Friday 1st February 1923 continued
Via Marco Polo and Blackshirts: After a quick return to our hotel to clean up and change out of bloodied clothes, we take a taxi to the Via Marco Polo. The street is quite long and has a steady incline. We begin our search. About two thirds of the way along, we spot the doorway. The lintel is quite worn in comparison to how it looks in the 18th century Benetz sketch, but the carved scene of Bacchus and his followers is unmistakable. The house is in a state of disrepair. The windows are boarded and the door is secured with a sturdy padlock and chain. Before we decide our next move we notice a gang of young adults in the street, wearing the distinct uniforms of the Blackshirts. And they’re heading towards us. To avoid possible confrontation we decide to return to our hotel for now. Over dinner we learn that local Blackshirts are searching for a group of foreigners, who apparently, are guilty of causing a disturbance and damage at a Trieste hostelry earlier today.
The Villa on the Via Marco Polo: After dinner we head back out wearing our best house-breaking attire. We decide not to risk a taxi and travel by foot, ensuring we’re not being followed. Back at the abandoned house, we gain entrance through the front as Letty picks the padlock and the securing chain is pulled free. After opening the door, we quickly file inside and turn on our flashlights.
The interior feels unnaturally cold. It’s dusty, the floorboards creak and rats scamper away from our approach. A cob-webbed reception desk gives us the idea that this place was once a hostelry of some sort. The villa has been empty for years. A hallway leads in the direction of the rear of the property. Off the hallway is a stair leading up and further on is a door to a cellar with steps leading down. Cartwright leads us down the hall and is the first to notice the movement on the stairs. The stairway is alive with deathwatch beetles. Ascending the rotted stair is considered unwise. We move past and investigate the cellar door.
The Cellar: Immediately inside the door is a small landing beyond which is a set of wooden steps leading downward into darkness. The cellar has a floor covered in years of dust and detritus. It is lined on one side by a sturdy wall constructed of dressed stone blocks; evidently part of a structure much older and larger than the current buildings in the street above.
The Ghost: The air suddenly becomes incredibly cold. Ludwig is first to notice a pale light. Moving down the cellar steps is the full apparition of an incorporeal man. His face is familiar. We’ve seen it in a recent portrait. This is undoubtedly the ghost of Johan Winckelmann. The wispy traces of light that trail behind him as he moves are reminiscent of the blurred photographs that Julius Smith showed us.
The ghost passes by as if he cannot see us and stops at the ancient wall. Looking around as if suspicious of watchers, the ghost produces a prybar and levers up a spectral flagstone from the floor and retrieves a leather-wrapped package from the space beneath. Spectral hands unwrap the package to reveal a gold medallion. Suddenly, as if afraid of being seen, Winckelmann’s ghost rewraps the package and buries it again with haste. The ghost rushes toward the stairs and fades away.
The Medallion: We clear away the thick dust beneath our feet to reveal a stone floor. Guessing at which flagstone we need, we prize it up to reveal a package wrapped in rotting leather. Ludwig lifts it up and opens it. Ludwig feels a shock of energy up his arm and reaching to his heart. He no longer feels cold. A single blast of lesser energy pulses away from the gold medallion and ripples through the cellar. Ludwig is unaware that only he feels it. And only he hears the distant howl of some dread beast.
One side of the medallion is covered in glyphs. Nobody in the cellar recognises the language or culture. The reverse side shows a humanoid figure that somehow looks not entirely human. The way it seems to almost move in the light of our torches when viewed from different angles is disturbing. Before leaving the cellar, Ludwig strings the medallion with a boot lace and wears it about his neck.
Back to the Hotel: On the walk back to the hotel everyone struggles to make headway against the Bora – everyone except Ludwig that is, who walks unimpeded. Ludwig doesn’t even need to hold his hat on; much like the Turks we’ve been seeing since arriving in Trieste whose unsecured fezzes remained firmly on their heads despite the gusting wind.
Tomorrow’s Plans: We need to travel to the Grotte di Postumia. The caves are largely unexplored and are accessible only by guided tour. There’s only one tour per day, at midday. We expect the caves to be the lair of the Beasts (as Winckelmann referred to them), and their cultists. The cultists have submitted themselves to their masters for centuries. Postumia is a small place. We must, in good caution, treat the caves, the station and even the town itself as possibly hostile to us.
With this in mind we decide to leave our precious luggage here in the safe room of the hotel. We consult a train timetable and decide to catch the morning train (not the Orient Express) from Trieste at 9.0a.m arriving at Postumia shortly before midday. This will make us just in time to join the daily cavern tour. The return train to Trieste leaves Postumia at 2.30pm. Hopefully enough time to achieve whatever we need to do. We certainly don’t want to be hanging around any longer than necessary.
MORE TO COME.....
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