Dramatis Personae
(in order of appearance)
FREYDÍS Emundrsdóttir, in search of closure. Female, late 20s, slight Icelandic accent.
Inspector ISKANDAR Meshkia, torn between following orders and pursuing the truth. Male, late 30s, strong Turkish accent.
Chief Superintendent Winston PEMBROKE, Sr., determined to put this whole affair behind us. Male, early 60s, English accent with audible mustache.
KURT Cross, former actor and perhaps current believer in magic. Male, early 30s, New York accent.
William “WILL” Grey, bartender and gatekeeper of the Cross and Coin. Male, late 20s, London accent.
Dr. ERNEST Wilde, botanist and believer in rationality. Male, early 30s, Northern English accent.
Professor Frederick HALE, another of Milton’s victims. Male, early 50s, posh British accent.
Eloise “ELLIE” Westmont, descendent of a long line of occultists and eccentrics. Female, mid-20s, posh English accent.
JASMINE Indrani, interim director of the Whitmoor Area Women’s Home. Female, late 20s, could have a British or Indian Accented English accent.
MARJANI Kaur, resident doctor of the Whitmoor Area Women’s Home. Female, early 30s, could have a British or Indian Accented English accent.
CLAIRE Cooper, the chosen one. Female, late teens, Northern English accent.
Scene 1: Int. Scotland Yard – Day
MUSIC: OPENING THEME.
It’s a busy midmorning at the Metropolitan Police headquarters. A telephone rings, cut off when it is answered by a muffled voice. As soon as that distant conversation concludes, the phone rings again. Four or five constables walk by at a brisk pace.
The background noise quiets a bit so we can hear our interlocutors talk.
FREYDÍS:
I admit that I was unfair to you, Inspector.
I expected you would abandon my father’s case before long.
ISKANDAR:
It…progressed faster than I anticipated.
But I’m glad I could help.
FREYDÍS:
So is that all, then? You’ve found the man who killed him.
ISKANDAR:
Milton has confessed, after a fashion.
It’s difficult to interpret most of what he says, but he’s willing to talk. He’ll go to trial.
FREYDÍS:
Why did he do it?
How did he do it? Did my father actually drown?
ISKANDAR:
Yes, as far as we can tell. As for how, I’m not sure.
Milton’s explanation is…somewhat far-fetched.
FREYDÍS:
Yes. The magic spell. That odd fellow in town mentioned it.
ISKANDAR:
As for why, he has said that your father’s work on the island site went against his goals—his and the people he’s associated with.
He won’t name anyone, of course.
FREYDÍS:
Tell me honestly.
Do you think he’s like that man—Blackthorne?
Believing in magic? Seeing things that don’t exist?
ISKANDAR:
I don’t know.
FREYDÍS:
You tell me that quite often, Inspector.
ISKANDAR:
I’m only being honest.
FREYDÍS:
I don’t know anything about the island and the manuscript. Maybe that’s for the best.
My father’s obsessions can rest with him.
ISKANDAR:
I hope he can rest now.
Will you be returning to Iceland, then?
FREYDÍS:
Soon.
I’m told his body will be released in a few days.
(A pause and a heavy sigh)
I want to take him away from all this.
He wasn’t a good father. He was a middling teacher. But I think he deserves that much.
ISKANDAR:
If you need anything before you go, please don’t hesitate to call me.
Especially if anything strange happens. There are others, working with Milton, who haven’t been apprehended.
If someone starts following you—
FREYDÍS:
You sound like my father’s letter.
ISKANDAR:
I suppose I do.
FREYDÍS:
I can take care of myself, Inspector.
You should get some rest. You look terrible.
ISKANDAR:
(Slight chuckle)
I’m glad we can be truthful with one another.
FREYDÍS:
I should arrange my ticket home.
I promise I’ll be careful.
She stands, pushing her chair back from the desk. ISKANDAR does the same.
ISKANDAR:
I wish you safe and uneventful travels.
FREYDÍS:
Thank you.
It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we don’t have to meet again.
She walks away, her footsteps fading into the background noise. ISKANDAR returns to his desk. He taps a sheaf of paper into a neat stack and begins to write.
Another set of footsteps, heavy with military precision, approaches the desk.
PEMBROKE:
Meshkia. A word?
ISKANDAR moves to stand.
PEMBROKE:
No, no, no need. This will only take a moment.
ISKANDAR:
Sir?
PEMBROKE:
I’m putting you on leave, Meshkia.
(When ISKANDAR doesn’t reply, he goes on)
Two weeks, half pay.
ISKANDAR:
(Hesitant—he doesn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the busy floor, and he believes he’s been doing good work these past few days)
May I ask why, sir?
PEMBROKE:
This case has obviously affected you. You’ve been acting irrationally.
You need some time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.
He drops more papers on the desk.
PEMBROKE:
The rest is in the paperwork. You’ll sign there at the bottom.
Take a few days. We’ll talk about your reinstatement then.
ISKANDAR:
(Leaving any arguments unsaid)
Yes, of course, sir.
He scrawls out a signature. Another telephone rings in the background.
Scene 2: Int. The Cross and Coin – Night
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
We follow ISKANDAR as he arrives at the Cross and Coin. The wooden chime by the door sounds, and the ambient noise of conversation and clinking glass fills the space.
KURT:
(Distant, emerging from the background noise)
Inspector!
We move through the space, catching different muffled voices.
WILL:
(Off mike)
No, put it over there.
The background noise quiets as ISKANDAR arrives at KURT’s table. He pulls out a chair and sits down.
ISKANDAR:
Is this coffee?
KURT:
It is indeed. Black and as strong as Will could make it.
He doesn’t usually serve it, especially at this hour, but let’s just say I called in a favor.
ISKANDAR:
You’re very kind.
KURT:
I, well, there’s some benefits to helping out around town.
I’m sorry you’re not seeing a lot of them, though.
They put you on leave?
ISKANDAR:
Two weeks. It isn’t long.
KURT:
Two weeks can be a long time without a paycheck.
I would know.
ISKANDAR:
Half pay. I’ll be fine.
KURT:
Well, if you need anything, let me know.
The life of a private eye isn’t glamorous, but I’m comfortable enough.
ISKANDAR:
How long have you been in business?
KURT:
Oh, two years or so.
I used to be an actor, if you can believe it.
ISKANDAR:
Hmm. You have the face for it.
KURT:
That’s dangerously close to a compliment, Inspector.
ISKANDAR:
It is a compliment.
KURT:
I—uh, thank you.
That’s behind me now. I had a…a falling out, with a very close friend.
ISKANDAR:
I’m sorry to hear that.
KURT:
Thanks. It was a bad time. Had worse, though.
Our run-in with Milton is certainly in the running.
ISKANDAR:
You’re all right? Have you been to see a doctor?
KURT:
Coughed all night the first couple of days, but nothing after.
I keep thinking about Ragnarsson. Just sitting there in that hotel, a letter half-finished, slowly drowning.
Do you think he understood what was happening to him?
ISKANDAR:
I couldn’t say.
I suspect he had some understanding that he had encountered something…uncanny.
KURT:
That’s putting it mildly.
ISKANDAR:
In all his writings, he doesn’t quite come close to describing it.
I wish he had. It might have made it easier for me to explain to my superiors.
KURT:
I suppose you can’t put a magic spell on an arrest report.
ISKANDAR:
That would be unwise.
(A pause)
You believe it was magic?
KURT takes a drink, ice clinking in the glass.
KURT:
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
I’m not going to say it was magic. I’m also not going to say it wasn’t.
He didn’t get you, Inspector. But I can tell you it was real, whatever it was.
ISKANDAR:
I don’t like this uncertainty.
The two others in the shop with Milton still haven’t been found.
KURT:
Ellie ran across some things too, in that hidden basement.
There’s a town called Whitmoor, up north. She has family there. It’s also where Ragnarsson’s assistant ended up.
ISKANDAR:
Yes, she mentioned that.
KURT:
So Milton and his goons, whoever they were, know where Jasmine is. And they know she was in touch with Ragnarsson.
ISKANDAR:
You think she’s also in danger.
KURT:
And with some of Ellie’s relatives around, she’s worried. I’m worried too.
We’re going to head up there. You’re welcome to come along.
ISKANDAR:
I’m on leave. I can’t lend you my warrant card again, so to speak.
KURT:
I don’t want your warrant card.
I’d much rather have your eyes on things. And your strict dedication to procedure.
ISKANDAR:
If I had been stricter, perhaps I wouldn’t be in this mess.
KURT:
Maybe.
Look. I know you won’t like the drive, but you wanted to find the professor’s assistant just as much as we did.
And I’m going to venture a guess that you don’t have anything better to do for the next two weeks.
ISKANDAR:
I don’t.
(A pause, he picks up the coffee cup and sets it down again.)
You’re right. I’d like to put all this behind me. It wouldn’t be right to do so if someone is still in danger.
KURT:
Exactly.
Now, are you going to drink that coffee, or is it really that bad?
The background noise gets louder before fading out.
Scene 3: Ext. South Bank market – Day
The bookshop has been closed off and surrounded by police. A car pulls in, coming to a stop on the cobbled pavement. The river provides a faint white noise in the background. Muffled conversation from male voices—the constables on duty—can be heard. The back door opens and closes.
ERNEST approaches on foot, coming to a stop some distance from the shop.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
I don’t know what I expected.
It’s not like I was going to be able to just walk in and look around the crime scene.
One of the police cars starts and backs away from the shop, pulling onto the street.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
It’s probably for the best.
There aren’t going to be any answers in that room.
(Resigned sigh)
There aren’t going to be any out here, either.
A few seconds of background noise.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
Who’s that? Some unlucky customer?
Wait. I know him.
ERNEST crosses the street at a brisk pace.
ERNEST:
Professor Hale?
Professor Hale, are you all right?
HALE:
(A brief pause, then groggily)
I’m sorry, have we met?
ERNEST:
Um. sort of.
Ernest Wilde. I’m a botanist at the University of London.
HALE:
(Gruffly, to maintain dignity in his confusion)
Well, you obviously know who I am.
I’m afraid I’m in a hurry. Can I help you?
ERNEST:
You’re going to Milton’s?
I guess you haven’t heard what happened.
HALE:
(In a fog)
Yes, I’m—
I’m here to pick up a book.
ERNEST:
The shop is closed. Milton was arrested a couple of days ago.
HALE:
(Clearer)
What? Arrested?
ERNEST:
I’m…I’m not sure what happened. But no one can get near the place today. I’ve never seen so many police cars at once.
HALE:
(Fading a bit)
But I need to—
I need to pick up a book.
ERNEST:
Are you feeling well, sir?
HALE:
Yes, I’m fine.
ERNEST:
Do you remember the last time you spoke to Milton?
HALE:
The last time I…
Of course. It was just last week.
Or was it two weeks?
ERNEST:
Do you remember what you talked about then?
HALE:
I—
Why are you asking me this? I don’t believe I know you, young man.
ERNEST:
Terribly sorry. I’m just concerned. You seem out of sorts.
HALE:
I assure you that I’m quite well.
If I can’t get my book today, I might as well return to Oxford.
Good day to you, Mr…?
ERNEST:
Er, Wilde.
Good day.
HALE walks away. Another car drives up to the shop, scattering a few dry leaves on the pavement.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
Lapses in memory?
Hypnosis. It has to be.
Or some kind of mental suggestion.
He starts walking away from the bookshop. The wind picks up.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
It could explain what happened.
If Milton put us into a suggestible state, he might have been able to convince us that we were drowning.
And we might not remember him doing so.
It’s not magic. It’s just psychology.
An automobile drives by. In the distance, a crow calls.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
But it felt so real. I can still taste salt water.
No, that doesn’t matter. The mind can be tricked.
It isn’t magic.
He pauses. The crow flies off in a flutter of wings. More voices of constables drift over from the front of the shop.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
If Hale is wandering around in a fog even now, maybe those others Milton had with him are still affected.
And as much as it makes me feel better, hypnosis doesn’t explain the blight.
That’s what I’m here for. Not to decide whether magic is real.
But I’ve spent so much time looking at the blight under a microscope that my head hurts. Or maybe that’s the hypnosis.
I’m not going to find anything more in the lab.
The sound of the wind grows louder. A car door slams near the shop.
Scene 4: Int. Sunset Investigations office – Night
It’s evening, and ELLIE is packing for the trip to Whitmoor. She drops a suitcase on the desk and snaps open the latches.
KURT:
(Narrating, trying on his detective voice and normal voice)
If I don’t stay busy, I feel like I’m drowning again.
There’s brackish water in the back of my throat. My lungs burn.
My vision goes black around the edges.
I don’t like it.
ELLIE:
We’ll be able to stay with my cousin.
KURT:
Great.
Do you know anything about the address on Main Street? Where Jasmine supposedly is?
ELLIE:
I think it was a feed store when I was there last, but I could be wrong.
We didn’t really go into town much when Grandfather was alive.
KURT:
I thought you grew up in Yorkshire.
ELLIE:
I did. Most of the time.
Summers were spent in Whitmoor, though. With my grandfather and all his books.
KURT:
Books like Milton’s.
ELLIE:
Some of them.
If my grandfather could cast spells, I think I would know.
KURT:
(Aside)
I would have said the same thing about Milton.
ELLIE:
We’ll just drive up there and check on things.
Chances are, Miss Indrani is just fine, and the whole thing has fallen apart without Milton in charge.
We’ll have the inspector with us. What could go wrong?
KURT:
I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I can tell you’re worried.
What is it?
ELLIE:
(A brief pause)
My cousin. Aurelia.
She’s seventeen. Our grandfather raised her mostly by himself.
I don’t like the idea of these people, whatever they’re up to, coming near her.
KURT:
Yeah. I can see why.
I don’t much like the idea of any of them coming near you or me, either.
But if you’re going, I’m going.
ELLIE:
(Trying to lift the mood)
And the fact that the inspector is tagging along didn’t influence your decision at all.
A knock sounds on the door.
ELLIE closes the suitcase and crosses the office floor to answer it.
ERNEST:
Oh. Hello. Is this a bad time?
ELLIE:
Not at all. Come in.
I’ll take your coat.
KURT:
How’ve you been, doc?
ERNEST:
Oh, well, just fine, all things considered.
I wanted to ask you about—well, what you were doing.
In terms of Milton and what happened.
KURT:
We’re driving up to a little town called Whitmoor. Apparently that’s where the professor’s assistant ended up.
Why? You interested in coming along?
ERNEST:
Actually, yes.
Have you ever heard of hypnosis?
KURT:
Uh…
Sure, I’ve heard of it.
ERNEST:
I think that’s what Milton has been doing.
To make people believe they were drowning. And it explains the lapses in memory.
KURT:
I’m afraid I don’t follow.
What lapses in memory?
ELLIE:
Why don’t you sit down, professor?
ERNEST:
Right. Sure.
A chair scrapes across the floor.
ERNEST:
I’m sorry. I’m not making a lot of sense.
KURT:
I didn’t say anything.
ERNEST:
I only—
I want to find out what’s causing the blight. And I want to know why Ragnarsson drowned and Mr. Cross and I almost did.
Or at least, it seemed like we were drowning.
KURT:
(Wearily)
We’ll agree to disagree there.
ERNEST:
Right.
So, I wanted to know if there was more. I need more information.
KURT:
If you think there’s more to be found in Whitmoor, you’re welcome to come—
ELLIE:
(Interrupting)
I have just the thing.
She exits the room, her fashionable shoes loud on the wooden floor, and returns with a stack of photographs that she taps on the desk and spreads out.
ELLIE:
Look at this.
ERNEST:
It’s a grid of letters.
Six by…thirty or so?
ELLIE:
The typesetting at the top, there, is rather strange.
“Esteemed Mr. Milton.”
But the only thing capitalized is Milton’s name. All of it.
ERNEST:
Odd. Though I’ve seen worse typesetting.
ELLIE:
You figured out Ragnarsson’s cipher. What do you think?
ERNEST:
The capitalization could be a clue.
There’s six columns, and six letters in the name Milton.
ELLIE:
That first line in the grid, there.
If we rearrange it, it might say…let’s see…
“The man.”
ERNEST:
So there’s a way to arrange these columns that might make the message make sense.
ELLIE:
Exactly.
KURT:
Well, it sounds like you two have a handle on this.
I’ll just be over here. If you need me.
ELLIE opens a drawer and removes some paper and a pencil. The pencil scratches across the page as KURT takes a flask from his pocket, unscrews the lid, and takes a drink.
KURT:
(Narrating)
I’m out of place more often than not these days.
I mean, it figures. My place is on the stage, and that’s not happening anytime soon.
I can play the bumbling foreigner just fine. It suits me. But this is something else.
Secret, encrypted letters. People dying for a bit of information that doesn’t matter to anyone else.
And magic.
I have the spell Nigel taught me. He calls it the Great Ward. Made me repeat it until I could do it without any mistakes.
What does it say about me that I don’t call it nonsense?
ELLIE:
That’s it.
ERNEST:
(Reading)
“The man in question knows too much. Find out where he is hiding the stone and eliminate him.
Once this is done, report to Whitmoor. We can continue the search for the Westmont book from there.
It is time to begin preparations in earnest.”
KURT:
That sounds bad.
What’s the Westmont book?
ELLIE:
(Fearful)
I don’t know.
We need to get to Whitmoor.
Scene 5: Int. Kurt’s car – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
The music fades into the white noise of the car making its way north. This continues for a few seconds, long enough to make the awkward silence in the car apparent.
KURT:
(Clearing throat)
So, how much farther?
ELLIE:
Sorry, what?
KURT:
To Whitmoor. How long do you think?
ELLIE:
Maybe another hour.
KURT:
Huh. Farther from London than I thought.
ELLIE:
I’ve only ever taken the train.
KURT:
You all right, there?
ELLIE:
(A pause; seriously considering the question)
I’m fine.
I’ll be better when we get there.
ERNEST:
You really have no idea what the “Westmont book” might be?
KURT:
Does it matter?
Obviously she’s more worried about what these people are going to do to find it.
ELLIE:
No, it’s all right.
My grandfather kept a huge library.
ERNEST:
Bigger than Nigel Blackthorne’s?
ELLIE:
Oh, much.
The estate and its books have been in the family for generations.
KURT:
Nigel does seem like he’s been sort of on his own with this stuff.
ISKANDAR:
For which we can all be thankful.
ELLIE:
I don’t like that Milton’s associates, whoever they are, know something about my family’s library that I don’t.
KURT:
It’s not your fault.
They could have learned about this book from anywhere.
ERNEST:
Right. If anyone knows how to track down a rare book in a private collection, it would be Milton.
ELLIE:
I just want Aurelia to be safe.
KURT:
You two are close?
A couple of seconds of highway noise.
ELLIE:
We were.
There weren’t any other children in that house, and there were so few in the village. Not that we were allowed to play with them.
I haven’t seen her in years, but we still write on occasion.
KURT:
You know, you never told me why you moved all the to London.
ELLIE:
You never asked.
KURT:
Fair enough.
I know you’re a modern woman and all, but it’s a little unusual that you came to the city all on your own.
We’re not going to have trouble with the extended family when we show up, will we?
ELLIE:
Oh, not at all. Aurelia’s been living alone with the staff in that house for years.
Now, if we were going to Yorkshire, that might be different.
KURT:
Different how?
ELLIE:
Oh, it would be dreadfully boring, I promise.
A lot of pinched looks and compliments that are actually insults.
I’d pick one of you fine gentlemen to pretend to be my new fiancé. Any volunteers?
KURT:
Depends. Can I use this new role to argue for better chairs for the office?
ERNEST:
Fake engagements? That’s what you call boring?
ELLIE:
Trust me. One hour in the Yorkshire estate is seven hours outside.
KURT:
I hope that’s not the case for the house in Whitmoor.
ELLIE:
Only if you find something really, really good to read.
The scene closes with more highway noise.
Scene 6: Whitmoor street – Day
MUSIC: BRIDGE.
A slow, droning musical interlude.
The car comes to a stop on a gravel road. Its engine shuts off and the doors open. Four sets of shoes exit onto the road.
The town is strangely quiet; a dry wind blows down the street, stirring dust and gravel. A set of metal shutters creaks. No birds sing.
ELLIE:
This is the place.
The estate is up that way. You can see it through the trees.
KURT:
We’ll just stop in and make sure everything’s good here.
(Reading)
Whitmoor Area Women’s Home.
(With forced optimism)
Seems like a nice place.
ERNEST:
Do the fields out there look a little…gray to you?
ISKANDAR walks ahead of the group and knocks on a wooden door. There’s a brief pause, then the door opens.
JASMINE:
Can I help you?
ISKANDAR:
Miss Indrani?
JASMINE:
Yes?
ISKANDAR:
Iskandar Meshkia, of the Metropolitan Police.
My associates and I were recently involved in a case surrounding the death of Professor Emundr Ragnarsson.
Your name came up in the investigation, and we’d like to make sure you’re safe.
JASMINE:
I’m safe, I can assure you.
I don’t know if I can say the same about—
(She pauses, considering.)
You’d better come inside.
Scene 7: Whitmoor Area Women’s Home – Day
The door shuts behind the investigators. Inside, the space is small, and a low fire crackles in the background. A tea kettle whistles in another room before being removed from the stove and falling quiet.
JASMINE:
Come in, sit down.
I’ll ask you to stay here, in the parlor, if you don’t mind. Some of our residents would prefer not to be in the presence of men.
ELLIE:
Of course.
With a creaking of floorboards and furniture, JASMINE and her guests take their places.
JASMINE:
You’re here about the professor.
ISKANDAR:
You’re aware that he’s dead?
JASMINE:
Yes. Recently. But I understand it’s been a number of weeks.
I’m afraid we didn’t keep in touch after I left Oxford. His letter came as something of a surprise.
KURT:
When did he write to you?
JASMINE:
Shortly before he died.
I think I received the parcel shortly after.
ISKANDAR:
A parcel?
JASMINE:
Some translation notes, and a single artifact from his last field expedition.
It’s a stone, removed from the wall of the underground temple. Flat, about the size of an outstretched hand, and carved with pictograms he had yet to identify.
ERNEST:
What underground temple?
JASMINE:
Under the island.
I assumed you had already spoken to his colleagues at Oxford.
ISKANDAR:
They were…less than forthcoming.
If you wouldn’t mind, could you explain what happened there?
JASMINE:
Why not?
The university wanted to bury it. Professor Ragnarsson didn’t disagree.
I no longer work for either of them.
ELLIE:
We’ve learned that there were three deaths on the island.
JASMINE:
The first was Jones. Crushed by the transport vehicle. I believe it was blamed on a brake failure.
Brown and Thomas died a few days later. We couldn’t blame the equipment—someone cut their throats in the night.
KURT:
Did you ever find out who did it?
JASMINE:
Everyone else was accounted for.
There was someone else on the island with us, but we never found them.
We left shortly after the murders, though. Even Ragnarsson couldn’t justify staying.
ERNEST:
Can you tell us about the island? What did it look like?
JASMINE:
Like everything on it had died, all at once, hundreds of years ago, and never grew back.
These past few weeks, I keep thinking I can see it again. The gray, on the hills at the edges of the fields.
Well. I don’t have time for long walks. And the farmers tend to get annoyed when we outsiders venture out of town.
ELLIE:
Oh. Yes, they’re like that. I’m so sorry.
JASMINE:
The manuscript described the island as “hollow.”
There was a door, set into the hillside like a mausoleum. It was open, the stone slabs pushed out.
Inside was a huge, empty chamber.
The structure was enormous. Corridors branched out, going deeper underground, but we had to leave before we could access them.
ISKANDAR:
Was this stone the only object Ragnarsson removed from this place?
JASMINE:
There was a key. Bronze, I think. It went missing.
Some of the laborers must have stolen it, after learning they weren’t going to be paid for their full contract.
Nothing else.
ELLIE:
Your reply to Ragnarsson was intercepted by the person responsible for his death.
We—the inspector found it in the course of an investigation.
That’s why we came here. To make sure nothing was amiss.
ISKANDAR:
If you’ll forgive the intrusion, you mentioned something had happened that might have been relevant to Ragnarsson’s concerns about your safety.
JASMINE:
(A pause as she considers, and a sigh of resignation.)
It’s better if I show you.
Follow me. Stay close.
The party moves through the house, climbing a set of narrow, creaking stairs.
They come to a door. JASMINE knocks.
JASMINE:
Claire?
There’s some people here who want to see you.
MARJANI:
(Filtered through the door)
Just finishing up her exam.
Deep breath, dear.
A moment passes, and the door opens.
MARJANI:
All’s well, all things considered.
Who are our guests?
JASMINE:
I’ll tell you later.
Claire? Are you all right to talk to these people?
CLAIRE:
Yes, ma’am.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
She looks sick.
Pale, almost gray. Reminds me of the men who lost a lot of blood before I could get to them.
There’s some kind of dark stain around her collar and sleeves, like she’s got ink on herself and tried to hide it under her clothes.
She’s pregnant, too, maybe six months, but I wouldn’t call myself an expert.
JASMINE:
Claire, this is Inspector Meshkia, from London. The others are his colleagues.
CLAIRE:
Hello.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
I notice her eyes next. The blood vessels are black.
JASMINE:
Could you tell the inspector a little bit about what happened before you came here?
CLAIRE:
Oh, yes.
I’ve been chosen, you see.
ERNEST:
(Narrating)
And then she pulls up her dress.
I should look away. I really, really wish I could look away.
Her belly is covered in black fissures, and dead gray veins spread across it, undulating as the unborn child within kicks and pushes against her.
I’ve seen those veins before.
It’s the blight.
It’s infected this girl and her child and it’s spreading across her skin just like it spread through my lab.
I don’t know how it’s possible.
MUSIC: OUTRO.
Back to Episode 7: The Souls of the Heathens
Forward to Episode 9: Green Grows the Lily
The second act has begun. We’ll meet Cousin Aurelia next, and find out what secrets the “Westmont text” might hold.
The title comes from Paradise Lost.
When I was writing the module, I put in all the things I liked (manuscripts, libraries, puzzles) as well as the things that, personally, scared me the most (a pregnancy going very, very wrong; I maybe watched Eraserhead at a formative time in my life). We won’t ever see exactly what Claire is gestating, as I think it’s more frightening to leave it up to the imagination.
We’ve also reached the point in the module where I could finally reveal to my players the terrible pun I had been hiding for so many sessions: the fish people are a red herring.
Anyway, on a somewhat related note, I’m going on maternity leave! Baby will be here in the next few days, possibly as early as tomorrow. I plan to be back with new content sometime next month, but I’ll keep you posted.
Thanks for reading!
Space Whales Press 
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