by Avell Kro
Caldwell Rose -Cash Acct
412 PILTON ROAD ALIAS BERTHA HELSTROM LEAVING LONDON BY SHIP SUNDAY
CHECK YOUR POCKET WATCH I WILL BE THERE AT 10 PM SATURDAY
Dol y looked up at Helmsley and motioned his eyes toward the baronet making a face. “Sir Lester I
think it is time you retire,” said the butler.
“No no. Helmsley, Williamson and I are just going to have another drink.”
Dol y stood up to excuse himself “As much as I would love to take you up on your invitation I think I
will catch the car with Mr. Strathmore and get to the station early. I have pressing business in
London.”
Saturday the 25th of June
7:00 PM The Lodge
The Lodge was a nondescript somewhat run down building in Surry Hill. The steam carriage idled
to a stop delivering Guild Master Gerrard and two Silver Seers in front of the townhouse. The
Necronists stepped out and walked up to the steps with energetic strides.
Poised on the stoop, Gerrard took in a deep breath. Reaching into his left sleeve he pulled out his
malla beads, to help him focus his energy and to center his formidable power. So formidable that all
he needed was to think about the incantation and the works began. He scryed the building and
with his mind’s eye saw the defenses the lodge had erected to protect against forces from the
outside and to contain spirits within.
Before he had a chance to knock, the door opened. Not a word was spoken as the three men
entered. It was dark inside the flat not yet fitted for gas light, only candles were used for
illumination giving a hazy yellow - orange glow where light was cast. In the foyer, they were
greeted by Madame Helen Blatavsky, an Eastern European psychic. She had settled in London after
traveling the world to augment her powers. Now a trusted advisor to society ladies who dabbled in
metaphysics, not looking to understand the true nature of the multiverse but to divine who their
daughter might marry or if they might live to a certain age. Saint-Yves detested this use of the
warp and woof of the universe and considered it a perversion.
“Welcome to the Lodge Guild Master Saint-Yves,” purred the woman with a Russian accent. She
was dressed in a modest black gown as if mourning the loss of a loved one. “Follow me” she
continued.
The gentlemen followed Madame Helen down a rickety wooden stairwell into the cellar. It was
poorly lit making it difficult to see the full size of the cel ar, the dampness and mildew
overpowered the senses. At the foot of the steps they discovered an ornate candelabra set on top
of a round table and chairs, set inside a sunken pool roughly dug into the cellar floor and lined with
a tarp to hold water. It was an unsavory arrangement, the table was submerged in six inches of
water, and as their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, another object was present, a large
circle of silver chain laying on the table. Two men waited in the basement, appearing out of the
shadows when the Necronists came into the candle light. Gerrard grimaced how pathetic the
accommodations were, he would have to work with what he was given.
Blatavsky introduced her compatriots. “Guild Master Saint Yves, this is Lord Oswald the Grand
Mason of the Lodge.” “A pleasure to meet you sir,” said Saint-Yves. “Likewise,” said Oswald. Lord
Oswald was thought of as a crackpot in high society, but Gerrard knew he was a man of talent and
natural ability. He had been invited to join the Guild but Oswald was not prepared to give up his
title and property as part of his fealty and devotion to the art and science of metaphysics. “and this
is Crosby Welch,” stated the woman as she continued to introduce the party. “It is an honor to meet
you Guild Master,” replied Crosby. “The honor is mine Mr. Welch,” Gerrard had no idea who Crosby was. He was likely a high ranking and talented Lodge member but of no consequence to the
spiritual sciences.
“Let me just say how honored we are to have you and while our terrestrial abode may be lacking
style and substance, I am certain you will be impressed with our meeting hall,” promised Lord
Oswald.
“Shall we begin?” queried Madame Blatavsky.
Each of the attendees took off their shoes and stockings then stepped into the pool. Stepping into
the pool all the attendees took a seat around the table keeping their feet immersed in the water.
The séance members grasped the silver chain in each hand to complete a circle of enchantment
and began reciting the incantation. Gerrard closed his eyes and wriggled his toes in the ankle high
fluid. He could feel the electrolytes and tinctures in the water that would assist the group in
conducting their spirits via astral projection to the locus amulet submerged in the pool. A slight
smile crossed his face, enjoying the indulging benefits of the soothing foot bath for his tired feet.
He then put his full attention to the incantation and let go of the terrestrial plane.
When he opened his mind’s eye the group had projected to an Aetheris Sanctuarii, a trans-
dimensional sanctuary constructed by the Lodge for clandestine meetings. In contrast to the
wretched townhouse in London, the Lodge members had conjured a fantastic spacious crystal
dome with a white marble floor. It rivaled Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace in Sydenham Hill not in
size but in complexity and beauty. Gerrard was impressed with the faction’s ability to project and
sustain the construct in his mind. The crystal panes were fitted into a giant wrought iron frame
allowing those inside to look out into the astral plane where they had anchored the sanctuary, a
floating aether observatory.
“Welcome. We can all speak freely here,” encouraged Madame Blatavsky.
Gerrard walked across the space to observe its construction as well as to show the Lodge members
of his ability to move freely in his astral form. He peered out the crystal dome and saw the infinite
expanse of the multiverse and the ever-changing nexus of the energy channels. It was like turning
over a tapestry to see the warp and weave of its construction, you could still make out the coarse
image of reality on the other side and you could clearly see how reality was woven together. It was
wonderful and humbling to view. “This is an impressive construct,” commented Gerrard. “I have
asked for your help Lord Oswald, to locate and capture a practitioner of Metaphysics who is
engaging in unsanctioned dark arts.”
“A Haitian Witch,” said Seer Moreau. Gerrard looked at him with a dismissive look. Gerrard hated
overt zealotry and he couldn’t hold the kind of animosity towards Angelica that Moreau did, his
heart held admiration, respect and love for the woman. He thought, don’t be overconfident
brother.
“My Guild’s strength in London is limited, we seek powerful allies to help protect civilization and
extend knowledge beyond the mortal realm. It is obvious from this construct that our choice in the
Lodge was a wise one.” Gerrard thought about what he had learned from the Detective. Angelica was now strong enough to strip souls, she had done it twice in London. She either had an
entourage to help her or she had surpassed her master and could perform Pwen Hanaan as a solo
practitioner, either way his group would be punching out of their spiritual weight class.
Furthermore, she could maintain a controlling psychic connection for
some distance and force the
subjects to cross strong moral barriers. suggesting his group would be outclassed. Gerrard knew
he must devise and implement a strategic plan.
“I will leave Seer Moreau with you to scrye the location of Angelica du Haiti. Seer Thomas and one
of your Lodge members will assist me in confronting Angelica. Once the scrying team deduces the
location the Seer will project it to me. Only then will we act,” implored Gerrard.
The Guild Master’s plan was to split the group, with the stationary séance concentrating on
divining the whereabouts of the enchantress. The second group would be mobile, and the
Necronists would connect telepathically across the aether guiding them to the location.
Being physically closer to Angelica would leave her little time to escape from Gerrard, if she
detected the psychic search. The mobile group would be less noticeable to Angelica’s psychic
detection as they would be passively connected to the group that was actively seeking her location.
The group understood the plan without speaking further as they all became mentally linked and
the eldritch bonds of the séance strengthened.
The cluster uttered the incantation, “Inde Aethere nunc revertetur ad terram santuary” The
invocation returned the members to Earth and their places around the table. Gerrard, Thomas and
Lord Oswald each took two silver necklaces, wrapping one around the binding chain on the table
and then placing an identical necklace around their own necks. The next step to binding the
séance table to the hunting party would require the hunters to submerge an alabaster vial in the
pool at their feet. Once full of water and the lids secured, the small vials were then attached to the
silver chain around their necks.
Lord Oswald was the first to step from the pool after returning to the terrestrial plane. Guild
Master Saint-Yves followed, and then finally Seer Thomas. The Trio dried their feet, donned
footwear and ascended upstairs out onto the street. The three ran to the waiting steam carriage as
a torrential downpour had just begun.
* * *
9:30 PM Silkwood and Company
Jimmy stood alone in the recessed door way of one of the shops. He breathed deeply to take in the
scent of fresh rain. There was a short time after a good downpour in London that cleansed the air
and freshened the city. He watched the rooftop horizon looking for one of his Triad brethren as he
made his way to the furnace exhaust for that building. The furnace was churning so hard he could
pick it out from the street by its large plume and the size of the pipe in comparison to the smaller
heating chimneys hooked to coal stoves of homes and offices in the housing block.
On Thursday Jimmy sent a triad affiliate, a regular at Silkwood and Company to retrieve prices to recut stones from Simon. The real purpose was to confirm that they were working the smelter
flat strap. As a bonus his scout spied several packing crates from Venice lined up along the back of
the cramped shop, validating that this was the gold he was looking for.
Jimmy observed the silhouette of his man against the moonlight as he knocked the cap off the
exhaust pipe then stuffed a wooden plug into the pipe, giving it a good wallop with a mallet. As his
man eased his way down Jimmy looked at his pocket watch. Now he just needed to wait.
There was only one way in or out of that shop through a large iron and oak door.
* * *
9:40 PM The Streets of London
In the back of the steam carriage Gerrard Saint-Yves sat in silent meditation. His back to the driver
and the passenger partition open to allow the driver to hear the directions recited by the Guild
Master. Oswald and Thomas contemplated in solitude, encouraging Gerrard to concentrate. Each
held awe of his ability to maintain a spiritual connection to the séance at such a distance and in a
moving vehicle. Both had lost the connection miles ago.
Yet in his mind’s eye The Guild Master and those at the séance were detached spirits floating over
the city of London looking down for hot spots of arcane power. Seer Moreau and Saint-Yves hovered
while Blatavsky and Welsh swooped over the city in astral form searching for sites of intense
arcane energy. Moreau acted as conduit to Gerrard feeding him the collective’s results as it taxed
both of their capacity to hold true the link.
Gerard watched as the astral forms flitted across the skyline invisible to the human eye. When a
street or building looked promising Madame Blatavsky or Crosby Welsh would swoop down to
inspect the location further. It was Crosby who spotted the house first and began to move toward
it as he closed in. Gerard spoke, “Go across the river. Make haste.”
The entire astral network sensed he had found a powerful locus of arcana. Madame Blatavsky
stopped searching and altered her path towards the location Crosby continued to investigate
having reformed his spectral essence in the middle of the street just as a horse drawn handy
passed, the horse brayed as it passed through his spirit form.
Gerrard pleaded get me the address his thoughts passed through the network to Crosby. He looked
for landmarks and signs. Pilton Street the four hundred block trickled back through the aether
bouncing up and down the spiritual network.
Crosby’s projection looked down the street and saw a woman with short black hair in a long grey
and red coat observing the same address. As he began to move toward the dwelling his ethereal
form confidently marched closer to see who was the resident.
Gerrard snapped out of his trance eyes wide open with a gasp as if he had nearly suffocated.
“Driver get to 412 Pilton Road as fast as you can.”
* * *
9:50 PM Silkwood and Company
The steam lorry was stoked and ready to engage. Parked facing away from the shop perpendicular
to the street Silkwood was located on. Jimmy approached the truck pushing aside the canvas
curtain covering the back end and jumped in together with the three other men He quickly looked
back between the canvas storage cover to confirm his man from the roof snuffed the gas lamps on
the street to darken both roads.
They all waited for the Silkwood door to open. Still nothing. "What are these guys, fish, don't they
need air?" said Rooftop in Mandarin.
"Aww, fuck me dead,” said Jimmy.
Rooftop and the others tried to push. “Get back you cow cuds, it’s a fucking copper,” he whispered.
A single officer, was strolling his beat. He walked leisurely down the cobble stone avenue peering
in shop windows. All the jewelers cleared inventory from the windows into strong boxes overnight
so there was nothing to see. He looked closely to observe movement, like people in the shops that
shouldn’t be.
Jimmy turned to his crew. “If the copper gets in the way don't kill him, put a bag over his head and
kick him in the pollywogs so he stays down.”
They all nodded.
The Bobbie stopped and noticed that a street lamp was out near the shop. Glancing up, he pul ed
out his notebook and began to write down that lamp number noting it’s non-working condition.
Just then the door to the Silkwood's burst open by two men assisting an unconscious man out of
the building.
* * *
9:55 PM Pilton Road
Rose stood at the street corner and gaze
d at the townhouse two doors up the street. The street
lights reflected in the puddles and sheen left on the streets from the recent storm. She doned
scrying goggles and adjusted the lenses to check for wards. Rather than seeing the glyphs or
symbols of both western and Egyptian omens illuminated, she observed streaks and glimmers
around the house.
At that moment, an astral form caught her eye standing in the street just where a carriage had
passed. It was the shape of a middle-aged man, he looked English striding towards the home. Rose
was impressed to see such a strong image. She had projected many times but only to other planes,
momentarily and with extensive support from arcane instruments and objects. She changed her
lenses and adjusted the resolution. The streaks around the house became spirit shades and
apparitions of the dead, and the glimmers were dozens of flickering points of the aether breaching
into the mortal realm. Angelica’s defenses were pure, raw and unbreakable.
When the Englishman’s apparition passed through the garden gate the arcane defenses solidified.
The entire front garden was filled with apparitions of those that had died at or near the location,
men, women, children of all ages in various states of decay. The randomly moving spirits coalesced
to block the Englishman’s path into the flat. An ancient Briton warrior grasping a spear and
thatched shield stood resolutely in his way.
It was a surprise the gentlemen when he tried to pass through the other apparitions but was
blocked just as if he had walked into a material object. He tried to push through a second-time,
but the Briton warrior, showing a grin of rotting teeth gave the Englishman the ful brunt of his
weight when he slammed into him with his shield. The English spiritualist fell to the ground. For
Rose, it was like watching one of those new moving stereoscope pictures silently flickering images
playing out a tragic scene. She could do nothing more than stand by as the spirit guard of Angelica
tore the astral projection to pieces. While all Rose could hear was the summer breeze rustling
down the lane what she observed on the man’s face was terror and anguish. Looking back to the
street she saw a second astral projection. Rose recognized the woman who floated just above the