Duvalle nodded silently. His face became a mask of polite understanding.  Before he could react more to Doctor Hutchinson and Reverend Baptiste, something else grabbed his attention. 

"I'll stay, Mr. Duvalle." Liz said quietly from where she was standing off to the side. She did her best to hide the fear she felt but was sure the others would know. Still, even if she was afraid, if she had the ability to keep someone else from suffering as she did she had to help. No matter the cost to her personally.

Marco was standing beside Liz and wondered where she got the strength to say she'd stay in this mad house with this mad man. Personally he was still feeling as lost as ever. He should have been home, at the apartment he shared with his new London friends. He should have been playing cards, drinking cheap beer, and talking about girls.

But, no, he was here in this strange place with this strange company.

"I do not want to stay," he said simply. "But I ..."  He looked at Liz again.  "I have no other place I need to be. I will hear your stories some more, I think."

Marco didn't look at Duvalle. He didn't want to think about how the man had already insinuated himself into Marco's past, his associations with his nonna, or the way he had 'helped' Marco to come to England and King's College.

"I find myself intrigued," Miles said. "I'd like to learn more." It wasn't a commitment, exactly, but neither was it a withdrawal. "Oh, and if you'll forgive me..." He reached over to Duvalle and handed him a pocket watch, which at some point not long earlier had been in Duvalle's pocket, the chain buttoned into his vest. "My apologies. I felt a need to conduct a small test of my own, I hope you understand."

Given the inexplicable events of the evening so far, Miles had been skeptical that he could get away with this bit of minor sleight of hand. That it seemed to have worked meant, perhaps, that their wasn't a master of all skills after all, and maybe his need for assistance was genuine. Of course, Duvalle could simply have pretended to be unaware - but Miles didn't really think so, though he couldn't have said exactly why.

Duvalle blinked a couple of times as his fingers closed over the engraved watch casing. His face bloomed into a glowing smile. His eyes filled with tears of mirth, as he fastened the watch back to his vest pocket. 

"The final four."  John shook his head, looking around the room.  "Hardly the Fantastic Four, are we.  A geek, a student, a shopkeeper and yourself, Liz.  What is it you do?"

"I'm just a clerk at a local grocer." Liz answered.

"In my case and John's, I can imagine some potential need for our professional skills," said Miles, "but you two are evidently important for other reasons." He turned to Duvalle. "It looks like you have four takers at this point. Are you still recruiting?"

Duvalle nodded. His face positive glowing. No one saw or heard the library door open. No one saw Jack and Malachi slip out following Duvalle's man-servant Harold. No one but Duvalle.

"Well. This has certainly been interesting. I am saddened that the others have chosen not to add their talents to ours. Yet, at the same time, my heart fills with joy that you have chosen to do so, even remotely" He nodded at Marco.

 Duvalle seemed to relax a little. He let out a soft sigh and sank into the chair closest to the fire.  A snifter of Brandy appeared in his hand. he drew on the sweet amber liquid like it was the finest of wines. "So, shall we consider departure arrangements for you as well, or do you have any questions?"
 
"Well, signore," Marco said. "I am still confused a little, or perhaps more. What is it you want me to do here in London? I do not know of any strange things or ... objects. Should I seek out this strangeness even, as you say, it is evil and dangerous. Or do you wish me to simply continue my studies and... how do you say it? Keep my ears open?"

"Marco. How you participate is up to you. I arranged to help you with your studies as a personal request from your grandmother, whom I held in high regard and with no little love. Your family has always been good friends of the Order. Primarily because of their tradition of being Keepers. She suspected there was more destined for you, had hoped that I could help you find that path.  That could be why the magic chose you, that and your family's resistance to certain types of beguilement." 

Marco wasn't sure what Keepers were, but there was no doubt now that the man he had seen at his nonna's funeral was not the same as the one in front of him now. And Duvalle shared certain traits, certain ways of standing and looking that deeply reminded Marco of his nonna too. He could tell that they were once friends, and if the Order was a real thing, then he imagined that his nonna could have been involved.

But there were too many strange things to still fully consider. Duvalle had used destiny and magic, confusing words in English. He wasn't sure if he understood the man's meaning. Marco didn't think he was destined for greatness, let alone magic. He tried to smile reassuringly at Duvalle because words had escaped him. He didn't want to upset him or to let him think he was a thankless Italian riding on the good chairty of others. But the words weren't there yet. He hoped Duvalle could read his silence. He knew he nonna would have been able to do so, and had, in fact, interpreted him better than anyone ever had - his parents were useless.

"Yes," Miles asked, "I guess my question would be where do we start?" The alternative was so many questions with long answers as to  need many days.

 Duvalle smiled at Miles. "That, my friend, is the one question I cannot answer. At least to your satisfaction. As I mentioned before, the objects we seek have become crafty and hidden from my view.  I can provide you a safe place to plan and access to what information and talents I have at my disposal. However the disposition of those resources are up to you. We could start with the theft of ... "

There was a polite rap at the door, then Harold stepped in. "Sir. There is an unusual call for you on your private line. He claims to be a dinner guest who just got his invitation." 

The look of confusion that crossed Duvalle's face was alarming in it's intensity. "Does he have the right number? Everyone I sent an invitation to has responded and they all arrived." 

"Yes sir, I made mention of that. The gentleman indicates his invitation had the name Du Vallier on it."

Duvalle's face went white. He seemed to shrink in on himself, suddenly seeming the frail elder whose world has crashed in on him. His voice shook a little. "I see, I'll take it in here." 

Liz watched him move to his desk. The presence, the magic if Duvalle were to believed, crowed hysterically beneath the layers of wards, gleeful at the odd change in their host's demeanor.

Duvalle seemed to slump into the over stuffed executive chair behind his desk, and his hand shook as he fumbled with the phone. He punched several buttons, obviously unsure of what he was doing and a speaker crackled to life. 

To anyone watching Liz they would see an unusual reaction from the young woman as if she couldn't decide how to interpret the interruption. First a huge grin in what was obvious enjoyment of Duvalle's discomfiture; to be replaced by a look of shame and concern for the old man; followed once more by the amused grin; in an endless repetition.

"Good Evening, this is Jeffery Duvalle, How may I help you?"

Simon felt a bit relieved to finally get a bit closer to solving the mystery behind his odd letter, but......

"Duvalle?  Look, there seems to be a few different names flying around here.  I believe you sent me a letter, and I know I'm not exactly the best guest getting back to you so late in the day, but uh, are you this Lord Geoffrey Du Vallier?  Sounds like an older name, perhaps you just sign your letters with the original form of the name."  Simon realized he was rambling a bit, and cut himself off. 

Duvalle shook his head softly. "That is a name I haven't heard, or used in a very long time. You say it was affixed as the signature on a diner invitation?"

Simon sighed inwardly, beginning to feel frustrated.

"Yes, that is what I say.  I realize this is just an aural form of communication, and thus we must play twenty questions instead of me just showing you the wax seal, and the signature.  So, I take it you don't know about this invitation?  Perhaps some sort of hoax or practical joke.  Does your butler have a mischievous sense of humor?"

Simon was ready for some answers.

Duvalle chuckled weakly. "Harold is one of those unfortunate souls who was born with out one of any kind I'm afraid. To answer your question, I was not aware that any extra invitations were created, though that does not necessarily mean the one you have is a fake or part of a hoax." Duvalle paused a moment, glancing meaningfully at his guests then back at the table where his 'demonstration' had occurred. "I appear to be at a disadvantage sir, You have my name, err names, it appears, may I have yours as well?" 

Simon smiled and glanced across the pub, at his friend James. "Yeah, I'm also acquainted with one of those humorless souls."  He winked at James, who just returned the look with a blank stare.  "My name, as it says on the invitation, is Simon Allard.  But I'm still confused, you said 'extra invitations'....do you mean to say that there are others, that weren't unknown to you?  Were they for tonight as well?"
 
"Allard? Simon Allard. You've done work with the Yard, yes?"

“From time to time I’m of use to them. I’m a bit specialized though - so work is a bit intermittent. I also have my own practice of course, technically speaking.”  Simon was surprised that Duvalle had heard of him.  Apart from the odd mention in a newspaper article about a case he had helped on, Simon kept out of most forms of media.

"Interesting." Duvalle's tone turned thoughtful. "To answer your questions as simply as I may, Mr. Allard, yes. It would appear that the same agent that chose my current guests, thought it might be wise to include you as well.  If you live up to your reputation, I can see why it may have done so."

There was a pause and Simon could hear a light tapping sound, as if fingers were drumming on a desktop. That was in fact what Duvalle was doing. He had sat back in his chair, and was gazing off into the fire. His fingers drummed a staccato beat against the polished wood of his desk. 

Breaking the spell she seemed to have been under, Liz moved quietly to Duvalle's side and laid a small, gentle hand upon his shoulder. For now the demons possessing her held at bay and her only expression one of concern. Duvalle's expression eased momentarily at Liz's touch and he reached up absently and patted the hand on his shoulder, silently acknowldging her support and concern. 

The silence lasted several long moments as the four remaining guests watched a myriad of expressions cross their hosts face. Suddenly the drumming stopped and Duvalle leaned forward a look of resigned determination on his face.

"Mr. Allard, May I ask where you are at this moment?"

Ignoring the strange pause Simon replied; “My office, so to speak. Well, it’s a pub, nearish St. Paul’s.  Are you in London?”

"Unfortunately, We're not or I would suggest you join us right away." Duvalle caught Mile's gaze. "Miles, on the east wall, the third section from the end farthest from us, on the second shelf down you'll find a book detailing London's eating and drinking establishments, would you be so kind as to bring it here?" Duvalle turned his attention back to the phone. "Mr. Allard, would you pleas enlighten me as to exactly which establishment you're referring to? There's a possibility I may be able to arrange transportation to my home." 

“Oh, I love transportation. It’s my favorite way to get around. So umm, I’m at The Olde Mitre Tavern, just off Hatton Garden.  Is that within your range?"  Simon asked.  He slumped more into the bar-side stool as his head began to ache.  One hand held the receiver while his other searched pockets for a small container. 

Miles found the book Duvalle had described without difficulty, and quickly found the area near St. Paul's. It helped that he was already passingly familiar with the area. Of course, he was passingly familiar with most areas of London, having spent time deliberately learning the salient features and general layout of most areas of the city. You never knew when it might matter.

Silently he handed Duvalle the book, already open to the appropriate section. 

Duvalle smiled his thanks to Miles and flipped through the small section that Miles had found for him. He peered intently at the map before exclaiming softly. "Ah yes. I thought so. Mr. Allard, are you familiar with St. Etheldreda's chapel? Its not far at all from your present location." 

"I am familiar with it, quite an ancient place by London standards.  That's where you want me to be I take it?"  Simon found his small pill bottle and managed to pry off the lid with his thumb.  

"Yes, Mr. Allard. I seem to have an affinity for ancient things. My foundation had a hand in all of it's restorations through out the years. This may seem like an odd request, however, if I'm correct you've seen and experienced your share of odd and unexplainable over the years." Duvalle chuckled.

"In the lower church, what they're calling the crypt, at St. Etheldedra's is a series of bass reliefs depicting the various stations of the cross. Below each is a round placard depicting the number of the station.  Pressing the numbers of stations 7, 9, and 8 will cause a section of the floor beneath the set of stained glass windows that have three in the set  to slide open. You'll find a set of stairs leading down to a door engraved with a familiar symbol. Place the seal of the envelope against the door to gain entrance. Inside you'll find a room very much like the font in the upper church. Stand on the platform in the middle of the circle. Place your hands at your sides, close your eyes and clear your mind. when you open them, you'll have arrived. Have you got all of that?"

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[ooc: umm.. hello Bueller, Bueller. Psimon, did I lose you? Anyone else have anything or did I kill this thing finally? ]

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