"What do you want to talk to me about?"

"I seem to remember you have strong opinions about psychiatry?"

"Yes. Bunch of hacks."

"Bunch of cops!"

"They pathologize anyone who thinks differently. Who dares to look beyond their tiny circle of what people should care about."

"Exactly."

"Into the depths of infinity and the world beyond--"

Or about socialism. But that doesn't seem like Carter's bag honestly.

"Yeah. So I'm here because someone you know is locked up and it's for pretty fishy reasons. Is there any chance you remember an Alexander Roby? In an asylum, specifically, I mean."

"Oh, yeah. He was a sweetheart. It was horrible what happened to him. He might get out?"

A sweetheart, huh. "He does seem very sincere and like he's going through horrible things. And yes, we're working on convincing the psychiatrist he's harmless and should be free. Sounds like you knew him well and understand his plight, maybe you can help?"

"I'd be happy to help however I can. I really liked his book."

"He wrote a book?" Oscar follows weird niche literary developments closely. This is a bit shocking. "He did mention something about his work. I feel for him-- it's extremely hard to write while imprisoned." Especially without writing implements but that's where Oscar comes in.

"Der Wanderer durch den See, published in English and German. It had a very small print run."

"May I ask what press?"

"Whitehall."

Oscar has vaguely heard of Whitehall. It's a small press, it sells... books.

He can't remember anything else they published.

He's probably ever sold anything they published.

"Right, Whitehall. I've carried some of their work before-- must have missed Roby's book somehow. It was a good book, in your opinion?" He doesn't really want to read an entire book by someone who admires The King In Yellow, and to be honest Whitehall is an entirely forgettable press in general. But it might be useful.

"It's a fascinating case study of a man's dreams. Sort of... toes the line between fiction and nonfiction?"

Dreams!

"It's about coming to understand a power that is essentially unknowable and far greater than man."

"Sounds very poetic," Oscar says in a measured tone of voice. "I should see if Roby likes Surrealism, lots of interesting stuff going on there with dreams. In any case-- that does sound partly biographical. Based on what I've heard." He feels kinda uncomfortable discussing the details of Roby's psyche with one of his admirers but if he's making art about it maybe that's not as bad.

"I think it was supposed to be autobiographical. Even though he calls the dreamer 'the man.'"

"Yeah. Slip of the tongue, sorry. I've heard he has some strange recurring dreams. He may have been influenced by a certain play." Sorry Roby. "Are there any-- recurring images, or motifs, in the book?"

"The dreamer calls the power 'The King,' but once 'Kaiwan' and once 'the Unspeakable One'. And eventually he visits the city of Carcosa. A place of beauty and contentment, although fundamentally inhuman."

He "may" have been "influenced" by a "certain play".

"Randolph, may I ask if you know the work Roby's referencing?"

"I don't."

"He is very interested in a French play called the King in Yellow. In translation, I think."

"That's the one that led to the riot, isn't it?"

"Yes. I haven't seen it or read in its entirety. But my friend--" where did that come from, he wonders-- "who knows the play well explained its major motifs to me. Der Wanderer makes multiple references to it, unmistakably. And in fact Roby discussed it with my friend. With enthusiasm."

"Huh," Carter says. "Well, nothing wrong with writing a story about a favorite play. Kind of odd he never mentioned it to me..."

"It's possible that he's gotten more passionate about this play since you saw each other, but it IS odd that it forms such a big part of his work and he never mentioned it."

He shakes his head. "Well, Roby was always a quiet man. I don't think I ever really got to know him. No one except his closest friends did."

"I hope that you do," he says. He finds that he's sincere about it. "His close friends-- did you know them?"

"Yeah. There were four of them, they went out almost every night."

"Were they at all literary? Do you know their names?"

"Chris Parker, he was like fifty-five. Oddly high voice. Antiques dealer. Ben Best, he worked at the Royal Society. Incredibly nice guy and you could tell it wasn't fake, you know, he always wanted the best things for everyone. I always found it weird he didn't have a girl. --Or a guy. And some guy named DeVille. I never got to know him well."

He has never heard of Best or DeVille. Sounds like Roby hung around a lot of queers even for a bohemian. He hates to pry into how the guy spends his free time but it could be useful information.

Certain universities and museums sometimes contacted Parker, because he could knowledgeably authenticate and identify occult manuscripts, but he hasn't been active in this for the last ten years. He deals in antiques and rare books from his North London address; it takes a lot to get his attention but when you do he's competent and utterly ruthless.

"Parker's a big name in antiques and rare books." Whom Oscar has avoided dealing with as he has a certain reputation for ruthlessness. In any case-- "Do you think he'd be willing to help with Roby? I'd like to talk to him." He hopes Carter has a better read on Parker here because contacting him out of nowhere to ask about an unfortunate friend sounds terrible. Though many things about the Roby business are terrible, comes with the territory.

"I never knew him well," Carter says. "Frankly, the man kind of scares me."

"I've heard some stories, yeah." Come to think of it, he did have a surprisingly pleasant two-minute conversation with Parker one time at a release party but that's probably not enough to build a successful visit to Parker's shop around, especially with something as sensitive as Roby's case. "And I'll be honest, hearing that stuff turned me off working with him more closely. I take it you've seen it firsthand?"

He shakes his head. "Yeah. He's... very unpleasant."

"Sorry to hear it. I'm surprised to hear he got on so well with Roby-- you mentioned him being a sweetheart?"

"Well, it might be easier for an asshole to get along with a sweetheart than to get along with another asshole."

Oscar knows a lot about that actually.

He laughs. "Tell me about it. But honestly, you're doing a really good thing here. You've given me a great place to start. One last thing-- do you know who carries Roby's book?"

"Not off the top of my head but I'm sure you can find one."

He hesitates. "--There was one weird thing about Parker."

Huh, weird even by Carter's standards.

"Yeah?"

He sighs. "There isn't a week that goes by where I don't dream about it."

Honestly, Oscar knows that feeling too.

"Oh," he says, "I've heard some bad things about him, but that sounds awful."

"It was three AM," Carter says, "I was out for a walk. Couldn't sleep, you know. Ran into Parker. Didn't feel like talking to him, but we wound up walking the same direction. He was going slow, looking in alleys and doorways by the light of an electric torch."

Is this how Oscar is going to find out that Parker mutilates cats or something.

"He stopped before this sleeping tramp. He lifted up his arms and I heard from all over this whistling noise. The tramp screamed, on and on, but Parker didn't touch him. Then both noises stopped and Parker walked away."

"Jesus."

"I went to look at the tramp and-- there was a body there. A man, I think. His arms were held up to protect himself and his face was frozen in fear. Mouth open. He died terrified and-- I've never seen someone who looked so much in pain. I thought that Parker killed him but-- I don't know how. The corpse was as dry as dust. Not a single drop of blood in it. Like it was a mummy."

Oscar doesn't know what to say. Carter is clearly exaggerating, or his memory's addled somehow, but he seems so earnest that Oscar feels bad for him. And-- it is an awful story. He finally says: "Sounds like the incident had a big impact on you."

He shudders.

It's very possible that Carter remembers something disturbing-- yet unfortunately of our world-- via the conventions of, well, a horror story. He can't help but think of Roby here. Inaaya seems to think this is a bullshit thing to claim about someone without much evidence but it seems a lot kinder than dismissing someone outright.

What tack is he going to take here. God. Ignore the lurid supernatural bullshit, skip to the fact people prey on the helpless and lumpenized. "Do you think Parker might have known he had a nervous constitution or something? Taken advantage of that?" He pauses and thinks about it. "He can be cruel, sometimes. Or so I've heard."

"Perhaps?" Carter shrugs helplessly. "I know what I saw."

"It sounds horrible." Oh no, Carter has picked up that he's being patronizing. Best to move on, he's found. "Thanks again for all you've shared. I'll write you to let you know if we get anywhere."

That afternoon, Oscar sends Carter a first edition of Machen's The Hill of Dreams for his trouble.

Meanwhile--

Terrence recalls a Ben Best. He's the author of British Gods: Religion and Myth in the Western Kingdoms of Anglo-Saxon Britain.

After a bit of time in the library, Terrence can't find anything else about Ben Best, but he can find a copy of British Gods.

The work is an academic text authored by Ben Best and published by Oxford University Press in 1924. Its primary focus is on Celtic, Roman, Sumerian and other gods believed to have been worshiped in southwest Britain from about 50 B.C. to 650 A.D. A more in-depth reading would take about two weeks.

Yeah, yeah, okay, he'll take that home with him. He'll start on that. Well, while he's in the library, he may as well look into Aldebaran too.

The Hyades is an open star cluster that constitutes the head of the constellation Taurus the bull. Marking his right eye is the bright red star Aldebaran — a magnitude 0.9 star and the ninth brightest star in our sky.

Further back in the constellation lie a tight cluster of young stars, the Pleiades. From mid-northern latitudes, all these stars are visible with the naked eye with the exception of the Pleiades. Six of the seven stars of this last cluster, called the seven sisters in Greek mythology, are about fourth magnitude and easy to see, but many more are visible with binoculars or a telescope.

In northern latitudes Taurus rises in the east in October, peaks in the southern sky in early January, and disappears into the west at the end of March.

Damn, Inaaya knows her stuff.

Okay, neat. ... He'll also revisit the Aldebaran chapters of the King in Yellow, once he's home, in case he can pull anything more out of that. This may turn into sacrificing the rest of the afternoon and evening on the King in Yellow, but like, twist his fuckin arm, what a terrible fate, you know?

He also places a phone call to Simone.

"You wanted to see me?" Simone says to Terrence.

"My dear Simone! Good to see you. I wanted to ask if you might know any small theaters that I might reach out to about hosting a production on relatively short notice. It'll make good footfall, I should think."

"I might," Simone says cautiously. "Which production?"

"Um. Thekinginyellow."

"...no," Simone says.

"Listen, it's - I know there was a commotion, but you were there, it's not as though - it's not as though it was advocating for anarchy, or, or stabbing in the streets, or anything. It'd be ridiculous not to - not to show it, not to give some actors the chance at pay, just because the first showing had a rowdy crowd."

"It... upset me even before the riot," Simone says. "I don't think it's a good thing to perform. I... don't know how to put it into words but there's something evil about that play."

"I'm... sorry you feel that way. I... it is intense. I can understand that, at least."

"I don't think anyone should watch it. I'm not in favor of censorship but I'm not going to help you."

"...Well, you have your mind made up, I see. I'll take my leave of you. Take care, Simone."

Inspired, Terrence is gonna start writing a persuasive essay about why the King in Yellow is a great book that you should read, tailored to a relatively educated but non-occult audience. Also, it should not be banned. This'll be great. He can use the talking points in the future, too. Probably he can get it published.

...Under a pseudonym, somewhere.

Der Wanderer is a bit of a pain in the ass to find-- small print run, no one actually wants to read it-- but he eventually finds an owner of a small antiquarian book store who has a copy in the back room.

Der Wanderer durch den See in English and German by A. R., 1923, Whitehall Press, London. A small book, 6 inches by 4 inches, ninety-seven numbered pages, bound in all-white cloth, blank cover and spine. The title page gives title, author’s initials, date, press, and a dedication to Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Suppression Prepares for Overflow. The text is split into two halves, headed First Act and Second Act, and describes the dreams of a man. It is written in the form of a case history, but probably can be read as autobiographical despite the absence of personal pronouns. There is no mention of studying a subject or of interviews with him. The text does not seem to be organized for dramatic effect or to be a resource, nor is it fiction, poetry, or science.

Oscar expected a lot of things from Roby's work-- but dryness wasn't one of them. Oh well. He sets a tentative goal of reading 15 pages a day and taking notes.

That afternoon, Terrence asks Oscar to meet at a nearby coffeehouse.

He brings Best's book just in case, but he doubts it'll be of much help.

Oscar shows up to the meeting twenty-five minutes after the time he promised Terrence; he orders coffee with cream and sugar.

"Sorry I'm late," he says. "Got drawn into quite a conversation with Symons." He holds up an unassuming white book. "I've got this, by the way-- did you know Roby wrote a book?"

"No trouble at all." Terrence puts away Best's book, which he'd been reading in the meantime. "What? I had no idea. May I see?"

"Sure," he says, handing Terrence Der Wanderer. "I'll be honest-- it's given me a hard time."

Terrence takes a flip through, looking for anything King in Yellowy or otherwise notable about the contents.

Such as the numerous pages that mention the King in Yellow.

Paydirt, baby! 

Terrence immediately perks up and starts reading more intently when he first sees the reference, but without actually reading the book all he gets is that it shows up in dreams.

"Hm. He mentions the King in Yellow. ...That's not surprising, is it."

"Not after the conversation you had with him," Oscar says. "Though I talked with one of his admirers and it was news to him. He'd never even heard of the play. Do you, uh, remember Randolph Carter?" (Of course Terrence remembers Randolph Carter. But there's no way of getting around this, huh.)

"That's quite interesting. ... Yes, I remember Carter. You spoke to him? Was he the admirer?"

"Yeah. They knew each other-- though I think not very closely. Carter was the one who introduced me to this book, said it was based on Roby's dreams. I thought I'd give it a try, see if I can get some insight." Unfortunately it is slow going-- he's read only about ten pages of Roby's dense, curious prose.

"Intriguing. Well, tell me where you bought it - or perhaps, if I might be permitted to borrow it once you're done, if you didn't find other copies - I can't imagine this sold widely."

"Yeah, it wasn't sold widely." Probably for different reasons than Terrence imagines. "I forgot to ask-- do you read German? Roby's written his most detailed accounts of dreams in German. I'm not sure why.

"Damn. Never got around to that one, unfortunately. ... Roby's not German, is he? That is rather strange."

"Carter also told me a bit about Roby's friends."

 "Oh! Good! I tried to look into them but hit a brick wall. All I found was a history text written by his friend - with no obvious relevance to the, the matter at hand. What did you learn?"

"The lead did feel like a brick wall," Oscar admits. "I got three names, two of which I'd never heard of before. The other was Chris Parker." He pauses. "Not sure if he has the same reputation in academia." Oscar puts just a slight stress on the word 'academia.'

"I don't think I've heard of him, so, apparently not. What's his reputation outside of academia?"

"Bad. So I don't have much to do with him even though he's got great contacts and truly fantastic rare books from time to time. He knows his stuff but he's ruthless. All sorts of crazy rumors." He pauses for a second. "Carter actually-- told me another story about Parker. A really crazy one. Do you remember my theory about Roby?"

"Goodness. Quite the character. Yes, I do remember." Terrence leans over his coffee cup - this sounds very interesting indeed.

"I don't know how to say this but Carter seemed a little high-strung," says Oscar. "Maybe you noticed. So he tells me this story about how he took a walk one night, very late so everything's deserted. He claims he saw Parker out there tormenting a tramp, that Parker somehow scared the man to death. Gave him a heart attack or something, I don't know. His version didn't make much sense, had all these details like a cheap horror story-- sorry, I don't mean to mock it-- but he said he heard weird sounds, the body crumbled to dust."

"What the actual hell. Pardon my French."

"Right. He seemed very sincere, shell-shocked even. I don't know what to make of it-- he said he dreams about it all the time, now."

"God. ...Did you know, the time I talked to Carter, he was dismissing modern life for being unbearably dry and not intriguing enough? I'm just saying, whether or not one believes him, if that happened to me, I would have different complaints about the world."

"It's a bourgeois complaint to have." No offense, Terrence? "And-- I'm not sure what parts of the Parker story are literally true amidst the horror melodrama. Like I mentioned, I wonder if he isn't like Roby-- using whatever art's at hand because the truth's too horrible to face."

Terrence nods, thoughtfully. "Do you think we ought to talk to him?"

"Parker?"

"Yeah. --I mean, if he's Roby's friend and we have a connection and might be prone to the same, ah, modes of thinking...."

Not sure you can get Parker's side of the story on "Did you scare a tramp to death?"

"Well, we can get his read on the Roby case. ....Besides, if multiple of us go together, one of us can hang around out of the doorframe in the back with a mask and a big stick, and if he starts turning someone to dust, that person can hit him with the stick. This is the strength of cooperation in action."

"I don't think Parker is going to use his terrible magic powers to give us all heart attacks."

Terrence giggles. "Probably not."

He then smothers it because a person died, maybe, come on, Terrence.

"Probably a dark joke, sorry. But I assume that poor tramp was not in a great physical and emotional condition. If it happened, of course."

"Oh, certainly."

Honestly it's the best lead they have but it's going to be awful, especially because most conversations Oscar's had with Terrence are much less tolerable. Maybe he just needs a goal to deter him from proselytizing about his favorite play. "What tack do you think we should take with him, then? We've met at a party but that was maybe a two minute conversation."

"Of course. Could be completely fabricated. But still, very strange." Terrence thinks. "I mean, we could try the truth. Or a version of it. A friend of Roby's asked us to look into his case, for... for the judge's review of his case. We're fellow literary men. What does he think of Roby? What does he think Roby's involvement was? Et cetera. Speaking of which, did you happen to learn anything about our mysterious DeVille?"

"No. I didn't learn much about DeVille-- or I think it was Best?-- though I did get this sense from Carter's description that Roby maybe, uh--" why is he being this coy about it, come on-- "hung around with a lot of particularly queer people. Not that it's my business how he spends his time." Hopefully if Terrence's real uptight about that kind of thing, he won't even notice the innuendo. You never know with him, honestly.

"Mm. You know our circles; doesn't surprise me." He shrugs.

Truly an ambiguous answer. But Oscar has no reason to dwell on it.

"You said you found a book his friend wrote?" With his luck, each of Roby's friends have written five boring small-press books each. But that's why there's Terrence-- division of labor.

"Yes - Best wrote this." He takes British Gods out of his bag and sets it on the table. "If it has anything to do with the case, I don't see it yet, but it's up my alley, so I suppose I'll give it a gander anyhow."

"Thanks, Terrence." It's selfish but he doesn't want to use his reading time on a work of history written by one of Roby's friends. "So I guess I should be the one to get in touch with Parker?"

"If you don't mind? I could give it a shot but you might be better placed. I could try reaching out to Best."

Say what you will about him, but Terrence remains one of the better people to approach Parker with. He's good at asking questions about other's work, and almost disarmingly friendly, actually. "Yeah, it's probably better if you write Best. It's your area," Oscar replies.

Meanwhile--

It turns out Sal is WRONG about some fundamental things about reality.

So... he is maybe... going to try to get a detailed list from Inaaya of everything she knows about this stuff, and how she knows it, and how provable it is. And he might also... see if he and Roby have any overlapping contacts that he can talk to about all this.

It turns out he does know someone who knows someone who knows Alexander Roby, and by coincidence they met at a party a few weeks ago.

"Hellooooooo you wanted to see me?"

"Hi. How do you feel about impossible murders." Should he be so abrupt? He is gambling on everything he knows about William Way.

"Incredibly in favor."

"It's about Alexander Roby. He's in an asylum these days, you know. Commited for a murder it would've been impossible for him to commit. His doctor actually asked us to consult, because he's starting to think he's not even insane. And when he talked, he sounded... esoteric? Some play had changed his life, and he was talking like he intended to bring about some mystical event via ritual."

"I went in under the assumption that he couldn't have done it and was a harmless eccentric, and stuck to that until... yesterday morning, when the woman one door over from him was found covered in blood with a dead nurse in front of her, and no possible way she could've done it."

"And I have since learned things that make me... less certain about which things are truly impossible."

"So I'm trying to find out more about Alexander Roby, with more of a mind to the stranger things about him."

He grimaces. "Oh, that unsolvable murder."

"Technically, at this point, there have been three loosely connected unsolvable murders."

"You came to the right place!" he says cheerfully. "I'm the one who discovered the bodies."

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, I should've checked."

"Checked what? I'm the best possible person to talk to."

lmao if he is SUFFICIENTLY CHEERFUL there is NO PROBLEM HERE. it was NOT extremely scarring to discover the dead bodies actually!!!!! it was COOL. dead bodies are COOL.

"Well. We've already heard the official accounts, but I suppose another description won't hurt." He is not in charge of managing William Way's emotional health. He will, however, probably get better results if they don't talk about this. "But I'm really here to ask about what Roby was like before."

"He was cool! He wrote poetry. I took him out to jazz clubs, that sort of thing. He only had three friends so I thought I would help him out a bit, you know."

"I know about Chris Parker and Ben Best, who was the third?" 

"Some guy named DeVille. I wish I'd thought of that. William DeVille. It has a ring to it."

"His name is William too?"

"No, my name is William. He just goes by Mr. DeVille everywhere. No first name at all." William thinks about this. "If I didn't have a first name that would be even cooler."

"What were they interested in? Did you know the specifics? Particularly relating to... gods, myths, rituals, the occult?"

"Oh, yeah, all kinds of occult stuff. Have you read Roby's book?"

"Not yet. I think a friend of mine found a copy the other day."

"It's weird as shit."

"Did he ever talk about The King in Yellow to you?"

"He wouldn't shut up about that guy."

"Was that true from the day you met him? Or do you remember when it started?"

"It was true the whole time I knew him. Just kind of tuned it out, you know. --Do you want to hear something incredibly spooky?"

"Absolutely."

"So I was reading a bit of Roby's book out loud, and he was reading it with me-- one of the parts in German. And then I felt weak and collapsed on the floor, all panicked, and I saw a vision."

"Of what?"

"I was walking in St. James' Park, like I do every night, for inspiration. I had just crossed the small suspension bridge, you know, the one to the south across the lake? And I was looking at the buildings on Whitehall."

"I knew it wasn't a dream. It was so detailed, so normal. Everything was totally right, from the ducks to the paperboy."

"I reached into my pocket for a penny to buy a paper and then I heard a step behind me. Saw a man with a sharp face, quite tall. His eyes met mine. He said for me to keep still, please, and then I felt a sharp pain and started falling. I closed my eyes and when I reopened them I was looking up at the sky, and then the paperboy's white face, and I tried to make a joke but I couldn't."

"And then I-- died."

"In the vision."

"And I woke back up and then Roby was looking at me with this absolute horror on his face and he said 'I'm so sorry, I can't change what you saw.'"

"I don't know why he'd think he could, it was my spooky death vision."

"You weren't kidding. That is spooky."

"Isn't it though???" He sounds DELIGHTED. "Anyway, that's the coolest Roby thing I know. Mostly he didn't talk much and when he did it was all about Carcosa."

"Could you direct me towards any of his friends?"

"I've lost contact with all of them, sorry."

"Well, if you remember anything else, I'm always interested."

"While you're here do you want to hear my latest?"

"I'd love to."

William's latest could, in fact, be called 'music', for a reasonably broad definition of 'music.'

It's not particularly to her taste, but it sounds like he's having fun.

Meanwhile--

"Hello, darling, how was your horrid time at the horrid place?"

"Well, I was either in a room that was cursed or literally poisonous, so sleeping did not work out as well as I would have liked. That's part of why I wanted to talk-- along with your good company, of course-- have your dreams been giving you trouble?"

"Not at all. Same heart-achingly beautiful castles and even more heart-achingly beautiful men as ever."

It should probably comforting to find that Ruby hasn't been having these problems. That the dreams have a mundane cause, and have nothing to do with the beautiful castles and beautiful men. But-- there's a sense of being perilously alone that has lodged under his ribs. "Must have been a problem with the room then. Or I was doing something impressively wrong. But probably the room."

"Clearly you're dreaming badly, my love." She nuzzles Jing Yi's shoulder. "Do you think I can help you relax and get in a good frame of mind?"

"I'm not used to it being something I could fail so badly at!" He pets her hair. "I wouldn't say no to that plan. Truly, the best plan here is to use the scientific method to solve the problem--"

Ruby uses the scientific method very enthusiastically.

"You know," she says, sweaty and happy afterward, "if that doesn't help I do have something else."

"Oh?"

"I've gotten into this new drug, darling, from the mysterious Orient. --Not your part of the mysterious Orient. Tibet."

...uhhuh. "I'm assuming you neither want nor need the 'please be careful' speech?"

"I will not wind up on the run from the Triads or indeed even the light jog. It's called black liao. Comes from a plant called the black lotus. The traditional mystical drug of the tcho tcho people. Apparently they use people's skulls as drinking goblets although personally I cannot imagine how that works."

"That does sound rather impractical."

"Black liao takes you to your dreams. Drink a glass of it and you'll be there. Any time you like. Even if you're not asleep."

"If, hmm, a good mindset doesn't help, it might be worth a shot." He gives 'going to his dreams', considering what they have been like lately, a 50% chance of being a HORRIBLE PLAN. 50% chance of being good though.

"It's not life-ruining, it's not opium. It's just... a lovely bit of artistic inspiration."

"Has it helped with the paintings?" he asks out of curiosity.

"Oh, yes, absolutely. I was blocked on a painting of a particular mountain range, told my lovely brother that my illness was acting up, spent an afternoon on black liao, and got the arrangement of the peaks just right."

Oh look, there is an unnuzzled Ruby here. He should fix that. "Definitely worth it, then."

"Who were you investigating, by the by?"

"Alexander Roby. --then we got sidetracked by a different mostly impossible murder. But mostly it was Roby."

Ruby's eyes widen.

"I have no idea if you want to know about the investigations of impossible murders."

"It's not my area of interest, darling, I prefer the finer and less-- gruesome-- things in life-- Roby? The poet, Roby?"

"I was assuming as much! The poet Roby, yes, that's him. He's worse than Terrence when it comes to the King in Yellow."

Ruby looks troubled.

Oh dear. If he was a bit more with it, he could much more easily change the topic, but he hasn't had a full night of sleep and he'd thought he'd got jaded to people being disassembled, but apparently no! "We can talk about your art, if you want? That's a much nicer topic than Roby."

"No-- it's just-- he was my lover."

"Oh. I'm sorry. --we're working on getting him out?"

"I'm glad for it, though I haven't seen him since 1924."

"He's... I wouldn't say he's 'fine,' but if we can convince his brother to pay for his medication, he could live outside the asylum. That's what his doctor is working towards, too."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. We parted on bad terms but no one deserves to be in an asylum."

"It is just a bit frustrating that the only thing keeping him in has nothing to do with him, or his doctors."

"Is there anything I can do to help? I do still-- care for him, in spite of everything."

"If you can somehow convince his brother to pay for his care, that would solve almost all the problems. ...or you could probably send letters, he'd probably appreciate that. I'm not sure he'd be able to reply, but he'd probably read them."

"I could pay for his care, I'm not sure if you've noticed but my family is absurdly wealthy and my brother will pay for everything I want because he feels so bad that I'm tragically unable to fight in wars or play cricket, which surely I would long to do were I physically able."

"If you'd be willing to pay for a ridiculous amount of laudanum-- and I do mean ridiculous-- and could convince Dr. Aarons you would be willing to do this long term... that might get him out."

"I feel I should make it clear that he is, uh, a deeply strange, in some ways? Not dangerously insane, and there's no reason he needs to stay in the asylum. Just. deeply strange and uncomfortable to talk to, at times. I don't know what he was like before, but I feel like I should warn you about that."

"He was before, that's why we broke it off. When we first met he wrote lovely poetry and liked the occult-- and I was in my occult phase, darling, so we had a common interest. Very useful for the work, the occult is."

"Let me guess, then he got very keen about bringing forth lost Carcosa?"

"Spent so much time around those Best and DeVille and Parker fellows."

"They were not good company, I take it?"

"Abominable. There was something wrong about them. They also hung around with this fellow called Coombs, who was violent-- not that I dislike rough trade, darling, but there's trade and there's trade."

He nods knowingly. "Difference between being strong and maybe hitting other people, and hitting you. --It sounds like a bad crowd, overall. I can see why you broke it off."

"We broke it off in late December of 1924," Ruby says. "He'd gotten-- worse than usual. They were going to meet at a hill in Suffolk-- Clare Melford, I think? He wanted me to go with him. See the 'nine teeth'. He thought it would inspire my art, it was so beautiful. I told him he had to explain to me what the nine teeth were first. He said I had to see for myself."

"I'm taking it that you didn't?"

"No, I told him I never wanted to see him again and he begged me to forgive him and I said 'only if you love me more than you love Carcosa' and he said he would never love anything in his life more than Carcosa."

"Firstly, that sounds very much like what I know of Roby, and secondly, oh my god, what a cad."

"Men."

"It's a shame things had to get broken off, but also, what the hell Roby. Men. Can't live with them, can't live without them."

"I'm going to go live on the isle of the queens and we will fuck all day and do no useful work. The fruit will drop into our hands. --I still have his book around here somewhere, I think--"

"I look forward to it. Terrence might be able to get some use out of that."

Ruby gets up and starts to look. She returns in a few minutes with a copy of Der Wanderer.

The title page has an annotation: June 1924. To Nigel all my love Alexander.

"I'll give it back as soon as I can." It would be the rudest thing ever to lose a book with an annotation like that.

When Inaaya gets back she tells Joan about everything, because she always tells her Joan about everything, and Joan has extremely predictable opinions on deciding to talk to an incredibly dangerous murderer which are that Inaaya should not do it, and then on the third Inaaya sets herself to Figuring Out What The Hell Is Going On Here.

Which, due to her very particular combination of skills, means she figures out where the Roby mansion is, so that she can go there and find out if they have cats.

​​The house at 4, Curzon Street, Mayfair is a fine Georgian mansion standing in a walled and gated garden, with a stray cat outside licking his paw.

Oh good that's so helpful. "Hi!" she says to the cat.

"Hi!"

"How long have you been living near this house?"

"Since I was a kitten."

"Oh good! Do you know the humans who live here?"

"They don't give milk! They secure all the doors and the windows all the time because they don't like it when cats get in." He sniffs. "Like I would try to enter their milkless house anyway."

"Terribly ungiving of them," Inaaya says agreeably.

"Why do you ask?"

"Two years ago two people were killed there, and nobody knows how it could possibly have been done, and I figured, well, probably nobody had asked the cats."

"Oh, I saw the bodies. They left the door open so I went inside to see what they'd been hiding from me all this time."

"........oh?"

"The bodies were in that room." He indicates one to the left of the door. "Really horribly mutilated."

"Mutilated how?"

"All torn apart like by a human with giant claws."

...yeah, that's consistent with what Valentine said happened to the nurse who may or may not have been killed by the devil.

(Roby confessed to the murders-- but Valentine isn't trying to argue to anyone except random visitors who speak Polari that it wasn't her-- but also Inaaya is pattern-matching and she doesn't actually have nearly enough evidence to start making predictions like that one.)

"Huh," she says, in lieu of that, "that's weird and interesting."

"They kicked me out," the cat says, incredibly offended.

"Terrible."

"I heard an awful whistle the night before," the cat says. "And about five minutes later there was this incredible racket from the house. Couldn't sleep at all. Must have been the sound of people being murdered."

...aaaaand of course Dr. Aarons is a day's train ride away. Well, she can write and ask if there were weird whistling noises on the night of October 31st. "What was the whistle like?"

"Ear-piercing and horrible? Very shrill. One of the nasty humans found a whistle and blew it and it made the same sound. Why would they do that?"

"Because it makes such a loud noise it's a very quick way of getting the attention of everyone nearby."

The cat looks VERY SUSPICIOUS ABOUT THIS CLAIM.

"I don't like it either but that's why police and similar people use them."

"They found the whistle in the house," the cat clarifies. "The nasty humans didn't bring it themselves."

"--oh. In that case I have no idea. Hm. Did the whistling have a tune one could recognize, or was it all just one note?"

Cat has a thorough vocabulary for describing sounds and the stray cat can describe it completely. 

Oh good. "Did anything else weird or interesting happen that night, do you know?"

"Not that I can remember."

Nodnod. "Thank you."

Meanwhile--

"Hey Terrence," says Oscar. He's grateful for the unusual lull in activity in the shop-- it's not so much the chance of someone overhearing, more that he doesn't want a patron to interrupt this conversation with a raised-voice argument about Marx. "Before we talk to Parker, there's one thing I want to ask you."

Terrence leans back on the counter, from looking over various titles while he was waiting. "What's that, Oscar?"

Terrence sometimes comes in here and looks at books kind of intently, but Oscar's not sure he's ever bought anything since the time he tried (and failed) to acquire a first edition of the King in Yellow. Anyways, Oscar's pretty sure he's given his rhetorical strategy enough thought. Here goes. "To be honest," he says, "Silly as it might sound-- I'm pretty nervous about talking to Parker. We don't know if the tramp story is true but we're still reaching out to-- by all accounts a very prickly guy-- about his friend who's locked up, right."

"That's - that's true. It'd be a sensitive topic no matter who we're dealing with."

"Yeah, it's very sensitive," says Oscar. "And as much as I'd like to think we're all in it for the love of books, I doubt Parker overlooks that I'm his competition. So." Here he goes. "It makes sense to discuss it if it comes up," he says. "Like with Roby, by all means. But on the whole-- I'd prefer if you didn't press the King in Yellow thing." He looks at Terrence for a second. "For Parker's sake."

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".

Terrence shrugs. "I suppose. I can play it safe. Get a read on him."

"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."

"Roby literally brought it up himself, my dear."

"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."

"Oh. Um - alright. Understandable. I know it's not your cup of tea, so much."

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.

"Why are you here?"

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."

"Your card?"

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."

"I love it when people maybe murder people."

That's tasteful.

She notes down all three of those names. Maybe she can ask Sano about Parker sometime?

"Parker asked for my card and then threw us out right after. I don't know if we could have shown him something else to change his mind or if he just felt like making the snub personal."

"How pleasant of him."

"I'm not sure we need to care about him having a high opinion of us?"

"I don't care what Parker thinks of me. I just expected him to show a bit more concern for a friend. You know, loyalty."

Not everyone is like that, though. Sad to say.

..........wow okay there's some subtext happening there which she is not going to ask about. "If we want him to tell us helpful things we sort of do need him to think well of us, I think?"

"And his dismissal was so immediate, too. Very curious. I suspect he knows more that he's letting on, if they truly were friends, but we'll need some better tack to approach him with. Have any of you learned anything of interest, by the by?"

"Well, speaking of friends, I may have a way to get Roby out. I ended up speaking with Nigel Hugh Smith-- the painter, if you know him. He was a good friend of Roby's, but they had a falling out. But, he is quite willing to pay for Roby's medication on his release, on account of their former friendship."

Terrence is confident that Nigel is an intelligent, competent, hardworking, courageous person who is the best person to trust with this sort of issue.

He claps him on the shoulder. "Splendid!"

Inaaya has vague memories of a eunuch from the Dreamlands, but it's anyone's guess whether it's the same person. Painters are the sort of people who might cross over, though

She allso has suspicions about particular friends and falling outs, but with nothing to base them on she's sure not going to go any further than that.

Nigel Hugh Smith was, uh, a pre-Raphaelite? But this guy's alive, so, probably not. He's glad he avoided guessing in front of everyone.

"In less practical news, I spoke with William Way, who, well, found the bodies of the Roby family, but on a stranger point had a vision of his own death while reading aloud from Roby's book with him."

Roby's friends were a morbid bunch.

"Which could just be vivid imagination but the strange part is that Roby seemed to know this had happened, he apologized about it."

...okay?

That's... odd.

"I've been reading his book too."

"Any premonitions of your untimely end? Or is William special?"

"You know, if you guys listen I can tell you." He makes an exaggerated non-committal gesture.

...Inaaya really needs to actually evaluate what she thinks happened with Roby and Valentine. Not right now, though. "Please do."

"I'm game." Terrence thinks about it. "Seems unfair to you if we don't know the language, though. We should be comrades in arms, for the experience of it. Inaaya, do you know German?"

Comrades in arms. Terrence, you are something.

"I do not know German."

"Damn. Nor do I. Well, we could give it a shot anyhow, if you're game, Oscar. In any case, that's a very strange report indeed."

If Jing Yi wants to fuck around and make cheap jokes more than he wants to help Roby, he's not even worth engaging with. Oscar may as well pretend he's not there. Fine by him!

"I can't say Der Wanderer's been treating me kindly," he says. "It's a funny work-- written like a case study, and I don't know why he chose the genre, it's so technical, far from the best way to present personal experiences. In any case-- he does have an eye for details.

"There are some strange things in it. Lots of King in Yellow references, as I mentioned. But-- I guess I can understand how it'd have an unsettling effect. On people with a certain cast of mind. Even for me-- the detached tone and the details are sometimes creepy." He's decided that, despite his strategy of ignoring Jing Yi, he does not want to give him a chance to react to the dream. He didn't even want to tell Hannah.

That leaves the question of who he can tell. Inaaya is-- well, he can tell she thinks he's been silly lately, so that's not a great option. Sal probably wouldn't judge him, but isn't there something embarrassing about burdening some random kid with your weird dreams? And he doesn't even know how he feels about telling Terrence.

"Huh. Well, Sal and William and I talked to Valentine Donovan back in Wales," and she summarizes that conversation and definitely doesn't have any particular emotional response to it, "and then here in London I found the Robys' house and talked to a few people who'd been living in the area. One of them said that the night of the murder there'd been a very loud whistling noise all night, and someone who'd seen the bodies said it looked like they'd been stabbed or clawed."

"Carter claims he heard a whistling noise when Parker killed the tramp."

".....Huh."

"...Was there a whistling noise at the asylum?"

"I don't know. We could write to Doctor Aarons and find out?"

"It sounds like Roby would have heard," Terrence muses. "If I recall correctly, Carter described the - the body in Parker's case as desiccated, not stabbed. But the whistling is a very strange detail, and especially one to come up twice."

"...Parker dried someone out?"

"...Well, we heard this secondhand. It sounded, um. Dubious." He glances at Oscar.

As if it's Oscar's fault that Carter told such a weird story!

Why is Oscar looking at him like that! D:

"Can you repeat the dubious secondhand thing anyway." (She's been taking notes on all of this.)

"Carter is-- he told me that the body was suddenly dried out-- I think he used the word 'mummy'?"

He did not expect Inaaya to be taking notes on Carter's description of physically impossible happenings but he guesses someone has to, so good on her.

"Randolph or a different Carter?"

"Randolph. The one Terrence talked to at the party."

"Got it."

The one who stalked off after Terrence said the wrong thing to him, in fact, but no need to rehash that.

"But yes, he claimed Parker had some way of killing this tramp without touching him, that it makes a whistling sound, and also dries out the body. Uh."

That sounds wildly improbable but when you've got two different things that both sound wildly improbable in similar ways and no known motive for lying about at least one of them you have to at least consider it; she'll evaluate it at some point. When she's talked to Carter. When she has a chance to talk to Sal. When she has a chance to talk to Joan when she isn't exhausted? ...she's putting off actually evaluating the things Valentine said and she needs to stop doing that.

"So, my current plan is to ask Ichiro Sano about Parker-- we met at the party, he's in the rare books business-- and I'll probably try and track down Carter too while I'm at it, is there anything else that should be bundled into that?"

Ichiro Sano is Sal's sister's boyfriend about whom she has been FRUSTRATINGLY GOOD at hiding information from him, which wasn't actually very frustrating until this moment. He knows his face and voice and stuff.

He's a rich dude who has the kind of traits that Simone's boyfriends have.

"I'm fine talking to him too, if you want-- we're in some of the same circles and he should be easier to speak with than Parker, unless I'm on some blacklist now that I haven't heard about."

It comes out a bit less jovial than he intended.

"Seems like he might know something more about Parker, at least by reputation?"

Everyone knows Parker's reputation.

"I have no clue if his bookselling has anything to do with his potential murders, though."

Strong maybe. Some people just take advantage of the weak.

"We can both talk to him, that sounds fine."

"I found a book written by Roby's friend Best, by the by. History of Britain, no obvious relevance yet, but we'll see. I don't know where he works but I'll try and hunt him down."

And with that breakfast is concluded. 

Jing Yi is going to head down to the theatre to ask if any of the employees had noticed anything weird in the lead up to the King In Yellow.

The theater is small and gloomy, illuminated by gas lamps. Two ushers sit smoking.

"Do you mind if I pick your brains for a second?"

"Not at all."

"Look, I was there when things went weird with the King in Yellow, and I was wondering if things had got weird before then." He points backwards at the nearest gas lamp. "Can't be too careful when you're around these things, you know?"

"Not too weird," the usher says.

"Except that Talbot Estus guy," the second usher says.

"Oh, yeah, he was an artist," the usher says in a tone of disapproval.

"I know the type." Goddamned directors. "So all the weirdness got concentrated around him?"

"Well, it wasn't like a riot or anything," the first usher says. "He just didn't believe in dress rehearsals."

"The crew was complaining nonstop," the second usher said. "How is anyone supposed to know their cues if you don't do a full runthrough until the day of?"

"Yeah, that would have been hell. And then to have to suddenly stop on the night itself as well--"

"I know, right?" says the second usher.

This guy just ran in and was like 'the show's done now," the first usher continues. "He wasn't even part of the crew."

"...what? --Do you know who he is, or is he just the Mysterious Show Stopping Stranger--?"

"Mysterious show stopping stranger!" the second usher says.

"Maybe that's why there was a riot," says First Usher. "I would have rioted if the show randomly ended halfway through the second act."

"Maybe you know him, he was a chink," the second usher says helpfully.

...

"If I ever hear someone talking about the time they randomly stopped a play, you'll be the first to know. I don't know if it's better or worse that the problems seem to be human foibles and not gas leaks, but I guess as long as Estus doesn't get back in the building you wouldn't have to worry too much about it."

"Yes. I'm glad Mr. Noble refused to host any more of it," the first usher says."The riot was just about the last straw."

"Let me guess: no dress rehearsals is other people's problem, but a riot means he has to hire a clean up crew."

"Exactly!" the usher says.

"Well, at least Estus can take comfort in the fact he managed to get blacklisted for one of the weirdest possible reasons."

Jing Yi heads outside, seeing as it probably isn't a gas leak and is probably Talbot Estus and The Show Stopping Stranger being very weird.

And who is it but Evie getting out of a cab.

Evie!

...he should play it cool. Like a sensible person. Yes. "Ah, Evie, nice to see you. Here to catch a show?"

"I was thinking about one but there doesn't seem to be anything good on. At least that I haven't seen already."

"That's unfortunate. If something's good, it's on forever, which is nice unless you're waiting on something good and new to get on stage."

She smiles at him. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"I'm listening. --and keeping my mouth shut."

"I was sort of hoping I'd find a play with you in it."

She was hoping to see him? Be still, my beating heart! "Alas, I've been running around too much doing other things to have had the chance to tread the boards. --But I can let you know as soon as something comes up?"

"I would be very grateful. I think you bring something to the stage so few other actors do."

They seem to have started walking in a direction.

Jing Yi is very happy to walk in a direction that Evie is walking. "That's very kind of you to say." (And here's hoping his next role isn't back of a horse. Not that he doesn't bring his full effort playing the noble part of an animal's hind end.)

"What have you been doing?"

"I have been a Consulting Bohemian-- which in this case means going to an asylum and going 'yes, he does seem to be a weird bohemian, but not an insane bohemian.'"

"That's admirable!" She touches him on the arm to punctuate it. "Do you think he's going to be freed?"

Jing Yi does his best not to visibly preen when she touches his arm. "I hope so? The biggest problem for this person is that his family does not want to support him, but I think I've got an old friend of his lined up to help."

Shining eyes. "That's going above and beyond for a consulting bohemian."

"I mean, it's what I would want if I was having to use the services of a consulting bohemian."

"It's still very generous."

"I'm glad you think so!" ...that's probably making his feelings a bit too obvious, isn't it. Too much emphasis on the 'glad' and 'you.' "What have you been up to lately."

"This and that and the other." And she has a series of very charming stories about various of her Saville Row clients and their strongly held opinions about suits.

Jing Yi is very charmed by her stories of people having strong opinions about suits, and is very eager to put in "how dare they"s and "oh, of course they did"s at appropriate junctures.

This is a story about a man who was hitting on Evie in a way she didn't like, designed to elicit protective instincts and jealousy!

Jing Yi is very vocally sympathetic about how much of a cad he was!

Evie looks up at Jing Yi with big soulful eyes. "This is my apartment. Do you want to come up? I can get you a cup of tea."

There is in fact nothing Jing Yi wants more than to come up to Evie's apartment in this very moment. All other thoughts have been totally wiped out of his head. His hands are moving to the door without his permission and he is floating somewhat to the left of his body.

"It would be my pleasure." (Evie is letting him into her apartment, eeeeee~~)

After he's safely inside, the odd feeling goes away, and he is left with only his normal desire to be inside Evie's apartment.

Which, let's be honest, is still a lot of desire to be in Evie's apartment.

]Any weird floating feelings were probably just nerves. He likes Evie and she is letting him into her apartment and a bit of nerves related weirdness isn't, well, weird.

Would Jing Yi like to see some of the dresses Evie is working on?

He very much would like to!

And this one is influenced by this style, and this one is influenced by the work of so-and-so, and this one is her take on this house from Milan--

The dresses are getting noticeably skimpier as the fashion show continues.

Jing Yi is very carefully keeping his commentary about the artistry of the dresses and not what is under them. (Even if the fact she invited him in is probably not an accident? Probably? He shouldn't get his hopes up, because Evie is so good and he doesn't want to mess that up.)

Does he want to see the more intimate collection she's been working on.

...if she's willing, yes.

Does he mind if she changes in front of him. It is bothersome going back and forth to the bedroom.

He doesn't mind, as long as she's comfortable with it?

Wow look naked Evie isn't she phenomenally beautiful.

He is trying not to look directly out of politeness, but... wow. If he was more a visual artist, this is the sort of thing that would inspire one to paint a lot of Aphrodites.

Jing Yi feels a sudden impulse to kiss her.

... Look, she has invited him into her apartment. She has literally stripped in front of him. There's being careful, and there is completely failing to read subtext so obvious it's just text. He moves to kiss.

That night, Jing Yi discovers in great detail the merits of heterosexual sex. Evie is phenomenal. Evie is mind-blowing. He has never actually felt this good in his entire life.

If he reaches for any comparison, it's opium, but the way that Evie makes him feel is far better than opium.

He would be quite impressed, except for the fact that his brain is mostly "[sparkles] EVIE [sparkles]" at this point. Evie is wonderful and is spending time with him and he just has to hope that he measures up.

He is in fact entirely too distracted to ask about contraception, which is Definitely 100% Going To Be Absolutely Fine. 

Why would contraception come up. This seems like a really minor matter in the scheme of things, compared to Evie being right there.

Afterward, Jing Yi feels a faint, easily dismissed whisper of an impulse to tell Evie, "I love you." It's really tempting but-- he shouldn't move too fast.

In the morning Evie thinks he should have round two, and then maybe round three and four, but eventually grudgingly admits she has to go into work sometime before 2pm.

One of the nice things about being an out of work actor is that it is very easy to fit his schedule around other people's.

He goes back home-- notices Terrence's note. (Nice of Terrence to make sure he wasn't wondering where he was... and he probably should have done the same)-- and starts writing to Dr. Aarons.

Dear Dr. Aarons,

I have an update that may be of use to you with Roby's case. I'm aware you had trouble convincing his brother to support his release and fund his laudanum expenses. I happened to run into an old friend of Roby's-- Nigel Hugh Smith. Mr Smith has the funds to support Roby, and would be quite willing to, in the face of their old friendship.

Sincerely,

William Jing

It's been a little while since he last wrote to his father. Not so long that there isn't a chance the last one he sent isn't still in transit, or his father's reply is in transit. But he should probably keep him updated on what's happened to him, seeing as a lot has. ...and he does not want to stay out of contact with him for too long.

He starts off talking about the Roby case. His father cares that he's safe more than he cares that he's making money-- but he would see being paid for consulting to be more worthy than trying and failing to get parts in plays. He writes about how he was hired as a consultant to help tell whether Mr Roby was just eccentric or insane (his father is aware that he is Part of A Subculture, but details wouldn't help him explain.) And not only did he determine Mr Roby is Not Insane, he also may be able to help him get out of the asylum, thanks to getting in contact with an old friend of his.

He thinks for a second, and decides not to include the murders. (Honesty is a virtue, too much honesty gets some very concerned telegrams.)

...he does decide to mention Evie. His father would very much like him to be married and for there to be some grandchildren he could dote on from a distance. He mentions that he's met a nice English girl-- she works as a fashion designer, and is very talented. She has an eye for making fabric work. She seems interested in him, as well, and he is currently Courting Her Very Properly.

...and that's probably enough letter to be worth an international stamp.

The post office isn't that far away, and the weather is pleasant enough for a walk. As he makes his way there, he becomes increasingly aware that the letter is empty. Not literally, of course, it ended up being a few pages. But he talks around so things much that while it contains a lot of text, it doesn't contain a lot of true meaning. He had to skip the murders, Evie, he can't even explain how he knows Nigel or why anyone thought to hire him for the Roby case.

He posts it anyway.

And ignores any similarity to other letters he sent during less, ah, functional times in his life.

Meanwhile--

After an hour or so of asking around, Terrence is pointed in the direction of Rupert Adams, who used to hang around with Ben Best. He's writing in the library.

Excellent! After a few years in the history department, Terrence is friendly or at least acquainted with a lot of the people in it, and Rupert Adams is no exception. He's a friendly guy. Always down for a joke or a drink.

"Hey Rupert, do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course, what for?"

"I'm trying to get in touch with this fellow, Ben Best. Do you know him?"

"Yep. He was at the Royal Society for two years. He resigned in '26. No idea where he went since. Left for the continent, I think."

"Really? Any idea why?"

"No idea. Maybe he was researching something? He was always interested in old religions."

"Huh, interesting. There go my hopes of chatting with the man, I suppose. Do you happen to know where he worked? I have a copy of one of his books but otherwise I've had a hard time finding any of his work. I'm looking for anyone who might know about his recent projects. ...Or most recent before he left the country, perhaps."

"Before he was at the Royal Society, he studied at Oxford. Perhaps Professor Tolkien knows? Best studied under him."

"Huh! Isn't he a linguist or something? ... Well, fair enough, it all runs together. Thanks Rupert, you're a treasure. ... Actually, before I leave you to it, you wouldn't happen to know some gentleman named DeVille of Best's acquaintance, would you?"

Adams shakes his head. "No idea."

"Perish the thought, then. Good luck with your..." He looks at whatever Adams is working on and banters about it.

When he returns home, he writes a letter to Professor Tolkien:

Dear Professor Tolkien,

I am a historian at London University, under Professor David Kaplan...

I'm writing about a Ben Best who was or is a student of yours...

I'm interested in his work but moreover have some rather important communications regarding the well-being of a mutual friend...

Would you happen to know where I could reach him? Here is my contact info...

Sincerely,
Terrence Markham