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    Real Strategy Requires Cunning
Aug 26, 2004
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Introduction

“ Those we fear, are who we do not understand. Those we understand, are considered allies. What I understand should bring fear.”
-Lord Godalming

When I was a child, my mother would insist I spend all manner of hour in my room studying. Like most youths I enjoyed losing myself in the adventure stories of whatever book, or periodical my chubby little hands could get. When I was ten, I think it was in July, it was raining outside and the grit and grim of London seemed to wash away. Mother and Father were down in the parlor reading, I felt it was time to explore the inner sanctums of our home. What I found was nothing amazing, but it did let me go into the attic and listen to the rain hit the roof, a sound which I love to this day.
A trunk was in the back corner. It was large, sturdy, and bound with leather straps across the hood. A brass plate read “J. Harker.” With immense curiosity I undid each strap, and opened the trunk. My adolescent mind pictured Solomon’s treasure, or gold to rival that of the forty thieves cave. Instead I found books, and bundles of papers.
It was at this point I realized it was my fathers distant cousin Jonathan Harker’s belongings. He was a solicitor to a prestigious law firm in London. The family spoke of him in tones reserved for a rapist or murderer. Being ten, and never allowed to ask of my distant relative I searched through the trunk.
Inside were books detailing budgets, common law from farthest India, and finally a diary. At last, I thought, the answer to the Harker family mystery. Upon opening it I was sadly mislead. I talked of his wife Mina, her friend Lucy, and various suitors she had. Worst of all it ended upon his trip to the Carpathian Mountains, on the border of Transylvania and Bukovina within Romania.
My heart sank, I felt like the great adventure my family once had was a sham. Then I saw something which made my young mind open to the possibilities. On a letter, with J. Harker letterhead, it spoke of his trip to Transylvania. It was signed Dracula.
 

cthulhu

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Wonderful! A promising first post. I'm a big fan of Stoker's book as well as Marvel's classic 'Tomb of Dracula' comic. I have plans to include Dracula in a future AAR. Quincy Harker...sounds like you've been reading some ToD too... :)
 
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Chapter 1
When I was 20 my mother and father assumed I would go into the family business. Not really finding a thrill in book keeping I went off to be a teacher. My father, much to my surprise, encouraged me. After two years in the London academy of science I had my credentials, as well as a offer to work at the British Museum as a record keeper. Originally I had hoped to become a school master at my old grammar school, but I was lucky in that a Professor took my interest in documents and sent a recommendation to Dr. Martin Bondeson.
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Bondeson was a gruesome task master, demanding the smallest most trivial piece of information to be tracked down and sent to the inner recesses of the British Museum. From my cramped office on the third floor I was master of my domain. Within a year, I was twenty four and was the chief recorder for the European history section. Around this time my mind wandered back to Dracula, and his connection to Jonathan Harker. I used my position within the Museum to track down individuals from J. Harker’s diary. I snuck the trunk out of my parents home, and kept it in my office.
Around April I had a list created of those who my great cousin had encountered.

Mina Harker
Lord Arthur Godalming
Quincy Morris
Dr. John Seward
Abraham Van Helsing​

The director of the foreign department was Dr. Albert Morris. One a rather dismal day he approached me as I was entering my office.
“Quincy! Hold there my boy.” Morris was an elderly man, but his eyes had a keenness any fox would envy.

“Ahh Dr. Morris. I have those papers on the Germanic tribes you wanted. But I could not cross reference them with the Franks like you wished. It seems our records do not show anything battle 451 AD.” I waited for hell fire to be spewed upon me. Morris had an awful habit of inverting numbers. So 451 was most likely 154, but I’d never tell that to him.

With a wave of his hand he spoke up, “No no no my boy. You see Quincy we are in need of you skills. I have a small group down in Serbia, and I think you mastery of all things written could be helpful. I have already sent the necessary papers down for you.”

“Why thank you sir. We do I leave?”

“We think it best if you go immediately.”

He funded my trip to the Balkans to assist a British group studying Byzantine-Roman forts around Serbia, and Austria. Having a month to make it to Bor, I realized this was the perfect chance to hunt down Harker’s elusive past. After making arrangements, and selling a few things for extra traveling money I set off. But first I had to speak to a girl I was courting named Samantha Higgins. I was leaving her, and planned to do so for quite some time. Yet I felt sorry for she accepted it very easy.
Harker mentioned Dracula coming to England around June of 1872. A short time after he met the man. I went to Whitby, a coastal town in southern England. I spoke around, and no one knew about any such man arriving around the date I had. But an old man mentioned a Russian vessel that ran a ground. All passengers and crew are dead. A huge dog or wolf was seen running from the ship, which contains nothing but boxes of dirt from Transylvania.
Deciding Whitby a total waste, and a bad way to start on my journey, I traveled back to London. As a record keeper to the British Museum, I easily go into the hall of records within parliament. I learned Mina Harker was dead, she committed suicide in 1873. Lord Arthur Godalming was alive and living in London. I searched for others on my list, but did not find much after 1872.
Upon reaching his home I learned Godalming was off in France. His butler who looked like he could recall when America was an English colony let me in/ I claimed to be searching for the family who once owned a dairy, the British Museum was studying. Walking through the monstrous mansion, I saw all the trappings of wealth. The butler stopped in front of two doors.
“Wait here sir.” I stood by the door, my new traveling bag at my side waiting. A few moments later the doors opened and a younger man walked out.

“Mr. Harker is it?”

“Yes.”

“Hello I am Richard Godalming. You have questions about my family and its acquisitions?”
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He lead me into his study. Sitting down in soft leather chair, I gazed about the room in awe of the paintings his family had. Getting to business I smiled.

“The British Museum has acquired an item. We believe you father owned it at one time.”

“What is it? And why?”

“Well Mr. Godalming, it is a dairy of sorts. It passed between many people. But it mentions your father a great deal. I am under the belief it was written while in the Balkan area.”

“ Does this have anything to do with his time in Romania?” Richard inquired half way through pleasantries.

“ Yes. Do you know anything about it?” I was jubilant. The first real clue to my mystery.

“Only what my mother hinted at. Father never mentioned it beyond calling it the bad times.”

Leaning forward, “Would you like to see the diary?”

“Of course I do.” Richard took it from me. He spent the rest of the afternoon reading the passages within. I took the time to notice what a handsome chap he was. Tall, black hair,a thin beard, with the build of a polo player. In his early thirties, and from what rumors I heard a confirmed bachelor. His mannerisms reeked of nobility, but he never flaunted his wealth from what I saw.

“My god….” Richard set the book down and ran to another room. I was confused but he returned quickly holding a stack of papers.

“What’s wrong? Is it about your father?” He shook his head, showing me a paper with the names of Helsing and Seward on them. I read each one, the most recent was dated 1875. I was happy, for it meant Seward or Helsing was in Amsterdam.

“ My father used to send money to Holland twice a year. I inquired about it, but he always changed to subject. Quincy I have the distinct feeling that you mislead my Butler and I.” My face feel hot. Being caught in my lie, I decided to come clean. Explaining everything from the trunk in the attic, to my list.

“Do you plan to find all of these men?”

“Of course.” Laughing. “This is why I am on this trip on the first place.”

Richard sat down, and seemed to think for a few moments. “ I’ll write you a letter to give to my father in Paris. I will go to Amsterdam and hunt down this Helsing fellow. I must say you have peaked my interest in this… Dracul was it?”

“Dracula.”

History of Romania
By Archibald Kingston


Page 146

In January 1866 Romania joined the war against Austria on the side of Prussia. Romania suffered from having a mostly conscript army, with two divisions of regular army units. In total it had eight divisions to go against the twelve units on the Austrian border. Austrian troops failed breaking into Northern Romania but they did secure and occupy Pitesti and the capital Bucresti in the south.
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The war took a turn for the worse, as the Romanian army moved south to retake the capital Austrian forces swarmed over the border taking the north as well. The remaining divisions held off in a single province. Many believed Braila to be were the final stand would take place. Yet the most odd of event transpired in Late November of 1867.
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A small group of partisans in the Pitesti province appeared and fought the occupying Austrian forces. Lead by a local Romanian Count whose name is lost to history. Attacking only a night, some claiming this mysterious man taking out dozens of men single handedly. When the Romanian army heard of such things and sent a division to assist in the battle they found over 2,000 soldiers impaled on wooden posts.
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It was said to be a ghastly sight. Yet even though this was a small victory, Austria offered a peace treaty asking for nothing. The Romania government quickly accepted. But upon returning to the provinces no one could locate the Count who lead the mighty rebellion. King Carol (Charles) of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, confused many in his army when he ordered all soldiers out of Pitesti. Some historians claim this is proof the mysterious count was found. Other say it was delirium emerging from his daughter becoming ill.
 

Neroon

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A Dracula AAR in Victoria. Great Idea.
You still an Ottoman Sattelite?
 

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Let them squirm on the stakes!
 
Aug 26, 2004
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TELEGRAM FROM RICAHRD GODALMING, LONDON ENGLAND
TO NATHAN DAVIES, BOSTON MASSACHUSETTS


Nathan, I am authorizing you to use the family accounts in America. STOP. This is on top of your retainer. STOP. You are to search for a man named Quincy Morris. STOP. He was in Romania in 1872. STOP. Report to me as soon as possible. STOP. Also supply a report of my distributing company. STOP.



TELEGRAM FROM NATHAN DAVIES, BOSTON MASSACHUSETTS
TO RICHARD GODALMING, LONDON ENGLAND


Mr. Godalming I will do as you ask. STOP. The Godalming Fruit Co. is doing well. STOP. I have mailed the full reports to your home. STOP.



Diary of Richard Godalming, June 16th
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I bid farewell to Quincy this morning. He took the HMS Fussel to France. I gave him a twenty pounds to help in expenses. He is a twitchy sort of fellow, but like I is obsessed with our families history with Dracula. My own travels to Holland will be easy. My ship will dock by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Once there, hopefully my information will be correct.
As I look out and see England quietly shrink from my view I map out what to do. My lodgings are already secured so a trip to a library will be my first task. Quincy thinks Helsing is the man to look in on, but I prefer Seward. According to Harker’s dairy, in my breast pocket, Helsing was in his fifties or sixties. I doubt he could be alive today. Seward though should still be alive.
I spend my time reading the diary. Quincy seems to have memorized it, so he allowed me to take it on my trip. We plan to cable each other when we arrive at our destinations. Once completed we shall figure out what to do from then.

“Excuse me sir?” The porter stood behind me my black suitcase in his hand.

“Yes?”

“The captain has instructions to keep items such as this in the passengers quarters.” I was about to raise Cain, but I noticed which case it was. I walked over.

“Sorry about that.” The porter nodded politely handing the case over. I tipped him a gold sterling.

“Thank you sir. Supper will be served on the hour.” With that he left. I took my case and walked to my cabin. The room was somewhat cramped, but it had a large bed. Laying the case on the bed, I opened it up. Inside was the fine Dragoon Colt I purchased. Unlike the normal colt, this six shooter was made of brass. The Confederate army ran low of iron, and made a hundred or so weapons from brass church bells. I bought it during a trip to New York With eighteen bullets, it was to be my protection. Not in Amsterdam of course, but if my travels took me near the Ottoman border I wanted a weapon.
Within an hour I went to supper. The meal was lamb with rosemary. Not my favorite, but I enjoyed the sauce. The porter sat me at table with an elderly couple and their three children.

“So out for business or holiday?” I asked while chewing the tough lamb.

“ Oh, well I am here for business, and my wife and daughters are along for a holiday.”

“What do you do?”

He smiled and sat up some, “I am a writer. Wrote adventure stories mostly.”

“Really? What is your name?”
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“ Bram.” He shook my hand. “This is Emily my wife. Rebecca, Mary, and Edith our daughters.” Bram pointed to each one as they were named off.

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Stoker. Maybe I can read one of your books.”

“ I have a copy of my most recent one. I can let you have it if you like.”

“ How generous of you sir.”
 
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Chapter 2​

Paris was an amazing city. It was warm and sunny all the time. Unlike London the thick smoke of factories was kept to the outskirts of the city. From the port to my hotel was about eight miles. My room was better then I expected. Of course the money Richard gave me helped out greatly. Once unpacked I went downstairs, and to the front desk.

“Excuse me? Is there a telegram office near by?”

The Frenchman looked at me. We traded words for a moment, my mangled French only making matters worse. A young woman tapped my shoulder. Turning around I was shocked by her beauty. Fiery red hair in a tight bun. My eye remained politely fixed on her eyes, but I ached to look at her.
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“Do you need any help sir?”

“ Ah….yes. As a matter of fact I do. I an Quincy Harker.” She offered her dainty hand smiling.

“Caroline Blanchfleur. Now that we have been introduced, what do you need from this bellhop?” She caught my glance at her fine figure. Giving me a wicked smile she tilted my chin up to look her in the eye. “ Monsieur? What do you need to ask the bellhop?”

Blushing furiously, but smiling back. I was happy she took my male indiscretion in stride. “I need to find a telegraph office.”

She spoke to the Frenchmen. They traded rapid fire French which I couldn’t understand. With a grateful smile she turned my way. The Frenchman behind the counter leering at her.

“He said it is down the boulevard, and across the bridge. You should not miss it.”

“Thank you Mrs. Blanchfleur.”

Miss Blanchfleur. Mr. Harker.” A wry smile across her pretty face.

“Apologies. How can I repay your kindness?”

She laid her finger upon her chin. Looking to think for a moment before smiling. “Why I believe dinner would be a splendid idea.”

With information in hand, and the most wonderful of dinner plans I searched out the telegram office. Tomorrow I planed to search out Lord Godalming. His sons letter was sure to get me his time. But first I had to send a message to my Holland counterpart, and inform him I was safely in the city of lights.

FROM QUINCY HARKER. ROUGE HOTEL. PARIS, FRANCE.
TO RICHARD GODALMING. KOMPENTOMFF HOTEL. AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

I have reached Paris safely. STOP. I hope your travels have fared well also. STOP. I shall seek out your father tomorrow. STOP. Best of luck to you. STOP.


FROM RICHARD GODALMING. KOMPENTOMFF HOTEL. AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS
TO QUINCY HARKER. ROUGE HOTEL. PARIS, FRANCE.

Splendid. STOP. I received your message as I checked in. STOP. My attorney is currently searching out Quincy Morris in America. STOP. I will also keep you abreast of his progress. STOP.


History of Romania
By Archibald Kingston

Pg. 201

Six years after the Austro-Romanian war, 1873, King Carol was facing the problems with his fledgling Kingdom. To the south the Ottoman Empire cast covetous eyes upon its former territory. Austria had its borders filled with over fifteen divisions of regular army units. Many within Austria wanted revenge for the massacre in Pitesti. Carol had little or no way to save his people if another war came.

On top of this revolts occurred in Pitesti. In April of 1872 a serial killer of sorts, roamed the province and killed no less then twelve woman. The Night Prowler, as he came to be known, struck between April and June. The Romanian authorities had no leads, and people in the province felt the police were deliberately dragging their feet.

As the army prepared to move into Pitesti, the rebellion suddenly stopped on September 15th. The army sent dozens of soldiers to investigate what had occurred. Eight days later a lone soldier returned from Pitesti, half crazed and rambling about the devil. Fearing another uprising, King Carol sent his entire force to occupy the province. Upon reaching the borders many were shocked to see row after row of Romanian soldiers upon wooden stakes.

Knowing it could be the work of only one man King sent an envoy to Pitesti asking for a meeting with whoever was in charge. The country seemed to be on edge for weeks. Rumors swirled around/ Austria getting revenge for the previous war. Pitesti had turned against the nation. King Carol made a pact with the devil to win the war, and the devil was now collecting.

On November 18th 1873 King Carol pulled all troops from Pitesti, Braila, and then moved the capital from Bucuresti to Ismail. Many in the nation were confused, but one King for another is hardly a massive change. The world community looked in wonder, curious who was the leader of this Wallachia. It was just a satellite nation, but for a Kingdom to change its entire face to appease a single province deserved respect.
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Great, Wallachia is reborn! I guess the villain in this story no longer needs to pretend to be a mere Count in his own country. Prince Dracula is back! :cool:
 
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New Orleans Daily June 20, 1894​

Morris found innocent!​
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Today is either a day to rejoice or feel sorrow depending on who side you were on in the Quincy Morris trial. Morris on June 26th was found with a bowie knife in hand covered in blood. Near by was the body of Vincent Bordeaux, an elderly resident of our fair city. Bordeaux had cuts along his neck and chest. The cause of death was a metal rail which he fell on piercing the heart.

Morris claimed he was defending the life of Sally Goodheart. Sally was unconscious, with a cut to the neck, and unable to explain the situation. Police took Morris into custody were he remained for the length of his trial. The prosecution claimed Morris had killed the elderly man in cold blood. When Ms. Goodheart awoke on July 6th, she explained how Mr. Bordeaux had attacked her on the street. In the scuffle he apparently bite her causing the wound.

Judge Carmine Jones, normally the pillar of corruption, dropped all charges against Mr. Morris. This reporter hopes that more citizens will act in a just manner as Mr. Morris did. On a side note the Police have decided to close the French Quarter killings case. It is currently believed Bordeaux is the killer.


Robert Davies, Attorney at law. June 26th
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This has got to be the oddest case I have ever been given. My normal duties for Mister Godalming are watching over his American holdings, and dealing with any court proceedings that follow. Yet here I am in the sweltering heat of New Orleans, away from my Boston office, and my wife. All in search of a man who I now learn seems to have a trail of dead bodies from here to 1873!

Quincy Morris. Bachelor. Hunter. Civil War veteran of the Army of Texas. In 1871 he went to Europe. His father had died, and having a large inheritance he intended to spend it. There, well I don’t know what happened. But Mister Godalming wants to know.

His residence is 1244 Bourbon street. It looks like the blue pictures my former class mates passed around involving French Bordellos. I knocked on the door and waited.
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Quincy Morris was everything I expected. Large, stocky, and a Texan. He looked at me for a moment, seeming to decide if I was a friend or foe.

“ What the hell do you want?”

“ Um…. I am representing….”

“Goddamnit! What now? I thought I was done with all that trial nonsense.”

“Sir. I am representing Mister Godalming, a British business….” His demeanor changed completely. A smile crossing his face, making him look some what handsome.

“Arthur? Why didn’t you say so boy?” He said it as boih, which sounds odd to my Northern ears.

Shaking my head. “No, no. I am Richard Godalming’s attorney. Albert is his father. May I speak with you for a moment?”

Nodding his head, he opened the door and escorted me to his parlor. As I walked through his home I was rather taken back by the number of swords, and knives he had. On each wall there seemed to be some bladed weapon. Sitting in a large goose feather chair he smiled.

“Now what is all this about? Is Arthur alright?”

“ To be truthful I do not know. As mentioned before, I am employed by his son Richard. He instructed me to locate you, and present you with,” opening my case I pulled out the letter that was mailed to me, “….this letter. I am authorized to ask you for a reply.”

He reached for the letter, I noticed his right hand only three fingers cut down from the middle. He smiled, “I’ll read this and send you a reply as soon as I can.”

“Would it be alright if I return tomorrow Mr. Morris?”

“Yes, and its Quincy. Mr. Morris is my daddy.”

To Quincy Morris.

Dear sir,
My name is Richard Godalming. My father is Lord Arthur Godalming. I am under the belief that you and he traveled to Romania in 1872. These travels are never spoken of. A young man, named Quincy Harker a distant cousin to Jonathan Harker, presented me with a diary chronicling your travels. But the diary ends once you reach Romania. Please sir, tell me what happened. I will compensate you, give you a job, anything that is within my power I shall give you.

Thank you
Richard Godalming​
 
Last edited:
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Chapter 3

Caroline and I shared a meal in the hotel restaurant. She was a captivating woman, in Paris to purchase art for her family estate. Over wine and a nice rare steak we talked of art, history, and our families. She drank little too much for my tastes, but she held it well.

“ My brother is in the army. A spotter, or sighter on the artillery cannon.” She smiled, her cheeks a little red from the wine.
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“ I was meaning to ask. Why is their so many soldiers in Paris?”

“ The Balkan alliance is swaggering about again. Prussia and the Northern Federation are worried of a war, so France is preparing just the same.”

I nodded, for almost nine years France and Prussia had tried to control the European continent. But Austria fought them tooth and nail to stop any expansion. Sipping my wine, I motioned the waiter for the check. After paying I led Caroline to our hotel. The gas lit streets of Paris illuminated our path.

“Well I had a lovely evening Caroline. I hope I am not to bold in asking if you out for another dinner.”

With a wry smile. “Oh that was very bold. But bold enough for my tastes. How long will you be in Paris?”

“ Two more nights.” Opening the door for her. She nodded in thanks. I feared I had been to pushy. She said nothing, which was odd for she never left a lull long in our conversations. She stopped in front of her door smiling at me. She looked like she was blushing, but I realized it was the wine.

“Alias Mr. Harker I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

“It is alright. I had a nice night out with…..” Her finger laid upon my lips. Smiling once again.

“Tell me in the morning Mr. Harker.”


Diary of Richard Godalming June 21st

I found Van Helsing. He has no stories, books, pictures, or even proof of the travels to the Carpathian mountains. I stared down at his grave for some time. Abraham Van Helsing December 24, 1809 - September 11, 1872. For days I pictured my conversation with this man. But now Harkers list was down to three.

Looking at my notebook, I crossed Van Helsing off my list. I paid a buggy man to drive me about Amsterdam. He was young and talked quite a bit, but kept a tidy appurtenance. He tipped his top hat at me smiling. Climbing in I sat back and thought.
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“Where to sir?”

“ I don’t know.”

He turned back and tapped my notebook. “Who are you looking for?”

“ His name is Dr. John Seward.”

“The hospital then?”

“No. He is a psychologist.”

“ Asylum then?”

“Just take me back to my hotel. I need to think.”

Not wanting to end the driver smiled. “What about train central station?”

“What about it?” scowling at the man.

“Well… when my sister-in-law needed to find out the date her father went to Berlin she went to the records office. Amsterdam keeps very good records of who rides our trains.”

I handed him five pounds, smiling brightly. “Good show. What is your name?”

“Arminius Vambery sir.” He pocketed the coin quickly. Nodding in self gratification.
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Arminius and I reached the central station around three o’clock. Offering him another two pounds per day, I convinced Arminius to assist me in hunting down Dr. Seward. Emptying my coin purse in record time I hand the train schedules. My driver and I sat in a back room. Trying to save time, I had Arminius go through and find logs containing passage from Romania from July to September of 1782. By six o’clock I was down to a mere eight books.

“ How do you spell the doctors name? S-E-W-A-R-D or S-E-W-E-R-R-D?”

S-E-W-A-R-D.” I replied, wondering how many times he would need to be reminded of that.

Arminius slide his book over, tapping a single line. Dr. Seward + 1. 10:47 PM Romania to Holland. August 29, 1872. My heart was uplifted when I saw an account number. Slapping my driver on the back laughing.

“To the pub good man!” as I carefully wrote the information down.

“Pub?”

“Ahh… a tavern?”

Arminius smiled knowing the word well.

The Black Prince
By Sir Stephen Crane

Wallachia spent six months of its life as a constitutional monarchy without a monarch. Earlier that year in October his nation succeeded in creating a steelworks. It worked round the clock producing and exporting his countries only staple beyond farming. But that was losing its charm. Romanian nobility was searched for some one with blood ties to the original Wallachian monarchy. Prince Alucard Tepes was located on March 3, 1874. In an ornate ceremony at midnight he was crowned King of Wallachia. Considered a handsome man, he was very self-conscious of his Romanian looks and refused any photographs of him fearing some one would notice his hooked nose. On top of this he was one of the few to suffer from an allergy to the sunlight. Nicknamed “The Dark King” by his fellow Balkan monarchs, he held court only at night, and kept his castle as dark as a tomb.

Having entirely a conscript army Alucard mobilized quickly. By March 29th his forces sat ready on the Romanian border ready for a fight. On April 2nd when word was received of Romania mobilizing its forces Wallachia declared war on its master. Swarming over the border it quickly took three provinces, and then the fourth before a single Romanian troop was ready.
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The biggest threat was Russia at that point. Wanting the world to see his nations power Alucard pushed his armies on across the Russian border. Quickly the Wallachian armies crossed the border into Russia. Ransacking towns and shiping as much gold and supplies back home as they could.
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On June 5 Russian Calvary encountered a Wallachian unit. The battle went on for days, but like in many times in the Wallachian military, a miracle occurred. The Russian claim as the night fell a pack of wolves came from the forest and attack men and horses. By the morning the Wallachian forces easily routed the enemy.
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The King finally accepted peace with Romania, gaining more territory , and Wallachia’s independence. By September 24, 1874 Wallachia entered the world as a new power. Some gave it not a second glance. Russia looked at it in fear wondering what another war would do to its troops.
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Neroon

Alyt
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Alucard?
Someone's been watching Hellsing i think!
 
Aug 26, 2004
620
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FROM NATHAN DAVIES. NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
TO RICHARD GODALMING. KOMPENTOMFF HOTEL. AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

Mr. Morris has written an account of his travels in Romania. STOP. I have mailed it to your home with instructions to send it to your current location. STOP. Also, Mr. Morris has sent a letter to your father. STOP. In transit is a crate. STOP. Mr. Morris will not tell me what is inside but he said it is useful if you plan to travel further. STOP.




Richard Godalming, June 25th.

Arminius, for better or for worse, is my assistant. We have roamed around Amsterdam from dawn to dusk. The funds my father sent here cannot be traced so the banks are out. So we searched libraries, newspaper offices, anything that pops into my mind about where Seward would be. My latest brainstorm is going to the Asylum outside of Amsterdam.
nightasylum019gi.jpg
“I’m sorry sir we cannot discuss information concerning Doctors, patients, or staff.”

“ This is important ma’am. I just need to know if you heard of a Dr. John Seward.”

“ We cannot discuss information concerning Doctors, patients, or staff. This is our policy, and I cannot…..” I did not let her finish. Walking off in a huff. Walking outside I looked around at the lovely summer day. Six miles away from Amsterdam the Hienrich Erchman Asylum for the Mentally Insane, seemed in another world.

Arminius was sitting in the buggy reading a paper. I leaned against it, sighing. My mind raced at what to do. Seward was here, no nurse would raise Cain for a person they did not have. Looking back I stared at the Asylum. I could wait for dark and see if anyone leaves. Or go above the nurse.

“Excuse me Mr. Godalming?”

“Yes Arminius?”

“Why don’t we go ask the groundskeeper?” He pointed to an elderly man with thick spectacles perched on his nose.

“ Why not?”

I walked over, Arminius a step behind, the groundskeeper was busy with a shrubbery and noticed nothing. I waited for a moment, then tapped him on the shoulder. He stood up, dropping the clippers in his hands. Turning around smiling in an almost comical manner.

“Yessssssss?”

Arminius stepped back looking worried, I stepped back as well. Looking at him, I carefully moved forward.

“Hello sir. My name is Richard Godalming……”

“Oh yesss. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yessss. Renfield knew you were coming. Dr. Catherie said you were more dementia. But He told me you would arrive. And here you are!” His head seemed to twist in an impossible way. He moved closer examining my shirt, smelling it. I stepped back. "By all that you hold sacred-- by all you hold dear--by your love that is lost-- by your hope that lives-- for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guil! Can't you hear me, man! Can't you understand? Will you never learn? Dr. Seward learned. Oh yesss he did."
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“How do you know Dr. Seward?”

“Renfield was his patient.”

“That’s a shocker.” Arminius grinned. I motioned for him to keep quiet.

“Do you know where I can find Dr. Seward?”

“Second floor, ward one. Depressives! Renfield was there once, before his friends came to play.” His hands made flapping motions as he licked his dry lips.

Grabbing his collar. “Can you get me in?”

He smiled, I noticed his teeth were filed almost to nubs. He held up a single key. “ Renfield will help! He can be good. Oh yesss he can.” grabbing my hand he tugged me along the lawn pointing at a large metal door.

Arminius ran behind us. Renfield stooped at the door and slide the key in opening the door. Smiling, “ Go on, go on. He says I am to let you go alone.”

“He?” Arminius scratched his head. Before he could ask more I pulled him into the door. The hallway was well lit, each wall directing to the various wards.

“Well this will be easy.”

“I hope so Mr. Godalming.”