[img_assist|nid=5785|title=|desc=|link=popup|align=left|width=640|height=443]
Curse the Mayor, and all with him!
Effingham raged in his mind as he walked slowly up the ramp toward the former site of Dagon Hall, his heart still seething with anger over the destruction of the Hall and the disappearance of his servants. He regretted having had a travel obligation that took him away following the ugly scene with the Mayor the previous December, when the Mayor had accused him and The Order of being somehow responsible for the events that surrounded the reappearance of that Moriarty character, and the chaos that followed. The Mayor had gone so far as to freeze the Order’s assets such as were in New Babbage, but that was but a small fraction of The Order’s wealth, and was of no consequence.
More concerning to him were his missing acolytes. He had spent the two weeks since his return trying to find them, but to no avail. None could be found within New Babbage, not even the head deacon, and certain administrative records seemed to have disappeared with them, as if the individuals had never set foot here. Effingham strongly suspected the Mayor and his Council were behind all this trouble, and planned a terrible retribution.
Tenk will pay, and this town. Ia! The stars will soon align, and by Dagon HE will come at my call, and they shall all pay beneath HIS feet!
He reached the top of the ramp and turned up the steps onto the grounds. He had been so lost in thought that he had not noticed the man standing quite close until he had nearly run into him. As he stepped back, startled, the man turned and nodded.
“Good evening,” he said. He seemed totally unconcerned by Effingham’s sudden appearance.
“Good evening,” said Effingham, returning the courtesy. The man was tall, dressed all in black with a high stovepipe hat, and carrying a dark, dangerous looking cane in his gloved hand. The topper was pulled down nearly to the man’s eyebrows, and Effingham could see a shadow of a well-trimmed beard in the rapid graying of the evening.
The man turned back to face the ruins and spoke. “A pity,” he said swinging the cane around and putting it and his hands behind his back. “Always a pity when fine old architecture is destroyed.”
Effingham, now relaxing after the sudden start, nodded. “Indeed, sir.” He stepped forward and turned, hoping to get a better look at the man, but the light had already faded to near dark.
“Pardon me sir, but your accent. You’re American?” asked Effingham.
“Yes,” said the man. “I arrived two months ago, seeking land in New Babbage for a business venture. Having procured that, I have been studying the history of the place while the building proceeded, and ran across some records of this lot and its history, and a wonderful picture of it in the Town Hall. I found it quite fascinating.”
Effingham tok a step closer to the man, and struck a dignified pose.
“Permit me to introduce myself. I am Zachariah Effingham, and this was once mine.”
“I know, Mr. Effingham. I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the man with just a hint of a chuckle. He grinned wide and extended his hand.
“The name … is Dark.”
…and the plot thickens….