Assaulted by Moriarty.

A brief note this evening, it has been a draining day. I was down on the jetty with a large group of the town's children when Jason Moriarty appeared. I immediately drew my sword from my cane summoning the gavanic energy to give the fiend a burst, but before I could strike he enveloped me with lightning. The energy held me tearing at my clothes and hair, I tried to scream but found I could not make a sound or move of my own volition. After a time the energy subsided and I collapsed to the floor, or so I am told, for I was competely unaware of anything by this juncture. I came to a short time later to find that the fiend was being assualted from all sides by the feisty young urchins. What a splendid group they are. Soemthing had weakened Moriarty, though it is not clear to me what that was. A creature name Deimos, with whom I am not acquainted suggested that his hellfire might have been the cause of the decline, but it amy equally have been the assualts of Mr Welles' weaponry or indeed the effects of my own galvanic sword. No damage was done to Moriarty but his power was interupted enough for the simple mortal weapons of fists and feet to find their mark. It took some time before I was able to move once again, at first crawling and then finally standing shakily.

It was then that the peculiar turned to the weird. I discussed the possibility of contacting the cuckoos, Myrtil and I wondered whether it might be possible to enlist their help and then, moments later, the twins' mechanical comrade appeared. I know not how he knew to come to us. As ever very little was said, but the mechancial being was heard to utter "Destroy Moriarty" and "My masters will return, you must wait".

I only hope that we have the luxury of time to wait for their return, but it has occurred to me since that their connection to the device may even be something that Moriarty seeks to use to his own ends. I am trying to think what the professor might have done, were she here, but I lack her learning.

You find yourself at a fork in the path...

The left fork drops away into darkness and shadow, the right into desolation and emptiness.

Last night I met with Miss Orchid McMillan, the alleged love of the lycan Kanarik. I am not happy at his desire to force eternity upon his beloved. This is the madness of legends. While I have room in my cold heart still for the concept of true love, this young lady has known her lover for but a short time, why should anyone force another, especially one that you claim to hold dear, into such a rash decision. To her own good strength though I will trust, she seems quite a balanced individual. I have told them that I will make my decision by the end of this week and asked that Orchid consider alone, away from his pressure, the fate that awaits her. I will however seek assistance. I truly fear the turn of events that my actions could unleash, I cannot give this power over to another without some flaw being introduced. The legend is interesting of course, despite the granting of eternal youth, no single owner seems to have survived. The curse it is said brings no harm to the wearer, however the blessing seems doomed to failure too.

I must seek out an alchemical mind, someone versed in this veiled science will undoubtedly have more insight than one such as I.

Curses within curses

A spent this long autumnal evening in the company of my fellow Babbage residents at a "Salon", a novel term that I have not come upon before but effectively a public gathering with nominated guest speakers to discuss a pre-determined subject. This evening the subject was curses and Miss Trafalgar had kindly welcomed me as a speaker.

It was a peculiar event and I approached it with trepidation. Babbage is expanding, the thrust of commerce and industry attracting many to these shores such that even a long term resident such as I may find themselves confronted by many a new face, perhaps I should force myself to socialise more.

To add to my concerns, not long after I arrived at the Aether Salon where the gathering was held, one of the new faces, a Mr. Sanus Kanarik, changed into dog form, bringing back memories of Jason Moriarty, and the terrors that nearly took the professor and Miss Paine from us last year. To make matters worse I have recently learned that Mr. Moriarty, is far from dead and has been seen to wander our streets once again. So to see an lycanthrope brandishing its "talent" in our faces was far from my ideal start to the evening. I kept my cane close by my side having made sure that the dog-thing Kanarik was aware of its sting. Mr. Kanarik, did little to endear himself to me in those early minutes and I have my concerns as to his intentions but, as ever, I am getting somewhat ahead of myself.

The speakers for the evening were Master Yifu, myself, and Miss Jedburgh Dagger, whose late arrival served to calm me somewhat, she is good company and a reassuring presence.

After the welcome and introductions by Viv Trafalgar and Serafina Puchkina, Master Yifu started with his surprisingly eloquent account of the disastrous trial of events the were collectively known as "the finger of Babbage". It is clear that there is plenty of animosity between young master Yifu and master Bob Streeter, I am unclear as to the reason for this but master Streeter's clear disregard for the welfare of others in the way that he conducts his endeavours seems to lie at the heart.

I will not dwell upon the details of the speeches I am sure that they will have become the source of rumour and speculation in the taverns and gossip houses of Babbage soon enough. I will simply say here that I fear my tongue got the better of me. I had had no intention to give such a broad account of my involvement in the amulet curse, the dreams, still kept beyond the reach of sleep by the concoction offered to me by the good surgeon, should not have been mentioned, they still haunt my waking hours, the fear of repeating Juliana's fate. As my voice started to crack and the questions rose to people's lips Miss Dagger stepped in to take the sting from the tale. Her account, supportive and factual, delivered in her usual calm manner quelled many a question. In further questioning that followed I recounted, poorly, the legend as it had been told to me, I covered the origin of the amulet but briefly and spoke of the curse itself, the amulets restorative power is paid for highly, as those who are close to the wearer all seem to perish. Miss Writer, I think it was, queried whether this doomed Miss Dagger and I to life alone, a question, so insightful that I had not considered it before. For my own part, my life's love has already been taken from me, perhaps it is with this that the curse is broken? Though immortality without Tali is not a prize I'd ever have sought, one that I will gladly relinquish.

Strangely quiet was Miss Capalini. I know that despite her presence at the autopsy she holds a resolute view that current scientific knowledge does not support such happenings. I was inclined to those thoughts no more than 18months ago, I recall my encounters with the professor, talk of time travel, old gods, and most ludicrously, it seemed at the time, werewolves. How events move us on. I applaud Miss Capalini's sense of reason, it is much lacking in the current climate of speculative occultism. The very fact of a public forum to discuss such things sends alarm signals to my brain and yet my experience is somewhat removed from the naive days of apprenticeship and study. As Mr Darwin would agree, evolution is not a process that resulted in the human being, we are but a step upon its way. There is much that is beyond our ken.

At the end of the evening, the lycan Kanarik beckoned to me and asked that we might speak alone. I suggested that we return to my Palisade home where privacy might be more complete, but in part at least it was to be nearer my damned handgun. As if the night had not been stressful enough, the events that passed then were to throw me completely off my guard and I know not where to turn next.



The lycan stood at the base of the stairs in the Bel étage. "Miss Janus, I have a question regarding the amulet".
"please ask away"
"Well i should do some explaining first. As you may or may not know, Moriarty has returned to Babbage."
He looked full square at me. I had never met this man/beast before, what had he to do with the Moriarty abomination? Perhaps noting my reaction, he changed tack, telling me of how he had dedicated his life to ridding the world of evil but feared death and how with the amulet he could do so much more. This blatant attempt to get the amulet for himself seemed rather too clumsy to be untrue, though rarely one to take things at face value I questioned his intentions and indeed his understanding of the limitations of the powers, or rather the price that one pays. He mentioned that he could perhaps right these wrongs, I must have looked puzzled at this rather outrageous statement coming from one as young as Mr Kanarik appears, for he moved to take off his shirt. I stepped back reaching behind me to where my cane now rested, reassured that gun lay but a few steps away. Yet I had nothing to fear, he pulled the fabric of his shirt down from his muscular back to reveal a disturbing looking tattoo, which he named "romance and death".

He went on to explain that the symbol, which he received, I know not how, at the age of 16, could magnify the powers of magic and with the blood of a lycan in his veins it would trap the blessing. It is for this reason, he told me that the blood of his kind is sought by enchanters. I felt the sincerity of Miss Capalini's opposition to myth and magic rising in my own mind. There was too much mysticism here, I could not trust such tales from a friend let alone a shape shifting stranger.

I let him go on to describe the process by which he would remove the curse and unleash the power while all the time contemplating my dilemma. Perhaps emboldened at the thought of the gun secreted not far from my reach, or simply frustrated at this audacious attempt to gain this powerful charm I confronted him with my dilemma.

"I applaud your intentions but, Mr Kanarik, excuse my reluctance, I have only met you but this once, is there anyone who can speak for your good intent? How am I to know that with this power, your Lycan bestial roots would not become dominant? A werewolf that will not succumb to silver bullets nor wolfs bane?

"Because i would rather die than hurt anyone.", he pleaded. "If you are here tomorrow seek out a woman name Orchid".

I promised to seek her out, and it was then that he turned the tables on me. He spoke to me of his love for this Orchid woman, his fear of death, and the look in his eyes told me that this much was true. Whoever this Orchid was, she had captivated this beast.

I spoke further then of my fears and he spoke more of his own background. He is not as young as he seems, indeed he is much older, 54 years old if he is to be taken at his word. He spoke of a mysterious benefactor called Obelisk, of his life being saved and given purpose. The rest is somewhat of a haze, I asked that he leave me, promising that I would seek out his beloved Orchid.

I retired to bed with this conundrum:-
Miss Writer had indicated that I must live a loveless life, an observation that I accepted almost gladly to my broken heart, but perhaps I had not correctly defined love, for it must be said that I love Babbage. For all its peculiarities it is my home, welcoming me once as a stranger, asking no questions, accepting me as I am; is that not in itself an act of love? Can a place love a person, or vice-versa? If it can then the curse of the amulet could still be enacted. Through my possession of the amulet the destruction of all that I love and hold dear could be wrought.

It seems now that through action or inaction I may equally damn this world. If I were to fulfill this beast's request would I unleash an unstoppable evil upon the land? By holding the amulet to myself and not relinquishing it, would I allow the abhorrent Moriarty to triumph?

And now as I write these last words, sitting here on my bed and sipping my drugged tea to bring on the fog of sleep. I recall my comment from earlier,
"Adventure is not something one should seek. It seems to find us of its own accord.", but I do so wish it would leave me alone for a while.

Juliana's bequest

I am writing this in abject fear of what awaits me. It is night, I am safe at home, I am tired, exhausted if I am completely honest, yet I dare not go to bed. The soft warmth there will envelop and welcome me and I will sink, unconscious into hell.

I will awaken, a rushing sound around my head, my senses screaming, the cold, bitter bitter cold, and I am wet, no not wet, immersed. I force my eyes open and it takes a moment to comprehend the situation. I am on the sea bed, my own home towers above me and, I am drowning.

I struggle in panicked fear, and make to dash to the surface many hundreds of feet above me but find that my feet and arms are bound, and three large iron quoits are tied at my feet. I scream, and as the bubbles leave my lungs and water forces itself in to my mouth, my throat contracts, I gag but there is nothing to eject, the water enters my stomach, my body struggling against all hope, rejecting the seas entry into my lungs and in so doing damning me to asphyxiation; and all the time I am fighting, fighting and struggling in futility, against the bonds that hold me, dislocating my arms, and snapping bones in my wrists as I fight.

And with that fight comes release, the exertion takes the very oxygen I seek to preserve, and dizziness takes me, a bright light envelops my vision and as I pass into death, my heart beats ever slower, I feel my throat relax and welcome the sea into my lungs.

A searing pain burns through my chest as my lungs inflate, forcing water and tissue up through my throat and into the sea around me. My body convulses and gags on the air as it escapes, the intense burning, pricking sense of pins and needles extends across my entire being as my still beating heart pumps oxygen anew. It takes time for my senses fully to return, I feel the cold, the wetness, I do not even need to open my eyes for I know where I am now and, I am drowning.

I am living her life and dying her death, with each revival I gain a few moments of tortured life.

In time I cease to thrash, I use my moments in considered effort to release my bonds. With each revival my broken bones and torn skin are renewed, not healed mind oh no, the bones fuse where they rest and my limbs become distorted like the twisted branches of an ancient tree, scar tissue tries in vain to hide the damage beneath and glows fresh and new.

On occasion I awake, and lay sweating in my bed, sobbing like a small child knowing that sleep must come and return me to the depths. And so this living hell goes on, Juliana's hell, a hell perpetuated for longer than I can possibly imagine. Eventually I will break the bonds that tie me; release my arms and after an eternity of picking and tearing at the heavy hemp rope I will unleash my feet, but all is in vain, I've been here before night after night, yet still I have to try.

The next rush of air arrives and beyond the pain I push toward the surface, the shrunken volume of air in my lungs expanding as I rise, this time will be different. The surface above comes ever closer beckoning to me as I rise, but the air is simply not enough, I cough helplessly, convulsing as I choke. The beckoning surface looks on, I never reach it, my body fails me, the sea triumphant and in my anguish I reach out toward the pale ripples of sun that taunt me from above; then as the life ebbs from me, I feel my body sinking slowly back down.

It is then that I enter my blackest time, I realise that I am the sea's plaything now and for ever, and I must end the cycle, my life must be forfeit once and for all. I reach to my throat and grasping the life sustaining necklace try to cast it away, but it will not leave me, some evil magic binds it to my fingers still. There is no end, no way out, an eternal life of pain stretches out before me and I settle to the sea bed awaiting my next death.

I look up and she is there, Juliana, smiling at me. The water seems not to hurt her, a cloud of tiny golden anthias shoal about her, the sun rays scatter in the water behind her, unnaturally bright in these gloomy depths. She bends toward me and with my final act I thrust my arm toward her, begging her to take the cursed jewelery, silently pleading for release. Then as I fade once more, one final time, the light enveloping my senses, I feel the necklace slip from my grasp, with a sigh I attain my release.

I have no idea how long I sleep at the end of this, but I know that it is not enough. I am at my wits end. By day, I am forcing myself to visit the sea, I cannot let this curse destroy my sanity but my very grasp on reality is fraying. I fight the fear of water, how crazy for a girl who lives under the ocean? As yet I have not told anyone of my plight, I fear the curse, the paranoia of the people of Babbage visiting upon me this fate for real. It is not a rational thought, these are my friends, my neighbours, not a crew of superstitious sailors but then fear so often lacks rationality.

It is late, so very late now, my eyes are weighing heavy with their burden of sleep, but I will not give in. I am going to seek out Mr Whitfield, perhaps he can help me take these cursed dreams away.

Fire! Fire!

One has to wonder at the excessively placid nature of our New Babbage community. I arrived this evening in the docks at the site of the former "vertically Challenged" shop to find a rgoup gathered to gawp and point as the flames licked the fine wallpaper from the walls and reached ever up and out towards nearby buildings.

Perhaps because my own loss at the hands of fire is still keen despite the intervening years, I simply could not look on and discuss collective retribution against a newcomer to our town while the building burnt around us. The newcomer is indeed a strange one, a Doctor Oblensky, who is, one must admit, in appearance rather "evil", the cape and hat, his very presence seeming almost to caricature villainy, and yet for some poor chance of nature and his presence the man was condemned and pilloried when it seems that his "evil deeds" amounted to alerting the crowd to the fire in the first place. Tali always said that I was able to see good in everyone, though Cem called this naivety. Who knows, but I judge a person by their apparent actions and I hope not by the reputation that rumour mongers lay before me.

As ever, I digress, I was able to bring a tub that I used last Christmas from my factory/warehouse in the canals and young Django Yifu and Mr Sieyes set about dousing the fires, and the townsfolk showed some signs of acting in unison but it soon became apparent that the fire had taken hold of the upper storeys too.

Mr Merryman had arrived and many of the crowd were appealing to him to assist and I must admit I was rather dismayed at the reluctance of Mr Merryman to assist with his wonderful fire boat. I am used to the fire brigades back on the old continent, the ones that would attend only when your fire insurance had been paid but who were strangely close at hand when ever a fire took hold. I make no such accusation of Mr Merryman, far from it, but I fear that that is a slippery path along which we should not tread. To his credit Mr Merryman did arrive and help douse the lower levels as I addressed the burning above.

I struck upon a possible solution, an idea that should have occurred to me when I had earlier rejected repairing the old bilge pump in the basement of Aegir's hall. The Hippocampus Janusi has a pump that is driven off of the main drive and forces the water from the top exhaust fin. Luck was with me and I was able to guide, or rather bump my poor horse through the canals and opening the lower sea valve flood the compartment in a controlled manner providing enough water to supply the pump by re-routing the drive belt over an alternate gear wheel I was further able to increase the pressure and more by luck than judgment deliver a cascade of water onto the fires.

I am however a minor heroine now and I fear the eyes that turn to me appealing for my help, applauding my ingenuity. I am not one to
stand by in a crisis but neither am I infallible, the fate of poor
Juliana still hangs heavy upon me to prove this. I hope to bury her
properly this weekend, perhaps I will rest easier then.

A fate worse than death

It seems that with each adventure my debt to society grows, with my attempts to deliver us from the scourge of the plagued hand I came close to unleashing the disease in a far more potent form; now it seems that my involvement with the "ridiculous" rumours of the cursed amulet have resulted in a death. I must explain it here, excise this from my mind before I lose what resolve I have once more.

Having recovered the amulet a few days ago I felt strongly that the poor young lady should be recovered her vicious murder investigated and her remains committed finally to the earth, or perhaps to fire and so it was that yesterday afternoon I engaged the assistance of Miss Dagger once more to help raise the remains to the surface. We met on the jetty at Port Babbage and I explained my plans to her.

"I have prepared a casket from some old brass plate and we shall use this to recover the remains and prevent further damage. While the pneumatics of my suit are more than able to bear the weight it would be better for you to assist the ascent as the motor coordination is not fine enough for small adjustment, I do not wish to shake her to a pulp, if you'll excuse such course imagery."

Miss Dagger assured me that she was happy to assist and agreed with the plan. I also advised Miss Dagger that since our last encounter with the corpse its posture had relaxed, no more was she sitting akin, as Miss Dagger keenly observed, to an Indian mystic, but instead she was laying in repose, silent and peaceful. After a final check that we both understood the hand signals to be used we descended



In the gloom of the depths my suit lit the area and revealed our corpse in its new "sleeping" state, there was something odd about her body, by all accounts she must have been interred beneath the waves for more than half a century and yet her skin seemed relatively firm and, if I am honest, firmer now than when we encountered her previously.

We arranged the open casket nearby and as carefully as this suit allows, lifted her body into the brass coffin. I was careful not to bring the body too near to Miss Dagger, before our descent she had commented that her suit gave her less insulation than my own, very true, but I had assumed that she was concerned for the temperature and had simply waved the comment away with an assurance that we would work as fast as conditions allowed. It was not until our descent that it occurred to me that she was perhaps referring to the danger presented by a "cursed" body, and thus I took great care not to expose her any more than I must.



DEspite the preservation of her body, it was clear that her clothing had not fared so well her skirt fell away in tatters as I lifted her, catching on the lid of the coffin and any thing else that it wrapped around. I lay her gently in the casket, arranging her rags as best I could to preserve her dignity, I paused to laugh at my own primness.



I knelt by the casket, pausing briefly to sniff back tears of sorrow for someone who I had never even known. Kneeling by her side, I pulled the lid back into place and sealed the casket.

Miss Dagger stepped forward ready to lift. Taking the weight of the casket with my assisted suit I waited for Miss Dagger to signal her readiness and then holding a thumb aloft signalled the start of our ascent.




We rose slowly to the surface, as those who have spent any time in the water will know it is important for ones health to rise slowly when diving without the aid of a hard suit. I hoped that I was taking the weight of the casket as Miss Dagger needed only guide the ascent, if indeed she bore more load than I had hoped not once did she complain or show any sign of flagging; I have a great deal of respect for Miss Dagger from the manner in whcih she has involved herself in this endeavour.

As we rose toward the surface the dim sunlight offered up a fitting view of the wrecked hull of the vessel from which our young lady had been thrown. The paranoia and superstition of the crew guiding their actions but ultimately failing to save their sorry lives, it is perhaps fitting that those that condemned her shared her fate.



We broke the surface as the afternoon sun began to dwindle into the evening light, a small crowd had gathered to meet us. I had told Mr Whitfield of our operation and he had agreed to meet us on the jetty, but he had also been preceded by Miss Cappalini and a friend, whose name I cannot recall.

At the surface, I briefly opened the casket to ensure that our "cargo" had arrived intact. A hush fell across those gathered, Miss Dagger was visibly drained, perhaps through the exertion of the lift, perhaps being over-wrought by the events of the afternoon. We left her to recover and carrying the coffin (now drained of water) alone, I followed Mr Whitfield to his premises in Loner Lane.



I placed the body upon the table while Mr Whitfield prepared for his grisly part in the days work. It was uncomfortable to be present as first the remainder of the young lady's clothing was removed leaving her naked before us all, there truly is no dignity in death, and then as Mr Whitfields knife made skillful incssions, opening up her body, revealing her past. As uncomfortable as these events may have felt, and I certainly have no wish to make this a regular occurence, there is a morbid fascination that draws ones eyes to the work of a skilled surgeon while your own body and mind struggle to comprehend what it is witnessing.

I will now record the proceedings to the best of my recollection, though my thoughts at times may be disturbed.
.
Mr Hengest Whitfield stood to the side of the body examining her condition
"There appear to be major contusions."

He pressed his fingers to the flesh - "There's deep swelling, possibly implying fractures."
then taking a frightfully large knife, he sliced into the decaying body revealing bone that has obviously reset after being broken, he indicated the areas of fusing where the breakages had occurred.

I shook my head, "Poor lass, I felt she may have been bound and weighted when she was sent to the bottom.". I realised quickly that a dead body does not heal, that these must have been older wounds.

Perhaps Miss Capalini realised the history of violence implied by this as she visibly shivered and turned her head aside, peering back over her shoulder.

Hengest Whitfield continued, "There are multiple fractures - they appear to have occured over a length of time. Some appear to be very old."


I felt quite ill at this point struggling to contain my reaction to the images before me.

"Most of the damage to the skin and flesh I would say has been caused by sea creatures feeding on her... although that damage appears to be relatively recent."

Canolli Capalini spoke up, through hands covering her mouth, choking back her own repulsion as I fought mine. "How long did you say the body had been underwater?"

"If we are to believe the records ... the best part of half a century." I replied as Mr. Whitfield stepped closer once more, and opened the chest cavity to give access to the organs. "The myth claims the amulet that she bore had restorative powers, Mr Whitfield, was she dead before she was dumped? Did the crew murder her and dump the body?"

With this Mr. Whitfield draws his blade through one of the lungs, a deep red tissue which he observed was in surprisingly good condition.

"This is most perplexing. I'd say she drowned in the last few days."

Canolli Capalini gasped and I fell quiet, the evidence before me had suddenly fallen in to place. I have trouble recording the rest but must do so, for this journal it is my only counsel, my refuge and my confessional.

"I...I...my god..the amulet...", I spluttered, barely comprehensible, "I killed her!". I hung my head, ashamed to meet the eyes aroud the room.

"It appears that the legend is true.", intoned Mr. Whitfield, "unless there is a more reasonable explanation as to why her body remains so well preserved.". He paused, taking in my comments, "You killed her Miss Janus?".

By this time I was beside myself, struggling for self control, "She all but gave it to me, a motion, I...I... thought was, the water, b..but she wanted to die, I don't think she could die until she had given the amulet to another."
Miss Dagger gasped, she had caught up with us and entered unseen.

Canolli Capalini, looked toward me, searching for the right words, "Surely a trick of the imagination, Miss Janus".
"No, in taking it from her, I sealed her fate. I am not one for supersticion, but it fits both the rumours and the evidence.".

"The amulet is in safe hands, I trust?", asked Mr Whitfield.
"Yes, it is lodged with Babbage's finest.", I replied, my disdain for the previous efforts of the Bow Street force lost in my hope that they truly could deliver on the promises.

I staggered back, the suit whining to keep from falling over, without it I would surely have collapsed.
"It does not bear thinking about, that poor girl has been shackled on the ocean bed alive and yet dead for so many years"

The kind Miss Capalini tried to asuage my guilt, "If that is what happened, Miss Janus.. Perhaps you were actually doing her a kindness."

Miss Dagger, stepped forward, "The thought of being immortal, but trapped on the floor of the ocean is...maddening.", Miss Capalini nodded in agreement, her face grim.

"Miss Dagger, do you recall that I mentioned her attitude on the sea bed, one of repose, as if a burden had been lifted, I hope, for my own sake that it correct, I gave her a blessed release.", I do not know if this could be true, perhaps we never will, if there is an after life I will answer for my actions, I hope the trueness in my heart shines through.

Miss Dagger nodded, "Certainly so....but there are so many troubling parts of this."

I had had enough, my mind was swiming, overcome by the physical and emotional strains of the day I wanted to be out of that foul room, away from people, no matter hwo they might be.

"Mr Whitfield are you complete in your investigation? I feel quite overcome all of a sudden and feel I should perhaps retire now."

Mr Whitfield concluded his examination, "I can only guess that her broken bones were caused by years of persecution - ignorant minds turning against her when they found out her secret. I am satisfied with the examination - I can find no further injuries to indicate an alternate hypothesis."

"Thankyou sir, can I ask that you prepare her body for burial, I will arrange this. I feel she should be committed to the land, she has been with the sea for too long now. I wish we knew more of her background.". With that I turned to leave.

"I have rubber-coated sacks that will prevent foul odours poisoning the air - I'm afraid she must remain in one of those until the coffin and grave is prepared.".

"Please, send your bill to me Mr. Whitfield thankyou for your services this evening and please do as you must."

"No charge Miss Janus. My services and skills are at the disposal of the community.".

Canolli Capalini stepped towards me as I walked towards the door. "Miss Janus, Please allow me to offer my services as a carpenter. I can make her an appropriate coffin."

"Miss Capalini, how wonderful, thank you.".

I left the building and hurried as fast as my suit would allow back to the sea, walking back slowly across the sea bed lest, through the tunnels, I might meet another person. As I walked, my lights illuminating the sea bed before me, the enormity of the suffering of the poor girl was clear. Mr Whitfield was right to a point, her bones had been broken many years before, but perhaps not as part of her embattled life, but as part of her drawn out death. It is my belief that at least some of the fractures were of her own making, a desperate act to release herself from the shackles that had kept her from discovery. In her tormented life/death state she had broken her own limbs to escape and bring the amulet into the open. It did not bear thinking about, I banished the thoughts, Mr Whitfield knows best, her life on the surface had been equally violent and perhaps no less horrific.

Another curse visited upon our fair city?

There has been much talk in the drinking houses of the port area recently of a long lost treasure. So far as I have been able to tell the instigator of the rumour is one Remington Thursday, who ,perhaps rather naively sought out the assistance of the community of at least one of the less savoury bars in the recovery of the treasure. Needless to say, Mr Thursday has since been relieved of the documents that he had which indicated the whereabouts of the treasure. One can only suspect who might be behind these piratical deeds.

Those of us less driven by the demon greed have expressed concern over the apparent curse upon the aforementioned treasure, an ancient amulet, by all accounts; indeed by my own account for I am now the owner of this very item.

I had heard the rumours and being equipped for marine exploration chose to comb the seabed for the evidence lest the uncaring mercenaries were to avail themselves of it and unleash the curse without any thought upon what might happen. and so it was that early this evening I was working my way across the seabed near the wreck of a old sunken vessel, a vessel that I have noted and charted before. The ship lies upon its side on a ridge of seabed and I know not how long it has rested there. The sketch below, though rudimentary suggests how the ship might look to those observing it from the waters.


However, it was to my great surprise, that in the trench that falls away to the north side of the resting place of the ship, I spied a body, severely damaged and decomposed but held frozen by rigor mortis and decay and a state of serene repose. I can not but wonder about this state, I would consult with my more learned friends the good Doctor Mason and Mr. Hengest Whitfield whose knowledge of cadavers is unsettlingly rich. The very nature of that pose suggests to me a relaxed but intentional state at the time of death, this is clearly at odds with the alleged manner of death conveyed from the journal entries circulated by Mr Thursday; it is almost as if the young lady settled to await her death, but the very depth of the water would suggest that she should already have been dead before reaching the bottom, was she weighed down? A more worrying suggestion, did the amulet, that sustains the youth and beauty of at least one of the mythical accounts serve to sustain its most recent victim, was the poor wretch condemned to the deep and yet lived on shackled and weighted to the sea bed?




In any case, the body, now frozen in this eery pose, has clearly floated free of any bonds and drifted into the open. Upon the body I found an item of jewelry. I placed the item, quickly into the steel stowage compartment of my suit and, perhaps not before time, as I was soon joined by Miss Dagger, a lady who I have had no previous encounter with and who for all I knew could have been one of the pirates but who I later discovered to be of a similar mind to myself, motivated less by greed than by an intention not to let the competing scoundrels find it.



I signalled to Miss Dagger and we met to converse on the surface. I expressed my fear over the intentions of other parties and that one may find themselves similarly consigned to the depths if one was seen to stand between such scoundrels and their loot. We agreed that the best course of action would be to secure the amulet until its rightful possession could be established through the courts. Together we met with the mayor this evening and the amulet has been placed under secure glass in the offices of the Bow Street Runners. It will take a brave thief to steal it from there and I hope that this action will deter those with greed in their minds but I fear that they may still collude to retrieve the item with history repeating itself from the time of Phayllus' theft of the necklace from the Temple at Delphi.


I should perhaps note that, despite my reservations over this tale, when I removed the amulet from its steel pocket in my suit, I was aware of a faint "song", though it was not truly musical, I fear it is part of the curse foretold in the rumours and I worked quickly to place it into a sealed steel casket ready to present to the mayor. Furthermore, in keeping with the rumours, upon presentation to the mayor, he was unaware of any sounds, so it does not seem to affect men. Miss Dagger and I both heard the noise, and perhaps through my proximity, it left me quite dizzy, near nauseous before I was able to seal it. No further ill effects since I am pleased to say.

Tomorrow I will be contacting one of our good doctors with a view to raising the body of the poor soul and following an appropriate autopsy, convey her remains to rest.