From: cwynne@liberty.uc.wlu.edu (Colin J. Wynne)
Newsgroups: alt.games.torg
Subject: Vic's Revenge, part 3(?)
Date: 15 Sep 92 07:53:59 GMT
Organization: University of North Texas
X-Gated-By: The Black Marble Wombat@morticia.cnns.unt.edu
X-Gated-From: torg mailing list
X-Gatemail-Version: 1.0b

Here's the next installment.  Hope you like it!

CJW
=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=
=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=
=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D

-- The Revenge of Victor Manwaring --



Monday, 6 July, 1992:
     Somewhere in Chiselthwaite, London -- 8:03 am
     There were no windows in the warehouse.  Nobody on the outside
could see the rows and rows of tables full of drugs, bootlegged
cyberware, weapons, ammo, stolen appliances, or any of a dozen
other types of illegal merchandise.
     John, Valentine and Brenden strolled up and down the aisles.=20
Brenden had eyeballed a person who seemed like a pretty good
dealer, as far as crooks went.  He stepped up to the cache of
goods.  John and Val practically gawked at all of the hardware laid
out.
     "Lookin' fer sum'thin' pertikeler, mate?"
     Llewelyn nodded.  "Glock nine millimeter."
     "Coo, 'at'sa good 'un, gov'nor.  Lotsa folks like them
popguns."  He produced one from behind the table, sighting along
the barrel at an empty crate.  "Nice an' light, an' simple t'
conceal.  'ere, want ta look at 'er, gov'nor?"
     Brenden ran his finger around the tip of the barrel, then
smelled the excess oils that his finger picked up.  "Not too bad.=20
I'd say that this is about =9C150 worth of gun."
     "One fifty!  Crimey, gov'nor, it cost me more'n'at.  It'd
break me heart to give i' away like 'at.  Two-fifty."
     "What's this?  Come come, sir, the plastic is chipped.  Who
knows how strong it might be?"
     The dealer humbly accepted =9C170 for his wares after a little
bit of browbeating.  Valentine's mouth formed a little 'o' of
delight as her eyes came across 'Tiny Tim'.
     "You likes li'l Tim thar, lass?"
     Val was practically carressing the Ingram Mac 10 she had
picked up.
     "Tho' it 'urts me t' do so, I can sell it to a pretty laidy
like you for a mere =9C300."
     Brenden announced, "Yes, that would be quite a fair price" --
the dealer's face lit up -- "for the gun, a case of ammo, and three
clips."
     The dealer's day was utterly ruined as Brenden cowed him into
accepting, and he was downright miserable when Brenden decided to
buy a Desert Eagle for John Kickingbird, too.
     The three strolled happily away with their new purchases.
     "Blimey.  Wha' a bloomin' bloody lousy day.  I just might go
legit.  I'm like to make more money that way, anyhows!"



     M.I.5, London -- 11:45 am
     Brenden straightened his tie as he waited patiently for his
meeting.  He had been given an appointment with Sir Matthew Burke
Chatham, an Associate Director with, he understood, relevant
jurisdiction to be able to help out Valentine.  Despite the many
hardships Britain faced since the Invasion, her Ministries of
Intelligence were still going strong -- perhaps even stronger than
ever, some might say.
     The Fifth Directorate -- comparable to America's FBI -- had
assumed greater domestic responsibilities as more traditional
enforcement had suffered under the wash of realities.  For some
reason, more of M.I.5's men had been able to keep hold of their
devotion and sense of duty than those from the local forces.
     The big door swung silently open, and a figure emerged from
the office.  Brenden couldn't place the name, but he was fairly
certain that the man had been at Mountbatten's the other night.
     The secretary nodded in Llewelyn's direction.  "Sir Chatham
will see you now."  Brenden nodded, and entered.
     Brenden's footfalls were lost in the thick, dark red carpet
underfoot.  He approached the desk and extended a hand.  "Good
morning, Sir Chatham."
     The Associate Director frowned, and, after a pause, shook his
visitor's hand.  "Not really.  Sit down, please."
     Brenden did so.  The director removed his glasses, wiped them
thoroughly, and reset them upon his face.  "What may I do for you?"
     Brenden tried his best not to show how irritated he was that
this man had not returned any sense of formality whatsoever.  "Yes.=20
Well, I was referred to your department for a problem of mine.=20
Rather, of a friend of mine.  In the early a.m. on Saturday, a Miss
Valentine Wiggin was taken custody on Fleet Street, and I am told
that your department is handling the case."
     Chatham frowned again, sending ripples through several of his
chins.  He pushed the intercom on his desk.  "Bring me the folder
for Wiggin, from Saturday morning."
     Uncomfortable silence filled the air for several minutes,
until the paperwork delivered.  "Let me see..."  Chatham cocked his
head back, to look through his bifocals.
     "Breaking and entering, illegal weapon possession, property
damage.  Seems fairly open and shut.  What, may I ask, seems to be
the problem?"
     Brenden held his voice calm and level.  "Sir, those charges do
not reflect the circumstances.  My friend was attacked, and badly
hurt trying to defend herself."
     "Attacked, eh?  She told the constable that, too.  There was
no trace of an attack.  Just a bloody lot of bullet holes and some
broken shop windows.  Again, I ask, what seems to be the problem?=20
The lady is already out on bail, and she can present her case in
court in a month."
     Brenden tried to count to ten, got to four and a little bit.=20
"I would like to see her personal property restored.  It is a
matter of utmost importance."
     The heavy jowls rocked back and forth as the Associate
Director's head turned to scan the page.  "Property?  All that was
withheld was an assault rifle and a laptop computer."
     Brenden's voice rose perceptibly.  "That is not a laptop
computer, sir.  That is a cyberdeck, and it is a vital piece of
equipment to her, and to her comrades.  Are you aware, sir, that
Miss Wiggin is employed by M.I.6?"
     Now it was Chatham's turn to be angry.  His face turned flush,
and his voice fairly bellowed.  "Directorate Six has no
authorisation to operate within the country!  This is not, as you
Yanks would say, their turf.  Therefore, as long as she remains in
England -- which, I might add, will be until her trial -- she has
no need for her little toys."
     Brenden tried calm and reason one last time.  "Mr. Associate
Director, sir, I give you my word as a citizen of this country, an
agent of your government, and as Viscount of Harms, that this
equipment is necessary and vital, and that it is imperative that it
be returned."
     "You have my answer, Mr. Llewelyn.  The items will remain in
custody."
     Brenden leaned over the desk, and made his voice as low and
threatening as he could possible manage.  "Chatham, if Valentine --
or any of our associates -- come to harm because of this assinine
decision, I will personally come back here and extract justice from
your prodigious hide.  You have my word on that -- not as count,
not as agent, not as citizen -- but just as somebody who doesn't
like to see good oxygen go to waste."
     Chatham leapt to his feet, sending his chair flying backwards.=20
He gesticulated wildly at the door.  "Get out of here, now!"
     Brenden slammed the door very satisfyingly as he left.



     St. George Street, London -- 12:27 pm
     Alice held the door open as an upset looking Brenden tramped
through the door and threw himself down on one of the piles of
pillows that comprised Shadoe's apartment.  "What a jerk."
     "Brenden, whatever happened?"
     "I didn't get her stuff.  The blockhead over at M.I.5 wouldn't
order the release.
     "Anyway, did you get in touch with everyone?"
     Alice nodded.  "You told Valentine and John, didn't you?"
     "Yes, dear."   Sunday afternoon, Brenden had received an
invitation from a friend of his in the SAS, to dine at the Tower
Tuesday night.  Well, thought Brenden, the last get together went
fairly well.
     Which reminded him, "Where's Anna?"
     "She took Lord Dalming home from the hospital today.  The
wound wasn't too serious.  Just, well, messy.  They have him all
bandaged up, and Anna is going to stay with him today."
     Brenden nodded just as a fervent knock sounded at the door.
     Alice went to the door.  "Who is it?"
     "It's Val.  Is he back yet?"
     "Yes, one moment."
     Alice slid back the bolts and opened up the door.
     Valentine flew into the room like a hot pink Concorde.  "Well,
where's my stuff?" she said, moving straight for Brenden.
     He loosened his tie and sighed.
     "Val, I'm sorry.  I couldn't get your things for you.  I-"
     "You what???"
     Alice said, "Oh, dear," and moved closer.  "Valentine, he did
his best."
     "YOU SAID YOU WOULD GET ME MY GUN!  I WANT MY GUN BACK,
DAMNIT!"
     Before Brenden could even say a word, Valentine spun on the
heels of her combat boots, throwing a spray of hair gel in his eye,
and she stormed out.
     "That went almost as well as my meeting this morning," mused
Brenden as his hand twitched for a double of bourbon.  Shit.



     Page Street, London -- 1:03 pm
     A soft knock sounded and the door, and David Hardy wiped his
straight razor across its strap, wiped shaving cream from his face,
and went to the door.  Unconsciously, his hands fluffed out the
freshly trimmed muttonchops as he crossed his meager apartment.
     A shock of bright white hair over dark, inky features met the
priest as he opened the door.  "Alain, what a pleasant surprise."
     The elf nodded her head curtly.  "Father Hardy."  She used his
title, usually, simply because he seemed to appreciate its use.
     "Do come in.  May I get you something?  I haven't much around,
but..."
     Alain shook her head.  "No.  I'm afraid I've come to speak of
serious matters."
     Hardy noticed that he was wearing only his breaches and
undershirt, and said, "Give me just a moment, please, and then you
may speak freely about what troubles you."
     While David finished dressing, he mused on whether the
misguided girl was finally seeing a glimpse of the Truth.  The
distorted faith represented by the one she called Dunad had some
elements that compared favourably with the teachings of the Lord,
and Father David Hardy held out hope for Alain, that she might one
day know His Grace.
     However, what confronted him when he returned to his cubicle
of a living room was something of a more pressing nature.  "David,
there have been some strange happenings in the last few days.=20
Brenden and Alice are convinced that there is a horror in London."
     David allowed himself a sharp intake of breath.  He also
noticed that Alain had allowed a more lax use of a particular word
than one would ever hear from a Victorian speaking of a Horror.
     "Lord Protect us and grant us Your Mercy.  Alain, what has
happened?"
     Alain paused to collect her thoughts for a moment, and then
began.  "Of course, you know about what happened at Brenden's
apartment."
     David nodded.  "Indeed.  That poor soldier, God keep him."
     "If I have the times straight, the first event after that took
place on Friday.  Alice, Valentine, and Shadoe were shopping and a
man went berserk, attacking everyone around.  According to Alice,
he held some sort of special fixation on her."
     Alain provdided several more details that she had learned from
the trio involved.  Hardy's visage turned grim.  "Would to God that
I did not know whereof you speak, Alain, but I think that I do.  It
is a spell, one of the few common spells among the various twisted
followers, worshippers, even, of the Occult.  An Occultist
concentrates on violent, painful, heart-wrending images, and then
uses his dark powers to force that emotional turmoil on another.=20
The results are not regular, of course, and anything but
predictable, but violent psychopathic tantrums such as you describe
are a common effect."
     Alain pondered the significance of that.  "That man, according
to authorities, has not yet recovered.  What a powerful spell!"
     David nodded grimly.  "If such a powerful Occultist is in the
area, then you can be all but certain that there are, indeed,
Horrors as well.
     "I now regret that Brenden and I have been operating under
such different schedules since I invited him in.  I have heard
nothing of any of this.  What else has transpired, Alain?"
     Alain told the stories of Valentine, Shadoe, and Alice
fighting their own shadows, and of the demon that was made of
shadow.
     Hardy's face was looking drawn and pale.  "I have never heard
of such a thing as this.  Things could be more serious than any of
us has yet considered."
     Continuing, Alain gave the priest all of the details she could
recall from the violent afternoon at the caf=82.  "And the other
creature," she was saying, "seemed to resemble a type of undead
known here in Aysle, but I am certain that it held us in what I
have heard you call the Power of Fear."
     "Alain, this is very, very important.  Of what manner of
nosferatu did this creature remind you?"
     Alain said, "A type called a wraith.  Father?  David?  What's
wrong?"
     All the blood had drained from Father Hardy's face.  He
crossed himself, and began to pray softly to himself.
     He looked up and locked eyes with the worried elf.  "Alain,
the Wraith of Orrorsh is a terrible beast.  It is a type of gospog,
the most suprememly powerful type known to all of Victoria.=20
Wraiths exist for one purpose:  violent murder. =20
     "If that soldier had not been killed in Brenden's apartment,
Brenden himself would have been the victim.  Obviously, the Wraith
was sent to kill him.  A Wraith will destroy anyone who crosses its
path, and discovers it hiding, before moving on to a new location.
     "That coldness you described, so cold it felt like death, that
it a power (or should I say a curse?) possessed by some of the most
potent creatures in Orrorsh.  What you felt, Alain, was the very
evil of that Wraith overwhelming and destroying your living soul!=20
That coldness can kill!"
     Alain protested, "But David, this thing, this wraith, did not
try to kill us at the restaurant.  It seemed more to be toying with
us.  If it were as you describe, we should all by now be dead."
     David nodded.  "That thought frightens me even more.  Do you
know why?  Because that implies that this Occultist is strong
enough, and powerful enough, to control it.
     "Alain, I must do some research if I am to be able to help you
and our friends.  Unfortunately, this strange duplicate of
Victoria, this England, is not likely to have a great number of the
books and materials I shall need for such an undertaking.  God
willing, though, I will find some."
     Alain, who had learned something of the ways and methods of
the Occult under Father Hardy's tutelage, quickly offered, "I can
help you."
     "You are most generous, Alain.  But do you feel that you know
enough of the forces and things with which we are dealing?  I do
not mean to belittle your considerable knowledge -- far from it.=20
But you have very little practical experience with the creatures of
Orrorsh."
     Alain decided not to be offended by the man's Victorian
arrogance, because he was very probably correct.  "I understand.=20
But I will be able to help locate writings for you."
     "Very good.  God be with you, Alain.  Let us meet again in a
few days to see what we may have found out."



Tuesday, 7 July, 1992:
     Thistle Hotel, London -- 9:12am=20
     Anna's clouded mind finally recognised the sound which had
woken her.  It was the phone.  And it wouldn't go away.
     A few moments of fumbling brought the awful device into her
hands and against the side of her head.  "Hello?"
     There was a brief pause.  "Anna, this is Arthur."  His voice
sounded very strange -- not that he should be sounding normal after
just returning from the hospital the day before.  His convalescence
had proceeded very quickly while she stayed with him during the
day, and she had left scarcely nine hours ago.
     But still, he sounded...spooked.
     Anna forced herself to a semblance of coherence.  "Arthur,
what's wrong?"
     Lord Dalming's voice was flat and soft, as though he were in
some kind of shock.  "Can you meet me here, soon, please?"
     "Why?  Arthur, what's the matter?"
     "Please, can you come?"
     Anna blinked her eyes a few times, but the confusion refused
to go away.  "Yes, I can be there in by ten-thirty.  Are you
alright?"
     "I think so.  I'm not sure.  Don't worry, nothing will happen
before you get here; I am fairly certain of that."
     The phone clicked, and a dial tone rang in Anna's ear.  Less
than a minute later, she was up and in the shower.



     Newcastle Street, London -- 10:22am
     Anna waited patiently for the door to open.  Arthur owned a
very nice first story flat in one of the more prosperous -- or, at
least, less downtrodden -- sections of the city.  When she had seen
it the day before, she had thought that it looked quite lived in,
and wondered when Arthur had last been to his estate.  He had been
much too weak at the time for her to ask him alot of questions,
even though she very much wanted to find out more about this
mysterious gentleman whose interest she had attracted, a feeling
which, Anna was beginning to realise, was not entirely one-sided.
     But all such idle curiosities were driven from her mind this
mrning.  Arthur opened the door, looking pale and drawn, his right
arm and most of his right side bound by bandages.  He managed a
weak looking smile.
     "I'm glad you are here," he said.
     Anna didn't know what to do.  Still standing before the open
door, she asked, again, "Arthur, tell me what's wrong."
     Dalming dropped a key into the pocket of the shirt which was
draped loosely over his battered torso, stepped into the hall, and
closed the door.  "There is something I must absolutely show
someone, and I can think of no one other you with whom to do so."
     More confused than ever, Anna followed the lord out onto the
street, a block further along Newcastle Street, and two blocks up
a much dingier lookingroad.  When he began to enter a deserted
looking building, she could not keep silent any longer.  "Arthur,
what is going on here?"
     The look in his eyes as he turned to her was all the answer
necessary.  She knew that something very,very important was about.
     They climbed several flights of steps, and Anna offered
support to Arthur's laborious efforts.  "I woke this morning," he
said, as he left the stairs at the fourth storey landing, "feeling
very weak, and strange.  I thought I had had terrible nightmares
during my rest.
     "But, after I saw, and feared what had happened, I felt myself
drawn to this place -- I know not how, but I could not keep my feet
from bringing me here."
     By this time, he had reached a door, which appeared to be
unlocked.  He pushed the door open, and stepped inside.  Anna
followed, and stood there for several seconds while her eyes
adjusted to the gloom.  The windows appeared to be boarded, and
hardly any light seeped in past the door, which Arthur had closed
over again.
     "And I found this," said Arthur.
     Anna focused her eyes harder, and noticed a rectangular shape.=20
Moving closer, realisation began to set in, and cold chills shot up
her spine.
     Sitting on the one table in the room was an oblong wooden box,
about seven feet long -- a coffin.  Anna stumbled two steps
backward, and when Arthur touched her elbow she jerked violently
away.  Her eyes didn't see Arthur, didn't even see a human being,
but rather they noticed the ascot that was fastened around
Dalming's neck.  Around his neck.
     Anna bolted for the door.
     Arthur cried out, "Please, Anna, wait!  Help me!"
     Halfway into the hallway, Anna stopped, as though his voice
were a net set to catch a fleeing animal.  She turned around,
carefully, still ready to leave, but the pleading look in his eyes
yanked at her heart, and she knew she couldn't just leave.
     Arthur held the ascot in his left hand, and on his throat were
two tiny little red dots, placed directly over his jugular vein.
     With trembling hand, Anna produced the cross which she wore
around her neck.  It was a tiny thing, but its golden form cast
small sparkles across the dim doorway, and the room within.=20
"Arthur, take this from me."
     Anna felt horrible, and Arthur's face told her just how hurt
he was by the request.  But she had to do something.  With just the
barest hesitation, Arthur gently reached out and touched the cross.=20
Anna let her hand slip free, and he held it by himself.
     "Arthur, we have to get some help here, now!  I'm taking you
back to your flat, and then I am going off to find some of my
friends.  Okay?"
     Dalming looked ready to faint.  "Yes, of course."



     Near Newcastle Street, London -- 12:47pm
     Bubba had carried Arthur back up the stairs this time, at
Anna's insistence, so that the poor man would not have to exert
himself again.  Brenden, Father Hardy, Alice, Shadoe, Alain and
John were all clustered into the small room.
     Father Hardy spoke as soon as Arthur had regained his own
feet.  "Bubba, please break the boards on these windows."
     The giant went methodically through the room, and as he
shattered more and more plywood into splinters, crooked rays of
afternoon sunlight streamed into the room.
     The priest stepped carefully up to the box.  He carried a
large wooden cross in his left hand, and a Bible in the other.  Not
the Sacellum Book of Power, but a handwritten old Victorian Bible
which he had been given by the Bishop who had ordained him back on
Victoria.
     Holding the cross aloft, he intoned, "Lord of Power and Might,
grant us Your Strength to overcome the evil forces which have
tainted this place."
     He set the cross atop the coffin's lid, and then sprinkled
Holy Water around the box, the table, and the room.  With careful
movements, he eased the top of the coffin back.  The box was empty,
to nobody's particular surprise.
     Father Hardy took up his cross again as Bubba helped him move
the lid to the floor.  Black, sweet smelling earth half-filled the
coffin.
     Brenden stepped up to the coffin lid, and looked closely.=20
Once before had he been this close to such an unholy object, and
that one had had 'V.M.' in gilt lettering to announce its owner.=20
Victor Manwaring's mark was not, however, to be seen on this piece
of wood.
     As Father Hardy produced his Holy Water sprinkler, Alain
stepped up to the priest.  "Mightn't we," she inquired, "make use
of a part of this soil?  I am thinking of how I saw you use the
blood of Malcolm Kane to affect one of my spells."
     Hardy nodded.  "Yes, that could very well prove useful."=20
Alain produced a small pouch, into which Hardy moved a small amount
of the coffin's contents.=20
     David poured Holy Water all over the soil, offering prayer to
his God the entire time.  The group waited, feeling somehow removed
from all of time and space as they watched the methodical process
go on.
     Finally, looking as though he were on the verge of physical
exhaustion, Hardy turned back to the group.  "It is done.  Bubba,
would you please make the arrangements permanent?"
     An ugly grin showed across the giant's face, and he hefted a
large ball and chain.  In three swings, the coffin and the table
were utterly demolished.
     The group began to leave.  Arthur moved to Anna's side.  "I
feel slightly more at ease already.  But I fear to be alone
tonight.  Will you stay with me, please?"
     Anna hesitated.  Father Hardy was walking past at that moment,
and Anna said, "Father!"
     He paused and turned toward her, looking quite grave.  "Yes,
Anna?"
     "Arthur feels it would be unwise for him to be alone tonight.=20
Will you come with me to help watch him?"
     Hardy regarded Lord Dalming.  "Of course.  It would pain me to
see any more evil befall you, or Dame Anna."
     "Thank you, both."
     Hardy nodded.  "Anna, I have several things to accomplish
today.  I shall meet you later at your hotel, if you do not mind."
     "Not at all, Father," she answered.  "How about six-thirty?"
     "Quite agreeable.  And you, Lord Dalming."
     Arthur was again looking drawn.  "I suppose.  You will be here
by sundown, though?"
     "Absolutely," assured both the lady and the priest.

=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=
=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=
=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
=3D=3D  Colin J. Wynne                       cwynne@liberty.uc.wlu.edu  =3D=
=3D
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<