Friday, 2 July 1875
Today has been a very long day.
The elephants were not as difficult as I had feared. They really
are remarkable creatures. I had some trepidation at first. For
all I told myself that they
are smaller and more tame than the elephants in Africa, when I first
came close to them I was entirely astounded at their size. One
can scarcely help but be a little nervous of an animal which could so
easily crush a person, even just by accident. I don't know how
the mahouts ever control them, except that they allow themselves to be
guided. They seem to understand quite a bit of what is wanted.
Wilhelmina has been sketching non-stop all day--she has developed some
sort of fixation on elephants. I believe she intends to build a
steam-powered model elephant, and is carefully studying their
locomotion. Just what London needs-- a great smoking boiler
lurching and stomping down the thoroughfares. It will surely be
studded with jewels for good measure.
We are riding about in howdahs, which are little gazebos carried on the
elephants' backs. They lurch and sway frightfully, which made
myself and Caroline, at least, quite queasy if we left the curtains
closed. We were all anxious to watch the scenery anyhow. We
have had some difficulties with our host, Graf von Hammerstein, but
predictable ones. We knew when we were invited to join him that
his main interest is in hunting. Somehow that knowledge is not
quite enough to prepare one for the reality of the Graf and Sir Spencer
shooting every animal they see. I have been sorely pressed to
hold my tongue, and indeed, the first time Sir Spencer shot the very
leopard I was pointing out to the children, I shouted at him. As
the day wore on, game became more scarce. We are a noisy train,
and several of us made no attempt to keep out voices quiet. I
suspect Mrs Cuthbert of some mystical means of warning the animals to
scatter.
In addition to being wasteful and disgusting, this incessant shooting
slowed our journey, as we were obliged to halt the caravan to pick up
the victims. This is at least better than killing them and
leaving them to rot--I was permitted to take measurements and field
notes, though I could scarcely keep pace with the slaughter.
We were unable to reach our originally planned campsite. Mrs
Salmalin was worried about being ambushed in this out-of the way place,
until I pointed out that we were less likely to be ambushed here than
if we had gone to the place where everyone expected us to be, where an
enemy could have had all day to set up a trap. Here at least we
could choose our ground first and set up our defenses, and any enemy
would have to back-track and would find us well situated. At
this, she brightened considerably and set about preparing her mystical
boundaries.
We have been half-expecting a visit from Dr Langtry. We have seen
him, some 2 miles distant, on a parallel course to our own. The
man was gliding through the air! Mrs Salmalin and Mrs Cuthbert
tell me that this is a powerful mystical ability, and could be
accomplished in any one of several ways. Bolivar had some rather
pointed remarks to make about Dr Langtry. Mrs Cuthbert, even
though she has not at all forgiven him for intruding into her dreaming
visions, remonstrated with Lord Vaughn when that gentleman suggested to
a passing vulture that it might be interesting to harry him. Mrs
Cuthbert claimed concern for the well-being of the vulture. While
I quite dislike Dr Langtry myself, I would rather not incur his active
enmity if we can help it. I may find his personality and his
narrow-minded principals repellent, but I am fairly sure that he, like
ourselves, is concerned mainly with preventing the ascendancy of the
Vritra entity and the drought and destruction it would supposedly
bring. I would rather have him as a disliked ally than as an
opponent.
We have eaten our camp supper and settled our children into the
tent. Mr Frazer is with them and all are resting now. I am
in the dining tent, making use of the tables and the light for
writing. Before long I will take my turn, in the dead of night,
at watch, along with George and Mr Salmalin. I will wake Mr
Frazer when I retire. He is more lively in the early
morning.
Saturday, 3 July 1875
We are settling into tonight's camp. We have had another
interesting day.
The gentlemen have stopped shooting quite so much, and Lady
Cowperthwaite has desisted entirely. The latter might be because
it came to her attention that the deaths of the animals were
distressing her son. Before we broke camp this morning, I came
upon Mrs Salmalin and Galen in earnest conversation among the
baggage. She had found him using one of his father's batteries,
attempting to revive the leopard killed yesterday. She gently
explained that it could not be truly revived. He was very
downcast.
Galen's plan for protecting the animals in our path was direct.
He stood atop the Cowperthwaites' elephant just before we set out, and
shouted, with his equivalent of the Voice (high and piping, yes, but
amazingly resonant), "Hey, animals! If you don't want to get killed,
run away!" I am sure that the Graf is very sorry he
invited us to join him. I am not sorry at all, but we are
fortunate that he is too much of a gentleman to take his elephants and
leave us in the jungle.
One of the highlights of the day was a visit to an extensive temple of
"the Manifest God Hanuman." Hanuman is a hindu monkey god,
considered beneficent and a bringer of luck. He appears in many
of their stories assisting heroes with his clever tricks. As we
were approaching the town around the temple, a very lively capuchin
monkey made his way to us, prompting native persons all along the road
to make obeisance. I was looking at it in some puzzlement,
wondering how a South American specimen came to be here in India, when
Mrs Cuthbert let out a cry of alarm, including the words "Zombie
Monkey." This was also puzzling, as it appeared perfectly alive
and healthy.
It sprang from one howdah to the next, until it reached me. It
came to a stop right before me, and Bolivar squawked “Absent Friends!”,
which I took to mean that he was acquainted with this particular
monkey. The monkey replied with a smart salute. Bolivar
indicated that the Monkey’s name was Jack. I decided to assume
the monkey to be as intelligent as the parrot, and greeted
it—him—politely. At which point, he scampered to my left shoulder
and began a lively screeching back and forth with Bolivar, who was
ensconced in his typical place on my right.
After what seemed an eternity in the center of this vortex of sound,
Jack jumped down and ran down the road toward the temple we could see
not far off. I shouted, in German, that no one was to shoot the
monkey, and our caravan continued toward the temple.
After arriving in the temple courtyard, and after Jack had pressed the
gentlemen with the donations box, we had a very informative
conversation. Through a round of simian charades, punctuated with
pithy comments by Bolivar, we were informed that the knife and book had
been brought through this area, and that they were now further on in
the direction of Balaghat. The priest of the temple showed us the
guest book, which noted a party of two German gentlemen who had come
riding donkeys—highly likely that they were Mr von Klatna and Count
Lyndram. None of this is at all surprising, but it is convenient
to have some confirmation of our suspicions.
The priest was also kind enough to answer a few questions about Jack
himself, though among them he is known as Manifest Hanuman.
According to the priest, this exact monkey has been here for at least
120 years—the temple was built after he took up residence in the area
and people nearby noticed him. And the temple is at least
110 years old. It seems absurd, but stranger things have proved
out during this journey. As near I can determine, Bolivar and
Jack knew each other many years ago when they were aboard the same
pirate ship in the Caribbean sea. Bolivar's provenance as a
preternaturally long-lived bird is fairly well established, if one can
believe anything one learns from the Sparrow clan. The exact
details of their travels, I will happily leave with the other
aggravations of the Island of Lost Souls. Perhaps the parrot and
the monkey are having a joke at our expense, but their noisy story was
a fine diversion for the children as we traveled on.
After we made camp, I gathered the children and completed our day's
lessons. Now they are running about the camp, getting underfoot
in some chasing
game.
(later, early morning)
I hardly know what to say about the events of the night. I am
presently settled to watch over Wilhelmina and George, who are in a
tenuous state of health. Our camp was attacked on two fronts by
von Klatna. We now know with certainly that he is actually Count
Kolinzecki, grandson of the man who kidnapped the infant Namaste, and
like him a follower of the ancient entity Vritra.
The first hint of trouble was found by Lady Cowperthwaite and Sir
Cosmo, who stumbled upon the dreadful remains of the unfortunate Count
Lyndram, ritually sacrificed, immediately adjacent to our camp.
The rest of were ignorant of this until later. Meanwhile, closer
to our tents, we heard a cry from Wilhelmina, who was being attacked by
one of Kolinzecki's enormous ghostly serpents, while George was
struggling to save her from its grasp.
Ultimately three more snakes also emerged, in different areas of the
camp. The snakes were more slender than an anaconda, perhaps 6 or
8 inches in diameter, but easily 50 feet long. Their scales were
tougher than any snakes I have seen, and they were difficult to
injure. I shot all my first round of bullets at one's head, which
had little effect, and even the most vicious slashes of my colleagues'
swords seemed to bounce off. The serpents' muscular bodies could
deliver quite a blow. Although they did not appear to be
venomous, and had no injecting fangs, their teeth were nonetheless very
sharp and difficult to dislodge.
As our struggles with the giant snakes intensified, several
persons came to our aid. Lord Vaughn was on hand in our camp, of
course, and he readily lent his sword to our cause. Less expected
was the timely arrival and assistance of Dr Langtry. Even more
unexpected, Miss Langtry, Professor Peacock, Miss Langtry's Aunt
Mrs Ursula Prewett and that lady's very peculiar manservant came flying
out of the sky, in the nick of time. And at the last, an
additional help in the form of the monkey Jack, riding and directing an
elephant, which at his direction trampled upon the snakes.
All the furor with the serpents proved to be only a distraction for
Kolinzecki's primary plot. He had made his way surreptitiously to
the tent where the children were gathered with Violet and Daru watching
over them. I have not pressed the children for an exact report,
so all I can say is that Kolinzecki surprised Violet and Daru, and
somehow struck them unconscious. He then had produced a trio of
cobras to menace Octavia, Caroline and Robert, who did as we have all
told them and held themselves very still. Before they could come
up with a solution to this trap, Kolinzecki had Galen by the neck and
was throttling the boy.
Lady Cowperthwaite rushed in; not surprisingly, she had a very strong
reaction to the attack on her son, and we all heard the resounding
Voice throughout the camp. Galen used his captor's distraction to
stab the man in the eye with a pen. By the time others of us came
running, Lady Cowperthwaite had knocked Kolinzecki down. She had
already put out his other eye and torn out his tongue. Mr
Salmalin had come into the tent hard on Lady Cowperthwaite's heels and
had quickly killed the cobras and a number of other snakes which
Kolinzecki had been carrying on his person. This is approximately
when I arrived at the childrens' tent. Mr Salmalin was bringing
the children out, away from the gorey scene, and I rounded them up and
took them to our dining tent, where we were already setting up our
infirmary. Mr Salmalin returned a moment later carrying Daru, and
then Violet. As he came in, I looked out past him, where I could
see a little of what transpired with Lady Cowperthwaite and her
prostrate enemy.
Kolinzecki was carrying the ritual knife he had acquired in Bombay, and
Lady Cowperthwaite took it from him. She instructed Mr Salmalin
to destroy it, and took in return one of his more ordinary knives to
keep her prisoner subdued. She was still very angry, and she
dragged Kolinzecki out of the tent and pinned him to the tree with the
knife through his body. I thought that she would kill him, her
subdued prisoner, but she stopped short of that. I quickly turned
back into the tent and closed the flap so the children couldn't see the
mangled and gurgling man any more. I turned my attention to first
aid and treatment for shock.
So, Kolinzecki was taken prisoner. The giant serpents had been
dispatched and, far from simply dying, they had exploded in a vile
shower of gelatinous ichor. The more ordinary snakes were all
killed or escaped into the jungle (of course Owen, Turgenov, and Mr
Frazer searched all around the tents very thoroughly).
The Mystics turned their collected attention to healing the most
seriously injured and those suffering snakebite. I assisted Mrs
MacGreggor in first aid for those whose injuries were more readily
treated.
Once the Mystics had seen to the most precariously injured, Mrs
Cuthbert was able to reattach our prisoner's tongue, so he could be
questioned. I was happy to stay away from that work! Dr
Langtry presided over this field hearing, as he is supposedly the
highest ranking in whatever hierarchy the LHW observes. He placed
Kolinzecki under some sort of truth compulsion.
Kolinzecki seemed a completely different person from the capable and
wily conspirator who had orchestrated the acquisition of the the knife
and the book, who had perpetrated the correlated murders, who had
ensnared Count Lyndram. One would expect some lack of coherence
from someone who had been so injured and who was compelled to reveal
all. But beyond my expectations, Kolinzecki seemed almost
euphoric--not merely confessing his crimes, but exulting as though he
had succeeded. He admitted to enslaving and murdering Count
Lyndram, to murdering both shopkeepers in Bombay, and attempting to
kill Violet, Daru, and the children.
His goal was to complete a ritual to free Vritra. Although we
expected his ritual would require him to kill Lady Cowperthwaite, he
had actually conceived a ritual in which Lady Cowperthwaite, the Avatar
of Kali, would kill him, Kolinzecki, with his particular knife, to
release Vritra. All he had to do was provoke her, which he
did. We are all fortunate that she somehow restrained herself.
Mrs Salmalin asked him why he wished to release an entity which would
blast the earth with relentless drought. His answer: "So
everyone could have sunshine." Utterly Mad.
The impromptu wizard tribunal (consisting of Dr Langtry, Lord Vaughn,
and Mrs Prewett) had no difficulty pronouncing Kolinzecki guilty of all
these crimes, but Lord Vaughn and Mrs Prewett balked at carrying out
the death sentence so hastily in the field. The mad Count was
imprisoned in special manacles and he and Dr Langtry were carried back
to Bombay by Mrs Prewett's flying manservant.
The rest of us are left to clean up the battle's aftermath and tend our
wounds.
Wilhelmina and George were both seriously injured. Wilhelmina had
been taken unawares by the first mystical python, which had coiled
about her, and had crushed her and suffocated her. George had a
dire struggle to free her. Mrs Cuthbert was able, barely, to
bring her back from the brink. What we discovered once both of
them were out of immediate deadly peril was that George, with his
bizarre thuggee mysticism, had moved his consciousness into
Wilhelmina's body, pushing her consciousness into his own, slightly
less imperiled, body. It seems possible that he did this fully prepared
to sacrifice his life and save hers, though she would henceforth be a
young man.
Wilhelmina and George remain in this exchanged state, though the
Mystics of our party express the hope that they will revert naturally
to their own bodies when both have recovered. This circumstance is
rather a nightmare for any chaperone. How does one shelter even
the theoretical innocence of a girl who has been Inside the body of a
young man? especially a young man she knows well? I can
only hope this will correct itself, and we can all pretend it never
happened. I am keeping a close eye on GeoWilhe George's body,
since he that one
is a bit more alert, and Wilhelmina's curiosity regarding matters
anatomical might prompt Improper explorations.
Since both of them are yet unconscious, I have little to do but sit
here being vigilant. I am quite restless and anxious to look
after my children, who were quite upset by the attack on them and the
injuries to Violet and Daru. Mr Frazer is with them, though, and
I can faintly hear his voice from across the camp, telling one of his
interminable but very soothing Chukchi fables.
(later)
The more I think on tonight's events, the more dreadful they
become. I cannot stop seeing Count Kolinzecki on the floor of the
tent, choking on his own blood-- Lady Cowperthwaite stands over him,
casting the awful mass of tongue tissue to the ground--brandishing that
cursed knife in the other hand--beyond her, Caroline and Robert stand,
eyes wide and faces frozen with fear.
Can I continue to subject my children to such horrors? A person
they like, whom I have trained them to respect, has perpetrated a
vicious act of barbarity right before their eyes. Ripping a
person's tongue out is horrible, no matter how grievously one is
provoked.
I am not sure whether I would find it most upsetting if the children
recoil in horror and have nightmares, or if they accept this ghastly
occurence as status quo. How can they they avoid a warped
sensibility if they are continually exposed to such things? And
Lady Cowperthwaite's behaviour is growing more alarming with each
threat she faces. Why is this? Is it the influence of Kali,
as we near the locus of her worship in Balaghat? Is Lady
Cowperthwaite losing what little restraint she had? I am the
first to recognise that a direct threat to one's children inspires the
most ferocious and merciless response from any mother, but this rending
of one's enemies is simply beyond the pale. Such brutality is for
the enemies of decency to perpetrate, and for us to thwart and defend
against.
Can I, ought I, continue with the pretence that this sort of thing is
tolerable? What can I do?
My first impulse is to take my children and my husband, turn around to
Bombay and board ship to England. This is impractical, obviously,
and perhaps also dangerous. Although we have defeated the known
devotee fo Vritra, there may be other enemies who would attack a
smaller party, even ordinary brigands. Some of the ubiquitous
Thuggees might consider us fair game if we leave the protective mantle
extended by Lady Cowperthwaite.
Even if I were to wait until we reached a safer place to resign my post
and leave the League, would it be morally correct to do so? If I
leave, I might protect my children from these fearsome experiences, but
what of the other children? What would happen to them without a
solid moral education and the steadying influence of a sensible
adult?
Galen is already well on the way to being as fierce as his
mother. I certainly don't blame him for putting out his
attacker's eye--indeed, I am first to applaud his bravery and
ingenuity. But how can we continue to expose the children to
circumstances that require such drastic actions? I know well the
gentle side of Galen's temperament--his compassion for the slain
leopard, his good nature and kindness with the other children. It
will take a careful hand to cultivate the gentleness to be a guide to
the power. Lady Cowperthwaite sets a slapdash example at best,
and little wonder, considering her upbringing and her youth.
I think also of Octavia. She is quite unfettered by fear.
She takes such a joy in being thrown through the air! And her
sang froid as she stood entirely ready to shoot Lord Vaughn through the
head. I am continually surprised by her father's capabilities,
which is partly because he holds to such a profound self-discipline,
and rarely shows his entire strength. If the children can learn
such discipline, they will be well served. If only Lady
Cowperthwaite could do so as well. Mrs Salmalin is too bound up
in her duty to her employer to take action in her daughter's interest,
and her husband is even less likely to question the will of the Avatar
of Kali.
Even Wilhelmina needs my guidance, and though I now regularly despair
of her paying me any heed, I am occasionally surprised by vestiges of
my influence. Despite her wildness, she is growing to be a fine
young woman, and the possibility of her going wrong for want of a
decent model is too dreadful a waste to contemplate. And what if
she were to be permanently...no, I won't even think about that at
present.
It would appear that I cannot stay and yet I cannot leave. Where
does that put me? Perhaps if I broach the question with Benton he
will have some insight. Sometimes these quandaries baffle him
completely, but sometimes he can see directly to the heart of matters.
Proceed to A most dire
battle
Return to Miss Sinclair's Diary Index
Contents this page copyright 2004 by Ieva Ohaks. All Rights Reserved.