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Oscar takes the train back to London and starts asking around about Roby.
A person buying a book mentions that Randolph Carter had known Roby, and the next morning he can set up some time to talk to him.
Huh, wasn't that the guy Terrence talked to at the party? He seemed a bit much. But that's like 40% of his customers; he has a lot of experience in this area.
O_o "I wasn't - I mean, I don't even know if Parker's read it. But if he has, surely it's relevant to the case? Roby made it sound like it was a big part of his, his work with his friends, or his life's work or what have you. I don't know if Parker was one of those friends, of course."
"Of course you can discuss it if it's relevant to the case," Oscar says. "As I said. I just think--" how to put this-- "Parker, Parker might have bad associations with the play, or (God forbid) he might insult it. It's better not to be too effusive."
No matter how much Oscar rehearsed this, he's still not sure how to say "Please don't embarrass me with that one banned French play in front of my colleague Chris Parker".
"That's the spirit," says Oscar. "Sorry if I come off a scold. I've just been dreading this conversation, and in my defense you brought up this play a lot even when it wasn't relevant to"-- anything that a sophisticated person should spend his time on-- "the case."
"I'm not talking about Roby. Just so you know." There's a bit more acid than Oscar intended, but Terrence is definitely making fun of him with that 'my dear.' "Forget I said anything. You and Parker can talk about whatever you want, I guess."
That afternoon, they go to Parker's office to see Parker.
Parker is not exactly a young man but he sure is in his thirties and not his fifties and has a full head of brown hair.
"What is it?"
"It's Oscar Latz. I wrote you a letter about your friend Alexander Roby." If Parker recognizes him he'll let him bring it up.
He addressed this pretty well in the letter.
"I understand if you don't want to talk about the situation," he says. "But we heard you were pretty close with Roby, and we're trying our best to help him."
He hands Chris Parker a business card which reads:
Oscar Latz, Owner
Forward Bookshop and Springtide Press
68 Red Lion Square, Holborn
London
"You've been misinformed," Parker says.
He looks down at the the book he's reading. Oscar and Terrence have obviously been dismissed.
Oscar knows a snub when he sees one. He's not going to let it get to him. As soon as they get out the door, he turns to Terrence and makes a face like "You see what I mean?"
That night, Oscar dreams.
Faces look up pooled and expectant. He sits with the others, the violin pinched between chin and shoulder as he's seen others do, his left hand on the strings. The music starts up and the orchestra crashes into its brief life. But is he the only one playing a role? Isn’t the audience applauding and calling out in the wrong places? And the other musicians — they’re competing, sounding their instruments randomly. The conductor points at him. He glances at his music and there is the Yellow Sign — it writhes and squirms and seems ready to reach out for him. He must assuage it. Hastily, he starts to play to its rhythm, building the sound himself note by note.
Oscar wakes up with his heart pounding. He has a vague but compelling sense that something went wrong and that he's lost his only chance to fix it. This is probably the cost of reading Der Wanderer before bed.
That morning, they meet at a very good café. One of those places that's very cozy, where no matter how much the outside world sucks, you know this place will be warm and comfortable and have your favorite cake there. It's frequented by bohemians.
It has the same ceiling as the room back in Wales. This shouldn't be important. The first thing he should notice when he walks in is how nice it is, and ooh, they made their nice orange cake today. But the first thing he notices is the ceiling. The second thing he notices is the rotten fruit smell coming from the kitchen.
Today is not the day he's going to resist putting cream and sugar in his coffee. Or a pastry for that matter.
Sal likes dark chocolate and raspberries in his sweets. He takes his coffee dark and bitter.
He's getting the orange cake, for Old Time's Sake and the vague hope he can power through the sense of unease and disgust. (It has that same rotten fruit smell attached to it.)
He did not succeed in writing down all the bullshit that has happened recently. All he has now is a sense that the occult is much more real than it had felt previously, and the awareness that Inaaya should probably be the one to break that news if she wants it broken at all.
Inaaya has her notes on Roby's mansion and a story for how she got them that involves zero (0) cats and her pencil and her pocketknife; she orders black tea, quietly misses masala chai, and sits down between Terrence and Sal.
Terrence likes his coffee with cream and in quantity. He's forgotten to eat yet today so he is going to shove a large sandwich into his face during the course of this conversation.
"Alright, so. We've identified some of Roby's friends - Ben Best is a historian of old Britain. I have some ideas on how to get a letter to him but haven't had the time yet. Chris Parker is a books dealer who claimed not to know him and kicked us out of his office, and also maybe murdered a tramp. DeVille eludes us."
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