[Nyarlathotep] Chapter Three: Lausanne

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Chapter Three
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Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Thursday, January 11th, 1923. Lausanne.
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We arrived at Lausanne early in the morning; a cold, misty, and beautiful
town on the shores of Lake Geneva. We took the opportunity to break our
fast, and read the newspapers. Frau Weissmuller was most concerned to read
that French (and Belgian) troops had occupied the Ruhr, due to the failure
of the Germans to pay reparations from the Great War. After breakfast we
booked a hotel, and took a cab to the "Centre de Rehabilitation" on the
outskirts of town where we met Lillian St. John, an Australian woman of
great investigative skills but a propensity towards hedonism. I took the
opportunity to have a quiet word with her doctor, who assurred me that her
current interest in the cocaine stimulant was no longer of a level of
addiction, a matter which brought me great relief.

After collecting M. St. John and informing her of our journey so far, we
went to visit Edgar Wellington, as so informed by the note from Poissy.
The terrace house and shop was marked as an taxidermist. M. Wellington, a
man of tired and haunted appearance, invited us inside and engage us most
politely in conversation. His brother, introduced as William, also joined
us although that meeting was a little disconcerting. William had suffered
injuries during the War and was paralyzed in his face. He could not talk,
and could only stare straight ahead.

M. Wellington was most forthcoming with information concerning the scroll,
claiming that he had acquired it during the War in exchange of cigarettes
and rations, that it was a confusing mixture of Turkish and Arabic, an
dthat it referred to the Simulcrum, the previous owner being the Comte
Fenalik. M. Wellington offered to sell the scroll at least two hundred and
fifty pounds sterling, a very high sum for what must be only a curio to
him. However, at that very moment our taxidermist received another
visitor, a very well-groomed Frenchman, who was introduced as "Le Duc de
Esseinites", who was also an amateur occultist. This Duke also expressed
interest in the scroll; he suggested that we all met at the 7:30 club, an
informal discussion group so perhaps an amiciable solution could be found.

In the rest of the afternoon we entertained ourselves with a tour of the
city; M. St. John, Senhor Garcia, and Mr. Frazer all took the opportunity
to visit the lakeside. Myself and Frau Weissmuller saw the main sights to
the city with the Le Duc, including the Cathederal, the Museaum and
Library, and ultimately the highest pointof the town. After that he took
us to a French cafe, The Chat Noir, and informed us that he would return
at eight p.m. But he never returned; instead at the allocated time, one
Maximillian von Wurtheim arrived, an enthusiastic young man with handsome
Nordic features. He gave us his entire life story, or so it seemed, over
the next three hours. Frau Weissmuller took quite an interest in these
tales, and I believe spent some time with the Prussian noble after the
cafe closed.

The rest of went to M. Wellington's residence in an effort to discern his
non-attendance. On arrival we discover the door is slightly ajar. We
entered and discovered a sight most disconcerting; William Wellington was
near death, a gaping wound in his chest where a large section of skin had
been removed. We applied what emergency care that we could. In a
neighbouring wound, M. Edgar Wellington lay dead, with two syringe marks,
one on each arm - clearly someone else had applied the second dose of
morphine that lay nearby that had led to his demise. We also discovered
his diary which spoke of a journey most peculiar; the use of a drug
entitled "Dream Laussanne", and a fake version of the scroll easily dated
by our expertise.

The diary was most extraordinary; it spoke of a parallel Lausanne which
could be reached by taking the drug and whatever objects one carried in
their hands would also be taken to this reality. There, we thought, that
we would find the real scroll. M. St. John enthusiastically suggested that
we should take the drug, which caused me some concern. Nevertheless, I
relented such was our need.

Leaving Mr. Frazer behind to look over us, we passed out almost
immediately, according to him. From our perspective however, we awoke in a
most peculiar and medieval version of the town. We travelled through the
town and encountered a variety of events both surreal and gothic; when a
flying lion bled tears on M. St. John, a madness it did overtake her, and
it was only the rapid pursuit of Senhor Garcia that saw her to safety. It
was fortunate that we managed to avert her eyes when a stage magician
placed his limbs into a hat, leaving a giggling torso and head.

With the tolling of a bell we encountered an open-air trial, where a
figure which resembled Le Duc, called "the Prince of Lausanne" conducted a
parody of a trial over against M. Wellingon with a statue sitting in
judgment. But I, Hercule Poirot, did defend M. Wellington against the
flimsy and ill-thought charges that we set against him, and we were able
to leave the plaza. Shortly afterwards however we were pursued by a mob,
no doubt raised by the Prince. Following M. Wellington's instructions we
recovered the real scroll and returned to our waking world, where M.
Wellington made the unfortunate discovery that he indeed deceased,
appearing as an apparition.

Following his instruction, we made our way to Le Duc's house, a very well
established affair. The house was empty, but with M. Wellington present we
were able in to ingress with greater ease. The apparition informed us that
there were many trapped souls within an old heavy door within the house
which led to the dreamworld again. Again, following the apparition's
suggestion, we set this door to madness alight, and vacated the premises
rapidly. M. Wellington was beginning to fade; we returned to his home to
leave him with his brother and promised to contact the hosiptal
anonymously as soon as possible. Then, as it was already early morning of
the following day, we took to the Orient Express.


Le Journal De Hercule Poirot, Friday, January 12th, 1923. Lausanne.
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It was after noon when our party finally arose, exhausted from the events
of the previous day and evening. Fortunately, the civilised Orient Express
was able to provide us a hearty late lunch in the dining car.
Unfortunately, we also had an unwanted guest, being none other that Le
Duc, in an outfit slightly singed. He demanded the Sedefkar Scroll, and in
an expression of his powers when Frau Weissmuller refused, he uttered some
words which caused her to convulse in pain. Not wishing to continue this,
we handed him the scroll, but of course, we gave him the fake. Accepting
this, he then draped a lasso around his body and vanished into thin air!

I do wish that I have seen enough of this epiphenomena, but I suspect
there will be more before the journey ends.