Dramatis Personae
(in order of appearance)
Professor Emundr RAGNARSSON, Oxford professor of archaeology. Male, late 50s, Icelandic accent.
Professor Josef DIETRICH, Ragnarsson’s colleague. Male, mid 40s, German accent.
Frederick MATTHEWS, anxious hotel owner. Male, late 40s, London accent.
Eloise “ELLIE” Westmont, lady detective. Female, mid 20s, posh English accent.
KURT Cross, American expatriate actor and private detective. Male, early 30s, New York accent.
William “WILL” Grey, bartender and owner of the Cross and Coin. Male, late 20s, London accent.
NIGEL Blackthorne, gentleman occultist. Male, early 30s, posh British accent.
Eli ROSENFELD and James BIRCH, local students and involuntary debate participants. Both male, early 20s, London accents.
Constable ANTONY St. John, London beat cop. Male, early 30s, London (specifically Estuary) accent.
Inspector ISKANDAR Meshkia, detective for the Metropolitan Police. Male, late 30s, strong Turkish accent.
EMILIA Niyazova, Iskandar’s personal assistant. Female, early 20s, slight Russian (actually Kazakh) accent.
Chief Superintendent Winston PEMBROKE, Sr., Superintendent at Scotland Yard. Male, early 60s, English accent with audible mustache.
Constable John TAYLOR, Metropolitan Police officer. Male, early 20s, London accent.
ESTRILDA de Westemond, 13th-century witch and stand-in for a number of women lost to history. Female, early 20s, North English accent.
Howard COMPTON, coroner for the Metropolitan Police. Male, mid 50s, London accent.
Scene 1: Int. Oxford University, Faculty of History – Day
MUSIC: OPENING THEME.
Footsteps on tile, rapidly approaching. RAGNARSSON is rushing through the last of his preparations before he leaves for London. He has told no one of his impending departure.
RAGNARSSON:
(Ragged breathing. He ran all the way here, and he’s afraid.)
Ragnarsson’s office key turns in the lock.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating calmly, in contrast to his rushed actions.)
My darling daughter.
The door opens on creaking hinges.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I’ve started this letter a dozen times or more. I’ve lost count.
The door closes and latches shut.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much, after so long, but I am.
The rustling of stacks of paper as RAGNARSSON makes some hasty decisions about the documents on his desk. He drops a small suitcase on the cleared surface.
RAGNARSSON:
(Swallowing, trying to calm his breathing)
Footsteps as RAGNARSSON crosses the room. He takes some books from the shelves, dropping one on the floor.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I’ve been so wrapped up in my work, thinking that it was so important, that if I could only put all the pieces together, I’d gain back what I’d lost. What we had lost.
More footsteps as he returns to the desk. He drops a stack of books onto its surface, then tears several sheets of paper into small pieces.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I realize now that there is nothing more important to me than you are.
A match strikes, and the paper catches. He drops the burning mass into the wastebasket.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I’m sorry that it has taken me this long to understand that.
As the papers burn, RAGNARSSON opens the latches of a suitcase and places a book and another stack of notes inside.
He picks up a picture frame and drops it, breaking the glass. The photograph inside wrinkles and tears as he yanks it out.
He slams the suitcase shut and closes the latches, and then rushes to the door.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
The events of the last few months have finally put things into perspective.
RAGNARSSON opens his office door and closes it behind him, fumbling with the key in the lock.
DIETRICH:
(Surprised)
Emundr! Where are you off to in such a hurry?
RAGNARSSON:
(Hiding his rapid breathing)
Ah, a last-minute holiday. This was the only day I could get a ticket. I, ah, I thought I mentioned it yesterday.
DIETRICH:
No, not that I recall.
There’s a faculty meeting this evening. And what about your classes?
RAGNARSSON:
Not to worry, I’ve cleared everything with Burton.
You can catch me up when…when I get back.
He locks the door and starts to walk away.
DIETRICH:
(Receding as RAGNARSSON walks away)
Oh. Well, all right, then. Safe travels!
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
There are so few people I can trust anymore.
Suddenly remembering, RAGNARSSON catches up to DIETRICH again.
RAGNARSSON:
I almost forgot.
Could you drop this in the post for me?
A letter exchanges hands.
DIETRICH:
I suppose so.
(Reading the envelope)
The University of London? Botany department? What—
RAGNARSSON hurries away again, his footsteps receding.
RAGNARSSON:
(Off-mike, receding)
Thank you so much, Josef.
Scene 2: Ext. Oxford train station – Day
A train passes close by, and the wind blows in its wake.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I miss you terribly, though I know that my behavior the last time we spoke might have made you believe otherwise.
A second train approaches and comes to a stop. Its door opens.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I miss you, and I miss Iceland, and I miss your mother. I’m sure you miss her, too.
The train car closes, and a whistle announces its departure. Someone on the train coughs. Someone else opens a newspaper.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
And now you’re a mother yourself.
I should have been there for you. I should have let all of this go.
The train rattles on the tracks, picking up speed.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
There are so many things I should have done.
Scene 3: Ext. London train station – Day
The train pulls into the station.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I can only hope that you’ll give me a chance to explain myself.
The train comes to a stop, and the car opens, disgorging a crowd of people onto the platform.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I can only say so much in a letter, and I worry that someone might read this before you do.
(Muffled by crowd)
Pardon me.
The train closes and whistles once more.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I hope that you’re not in the same danger. I pray I haven’t endangered you by writing this.
I’ve taken all the precautions I can. I won’t send this until I’ve arrived in Paris.
Another train passes in the distance. The murmur of the crowd grows louder.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
God willing, that won’t be long from now, and you’ll receive this letter soon.
The background noise fades as RAGNARSSON leaves the station.
Scene 4: Int. Traveller’s Rest Inn – Day
The door to the hostel opens with a chime.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
This is a warning, as well as an apology.
You’ve always been so strong. So independent.
The door closes behind him.
MATTHEWS:
Good afternoon, sir.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
Still, it’s a father’s right to worry.
(To MATTHEWS)
Do you have a room just for tonight? I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.
MATTHEWS:
(A little hesitant)
Of course. Room eleven is open.
MATTHEWS takes a ring of keys from a hook.
MATTHEWS:
Right this way.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
Keep your doors locked. Watch out for anyone who might be following you.
(To MATTHEWS)
Thank you. And might you have a telephone I could use?
MATTHEWS:
It’s upstairs.
RAGNARSSON follows MATTHEWS up the stairs.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I’d never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you.
A door creaks open. RAGNARSSON picks up the telephone receiver and begins operating the rotary dial.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. I promise I’ll explain when I see you.
The telephone rings three times before the receiver on the other end picks up.
ELLIE:
(Filtered through the phone)
Sunset Investigations. How may I help you?
RAGNARSSON:
Hello? Yes. I need to speak to the detective. It’s important.
I can pay.
Scene 5: Int. Traveller’s Rest Inn – Night
RAGNARSSON is in his rented room. He pulls a chair back from the table and sits down to write his letter.
A drone starts, quietly at first.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I promise that I’ll tell you everything. Anything you ask, I will answer. I swear it.
His pen scratches on the paper.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I’ll bring gifts for the little one—she must be so big now.
Distant, unearthly chanting accompanies the drone.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
Gods, how long has it been?
The drone and chanting grow louder.
RAGNARSSON:
Is someone there?
He drops his pen on the desk.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I love you, my dear Freydís.
The drone and chanting grow even louder.
RAGNARSSON:
(Coughing and spluttering, gasping for breath)
Water splashes over the desk as RAGNARSSON coughs it up.
RAGNARSSON:
(Narrating)
I hope you’ll forgive me.
The drone reaches its crescendo, growing louder than the chanting. RAGNARSSON coughs again, weakly, and slumps over the desk.
The chanting and the drone abruptly stop.
Several seconds of silence.
Scene 6: Int. Sunset Investigations office – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
We backtrack to earlier in the afternoon, when RAGNARSSON made his last phone call.
KURT:
(Reading from Antony and Cleopatra, Act IV, scene 14, lines 40-43)
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent.
Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace—
The telephone rings.
KURT:
(Finding his lost train of thought)
Apace, apace…
(Reading)
No more a soldier:
Bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne.
The telephone rings a second time.
KURT:
You have been nobly borne. You have been nobly borne?
A door opens, admitting ELLIE into the office’s front room.
ELLIE:
Are you going to get that?
Again, the telephone rings.
KURT:
Me? You’re the secretary.
ELLIE:
(Affectionately)
What do I even pay you for?
She picks up the phone.
ELLIE:
Sunset Investigations. How may I help you?
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered through the phone)
Hello? Yes. I need to speak to the detective. It’s important.
I can pay.
ELLIE:
Of course. One moment.
(To KURT)
It’s for you, Detective.
KURT:
(Clearing throat, affecting a harsher accent)
Kurt Cross.
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
I want to hire you. There are a number of strange men following me—around my work, at my home. I need to know who they are and who they work for.
Can you help me?
KURT:
Of course I can. But don’t you think this is something the police should handle?
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
I tried the police. The police are useless. Someone broke into my home last night.
KURT:
What’s your name, sir?
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
Ragnarsson. Professor Emundr Ragnarsson.
Can you help me? I can pay.
Five hundred pounds. Half up front.
KURT:
(Surprised—this is a lot of money.)
I—uh, yes. Yes, I can help you.
He scratches some notes on a scrap of paper.
KURT:
Tell me about these men. You didn’t recognize them at all?
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
I’d never seen them before all this started. But I’ve kept records. They’ve been following me since August.
I’m sure this has something to do with my work.
KURT’s pen scratches again on the paper.
KURT:
You said you’re a professor?
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
Can we do this in person? I can meet you later this evening.
KURT:
All right. Do you have somewhere in mind?
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
The Cross and Coin. It’s in the city. Do you know it?
KURT:
I do.
RAGNARSSON:
(Filtered)
Ten o’clock tonight. Don’t be late.
The line disconnects. KURT hangs up the receiver.
ELLIE:
Well?
KURT tears a sheet of paper from his notebook and hands it to ELLIE.
KURT:
Looks like we have a new client.
ELLIE:
(Reading)
Ragnarsson.
Where have I heard that name before?
(Shocked)
Five hundred pounds?
KURT:
I know!
We’re taking this job, right?
ELLIE:
Of course we are.
KURT:
Good.
ELLIE:
I remember now—I think Ragnarsson gave a talk at the British Museum last year. Something about Viking graves.
KURT:
Why would someone follow a professor around? You’d think he had a gun to his head, the way he talked.
ELLIE:
Could be anything. Academic rivalry? Marital intrigue? An ill-gotten inheritance?
KURT:
I hope he’s more willing to talk this evening than he was on the telephone.
ELLIE:
Let me finish these photographs. Stay by the phone in case he calls again.
KURT:
(With dramatic flair)
As you wish.
Scene 7: Ext. London street – Night
It’s raining softly. KURT’s car pulls in and comes to a stop on the wet pavement. Another car drives by in the background. KURT exits the car and walks around to open the door for ELLIE.
KURT:
Here we are. The Cross and Coin.
ELLIE’s fashionable heels meet the pavement, and KURT closes the door behind her.
ELLIE:
I don’t know what I expected. Odd choice for our professor.
KURT:
You’re telling me. It’s popular with theatre people. Did I ever tell you I used to hang around here?
ELLIE:
No, I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.
Someone unintelligible shouts in the distance. KURT and ELLIE’s footsteps cross the pavement.
Scene 8: Int. The Cross and Coin – Night
KURT opens the door to the pub, and a wooden chime sounds from within. The murmur of a small crowd inside continues throughout.
WILL:
Welcome, welcome.
(Closer)
Kurt Cross! Good to see you again.
Miss Westmont. I trust you’re well.
KURT:
Evening, Will. How’s the new Sister Marie-Claire?
WILL:
Much better. Adjusting to convent life. She wrote last week—told me to thank you again.
ELLIE:
And the old Sister Marie-Claire?
WILL:
Healthy, last I heard. She’ll be due any day now.
Glasses clink together. A cheer goes up in the background.
KURT:
Good to hear. Say, Will, I’m here to meet someone. Professor, name of Ragnarsson. Probably an older gent. Do you know him?
WILL:
Sure. He comes in once a month or so. From Oxford, you know. Has a drink with old Nigel. I’ve not seen him recently, though.
KURT:
He said he’d be here at ten. Send him back if you see him, will you?
WILL:
Sure thing.
The background murmur grows louder as KURT and ELLIE move through the room. It decreases as they find a back table, coincidentally next to NIGEL and his interlocutors.
ELLIE takes out her pocketwatch.
ELLIE:
Five minutes ‘til.
BIRCH:
(Off mike)
—never seen anything like that.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
That’s because you haven’t been looking, my boy. Now, it is true that they are more commonly seen off the New England coast and in the South Pacific, but even here in Britain—
KURT pulls out ELLIE’s chair, and they both sit down.
KURT:
We can see the door from here.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
This is ludicrous.
ELLIE:
So, did you ever meet the professor here before?
KURT:
I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll recognize him when he shows up. Hopefully, he won’t recognize me.
BIRCH:
(Off mike)
Let’s hear him out.
Someone in the background gets up from the table, scraping their chair against the floor. Glassware clinks.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
If you don’t believe me, look at the young man employed as a dishwasher of this fine establishment. He’s chosen a profession involving water, of course, and if you look at his face, you’ll notice distinctive ichthyic qualities.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
You mean to tell us that Samuel is a fish person?
BIRCH:
(Off mike)
You have to admit, there’s a resemblance.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
No, James, I admit no such thing.
KURT:
Maybe our professor found some buried treasure with those Vikings. Might explain why he’s throwing so much money around.
ELLIE:
Could be.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
Listen. If there were a secret society of fish folk running the government from the shadows, first of all, they wouldn’t be working as dishwashers.
Second, you’d be able to tell.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
They are quite adept at concealing their presence. The very fact that you didn’t know of them up to this point is a testament to their secrecy.
KURT:
We should come up with a name for this case.
Something about hidden gold?
ELLIE:
I told you, you’re not allowed to name cases anymore.
BIRCH:
(Off mike)
Then how do you know about them?
KURT:
“The Case of the Caper Case Caper” is a top-rate name.
ELLIE:
No.
Glassware clinking in the background.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
I am privy to a great deal of secret knowledge, my friend—the wisdom of the old mystics, the science of the alchemists—
KURT:
Why not?
It’s clever, it’s snappy.It would look great on an advert.
ELLIE:
Still no.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
Right, right. So, a bunch of dusty old books that have been disproven by modern science.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
Don’t discredit the occult, young man.
There are truths there beyond your conception of science.
BIRCH:
(Off mike)
Right. Like fish people.
ELLIE:
We don’t need any advertisements, anyway. We have plenty of clients.
KURT:
I suppose so.
If this case with the professor works out, we won’t need any more.
You’ll still keep me on, won’t you, Ellie dear?
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
Just imagine how many people would have to keep the secret.
Every single member of Parliament, all their staff, the King, the entire royal family, all their staff—
ELLIE:
Of course I will.
He must have found some treasure, right? Five hundred pounds is a lot for a professor.
Big Ben strikes ten o’clock in the distance.
KURT:
No sign of him.
ELLIE:
It’s still early.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
The fish folk possess great riches.
For enough money, a man would sell his very soul. One of my ancestors did.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
He sold his soul to the fish people?
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
No, he sold his soul to Barbatos, a duke of Hell.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
Of course. How silly of me.
KURT:
I’m going to get a drink.
He stands up, pushing his chair back from the table.
KURT:
Do you want anything?
ELLIE:
Maybe some wine?
Just one, though. We’re on the clock.
KURT:
Be right back.
We follow Kurt through the pub, and the background noise grows louder. He passes by NIGEL and company.
NIGEL:
You jest, but I tell you the truth. He kept meticulous records.
BIRCH:
Of course we believe you. Right, Eli?
ROSENFELD:
We absolutely do not.
The background noise decreases.
WILL:
What can I get you?
KURT:
Whiskey on the rocks for me. Whatever wine you have for the lady.
WILL:
Haven’t seen the professor yet.
WILL pours a drink.
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
You are both bright young men with a healthy sense of skepticism.
That’s why I’m sharing this knowledge with you.
KURT:
Nigel’s in rare form today.
WILL:
As long as he leaves my dishwasher alone, he can do what he likes. Those lads aren’t being forced to listen to him.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
I think I know less than when we started.
It’s like negative knowledge.
BIRCH:
(Off mike)
That’s a shame. Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?
KURT:
I consider him part of the place’s charm.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
(Groan)
You’re right. What am I doing here?
NIGEL:
(Off mike)
Learning the truth is more important than an exam.
WILL hands KURT the drinks.
WILL:
There you are. On the house.
KURT:
Much obliged. Keep an eye out for the professor.
KURT goes back to his table. The background noise grows louder. He passes by NIGEL, BIRCH, and ROSENFELD on his way.
BIRCH:
Well, it’s been enlightening, sir. Hope you have a pleasant evening.
BIRCH and ROSENFELD’s chairs scrape against the floor as they stand.
NIGEL:
Think about what I’ve told you.
Now that you know the truth, you’ll see their influence everywhere.
KURT reaches the back table and puts the drinks down.
ROSENFELD:
(Off mike)
Let’s never do that again.
BIRCH:
(Off mike, receding)
Come on, it wasn’t that bad.
I think he’s entertaining.
ROSENFELD and BIRCH leave the establishment, opening the door with the sound of a wooden chime and closing it again.
KURT pulls his chair out and sits back down. The background noise decreases.
KURT:
The professor still hasn’t shown up.
ELLIE:
You said he sounded so urgent on the telephone.
KURT moves his drink closer.
KURT:
Maybe he got held up. I don’t know.
Time passes. More drinks change hands, and the background chatter waxes and wanes. Plates and glasses clatter.
Big Ben tolls twelve o’clock in the distance.
The door opens with its chime and closes.
WILL:
(Off mike)
Hurry up please, it’s time.
KURT:
Guess our professor stood us up.
ELLIE:
(Yawn)
We should head back. We can—
Dishes clatter, interrupting her thought.
NIGEL:
(Shouting suddenly)
Get thee hence, spawn of the deep!
A glass is dropped, shattering on the ground.
WILL:
(Off mike)
Nigel Blackthorne, I swear to God—
The small remaining crowd exclaims.
NIGEL:
They walk among us! Look at his face!
WILL:
(Approaching)
Someone call the constable.
ELLIE:
What’s going on?
KURT:
There’s a certain number of drinks after which Nigel gets…
Like this.
The door opens with its chime and closes again.
WILL:
Samuel. Are you all right?
(To NIGEL)
Stay away from him. The police are coming.
ELLIE:
We should go.
WILL:
I swear, this is the last time.
ANTONY:
(Off mike)
What’s all this, then?
(Approaching)
Oh, hello, Blackthorne. Fancy meeting you here.
KURT:
(Aside to ELLIE)
This happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about.
ELLIE:
Is that boy all right?
KURT:
He’s fine. See?
NIGEL:
One day, the world will know the truth!
ANTONY:
Sure, sure. (Grunt of effort) Up you get.
You can tell me about it on the way.
NIGEL:
(Incomprehensible drunken muttering, receding)
The door opens and closes again in the distance.
WILL:
Right, everyone. Nothing to see here.
Get out. See you tomorrow.
We follow KURT and ELLIE out of the Cross and Coin. The chime sounds one last time. The rain has stopped, and a gust of wind blows down the street.
KURT:
So. How’d you like the Cross and Coin?
ELLIE:
I think it’s…charming. I’m glad Samuel wasn’t hurt.
I also think you may have fallen for a prankster on the telephone.
The tavern door closes behind them.
KURT:
No, listen, I know acting. I don’t think he was acting.
ELLIE:
If you say so. We can look him up in the morning.
I just don’t want to waste any more time. There are other clients.
KURT:
Fair enough. We’ll do our due diligence, nothing more, nothing less.
Five hundred pounds would have been sweet, though.
ELLIE:
I know.
NIGEL:
(Off mike, receding)
Evil lurks beneath the waves! Woe upon this island!
Scene 9: Int. London tenement – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
We’re in a tiny tenement flat, elsewhere in London. The walls are thin, and it’s early in the morning. An old radiator rattles, the pipes creak, and somewhere in the building, a baby cries.
ISKANDAR is still asleep, tossing and turning.
There’s a knock at the door, sharp and loud.
ISKANDAR wakes with a gasp, breathing heavily as he remembers where he is. He sighs. The nightmares aren’t anything new.
He gets up, moving the bedclothes. The floor creaks when he stands up. He turns on a tap and splashes water on his face.
Someone knocks again.
ISKANDAR:
Yes, yes. I’m coming.
He shakes out some clothing and gets dressed, the floorboards creaking as he walks around.
He opens the door. The hinges creak.
EMILIA:
Good morning! Rough night?
ISKANDAR:
Mm. Good morning, Emilia.
EMILIA pushes past him and enters the apartment, setting various objects down on the kitchen counter.
EMILIA:
I’ve got your groceries. Eggs, milk, coffee…
More coffee.
The bakery was closed by the time I got there last night, but I can try again today. Oh, also, the lady downstairs said your super called. Wants you to come in early.
ISKANDAR:
Did he say why?
Pots and pans clatter as EMILIA starts preparing coffee for her hapless employer.
EMILIA:
Not according to Mrs. Rosenfeld. She did say it sounded important.
She places a handful of coins on the counter.
EMILIA:
Here’s your change.
Water runs, filling a small pot.
EMILIA:
Oh, also, I’ve almost finished typing your paperwork. I’ll bring it by tomorrow.
She lights a match and uses it to ignite the gas on the stove.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you, Emilia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
EMILIA:
Starve, probably. Or whatever it was you were doing before you hired me.
EMILIA places the pot on the stove and begins adding coffee and sugar.
ISKANDAR:
I shouldn’t keep the superintendent waiting.
ISKANDAR writes her a check and tears it off.
ISKANDAR:
There you are. For this week, plus extra for the typing.
EMILIA:
Thank you, sir.
She stirs the coffee in the pot.
Meanwhile, ISKANDAR gets his coat and picks up a pocketwatch and a locket on a fine metal chain from the table.
EMILIA:
Do you want me to take that out for cleaning?
ISKANDAR:
Hmm?
EMILIA:
Your locket. I know someone who could polish it up good as new.
ISKANDAR:
(A little too quickly; the thought of letting it out of his sight is horrible.)
No, that’s all right. Thank you.
The pot boils. EMILIA cuts the gas on the stove.
EMILIA:
Suit yourself.
She pours the coffee into a mug.
EMILIA:
Here you go.
Did you remember to wind your watch?
ISKANDAR:
I did.
He takes a sip of the coffee and sighs. At least one thing in his life is correct.
EMILIA:
How is it?
ISKANDAR:
Perfect, as always. Thank you for everything.
EMILIA:
Good. See you tomorrow, Inspector.
ISKANDAR:
First thing?
EMILIA:
Maybe more like noon?
The floorboards creak as she takes her leave.
ISKANDAR:
All right.
(Calling after her)
Be safe, won’t you?
EMILIA:
(Off mike, lightheartedly)
Worry about yourself.
ISKANDAR sighs again. He finishes the coffee, places the mug on the counter, and leaves the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him.
Scene 10: Int. Scotland Yard – Day
ISKANDAR arrives at work. A horse-drawn cart passes by on the street before he opens the door. The sound of typewriters, several conversations, and a ringing telephone replaces the exterior noise as the door shuts behind him.
The background noise grows louder and quiets.
PEMBROKE:
Inspector, good to see you.
Cold enough out there for you?
ISKANDAR:
I’m—
(Thinking better of it)
Better than yesterday, sir. You wanted to see me?
PEMBROKE:
Ah, you’ll get used to it. Nothing like a late English winter, let me tell you.
Shut that door, would you?
The door to Pembroke’s office closes, and the background noise goes quiet.
PEMBROKE:
There’s the small matter of a body in a hotel room over in Paddington. Poor fellow collapsed at his desk.
I was just going to send the coroner, but the proprietor is frantic.
ISKANDAR:
He suspects something?
PEMBROKE:
Just take a look around, will you? Here’s the address.
Reassure the man—name of Matthews—that everything is under control. The coroner will be right behind you.
I’m sure it’s nothing, but he wanted an inspector, and you’re the lucky fellow.
ISKANDAR:
Of course, sir.
PEMBROKE:
That’s why I like you, Meshkia.
Get to it. You’ll be back by lunchtime.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you, sir.
He opens the door, and the noise of the floor resumes.
Scene 11: Int. Traveller’s Rest Inn – Day
Rain. ISKANDAR arrives at his destination, opening the door with its accompanying chime. MATTHEWS and TAYLOR are in the middle of a conversation.
TAYLOR:
(Off mike)
—doing everything we can.
The door shuts, and the sound of rain stops.
MATTHEWS:
(Off mike)
I’ll have you know, young man, this is a respectable establishment.
ISKANDAR:
Hello?
MATTHEWS:
(Off mike)
I’ve never even had rats.
TAYLOR:
(Off mike)
Of course, sir. Like I said, the inspector is on his way—
ISKANDAR:
Mr. Matthews?
TAYLOR:
(Off mike)
There he is now.
TAYLOR and MATTHEWS descend the creaking staircase.
MATTHEWS:
I hope you’re here to fix this. There’s been a death under mysterious circumstances, and I can’t have it getting out.
This is a small establishment, sir, but it’s safe.
ISKANDAR rummages in his coat pocket and produces his warrant card.
ISKANDAR:
Detective Chief Inspector Iskandar Meshkia, at your service. I just need to ask you a few questions, and then I can—
MATTHEWS:
(Interrupting him)
What kind of name is that?
ISKANDAR:
Turkish.
When did you find the body?
He snaps the warrant card shut and returns it to his pocket.
MATTHEWS:
(Noticeably colder)
Five o’clock this morning.
ISKANDAR:
And when was the last time you saw him alive?
MATTHEWS:
Seven or eight o’clock last night.
ISKANDAR:
He’s upstairs?
MATTHEWS:
Yes. This way.
ISKANDAR follows MATTHEWS upstairs, with TAYLOR bringing up the rear.
TAYLOR:
The deceased is Emundr Ragnarsson, a professor from Oxford. Faculty of history, according to his calling card.
I have a few more photographs I need to take.
ISKANDAR:
Please, go ahead.
(To MATTHEWS)
Do you know if anyone else came to his room?
MATTHEWS:
This is a respectable establishment.
He paid for one night, just for himself, and that is what he got. He said he’d be leaving first thing in the morning.
The door to Room 11 opens.
TAYLOR:
The window was open when I got here. I closed it when the rain started.
MATTHEWS enters the room, and the floorboards creak.
MATTHEWS:
Look at this mess. There’s water everywhere.
TAYLOR’s camera flashes.
The floorboards creak again as ISKANDAR enters the room.
ISKANDAR:
It’s on the desk. Nowhere near the window.
Did he choke on it?
TAYLOR:
I didn’t see a glass.
Camera flash.
MATTHEWS:
Do you think he had fluid in his lungs?
Is this some kind of new influenza?
ISKANDAR:
(A heavy pause)
No. I don’t believe so.
Camera flash.
MATTHEWS:
Well, it has to be something.
ISKANDAR:
Did you notice anything odd when he came in? Did he seem ill?
MATTHEWS:
Not really.
I suppose he was…distracted. He asked to use the telephone, but I don’t know who he called.
ISKANDAR:
I’d like to look at the papers on the desk, if you don’t mind.
Camera flash.
TAYLOR:
That’s all the photos.
ISKANDAR approaches the body. The floorboards creak. One of his shoes splashes in a shallow puddle.
ISKANDAR:
He’s cold. He’s been dead at least six or eight hours. The coroner will say for sure.
Still dressed, and his shoes are on.
(To TAYLOR)
Constable, would you help me with him?
Together, ISKANDAR and TAYLOR move the chair containing the body.
MATTHEWS:
How long is this going to take?
TAYLOR:
The coroner should be on his way. Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for him, Mr. Matthews?
MATTHEWS, quietly fuming, leaves the room.
ISKANDAR:
These papers are still damp.
This looks like a letter. We’ll have to find his next of kin.
(A pause while he reads)
A daughter?
He rummages through his coat for a notebook and a pen and clicks the cap off.
The pen scratches across the page.
ISKANDAR:
The ink bled when it got wet. It’s hard to read.
He was…warning her. He talks about danger, but he doesn’t say what he’s afraid of.
TAYLOR:
His briefcase is there. Under the desk.
ISKANDAR drags the briefcase out and opens the clasps.
ISKANDAR:
Photographs. This must be his daughter.
Damaged around the edges. Looks like they were torn from their frames.
He moves some papers around in the briefcase.
ISKANDAR:
A ferry ticket. Ten o’clock this morning.
TAYLOR:
Matthews’ story checks out, then.
ISKANDAR:
A cheque.
(Reading)
Sunset Investigations, care of Mr. Kurt Cross.
Two hundred and fifty pounds?
TAYLOR:
(Low whistle)
He had money. Maybe that’s got something to do with it.
The pen scratches on paper.
ISKANDAR:
Maybe.
He moves more papers in the briefcase.
ISKANDAR:
This looks like a diary.
Dates, places.
(Reading)
August seventh, 1921: commons, red hair.
August twenty-third: library, mustache.
September fifteenth: yard, mustache.
Turning pages.
ISKANDAR:
It goes until February sixth. Front door, wooden leg.
That was this Monday.
(To TAYLOR)
What do you make of this, constable?
TAYLOR:
No idea, sir.
ISKANDAR takes more notes. He picks up another sheet of paper from the briefcase and holds it out.
ISKANDAR:
What about this?
TAYLOR:
(A beat while he tries to read it)
What am I looking at?
ISKANDAR:
I don’t recognize the alphabet. You don’t, either?
TAYLOR:
No.
There’s a number, there, on the second line. Seven, nine, five.
ISKANDAR:
Angular characters. There are…spaces between words, but no capitals that I can see. No punctuation.
And the number.
You said he was a historian?
More notes. There’s a sense that he’s writing every detail down, not knowing what might end up being important.
TAYLOR:
That’s what his card said. It was in the left-hand pocket of his jacket.
This note was in the other pocket.
He produces a scrap of paper.
TAYLOR:
(Reading)
Before you leave, meet me at the Cross and Coin.
Signed, “N.”
ISKANDAR:
Do you know who that is? Did Mr. Matthews mention anything?
TAYLOR:
No, nothing.
I know the Cross and Coin, though. It’s in London Town. Nice place, but the patrons can be a little odd.
ISKANDAR:
(More to himself than to Taylor)
He’s dressed to go out, and he was leaving for France this morning.
The bed hasn’t been touched.
He’s carrying a collection of random papers.
He goes through the briefcase again, papers crinkling.
ISKANDAR:
There’s a book here.
(Reading)
The Exeter Book. Early English Text Society.
Pages turning.
ISKANDAR:
Here’s another card. Milton’s Rare Books on the South Bank.
(To the body)
What were you reading on your last day?
(Reading)
The Wife’s Lament.
TAYLOR:
Never heard of it. Though I’m not really one for poetry.
ISKANDAR turns his attention to the page. As he reads, we hear the voice of Estrilda de Westemond, filling in for the anonymous Wife.
Under her narration, a drone begins, and the sound of wind blowing through dead trees.
ESTRILDA:
(Narrating in Old English)
Heht mec mon wunian on wuda bearwe
under actreo in þan eorðscræfe—
(Fading in)
They forced me to live in a barrow, under an oak tree in an earthen cave.
This earth-hall is old, and I am filled with longing—
The wind whistles.
ESTRILDA:
(Narrating in Old English, fading out)
Eald is þes eorðsele,
eal ic eom oflongad,
sindon dena dimme, duna uphea,
bitre burgtunas, brerum beweaxne
wic wynna leas…
(Fading in)
The dales are dark, the hills so high,
Bitter hedges overhung with briars,
A home without joy.
ISKANDAR closes the book. The drone and the sound of wind stop.
Downstairs, the front door opens and its bell rings.
COMPTON:
(Distant)
Hallo the house!
TAYLOR:
Coroner’s here.
MATTHEWS:
(Off mike)
What took so long?
He’s upstairs. Room 11.
The coroner and his assistants bring a stretcher up the stairs, knocking it against the walls.
COMPTON:
Good morning, Inspector, Constable Taylor.
TAYLOR:
Morning.
COMPTON:
Have we identified the poor fellow?
ISKANDAR:
Professor Ragnarsson, of Oxford.
COMPTON:
Ah, a distinguished guest.
COMPTON removes his glasses and places them in a pocket. His assistants set the stretcher down.
COMPTON:
Looks like asphyxiation, poor chap. You can see the petachiae around his eyes—burst blood vessels.
ISKANDAR:
It appears he was choking on fluid. It’s all over the desk and the floor.
COMPTON:
You didn’t see a glass of water, a tub, anything?
TAYLOR:
Nothing. And the washroom’s down the hall.
COMPTON:
We’ll bring him in. See what we can find.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you.
COMPTON:
No need to thank me, Inspector. All in a day’s work, as they say.
(Addressing the body)
Up you go, then.
COMPTON and his assistants pull the chair out and lift the body.
COMPTON:
(With a grunt of effort)
Easy does it, lads.
The body is placed on the stretcher and wheeled out of the room.
TAYLOR:
I think it’s probably just pneumonia. Sad to see, though.
He didn’t get to send his letter.
COMPTON:
Careful on the steps, there.
ISKANDAR:
I’m not sure. Something isn’t right.
TAYLOR:
If you say so, sir.
ISKANDAR:
He was worried about something. Something that might harm his daughter.
COMPTON:
Well, if there’s anything amiss, we’ll find it.
(In an attempt to make lighthearted conversation)
Do you have children, Inspector?
ISKANDAR:
(An uncomfortable pause)
No.
The stretcher knocks against the stairs.
COMPTON:
(To the assistants)
Easy on the way down.
(To ISKANDAR)
Well, I’d better see our friend safely on his way. Good to see you, gentlemen.
COMPTON leaves the room, following the stretcher down to the front door. The door opens and closes in the distance.
ISKANDAR:
I should take the briefcase and file all this evidence. The letter, too.
He closes and latches the briefcase and picks up the damp paper from the desk. The floorboards creak as he moves around.
ISKANDAR and TAYLOR leave Room 11 and descend the stairs.
MATTHEWS:
Is that all, then?
ISKANDAR:
Yes, thank you. I’ll let you know if I have any further questions.
MATTHEWS:
The door’s over there.
The door opens and shuts.
Scene 12: Ext. Outside the hostel – Day
It’s still raining outside.
TAYLOR:
I’m glad that’s over with. I hate being around bodies.
ISKANDAR:
Thank you for your help, Constable.
You said the window in the room was open when you arrived?
TAYLOR:
That’s right.
It would be that one on the end, there, above the bushes.
ISKANDAR:
I just want to look at something, if you don’t mind.
TAYLOR:
(Hesitating; he really wants to leave.)
Sir.
The rain continues. ISKANDAR walks through soft mud and pushes some branches aside.
The drone begins again, softly.
ISKANDAR:
There.
Footprints, right under the window.
TAYLOR:
Are you sure?
ISKANDAR:
Looks like a man’s shoes.
He bends down to take a closer look, pushing more foliage aside. To compare, he checks his own footprints, pulling one shoe out of the mud.
ISKANDAR:
Either he was very heavy, or he was standing here a long time.
In any case, someone was here—early this morning, or late last night.
TAYLOR fumbles with the camera and takes another photograph.
The drone fades and goes silent. We’re left with the sound of rain.
MUSIC: OUTRO.
Forward to Episode 2: Flora and Fauna
Thanks for reading! This is a bit longer than my usual posts, so if you made it to the end, congratulations! It took me so long to format this for the blog, so I apologize for any errors.
You may recognize these characters from waaaay back in blog history: The Well Below the Valley was (and is) my module for the Call of Cthulhu roleplaying game system, and you can still access it under the Modules tab above (under the Menu if you’re on mobile). If you want to avoid spoilers, though, don’t read the module.
I hope to one day produce this audio drama, which will involve hiring voice actors, a composer, and probably an editor, but for now, I hope you enjoyed this first episode of the script. Keep it in mind for later, because I’ll have the first chapter/episode of a couple projects out over the course of the next couple of months, and I’ll have you vote on which one you want to read next.
As always, I appreciate you!
Space Whales Press 
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