3 May 1837 - Nastasie Dementiev

At last I can update my journal at a leisurely pace. I have little else to do at the moment, which I will explain for the nonce. But first I will catch up my story from whence I last left off.

I did manage to locate the Lieutenant (diligently searching for the assassin), and coaxed him into accompanying me to Lady Wordsworth's house. He was dubious, but gave me the benefit of the doubt. A reasonable thing for him to do, given all that we have been through together in the last month. He is the one person in our little assemblage I would trust with my life, although Dr Cross has proven herself trustworthy as well. I could tell it was all the Lt could do upon meeting "Trinia" to restrain himself from attacking us all. Once he realised that we were telling him the truth, he quickly bent the knee to the rightful sovereign of the land. Discussions led to her Royal Highness drafting a letter to send to her supporters in the north, which the Lt would post outside of the city (as one of the few who could traverse the boundaries without being searched).

As her Beautifulness, I mean her Royal Highness, left to craft the letter, the rest of our group headed towards the docks, where the Direption was due to arrive. (What a terrible name for a ship - the Direption, a word which means to plunder, despoil or snatch away!) This was the ship upon which the Necromancer was to make his return to London. What arrived was a ghost ship. Failing to slow down or heed any harbour hails (we found this out later), the city watch lit up the night sky with cannon fire, breaking the ship in two and sending it to a watery grave. Before it went down, however, I trod upon the wind to examine the ship, looking for my brother or this foul fiend who had taken him away. All that I found was death - everyone on board had died of some terrible disease, except for one man I found drowned, with what Dr Cross later identified as a medical mask on his face. That, and a coffer of dark wood, within which were ledgers detailing a most horrific crime. All of the passengers on board were listed as "specimens", the ship was deeded to a group called B7, and the owner was R. Davaulis - most likely the necromancer himself. Now we have a name we can research - but still no trace of him.

As a precaution against spreading this disease, Dr Cross has quarantined me in Madame Zellara's old residence, and the Lieutenant, who also went to the ship, has been sent from the city with his mission. How long she will hold me here is unknown - I certainly do not want to pass along any contagion to these already suffering residents of this city. This gives me time to ponder and reflect, and to perfect my art of reading tarot.