Devil In A Mitten
1.25 oz. J. Riddle Peated Bourbon, 0.5 oz. New Holland Clockwork Orange, 0.5 oz. Cardamaro (a Michigan amaro would be more thematic, but I don’t have one), a dash of orange bitters.
Horror On The Orient Express (Call of Cthulhu 7E), Chaosium Inc.
Having acquired trained medical help for Roderick (courtesy of my belatedly arrived friend Dr. Jean-Louis Saroch) I resumed my interrupted sleep. There was some brief commotion of a mechanical sort leaving the stop where he boarded; I know the Express is a marvel of modern engineering but can you really trust trains run by the French?
The next morning at breakfast I was seated with the bloodthirsty Miss Meadowcroft and other charming company, which gave me an unfortunately clear view of the row George caused by accosting a random woman sitting next to Menkaph. The lad has no idea how to behave in polite society, and I rather fear he may be ejected from the train before we reach our destination. In a more pertinent development, Menkaph appears to be wearing a fez exactly like the Blood Red Fez we have in our possession. Following breakfast Miss Meadowcroft insisted on talking about our plans and needlessly questioning whether our Fez is the true Fez instead of allowing me to continue my invaluable research into the Fez, but I finally managed to get enough uninterrupted study to confirm Dr. Polat’s translation of the spell.
In Munich we were joined by our benefactor, Baron von Hofler, who seems a capital fellow with a keen grasp of the importance of research when battling occult evils. While we were sequestered in my compartment studying the notes his insightful advice made it clear to me that the best way to further our research was to wear the Fez myself. The effects have proven most unpleasant, but I feel confident I can master the spell before anything truly life-threatening occurs, and a few days’ retreat in Cornwall once we conclude this trip should suffice to settle my nerves. (Note: find out whether Roderick counts as a prince, purely in the interest of academic inquiry.) When they returned from the dining car my companions seemed quite perturbed by my entirely reasonable and reasoned approach to discovering more about the Fez; Miss Meadowcroft in particular became quite abusive and questioned my mental faculties, which is quite insulting considering my academic achievements.
After various attempts to ‘stealthily’ infiltrate the compartment occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Myers failed (bringing to mind the colonial Canis latrans), she came up with a mad plan to have young George climb along the outside of the train and seek ingress through the window, which he wisely refused (perhaps there’s still hope for the boy.) Causing a commotion with a carefully applied spanner and sneaking in turned out to be an entirely workable plan that did not involve sacrificing any English youths to the uncaring steel gods. Stealth quickly fell by the wayside; I’m not entirely certain what transpired inside the compartment, but I did hear Miss Meadowcroft repeatedly yell “shove a candle up its arse!” before they rushed pell-mell back out, looking significantly worse for the wear and bearing a curious-looking tome which I look forward to studying (assuming I can retrieve it before She sets it on fire or dangles it out of the window to convince it to talk.)