Look! There I was – in France! – within sight, perhaps, of the Big House! Should I peek? 
No, I decided. If I was going to go to the Estate, I was going to WALK! 
Adam was getting impatient. Through the door, then, to Stockton. 
A hottish, dry day in California – real Indian Summer weather. The house is still in order, merely looking a bit run-down after nearly a month’s disuse. Tony has evidently been through; a few things are moved, the documents I left for him are gone, the flowers have been watered even though the tanks are dry. Nice of him to do that for us. Peanut was sunning Itself on the back porch, sassy as ever and, if anything, larger than before. 
Adam was ecstatic. Something to do, at last! He has been frustrated and increasingly bored – one reason for this trip. So we filled the flower tanks, topped off the cat food machine, and he spent a happy couple of hours in the morning cool (the time difference is noticeable!), puttering around the yard, cutting grass, and so forth while I performed a few tests and gathered some things. 
The Doorway is …. Interesting. Unfortunately, it is draining for me to use; equally unfortunately, when I attempt to activate it with energy from one of my discharge units, though it does fill up as before, the flip-flip is erratic and the image dim or distorted. I do not know why; but I would not want to put my safety into a Doorway that behaved like that! 
Also pulled a few textbooks out of mothballs – different ones this time, calculus and physics – and have decided to give him lessons every day or two. Who knows? Perhaps he will enjoy it – and then maybe I shall have someone around to talk of my hobbies with. Sometime this week I shall have to look for others: a book on astronomy, lens-grinding, radios, & electricity. Fun things. We shall see. He has been bored long enough! 
I showed him how to use the Doorway for himself, at which he quickly became adept; and we returned to Arc’s around one-thirty ... And here we are! The home house is all locked up; and I pressed the iron doors mostly closed and left a note of warning to others not to enter. We shall see if they believe it; but I truly do not want my home used as a railway terminal! 
''Saturday, 6 October 1928; 2 PM, Arkham'' 
Our passports are here! They’re lovely: I do enjoy official documents. Always so stiff, with seals and such …. I feel as though a thousand bureaucratic ritual mysteries lurk behind each still-lipped page. Nice. Very. 
Then came dinner – and Arc ''(note - Arcturus Rand)'' arrived. 
He looks well. Strong and tan from his travelling. He came through the Portal from England, having received my letter. We worked for a while, putting some of his odder mementos into storage (that big fish’s head on the wall in the den was a Deep One!) and packing away some of the more unsettling books. And we talked. 
And talked. And talked. And talked. 
There was a lot to catch him up on. China. San Francisco. The search for the Black Man. Eveling. The Children. Buffalo. Silver Twilight. The Disease. Boston, Redmun, London. 
And, at last, the Treaty. 
I suppose it is fitting that he be the first; after all, he was the first to openly answer my questions. There were things I did not tell him – the Exchange, and the name of our Ambassador candidate – but all of the rest, yes. And the results were as good as I ought to expect. 
Arc is tentative. He agrees that it could work, but does not wish to commit himself to an opinion on the subject until after all the facts are clear. He has grave doubts, but allows that they are in the main irrational, and is willing to try to set them by if necessary. 
But he did promise me this: That, even should he decide against this thing, he will not actively oppose this treaty or me, but will merely withdraw. 
I respect him; I am grateful for that much. 
I was thinking just now about my letter yesterday to Alex Chase. Did not realize that, for all my professions of camaraderie and forgiveness, I still have not asked him to come to gathering. Well. I can justify it in the privacy of my own head …. But it still looks pretty hypocritical when considered from without. 
So hard to control! The party is getting bigger and bigger – already I see I have lost the intimate beginnings I so urgently sought when we began this. But even now, even now, there are those I wish to begin with, and those to whom I hope to show a completed beginning. The Gathered will be special – they will be the first, present at the opening and the rebirth. Yet, with each new voice, each new desire added to the consensus, the chances of a harmonious whole become smaller and smaller. 
Fie! It is out of my hands. Let the games begin! 
''Sunday, 7 October 1928; still at Arc’s, 10 PM'' 
More and more; we are picking up speed! Called Tony back this morning with my “revelations” about the Gregory House. Seventeen eight four, hah? How convenient. 
Not much of a Place of Refuge. But useful. 
Now my mind is awhirl. If the plague is really being tested or disbursed here, then this place is likely to be very dangerous. 
Right. No kidding. They know. Calm down. 
Tony has changed. He seems a lot more relaxed, more in control of himself. Why, we actually managed to have two complete talks without anyone clamming up or marching away furiously! Makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing. 
So….. once I was up, there was nothing to it but to set about the business of the day. 
Morning trip out of town to visit Cassandra Felion ''(note - once a model for the painter Jeremiah Lambert)''. Poor woman. I am very disheartened. The place she is kept is nice enough … for a hospital. That is to say, the staff is no doubt quite comfortable. Her room, however, is white and sterile; and she is in no position to appreciate any of it. 
Miss Felion has become a cause célèbre amongst us; but as I sat and looked at her haggard dreaming face, I was overwhelmed with a sense of futility. I cannot help her. There is nothing in my power to perform that will ease her burden. 
Yet, here she lies; mirror and symbol of one possible future. 
Julian? Perhaps. Though I wonder about that as well. Hers is a delicate talent, for all its power; and I am reluctant now to try and put it to the test on that poor girl. 
I scarcely even considered the painting. She would have to be awake to see it, for one thing; and she would begin her tirade long before becoming fully conscious. Not to mention my reservations about the thing’s effectiveness. 
Poor Meagan. Well, she is happy now. 
I wonder if Zigfried … but he too has places to go. 
So. Afternoon we all bundled off to New York City, to Emerson’s house on Copeley Road. The kids were quietly delighted to see one another, and quickly closeted themselves away together. Even Rachel is chipper – talking to them all, smiling a bit in an easy way she never has with us. O well. 
I spent some time speaking with the staff who take care of them; then Julian and I went out into the city to buy a few things. Toiletries and travel supplies; several books for each, including more texts and an ephemeris for Adam; and (o treasure!) a telescope. Not a big one; but quite enough for he and I to explore the sky. Expensive! I had not thought. Ah, well. 
Back home an hour or so ago, and the kids to bed, sleepy and happy. And here I am. 
Good luck, Tony. 
Just as I finished the above, the telephone rings. Lazlo, from Cuba! And boy – does he have a lot to say! 
This vacation of his has not been a lot of fun. 
Lazlo, Carl, Andrew (?!), Pembrook (!!), and their respective young ladies all meet at the home of Andrew White, near Havana. For some reason, local Voodoo cultists are very interested in them: Images of Carl & Lazlo made into dolls (!!!) and a lovely white woman named Chiennie Faraday, a ‘priestess’ from Jamaica, is interested in them. She, it seems, has come to the island a few days previous on some business of her own. 
There is also a seedy planter named LeFarb who shows too much interest in the ladies – and then, a few days later, several of the women and Lazlo are attacked by bandits and zombies at White’s house, while the others are away fighting a (convenient?) fire! 
They escape; they run; the women are carried off by big black things that almost have to be night gaunts (!!!!); and a long chase follows, to a cave up in the mountains where the women are being fed to some sort of “tumescent, white and beige, slimy, tentacular, sluglike thing.” 
Messy. The women are rescued; the cultists are all killed (sigh); lots of elder symbol glows; and they march back to the coast. 
Lazlo says that all of the women are in deep shock, and have confused memories of some alien, ethereal beauty that fade by the hour. They also have, on the hands that were enclosed by the Thing, fine scars across the knuckles and the joints, very thin, like razors!!!! Familiar? 
Terrible terrible. Lazlo says his Julia is often unaware of him. “She leaves this world and enters another,” he says. Glowing madonnalike perfection. “All so bright and beautiful.” Massive blood and life-force loss; she has dropped 15 lbs. since the incident. 
This is horrible! Our people – THEIR dear ones! – grabbed up and WRENCHED like this! Horrible! I feel so powerless – yet what can I do? Lazlo and Julian are preparing to leave …. The rest of the others have headed to LeFarbe’s plantation for some answers. I do not think they will be gentle about getting them! 
What about the White Lady? What about Jamaica? What connection does she have with the zombies and LeFarbe? Why was she here? The mask, the shopkeeper … what does it mean? And those scars, so like HIS …. What is the connection? 
Of special interest is Lazlo’s description of the Faraday woman – the Lady in White. She had a glamour, he says, very strong, alluring, primal. Familiar? He says it is like J’s, “but different.” 
Could there be a connection between this Jamaica group and the Islanders?? 
Wait – wait – wait. My God. I am remembering a description. 
On Sandoo – ruins – and bright-white, invisible snakelike things. Loigon. Guardians of the Lady? Or echoes? Or aspects of the Lady herself? 
Could there be a connection? 
Loigon – Loa? My God! 
“Like – yet different.” Hmm! So few things on this earth are unique and alone … it seems possible that there may be others. 
Loa. Baby Ladies? O dear o dear o dear. Time to start studying voudun! 
Dear Heavens – How can I ask anything of her now, after all this? How? I cannot – but who, then? Shall I speak to Carl first? Yes – he has been around, and he knows her – he will know what to do. 
Balderdash. This is my plan, my burden; I must not try to put it off on him! We shall go on as before, and the Lady will make her own choice. 
But oh, oh, oh. I do not LIKE this! 
<Dammit, it TIES TOGETHER!> 
Another few minutes. J is rousing the kids for their trip to France. She will be back tomorrow evening; and we shall go to New York. 
''Wednesday, 10 October 1928; At sea'' 
It is Anchors Aweigh at last! There is something quite special about setting sail. Like a ritual turning away from the old, facing about to look upon the new. When the dock is left behind, the band stops playing, and the bow points cleanly toward an unbroken horizon, salt air upon my cheeks, I feel a lifting; washed free, for a time, of burdens behind us. Set forth to face the wonders of the new. 
The last couple of days have been busy ones. After the three of them left I sat and thought for a bit; then slept. The following day, that I had thought to spend in idle tourism, was instead turned to research on voodoo. 
Interesting stuff. I had time only to skim the surface, of course – and the subject is quite complicated. As with all such things, the closer one gets to the particular, the more the seeming similarities are obscured by detail; but again and again there are hints of similarity, of a basic sort of familiarity between the one and the other. 
One difficulty lies in the stripping of fact from folklore. Voodoo lore contains elaborate explanations of why things are as they are; but these differ strongly from tribe to tribe, cult to cult; and they do not present a coherent picture of the sort I am seeking in any case. 
Serpent mages appear throughout the religion, in connection with most of the powerful loa. Too, loa influence is passed through the blood – and the feminine loa pass through the women, as the male ones do through the men! The practice of ritual possession is ubiquitous; the spirits are said to wind down a pole from the sky, or enter the body from the earth; and always first there is a distancing between the man and the world, a setting back and withdrawal from control. 
The tie between loa and Earth is very strong and pervasive. Even those loa associated with the sky or the cosmic forces appear in conjunction with the earth in rituals and histories. There is something primal, something fundamental about this association that should not be ignored. 
I wonder if there is any information about voodoo at the Big House? It will be interesting to see what they thought important. 
So … That night, Julian came back, tired but happy, and reported success. The kids were settled in, not without some distress, but safely. We took the evening train back to New York. 
I find it a constant delight to be alone with Julian, even for a few days. Hidden holds are removed; our lives, oir words, the way we look and react come easier, more harmoniously. Even when we are ''doing'' things, they are done simply, naturally. It is a gentle, joyous thing, and one that does not happen when there are others around. 
Oh, how much my Golden Girl means to me! Like oxygen; like music; I need her to ''live''. Apart, we survive; together, we are magnificent!
 
The poor dear had been up for more than a full day and night; she nodded off on the train, and practically had to be poured into bed when we arrived at the hotel. But a night’s sleep works wonders for the young, even the forever-young, and we were on the road in a rented car, bathed and fresh, well before noon. 
Charot is a tiny town on the North Jersey coast, and Mrs. Harden’s home is a white Gull Cottage sort of affair set about a mile back from the beach. The sky was high but grey, and there was a constant cool breeze off the water. Good Easter October weather – a nice day for sailing. The gulls seemed happy too, far away. 
I have no idea of Lisel Harden’s true age; but if she married young, say eighteen, and appeared right after at Gathering in 1852, that would make her born in 1834 … and her age somewhere around ninety-five! Remarkable. She is still a lovely woman, even now; but sadly she shows every one of those years. 
I did not know how coherent her thoughts would be, after Tony’s comments. She was charming. She has a grim and defensive housekeeper who guards her ferociously, and whose name I fear I have already forgotten. 
We talked for perhaps a half hour. I introduced myself as a compatriot of Ceryous Outt’s, and said I had come by to pay my respects. I admit to a bit of a shock when she mentioned that Benjamin ''(note - Lisel Harden's deceased husband)'' was not home but would return shortly, and would we care to wait? But this, and a slight tendency to be a bit time lost, not having been apprised of the terrible events of the past few years, were the only barriers to what might otherwise have been a gracious and effortless visit. 
Poor, dear woman. She does not know all that has happened. If she did, it would break her heart. That, more than anything else, was my reason for cutting the interview short. I could not bear the thought of shattering her fragile gracious world. 
I was immensely moved by her love and devotion for her husband. One could hear it in her voice when she spoke of him. “Dear Benjamin has been very quiet lately,” she said. “Sometimes I hear him downstairs, when he thinks I am asleep.” So much. So much. It wrenched my heart, so I felt I wanted to weep. 
I do not think she will live much longer. Her housekeeper said her strength has failed much in the past few months. I left my card with them: I hope she will get my letter, but if not … perhaps I shall hear in time to attend the funeral. 
Benjamin will be home soon. Dear God. 
Julian was nearly as distressed as I, though for different reasons. She had never met a very elderly person before. The tragedy of mortality has never made an impression on her life until now. 
We drove to the seashore, walked on the beach, and ate the picnic lunch I brought, and talked. In a while, things got better. The edge of sorrow eased. 
I shall send her a scarf, from Paris. 
We drove back to the City -- had dinner at the hotel restaurant -- went out to see the Jazz Singer at the Metro (my second talkie, her first); spent the night, and this morning set sail. 
Steamers are always immense amounts of fun, and this one, the ''Prince William'', is no exception. Cunard has a typically British sort of understated luxury -- and for the first time in either of our lives, we are riding High, in a first-class luxury stateroom on board one of the queens of the sea! Three hundred crew; eight hundred passengers; two dining salons, two bars, a nightclub, a ballroom, a theater, a swimming pool, and more. 
So, let the worries and wants stand aside for the moment. My Wife and I are On Holiday! 
''Friday, 12 October 1928; At sea'' 
Life on board this floating Fun House is doing things to my mood. I feel more relaxed, expansive, even giddy in a way. A true "vacation" feeling. It affects the way I act. I wrote a letter to C. Outt today that was much the same way -- flamboyant, brash, even a bit bragging. Ah well. What it says is true, and it matches my mood and possibly his as well. Send it. Send it. 
Julian is off on deck somewhere, lazing around in a deck-chair like a happy cat, occasionally importuned by young hopefuls eager to make acquaintance. She has quite settled in, and is enjoying herself immensely. Last night they offered us a musical revue in the Victoria Lounge (an incongruity which appeared quite amusing to me!) and we both enjoyed it immensely. Tonight is the Captain's Reception, for all of the First Class passengers, that is to say Us, followed by the Officer's Ball which is supposed to be a swanky affair in the Grand Ballroom on main deck. All furs, feathers, silk and satin; jewels and champagne-- Julian is absolutely ecstatic. 
Quite a bit of bubbly on this boat, all of it legal and a good portion of it destined for my golden girl. We shared two bottles at the gala splash when the Prince entered international waters, and got very silly. Don't know when the real party ended; our private one lasted until dawn and beyond. Gives me a warm glow just to think of it! And scarcely a hangover following. Although I will say, the seas seemes a bit rougher than they ought. 
Speaking of weather, it has so far been quite calm, though October-chilly as expected. Lovely to wake nights and feel the thrum and slow sway of the ship in the darkness! We went out on the upper deck last night and found a secluded spot where we sat, held each other close, and were briefly the only things alive in a magically infinite world. Julian -- your scent lingers in my heart; your warm softness close to me in your furs; no sight nor sound but the hiss of the waves and the endless moving sea beneath the clouds and the moon, and your heart singing music silently with mine! 
Travelling openly with my darling as wife is splendid, exhilarating, fun for me! A bit of a sense of guilty freedom, relief and caution mingled in a brew that is very heady. I do not know ''what'' the others we have met think of us -- they have been quite tolerant of us so far, but we do carry on so at table, you may imagine! I am so overflowing with happiness and love for my darling darling that even without the bond we share I feel that I could know down inside the warmth of her; and when she smiles my whole world sings; and when she laughs, or makes fun of something, I am quite swept along and carried away. The others, as I said, are very polite; but I have seen the glances they give one another, and the way they watch us. I do not think they approve much of me. My wife is SO YOUNG, after all! And we have been silly. 
In any event, our tablemates are a pleasant crowd. We have the second sitting at the second officer's table, along with five others. Officer Black is an impressive man, tall and lean in his mid-40s, with neatly trimmed brown hair and a pencil moustache. He is infallibly British and very polite; says he comes from Salisbury. Miss Sherrell (I believe her first name is Alice) is a schoolmistress from Virginia, about thirty but solemn beyond her years in a disapproving and rather cliché fashion. The Huxleys, Robert and Caroline, are large and amiable people. He is the manager of a steelworks not far from Manchester, and his wife the raiser of their three children, all of whom are married and moved away. I think the Huxleys view us rather paternally; Robert has twice asked us to his cabin for cards, and Mrs. Huxley loves to chat away about weddings, homes, and grandchildren to Julian, who is not quite sure how to take it all. They are on their way home from a visit to Eric, their eldest, and his family in New York, and have decided that we are on our honeymoon, which is not so far from the truth. 
Max Hasselblad is an aeroplane designer from Ohio who is on his way to take a position with Dornier in France. He is young, intense, and slightly unkempt despite his best efforts. Gregory Patten, on the other hand, is immaculate in the way that only those born to wealth and leisure can be. His family has a big place somewhere on Chesapeake Bay, and he likes to sail and is not shy to remind us. He is traveling to Italy with his "fiancée" Lydia, who looks a lot like Maddy but who has a strong New York Irish accent and finery is very very new. That's six in all; but Max has not eaten with us since the first night's dinner; none of us know why. Quite a diverse crew indeed. 
Eager to try out the best the ship has to offer, the two of us had ourselves "done over" yesterday, she by a beautician, me by one of the barbers. Haircut, shave, manicure, eyebrows and some hairstyling for the lady; and Voilá! The Fight's Most Elegant Couple! I do not find that I look any different myself (well, not much anyway,) after all I always look like this in my mind's eye. But HER! 
Boy oh boy!! Positively tasty; enough to burn my eyes out & melt my heart away. Enough said. 
A few new clothes in London for me; some things from Paris for the Lady; and we shall indeed be ready to take tea with the King and Queen. 
''Saturday, 13 October 1928; At sea'' 
The Ball was tremendous fun! The Reception was, well, a Reception. We met a lot of folks whom I shall never remember later, and a few whom I most certainly will. There's a Knight, a Baron, and two or three The Honorables on board, whom we saw. We even spoke briefly to Captain Sir Donald Shaftsbury (retired) during the course of the evening. It was not very memorable. 
Anyhow, it went on everso long, and we danced ourselves silly on a tide of music and bubbles. I suspect that the breakfast seating was empty this morning; certainly ''we'' didn't go! Julian is still asleep, I only got up to write this before bathing. 
I wonder what the Circles look like on shipboard? There are a few animals on board - most likely more than I am aware of - but nothing like the normal distribution. Pets: dogs, cats, a monkey or two, and I've seen a chinchilla and a fox! 
No, the chief inhabitants of this place are people. So! Today, some time, probably after our noontime game of shuffleboard with the Huxleys, I shall spend some time looking over Springboard, just to see what the Circles look like; then try a new dive -- try to look for the Gate to the Blind Dance! 
''Monday, 15 October 1928; London, Evening'' 
It happens, you know. One forgets. And frankly ... the mad social whirl rather carried us away. Oh yes, lots of fun, to be sure, and a bit of good research as well. But nothing conclusive. No big advances or major insights. What does one expect on holiday, after all? 
I am not really much interested in writing, even now. But we're here, at the hotel in London, and it's late, and - well - it's a bit of a habit by now. 
Docked this afternoon under leaden skies and occasional desultory showers. Goodbye to the Huxleys; a cheery wave-off; and any time you're in Manchester, don't you know, do drop by won't you. Customs and clearace; a bit of fuss, I noticed, from Lydia, who by now seems to have had a parting of the ways from her glittering young friend. Something about some jewelry? 
So -- a few hours by fast rail, and now, here. An excellent, though heavy, meal at the Carvery. Soft music, pleasant atmosphere ... and behold! 
I am very tired. 
My lady is already asleep. 
Sigh.... 
''Wednesday, 17 October 1928; Evening; In the Channel'' 
On the train. Tomorrow, Paris; a rendezvous with painted scarves; and then finally on to Mecca. Yes. 
Some few surprises in London this trip. Tony's message at the Express office leaves no doubt where to look, and the papers are full of the business of the burning Clinic, so it was simple enough to take score of all the public knows. Harry has, he says, a lot of long leads but nothing hard and fast for me; and I did not put him on the Thasylwaite thing, precisely because of the public furor. Tony! So messy! I wonder what you missed? 
As for TMF -- well, helpful and not. The usual ahem-ahem attitude, and I ''am'' sorry, Sir, but you know we cannot divulge that to anyone, etcetera, etcetera. I learned a bit of thia and that (turns out Tony has the keys to the Lyon house) but nothing hard and fast, nothing USEFUL. 
If I knew more already! If I knew when I walked in the proper questions to ask! Then ... yes. Perhaps they would answer. But not otherwise. 
There is, for example, a safe box in keeping for the Estate. TMF admits it freely. They will not, however, discuss the contents, let alone show them. And so it went. 
But Miriam -- ! Ah, surprise indeed! I came to see her on a social call, of course; after her last letter I reluctantly promised myself that there would be no more cat-and-mouse games, no questing for forbidden hints and knowledge any more. Such sparring was bringing only upset to us, and threatening to undermine our friendship. Thus: no more. Merely friends. The visit solely for conversation. 
Surprise! 
Scarcely have we poured our tea -- scarcely have the amenities been satisfied -- when it is ''she'', not I, who throws wide the door! 
I have always trusted ''her''. From the first beginnings of our acquaintance I have felt that she waqs both honest and open with me. Yet, her actions and words were so unexpected, so much at odds with everything I knew of her, that I felt the sting of mistrust despite my faith. 
She asks for sanctuary from her people. 
Such a shock! 
Her reasons are still a bit muddled, at least to me; but they are understandable (or perhaps I am merely naïve.) She has had a flash of premonition, of her future or her child's; she does not wish that future for either Clarice or herself. And, she says, she does not wish her final child to be placed in the Foundry's hands. 
So, her bid to escape. Come february, come March, we will spirit her away -- across the waters, perhaps, to Newhaven, or perhaps to France -- where her child will be out of the grasp of the Lady and the rest. 
I hope. 
It is yet unclear to me just how far the Lady can reach, to find one of Her own whom She knows well. Might Wisphers' walls shield Miriam? Might Newhaven's? Certainly either, while a lovely prison, would be a prison still. Not the best way to raise a daughter, though far from the worst. 
So the future once again holds excitement and interesting changes, great storybook deeds to perform ... and (just possibly) an innocent life or two to make whole or redeem. Hmm. 
Give meaning to? No, still too grandiose. Hum. 
Sigh; so romantic! 
I wonder what she'll make of Julian? 
''Thursday, 18 October 1928; Paris at Sunset'' 
A diversion from our original itinerary, though I think a day will not hurt us. We had to stop, you see, in order to look for some painted scarves for Mrs. Harden; and as long as we were here, why not get some new outfits made up for Julian? So it has been a busy day. 
We found the scarves, all right, lots of them here and there about town, but just to make everything proper we spent some time looking for just the shop Mrs. Harden remembered. It is still there, as it happens -- on a corner by the river, right across from the Shakespeare & Company bookstore - and went in. The place was modern and very busy, not at all the quaint little boutique Mrs. Harden recalls. But the scarves were there, and other lovely things. We bought several and had them wroapped and packaged for mailing. I shall send them along with a letter I have yet to write. 
Poor dear woman. Even now she is beautiful. 
Echoes of an age that is ending. 
... and then we went shopping. Not much, not long this time, the stores we visited already had Mademoiselle's sizes; but three hours or so of watching models display frocks ad gowns is enough for ''me'' for one day, thank you! Julian is not a greedyguts, but she does like more than she dislikes (and be honest, Mister Carl, she looks awfully good in most of it!) so I had to work a bit to keep her down to one new gown, two new outfits, a shawl, a hat, and some shoes. 
Thank heavens I am well-paid! My wife has expensive tastes. I shall have to develop some myself to keep up. 
Ah, Julianjulianjulian! I loveyouloveyouloveyou! All the joy and the laughter and the golden honey glow of your smile and the tender warmth of your arms --- ! 
Forever, Beloved. Forever! 
''Friday, 19 October 1928; On a Train Somewhere'' 
We're nearly there! I can feel it inside; the excitement bubbling up and spilling out all over! Julian says the countryside is starting to look familar; according to the timetable we have less than an hour to go (if we are on time, which is somewhat less than likely. The train keeps slowing and stopping, then starting up again, and the last big town we passed was nearly half an hour behind schedule.) It is nearly sunset now, and the landscape is beautiful, a panoply of greens, reds, oranges and browns, and all those long, long shadows, reaching toward the mountains. It has been getting hilly too, a bit -- the little towns and farms perched on the hillsides and in the valleys between like bits of flotsam floating on a rolling green and orange sea. Some vineyards, none very large, filled with great long rows of spiney clumpy grape trees like they have in the Valley of the Moon back home; but here they are well-tended, here they have not gone wild or been torn out since '17! 
The people on the train are very nice and friendly, even though they tend to leave us alone, foreigners that we obviously are. Most of them regulars, local types, they greet one another familiarly and settle down for a chat, or simply head for Their Seat and fall asleep after a long day. The car is filled with the music of their speech: Darker, throaty, more singsong than the guttural nasality of Parisian French. A pleasing, homey sound. 
Soon. Soooon. 
''Saturday, 20 October 1928; Wisphers Estate'' 
I cannot explain this place. Neither can I describe it; not if I have any hope of doing it justice. It is too big, too grand; too full. 
Everything is meaningful. Everything is redolent of echoes. Ghosts. Memories. I stand in a room, or in the hall, or on the staircase -- and everywhere the silence is filled with the secret sussurus of a thousand lives. 
THERE is where it happened! 
THERE is where they met! 
THERE --! And THERE --! And -- 
Oh, I am immersed in it! This place, this ''hopme'', this amazing, WONDERFUL part of the tyapestry of ourselves and the Fight! I feel it around me, like a thick thick bath, each new touch or angle makes it reborn, fresh, anew! All those hopes, all those lives, all those dreams! They live on, alive, vibrant within these walls; silent only because for a time there has been no one to ''taste'' them, no one to FEEL! 
Hello. Hello. I know you. I feel you part of me. We are one. 
History. Mine. I am a part of this thing. 
The whole place is like that. Beauty, serenity, peace .... I had suspected it might be, from seeing Newhaven; but I had not given thought to the rest. THIS is no mere manifestation of the house-soul, magnificent though that may be, I have not dared to look. No; THIS is ... is ... I cannot think of the proper words. History; tradition; the sheer ''reality'' of all those lives, left here, in the walls, in the very air, silent music for all time. An echo of the Dance made substance! Not mystical, but ''human''; wrought in every shadow, every scar, every scuff on a chair, or bent leaf in a book. 
Four centuries. One life. One dream. 
I am supremely awed, and humbled. 

We arrived only a little bit late at the station in Chalon, which is really no more than a platform and a watchman's hut. It was so peaceful, once the train had gone. The country quiet was a joy to hear, along with the darkening colors and the sharp autumn air. The old man in the hut was only too happy to call for a boy to pick us up in his wagon. Henri, the boy is; bright, chipper, maybe sixteen and immensely voluble in that lovely patois which I cannot follow well. I rode beside him, Julian in the bed with the luggage -- her choice -- through the town (which is small but exceedingly prosperous) to the town house where the autos are. 
It seemed to me that I did not wish to finally arrive here in a clattering loud smelly machine; so I turned down the car, and we rode the wagon up to the Estate through the deepening gloom. 
Passed Henry Williams' farm. A ragged sight, now. Disused for some years; once a prosperous vineyard. What a terrible shame. 
And through the forest, along the road and the drive, to the great iron gates. Henri opened them and walked us through. 
Into the Estate. 
Furlongs and furlongs of parkland. Trim grass, tidy trees, everything in its place, healthy, balanced. The magic of the house-soul at work, I think. Up the drive, over a rise, and there: 
Shining, bright, all immense white facade of Georgian sparsity and gleaming columns. Every window brightly aglow -- the whole place lit up like a cathedral at night -- smoke rising from a half-dozen chimneys, thin and straight to the sky. 
The Big House. At last! 
To the door; it opens; there ''he'' is. Bent. Self-contained, proper, bent-over wizened gnome of a man; dry and formal, but commanding in his way. 
"Welcome Sir!" he says, and bows deeply. 
Inside (shock of warm air and the smell of oiled wood) he has the ''entire staff'' lined up in the main hall! Every one, waiting to be introduced. The cook; maids, gardeners, hostler; all of them. 
Gathered to meet the new Master. 
Me. 
Ye Gods and Little Fishes! 
The biggest "Ah!" of all. 
-- There was more later, of course. A set of keys to everything. A thick sheaf of legal papers. I can look at them here, as I write. Huge! I have only skimmed them so far. Prepared by TMF: Itemized inventories of everything in the House; staff and salary lists; deeds of properties all over the world; more, and more, and more: 
Assumption of the power of attorney. 
Me! Why me? I don't have the knowledge, nor the experience, nor the expertise. 
I have ''not'' been groomed for this! 
You may always refuse to sign, Sir, he says/ He knows it is not so simple. 
Why me? I asked him. Why did you choose ''me''? 
The choice was not mine, Sir, he said. 
Whose, then? I asked. 
It was the decision of the House, Sir, he said. 

The House. Lord God above -- the House. Beloved partner; centuries old; with its eyes that see so far. Shadows of things to come. 
What, dear Heaven, does it see? 
And so I sit. And toss, and turn, and sit some more. Thinking. Afraid. It is so much ''larger'' than I had thought! So much more ''immediate''! 
I have walked the grounds, seen everything, unseeing. I have looked down the halls, entered the rooms, held the ancient treasures in my hands. I have been everywhere -- briefly -- except one. The locked room. The War Room. There I will not go. 
Not until I am ''sure.'' 
''Later, Same Evening -- '' 
Tony and Rebecca have arrived. He is being so strange, so formal; does he know what has happened? Ah, Tony, you seem so far away .... Where is the ease, the camraderie? 
He has been to Lourdes -- and found nothing. I am not too surprised. 
Where are they? Where ''are'' they? 
And what am I to ''do''? 
''Sunday, 21 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tonight we see if the stars are right. I have set the telescope outside on the patio, and Adam has been studying his algebra and the ephemeris. I have started him on the Mathematics of Motion, and we shall work toward Newtonian mechanics and Kepler's law. Should be fun. 
So many people. So many worries. Am I to be everything to everyone? 
A short but pleasant visit with Zigfried; a chance at last to meet Mister Parsons, a bright and likeable fellow though rather irreverent; and a long and turmoiled talk with Tony. 
Ah me; ah me. How can he be so troubled all the time? Next to him, I have no troubles of my own.... though I have quite a few to give ''to'' him. 
He is not happy about the treaty. Upset and unhappy about a lot of things, generally, I think; but the treaty for certain. There is nothing I can do about it , of course, and truthfully I would not risk trying; but so much of our old superficial camraderie has vanished over time with the assumtion of new burdens. I hope that this basic disagreement about the treaty will not be the final straw, the thing that breaks us at last. 
We went "riding" today. Um. Well. At least, we sat on horses and they moved. Quite fast. Whee. Tony and Julian are both quite graceful on horseback. Not so, myself; I never had the need nor the means, except for occasional pony rides. It was troublesome, and no doubt quite amusing; I hurt now. The only small consolation was that Rebecca was even less happy than I. She clung grimly to her mount and was rather upset about the whole thing. I should hate to be in Tony's shoes -- he suggested the ride! 
Afterwards I spoke to Zigfried. For the first time in, oh, I don't know how long it's been. About the Light, and this and that, what he said to DAF, and so forth. Emerson has shown him the bragging letter -- he say only that it ''is him'', the Black Man, one and the same for certain. There is more; I can tell it in his eyes, but he did not say. As for the rest -- he is not comfortably eloquent with poesy, it is difficult for him to speak of things that are not rational, things of the heart or spirit. Ah well. We will talk again. We must; there is so much I have to learn from this man, and perhaps a bit to give as well. 
Parsons if a curious fellow. A Jazz musician with connections to the Mob. Receptive, but aloof, I am unsure what to make of him -- how much hope I may place in him. But Tony has invited him to Gathering, so what will happen will happen. 
''Monday, 22 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Tony is gone. Scooted off this morning. Told no one. Blast. 
But, Theo is up! He's well -- he's talking -- he met us at breakfast. Thank Heavens! What a wonderful thing, a gift for the day. 
Zigfried says Theo remembers nothing of the attic, or of subsequent events. It is clear he's not yet read my letters either. Keeps asking questions that I wrote him about already. Ah well. Time is all he needs now. That, he has. Thank Heavens! 
''Tuesday, 23 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
She agrees. I have spoken to him; I have spoken to her. He is desperate. She agrees to the task. It may break him. 
Dear God, I hope not. I hope I have not caused a terrible thing. 
Have I destroyed a friend for this treaty? 
Lots of talk. Lots. He was, by degrees, intrigued, excited, elated -- and devastated, when he heard the terms. But he is still with me. With me. Oh dear. 
''Wednesday, 24 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
Contact! A touch, a trembling fragment of meaning in the morass. At last -- a piece of the bigger thing -- oh, I am babbling! So difficult to simply say what I've seen -- always the words are too many and too small. 
Today I met the House. How bright! How joyous, how magnificent! And how slippery-easy, once the voyage is begun. Calling, pulling, guiding, ''drawing''. One has to work to stay ''away''. Certainly no labor to arrive. 
Brilliant, electric, living vibration; a thing that both feeds and excites as it draws. 
The House has eyes that see far. 
It is so strong, this thing, so ''alive'' and immediate --! 
-- A thought: Might the twists of the Paths from Springboard be somehow related to, or representative of, the signatures of the Circles? What a lovely thought! It does feel right, it fits; but how to test, how to find out for sure? 
The path to the House is ''part'' of the House, somehow. And the thing ITSELF: 
Faerie! 
Feel the whole world all at once as a thing alive; feel the House. Feel the bright outwelling of Life, and Joy, brilliance of Being; feel the House. 
Become what you feel; BE the House! 
And see far. 
O Bright! O Quick! So huge, so huge, ripple out and out in circles toward awesome distant walls; read the shadows and BE BE BE! So big so big and all ME, all ONE, the Unity in miniature, the loving the sheer Happiness of outpouring ...! 
But I ramble. I shall return. 
DAF came today. So abrupt he is. So demanding. He unbalances me. Zip, zip, zip! Like a hummingbird with no respect for anyone. 
Wants gossip. Wants information. 
Wants a job to toy with. I gavce him Gundoni. 
Good luck. 
It would be wonderful to show him. I want to show him. Show all of them! But the laughter stays within me, the marvellous murmurs of transcendant meaning, so clear to me, are silent elsewhere. They do ''not'' see! 
They cannot know, like I do. 
Humbling. 
''Friday, 26 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
''Sunday, 28 October 1928; Wisphers'' 
''Monday, 29 1928; London'' 
''Tuesday, 30 October 1928; At sea''