30th January

My sweet Cecelia,
My time in the seclusion of my cabin has been well spent. I’ve had many lovely long hours of rest. I have painted, composed a few verses and most importantly, I have written those long overdue missives to Mother and Father. Of course, I have kept all bu the most mundane of details of my trip so far to myself, not even daring to share them with either Teddy or Lottie.

The two of them have been having a rather gay time with our fellow passengers and just generally gadding about the place. Lottie has been shopping up quite a storm. Mind you, she does have an obscenely large trust fund, left to her by The Mogul, her once rather terrifying grandfather. Lottie was raised by him after the death of her own parents when she was quite small. Dear Lottie has such a generous heart, one quite wonders where on earth she may have inherited such a placid nature.

Oh, I have a telegram, which I received at breakfast this morning, with rather more positive news than the last. Jack will be boarding the Vulcania later this morning and making the next leg of the journey alongside me. I have much to discuss with him and he assures me that he too, has much to share. Was it really necessary to address the telegram to dollface though? The man is incorrigible! I don’t think I can bear to have him in close proximity for days at a time. Jazz talk, baby, he says. Ha! We shall see.

Elizabeth.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Well, Cecelia,
I have returned to my cabin after a surprisingly pleasant dinner with the American. Brother dearest wished to be introduced to my companion and I endured a great number of quizzical looks from Lottie as the boys bonded. They apparently have much in common, I haven’t the faintest idea what, and appeared to be quite taken with one another. It took a rather concerted effort on my part to shoo Teddy away, and only after he’d extracted promises of drinks in the lounge after dinner.

Jack was most agreeable throughout our meal of filet mignon and seasonal vegetables, followed by apple cream pie for dessert. The ship puts on quite a spread! There was an awkwardly tender moment when he actually reached across the table to wipe a little dessert cream from my chin with his thumb. Oh, that apple pie was to die for!

Having brought Jack up to date with my tales of derring-do in his absence, it was time for me to learn precisely what he had discovered himself.
‘Charles is long gone, baby..’
‘No? Really?’ I’d answered in mock surprise.
Jack remained unamused. ‘You slay me, Lizzy. Listen, toots, if you don’t wanna know..’
‘Oh no, toots, please carry on.’ I resisted the rather peevish urge to poke my tongue out in his direction.
‘Charles is long gone. There’s just nothing. That trail has gone cold. What I did find out, was that he was definitely onto something. I turned up a dick that he’d hired, one of his reliable sources..’
‘Wait a minute. A dick?’
‘Private investigator. An unhappy one at that. Charles still owes him a few quid. The dick had news of a man known only as The Collector. This guy is gathering up your precious scrolls as we speak. Word has it that he’s paying big bucks to anyone who can get a hold of them for him. The scrolls are said to give the the bearer the powers that were originally attributed to Obas’ah, the Benevolent One. Powers of immortality, telekinesis, telepathy and the ability to command great armies, both living and dead. And much more. So far, The Collector has two of the scrolls in his possession. there are six in total. That means..’
‘There are four still out there.’
‘Hey, you’re not just a pretty face, are ya toots?’

Apart from the apparent condescension and name-calling, dinner with Jack was pleasant enough. I shall be giving him the widest possible berth while we’re confined to the ship though. Too many of these dinners and I might actually find myself in danger of liking the man. Perish the thought, Cissy!

Now, with four scrolls still at large, we’ll have our work cut out for us. We do have the one small clue of the Living Tree sigil, which neither of us were able to recognise. Perhaps our next port of call will provide us with more answers before The Collector possesses all of the scrolls and wreaks destruction on Lemuria and the rest of the globe.

Elizabeth.

the grove

Nestled
a jewel among monoliths
and village clamour and clang
invites us to meander
in tranquility and ancient
rite.
Lichen and moss, all
phosphorescence and cushion
adhering to
trees, tall and stout and
fallen, rotting in sweet
langour, resigned.
Soil,
sun-warmed embracing
bare feet avoiding bramble
and blackberry and
tender shoots struggle
amidst the great and mighty,
choking ferns
abundant.
Sugary
fragrance, dizzying clutches
tightly watering
the mouth in juicy
berry-laden abandon, low
boughs bending earthward in
exhausted burden.
Birds of many coloured
feathers pluck
the overripe fruit, converse
gaily and spread renewed
life and bounty
elsewhere.

23rd January – later

How unaccustomed to this late afternoon heat, I am. I feel positively wretched. I am filthy and my legs ache for want of a short rest, but I dare not, for fear I might fall into a deep and lasting sleep. If I am to make it before darkness descends, I must crack on at this very pace, Cecelia.

The sounds which enevelop me on all sides do rattle me so. Some, such as the cries of the large parrot-like birds which parry and thrust overhead are quite pleasing to the ear and do hearten me as I walk. Others, however, fill me with an uncommon dread for they howl and keen as though tortured. This beast is on foot and I’m certain that it grow ever closer to me.

The light is less now, Cissy, though the heat of the day does not dissipate. I am nearing my destination and take heart that I shall soon be upon the cottage of Cleo Catsis. Oh, but I am afraid! I imagine that I see the occasional flash of yellow from time to time. It cannot be. I cannot allow myself such folly as to believe in the phantom of Harmony’s dire warning. I vary my pace, sauntering as though to give an air of nonchalance which in reality I do not possess, then hurrying promptly at each new low growl and fancied glint of hard, bright amber.
I am being stalked, Cissy, I am sure of it, and now it is twilight. The beast is just one and it quickens its stride and seems to care not that I am alerted to its presence. Cecelia, I must run! I am within steps from the porch of Ms Catsis, but the creature gains and it salivates and I hear its bloodlust and I know that I will be torn asunder beneath its powerful jaws and the sounds cease with a suddenness which chills me.

The door of the cottage opens and I am greeted thusly.

‘What took you so long, treasure?’

The dark shape in the doorway chuckles bodily. My disordered appearance amuses her. She steps toward me until she is positioned beneath the porch light, which catches in her liquid amber eyes. She is taller than any woman I have ever seen before and she possesses a graceful, feline quality. She has the appearance of one who has been running, yet is not short of breath as I am. She welcomes me into her home with the words,
‘I was expecting you, me girl. Come. I was just playing with me food as you approached. You don’t half make the racket. Come, there is plenty to eat and you look to be starved. Too skinny, too too skinny.’ She clucked in the way that Mother does when she’s fussing.

I dare not defy her for I have come such a long way. And what is behind me now, but a lingering darkness?

23rd January

Cecelia,

The sun is high in the sky now and I have been walking for almost two hours. I set out a little later than first anticipated. Breakfast was something of an occasion amongst Tristan, Bitsy and their loquacious guests. Tristan’s many stories were a delight and I found it difficult to remove myself from the table. I excused myself during a rare lull in the conversation and made my way to my room with Harmony in tow.
Harmony perched upon my bed as I gathered a few of my things together and pulled on my heavy soled walking boots. She seemed dejected at the thought of me setting out alone. My assurances failed to lift her spirits and when invited, she politely declined to accompany me.
I hugged her tightly to me and as we parted company and I was but ten steps from her, she cried after me.
‘ The one witht the amber eyes salivates for those who lose their way!’
As you can well imagine, sister, this declaration has not inspired me with confidence. I must make it to Cleo’s by nightfall if I am to remain safe.
I took a taxi through the busy streets in town, but here, the roads will only carry you so far. I have been trudging along disused tracks in a Northerly direction, tripping often as my feet become entangled in the damp undergrowth. My stomach began to complain loudly some time ago, and so I am resting and eating the cold luncheon which was prepared for me by Bitsy this morning. I am very grateful for her consideration and she has spoiled me so! She has even included my favourite chocolates and an array of petit fours!
Oh, but it is so peaceful here, I shall sit a while and absorb the

Cecelia!
I have slept for far too long! I must cross the river up ahead if I am to be at Cleo’s before the sun shifts toward evening. It is not much farther and once I am over the bridge I will have but a few miles’ walk to Cleo’s.

————————————————————————————————————————–

There. I am across the bridge, which I had half expected to be a ricketty construction of wood and knotted vines.  I was pleasantly surprised to find a rather more sturdy effort made from what appears to be a local stone. I have seen much of it about the place.
The vista which now stretches before me is quite astonishing. High-reaching trees cover the mountains almost to its peak and water cascades from a great waterfall which pools and then flows to the West. Scattered hither and yon, are towering ancient monuments of the same stone as the bridge. A perfect and delightful Utopia as far as the eye can see. I search for the path most suitable for cutting across this magnificent forest and spy a trail to my left. The path winds upward in a series of awkward twists and turns and I realise at once that these miles, though few, will prove to be a challenge to one so unused to much exercise.
It will be many hours before I can write again, Cissy. Perhaps I might compose letters to you in my thoughts, as an accompaniment with which to amuse myself and thus make the miles pass more quickly.

Elizabeth.

22nd January

Dearest Cecelia,
I have suffered a poor night’s sleep. My head is filled with the remnants of disturbing dreams. Still, I must bash on, old girl. There is precious little time left before I next meet with Jack. With luck I shall have some news for him on his return.
Whilst sitting down to breakfast this morning, a discussion ensued as to my intentions whilst here on the island. I did not disclose too much, although ex-pats Tristan and his wife Bitsy, owners of this establishment, appear to be trustworthy enough, one can never be too careful. My generous hosts have pointed me in the direction of the strangely named Cleo ‘Catseye’ Catsis. I am told I will know her on sight. I can well imagine.
Tristan is quite the history buff, it would seem.  He has provided me with the bare bones of local legend which will offer me food for thought as I make my way to the mountain dwelling belonging to Cleo. According to folklore, there are believed to be six Scrolls of Lemuria in all. Originally, the six were in the possession of a Lemurian ruler known as Obas’ah the Benevolent. The ruler was wise and generous and Lemuria prospered under his rule. Legend tells that he reigned for hundreds of years and that his reign ceased only when he met with the Ultimate Betrayal. The great King had two sons who would inherit the Archipelago of Lemurian Isles and rule as one when he deemed them worthy. The youngest of his sons, Lok’at was not wise as his father was wise, nor was he generous of spirit. He fought incessantly with his older brother, Mic’ah who was as selfless as his brother was cruel. One night Lok’at crept silently into Mic’ah’s room and slay him as he slept.
Obas’ah the Benevolent could not bear the pain of loss and vowed that Lok’at would never inherit the Archipelago. He cast his son to the East, where he was imprisoned amongst the Desert People and scattered the scrolls where his son would not find them.

Now, dear Cecelia, my hosts remain undecided as to whether or not these legends are descended from truth or simply fireside stories which have been told so often that they have become truth. Of course, Lemurians would have us believe the former, as the legend adds colour to the rich tapestry of their culture.
Catseye Cleo will be able to furnish me with more details. She claims to be a direct descendant of one who once served in the palace during the reign of the Great and Benevolent Obas’ah. Onward then, to the North and Cleo Catsis. I shall return to The Sandpiper and my charming hosts soon enough.

Yours, as ever

Elizabeth.

21st January

Cecelia,
I am happily ensconced in an armchair before the fireplace in the sitting room of The Sandpiper. It is a quaint place, surrounded on all sides by verandahs and nestled in amongst beautiful gardens, a fruit orchard, vegetable and herb garden, and grape arbor, though it is not yet the season for grapes. I shall take myself for a stroll around these picturesque grounds before departing in the morning.
I am lulled by the warmth which emanates from the fire, and the dulcet tones of another guest, who sings mournfully as her guitar positively weeps beneath her fingertips. She has introduced herself as Harmony, though she assures me that this is not the name she was given while at her mother’s breast. Harmony has a wildness to her countenance, which draws me to her. She is here to sing the songs of Lemurian travellers and that which resides deep within them. She has sung my song to a familiar tune before I have even uttered little more than my name. It is a song of searching, of blossoming and a heart’s deception.
In the glass garden aboard the Vulcania, I had encountered visions of similar substance. The room had fallen away until I was standing before a magnificent labyrinth. I followed the path along many turns until I reached the centre, where stood a stone tablet. Upon this tablet lay a crudely carved effigy of Charles! I felt at once afraid and ran blindly in the direction I had come. I was soon lost and feeling rather wretched, whereupon I stopped to cast about for signs of an exit. I espied nothing but the waxen petals of a single magnolia which I gathered to my breast. I closed my eyes briefly and breathed deeply of the flower’s fragrance. At once I felt a rush of cool air about my face. I opened my eyes in haste, to find myself returned to the safety of the glass garden.
I shall think no more on these sorcerous developments tonight. I have a long and possibly arduous journey before me tomorrow. It is time that I bid sweet Harmony goodnight and leave her to her elegies.

Elizabeth.

20th January

My dear sister,
I spoke with L’Enchanteur earlier today and by chance made mention of my desire to learn more of the ancient history of Lemuria. Enchanteur has suggested that the wisest course of action may be to venture farther inland and paying a visit to some of her dear friends, the Elders. There is a bed and breakfast in town where I will be made most comfortable. From there I shall journey North at first light.
However, before I leave, I should very much like to drop by the glass garden again. My last visit did not detract from my felicity, but indeed eased my burden and left me quite lightened. I wonder at the vista which may await me on this occasion.
I must pack enough clothing for my sojourn, the usual knick-knacks and of course my walnut, which I have determined I will stow in the amulet pouch about my throat.

Adieu, sister,

Elizabeth.

19th January

Dear Cecelia,
I have returned from my evening at the Sea Dragon Tavern, directions to which, I secured from the Sea Gypsy, another passenger on board the Vulcania. The tavern is not at all as I had pictured it, having previously visited the public house in Thirsk on only two occasions. I had imagined a cosy affair, but instead I found the tavern to be bursting at the seams with patrons in various states of inebriation, enjoying themselves in a rather more raucous manner than I am accustomed to.
The air hung heavy with the purple haze of cigarette smoke and the aroma of spilled spiced mead. The floor was sticky beneath my patent leather heels. I was not immediately able to locate Jack as I browsed the room before me. I thought it typical that he would keep a lady waiting. With a second, more thorough search of the room, however, I found the American positioned in one of the rear booths. The booth would provide us with a modicum of privacy where seclusion would be utterly impossible.
‘Lizzy!’
I remained unamused by the sight of Jack’s roguish smile as he waved me over. I gritted my teeth and determined not to react to his teasing tonight.
‘Hey, lighten up, Elizabeth.’
Hmmph. Sarcasm. This was not going to prove to be a simple task. With minimal effort on his part, our friend Jack seemed to grate on my nerves. As I took my seat opposite him, he shouted across the room to summons one of the waiters. I ordered a vodka, lime and soda water and Jack, a scotch, straight up.
‘I don’t see the point in spending money on a damn fine scotch, only to spoil it with ice or water.’ He winked at me and for a moment I was so flustered I found it impossible to answer, Cissy. He must find me terribly doltish!
Drinks and dinner ordered – two house specials which turned out to be a surprisingly delectable dish of grilled chicken breast with a mango chutney, all balanced precariously on a bed of rice – we began to discuss the business at hand.
Charles, it would seem, was working on an article which described in great detail, the upcoming travelling exhibition of the Global History Museum. The exhibition, entitled ‘Timeline: A History of Lemuria and its People’ is being prepared as we speak and is due to depart for London on February 1st. It was while working on this article, that Charles had the opportunity to catch up with his old chum, Jack during a research trip to New York and the Global History Museum. Charles had mentioned none of this to me. Certainly, I had known of his visit to New York, but was unaware of either his intentions while there or the existence of his friend from The Review. The trip had been rather successful by all accounts. The two friends had dined together at a men’s club, in close proximity to the museum, to talk over old times. There, they had witnessed what appeared to be a clandestine meeting between the museum’s curator and a well-attired, unnamed man. Jack, unable to contain his curiosity had attempted to move closer to the men as they conversed, but was only able to overhear the words ’scrolls’ and ‘power’. The curator then hurried from the club, appearing stricken. Jack is under the impression that further digging on the part of Charles, and the unearthing of a few of the scrolls’ secrets may be the cause of his inexplicable disappearance. Still more questions!
Jack is leaving for London at the earliest opportunity, before returning to New York to search for further clues. I am to spend the remainder of our time here at the Island of the Temple People keeping an eye out for any of my fellow passengers aboard the Vulcania who are not as they appear, and gathering as much information pertaining to the scrolls as possible. I fear I am not the most qualified for such a venture as this, but will do my damnedest to get to the bottom of Charles’ disappearance. I wished Jack the best of luck and supposed to meet with him again two weeks hence. His reply?
‘It’s a date then, Lizzy.’

He leaned closer as if to kiss me goodbye, but I hurried from the Sea Dragon as quickly as I could, Jack laughing heartily at my hasty retreat.

Elizabeth.

18th January

Cecelia, darling,

Where to begin? Where to begin? It seems that events have taken quite a peculiar turn. My dull old existence is rapidly becoming rather more engaging.
I needed only to wait for a few more minutes in that dank little room. I had half a mind to charge right out of there and never look back, but I’m afraid that my curiosity was piqued by the words of the child messenger. It had crossed my mind that perhaps Teddy was behind all the subterfuge. Wouldn’t it be just like our brother to tease me so? He can be such a rascal.
I’d continued to stare at the street below, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger before he entered the room. There must have been another entry, since no-one so much as glanced in my direction. Before long, I heard a heavy footfall as someone mounted the stairs. I dare not turn around, but clutched my amulet ever tighter. I heard the door creak as it opened inward and then my name proclaimed in a sonorous voice, unfamiliar to me.
‘Well, if it isn’t Miss Lizzy Davenport herself! It’s a pleasure to meetcha, babe.’
Such familiarity in the greeting of a complete stranger! I was shocked and wheeled around to give the man a piece of my mind.
‘First of all, I was christened Elizabeth and am known thus. I detest being addressed as Lizzy. Secondly, I am not and quite certainly never will be your babe and would very much appreciate it if you were to refrain from addressing me as such, Sir.’
‘Forgive me, sweetheart,’ he’d replied, ‘my manners are clearly not up to your high-falutin’ standards I guess.’
And all the time, Cissy, he wore the most ridiculous grin on his face. I realised then that he was toying with me and found my outrage quite amusing. I shall have to keep my wits about me in this man’s presence.
He held out his hand to me then.
‘Jack Forde, reporter from The Review, a New York entertainment weekly.’
An American colleague of Charles’ as it turns out. He was to meet with my noticeably absent fiance at a pre-arranged time and place. When Charles had failed to show for their rendezvous, Jack had become suspicious and called the London office of the daily newspaper where Charles is employed. He was not to be found there either. According to the newspaper, Charles departed England onboard the Vulcania twelve days ago.
It is a matter of urgency that Jack find Charles to discuss something of great importance. I must say, I’m deeply disturbed by the apparent disappearance of Charles. Where could he have gotten to? How did Jack know who I was? There must be simply dozens of blonde English women aboard the ship. I am left with still rather more questions than when I’d set out yesterday morning and have spent the day in my cabin to think on these peculiar events, having returned to the ship soon after my meeting with the American.
We are to meet in the tavern in town tomorrow evening, at which time he promises to reveal more of his story to me.

Elizabeth, NOT Lizzy.

16th January – the island

Dearest,
I find myself facing rather an unusual set of circumstances. I am sequestered alone in a small room whose cleanliness leaves much to be desired. There is just one grimy window and a splintered oak table on which I now lean to write. I do not appear to be locked in, but feel compelled to wait as instructed.
Perhaps I ought to start from the very beginning. I set foot upon dry land some time after elevenses. One cannot explore islands unknown on an empty stomach after all! I ventured just a short way from the harbour and found myself among a variety of market stalls selling all manner of trinkets and delights. Some claimed to heal and others are to be worn merely as decoration. I purchased for myself an amulet on a leather string which I am now wearing around my neck. This amulet gives strength and protection to the wearer. The price for such a piece was merely the telling of a secret. Such a strange request. I told the secret of the shell, the game we played as children.
I discovered a long and brightly striped, scarf. Some may describe it as gaudy, but I know that our Mother will love it so.
In the near distance, the pounding of drums and a chorus of voices lured me further along the island’s cobbled streets. The sweet and spicy aromas of vendors selling tasty treats assaulted my senses. I shall have to sample their wares later. The marketplace receded and the streets and alleys began to teem with celebration. I was drawn along by the dancers and spectators honouring the Goddess Carmentia. This must be the Fertility Ritual that E spoke of!
I was so thoroughly engrossed in this marvellous spectacle when I felt a tugging at my waist. A young girl, no more than 5 years of age, though I am by no means a sound judge, stood by my side.
‘Come, Lady,’ said she, ‘I shall show you something special.’
Of course, I was naive as always and followed on. I am rather beginning to regret the decision to go on ahead of Teddy. The young girl beckoned me forth and I had the sudden unshakeable feeling that matters were no longer within my control and I must trust this small and fearless guide ahead of me.
Masked figures thrust themselves in my path, the celebration raging all around me. Vibrant masks with grotesque features and bodies leaping and cavorting in a rather vulgar fashion. I side-stepped the surge of spectators, into a narrow alleyway. The girl opened the blue door before us and led me up the stairs. She led me to the very room where I now write. I can see the crowd in the streets below is beginning to thin out. I grow more nervous with each passing moment.
‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘he come soon.’
‘Who comes, who is he?’ I asked of her, rather more frightened now that the sounds of the celebration outside began to drift away.
‘Lady, you are far from home but there is a man here who say he know you – he say fetch the lady with the golden hair. Bring her to me.’
And so, dear sister, I wait. I clutch my amulet tightly and I wait..