Wedensday, 21st of november, 1883
At the risk of seeming immodest, I must say that having my prediction about a secret tunnel system with entrances at the marked points of the maps confirmed, was quite a buzz. However, upon returning to our makeshift base, my compatriots rapidly descend into a rather tedious discussion about our options going forward. Whitcombe, true to form, insists on exploring ways to challenge the cabal we're hunting through the "appropriate channels". Thankfully, our resident actual lawman, Reggie, quickly disavows him of that notion. For a rozzer, he has an admirably cynical view of the limits of the law when it collides with power.
I must say my participation in the debate was rather sparse, except to suggest that the best cure for the lunacy our opponents are engaged in would be an acute case of lead poisoning delivered at great velocity at short range, preferably intercranially.
For my money, the way forward is rather obvious: We find the other entrances to the tunnels and explore them. It's not like a murderous cult would not have something very important hidden away in their secret underground tunnel system. Blissfully, the others agree to try it out.
We convene that evening to investigate the Holcomb engineering offices in Blackfriars, another spot marked on the maps. On the urging of major Whitcombe, we are all armed. For once, we are in total agreement.
The office seems deserted at this time of night, so we jimmy the lock (the actual jimmying being done by Thomas Beckett, so I suppose it was more of a tommying) and slip inside. While the others busy themselves trawling through stacks of paper, I get to work finding the tunnel entrance. Sure enough, hidden under a rug there's a trapdoor. Opening it, there's a ladder, much like the one in the warehouse, leading down into some sort of tunnel.
Reggie and the major, meanwhile, found some documents indicating that Holcomb has a clandestine mission to excavate some sort of service-tunnel, in connection to the current underground railway works. Apparently, they're on the hunt for some sort of magnetic rock or other. Riveting stuff.
So down the hatch we go. As expected, we emerge into another set of tunnels, obviously quite a bit older than the house above. This confirms that Holcomb (or their puppetmasters) have acquired the holdings at these locations precisely to gain access to the tunnels.
Whitcombe assesses that the tunnel is of Roman origin, and launches into a seemingly unending lecture on the impressive merits of Roman architecture. Did you know, for instance, that the romans revolutionized the use of concrete in building, and that this allowed them to construct buildings faster and stronger than any others of their time? Did you also know that this was due to a special mix of lime, stones and ash, and that this made their previous use of fired bricks more or less obsolete? Me neither, and I will presently endeavour to forget it. The important thing is that that places the origin of the tunnel to more than 1500 years ago. That's almost as old as the major!
Firing up our lanterns, we follow the tunnel for a short while, until we reach a fork of sorts. In one direction, the old roman tunnel moves on into the distance, possibly towards St. Barths. In the other direction, a decidedly newer set of excavations, barred with some planks. We conclude that this must be the "service tunnel", and promptly proceed to sneak past the flimsy barrier.
Immediately, we feel a strange thrum in the air, like an invisible pulse. I know that we all feel it, and not just me as an effect of slightly too much bubbly, because we all made the same sort of exclamations. The tunnel leads to a chamber with a hole in the floor, with another ladder. This one is deeper, maybe 12 yards or so, and ends in what seems like a mining site. There are cases of explosives, various digging tools, and some benches. On a table we find a log of sorts. The latest entries in the log state "resonance strongest at node 3", and "excavation halted until the Order approves further drilling". Ah yes, the Order. We are certainly on the right track here.
In the next room in the mining complex we find some bunks, and a chalkboard, where we can read:
"Node 1: stable
Node 2: unstable
Node 3: active
Node 4: sealed"
There are also mining carts and lots of debris. Undeterred, we press on, reaching an intersection. Two tunnels lead off to the side, marked "Node 1" and "Node 2". Down the corridor to Node 1, we soon reach a dead end, where there's a strange sort of metallic stone jutting out of the wall. It looks like the Holcombrians have been very careful when excavating around the stone, at least according to our resident geological expert, major Whitcombe. Well, even if it does look a bit odd-coloured, I reach out and touch it. Nothing. Just the feeling of a slightly cool, metallic stone. Bit of a let-down, really. But then I recall that this one was marked as "stable". Let's see what "unstable" means.
The corridor to Node 2 is just the same, a few yards, then a dead end, and once again a weird stone jutting out of the wall. This time Reggie decides to be the brave one, and lays his hand on the stone. Whereupon his eyes promptly roll back in his skull and he collapses to the floor. We quickly pull him away from the strange rock, and after a few moments, he comes to. Looking pale, he describes an intense feeling of being submerged, a sense of drowning in deep, deep waters. He says his mouth tastes like salt water. Very curious. What kind of hallucinogenic properties could a rock have?
It's at this point that the right honourable major starts regaling us about his book-shopping adventures. Apparently, he found a strange little bookshop, where the owner wanted to take him in the backroom for a sample of more exciting merchandise. While that sounds spicy and interesting, it doesn't really sound like Whitcombe's cup of tea. Anyway the man told him to sit down and touch his glass orb. When he did, he felt like someone was pushing on his brain. Whitcombe swears he suspects there is "more between heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy", to quote the Bard. Sounds more like abit of mumbo-jumbo to me, but who knows, it might be true?
Moving on, we find a new intersection. To our left is a new tunnel marked "Node 3", and to our right a partially collapsed tunnel boarded up and marked "Node 4". The strange, pulsing sensation is stronger here, so we decide to take precautions. A sturdy rope is tied around my midriff, and I boldly venture into the dark. Walking down the hallway, I feel like my heartbeat is joining in the pulse of the darkness. Honestly, it's sort of exciting. At the end of the hallway is another one of the strange stones. But this one is...alive. I can hear it whispering, I can feel the deep closing in around me, sense the creatures gathering around, old beyond knowing. It hungers, it sees. It knows.
I'm not sure how long I was in communication with the Deep, but the next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, gasping for breath. The others have, it seems, pulled me out by the rope around my waist. Probably for the best, all things considered. But what a rush! If they experienced this kind of stuff on a regular basis, maybe it's not so strange that Leslie, Lowther and others went completely around the bend. More fool them for keeping on doing it, though.
Our curiosity temporarily sated, we made our way back up to the Holcomb office, and slip back out into the night, locking the door behind us.
Thursday, 22nd of november, 1883
Some late-night drinks, a quick shag and some beauty-sleep later, we reconvene at the Higginses, where detective Reginald tells us he's received a package. Lorraine, Lowther's lady-friend, (an aside: SO many names starting with L in this mystery. It's a veritable Locust swarm of Ls!) sends her regards, writing:
"Mr Smythe-Higgins,
At my parents' place, it turns out Lowther had mailed his journal to them. I think you should peruse it in your investigations. I am fine, and feel safe here.
-Lorraine"
Enclosed was what appears to be an unabridged version of Lowther's journal. Basically more of his progressively unhinged ramblings about his joining the Order, and his descent into paranoid lunacy. Turns out he noticed that someone had been keeping tabs on him, breaking into his domicile and rearranging things. He also insists that if he disappears, we should blame "them":
"It is not coming.It is already here.
It waits in the spaces
where we agree not to look.
It grows
when we doubt ourselves.
If they tell you I was mad,
ask yourself why
they worked so carefully
to erase me.
Remember this:
They do not silence liars.
They silence witnesses."
Riveting stuff. He may have been bonkers, but I'm willing to bet a lot he was actually "silenced".
Anyway, we decide to investigate yet another Holcombrian nexus, an engineering office in Aldergate, probably site of another entrance to the tunnels, that evening. This office, being more of a mangerial sort, seems to have some sort of guard. At least there was a light shining somewhere inside.
Whitcombe is all gung-ho, wants us to break in and overpower the guard. Spledid idea, I say.
We outfit ourselves with masks and scarves to cover our faces, and Beckett once more is helpful fixing the lock. Slipping inside, we surprise a rather unimposing night-guard. He's quickly cowed into submission at the sight of our revolvers, and we tie, gag and blindfold the poor fellow, stuffing him in a utility closet. I give my best cockney impression, talking about robbing the place for valuables, so the guard will not think we were there on other business.
The papers in the office give no real new information, except to indicate that one of the engineers working there, one Reed Coulston, seems more "Involved", in the more occult projects than the others.
In the cellar, we find a safe, which I proceed to attack with some nearby tools, to make it seem like we tried to open it. We also find another trapdoor into the bowels of London.
Down the hatch Whitcombe once more finds joy in admiring the magnificent Roman walls. This time, however, there's a twist. His monocled eye spots a part of the wall that's not made from the exact same materials. Curiosity suitably peaked, we examine the wall closer, and I quickly spot a small handle hidden behind a false brick. Pulling it, part of the wall slides inward with a slight rumble, revealing a hidden passage! Inside, the corridor is quite different, apparent even for us plebeian non-architects. Whitcombe assures us that these tunnels are older even than the Roman passages, making them ancient indeed. As we proceed into the dark tunnel, we see markings along the walls, reminiscent of the designs littered all over Lowther's journal and Leslie's notes. I'm willing to wager they've been here.
Tha hallway proceeds inward and downward, seemingly in a spiral. Again, the unearthly vibrating pulse fills our heads, filling us with unease. The spiralling tunnel ends up in a room looking similar to the horrible laboratory Leslie had in his cellar lair. Two large slabs, like the one poor Higgins was tethered to, jars of the awful black substance, tubes and needles. Another chalkboard seems to document the experiments:
"Subject resultAge under 20: Immediate rejection
20-27: Accelerated aging
27+ Insanity
Phase 4: Catatonic stability"
Now I'm no scientist, but even to me, those results really do not speak of massive success. Unless the whole point of the endeavour is just to torture people. Which might actually be the case, insane as these fellows seem to be. The question is if there is some sort of method to the madness. All the equipment bears a familiar mark: Holcombe Industries.
A door in the far wall opened onto an even more hellish vista: A large room filled with a rank stench, like a mixture of an abbatoir and an animal pen. Six large steel cages lined the wall. Five of them were empty, except for strips of cloth and various filth and excrement. In the sixth: A monstrosity. It might once have been a man, but the skin was the coliour of pipe ash. "He" looks aged and wrinkled, but also extremely muscular, and horrible tumors and pustules cover him. Seeing us, it started shaking, whispering in a rasping, horrible voice.
"It moves below! I must feast!"
I'm of half a mind to just shoot the beast there and then, but the others convince me that it's better not to leave physical traces that we've penetrated the Holcombites' secrets. With nothing more to be gained by tarrying, we exit the premises, ascend the spiral and reenter the Roman tunnels.
We've now explored three out of the five points of the tunnel system star. The one we are most curious about is the one under St. Barth's, where earlier searches failed to unearth an entrance to the tunnels. So this time, we march through the tunnels in the direction of St. Barth's, seeking to find the entrance from below.
After an hour-long walk underground, via Roman tunnels and partially through more modern underground rail tunnels, we find a room, with some stairs leading upwards. I take the lead as usual, bounding up the stairs. At the top, a door. I push it open, and emerge into what looks like a cellar storage room. Various cluttered tables and benches and shelves with what looks like medical supplies seem to indicate we've found the hospital. As I enter, though, a burly man in an orderly's uniform spots me. A guard! He hoists a large cudgel in his right ham of a fist and charges straight at me.
Naturally, I deftly sidestep the galloping brute, at which point he proceeds to fly down the stairs. Now, commonly, it's seen as proper and prudent to advance down stairs feet first, but my assailant apparently decided to try a different method: Face first. The result is akin to hurling a melon off a cliff down onto a rocky ground: His bulbous, round head cracks open like an eggshell, showering my compatriots' boots with sticky red juice. Problem solved, I guess. For us, that is.
While wiping sone stains off his wellies, Whitcombe again spots parts of the wall which is different. Presto, another secret doorway! We leave the carcass of the guard behind, and proceed inside. This cavern os very similar to the one below the engineering offices. Old as methusaleh, and riddled with mystical scribbling on the walls. Again, the spiral. Again, the strange, pulsing feeling.
As we creep our way down, we hear distant voices. I scout ahead. Around a bend, I spot two figures. They're dressed in suits, but with strange cloth masks reminiscent of the one we found Looney Leslie wearing, and with shotguns in their hands. Guards, presumably. They seem to be discussing how boring it is to be standing watch, and how much they long to be "elevated". One of them says he wants to go down, but the other one says "but what about the celestial being?" To which the first one replies that the masks they're wearing should keep them safe.
I stealthily make my way back to the others, and we hold a hushed discussion about how to proceed. Should we kill them? Take them prisoner? Try to bluff our way? Invite them to tea? Thankfully, we agree that force is the only way, so I charge forward, yelling at them to lay down their arms.
They're suitably surprised to see us, but happily they choose not to surrender, so my revolver gets to speak for me. One of the goons goes down immediately. My compatriots come charging diown the hall, and proceed to let loose a veritable hail of bullets, much to the chagrin of the old murals on the walls, and to little grief for the remaining guard. Thankfully, his aim is as bad as my friends, shotgun pellets peppering the wall behind me. Two bullets from my Webley puts an end to the short dispute, and silence once more settles on the hallways. Except for some low gurgling as the goons expire.
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