Session 10: Dine and Dash

Amidst the opulent clatter of silverware and the murmur of conversation, Madame Zorba, Miss Sutcliffe, and Mr. Lake found themselves ensconced in the dining car of the Orient Express. The atmosphere was thick with an undercurrent of unease, which they each tried to mask with idle chatter and the delicate dance of dining etiquette.

Madame Zorba, with a flourish of generosity, offered a portion of her steak to Mr. Lake, playfully lamenting her inability to finish the hearty meal. Confusion flickered across Mr. Lake’s rugged features, replaced swiftly by acquiescence as he accepted the task with the edge of his knife. Beside them, Miss Sutcliffe chimed in, requesting with a charming smile that Mr. Lake extend his chivalrous services to her plate as well. The nearby waiter, catching snippets of their exchange, eyed them peculiarly, his curiosity piqued but his intervention withheld.

As the steak was carved, Madame Zorba’s voice softened with nostalgia, sharing the memory of her elder brother shouldering the duties of their departed father. The group, aware of the need to keep Clinton’s distressed state under wraps, exchanged knowing glances as they performed their roles in this delicate charade.

Their act, however, did not go unnoticed. Mr. Menkaph, the man who perpetually donned a fez and was known to them as an adversary, cast a penetrating gaze upon their table. His former joviality with companions Ellie Meyers and Mr. Truboski had dissolved into a somber, calculating demeanor. With a subtle nod and a cryptic gesture toward the train’s tail, Mr. Menkaph sent his companion on a stealthy errand.

Sensing the impending intrusion, Miss Suttcliffe excused herself with a plea for Mr. Lake to fetch her powder box from their cabin. Her true intent, of course, was to alert the others to the approaching threat. As she maneuvered through the corridor, she ingeniously feigned a tangle with her petticoats, detaining Mr. Menkaph’s messenger just long enough to slip away.

Reaching the next car, Miss Sutcliffe unleashed Per’s whimsical frog song into the air, her voice piercing and resolute. In response, Per and Clyde, who had just secured themselves within a compartment, felt the tension rise. They had decided upon a mantra, hoping to ward off the malignant forces that clung to the cursed Fez in their possession.

Their respite was short-lived as a shadowy assailant, armed with talons of darkness, erupted from beneath the bed, launching itself at Clyde. His mind reeled at the sight, an intelligence check demanded by the horror of this encounter. The creature’s assault left Clyde wounded, but undeterred, he fired his handgun, though the effect remained uncertain.

Per, unswayed by the chaos, persisted with the incantation, his mind racing to consider the sanctity of light as a weapon. Indeed, as Clyde, with a burst of adrenaline, drew back the curtains to flood the room with daylight, the entity recoiled, vanishing beneath the bed once more.

Outside, Miss Suttcliffe’s song served its purpose, drawing Per’s attention to the locked door just as Viola herself heard the creature’s sinister movements in the corridor. It was a moment of shared terror as the entity, a paradox of dimensions, surged between her and the conductor Henri. A sanity check failed; Viola’s mind buckled under the strain, losing a fragment of her composure.

Inside the compartment, Clyde’s herculean effort to lift Mr. Meyers exposed the shadowy entity, which unleashed an otherworldly shriek and fled the light’s embrace. In the corridor, Viola, quick-witted despite her fright, screamed about a nonexistent rat to mislead the staff.

Exhausted from his chanting, Per felt a wave of fatigue wash over him, his power waning, yet Mr. Meyers showed a hint of recovery. The cursed Fez clung stubbornly to his head, resisting all attempts at removal. Clyde’s discovery of a book beneath Mr. Meyers’ pillow—a tome bound in dark red, titleless and foreboding—offered no immediate solace.

Meanwhile, Viola’s ploy escalated into physical confrontation as she tackled Menkaph’s man to the ground, her cries drawing the attention of the entire train. Amid the uproar, Per and Clyde contemplated a desperate measure: shooting the Fez from Mr. Meyers’ head. With precision and a touch of luck, Clyde’s bullet pierced the Fez, yet the hole knitted itself closed as if by magic.

The gunshot reverberated through the opulent cars, reaching even the ears of the dining staff. Henri, upon investigation, found no mortal harm done and was swayed by Clyde’s tale of a “nasty beast.” Meanwhile, Miss Sutcliffe, playing her part masterfully, spun a tale of potential poisoning to Henri, who now considered involving the authorities.

Madame Zorba and Mr. Lake, oblivious to the chaos, savored their meal as Count Razumoski noted the unusual disruption. Menkaph, detained by staff after a “small incident,” could only watch as the train staff asserted control over the unfolding events.

The session’s close left the investigators with the sense of a situation barely contained, their actions under scrutiny, and a lingering urgency that pervaded the air. Questions dangled in the tense silence, their implications as foreboding as the shadow that had once stalked their every move.