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Cookie finally drank enough liquor to make his way upstairs to his room. On the way, he couldn't help but wonder if Dr. Zelman had found out anything of interest about the monstrosity that had frightened him so. He was already dead! he thought to himself, before they kilt 'im, he was already dead!
He pulled off his boots, and was out like a light as soon as he plopped into the plush bedding.




Maude also decided to tuck-in for the night. For she had many things to do in town before venturing any farther in Dr. May's endeavors. Once in her room she fiddled with the dials on the speaking tube, "Ibrahim, Ibrahim?"
To her surprise, he responded promptly, "Yes, Mrs. Brewster."
"Yes Sir, Is it possible to receive a wake up call, say... 5 a.m.?" She inquired.
"Of course Ma'am" He replied.
With that taken care of Maude fell into bed as she was. After this evenings events she wanted to be ready for anything.




Newt tossed and turned feverishly in his sleep...

September 22, 1895, 6:00 AM EST

Ibrahim’s muffled voice floated softly from the speaking tube to Willem’s left. He groaned, rubbed his eyes and rolled over in the comfortable bed. Thumbing the tube’s activation switch, he mumbled, “What was that, lad? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said, it is six of the clock, sir. You requested that I wake you at this time.” Came the response; in the background, Willem could hear the sound of something sizzling, and a brisk chopping noise. Breakfast, perhaps. Willem rolled upright, stretched broadly, and winced at the sound of his vertebrae popping.

“Thank you, Ibrahim. Will breakfast be served this morning?” he asked, his stomach growling. He pulled his nightshirt over his head, and pulled on his trousers.

“Of course, sir. Seven of the clock, in the dining room. Do you have any requests, sir?” Ibrahim’s terse response came through the tube. He sounded busy.

“Nothing in particular, other than a map of the town.” Willem retrieved a simple cotton shirt from his valise, and strapped his shoulder holster in place, pausing to check the cylinder of his Peacemaker; it was fully loaded.

“Very good sir. I shall have that for you at breakfast, sir.” With that, the muffled sounds of the kitchen ceased, and the tube was silent. Willem pulled on his coat jacket, and grabbed his hat and cane. As he began to hobble out the door, he noted something odd out his bedroom window, and made his way to the large windows along the south wall. Outside, the day was dim and overcast, but mild. The only sign of the previous night’s tempest were the multitudes of tree limbs littering the wide lawn.

September 22, 1895, 6:32 AM EST

“It’s all yours, my dear.” Isabel said, stepping from the indoor water closet to allow Fiorina access. The beautiful young dancer smiled demurely as she gracefully edged past Isabel.

For her part, Isabel had enjoyed the use of such modern facilities perhaps a bit more than she should. As enthralling as the indoor plumbing was, she had been told of a much more fascinating occurrence the previous evening: the walking dead man. She was tempted to just grab a few bacon strips out of the skillet and head down into the basement to examine the apparition at once, but she had Doctor Zelman’s notes, and needed to get them back to him after breakfast. Head in the pages, she walked directly into doctor May’s broad chest.

“Beg pardon, sir. Ambulatory corpses! Occult alchemy! This is quite compelling. I must see this thing for myself.” She rambled, edging past the bemused Doctor May on her way to the staircase as she tugged absently at her long braid.

******************************

September 22, 1895, 7:03 AM EST

The assembled group sat around the dining room table again, with three notable absences; Newt, Cookie and Nathan had all failed to wake for breakfast. The group continued on regardless; having been apprised of the previous night’s events, many were still incredulous.

“I am inclined to believe men of such high repute, but this is almost too much to accept.” Fiorina said between bites of her meal. The table before them was arrayed with piles of sizzling bacon, mounds of scrambled eggs, veritable pyramids of sausages, massive stacks of Johnny cakes with hot molasses, heaping bowls of baked beans and a mountain of fish cakes almost a foot tall.

Others nodded as Fiorina voiced their concerns, but Isabel coughed loudly before shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth and waving the notes overhead, “I went down there before breakfast. The Doctors are correct in their diagnosis that the man in the cellar died of a broken neck. He was subsequently shot last night by two of our comrades, and I am inclined to believe that they did not dig the poor man up and shoot him for our benefit. What in the Lord’s name would this gain in some ruse?”

Several of the assembled guests made the sign of the Lord’s cross at her statement, but most seemed to agree. May took the opportunity to interject, “You are all welcome to come and go as you please, but Ibrahim can only take one group of you at a time into town. Of course, we have four carriages, each seating six, and twenty horses, so you can split up as you see fit. Ibrahim has brought a map of the town, which I have marked with places that may be of use in your investigation.”

At this, Ibrahim rolled in a large board covered with a large map. A number of notations filled the bottom margin, with arrows pointing to their relative locations.



(See 'reference materials' for details)

Isabel cleared her throat, "I believe I would like to visit the public library, and perhaps the newspaper offices as well; perhaps they will have more information about the tattoos, or provide some insight into who might be orchestrating these bizarre events. I'll drag Nathan along, if he'll ever get out of bed."

Fiorina nodded, "I will attempt some discrete inquiry at the yacht club; perhaps my renown will be of use loosening tongues."