The Higgsbury Memorial Museum

[MWBailey]

"Ah..." Mordavo began as they walked along the corridors and down one flight of stairs. He wasn't quite sure how to broach the topic, but past experience with people who tend to spin the world around them ha dtaught him to take care of such things as soon as possible (he remembered a certain visiting baronet to the Count's library, whose very presence startled all of the grimoires containing references to Melchizedec The Younger into rising up in midair and fluttering their covers and pages like so many skittish pulpy pigeons), so he plunged ahead for better or worse. "Er, Miss Gwin? I mean not to be insultink or to pry, but it seems to me zhat zhe distortion off, how to say, zhe sense off direction, or the swirl of confusion, seems to be following us. It did not follow me to vhere you vere, so, that begs a question..." he trailed off in a manner that suggested she might have some idea what he was hinting at; he did not want to sound accusing, however, and hoped he did not sound thus.

[Stella Gaslight]

Oh bother she could not really lie to someone who could sniff out magic but how to phrase the story of old drunken William in a way that was fit for polite company.  "Well you see my family ran afoul of some very powerful beings about 5 generations ago and their retribution is still hanging about causing problems.  Like bewitching our senses of direction until we spend most of the time wandering about looking for the room we just left.  This is bothersome but not dangerous on its own.   It is normally localized to me but I think it is acting a bit skittish at the moment what with the new environs and all.  I have a few things that help that like mirror walking and setting a landmark and steering by that much like one would when navigating the sea." 

[Fairley B. Strange]

"Oh yes, Miss, getting your bearings at sea can be awfully difficult. But fixing upon a bright star and steering towards it rather than being tossed about by every little wave can often be the trick."
Lowe had appeared from one of the darkened side corridors, navigating deftly around a loosely stacked pile of medieval bludgeoning weapons and a large wooden barrel of unknown contents.
"Miss Emily - and the Study - are down this way..."
Lowe headed through the Main Hall, bending at seemingly impossible poses to worm his way between the piles of unsorted potential exhibits. He didn't look back. It was simply assumed that they would follow, and so they did, stepping over odd artifacts and trying to follow the oddly-jointed movements necessary to traverse the hall's myriad of obstacles.
He continued speaking without turning.
"Cook will have luncheon prepared in about an hour, so while there isn't much chance of getting any work started before then, hopefully the young Miss can direct you where she wishes to commence, and how the work here will proceed... And here we are, the Study."
As per his habit, he knocked lightly and held the door open for the guests to enter therein.

[Stormcat]

Upon reading the letter and placing it in her desk drawer, Emily waited a few minutes to be formally introduced to Gwin. But after nearly half an hour, neither she nor Lowe seemed to be anywhere nearby.

Emily figured that she was now completely alone, and pulled out the Codex to work on translation. She had merely pulled the book up out of another drawer, but it seemed to be whispering. Emily held the book up to her ear, and the source of the mysterious whispering was indeed coming from the Codex. She still could not make out what it was trying to say. She cracked the cover, and the whispering got a little bit louder and a little clearer. Upon fully opening the book, Emily could finally understand what was being said. A soft, masculine voice was reciting a poem:

Poor Emmy is a-weeping,
A-weeping, a-weeping,
Poor Emmy is a-weeping
On a bright summer's day.
Why are you weeping,
Weeping, weeping,
Why are you weeping,
On a bright summer's day?

Emily froze. Whatever entity was in the book, it knew her name. Upon completion of the poem, the book fell silent once again.

[Stella Gaslight]

She had probably squandered her chance at a good first impression but nevertheless Gwin had her family's reputation to cultivate so she pushed the door open and came in with a smile.  "Good morning I am Gwendolyn Suthers and I believe you were expecting me."

[MWBailey]

"Begging milady's pardon, I and Mr. Quincy are here as well, " Mordavo said, as he followed the young woman into the room. He glanced around the room. Since he was still in mid-change form, Mordavo could tell where his chalked circle had been, although the white pigment had been cleaned away; there was still a whiff of blood and magic in the carpet, however. Such things are were not so easily cleaned (a circle of protection sealed with blood being a magical construct, after all, albeit not terribly powerful in and of itself without the appropriate sigils) or aired away overnight.

He loosened the howdah pistol in his inner coat pocket, but left it where it was; the nearly grapeshot-sized balls in the over/under barrels could do horrific damage to property and people, and Mordavo was of the final generation of the muzzle-loading soldier, though he was beyond the days when close-order volleying ruled his mind - he would not draw unless he had something to shoot at, and not fire unless he were sure of hitting the target with a telling blow. Of course, if the thing of the previous evening made another appearance, he mused to himself, perhaps the silver-chased stilletto would be of more use, judging from the lack of effect that Quincy's bullets had had.

[Stormcat]

Emily snapped back to life. "Oh! Yes! I've been expecting all of you!" Before anyone had a chance to spy the codex lying open on her desk, Emily grabbed a folder full of papers and tossed them out over the desk.

"Now, I'm still going over my grandfather's papers. There appears to be a slight method to the madness of all the trinkets lying around, as he tried to group them by a theme. The Dining room, for instance, is dedicated to tableware and fine linens. In the second-best bedroom, we have a collection of African and far-east artifacts, and the library houses tomes from all over the world. Unfortunately, there is simply not enough space in this house to have every single artifact on display in the open. Lady Suthers contacted me saying that she would be willing to house some of the artifacts we have here, But I need help determining which ones to send to her. Would any of you happen to have suggestions as to how to start cataloging the contents of this house?"

[MWBailey]

Mordavo cleared his throat. "Zhe Count's Library vas already largely catalogued when I took over the job, but such a thing is ever an ongoing process, as collections tend to invite even more things collected." He took up a folder, and started looking through it. "Although it might seem haphazard, moving everything according to their type into one or more rooms per type is actually a good way to get started. Seeink vhat iss here in zhis folder, it seems someone is or was already on their way to that end. The drawing up of sheetverkens ...your pardon, work-sheets... for the proper inventory and schedules of categories of items would be a good idea as well, and ought to be done as soon as practicable, for fact finding and recording, if no other reason. A statement delineatink the Museum's purpose seems to be the norm as vell..." he paused. "Er, in my opinion, zhat iss."

[Stella Gaslight]

"Perhaps we should connect the items not entirely by type but also by story.  From what my Grandmother has told me Lord Higgsbury was a fascinating man so perhaps the groupings of items should not only be enlightening as to where they came from and what they are but also as to the life of the first curator of the collection."  There were portrait halls like that at home both to teach the younger generation about the past but also to help the older generation deal with the eroding of memories that was some how linked to the curse.  Fear of that becoming her fate was one of the reasons she took her grandmother up on the chance to leave the ancestral home to look for a cure.  Most of her relatives may have given up on ever living a normal life but Gwin had not and she studied anything she could get her hands on to forward that agenda.

[Stormcat]

"I think Mordavo's method would be best for now. We need only highlight the personal importance of certain artifacts when necessary, we can't write a history for every single trinket and bauble he picked up along the way, I think my grandfather actually forgot about most of these items when he was away from the hall." Emily scooped up everything on her desk, including the Codex. "But there were quite a few items that were very personal to him, such as the great-great-grandfather clock, or the old blunderbuss he called 'Sir Chauncey'. Perhaps we can dedicate one room in this hall to his personal life and legacy."

She shoved the contents of the desk into an open drawer and did her best to close it. "Since my training at Madame Dewey's Academy did center around the cataloging of books, I think the Library is a good place to start." When the present company retreated, Emily re-opened the drawer and set about re-arranging the papers she had scattered.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe stood behind the little group as collectively they surveyed the cluttered piles of artifacts and crates that were once the Great Hall.
"So there you are, Lady and Gents... I don't know whether you all want start at this end and head towards the Ballroom, or take a corner each and meet in the middle. Or you can start with some of the smaller rooms first, but it will be harder to clear the empty crates out past all this. Whatever you chose, there are a few small trolleys you can use to move smaller things, there are tools to open and disassemble the bigger crates, and for the heavy  items there are myself and the two Gardeners - Young Bob Jones and Old Bob Jones who can help out with the lifting... Oh, no relation - well, insofar as I'm sure the whole benighted village probably shares the same three ancestors and number of teeth each - just a lack of imagination on  behalf of their parents..."

A gong chimed in the distance.

"But that will be Luncheon. The Dining Room is back through that way. Try not to get lost, it's not often Cook has a new audience, so she'll have pulled out all the stops. In the meantime, I shall set up some folding tables from the old expedition stores in this clear spot here to accomodate any sorting, stacking, or note-taking you might need to do."

He strode off into the darkness of a corridor, leaving the guests to make their way towards the echoes of the unseen gong.

[Stella Gaslight]

Well at least this didnt look as bad as uncle Ander's barn, they could still see the floor after all.  Once the grand catalogue was made Qwin could see the need for shelves and tables being huge.  She wondered if at least part of the reason for the mess was the lack of shelves.  It was obvious the collection grew quicker than the house.  Gwin had always been fascinated by what people left behind in their wake.  It was great grandfather Henry's folklore collection that had spurned her on in her studies after all.  Makeing note of a few things on her little ivory slab she turned to the two gentlemen.  "Shall we see what surprises lie instore?"

[MWBailey]

Mordavo withdrew his own notepad and graphite stump, and began making tally sheets. "Then let us begin! Perhaps viss zhe late Master's belongings?"

[Stormcat]

Emily bustled into the library. "Ah, yes, sorry. Had something to attend to." She adjusted her dress and took a breath. "Now then, After lunch, we can go shelf by shelf arranging the books. I've already checked the desk and other drawers for personal items of my Grandfather's, but I haven't found any. The system I learned at Madame Dewey's is based on topic if the book is nonfiction, but author name if the book is fiction. This library was never properly organized, so everything on the shelves have been jumbled together. Come, let us indulge in a light lunch before we set about any heavy work."

[MWBailey]

"Da, You are an excellent commander, Milady, und I am famished," Mordavo answered. He lifted his snout and sniffed the air. "Zhat smells good, nie? Shall we indulge, my friends?" He suddenly realized he was still in midform, and sniffed the air again, catching a slight wolflike odor; the coyote had not swum or been bathed in over a fortnight, and had slept rough in fields and haystacks more often than not in Mordavo's trek across a summertime Europe. He apologized. "I shall change back; the food should taste much better vissout the smell of coyote, yes?"

[Fairley B. Strange]

As the senior man downstairs, Lowe sat at the head of the kitchen table as Cook presented her pie with a triumphant flourish of the dishcloth she had used to carry the hot dish from the oven.

"Ho, Mrs Babley, you've made a thing of beauty there! Well, Bob? And you young Bob? Have you ever set eyes on such a pie? It's a good omen, perhaps. A full table for luncheon upstairs, and hopefully some sorting out of all His Lordship's stuff. And down here, even the trimmings give us such a bounty. No no, Mrs B., quit your fussing and take a seat. Them upstairs are serving themselves, and we'll do the same, eh lads..?"

He took up the big knife and began to quarter the flaky crust, distributing the benefit to the three plates held out before sliding the last quarter onto his own.

Thee was no more conversation after that beside gutteral nods for extra vegetables, or a headshake and an 'eh' that translated to 'kindly pass the salt', until - the pie, mash and veggies now disappeared down to the last flakes - the table was encircled by a chorus of approving lipsmackings and groans of satiety.

"Aaah, Mrs B. A very fine pie. Anyways, after lunch the Young Miss' new helpers should be starting off. Bobs, I might need to call you in to move some of the heavier bits, in the meantime while you're doing whatever it is with the wisteria, keep an eye out for that Flying-machine up on the roof, make sure it doesn't blow away... Right, I'll go see how they're getting on. I'll send down the remnants in the trolley-hoist, Mrs B."

He pushed away from the table and headed back upstairs.

[MWBailey]

'Davo carved a leg away from a roasted chicken, and added a slice of what appeared to be a yeoman's pudding. He set to with a will judiciously applying knoife and fork, and occasionally taking sips of water from a pewter cup. "My compliments to the cook," he said, during a short pause in in partaking.

[Stormcat]

Once lunch had concluded, the plates and cutlery were loaded onto Bertie, and he made a speedy exit down towards the kitchen.

Emily reiterated her plan for the library. "The books are to be arranged by Madame Dewey's method. However, if you come across any of my grandfather's personal correspondence, any book which appears to be related in some way to the supernatural, or is written in a language you do not recognize, please surrender it to me immediately. I have my own personal filing system for these items." Without further elaboration, the party returned to the library.

White gloves were distributed among the staff, so as not to damage any of the books. They started with the stacks on the floor and tabletops. Every book was carefully checked for any bits of paper or anything that may have become wedged between the pages before being recorded and categorized. For the first hour or so, the only detritus found between pages were three leaves and a scrap of paper simply labeled "Milk".

[MWBailey]

There was a strange scent in the room; Mordavo's nose in his human form would not have recognized magic unless it were horrifically powerful, so he didn't interpret it that way. It  (whatever "it" was) did have the rain-is-coming smell that tends to accumulate in roomfuls of esoteric tomes; that musty, ozone-like smell, like that surrounding a leyden jar that keeps sparking incessantly, or that pervades the wind when a rainstorm is close by. That smellwas detectable by human olfactory nerves, but only just, in most cases. The difference here was that the stack, (or perhaps, "organized pile") of books that Mordavo had just started checking after finishing approximately twelve others, seemed to reek of it. He began to sniff each tome as he also searched them for bits of paper and other errata.  A mistake, it seemed, since the dust quickly got the better of his human form's nose, and he sneezed several times in quick succession. "KRARCH!" he swore, and changed abruptly back to midform, strifling a groan as he did so. "Your pardon, I shouldt haff remembered earlier," he said, by way of explanation, and soon held in his hand a red leather bound volume that to his coyote's nose fairly reeked of magic - the dark sort. "I Think zis iss vone off your zupernatural artifacts, Young Miss," he said, laying the book on the table before Emily. "I'd be carevul, it fairly stinks of dark magic."

[Stormcat]

Emily gingerly took the book and carefully examined it. It was completely blank. There were no bits of paper between the pages, and when held to the light, it didn't reveal invisible ink. The cover itself bore no identifiable markings.

"Mordavo, Are you sure you smelled something suspicious in this book?" The Lycanthrope confirmed this. "Strange, I'll keep this one for examination later." Yet mere seconds later, another book from the same stack was determined to be embedded with dark magic. Then three more, and when all the 'tainted' books had been compiled, thirty-five volumes tested positive for supernatural contamination.

"I'll keep these in my study, what magician in his right mind would enchant a tax ledger? These might have been contaminated by another source entirely. No, no. Just continue with the organization as planned." The cursed tomes were loaded onto Bertie for ease of transport and Emily once again barricaded herself in the study.

The sheer randomness of titles baffled Emily. Even when her Grandfather was building his collection, he did his best to keep things tidy. Other than the apparent Aura of dark magic, none of these books seemed to have any supernatural advantage at all. Emily set down the book she was examining to find the next title was very close to her heart. Little Quincy's Adventures on the Island of Mu. A picaresque tale of a boy who is lost at sea only to discover a lost continent, One of Emily's favorite childhood books. She mused on it for a moment.

A darkness seemed to fill the room. "You used to love this one." cooed a man's voice from an unseen source. Emily froze. Even the stays of her corset seemed more flexible than Lady Higgsbury. "One of a series, a little something to occupy your thoughts when the other girls at school were too busy fussing about their hair or their dresses. You were never so shallow to stoop to their level." A shadowy hand began to gently stroke Emily's cheek.

Finally mustering an ounce of courage, Emily pleaded with the shadows. "...please..." She still dared not move from her chair. She sensed a body pass close behind her, but she knew if she turned to look, there would be no one there.

"I have no intentions of harming you dear, you are far too precious to me for that." The shadowy hand stopped stroking Emily's cheek and held her head firm. "Hush."

[Stella Gaslight]

Gwin was quiet during lunch focusing on the perfect table manors grandmother had drilled in to her and trying very hard to imprint this new house in her memory.  She was trying not to make too many waves this was her first job outside of her family and grandmother had put the fear of god in her about fitting in.  It was a problem that could creep up when the most of the people you saw on a daily basis were family and were generally lax when it came to decorum.  Gwin pushed herself in to her work and was studying a small tome that shifted and shimmered like it was made of molten sliver in front of her eyes. Gwin turned to get the opinions of the others and noticed the darkness in the room.  "Lady Emily is this alright?"  Mentally she was running through all the protective sigals one could put in place quickly with no preparation.  Really if she would have thought things through there would be charm bags for everyone.  Well it wasn't too long until the next full moon and she could double her herb stock from what she saw in the woods on her way to the house.

[MWBailey]

Mordavo felt the darkening of the room more than he saw or smelt it. he glanced around and saw what Gwin held in her hand.  Actuing quickly, he fairly leaped across the room and drew out his chalk stump and drew a circle around the young woman, then another around himself such that the edges of the two circles touched one another. He drew the stiletto from his boot, and cut the two circles where they intersected. "Please to drop the book and step through zis gate, Miss Gwin," he said, his voice burring around the sharp teeth in his snout. "A runic circle would be best, but we haff no time for zuch at zhe moment. Please to hurry, it might be simply a light dispersal cantrip, or it might be zomtink dire, da?" He held the stiletto ready to  nick his finger for a drop of blood to seal the gate, once the girl was across.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe rolled the tea-trolley into the room. As both his hands were occupied, he had neglected his customary soft knock upon the door-frame.

Seeing the tall shaggy creature holding out a stiletto in front of the young Miss, the trolley was instantly forgotten as his own knife slid noiselessly from the small of his back and raised in an arc above his shoulder, the point of aim of its heavy double-edged blade between the shoulder-blades of the creature, ready to cleave through the ribs to skewer its presumed heart.

But then, he noticed she was moving towards the creature, glancing down - so Lowe's gaze followed hers and he also saw the chalk circles upon the floor - and his throw halted in mid-swing.
Perhaps she was going to contain this wild creature within a chalk circle, or banish it with what was presumably an eldritch tome that she held shaking in her grasp. For the moment he would stay his throw and allow her to try.

With his senses heightened by the situation, around him he could hear the soft sussuration of the massed books rising into more like the crashing of waves. He'd never trusted the Library - moreso than the rest of the Hall, the piles of books seemed to somehow rearrange themselves afresh each day.

Then he noted the distinctive pants and boots - the European chap - either this creature had killed him and stolen his apparel, or more likely Lowe realised this was he. The books must have done some foul magick to the erstwhile cataloguer, and now the young Miss was attempting to revert him from this curse... Still, making no sound that might distract her from her quest or alert the monster, he kept his knife ready least she fail and need to be rescued.

[Stella Gaslight]

This was not good her ears were filled with the sound of tinkling silver bells and she was at a disadvantag.  This was fae magic and it was trying to put hooks in her.  Like she needed more magical complications. Where were those little gummed labels with general.protective sigals?  There was no time the silver was rubbing off on her fingers.  Gwin spoke very calmly never taking her eyes off the book.  "When I place this down it is going to be unhappy and I am not sure what it will do.  Don't take your eyes off of it."  The book was now as sticky as honey but she was able to throw it down with all her might and leap in to the other portal. There was a bright flash of silver light and suddenly there was a white fox where the book had been.  "I don't think leaving the circle is a sound idea at the moment."  Gwin said holding up her slighty sliver fingers.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe briefly lost sight of the room as it filled with the silver flash of light, his eyes more accustomed to the gloom in these rooms.
Recovering, he tried to watch both circles - in one the young lady was now crammed uncomfortably close to the hairy version of her colleague whom Lowe still found disturbing, in the other the smaller creature ran in in agitated circles snapping and hissing at its unseen constraints.

Lowering his knfe from the overhand throw to be held in front of him, Lowe approached both circles warily.

"Are you alright, Miss? And whatever has happened to this poor chap - can you fix him...?"