The first man looked at me and said, "Inspector Holmes was right: you'd done exactly as predicted. Well done, old chum!" The second, clearly a mechanical man similar to one Jephrey we met in Paris said, in oily tones, "Indeed, you've done just superbly. We'd never have drawn her out without you."

The first one again, now sporting a parrot's beak for some reason (again, I blame the Truffles, for parrots are my totem Beast when under their care), said, "I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. After all, she's been SQUAWK following you till Amsterdam."

"KAW." Said the second. "KAW KAW."

I didn't understand and voiced so loudly: "See here,stop turning into birds, right? And what has Holmes got to do with all this."

They ignored the comment about birds, which was to their credit as they now appeared to me like men again, albeit with not quite the number of limbs and entirely the wrong shade of purple, and the second man pointed to the symbol on his lapel: the Question Sign of MI6.

The mechanical man spoke first: "He's got a right to know. You came to Holmes and asked him about King Horse."

I arose to bended knee. "King Horse! Equine monarch of our fine kingdom! And where is he? Surely the good Inspector has discovered his location by now!"

They looked at each other. "That creature", said the first, brightening to electric blue, "was after our Lord Horse from the beginning. Imagine a Being that steals the very Life Plasma from a man or, more often woman, and uses it to make near perfect copies of it! Imagine if every one of those copies saw what the others did, and if that Central Mind saw it as well!"

"Imagine," said the second, limbs receding now but sprouting Orchids instead, "that these copies would deteriorate into horrible Mutated Abominants that were hooked of claw and sharp of limb and thrust and bite!"

"And so we were infiltrated: insect minions learning all the Court's secrets."

"But surely King Horse would have detected such a threat before - "

"Of course!" intoned the robot, looking like his mechanical self now, in a hasty but sonorous voice. "But the betrayal was too late - too many intelligences were leaked, too many intelligent men and, do not mock me for saying this, women harvested for their Brain's possessions. King Horse went underground."

"Into hiding, that is."

"Yes, not literally underground."

"Underwater?" I hazarded.

The first man chuckled, as did the several other copies of him that spoke at the same time in chorus. "For part the time. The Battleship Pony is a formidable threat but more for what you don't see than you do. As you can tell, it is also Subnautical, and crewed by skilled Subnautomariners. And perhaps she would have found us still, because it takes many men to crew a Battleship and only one mouth to sink it."

"But she found you, didn't she?" said the second, now fifteen feet tall. "Asking around from Holmes himself! Our Monarch has just escaped under the advice of that Detective, and our brilliant Boss was left to devise the next move. And who'd not believe that King Horse's famous explorer friend wouldn't figure out how to get to him! At least that's what we let be known, through various channels which her Over-watch picked up on."

"And so", said the metal man, back to metal man-size again, as I stood still gaping at the audacity of the Insectile creature to hunt down King Horse himself and because I had forgotten how to work my jaw muscles, "she followed you instead! Easy as pie! She cornered you in Paris."

"Of course she suspected us as well of some duplicity - having learned of our existence through shady dealings and outright possession through methods insect-and-criminal - and so MI5 had to throw her off our own trail."

"So you sent Agent Jephrey!" I exclaimed!

The first man frowned. "Yes, Jephrey."

The second man polished a monocle ostentatiously, blowing on it before donning it and nodding (and if I were to hear it blow back at him like a train whistle surely you will understand I believe it was the Truffles speaking), "Jephrey. I told him to follow you and let it be known through those same channels, that we were looking for you because only you know the location of our King. And since we were looking for you, that means we didn't know where he was! And so we took over behind the scenes, while Jephrey was told he could save the day! And you can see the zeal patriotism gave him!"

"Do anything for his country he would. Or his lawbook, rather. And seeing as you boys have been guilty of more than twenty dozen crimes in the past two weeks - " and at this I felt a flush of pride, for we had bested the total from last trip: despite my brother's presence, my Cousin and Zachary and Brandon and my Other Cousin did not add together for the sheer chaos my current troupe provided - "and being a man possessed of certain Robotic Influence, he decided to prosecute you for those as well! So he started following you to catch you in the act!"

The second man harrumphed. "Yes, well, I didn't pick him for his wits or subtlety. And when he picked up that Crazed Halfbreed" - he meant my Semi-Persian friend here - "it only made things worse. I cannot for the life of me imagine why he decided to abandon his quest for you to head to the Semi-Persian's sacred grounds it got the Queen thinking that perhaps we did not know where King Horse was at all!"

"For King Horse abhors all things Persian, as we all know." I said.

"Indubitably," said the first, who I shall call Mr. Pomegranate, for he had a collection of warts about his face that reminded me of their pips, that seemed to be expanding across his physiognomy. "And so you were the only target, and the Queen harried you across Europe."

"But at every train stop," said the second man, who I shall call Mr. Skillet for the skillets his hands and chin had become. "You managed to escape her, moving on before she could insert her cronies into your life and learn your plans."

Said Mr. Pomegranate: "It must have been hard for one mind to maintain all those Doppelgangers and Insectoids, and by the time you got to Amsterdam - where you've been for two weeks, by the way - " I expressed some shock at this but ineffectively I am sure "she had turned into a Horde."

"And at some point I think she forgot her original Mission, or maybe she Snapped. And when you killed all her contact with the outside world, and she had no Clonelings left, she sprung upon you!"

"And you've done well here! Sure, we had to step in, but your country is proud."

"And King Horse?"

The men looked at each other. Mr. Pomegranate looked at me and said, "Classified. I'm sure you'll see him again soon," before his shoulders sprouted wings and lifted his Pomegranate head from his body, which deflated.

"Rest up! We'll take care of you aboard the Battleship."

"Sure we will." Said the second man, doing the backstroke in lazy circles through the air. "You're a national treasure, you are! Like the Crown Jewels!" He laughed. "We'll shine you up, polish you a bit, and be sure that we'll take great, great care of you."

I protested as they began to drag me to my feet, the motion making me lightheaded, or perhaps it was Stress and Psilocybes: I was about to black out when I smelt, then saw the Sherpa emerging from the rubble, and the last thing I saw and heard (and thankfully smelt) was him braying at me as he charged, his own miasma and that of the sulfur-eggs somehow projecting in front of him, and either sight or sound or smell sending the two men fleeing to the Ship, which skittered on a hundred clip-clopping feet, waded into the canal, and sunk back beneath the Waves.

I heard that the Sherpa pulled us all out of the rubble, and the Arch-Jew tricked his Egg-folk into giving up some of their early gold-theft as tithe to him, and with this money and a pitchfork the two managed to scrounge up an Ornithopter home. It is possible that they saved us from MI5, but it is equally possible that the Sherpa hated water so much that the very thought of Watercraft filled his tiny mind with incandescent rage, or perceived the Horse-legs as a hundred potential rivls, or even more possible that he was simply in a mood and decided to attack the nearest well-dressed person. At any rate, MI5 has not contacted us, and so here I am, in Tejas, physicking again. But I watch the shadows more closely now.

I am sure that King Horse, wherever he is, is safe: for who could harm that most beneficent of Monarchs! and that I will return to find him one day restored to his Secret Pasture-throne from which he rules All Britannia. Regardless these explorations were successful and we fulfilled Moises' mission and had many rewarding adventures of our own. I promise you, one day, one day soon, we will venture forth again and find out what became of King Horse. Or perhaps not. Who can tell but an Oracle? And after seeing Sapan's oils, she foreswore the use of any oil again.

So it goes!
Another tale told, and awaiting further adventure,
Anoop

The Acrobat rose from the depths like a Deep One from some Chthonian ocean lair, impaled in several places with long Penny-farthing spokes, which had acquired chains of bicycle bells; and these jingled as he approached the Beast with a steady gait, silent of mouth but still jangling; and I could swear that his footsteps set him to Ringing with threats in his musical language. The last twenty yard he ran, cartwheeling through prostitute-rubble, baked goods, and musical instruments washed from the Red Lights; dodging past bicycle chains swinging with the Hive Queen's throes, papers burning now from the flames that coursed over her Corpulence; and this heated rubble here and there alighting and setting aflame strange pools of oil that arose in patches of the ground - indeed the oil could even be found floating in pools where the Amstel Water from the canals settled in the shattered hollows of the road, and here the water burned as well.

He hurdled the thrashing abdomen in an amazing display of grace, and with one hand he pulled out a spike from his chest and thrust it through one of her seven buzzing wings, twirled from this new point to somersault from a Crushing Limb, impaling it in a bundle of nerves (for Antonio had, as part of his Circus training, been forced to massage and apply Strategic Needles to the other, smaller circus acrobats as part of his "training"), dodging the resulting electric storm that spread down that side, and with his feet plucked me like a Vulture from the burning Spike I was situated on.

He set me lightly on the floor, or as lightly as he could: for he had exhausted his store of Grace and smashed through the building that the Lizard was formerly on: the building the Queen had attacked previously! Its structure not being designed for Gigantic Insectile Warfare (as the Nipponese have reportedly made their dwellings, though how they manage it with silk and rice paper is beyond me), the walls toppled, chimneys and all, and the bricks fell in showers through her second compound eye, shattering many of its panes; yet a dome of chitin unfurled into yet a third orb on the surface of one of her chins, then a second, then a third, then one for each roll of fat hanging from her neck: and when they blinked you could hear the hiss and thock of hundreds of teeth slamming together. Antonio was knocked out.

The Lizard continued to fire barrages from El Gato at the creature from where he was ensnared, then, changing his strategy, fired into the tendril holding him so that he dove to the ground, where he produced somehow a bottle of liquor and a cigar, stashed in some Salvadorian secret cache that he had secret-ed somewhere about his person. Or perhaps he secreted (A pun! How clever!) it from some gland of his I did not know of: whatever the case, he lit the Cigar with El Gato, the Bottle with the Cigar, and tossed the flaming concoction at the beast: he lobbed it high over the Creature's head, where it landed on its back and began spreading a blue flame across the creature's wing panels: and with good timing, for the Queen was buzzing madly ten feet above the floor with her torso; her abdomen still hanging to the ground and swiping the street clean of Bicycle rubbish and punting the occasional smoker or whore into the air: but with this onslaught she listed to one side and buzzed screaming into a Wrought-Iron fence.

Still she pressed on: the Lizard began to reload El Gato through some profane ritual, dancing and hooting and spinning around his hat while pointing the Pistol in the air, and the Hive Mother took this opportunity to spit a glob of foul, sticky substance at him: and it pinned him to the ground and began to burn through his flesh: and worse, inside the holes in her chitinous armor I saw within her a new crop of eggs, suspended in sacs inside her abdominal shell: and they were beginning to bulge.

And then I comprehended the source of the oil as the Sherpa rose from one of the canal beds, flaming and dripping at the same time, hooting and braying and cursing in unfathomable language Choice Profanities as he bolted towards the Beast, grabbing two Piss-Shields on the way and deflected balls of Ooze or Acid or Goo flung by the Alchemical Worm and barreled through ! Yes reader, he charged forth, breaking four layers of armored shell and once inside, kicked madly on all sides till her shell bulged out from her Circumference at every possible angle, making a starburst of her lower body; and pustules from her back spread Noxious Substances everywhere; and from inside the echoes sounded like a Troop of Donkeys braying against the Last Disaster, braying as if the Burro Afterlife depended entirely on the volume of their protestations; and fires plumed from deep within the fleshy sac of the Queen making sulfurous fumes which, when touching the canal water, bubbled and seethed.

I thought here we had won surely, as the Sherpa continued to berzerk and beat his Urine-Guards inside the Flesh-Sac of the beast, tenderizing her form within. But I was wrong, as the Queen thrust one of her few non-paralyzed, non-burning limbs through her own corpse to pick up my hairy ally and sealed off the Cavity where my Sherpa friend rampaged with her Ooze: and as the chamber sealed off he began to overheat and fainted with exhaustion, inside the Belly.

There are times when one thinks all hope is lost, and there are times when one wonders if he had been sold bad Champignons or not because here is what happened next, and I will never know if Magical Truffles were the culprit or not: but I suspect that what happened was truth, because it is too strange a truth for my own devising, however en-stranged, psychosed, or afeebled.

A Surge parted the waters of the Amstel, then the bridges snapped, then the buildings peeled away in mirror images of falling stone, then metal pipes arose, and then a blistering wave of cannon-fire. The Battleship Pony, or Poney Navire de Guerre, or Battleship Chevalier as she was sometimes known, arose from the waters of the canals and lifted its ten-thousand ton keel over the canals, for on either side of the hull the cruiser powered forward on a hundred hooved legs. And as the Battleship cantered to a stop, it sounded a defiant neigh from the Steam-horn on its Fo'casle, and angled a blistering broadsides at the Beast, and I could see in its form the Structured lines of the Machine-God and in the hellfire spewing from its ports a Grim Visage out of my brother's own wild amusings.

The shots tore through the Beast, and then there was a long roar that deflated with the Queen itself, then a long silence punctuated only by the popping of burning eggs. Men in naval garb threw ropes from the second deck, and men in suits rappelled and walked down from the Battleship Pony. They approached where I lay, half-blinded and half-deafened by the barrage, and whether the Truffles caused the buildings to shiver or if I was still seeing the aftershocks I did not know. The Truffles were probably cause for the thousand parrots I thought I saw some of the buildings turn into, but that is the price of Quality Champignon. In any case it provided an interesting backdrop to the conversation that followed.

My Fingers Ache from Writing
-Anoop

Amsterdam is a city of canals. They carry party-goers, they carry sewage, they carry commerce, and almost everything in the city has been through them or in them at one time or another, from beam to bread to broad. But beams and boats are easily salvaged, bread is food for Sewer-folk and fishing birds alike, and prostitutes learn how to swim from an early age to better escape with their ill-gotten games. But the depths of the canal retain some prizes forever: they hold an almost infinite array of washed-up bicycles and Penny-farthings. And no man has ever successfully navigated this labyrinth of rust and spokes and rubber and bells.

We had just eaten the Champignons, knowing that their effect would not be upon us for some time. We reunited with our comrades, rested now and fresh from their own adventures - in fact I believe we had seen the Arch-Jew in the Red Light District, seeking vapours and favours no doubt, while we were on our own tour - and lay in state in the Grand Hotel Krasnopolsky, in the Dam Square itself. While I well knew the Visionary qualities of these fine truffles I was somewhat wary of what potent magicks were concealed in mushroom whose lineage came from lost Atlantis. So it was with some horror that, hearing a peculiar rushing noise, I looked out of our window only to see a huge wave descending upon the hotel: it was only the fact that Stephanie and Mauricio the Lizard of Salvador and the Arch-Jew, all of whom had not partaken of this delicacy, all appeared equally astonished that brought to me the realization that this was not a fever-dream brought upon by pleasant consumptives. The Sherpa, for his part, did not seem astonished at all but somehow burst through a wall and dove through the floor of the adjoining room, braying with abject terror over the imminent prospect of a bath.

The wave's force sheared the top of the building and sent us careening into the streets. I woke up I knew not how long later, insensate - it seemed years, it seemed epochs, my life seemed to have crumbled away a million million times - but it truth it must have been only moments, for the great O of the Krasnopolsky was rumbling through the square, crushing bedraggled peasantry, coming to rest in a snarl of tangled metal from bikes; the others letters lay scattered in piles of bricks or dead fish or prostitutes, bleeding from shards from red glass. Of my companions I had no sign, nor had I any thought to spare for them. There, looming before me, across a wasteland of wheels and tires and spokes and masonry, loomed a horrible bloated beast, her Abdomen alone taking up half the ruined Square, distended with her Birthing, here now to claim vengeance for her children: The Brood-mother had finally revealed her true form, choosing no longer to take the blood of travelers we encountered and transform them into hideous spies and warriors for her cause.

I had no weapons on hand; all were washed away in the flood. So I tore a length of rusty pipe, shouted my defiance, and waited her charge. She bellowed and spewed forth bile in a sick gurgle, and sulfurous fumes arose from the field of twisted metal and rubber that was across from her. As she prepared to lumber forward, I caught a flash in the reflection of a Piss-shield - the Guerrilla was clinging to the side of a nearby building! Truly it were rare that I felt joy upon seeing him, although now I would hardly have recognized him but for the bright molted skin of El Gato resplendent in blues and greens and reds, which he brandished by his side; for his own part he had taken on the shade of the bricks behind him. I see now why he would be a fearsome foe in the jungles of his homeland.

Elsewhere I saw the Arch-Jew, bleeding and scraped, his fine velvet robes reduced to shards, but defiant and wielding two large Penny-farthing wheels, spokes piercing from the sides, connected by a length of chain. The time was now: the Beast blundered into action, rusty metal from bicycle and the occasional Marital Aid from prostitute piercing her cyst-filled hide; yet she soldiered on, flinging obstacles from her path with her sheer bulk. As she prepared to charge into me, I ground the pipe, but then I heard two Bang! Bang!s as Mauricio discharged El Gato into her face - the bullets themselves making a hissing noise as the foreparts spiraled out into toothy jaws and drilled their way into the lowest pair of her four compound eyes. At this she spurted ichor, blinding herself for a moment, and in the moment of hesitation Moises swung the chain about one of the three Hooking-Limbs that protruded from her left side - to be distinguished from the Slicing limbs on the same side and the Crushing and Disgorging limbs on the right. He yanked down, putting his weight and the weight of any Gold pieces hidden about his person, spinning her to her side and sending her sliding to the leeward.

As she bore past me like a derailed train I shifted my position and tore the edge of my pipe down her side, opening a huge rent in the Corpulent one. She wailed and moaned and egg sacs burst with steaming acids all down her length. I used the board to Spring-heel into the air, landing on the upper surface of her belly shortly before the acids melted away the pole itself, faster than any Aqua Regiae or even Hellfire! As I scrambled for purchase I must have encountered some Sensitive or Erogenous section, for the monster abruptly shifted to its side, and arose, its abdomen thrashing side to side on woefully inadequate rear legs, many already crushed from her slide; but its foreparts rose to its full height and I found myself balanced on a Crushing Limb. Moises I saw flung off into the rooftops, landing heavily somewhere amidst the rubble, his improvised set of Chain-Scales now wrapped tightly about her Hooking Limbs and sawing at them with her every attempt to free herself.

The claws of the limb cracked open and I stepped back to avoid a swift blur of motion as a Slicing Limb swept down at me, missing me by inches and striking sparks from the hardened Chitin of the Crushing Claw. Seeing this I struck upon a plan: opening one of the many Absinthe bottles always secreted on my person (for like the Arch-Jew I am a fan of hiding places for my valuables) I, with some regrets, smashed it on the Crushing Limb below me and dropped down; I felt the hairs on my head sever as another Slicing Limb arced then hung to a perilously spewing Disgorging limb, spinning to the underside to avoid the huge plume of Emerald Fire that blossomed from the creature's limb. Flailing even more now, it swept its other limbs down, one Slicer removing the Disgorging Limb that I perched on, sending me tumbling to a precarious perch on its lower carapace: but not in vain, for as the Insect-Bitch flailed the acid poured all down the rent I had torn in its side, and its Burning Crusher flailed into wound and healthy tissue alike as the creature sought to beat out the flames.

From behind I spied Moises arise and begin throwing pieces of gold into the Compound Eyes Mauricio had damaged - causing himself as much grief as the monster - while the jungle fighter peppered her with his strange Reptilian Barrage, bullets or what-have-you eating their way into her flesh and keeping her distracted. This was so I could purpose some more immediate retaliation, and I did it the best I could, weeping as much as Moises inwardly as I extended that green fire with my precious, precious Absinthe. And yet the Bitch-Queen managed to take her remaining Hook-Limb and fire it out on tendrils like a fleshy harpoon. Unable to aim precisely due to the Lizard's blows, she swiped and pulled a wedge out of the building he stood upon. The Hispano barely scrambled out of the path of the arcing limb-tendril: yet still he was hooked, the Mantis-edge of the stalk wrapping about him and hauling him inwards along its muscled cord.

The Arch-Jew, in his wrath, threw his last gold piece and was immediately weakened as is the curse of his people: knowing that his own Egg-folk were long gone and not to be counted on, he was forced to scavenge for coin himself. Precious few littered that Labyrinth of Spikes and Cobbles, as his own blows were too accurate - they weighed down the Creature's head cavities now, irritating her with their constant jingling and jangling. For my own part I had nearly set myself aflame as the claws of her twitching and seizing Crushing Limbs, the first having spread the fire to its brethren, crashed about me as I perched there, clutching for Dear Life to a spike on her torso: I had nowhere to move, and the Beast was beginning to regain its focus through its pain.

It was then that we heard the Bells.

Suspensefully,
Anoop

Time is a fluid, shifting thing, and in the end it will bring us all down into its horrible vortex unless we design some manner of Machine to impede or reverse its progress; some sort of Technologic Hororeverter or Chronotic Inducement Field. The specifics are for Engineers, but the need is real, for otherwise how would I have neglected this Account so long? For surely nothing is more important than setting on paper the events that occurred that final day in Amsterdam. And yet now in Tejas, where the days should be slow and lazy, I find myself blustering about and heading this way and that, practicing some manner or other of physicking near every hour of the day. It has been more than two moons since we returned from Europe; and in some ways nothing has changed: again my life's work is at the whim of drunkards, sociopaths, and the clinically Maladjusted: and I wish only that my time were more fluid and not the unrelenting Sisyphan boulder that it now is. And yet I realized last night, while sewing a set of new bladders into a terminally incontinent man, that indeed I had been shirking this duty: for Duty it is, to record that which History would see fit to erase. It is a sordid tale, and its principal actors are Yours Truly, my comical Party, and England itself in the might and main of King Horse - for our Monarch lives indeed.

We woke up bruised and bloodied that day months ago in Amsterdam. As always we marveled that the city could be so clean the following day; there was no sign of ichor, and the cobblestones were clean of blood and gore. I can only imagine that the Vapours that descend all day and impart a perpetual Daze and Hunger to the citizenry does not affect a few; or that some find pleasure in Stimulants and Vivifiers and so spend their nights with rags and mops; else perhaps the Dam Enforcers have their own methods of ensuring compliance.

The Sherpa, my Acrobatic friend, and myself went forward to survey our new surroundings - Moises, the Oracle, and the Lizard deeming it best to recuperate before further trials or reconnaissance. We thought it best to take a low profile, and so attempted to infiltrate a group of placid tourists, clearly unaware of last night's carnage. The leader of a group was a friendly fellow, well-versed in Dam lore and clearly Street-wise; I believe only on account of his high charm and personality did he overlook our travelling group, for though I thought myself well disguised by wearing two monocles rather than the standard one and limiting myself to only three or four revolvers or bludgeoning devices displayed on my person, the Sherpa had managed to wedge himself inside some poor man's body, surely a corpse salvaged from the battle, and his face stared out from inside the other man's gaping jaw, lending him the bizarre appearance of one of Satan's children wearing a one-piece pajama made for him by a cannibal seamstress. Antonio had chosen his disguise well but as he is several fathoms in height the clothes hardly fit and merely showed to expose his yellowed flesh. Not that I judge: London is a sallow town, as we know all too well.

The Guide led us on a merry romp and showed us many inventions: here, a Pyramid - a wondrous device we noted at the entry to the gates, wherein a man convicted of Criminality by the Amsterdam Enforcers would be affixed upon the point, bound and weighted such that over time the point rode up his innards and forced them to become outards, through the most gruesome of manners. Indeed I had our Acrobat engrave several views of this scene and I intend to grant them to my brother so he may peruse them at his leisure; when coming upon such a novel device he has been known to lock himself for days at a time with similar scenes and though I hear the most beastly howls and noises from inside his quarters he emerges positively joyous and will only beat the servants a third to death for at least a month thereafter.

We saw also a sign declaring that the citizenry are of Amsterdam, which was only amazing for its size and for the fact that so many Dam citizens are apparently literate; also statues of Spinoza - a Prime Philsopher-Baker who appears to have been assaulted by doves, for reasons most likely due to the Sumptuousness of his Grass-cakes, rather than some symbol of peace as others have claimed - or Rembrandt, restored from the horrors of last night along with the rest of the city. And in the Red Light District - again! Miraculously whole! - we saw an engraving of a copper hand risen from the ground to clasp a breast; here the Sherpa paused and grew enraged and attempted to claim the rounded monument as a source of nourishment, and when the nipple proved recalcitrant he bit it off. Thankfully all eyes were on our Acrobat at the time, as always a source of diversion, as he had a strange face-off with the inhabitant of the narrowest building in Amsterdam, himself some sort of giant. He had, praise Gods above, lost his stomach for violence and merely hooted in an indignant fashion and our procession wound on.

Our capacity for a fight was not completely exhausted however, as evidenced by a man who urinated in front of our group (no easy task, for the Amsterdammers have erected great Urinal-Reflectors, or Piss-shields, which at any time splash the Golden Secretion which we Men on occasion relieve ourselves of - often while philosophizing on the night, the moon, prostitutes, beers, etc. - directly back into the offender. In fact the city so prides itself on cleanliness that at times in the endless arms race between Skin-sword and Shield, they have even applied Currents to these devices all the more to Shock the citizenry into some semblance of morality), only for our Mule-brother to take it as a challenge and with a swift blow from his hindquarters, thrust him into the canal where he was impaled by a rusted bike, likely to be eaten by birds and Sewer-folk over the course of the day. Grim tidings for the unclean!

We ended our tour anon, paid off our merry guide, and proceeded to a House of Great Sadness - here a tale of courage and secrecy of one of Moises' people, though she carried a Barbaric surname. In truth I was much moved by this and so the fighting spirit went out of my heart entirely, replaced instead my the Jewish spirit of mercantilism. That same thought must have pervaded us all as we sought the famed canal districts for bargains, instead getting distracted, wandering into cafes, and generally buying up items as our whimsy directed. It was high humours for all. Before the end of the night, we decided to purchase some Champignons, having found them delectable in my past adventures. Truly the Vapours make your memory short-lived, for had the merest remnant of last night's battle and the paranoia of this morning remained, then I would have been more on guard: alas, the Friendliness of our Guide, the Sadness of the Franks, and the general good cheer that emanated from even the meanest pisshole or sewage grate in the city drove such thoughts from my head - and my companions have never been long of memory or wit.

The Sherpa purchased the weakest blend, grown from genuine Tejas cattle-shit, perhaps having waxed nostalgic. The Acrobat purchased his from Tampa, a Conquistador town in the Swamps of Florida, known for oranges and apparently a slightly better-grade of visionary truffles. Myself? I purchased produce reported to have been washed up from the catastrophe of Atlantis. And like that fabled city we were all about to be washed away in the storm to come.

Tired in mind and body,
Anoop

I left off my last missive with words of how our resident Oracle, charged with the prophetic powers of Amster-fume and Philosophy Cake, had predicted a great Plague on the River-City, as Antonio eventually made out, and a mighty conflict yet to occur. The Sherpa, Antonio, the Arch-Jew, and Myself quickly went to head back to St Houndshead Lodge to see if she has any other words of wisdom.

Fate can be a fickle mistress, and though I know not how she communed with Stephanie, we were warned of her intentions by the click and clatter of ten thousand barbed legs and a Locust hiss and chatter. We became aware that we were alone in the Canal City - all others having fled, or worse. Then, from behind, a torrent of water, and the Amstel seethed - we were on a bridge, widest in the city, and yet the Coccoon which arose from the waters dwarfed it still. Behind us, from the rooftops, skittered a Horde of Coccoonlings. They came in every shape and form, and Horror of Horrors - some twisted from those I recognized! Here and there were scattered cruel facsimiles of the Swedes; yet with compound eyes, or translucent wings, buzzing and screaming. There, a pack of hyena-ladies from the Opera, heads splitting open radially to reveal mouths lined with poisonous barbs or long, jutting tongues. And I saw too other Creatures besides, Versions of the elephantine toad-woman and her Consumptive friend from Vienna, the latter coughing gouts of blood and reddening the streets, the former cracking the pavement with chitinous hooves; and from the blood filling the cracks occasional boils and pustules arose from the very cobblestone. And worst of all, much of the balance of the Swarm was made in copies of that Brood-mother's daughters, snapping with giant jaws and pierced now with horns and spikes rather than metal.

We were trapped; ahead the Egg, even now throbbing and ready to release its Deadly Catch; on all other fronts the Swarm, and the water turned a terrible Red and seeming a vat of contagion. It was up to us then to fight our way out: and so we joined battle.

The Sherpa struck first, barreling into the Swarm and tearing insect limbs apart, breaking Hyena jaws apart at the mouths and hurling the bones through the assorted ranks. As for myself, I pulled out my trusty halfbreed whip and began lashing about left and right, tangling one of the Pierced Ladies and swinging her about in an arc left and right, impaling many in this fashion. Antonio capered and carthwheeled straight into their ranks, crushing many in his path. And Moises? Moises turned around, and in his contrary Jewish fashion, began running towards the egg, pulling out jeweled daggers and slashing his path through the smaller ranks facing that terrible Coccoon.

The streets ran with blood and ichor, more of it theirs than or own, but I could tell that the tide was against us. Even Mauricio and El Gato may not have been enough. How I wished that we had Zachary with his Harquebus and Leyden-darts, or even Brandon and some Essence of Gabriel! I recalled before how this Angel-dust had the power to transform one into someone near superhuman: and yet I knew not where to find it; the criminal element had all but disappeared from the Red Light District, which was yet much smaller than before, as much of it was torn down during our prior struggle there and never rebuilt, for fear of causing even more tumult no doubt.

It was simple luck that carried the day, as is usually our case; for just Sapan burst through a line of Bull-toads, blubber pouring from the holes he tore through them, but ran into Antonio as he cartwheeled and made ready to punt a Hyena-lady into the canal; for it appeared the power of the Consumptive when bolstered by horrible mutations was such that any creature, even Swarm-life, that sunk into that mire wasted away. Antonio fell, crashing through a nearby brick wall, and shattering red glass everywhere. In his throes he must have disturbed a secret stash of something, for he had fallen through an Apothecary and scattered its substances everywhere; and somewhere must have been that very Essence I had hoped for, or something akin to it: for Antonio stood up in a terrible rage, and as the Sherpa went to assist him he caught something of that blood-fury.

Antonio roared like a gunship's barrage and thrust his way into the fray, each mighty sweep of his legs sending dozens of creatures tumbling over the side, smashing into buildings to dislodge those that were on his side. Sapan, for his part, bristled, shook his hair, and uprooted an entire building: the narrowest in Amsterdam, and yet still a solid house, and this he used to great effect in the art of Crushing heads and Snapping legs. Myself I let the two berzerk; here lashing those creatures that seemed poised to deliver their poisonous loads into either of the two as they frothed and rages; and the sound of their combined braying and pealing was like Satan's own Mules crashing through a church organ.

As the Swarm began to thin, Antonio sighted the other Asian Acrobat, and with a noise like all the stops on an organ being let at once, or a torrent of glockenspiels spilled onto crystal, he charged. The other, lither, less enraged Chinaman deftly dodged his charge, and as he whirled he launched another creature into the air: that Grasshopper, who landed with a staff, posed, and went for Moises, who I had nigh forgotten. The Arch-Jew had almost won through to the egg, but the Swarm had shifted, and now he was shielding himself by throwing expensive silks at a small group of Consumptives and Vise-jaws, throwing seemingly endless supplies of precious materials to snarl their limbs and tie up their clicking jaws. The Grasshopper landed gracefully and would have struck him down, but I darted my whip at him to bind his staff and tugged him over to myself. And yet he had the better of me, vaulting into the air as he skidded past, and coming down with a mighty kick I barely dodged. I coiled my whip back and prepared to strike when he knocked me down; he was about to finish me when I fired four rounds through his compound eyes and was rewarded with a shower of green pus.

Behind me the other giant was whirling circles about Antonio, who was by now ripping flagstones from the bridge and hurling them at him; and though he missed, between the stones and collapsing houses, many Insects were crushed and maimed; and these provided more fuel for the Sherpa, who hurled their corpses with great strength back at the other members. Then the two Giants locked in mortal combat, each yelling in bell-tones and musical whistles, blowing like locomotives, Antonio clearly the larger and stronger of the two, now that his muscles were filled with that Heavenly Dust; but the other more agile, escaping Antonio's hold, delivering quick strikes that slowed the now Ungentle Giant. And perhaps he would have had the victory in the end, had the enraged Sherpa not picked up a Bull-toad bodily, ignoring her terrible squealing - still curiously speaking friendly hellos, despite her unhinged maw working desperately to swallow Sapan whole - and bowled her into the other Giant's leg, knocking him aside and piercing his leg with a Hook-jaw spine that had backed against the canal bridge; and here Antonio caught and crushed the life out of him.

But it was still not enough: the Coccoonlings were too many; and even as the Sherpa and Giant broke down the bridge, their bodies filled the canal and formed a new pathway to us; and here Moises looked back, winked, and rent apart the leathery side of the egg and disappeared inside. I heard a low moaning, and the Egg shuddered, once, twice, then lay still. The Swarm itself paused. Then, with a great greasy slurp, the Egg spilled open - and I thought were all dead, but with the slime and goop I saw the glint of gold: and a thousand tiny Arch-Jews spilled out into the streets, backstabbing and swinging tiny golden scales; for each Hive-creature left a dozen tiny Jews clambered and thrust coins in their eyes or ripped out pounds of flesh; and as they ran past us they laughed merrily, winking all the while, speaking in fluent Spanish or Hebrew; and in a minute's time they had scattered into the streets, leaving no Swarm-life behind.

We ran to the egg; the shock of what happened enough to snap the other two out of their drug-fueled battlehaze. From the ruins of the structure Moises stood forth, spent, shaken, but triumphant, and successful in his mission: for with his seed or silver tongue he had converted the Egg to his own uses, and spread Jewry like Solomon of old; and his offspring even now scattered through Amsterdam, no doubt holing away in various bank vaults to live out this first stage of their lives, till they acquired businesses of their own, in the meantime bringing back small treasures to their nest to pave their futures. We wearily made it back to our inn: here Stephanie had thrown off the throes of Future Sight, and Mauricio was relaxing, coiled near her.

Moises was badly used, having given up his all for his quest: and so he hung there, drained, till we other three coaxed him to lie down and regain his strength; for he was all paranoia; and though we calmed him, he had lived through a terror in that Egg, and we all knew what he knew: that the Hive-mother still roamed at large, and we had yet another Terror to face.

But that came later.

Even now recuperating,
Anoop

I write this from the safety and comfort of my stately Tejas apartments. Yes, I have returned, and not much worse for the wear, though I know not how much time has passed. The Calendar here says that it has been but one week since I first arrived in that storied city, but I have learned not to trust Artifacts produced here, as they tend to be Inaccurate and in the worst cases Gangrenous. And yet the people here, such as they are, assure me it is correct: if their assessment is at all to be trusted, my recuperation has then taken longer than I thought. But this is the present, and what I have to relate is the closing of our Expedition. Amsterdam, then. A great battle occurred: I will relate it as it happened.

We arrived in Amsterdam and descended into its foggy madness with the best of wills: the Company as I said included Myself, the Sherpa, Antonio the Acrobat (discounted), Arch-Jew Moises, Mauricio and El Gato (for the two are inseparable), and the latest addition, his bemusingly named companion Stephanie. It appears she too has some skill in telling fortunes. As we rode the great Railroad from Munich to Frankfurt - a city famed for its sausages, made tastily out of Frankish prisoners - and from there to Amsterdam, she told us our futures in sheets we pressed to our faces, that our Destiny be foretold in Spirit Oils. Hers was a sea-creature of some kind, or Mermaid; this then merely told us we were to find some Greatness in the Netherlands. My own? A Horse, but as I gazed the oils spread and it seemed to sprout many legs. How I wish I had understood this warning then! But enough: it is yet to come.

We engaged ourselves in Amsterdam in the local custom after securing our lodgings at a peculiar building dedicated to St. Christopher the Houndshead, all done up in paint and swirls calculated to please the Eye or Mind intoxicated with the healing Vapours of Amsterdam, greater even than the Medicinal Tabac I had assuaged my Toe - still swollen, Civil Engineers be damned - with in Vienna. Onwards we ventured, as I madly brought us to the walkabout I had desired, for in this Fugue I would no doubt commune with some Spirit and find at last where King Horse was and why we were beset by MI6 and terrible Cocoonlings.

But all things come in time, and soon my fervency was soothed to a dull roar by the pleasant Amster-fumes, and all of us dined - our exertions having put us in a great Hunger - at the Grasshopper, a pleasant enough place painted with the sign of a Part Insect Part Man, where they serve cuts of beef prepared with a delicate touch; this being suited more to Moises than refined palates such as mine own. I was surprised to see the Sherpa refuse it as well; his customs may be more akin to mine than I thought. Although I confess I have never dined on leather and the Homeless as he has, though I suspect that a mite of ginger and Parsley would do wonders for the gamy skin of the average Indigent.

From here we roamed to different Cafes, taking in a bit of Vapour here, a medicinal Cake here, purported to be prepared in the Outer Vacuum of Heaven itself, if Amsterdam's Philosopher-Bakers have the power they so claim. As for the preparation of Vapour-rolls, our own Acrobat Antonio proved remarkably adept at it, showing an element of Dexterity with his fingers that his Larger limbs could never possess. His Faculty for Learning is as I have previously remarked on, outstanding, on account of his natural Circus Mimickry - he was able to watch a trio of Italians for mere minutes and, while not perfectly, replicate their artistry in the hand-rolling of Amster-cigars. It was a delight to myself and my Companions, and I resolve to purchase him a Bell or Music-Box at the earliest opportunity, that he may have someone to talk with in his own language. That it will be the same word or phrases will not bother him overmuch, I think, for he is still a Simple man.

Somewhere in the canals our group entered a strange Spirit zone, if such a thing exists. I saw a man painted like a Grasshopper, or so I thought, till I saw that he was green and yellow all over and his head was not masked, but had Locust-parts and Mandibles; indeed he fully resembled that Insect-being from the dining establishment earlier. And peculiarly, he cropped up in the oddest places - our own wanderings were purely random, Mauricio slithering in the lead some ways past a statue of Spinoza bedecked with stone pigeons, the Arch-Jew wandering through that Red Light Zone at other times (scouting for prospects, assuredly), Antonio leading the way sometimes, gleefully ducking under balconies or stepping over canal bridges in an attempt (failed) to reach the Old Church.

But it was at a monument to Rembrandt that I saw his strangest interaction, for here for perhaps the fourth time I saw the Locust, posing. And with him was a Chinoo, a Giant near to our own Antonio's size - and how could this be possible without hallucination? That there be two such Beings? In Munich there was too a Giant at the Soccer match; but that is Germany and the Huns breed large, their country being renowned for many ancient Giants in the manner of the Nords. And yet here he was, and even more, an Acrobat! For even as the Locust took to capering about, the Acrobat began doing jumps and flips from the stone column! I saw then a change in our Antonio, a look perhaps of envy, which turned soon to wrath, and he tolled like a Funeral Bell. I believe that same Italian blood in him that so bonded him to the Hand-rollers before was now driving him to foolhardy action; we quickly moved him away to a nearby store where we soothed him with chocolates. The others gorged themselves as well, but I refrained: for in my Vapour-addled mind, I saw some strange pattern to the Locust's behavior, and I mistrusted that he perhaps was another of the Hive-mother's creations, but more true to form.

It was when we passed by the Three Sisters, a Pub dedicated to the Gorgons that the Vapours took hold of Mauricio's Afrikan Princess, and she came down with Prophetic Fits. The Arch-Jew was concerned, an emotion I thought foreign to his race, but I knew that she had merely passed into a Dreamplace: Mauricio knew this as well, and so we were not as worried when she began speaking in tongues and describing strange motions in the air. It was not till after the Fit passed that I was concerned; because Antonio claimed he had seen the signs she was making before, and upon his direction the Sherpa brought from our collected packs a rubbing of the Rosetta Stone! As I found out later, it was not through his own artistry, as I was forced to reluctantly believe at the time, despite it being completely out of character.

The true method of acquisition was, as I learned, one more fitting with his Mulish Character. It was a fortunate accident because he was merely scratching his back along the Stone as such creatures are wont to do, which example caused Mauricio to do the same, and this Article which the Sherpa had saved was his shed skin with those very same markings! Why he saved that skin, and apparently all the shed skin throughout our voyage, is a mystery, but I suspect for a snack should the opportunity arise. It were well then that we fed him any stray animals we came across.

We began to work deciphering her hand-speech. That the Translation was in a Pharaonic language worried me, for though the Curse had indeed been lifted by Symphony, this was an omen of great portent and likely great troubles. She forecast doom, and fire, and redemption - but for who? We could not say: Oracles never speak plainly. Because she was overcome with exhaustion and that Fugue-state that Delphi once saw, the Latin Serpent bought for her a man-rickshaw piloted by a local Dutchman, and they powered towards our temporary home. It was then that the bad things began to happen.

The very recollection tires me; I will set pen to paper again tomorrow.
Wearily yours,
Anoop

Today we set out to enjoy ourselves thoroughly, going from beer-garden to beer-garden. Our serpentine Companion was indeed here with his Afrikan lady friend, but they had gone on to tour a place of great Sadness, where many crimes were comitted, and to pay their respects to this - a horror perpetrated on Moises' people, and therefore a place he was not eager to visit, as he was assured that after the many insults he suffered even from the regular populace, such a place would surely not see fit to release him.

Rather, we went to St. Augustiner's brewery in Muenchen, enjoying the fermented fruit of their labors direct from the source. We all made merry here, perched atop a rooftop terrace and imbibing and consuming the local fare. Antonio, as usual, made the most of his meals, indeed humming to himself with such apparent fervor of enjoyment that he attracted several Wasps and other stinging insects, and the presence of Mauricio was sorely missed: he would surely have made short work of them with either Tongue or Revolver. Rather we tolerated their presence, by this time merry enough that they no longer bothered us, and in fact as our spirits increased so did theirs it seemed, for they proved pleasant company at the last.

We went then down the great streets of Munich to meet with Mauricio and his Lady, who goes by the Christian name of Stephanie, presumably because her own is too uncouth for English tongues. I expected to see someone garbed in skins and pelts, perhaps pierced through with bones and odd bits of jewelry, but she has made more than a passable attempt at fitting in with the native populace, other than lacking the admirable ability of her chosen mate to change his colour as he changes his skin: it is regrettable that we only had shoeblack and not some alabaster equivalent to aid her.

We briefly met with them before heading to another great tour of gardens; and yet the place was curiously silent, for a great sporting match was said to be under way this very night. We hied then to the Hofbrau House for a quick meeting and several litres of finest brau. Here too our Company was served well, all but for Moises, who was forced to wait for his meal as the waitservant told the rest of us to please continue without him. This made his blood boil, and he swore to himself that he would get his own before the night, and though his words were hidden under his breath and also by his strange accent and grasp of language, I could make out his intention all too clearly. We dined on an excellent repast before setting forth in the city on a quest to find a suitable vantage point for this Match - a game of Futbol, as Moises calls it, set between the Muenchen Bergers and my own countrymen from Manchester. I have no great love for Manchester and so we saw fit to support our current home.

We finally found a great hall with a high seat from which to view the game, and Sapan only had to throw a few bodies over the side with his ever-present pitchfork to make ourselves a pleasant place. It was yet crowded, and it seemed the entire city was there to watch the game, but we chose to restrain ourselves rather than jostle too cruelly for position for the event was one of entertainment. I thought at first that Muenchen was doomed, so quickly did Manchester move the ball about the field. As I surveyed the gloom and dismality about, I saw that Moises was giving signals to the players and cackling to himself: he had bought off the entire team! This then was his great revenge on the city, and I could see it taking effect in the despair he wrought on an entire people. But perhaps his heart changed, for at the half, he had perhaps decided he had done enough, and with one last wave of his hand the game resumed with new fervor on the part of the Muencheners.

And so it continued: a great commotion, the agony of a missed goal, the cheer of a clever save, and though it was thought by all that Manchester had it in the end - for they had the advantage of goals - over the course of the series Muenchen carried through, and the people of Bayern triumphed and exulted and we cheered and bayed with them. A glorious night! And if I saw the signs correctly, the team would move on to Madrid. At this Moises laughed again, loudly and longly, and so I think now that perhaps the Muenchener's are not entirely free of Moises after all, for Madrid is a stronghold of his people now that the days of the Inquisition are long past, and surely he has some further plan. For now though, he appeared sated, in part from the truly impressive amount of Lucre he fleeced through keeping books at the game. How he could do so and watch and cheer at the same time I do not know, other than that he enlisted Antonio to hold signs above the crowd with different rates of exchange, which our gentle giant was only too happy to do, and the Sherpa to break the legs of those who did not pay, which is a favorite chore of his. It is as he is so steeped in the flow of currency that he at all times knows where the coins begin and end their journeys.

At the close, we were all of us then happy if fatigued, and we go now to relish in the company of fellow Explorers and Hunters at the Jaegerslodge, there to sleep and meet with Mauricio and so-called Stephanie in the morning to resume our travels. For we will arrive at last upon our final destination this expedition, the great city of Amsterdam, where money flows like water, and Ideas and Invention abound, the Creative Spirit latent in us all being brought forth by the presence of many Psychic Vapours which hang in a pall about the entire city. I look greatly forward to this.

Another reason I am seeking departure, though Munich has treated us well, is that I worry still about King Horse - hopefully without reason, as the monarch has proven time and again his mettle. The gypsies I have asked to tell his fortune seem to think that Amsterdam will reveal the source of the mytery. While consulting one earlier this day as he read my future in beersteins and clockwork contraptions, I also chanced to see a pale figure I thought familar: it seemed the shadow of a Coccoonling, and now I am certain we are being followed, and that perhaps the Egg Sapan sighted was indeed from the broodmother. For what purpose this sinister being has been unleashed upon us I am not certain; I can only hope that we stay one step ahead, and that in the end all will be revealed. I wish now that were instead in the company of the Mechanical Man and Semi-Persian, for the spy you know is always preferable to the one that remains in the shadows, and in any case I enjoyed their company while they were here. But God and Country will always triumph!

Optimistically,
Anoop

As we left Vienna I begin to think my premonitions of being followed are not entirely unfounded. Indeed from time to time there was evidence of someone having arrived in our room in our absence, the strongest evidence being that very person lying in the bed next to mine the next day! A woman, appearing normal and indeed likely pleasant to the eye I would have thought, had her face not been turned away. And yet perhaps it was a ploy and she merely hid clacking mandibles or wolfen jaws or some other gross mutation, for I feel now that she was merely a spy sent to track our progress, a hireling or vassal to a greater dark power.

You see, we arrived early at the train station, but en route we passed a great Bulging Egg, planted in the heart of a Centre devoted to Cristoph Columbo, great Explorer of times gone by. And indeed as we left I could swear that underneath the protest of iron and steel and the hiss and quench of fire from the boiler, I could hear a great wet Crack, and the skittering of thousands of tiny limbs, and as we pulled away from the station I could see the folds from that great Leathery Egg pulled apart, and from it a horde of Coccoonlings pouring out towards the terrified citizenry, which I attribute to that Brood Mother following us again, for what purpose I know not, as she had herself prophecied: we took her but lightly then, for despite the nuisance of her presence, she seemed ill-equipped to do more than spawn more of her kind.

I wish Vienna all the best, but am not overly concerned, for they have the advantage of numbers yet and furthermore a great War Leader here in residence; they shall have this incursion mopped up I am certain. Again I am certain that violence will never take this city, but even my careful studies and those of the Arch-Jew show no legal loophole through which we can climb, and if I am truly to possess this jewel of cities for my own - London being forever the demesne of King Horse and his illustrious line, along with the human throne-sitters - then I will have to work harder. It is partially for this purpose that I agreed to go to Munich, despite the gleam of vengeance in Moises' eye: for it is true that the Huns have done great harm to his Race in the past, and not always with reason. I myself expect to see if somewhere my own family connects with that great race of Hapsbergs, and if by some precedent we can take their estates for our own. Our own Noble Halls, of course, are currently in the care of some men of Finance, who as I mentioned grow uneasy at my brother's attempts to unleash Lucifer himself upon the Huns, with all his frozen fire and wrath. I can only hope that he does not succeed during my stay here.

In Munich we stayed in the Jaegerhalle, home of great huntsmen - and here I saw many beasts that my friend Zachary had slain over the years, harts and cockatrices and the like, even a depiction of his battle with an incensed and enlarged (in more watys than one) Brandon Alexander in the streets of Amsterdam, from our Expedition of years past. We stayed here but briefly, heading out into the streets near the train station. We were only delayed by our Chinaman being unable to operate the door leading from the Water Closet, and we all derived great amusment in his frantic efforts to operate the handle. I shall have to give him lessons in dexterity lest he doom us all through some future mishap.

A small but disturbing note: the Sherpa claimed (not directly of course, but through translation by Antonio, who appeared well-tuned by this point to his braying) that he had sighted an Egg outside the rails as the train pulled in. I cannot entirely dismiss this, but I hope it does not prove important; the Muenchners are forever building jeweled domes and eggs and clever chocolates, especially now that Easter season is just past.

We first went to a cathedral, as is our wont, the glorious St. Michael's with an Organ of great Majesty and Grandeur. The piping was fashioned in a masterwork of labryinthine metals that Antonio found especially fascinating as I do believe he thought it was speaking to him, chiming as it did in a musical tongue similar to his own native one. We paid respects to royalty entombed beneath the edifice. That is to say, we most of us did, for Moises saw fit to desecrate the tombs out of some hidden anger, probably for past sins perpetrated against his kind. Indeed he took a great pleasure in shuffling body from one tomb to the other while I, seeing no real harm in indulging him, distracted the local guards with colorful tales from Expeditions past. Moises also took several bones with him as charms presumably to cast a spell from Jewry and thereby gain some sort of Financial control over the current heirs to the throne.

Because of the great fondness for heights of our dear Sherpa companion, we again ascended to the highest point in town, the Frauenkirche, and again while we took the stairs he merrily clung to the smallest cracks in the outside wall till he brayed his joy to the city at large; Munich being a city more used to such depravities than Paris he was not this time shot at, which came as a great pleasure to us all.

We took some time here to dine at the local Rathaus which has a clockwork apparatus fashioned in the Bavarian style. Moises disappeared here for several minutes; we were not to discover the full extent of his mischief till much afterwards. I attempted to council the local lawmakers on how best to take over Vienna, and it was decided to consult the genealogies kept here; sadly our noble house while connected to the Hapsbergs through many convolutions and a particularly whoresome and Syphilitic ancestor (showing that the noble disease has carried on through many generations), appears to be something of a black sheep and in fact more likely to have us shot on sight were the connection revealed. I feel that Vienna is not to be mine after all, and yet I do not mind leaving it to its own governances, so long as I have leave to stay in the Prinz's apartments, for I fancy them more than the Emperor's in any case. It is possible that I could enlist the Jew's bone charms to exert my influence but I fear that would give Moises more power than I would otherwise allow him.

The Imperial Residence of Munich was our next destination, made out in ancient Roman fashion to complement the theatre nearby. From hence we marched back to the Rathaus, where on the hour the clockwork soldiery began to move in time with the music. But rather than the medieval scene expected, the clockwork told savage Rabbinical tales instead! Moises had replaced the dancers with hunched Rabbis, and behind every jousting knight was a moneylender financing the tournament and laughing at his Daily Intake of gold, the entire display showing the triumph of the clever Financial Races over the poor and benighted German peoples, capping off with a trio fo Yarmulke-clad youths actually kicking the dukes and duchesses off the tower and sending the mannequins to crash into the square below in a clatter of broken ceramique. We escaped in the chaos, Moises laughing all the while and veritably capering with excitement, which act caused Antonion to follow suit and cause even more destruction. I have never seen the Arch-Jew so happy when not whoring and I exult in his joy.

I cannot fault him, for no less than three times he has been turned away: once at a Porkery where he was denied Forbidden meats before introducing himself - perhaps giving himself away with his gilt robes and scent of opulence, asked to sit outside rather than enjoy the company of folks and fireplace, and at a beer hall where we were indeed all told it was private; I suspect that these small insults are what drives him to his petty revenges more so than any ancestral hatred. Upon our return I was not surprised to see that the Italian Porkery was converted to a bookkeeping shop, the inside of the ristorante burned to a crisp, and the beer hall converted to a Jewelry Store bearing the seal of the Arc d'Triomphe! He is an efficient worker, rare for his kind.

We went Onwards to home and rest before seeking out further beer halls and beer gardens. Our Guide for this expedition was not my Discount Cartographer but the Sherpa, who led us to the Kultafabrik, a potato factory converted into a giant meeting spot for youth and revelers. This complex was the site of some small adventure. We tarried here for some time before finding a pleasant Shisha establishment, here much easier to find than in garish Paris, and decided to rest before heading back to the beer crawls the following morning. We would perhaps have gone on to further adventures, but the Italian Hun (a strange breed to be sure) that had previously denied Moises his choice of food at the Porkery gave us poor directions and indeed sent our Company to a series of clubs inhabited by loose women of the night. Normally our Arch-Jew would love such a tableau, but suspecting that he was sent there only that he not seduce German women of better upbringing, he saw it as the insult is likely was.

At the end of our sojourn, Moises, his nose trained in the art of detection through long use in finding Treasures and people to exploit, believed that he had smelled that particular blend of salsas and scales that follows Mauricio about, in combination with an exotique perfume that I assume belongs to his African Princess, in the very vicinity of the Jaeger's lodge. I believe he is lying low that he is not stuffed and placed upon the mantelpiece, for these people are unfamiliar with the Central Americanos. Our Sherpa would like to have suffered the same fate had we not belabored at shaving him every morning and having him pass for a normal human being, so long as he does not open his mouth too loudly or longly.

Tired but happy,
Anoop

If our last venture through Vienna was marked by song and opera, then truly this day's outing was a feast for the eyes. Priny Eugene, noble patron of the arts, had made his residence in Belvedere Castle open to the public, and his collection is such that though I greatly admire and covet the oeuvre he has assembled here, I actually would rather have it presented here than in my own estates! Such is the majesty gathered here in full sight of all Men. The works in Obere Belvedere included magnificent pieces by Klimt and Schiel and the airy Heaven-inspired brushes of Monet, Manet, and other Gallic names beside. They even paid tribute to that most treacherous and tenacious of our foes, Napoleon Bonaparte; and for once I was not siezed with my customary anger at the sight of his mocking visage. Truly Vienna has exerted some calming effect on my soul.

We toured the gardens here then went forward, passing the Lower Belvedere where the Prinz himself was reclining, preparing himself for some idyll or other. In truth I would have joined him but hampered as I was by the requirements of the Expedition, most pressing being Moises' incessant desire to seed some unexpecting and undeserving dame or other, we instead wound to the Staatsopera. Here we contemplated seeing yet another show; this plan being amenable to all in our company, including to my surprise our Discount Acrobat cum Cartographer and resident Beast of Burden, who seemed to have thoroughly appreciated the events of last night, or at least learned enough Mannish Mannerisms to pass off as a member of the human race. In fact though we decided that to press onwards, and so the theme of our night became Wine, Women, and Song - but for wine we would substitute hearty beer, and song would be of our own choosing, and Women as always were not far to be found.

Or so we had thought! It occurs to me that it is always easier to find congregations of the Fairer Sex when least looking or wishing for them. For example: in Paris our trip to the Pere LaChaise was burdened initially by the arrival of a singular broodmother, two of her spawn in two, who claimed to hail from that City of Brotherly Love near America's Eastern shore. And by dint of the close proximity within the train-quarters and the cunning of her hearing, she was able to follow us to that storied graveyard, despite our attempts to delatch her. And this event would prove foreboding, for she was also staying at our lodgings, and indeed from her quarters I could sense the shifting and pulsing of great masses of life, as if she had laid many an egg in her new nest in Paris, each bursting with some manner of her horrible spawn. The two she had with her were passing representatives of a young female, but there was a giveaway: they were both pale, as if just exposed to the sun in the last few days for the first time, the younger-seeming had metal wires crafted to rein in a mouth of fangs each crowding upon the other and jostling for purchase, and the older had piercings calculated to keep extra folds of skin from flapping loose; this same artifice was also seen in the Hive Queen herself. She must have tracked us through the pheromones that we constantly exude, my own attractive musk coupled with Moises' Jew-scents and the constant marking and spraying of territory by the Sherpa would not have been a difficult trail for one of her caliber. I wonder even now if she was sent by MI6, perhaps to continue the chain after the Mechanical Man (as I now believe the Caucasian to have truly been) and Semi-Persian left our group.

And furthermore, in the concert hall itself the last night, a woman whose bearing was akin to a Hyena's attempted to accost me, seemingly desiring my own billet to exchange with hers, and while I was gone the Sherpa reported to me that she barked and howled incessantly at the local staff before they placated her, likely with some Marrow or Cut of Flank, which she chewed on noisily throughout the rest of the show.

And yet on that last night in Vienna, we undertook a great quest, testing first one direction then the other, roaming the streets which by now had grown near and dear to our company, until the Arch-Jew obtained directions to, of all things, an Irish pub! Here in the heart of Austria and the home of culture, we descended upon the Foggy Dew; and yet the perepetrators of this sham were Austrian as well. I forgave them for despite their pretenses at Celtic entertainment they ran a good establishment. Here too we were approached by a toad-like specimen who came in good friendship, but about her I sensed something of an unnatural hunger, and so we eased her off; in any case her Lady-friend proved more interesting, especially to Moises, who appeared to be impressing her with his swaying dance (not a hard thing in a land where the youth listen to heavy thumping and gyrate like clockwork serpents), until he returned in haste to our table. When asked the reason for his pallor he assured us that the dame was surely possessed of consumption. This was a grave accusation, all the more for the fact that several of our party had given her a friendly embrace out of respect for her day of birth.

The Acrobat and myself retired to bring back healing smokes, that Tabac which we had brought from the Great Milanese Railroad. We returned to distribute these and wash down the Vapours with vast quantities of Biers, and exhorted the publicans to play those songs which we were familiar with in our own homelands: thus the night was spent in merriment and the dreaded tuberculosis was avoided. I did incur some slight injury in the form of a blow to my Great Toe, dealt by the rail platform. I responded as would any member of the Gentry thus insulted: I had the rails tore up and diverted into the nearest stationhouse, such that the next train crashed through the facade and buried itself, to explode hopefully in the face of the Civic Engineer who designed such a travesty.

That night upon returning, myself mounted atop the Arch-Jew who graciously offered himself as transport (of course bolting down my pockets before ascending to his back), I left my companions to engage in a rousing discussion of politics and civil issues with one Benedict, professional Student, and a small coterie of Austrians in the common room. My desire for intellectual conversation thus also satisfied, I returned to our room a happier and wiser, if more sore, individual.

Tomorrow we depart for Munich: here I suspect that Moises has other plans, for I sense a fire in his eyes that I do not believe to be thoroughly the work of the fire of his loins.

Comfortable and Sated in Vienna,
Anoop

We arrive today in Vienna, home of the opera and concert and other such auditory delights. We quickly took another Metropolitan train to our lodgings, where we passed such notable venues as the local Erotika and Voyeur's alley, a sight which we were quick to hide from Moises, fearing that he would spend his days lost in be-dazement, forever trapped in their vixen-filled halls. The rest of the city seems to be less focused on this more basal aspect of human nature; indeed our romps throughout the beautiful townscape afforded no ill-seeming sights in any way - even Milan, otherwise calculated to rope in the female with sundry bags and accessories, had large banners advertising aids in marital relations - as if any qualified Gentleman would need such a device to do his duty.

The only banners we saw in Vienna were those of well-deserved pride for a home of culture, theater, and the foundation of many years of glorious Hapsberg rule. We began our tour with Stephensdom, a cathedral if less impressive in size than the massive Duomo, still magnificent in its storied history, and a fitting altar for the glory of the Savior. Indeed, though it lacks the Altitude of that other great building, its own roof is fitted with tiles cleverly and colorfully arranged - indeed the pattern fascinated Mauricio, who resolved to grow his own scales in such a manner - another ability which further explains the Latin ability to blend into any culture and insinuate themselves into indispensability.

From Stephansdom we met a group of colorful Students, engaged in sales of operatic billets, as is their traditional custom. We attempted to haggle such as we did with the Africa-men about the Eiffel tower, but failed in this attempt, perhaps awed by the majesty of their courtly dress and bearing. And indeed they were vending more than mere trinkets - this billet was an opening to the world of Strauss, of Mozart, and Haydn, a portal which we mere mortals are blessed to pass through. Mauricio refused the invitation; for this I can scarce blame him, as his Latin ears are unsuited for such subtleties and he would perforce have to sway and undulate to the bass and the rhythm, keeping his ears as close to the ground as possible. And yet the Arch-Jew agreed readily. Perhaps his Polish and Otherworldly blood is enough to dilute that, for in truth I have seen in him none of the shapechanging ways of the Mexican. I conjecture that his Jew witchery prevents him from changing shape in any but the traditional Rabbinical way, which sorcery he has not yet performed for us.

Here we went to the Imperial Palace, home of great patrons such as Franz Joseph I and Prinz Eugene, great scions of the Hapsbergs, whose statuary is the least of their contribution to the world: these are the men who fostered the Arts and brought Vienna to a power that - though I regret to say it, since I do not know if MI6 has any more agents sent to fill the hole that our Semi-Persian and mechanical-minded Caucasian have left - rivals London itself. Another similarity is the preponderance of horse and carriage throughout the city, a familiar scent that heartened my soul and gladdened the Sherpa in particular, who recognized in these beasts something of a kinship, for the relation between mule and horse is still friendly, despite their different stations in life. I inquired as to which Equine Prince was in charge here, but recieved no definite answer - perhaps it is not their custom to have one, or indeed perhaps the local Regent was lying low until definite word of King Horse's reemergence. Never the less I feel comfortable in this city, for the Equine races, including the mule and donkey and audacious zebra, have always been friendly to our Family. I remain assured that we will find the mystery of King Horse, with or without MI6 and the Great Detective.

The Imperial Palace opens onto the splendid courtyard of Marie-Theresia, and from here to great museums which sponsored such theories as that of the Explorer Darwin, considered Outlandish by many of my peers - and yet their lay in those halls a curious symmetry to his ideas that I would have them bid attention to. How else to explain the curious divergence of human races from Adam! Are not the Hindoo and Jew possessed of fundamentally different sorceries? These are facts which I have well-noted.

This avenue opened then to the Volkstheater, the Ministry of Justice, and the great Gilded Lady Justice of Parliament. Here again we had to restrain Moises, who was attempting to scale Antonio to reach the gold atop the statue. This was a lost cause, for Antonio had gorged in Milan the night previous and indeed just earlier, for as we drank our Almdudler and our Fried Emmentaler, Antonio was consuming Wiener-Schnitzel, breaded and coated in his own blend of foreign sauces, in as large a quantity as he could muster. Truly we will never waste food with him in our company: even Mauricio could not unhinge his jaws wide enough to swallow whole the repast laid before us, and so it was that Antonio's constantly churning loops of bowel, coursing throughout his body and limbs, kept the Arch-Jew from finding any definite grip.

We passed this time the Royal Theater, infinitely better by dint of its clientele, and then the Rathaus, home of the city's council. We had to convince Mauricio that this was not the home of mice, a delicacy to the Mexican, and again to the Sherpa, who possessed the usual hatred of the mule towards rodents of all kinds. I had my own ideas for what to do in the Haus, but these largely consisted of eventual plans to take over the city - not in a violent fashion as in Milan, but through subtlety of thought. I confess for this I needed more information and I will seek the Arch-Jew's help in this. Indeed I fear that violence may not be the Primary method to take this city over in any case. I know this is heresy to our family and it is good that my brother is barely literate or he should fly into another of his storied rages at this sentiment. And yet as I saw the majesty of even the Police station, we discovered that this city was one to truly take pride in - and this merely hardened my resolve for its eventual capture.

We headed back to our local estates, where Mauricio surprised us with his departure - a pygmy messenger had appeared in our absence and smeared brightly-colored paints about our quarters, announcing through a strange pattern that only Mauricio's eyes could decipher the arrival of his African Princess in Rome - as would befit royalty, should such a woman truly exist. I must say I doubt it although Antonio assures me this is true; apparently he had seen similar writing in his circus travels and could make out some of the script. Lacking any Rosetta stone of my own - that being a monument I failed to acquire from the British Museum - I agreed. We left our companion with several crates of shoeblack to better blend in and please his supposed consort.

From here we left to the concert. I cannot describe the wonder of the Kursalon, where Strauss himself led us in a performance. The Voices of Spring, Don Giovanni, the Aria of Juliet, the capering of the Gypsy Baron - a man I resolve to meet one day and discuss several bones of contention with, but in an amicable manner for I enjoy his confidence, the ballet, the waltzes, and the Beautiful Blue Danube. Truly it was an evening of Wine, Women, and Song. Here I felt the curse cleansed from us, the beautiful music washing away any thought of Pharaonic mischief. Indeed I could swear I even heard the Sherpa sound for an Encore; but this is but idle Fancy, as the mule is not possessed of a faculty for speech. Afterwards we dined where an Austrian, friendlier than the Schnitzelmann from before, gave us a delicious course; we toasted to Fraternity and Exploration and after some beers and billiards, retired for the night.

May the next day offer the same delights!
Anoop

This day saw us arise late, to the clangor and bustle of the housemaid attempting to clean up our belongings. Luckily the Sherpa and Acrobat were both asleep, or I fear that they would have torn her apart - Antonio in particular has a grievous appetite, and while not possessing of the urge for cannibalism that Sapan oftentimes expresses, he is mute at the sight of food and will continue to engorge himself until he is veritably bursting. In fact despite his impressive size, his bowels are even more impressive: like all Chinamen, they extend to his knees, and it is only the performing of tricks and endless capering that ensure that food passes through them in the correct manner. This system has some benefits in that food is all the more easily delivered to their organ of thought, which I will remind you resides in the ankle: Antonio's by this time was perfectly healed, much to his and our delight, for we required his skills to capture further marvels. And were Moises there to see her, he would have surely seduced her, which while it would obviate our current predicament, would only delay our journey further.

And so with screaming and whips we roused our weary Expedition - I myself was uncharacteristically drained of vigour after last night's helical wanderings - and we departed to the Central Trainport of Milan, where carriages from about the world come and go in a great furor. Here we obtained tickets for our further passage, Mauricio not trusting my noble name alone to carry us further. He proved himself useful to us in getting the proper Papers for our passage, and so I ignored his distrust, choosing to find it amusing instead. One can expect no more from the serpentine Latino race, for they are as wily as the Reptiles and Rock-creatures they are descended from. And it is in his nature as well to mistrust the Landed Gentry, for he is of a Revolutionary Bent, as previously noted.

From here we made haste to the Castle Sforzesco, as I had a burning curiosity to learn more about the ancestral defenses of Milan, that I might use this to my own advantage when I inevitable returned in force to uproot their Money Exchange once and for all and put the Gypsies therein to the sword, or axe, or rope, or whatever complicated contrivance that my brother might fashion out of his current dementia. In truth it gives him an almost demonic glee. The castle did not disappoint: still it guards Milan, from within if not without, and it would make a suitable redoubt in the event of any attack.

We immediately set forth to conquer it. The castle itself was now home to many works of art - most prominently sculptures by one Christian Zuccani of the Kenoclastic school of Sculpture - here he would build a man, and break it down to his most basic components, and rebuild it to show to the world the true nature of suffering. I found much to admire in his work, and resolved to do the same with this castle, reforming it in my image. I had the allies for the task: in short order we found what I had been searching for, an ancient armory. Mauricio wielded El Gato in one hand and a Milanese arquebus in the other, the Arch-Jew naturally made for the most bejewelled and elaborate of weaponry and settled on a series of Gilt daggers, my Acrobat knocked over a display of pikes and halberds and chose one particularly gruesome one to whirl about, and the Sherpa merely picked up a stone pillar from an old section of wall. For myelf I chose a carefully wrought brace of pistols.

The conflict was swift and glorious: the men of Milan descended upon us in formation from all quarters, for this was the ancient heart of the city. Mauricio hid himself amongst the columns and cracks in the walls, only descending to wrap about some poor militiaman and haul him up, where we could hear the sound of bones breaking, leading a group thus about the castle, their numbers lessening, until the dropped down guns ablazing screaming Propaganda about the Rights of the Common Man; his arquebus tearing holes through their ranks and when it was empty, swinging it about him and piercing any who came near with his poisonous Mexican teeth.

Moises followed close behind, pilfering corpses, and delivering carefully timed stabs to the back or neck, as is the way of the Jew. I feared most for my friend and cartographer Antonio, but he proved adept at avoiding blows seemingly by luck; dancing out of the way of musketfire and all the while chanting in that language of bells and whistles that his countrymen favor. Indeed I need not have worried at all, for his very presence broke the morale of most of the armored Polizia, and his jumping and cartwheeling did more than any cavalry charge to disrupt their formation. His pikes did no damage through his own device, but he would drop them from time to time with uncanny precision onto a heart or skull from his lofty height, and his strange musical roaring scattered many men.

For my own part I chose to pick off those besetting the Sherpa, who crushed any who approached near with his pillar and when that crumbled, used his ape-like climbing hands to tear masonry from the wall or pipes from beneath the floor and fling those with his Yeti strength. I do believe that he may have been enough on his own had he not stopped to skin and prepare the meat of most of the corpses he engendered, stopping only when I would fire bullets at his feet to remind him of the task at hand.

And so it was done: the castle ceded to us, and left under the care of the Milanos, with the express threat of further bloodshed should they attempt any resistance upon my eventual return. The rest of the day was spent touring the beautiful avenues of the city, again delighting in their Fruited Gelatins and other sumptuous foods; truly, they have attained a mastery over the culinary arts. We returned to our lodgings to mount our baggage upon the Sherpa, then went forth to the Trainport and thence into the night, pausing only to procure some Tabac with which to celebrate our victory when a more fit occasion was to be found.

God bless us in all our Battles,
Anoop

A small dissertation on crowds: We have seen many Congregations of peoples during this time here, no two the same in composition. Here in Milan are those fashionistas, descending from near and far for leather goods of comely make and silks and robes and other cloths that delight the Female Mind with their colors and intrinsic hypnotism. In London there is the Mob, in Paris the hustle and bustle of the market, with its incenses and silks and the other gifts from the Great Oriental trade routes, hauled by Camel and Oxen from the hidden depths of the Far East, the homeland of our faithful acrobat. And also in Paris we saw a shameful sight: a socialist Labour Union protesting the God-given right of the wealthy to trod on their homes and families, for what heathen reason and Devilish conceit I can only imagine. Countries are built well on the backs of the poor, for they are unsightly in any case and have developed stronger bones from the whippings and stones we so generously give them. All of these were the same: loud music, raised voices, foreign tongues, and full of irreverence.

And yet the crowd we saw upon leaving the hotel was different: That day being Good Friday, we stumbled upon a procession celebrating the Mass, hoisting a giant Cross of Emeralds lit up from within by what is surely a holy fire, and as they went from street corner to street corner they recited hymns and prayers, led along by the clear and angelic singing of a small choir. Even Moises restrained himself, although perhaps it was due to his adventure in the Duomo - I only now recall it - whereby he attempted to douse Mauricio in Holy Water to rename him, perhaps thinking that this would surely bind him under his spell of Jewry; Alas, the only reward he recieved was a scalded hand as the Font burned away his outer layer of skin. And unlike Mauricio, he has but the one. I expect he will find a way to restore it somehow for he is a clever man and filled with tricks.

After the torchlit Procession left, we went to wine and dine on delicious food, in the style of Italia, but prepared by Mauricio's countrymen. Indeed the spirits flowed freely and much merriment was had. Moises again sought to seduce a nearby female, using his Spanish tongue, but while the girl attempted to converse with him an outsider could see plainly that the two were speaking completely different conversations, two Half-keeled ships passing in the night. Indeed Moises appeared over the night to forget his English entirely, his speech turning into a jumble of Espanol and Italian and guttural noises.

At the last we settled in to enjoy some fine coffee liquer, but we lacked any Ice to enjoy it with! In Britain, we have no dearth of halfbreeds and other lesser races to force up to the mountain peaks and bring down the Glacial Fruit we so desire. And elsewhere in Milan, a city surrounded by Mountains, such caravans must have been at work - for earlier we enjoyed a beautiful blend of frozen fruits cleverly blended together by masterful chefs. So we quested and quested, Moises trying his Espanol and the rest the King's Tongue, until at last we met another of Antonio's countrymen, who, most likely out of fright at seeing our gigantic comrade, ordered a small team of pygmies to carve us a fresh slab, which they cut up for our use, enjoying a fine Vintage in the meantime. I must remark that Moises' Espanol has proved almost useless here: nobody understands him at all, or perhaps they refuse to listen; and yet he discourses fluently and at great length. It must be some hidden plan of his for I can see no reason in it.

Upon returning our Latin comrades retired for the night, while I toured the area with my Acrobat and the Sherpa, who had some plotting and scheming and grievances to air, hitherto forgotten as we wash ourselves in delights and enjoyments. It appears I was correct in my supposition that the Swedes were merely a manifestation of some Egpytian curse, for their clever wiles or some other spell they performed that night appeared to have been a calculated attempt at opening a rent in our otherwise impenetrable fellowship. Antonio gracefully translated the Sherpa's ill-spoken braying and neighing for me, and my own erudition to the mule-child, and by the close of the night I believe that we achieved some understanding.

The verdict, as may come of some surprise, was not that Swedes were not to be trusted, as the intelligent reader would likely have discerned. Rather it was understood that they were merely some other being a female guise: in fact I believe them not to have been true specimens of mankind at all, but some Sisters of Euryale or Gorgons sent to sow discord in our Expedition, or whatever Egyptian Trio that the desert-people concocted for the same purpose. I believe that they served only to distract us from fulfilling our own explorations. And in truth I find that despite their ill-breeding and lesser station in life, we of the nobility mayhaps owe some more to the Sherpas and Discount Acrobats of the world: for they are a stolid people and reliable, if difficult to understand and more than a little rank in appearance and manner, for we Explorers are all possessed of curious and contrary customs.

The Sherpa especially seemed affected by the curse, for his primary means of exchanging currency, an archaic slab upon which was graven the instructions to obtaining his peoples' treasure (no doubt some meats or furs gathered over the years) was taken from him by a cleverly automated coiner, and no amount of strikes from his hoof or tearful braying would return it to him.

I have no fear that our Expedition remains stronger than the Pharaoh's Curse, especially as the Arch-Jew has cast a protective spell of Jewry over us for only a slight fee, and I have researched several Hindoo magics of the same nature.

Hopeful for more adventure, and looking forward to the sounds of Vienna!
-Anoop

Our departure from Paris was before the dawning on this part of the world. We left behind our semi-Persian with strict instructions to watch his suspicious ally, and departed in the dead of night to avoid pursuit, taking some manner of Rickshaw pulled by a not-uncomely female of the Gallic persuasion. Moises would have attempted some degree of intercourse with her, but we restrained him, as we had little time to spare. The night before had concluded not with the revelry of dinner, but with another Labryinth of Bureacracy, which the Gauls are surely studying the science of from its true master, the Briton. A curious note - this Ian, this semi-Persian, his surname is Britton! This was a bald-faced lie of such audacity that I could not help but admire his perseverance in the face of his own stupidity. He left us a dear comrade.

I digress: an Afrikan, surely a Prince on his Dark Continent, who hailed from some lightless land known as Cameroon, aided us when the Gallic hotel-masters were too tied up in their own filthy paperworks. Truly this man, this Joseph Bomba, is a friend to us all, and I will uphold his cause in international court should his royalty ever be disputed by the more foul of mine or his own countrymen.

Milan! A city sworn to apparel it appears. In London town - blessed Londowntown - we would see the urchins and great imitators selling Bridges, or Towers, or Palaces - in Paris, their own barbaric versions of the same - but here in Milan we arrived to see vendors with children's toys of women riding bicycles about dancing donkeys. I know now what aspect of culture this represents, but upon further reflection - obtained only after pulling Sapan off as he attempted to savage the competition - it is surely mocking the futility of dealing with Womenfolk, as they parade endlessly about attempting to attract the attention of some Jackass or other, either by their own charms or whatever plumage they can acquire to enchance them. Or perhaps I am wrong, but I have never been convinced that this is the case.

We arrived with Milan with a minimum of confusion, as my discount Acrobat is also a discount Cartographer and as described before, a Master Calligrapher - rendering unnecessary the complex assortment of nickel and silvered plates we used for Photographie on our prior trip. And yet he is still learning, for he attempted to lead us from one Milanese street to another street located in Vienna. He was perhaps a bit addled from the Ornithopter. Indeed in this he fared better than Mauricio, who initially refused to leave the boiler room until we assured him that he was in a land of fellow socialists who would listen to him without the inducement of mind-altering poisons.

We were greeted at the local version of the Subterran Railroad by an Italian man who passionately yelled at our friendly Sherpa until he grew frustrated and brayed in turn, momentarily stunning him such that we were able to steal tickets. This greeting was not customary - all others here are the very picture of Relaxation and Cameraderie. Indeed they even thought so far as to procure the traditional greeting of Mauricio and some hidden part of Moises' Mexico, bringing a Chihuauha - a small breed of rat-like dog - to defecate upon the steps in front of them. I believe I caught a tear from Mauricio's eye, although that may have been his hidden Membrane retracting.

We proceeded to our friendly hotelier, and hence forwards through the shopping districts, purchasing delicious Creamed Fruits and Gels and some local cuisine, for once not having to make an example of the waitstaff. I hope this trend continues and yet I find it disturbing how Mauricio whispers to his revolver, El Gato, and promises it fresh blood to drink. It is probably nothing.

If you have not seen Duomo, then you have not seen any church. It is massive, lying like some Spired Lion in its majesty across its entire acreage, bristling with Spires and Columns and Spinarets. Again our Sherpa proved handy in our ascent, as we skipped the line and affixed piton and spiked boot to the gargoyles and sculptures that we deemed most appropriate to have the honor of aiding our passage. We quickly arose to the top and basked in the sun - Mauricio especially enjoying this - before wending our way back to our lodgings for a rest before nighttime activities. The Arch-Jew was in fact so impressed by the Cathedral that he did not once attempt murder or larceny! This may also have been because dear Antonio, with his delightful capering, twisted his ankle - which we all know is the seat of intelligence in the Chinaman, and so we were burdened until we could offer him care.

As I speak of larceny a memory returns, one of fire and ash and soot and screaming: indeed Pandemonium itself could not compare! At the Exchange, I suffered a great trial, when a lady, descended surely from Romani stock, robbed me not outright but through the hidden Mazes of Finance. Even Moises was impressed. He was even more impressed when I returned with pitch and torch and proceeded to burn the entire place down. Would that my brother were here! He would have loved such play and revelry. When the carnage settled the square had turned red; or perhaps it was simply the beauty of sunset. No, my memory betrays me - it was but the midday, and so the red was surely all gore. Hercules himself could scarce have flown into a finer rage, and surely he were never so Inventive with his tools! Nevertheless, vengeance was enacted, meals secured for my Sherpa, an endless supply of now useless banque cheques for my Acrobat to practice his Portrature and Landscapes, and now I dismiss the event from my mind. It occurs to me that the Pharaonic curse may have reared its head upon us here - or perhaps I give too much weight to superstition. Time shall tell all.

Our story continues this night; let us hope Milan is truly worth the trouble of an expedition.
-Anoop

Our fourth day in Paris began with the sun well-overhead, smiling down in benificence upon faces wearied with an excess of joy, were such a thing possible, and the travails associated with its pursuit. It then hid its face immediately as our resident Sherpa began to overheat and opened his one porous sweat duct hidden underneath his tongue, soaking himself and reducing his usual waking neighing and braying to a horrible gurgling cry until he was able to shave himself and uncover his other pores. The morning ritual completed, we left to pay our respects to the Dead at the Necropolis of Paris, Pere LaChaise.

Our Caucasian acquaintance Jeph left us, no doubt to turn in what evidence he had of our misdemeanours. Curiously the semi-Persian Ian accompanied us, perhaps fascinated by the prospect of a city of tombs and the mercantile opportunities this would afford to a man well-equipped with shovel and truncheon. We left our Latin members behind, the revolutionary to bask in the sun and accustom himself to his new skin, all the while spouting inflammatory phrases about the nature of Commerce and the Human Condition to any passersby who he was able to persuade to stay or soothe with a potent combination of wordsmithing and tranqulizing venoms. The Arch-Jew merely slept, tired from his exertions, and apparently insensible to the vituperations heaped upon him from his herpetic companion.

The Necropolis proved as solemn and peaceful as always, and we visited the resting places of scientists, poets, playwrights, composers, and the merely ludicrously wealthy. While there Ian was able to pry loose some flagstone in some inconsequential crypts, belonging to Chinamen all crowded together or a Turk or a war hero of lesser import, and returned with enough glitter and gold to pave our way to greater pursuits. He offered generously to share his spoils with us, as he was not so concerned with the money apparently but rather the bones he pilfered. He skillfully bound these into reasonable facsimilies of men and we used the money to clothe them and tie them together with string and cleverly-made joints, and when we again set on our way our company was greater by threefold! He has surely had great practice in this for indeed, he had attempted to turn them into women first and the result was so horrifying and convincing that we begged him off, which he reluctantly agreed to.

This is of course the surest way to keep away Gypsies, who are afraid of nothing but their own eventual and deserved horrible deaths and the anger of their ancestors who still seek to rob the living. Indeed there are many tales of Gypsies who refuse to believe their own death and continue to perform small tricks and distractions and grab for purses until their limbs actually decay completely. Remember, dear traveller - the Gypsy is not truly dead until you remove his tongue and limbs and place salt in the hole where his heart should be. Thus we were left undisturbed en route to our next destination, the magnificent Notre Dame.

We met our Caucasian here, spying on us no doubt from the Pont Neuf, and suspiciously friendly for the remainder of our stay with him. Indeed this was a short one, and we began to realize that the semi-Persian was in fact not an agent of MI6 at all, but some unknowing pawn of the Caucasian, perhaps sent to get closer to us. An ingenious tactic, for his Persian side mixed well with the boors I travel with, and his Caucasian side so strongly informs his features that I lacked the rage at the halfbreed that would otherwise have surely rendered him murdered. Here we also met our Latin cousins, the scaled guerilla paying his respects to his Lord and Virgin Mother as is the way of his people, and the Arch-Jew merely surveying the competition, as it were. I do not blame his lack of love for the Inquisitors, but we could perhaps have done without his purchasing the stained glass of the cathedral, smashing it with bought prayer candles, and spreading the resulting mixture of hot wax and shards of bright glass across every pew and floor. Still, it was done legally and in the spirit of commerce.

From Notre Dame we returned to La Tour de Eiffel, this time to climb the great structure, as we were thwarted the day prior by the bureacracy of Paris, which has yet to reach the sublime inefficiency of our own. As we ascended the steps to the great height, we heard a commotion from outside: our Sherpa was happily scaling the tower at great speed, then sliding down the rails, then scaling the tower, then sliding down, all the while evading gunfire from the puzzled and eventually panicked gendarmes. He is truly a great acquisition. His lackey in this was my discount Acrobat, Antonio, who through his capering and tricks procured a great many flags on which he had beautifully rendered our faces through his skill at brush and pen, which the Sherpa placed atop the monument. They would likely stand there still were it not for the bolts of lightning which God sent to light up the tower and more importantly smite these horrible offenses to the world of angels and men.

You have never smelt anything worse than the burnt and scarred hair of a man born to mules and raised by Sherpas. Do not deny this. I will slay you myself if you lie about this. Had we not all passed into stupour, I would have cut my own nose off, an act only delayed by my previously mentioned insensibility and the hidden recollection that the semi-Persian would only steal my scent organ to better decorate one of his string of marionette bodies.

We woke up to a magnificent view, Sapan also having recovered somehow, his hair-growing capabilities apparently greater than God's own thunder, for it had actually regrown before his impact and cushioned his fall, so that he produced less of a crater in the Champ de Mars than the otherwise would have. The cleaning breezes, the Breath of Boreus himself, that blew at the top freshened us faster than the Gendarmes below, so that we were able to enjoy our faculty of sight, if not a somewhat lingering smell, and escape to the Subterran Metropolitan before any further action on the part of the policia.

I must note that these trains are filled with would-be musicians who ply their trade for a salary comprised largely of insults and abuse. I had attempted to mimic their craft the other day, playing the gentlemanly mouthharp after one such beggarly heathen tried "working the crowd" as they say with a brazen euphonium, and recieved nothing but applause. I did not accept their coin as the rabble are known to possess a great many diseases peculiar to their kind, and none of the noble ones such as syphilis or the tremors.

This night we dined in Montmarte, at a location I had previously been to, and so we were not sequestered into some corner as had been the case all the way up to there. It was a good feast, and we bid adieu to our Semi-Persian, who promised that he and his corpses would get to the bottom of Jeph and his keen interest in our affairs. Perhaps they suspect King Horse's disappearance is related to our arrival? - But no, such an action would surely have been accorded the steepest reprisal, and indeed I would be surprised if they did not summon the dread Battleship Chevalier from the depths of the Thames to punish such a great crime. And indeed King Horse knows no greater friend then my kinfolk except perhaps Zachary the Hunter and Brandon of the Alexanders, who came with us on our last voyage.

We prepare now to depart to Milan: The Arch-Jew is restless.
-Anoop

In pursuit of the secret Cabal of Shisha smokers, we descended upon the Bastille district in the dead of night. We made some arrangements to attempt to seek my esteemed cousin Vinay who would no doubt have some knowledge more than a simple calling card and the words of a perhaps delirious Turk. We were unable to contact him - which, due to the presence of the agent from MI6 (for the Persian had left his companion to wander on his own, showing the disloyalty for which his people are famed), may have been a fortunate course of action. In our family, we are all wanted for larcenies lesser or greater, and so we try not to call attention except where fame and the rigours of being a gentleman call for it.

Our search was beginning to prove fruitless, and so the Arch-Jew Moises and Mauricio walked and slither-hopped off into the night to return to our lodgings. We too grew frustrated, and our foursome reached a snag: the Subterran Transport had shut down. It was decided then that the hunt would resume anew, and so a Shisha bar was located and many strange dealings took place that, as a member of a private club now, I am forced by oath and honor not to reveal. A friendly Parisian - surely an outcast among his peers - took us under his wing and showed us the true backalleys and inner streets of Paris, the less of which is said the better. Finally, after some supplementary carousing, he showed us the Noctillien wagon which would take us to our destination.

At this station we went to another establishment with fine service and free-flowing beers. Here we met a man who recognized our Acrobat seemingly from the new-fangled moving cinemas. This Jackie Chan, however, appears to be a man of not insignificant skills and agility, which my poor gentle giant sadly lacks. Antonio cried at this, and I collected his tears in a jar for sale at a later time. He then pointed myself out as La Mouche (?), some sort of theatrical bumblebee, which I accepted only because I recognized the dull glaze of spirits in his eyes. My Sherpa comrade he merely laughed at and pointed to his belly (engorged with waitstaff, by this point), and curiously enough pointed out the Persian as a professor! We all laughed at his mistake. The conversation turned to politics and rude gestures and was cut off by the arrival of our night-wagon.

The wagon was full of drunks, skunks, and foreigners, and I am glad that my Sherpa was braying loudly and longly enough to fend off any possible attack upon my person. The sight of my discount acrobat - who I may have failed to mention, is nigh unto five full yards when stretched in height - was also a considerable dissuader. The Persian incited everyone to attack with his laziness and his disregard for hygiene, but such is his way.

Moises and my serpentine revolutionary had a different set of adventures, going from nighttime crawl to nighttime crawl, Moises apparently still in pursuit of furthering his seed as he may or may not have done (a gentleman never tells all!) with the pale Swedes in Londontown (Another note: this incident had apparently caused some distress with our Sherpa and Acrobat, as perhaps they were saddened that the northern women did not deign to pass banter with them, or that we passed our night in their pursuit rather than join their rambling and exploration about the gaslit streets of London - but hopefully the events of this past night have convinced them otherwise! And yet, I sense a rumbling of greater discontent in this misadventure, and I fear that perhaps some other Emotive Force is at work here. Is this the work of that Curse that we suffered due to our Acrobatic Folly in the British Museum? Only time will tell).

But the task Moises set himself was a great one, and here he was stymied apparently; every female had a pack of males to contend with, and the Arch-Jew was unwilling to spend money to persuade them. I am yet confused by his sudden changes of mood and am thinking of asking to the Royal Society to examine the innards of his skull, expecting to find some tumor or perhaps the location of his contract with the Devil, a secret his kind never divulge willingly.

I was also surprised to hear that Mauricio did not sink into a cold-induced coma at night, as apparently liquor alone will keep his spirits high and his body warm. What manner of man is a Latino? Surely God has many mysteries in store. I would ask the Royal Society to examine him as well but he assures me that he will shoot the capitalist pigdogs in the name of his mother country and the right of all men to shoot capitalist pigdogs. In any case his skin is poisonous and he has an odour about him.

The two went to another establishment filled with those who enjoy the company of men, and only men. I find them to be an honorable, if somewhat cowardly sort, as women are the source of most, if not all of life's ills, the remainder being accounted to foreigners and especially foreign women. And yet this helped Moises cause not at all, for unless his Rabbinical Cabal has discovered a way to impregnate a man these places were only useful to continue the flow of spirits to his fellow Latin comrade and thus keep him from perishing before dawn. I hope to all Gods and all Heavens that this secret forever remains a secret from their kind.

These two great explorers - as I am forced to concede they are- arrived even later than ourselves, and so by dawn our company was restored. We begin our journeys late this morning, but I look very much forward to them.

Adventure awaits! Let us not disappoint her.
-Anoop

I wrote yesterday of the increase in our company of some supposedly plainclothed men from MI6, working under the auspices of the Great Detective. I believe that they think this to be the case, but the sheer incompetence which pools in their very footsteps makes me feel otherwise. Their very stumbling upon us was the height of luck, as they caught our Sherpa in his morning full-body shave. They initially fainted in terror at the sight of this half-Man, half-Sasquatch, or perhaps insidious offspring of Barbary Ape and Goat, but he roused them with his usual threats and braying and like a good beast of burden, placed them upon his back to bring to the rest of the expedition.

Now, we went to Sherlock Holmes' apartments on our first day, to pay our respects to an intellectual peer - I say this of myself, and perhaps the Jew - and he gave no sign of any of this. Was it all a game he was playing? Was he upset because we dressed up in his clothes and pretended to find clues all about his apartments? Or perhaps because we used Dr. Watson's medical tools to perform surgical alterations to better the speed of our halfbreeds. Who can say? Regardless, I will enlist his services upon my return to find out what has become of King Horse - if he is not already on the case, for I can think of no greater quandary.

This day saw us set forth again to the Exchange, where the criminals there proceeded to shilling and quid the spare change away from our dear MI6 agent, who goes by the name of Ian - a fine Scottish name ill-worn by this semi-Persian. Moises proved again to defy his natural desire to deal in lucre and did not help, but I suppose this could be simply an element of his ancestral hatred for Ian's kind, or perhaps the general hatred of Ian's kind that I attempt to foster in everyone I meet, every day.

From here to the Louvre, to fully explore this wonderful Palace. Words cannot describe the art ensconced in these sacred halls of knowledge. Therefore I have stowed away many samples among my Sherpa's belongings. We were forced to keep our Acrobat on a tight leash here, both so he could navigate us with his Chinese Magnetic Witch-craft (for his species is like a homing pigeon in that regard) and so he would not by dint of his smashes and tumbles give away our thievery. We gave him a hard roll to chew on and this appeared to delight him.

From the Louvre, through the Tuileries, where again Mauricio flourished under the sun, shedding in fact his entire garb - which we discovered was merely skin cleverly disguised as clothing, much to my disgust, only to burst forth shimmering and flourescent in the light. He was a man of renewed vigor and we saw none of the torpor from yesterday or that had plagued him in the museum. The latter was, I believe, simply because of the weight of the culture pressing upon him: he is a simple man and would rather shoot a man in the face, ravage his wife, and consume his liquors than survey paintings. I am oftentimes in the same mood.

Here began a great trek to the Arch of Triumph, which I was horrifed to see no longer bore mine and my brother's faces emblazoned on the side. I was further horrified to see that Moises had purchased the rights for a mere penny through the devilry of his tongue and had claimed all further Triumphs for himself. Let me iterate: all triumphs, no matter how great or small, owe some percentage of their existence to Moises. I saw the paperwork myself. Truly he is an Arch-jew in more than one way and I am sorry to doubt him.

We went up the Champs-Elysees and dined, again in seclusion, served by a foppish Parisian with a white hat and striped clothing. On further reflection he must have been a prisoner, because he was uncouth and handled our money before we set it before him. At least the food was up to standards, and so Mauricio only gutted a few waitstaff before we left, hissing at them and then ululating in his strange Latin tongue and firing El Gato in the air - which had apparently also molted its skin, for it had shed its rust and now gleamed chrome and silver. A curious note on the Latino's tongue: I notice only now that it is forked.

We dove beneath the ground again and emerged near the great Phallus of Paris, La Tour de Eiffel. Here we haggled for sundry goods to bring back to our less well-travelled peers, and the combined power of my own erudition, the Persian's knack for hagglery, Mauricio's incessant hissing and baring of fangs - as is common among his Tropical Americano brethren, and the Arch-Jew's own prowess ensured a great deal.

An adventure ensued which I shall lay down in its own missive, for truly it deserves it.

Ah, Paris!
-Anoop

I was interrupted yesterday by the arrival of a curious duo, a Caucasian gentleman and a Persian halfbreed, both of who claimed to know certain Members of the Party! Truly our arrival was anticipated by someone. It is certainly possible that the ruckus we caused on our last visit was well-noted, and indeed I think this is the case, as both of the bumbling pair were sporting large coats with MI6 emblazoned all over the side and the Question sigil of our illustrious detective, Sherlock Holmes. Time will tell what this will spell for our Expedition.

On to our Expedition along the Seine from the second day of our journey: I believe yesterday saw the beginning of a trend: when dining, we are always sequestered in a corner somewhere, away from the rest of the rabble. Is this respect? Or, are they merely trying to minimize property damage? I suspected it was the latter, as my discount acrobat was again the cause of at least half a dozen broken tables, vases, and femurs in his several meter journey from the table to the door. Nevertheless I have grown fond of him. It matters not; the waiter made haste to steal whatever petty coins he could from us, and so I had him shot and made into a meal for my Sherpa. Thus our family motto: An Eye for an Eye, a Horrible Death for a handful of change stolen from nobility.

Our river tour continued with seeing the National Assemble, a hall of great sinfulness I am forced to conclude, despite its magnificent appearance. Nothing else would explain the lack of ceremony when we arrived. We made do on our own; my Sherpa, Sapan, banged loudly on drums and our guerilla, apparently swayed by the lusty beat, writhed sinously along the bridges and thoroughfares. I do not know if it is merely my eyes blinded by the gold and beauty scattered in this city, but I believe that his skin appears duller than usual, and looser than it ought.

We surveyed a great many other landmarks, off the beaten path and on, from the Place du Concorde - site of a great theft from Egypt, which I applaud only because it was audaciously carried out before my own countrymen could do the same, the Tuileries and hedge-mazes about the Louvre, and further South, that so-called Pantheon of Paris with the tomb of Napoleon himself! We all took a break here for much needed urination and other sundries. It is true we were set upon by guards, but our financier purchased the first few and set them against the rest, and we escaped in the ensuing bloodbath.

That night we went to the Bastille district, where they tore down the prison and replaced it with pubs and nightclubs, and many garish signs. I would say it is an improvement were it not for the fact that prisoners and their ilk now walk freely through the streets, which explains much of Paris.

A curious note: we went looking for an establishment with which to enjoy waterpipes, the huqqah, or shisha as they dub it here. And yet the only clue I had to where to go came from an ancient Turkman who gave me a card and cryptic directions to an Oriental storefront that was hidden from the public eye. Even with my Sherpa and Acrobat navigating for me, I failed to find it. Our guerilla was growing into a torpor with the coming of night, but we were able to entice him home with a trail of breadcrumbs and small game, which he clubbed with his revolver El Gato before swallowing them whole.

Tomorrow is another day!
-Anoop

Ah, Paris! To think that I would be delighted to see this town of cursed Gauls and misfits, this city of hunchbacks and the profane, this ill-advised heap of buildings and rubble convincingly assembled into a semblance of human habitation, this odorous mound of barbarian waste.

I have satisfied my patriotism. Paris is as beautiful as ever. The spring has brought forth flowers from the ground and from their own people, and they walk the streets everywhere one travels. We arrived in Paris through the European Star, the great train that connects our superior kingdom with the otherwise terrible land of Gaul.

Upon arriving we set forth through some sort of foreigner's market, a hive of activity filled with Chinamen, Arabs, Persians, Hindoos, and others of the lesser races that have filled their niche one way or another; in London by pulling wagons, selling trinkets, and generally making themselves a nuisance, and here by the acquisition and sale of anything one could possibly want or, likely in the case of terminal addicts, salivate for. You must imagine that in this press we were stricken by a severe confusion.

Luckily my discount acrobat Antonio managed to save the day by speaking in his moon-language to some of his ilk, who guided us to our place of stay: a towering structure marked The Sovereign, as only befits a tenant of my stature. Furthermore, he used his ancient Chinese arts of navigation and compass-craft to ensure that we went straight there, as an arrow from a bow. A marvellous find, to be sure, and a steal at 50 pence from those ill-bred circus tramps he called master.

We then went to the Exchange to transfer currencies. I must confess that after the episodes of last night, which I again must be discreet about but involved more spirits and spirited pursuit than a gentleman should admit, I am very suspicious of my comrade Moises. For a Jew, a member of a Financial Race, he seems to not understand the value of money at all, or the particulars of its exchange. Indeed it flows from him like water and he has nothing of the tight-fisted miserliness that his people are famed for. Perhaps it is his religious ecstasy in the pursuit of engaging his loins that has masked his instinct, one primal need making way for another.

My Sherpa, Sapan, also proved himself here, using his own barbaric tongue to speak to a Pathan and not only secure us lodging if we need it but some form of dinner. I can only hope that he is not a cannibal and does not share Sapan's taste for the halfbreed.

Nevertheless we succeeded in our mission, and toured the Opera while we were there, when karma struck: Indeed I had doubted how well the heavens viewed my mingling with these boors instead of proper Englishmen, and I was validated when these same heavens opened up in torrential rains. We quickly dove into cover in Paris' own, more urine-soaked version of our Subterran Transport, and merged unscathed into the Musee d'Orsay by the ever-lovely (but less lovely than the Thames) Seine.

More adventures to follow: the riverside was excellent, as always.

Floating in bliss,
Anoop

Mauricio had procured some excellent Liquer distilled from the essence of either the cocoa or coca plant; I could not make out his outrageous accent. Either way it filled us with delicious energy and chocolatey adrenaline, which we took to heart as a good sign of things to come. We immediately went out to celebrate at a local pub, at Moises' insistence. Surveying his behavior as he imbibed more and more spirits, it became very clear what his idea of our expedition was: he would, like Solomon, take to bed as many wives as he possibly could and thereby spread the cause of Jewry through his own seed.

I do not know what to make of this.

Truly, his is an epic quest, and so I perforce must encourage it, because life has not enough of the epic in it. On the other hand my genteel brothers in the landed nobility would strongly discourage my actions; and yet, I find myself drawn to his cunning and ability in the art of whoring. He has a knack for it, that I can only assume he draws from whatever diluted Latin fire he possesses in his constitution.

Mauricio endeavoured to assist us in this matter, out of fellowship, for he was already spoken for by who he claimed was some sort of African Princess. His tongue speaks nothing but lies however and I am fairly certain I have seen him use it to pick insects out of the air, which does not bode well for anyone. The three we set upon were fine and pale specimens of Swedes, and as a gentleman I must refrain from saying exactly how the night progressed. However a curious note: one obtained her wealth and moved to England through the sale of a particularly fine specimen of horse, which left her with enough doubloons to finance her stay for years.

As you all know, King Horse, king of horses, is one of the great powers behind the British throne - and yet he expressly forbids profiting from the sale of his kin. It is why we attach halfbreeds to our wagons instead; that, and to keep them in their rightful place. What has happened to King Horse? My missives have gone unanswered; I did not see him patrolling his residence in Hyde Park.

I am gravely worried for my dear friend, ruler, and companion. And tomorrow we take the great train to Gaul, the Stella Europa. It shines on but two cities, but surely one can find no Greater a Pair.

Apprehensively yours,
Anoop

Our first day has proven eventful so far. Almost immediately upon entry my faithful Goliath, Tony, made his presence known by jostling his way through a crowd, no doubt in search of some treat or hearing some jingling noise that reminded him of his Circus origins. In the process he managed to break nearly half a dozen panes of glass, the tinkling sound of which only confused and infuriated him all the more. Luckily Moises was able to provide some soothing to the angry storekeepers in the form of liquid gold, which I can only suspect he manufactures from his own body through some Alchemical Prowess the secrets of which are only known to his own race.

After this unfortunate encounter we found our lodgings, at which time Tony redeemed himself by dancing and capering and in this manner somehow securing us an excellent rate. I was unable to secure lodging at our own estates because in my absence my brother had, of course, mismanaged all of our funds by allocating them to digging a giant tunnel to Hell, which he proposed would allow him to free Satan to rampage unchecked across central Asia to exact vengeance on the Huns. While a worthy aim, perhaps it would have been best if he used London's natural supply of halfbreeds rather than attempt to interbreed pigs, moles, and rats to make some sort of supernatural digging creature. The results will give the Royal Society and the Church pause for many years to come.

I digress: lodgings were obtained. After which we shaved our Sherpa's unnatural body hair that he would not overheat in the cold London air and set off for food. Mauricio and Moises insisted on genuine British food, but seemed strangely repulsed by my offer of Pig's Head in a Jar, Calves' Foot in Aspic Jelly, and Haggis Hung from a Tree and Soaked in Brine. Instead they settled for beer and pies. Food for commoners, yes, but I lowered myself for them. And yet it is understandable: the spice of commerce flows through Moises, which all men partake in, and Mauricio claims to be a fighter for the people. The only fighting I have ever seen him do is when he stabbed the barkeep through the gills for giving him the wrong beer, after which he drank what he was given anyway and immediately settled into his usual stupor.

After this adventure we set off to the British Museum to see what treasures we had rightfully liberated from the various colonies. During this time my discount acrobat proved that he had other talents by using careful brush-and-scrollwork to record my figure by that of various kings and leaders throughout history, proving once and for all that my visage is far more fit for command than the bulk of humanity's leaders. How he discovered this I cannot say: however, he was forced to leave hastily, with Moises in tow spreading gold to ease his path, as his acrobatic skills had not improved at all, and his mad tumbling and rolling at my ill-advised praise led to more destruction than a brace of bulls in a China shop. If I read the Rosetta Stone correctly, we are now all cursed by the pharoahs for his actions. I firmly believe that they cannot curse us anymore than we have ourselves.

Once again, as seems to always be the case, our halfbreeds escaped us. I found out that Sapan had eaten through their leather traces. He had also eaten most of the halfbreeds. He is a man of prodigious appetites, but his renewed vigor came of some use to us: as it turned out, the only way to get to the Subterran Railroad and back to our lodgings was via a gigantic circular staircase that wound down as if - you guessed it, gentle reader - into the very Pit itself. I could sense Ajay's handiwork by the stench of urine and the skeletons baked into the wall in compromising positions. Without Sapan's use of rope and piton and his mulelike tenacity, I doubt we could have descended without broken bones and spirits. Indeed from time to time we met fellow travellers less fortunate than ourselves, who begged us for food or water. Naturally, being a feeling sort, I put them out of their mercy with only a small modicum of pain. It being thirsty work, we stopped for a picnic shortly thereafter.

Curiously, as we clambered into the deep, it became hotter and hotter, and Mauricio became more and more awake. I suspect now that he is some sort of Ectothermic Creature, Reptilian in nature; the further we descended, the more his eyes lit up and I could swear I saw his tongue flicker in and out. Perhaps there is more of the Jungle in his blood than I had otherwise surmised! It was he that led us finally to our lodgings, where I pen this missive. We have recovered Antonio, who has happily forgot his earlier misdeeds, and Moises, who has shrugged off my insistence at writing a formal apology on his behalf, and will continue tonight. What the future holds, only the Lord above and the Queen can know.

Always your truthful narrator,
Anoop