“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.”
Munich, Friday 2 November 1923:
(Co-written by most of the cast)
As the show came to an end and the performers disappeared from the stage it seemed a good time to head towards the room to the left of the stage that the letter had indicated was where the 'Night Watch' was meeting. Smoke from the many patrons watching the show still hung over the dimly lit room, even after they had mostly filed out or made their way to the bar for a nightcap hoping, perhaps, to forget many of the problems facing the country at this time. A lone bouncer stood guard by the door. He was broad shouldered, heavyset with a scar on his left cheek which was almost certainly the result of shrapnel during the great war. He did not look like the type to be trifled with.
Charlotte Treich approached the bouncer, and the small woman made an almost comical contrast compared to the larger man. With a confidence slightly plied by drink, she produced her letter with a slight flourish. "The Night's Watch meets through there, correct, sir?"
The bouncer put his hand out for the letter, took a cursory look at it then handed it back, "It does," he confirmed with a slight nod of the head as he pushed the door open to a dark corridor beyond, "Keep your letter on you."
As she did another man approached as well, taking a sip from a hip flask as he did. He produced a similar letter, "I believe I am here for the same reason she is." The accent was British of some description. What he was doing in Germany at this time was anyone’s guess. These were not happy times.
He was followed moments later by a man dressed in distinct clerical garb. He coughed genteelly, blinking against the smoky haze of the club. The man stood out like a sore thumb, “Blessings of the Lord to you all this evening, it appears that we all have been contacted by the same individual.”
"Your Grace," the bouncer greeted the bishop respectfully, tugging at his forelock in lieu of a hat before glancing between the three of them, making sure they knew what he said was for them all, "Take the corridor to the end. You will find the door."
‘Your Grace’… so a Bishop… no… an Archbishop. Presumably that made the man Viktor Ulrich, Charlotte guessed.
Followed by the two men, Charlotte steeped into the corridor the bouncer had pointed them to. It was a wood panelled affair, dimly lit that ran under the stairs and seemed to lead to a dead end, though as the group approached the end, they came to a point, perhaps four feet from the far wall, where the side of the corridor to their left was marked with a prominent hexafoil, carefully drawn in white paint. A burn mark on the floor seemed to denote some kind of threshold. As they drew closer to the burn, the suggestion of strange whispers seemed to linger in the air, just on the cusp of Charlotte’s hearing.
"Well, gentlemen, this is certainly a little queer even for me,” Charlotte commented. "Clandestine meetings in the backroom of a club are generally havens for gambling. I can't say I have run into any Orders operating like this."
"I have to agree but perhaps this one is different. If they are worth our time is the better question." The British man replied to her, studying the hexafoil symbol for a few moments. Could he hear the sound as well? Something had caused him to stop, "Well, It is time to see what this order is all about and I am Aleyn by the way."
Before they had decided whether the step across the threshold or not, there was the sound of footsteps from behind them. Charlotte turned to meet the eye of a tall, haggard, blonde man, “Good evening father. How do you do?” he greeted Viktor, though his eyes lingered on Charlotte.
Aleyn gave a nod by way of greeting then stepped across the threshold and, seeing that no hard had come to him, Charlotte followed as did Viktor and the haggard man, one-by-one stepping over the scorch mark. As Charlotte stepped across, a door appeared within the far wall, jumping into existence as if it has been there all along, unseen in the dim light.
Aleyn, apparently the bold one of their little group, pulled the door open to reveal a room that appeared to be barrel vaulted cellar though someone had taken the time to add a few decorations. Electric lights, for a start, along with elegant wooden tables and chairs, enough to seat a good two dozen people. On a sideboard, a decanter of port had been left out for people to enjoy, and it looked like at least a couple of the other people in the room had poured themselves a glass.
In one of the chairs away from the table sat a man of seemingly short stature that, while apparently idly toying with his cane, was keenly watching every person that came into the room.
There were a couple at another one of the tables. A young woman and a man in a white button up shirt was seated opposite a young woman whom he seemed to be in conversation with. Dark suspenders strung over his shoulders supporting a pair of clean pressed black dress pants, and black shoes shined to a fine polish. On the table next to him a dark homburg hat rested. He seemed to be talking low, if animatedly to the woman across from him. "... easily done. A hidden phonograph above the threshold, back in Vienna I attended a seance where..." The man went on, largely oblivious to the new arrivals filtering in.
The young woman, however, was not oblivious of the new arrivals. She shot up to her feet, looking slightly flustered, apparently having spotted one particular newcomer, "Your Grace," she said, looking a bit like a small animal caught in the headlights of a motor vehicle.
She was fairly tall and clearly one of the Catholic faithful, dressed in a pair of jodhpurs and a vest that, while increasingly fashionably, probably wouldn't be worn to church.
Viktor, however, gave a chuckle, making an effort to put the young woman at ease, “Non curarum my child, we are all of equal status here. You needn’t stand on ceremony here.”
She looked relieved at the response, if a little surprised.
At the next table across, clearly separate from the conversation the man and woman were having, sat a form hunched forward over a pair of matching matchboxes and her own open envelope. It was hard to tell their gender underneath the grime that clung to them, but it was either a young boy, or a scrawny woman. His (she decided) gaze was piercing, flitting between them, noting the envelopes in each of their hands. His eyes eventually went still on Charlotte, narrowing. Her gaze was unsettlingly analytical, akin to being put under a microscope.
Charlotte met the stare of the individual scanning her from the moment she stepped into the room. The young boy glaring at her certainly wasn't familiar to her, and her brow rose in befuddlement at such a young boy being present, "Pardon, young man," she offered them quick, momentary smile, "I don't believe I know you. Do you know me, by chance?
The dirty stranger was quiet for a good few seconds after Charlotte's greeting, chewing at the inside of their cheek. They stack their matchboxes one atop the other, before dropping them into the hat perched on their lap, "You dance," they replied bluntly, offering little else in the way of greeting. Their accent was foreign, though it was hard to pin down with those two words alone. "Seen ya."
"Yes... many have seen me on stage, at least in Berlin," Charlotte replied. It was not the context she’d have expected it, but it was nice to know her reputation was travelling South.
"And I get cut in half with a saw," the tall woman chipped in, "It's not quite as exciting as it looks," she paused before introducing herself, "Nicola Hoffman, pleasure to make your acquaintance."
The scruffy boy’s eyes drifted to Nicloa’s midsection as she spoke as if trying to puzzle that one out before concluding with a nod, “Magic Act,” he concluded under his breath.
"Ah, but the spectacle doesn't care. Ms. Hoffmann. The acts are very fascinating to watch," Charlotte replied warmly, "Oh," she laughed, "I am Charlotte Treich, for those unaware."
"I have already said it to a few but I am Aleyn Deyne," the Englishman said, adding his introduction to Nicola.
"Nelly," the person Charlotte had assumed to be a scruffy boy, put in by way of introduction.
“Helmut Kurten,” the tall blonde man supplied quietly. He glanced around the room, seemingly checking for others he might know. His eyes lingered a little on Nicola as well, which also wasn’t surprising. Magicians tended to choose their assistants for their looks and Nicola was no exception in that regard.
Charlotte finally took in the whole room. It was frankly impressive to her that this Night's Watch had assembled the group around her, “Well, this is an odd bunch our mysterious hosts have assembled. Soldiers and performers. Bishops and beggars. Germans and foreigners." She paused, as a confused look briefly crossed her face. She banished it with another laugh before continuing, "Though I don't know what we all might have in common for them to do so, and Lord only knows what they could want from us."
The man who'd been chatting with Nicola, who'd sat back watching affairs seemed to choose that moment to pick up his hat, folding it under his arm and approach the group then assembled around Charlotte. "Now it's possible, a diversity of skillsets is precisely what was intended." His was the confident, annunciate voice of a performer. "Rudy Rudeanu. Illusionist." He made a gesture like he was about to perform a trick but then just blatantly palmed a glass of spirits from his left hand and took a sip. "I think you've met my partner in crime, Fraulen Hoffman. A pleasure meeting you all," he gave genteel nods all around the gathering to those present from over the rim of his glass.
"It would seem likely," Nicola agreed, "Though what exactly they think we all bring to this endeavour... well, who's to say at this stage? I believe they said there was an Englishman who was coming to speak to us."
Running a bit late...
After this first group passed the bouncer, another young woman—one who had seemingly either waited or taken some time to get up and go over—approached the bouncer. This woman—Masako Yamamoto—fumbled with her purse for a moment, before producing a letter much like the others before her.
“Got it!” she exclaimed in German as she pulled the folded letter out, in a shockingly Bavarian accent.
“Here it is—this is for the entrance for the Night’s Watch, right?” she asked, before handing the letter over to the bouncer.
Masako was just in time, in happened, to hear the Englishman explain their reason for being here. He was a middle aged man, not especially tall, nor particularly short, with a smattering of grey in his well combed black hair. He nodded politely to her as she entered, "Miss Yamamoto, welcome, please have a seat. I am very glad to see so many of you here. My name is Adam Temple and, I suppose, I am now the Night Watch Captain for this fair city."
Were it not for the obviously English name it would be hard to tell Temple was a foreigner, his German was perfectly fluent. He looked across the group, giving the uncanny impression he knew exactly who each of them was, "How many of you have read the news today? A 100-trillion mark note from the Reichsbank. That would have bought you quite a bit two years ago. Well the good news is that I have the pleasure of offering you a job. It will pay well and it will pay in Swiss Francs."
"Now as for what the job is," he added, "You may not have noticed the news about the death of a gravedigger at the Old South Cemetery two weeks ago? Apparently eaten by stray dogs. You may not have realised that there have been another five people disappear since then, potentially more since most of the ones who have disappeared have been people who have reasons to be out well outside of normal hours, which is to say people with no homes and ladies of the night. One, a prostitute named Liane Schlosser was found a week ago inside the graveyard. Also apparently eaten by dogs. And that was when the Night Watch was contacted due to our... unique skill set in solving some of the more complicated cases. Since arriving in Munich this morning, I have discovered there were another two bodies found yesterday. No identification yet. Also, officially speaking, eaten by dogs, though no stray dogs have been sighted in the area."
"As for why you have been selected, I can tell you there is no Watch Chapter in this city, but as for why it was you specifically?" he gave a small, apologetic shrug, "I cannot say. The workings of this organisation are mysterious, even to me. But I can tell you why we are looking into this case specifically and that may give you an inkling of your purpose within this society - it is believed that there is the potentially something unnatural," he turned to look at Victor before adding, "Ungodly, at work in Munich. This may be true, or it may not be. Some of you will be inclined to believe this. Some of you will be inclined to be skeptical," he held his hands out, miming scales, "You will provide balance for one another and we will do our best to get to the bottom of what is happening around the Old South Cemetery. We may find nothing untoward, or you might find yourself pulling at the strings of something truly terrible."
"You are of course free to leave now," he added, "Help yourself to glass of port, enjoy the evening with a few colourful people, then leave this place and never look back. That is your choice. I am going to have a glass of port and do exactly that. But if you are interested in finding out more, talk to me and come back here tomorrow at eight in the morning. That is when the real work will begin."
He smiled, then made his way over to the table to pour himself a glass of port, letting the others talk amongst themselves... or approach Temple if they wanted to do that.
