Horror's Heart (Call of Cthulhu) IC

[Voshkod]

"You know, chaps, they have these fellows at librarians, called librarians, I think. Bored, tragically underpaid, but quite bright, some of them." Averell takes another crepe. "We go to the University, research the LaVoie's ourselves, and give one of these marvellous chaps a few quid to do the research on the Saint for us. Then we pick it up after the funeral."

[Civil War Man]

"That's probably not a good idea," said Neil. "Until we know more about what's going on with that heart, I think we should try to involve as few people as possible. Despite what Philip said, after seeing that worker panic the way he did in the tomb last night, I'm not convinced that there aren't people out there who would do whatever necessary to stop all research regarding this saint."

[Dark Seeker]

"I'm inclined to agree with Neil," Ian offers. "Philip wants us to keep this quiet. Bringing more attention to the heart's existence might attract attention we'd rather avoid. Also, until we can be sure of the effect it has on people, it may be better to inform no one else about it."

[Xsesiv]

The library's newspaper and magazine archives turn up much about the LaVoies; in fact there's a funeral notice in today's paper.

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LaVOIE, LUCIEN
Released in Royal Victoria Hospital from an illness of some length, attended by and dear father to Jean-Claude and Jacques, beloved grandfather to Stéphane and Céline, kindly uncle to Hugh, who implore the blessings of Our Lord Jesus Christ upon Lucien. A private graveside service for family and invited friends to be held this afternoon. Observances in Lucien's name may be made to charitable institutions.

On the other hand, there's nothing there about what happened at le Bistro d'Or last night.

As for the other LaVoies:

Jean-Claude LaVoie

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Jean-Claude LaVoie has a reputation as a cunning, ruthless businessman. If he has any weaknesses, nobody knows what they are. Rumour has it that he keeps several mistresses, but if that is true, they are very private affairs. Nobody has seen him in public with any woman except Céline, his daughter, or Nadia, his wife and the mother of Stéphane and Céline, who died giving birth to the latter. By all accounts he mourned her loss deeply.

Jacques LaVoie

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Jacques LaVoie is known as a stupid, ineffectual man, and rumoured to have been in trouble with the Caprice crime family in the Chicago Mob. His son Pierre was poised to take over McTanish after the death of Jacques and Jean-Claude, but six years ago Pierre disappeared; a year after that, Jacques' wife Johanna left him, and Jacques began to drink heavily. Since then, he's not been up to much.

Stéphane LaVoie

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Stéphane, if anything, is even more cunning and cool than his father. Nobody has ever seen him cry, shout, or stumble over words. He is being primed to take over McTanish, and has gained a reputation as a modest, witty speaker who thinks quickly and deeply, a potential provincial or dominion leader. He has a widely-quoted faith in the enduring evil and destructive nature of mankind, famously having predicted that a second Great War with Germany is inevitable, and it is speculated that when he takes over McTanish he will expand into munitions, but for that he must wait for the death or approval of both his father and Jacques, the latter well-known to deeply dislike him.

Céline LaVoie

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Céline is easily the most famous LaVoie, having made a name for herself as a Broadway actress. Her dazzling romances are well-recorded but her public comportment is impeccable. When she's not acting, she returns to Montréal to donate money and time to charities helping the poor. To many, she is the only LaVoie, very highly regarded and deferred to by every social class as the embodiment of Québécois vitality and femininity.

Hugh LaVoie

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Who is this? There's nothing about anyone called Hugh LaVoie in any of the papers or magazines.

Averell's unable to find any paper trail related to James of Andrews or Saint Cutis, except for a basic overview in Francis X. McDowell's Petals of the Rose of God: the Handy Reader's Guide to the Lives of the Saints.

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A Holy Life

St. Cutis was born in England in 1458. Christened James, his parents died when he was young, and he was brought up in the Holy Heart of Mary Orphanage. The name Andrews apparently marks his place of birth in London, near St. Andrew's Cross. At age thirteen, he was adopted by one Hatum Cutis, who became James' guardian and tutor until the young scholar took priestly vows at the age of twenty.

He was now as often Cutis as James, taking his guardian's family name as a first name. His energy, intelligence and piety won him quick influence in London and then in Rouen, France, and then finally in Rome. In 1509, while on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, he performed three miracles; that of healing a dying man, that of calming a storm, and that of sleeping on razor-sharp stones to confound the mockey of unbelievers. He returned to England, where a small cultus formed in his favour. In 1516, he gain entered the Ottoman Empire and is thought to there have been martyred for the Faith. He was beatified in 1547 and canonised in 1591.

That he died a martyr no doubt helped his case for sainthood, but his life also provides evidence of the necessary qualities, as affirmed by the Holy See: a reputation for sanctity, heroic virtue, and proof that he worked at least two miracles.

After this, search though he might, Averell simply doesn't have time to turn up anything more credible from records of the time.

[Voshkod]

"Bah," Averell says, closing the book in a cloud of dust. "Waste of time. We'd best get to the funeral."

[Xsesiv]

It's a twenty-minute cab ride and then a ten-minute walk through the flourishing green graveyard to the side of the grave.

Thirty or so black-clad mourners stand around a newly-dug grave, headed by a priest who says a blessing in Latin and then falls into silence. And there he is: Jean-Claude LaVoie in a plain blue suit. The man, the myth, the multimillionaire.

He stands to the coffin's right, beside a massive pile of overturned dirt. Loud sobs wrack his body, while his son, Stéphane, tightly squeezes his right hand and struggles to hold back his own tears, having changed his Italian suit for one identical other than being not olive, but black. Céline is weeping freely and hugging Jean-Claude's left arm, wearing an enormous black hat. He matches neither of them in build. Where Stéphane is tall and thin and Céline small, Jean-Claude is of average height but looks muscular and very fit physically. His hair is black, touched with grey at the temples, and he has a classic Gallic nose.

A few dry old dead leaves are picked up by the wind and carried to rest on the lowering coffin. The coffin hits the bottom of the grave, the gravediggers begin to fill it in, the funeral ends and the mourners walk to their automobiles. Céline helps her still weeping father, while Stéphane scans the cemetery, looking removed.

[Voshkod]

The display of raw emotion repels Averell. He watches while keeping his distance, waiting for the ceremony to end, for these people to get control of themselves again.

[Dark Seeker]

Having seen his fair share of grief, Ian is able to detach himself from the event. His eyes scan the crowd as he wait patiently for the service to end.

When it does, he approaches the lost looking Stéphane. "I'm sorry for your loss," he offers, likely unhelpfully.

[Xsesiv]

"Thank you," mutters Stéphane, who seems to Ian to be uncommonly wary and agitated.

Averell notices that Lucien LaVoie's other son Jacques isn't here. Mortimer, Ian and Neil look in a certain direction for a second or two, and there is a large, black Newfoundland dog, tongue lolling out and tail wagging, on a hill in the graveyard. Seeing it's been spotted, it chases its tail for a few seconds, then sits and looks back at the group, still wagging its tail and lolling its tongue out.

[littlebottom]

"Awwww, Isn't he... or she, sweet." Mortimer comments looking at the dog chasing its tail, not remembering much about the attack being as he was out cold for most of it.

[Dark Seeker]

"Is anything wrong?" Ian asks, not liking the paranoia Stéphane displays in front of them. "Did the thugs come back?"

He glances to the side, spotting the dog. It looked rather similar to the one from last night, but what significance did it have? Ian will decide to try approaching it cautiously a second time. The doctor will mutter kind words and attempt to calm the dog into letting him pet it.

"Such a cutie wootie. You want to be scratched behind the ears, pup?"

[Xsesiv]

"No, never mind about it," says Stéphane, unhelpfully.

The dog allows Ian to stroke it, which is decidedly odd behaviour for a dog which has, it turns out, a long gash right through its left eye. The gash appears, on closer inspection, to have closed cleanly, as though disinfected and stitched, and seems well on its way along the healing process.

After it recieves the promised scratch behind the ears, it bounds ahead a short distance, stops and looks back. It clearly wants to be followed.

[Voshkod]

"Ah. The dog," Averell says. "The one that saved my life last night." He shakes his head. "Never thought I'd say that." He starts to follow the hound.

[Dark Seeker]

Seeing how unhelpful Stéphane is being, and having nothing better to do, Ian follows the dog who saved them last night.

[Civil War Man]

Neil had not approached the family after the funeral. He had assumed that, when they were ready to explain things, they would let him know.

The others seemed to have put that out of their minds, for now, to pay attention to the large dog that was hanging about. He was not there when the Newfoundland showed up last night, but he was told on the way back as everyone recapped the night's events. If the others were intent on following the dog, he would accompany them.

[Xsesiv]

The Newfoundland leads its friends around the graveyard until the mourners have all left the graveside, then it returns and scrabbles at the headstone, which reads:

LUCIEN LaVOIE
1832-1923
L'ours avec trois jambes indique la bonne voie
Fais jamais un bol grimacer
Car le corbeau ne restera pas.

Its mission apparently accomplished, the dog lopes away.

French:

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The Epitaph:

The three-legged bear points the way
Never make a bowl frown
Lest the raven not stay.

[littlebottom]

"... Can anybody read the epitaph?" Says mortimer not very good with french.

[Voshkod]

"Yeah, let me try," Averell says. "Uh, three birds with an Indian vole hat. A grimicing ball. A chicken rests here."

[Civil War Man]

"I have no idea what it says," said Neil. "But something tells me that that is not it. Seriously, Averell. You might want to consider cutting back on the absinthe, because what you just said is complete gibberish."

[Voshkod]

"Well, I might have taken a few liberties with the translation," Averell says with a grin. "Anyway. A three-legged bear points the way. Could be a reference to the Big Dipper, part of Ursa Major? The handle of the Dipper points to the North Star, after all. Ravens and bears are common in the aboriginal myths, both Canadian and American. Never make a bowl frown. That, I'm not sure about, though it puts me in mind of Carroll's 'how is a raven like a writing desk.'"

[Dark Seeker]

" It says, "The three-legged bear points the way. Never make a bowl frown, Lest the raven not stay. Hmm."

"Based on the layout of the message, I get the odd feeling it's some sort of warning, though I can't imagine what for. Averell's guess is as good as mine. Perhaps now is the time to visit the library, after our meeting with the LaVoie's."

[Xsesiv]

The cab follows the LaVoie cars back to the estate, up a great circular drive. The centrepiece of finely trimmed gardens, from the mansion can be seen the bustle of Montréal and the river beyond.

The large mansion has been built in the Second Empire style with false mansard roofs, segmented windows and projecting pavilions, as have the other buildings: a small mansion and a relatively modest house. The car pulls up to the huge front doors, and on entry to the grand interior, the group are greeted by a plump, fair-skinned butler of average height with a fringe of white hair around his bald pate.

"The LaVoies have gone to their rooms to change, but come with me," says the butler, and guides his guests through to an huge, panelled study. Beside the far door is an enormous desk, lined in wine-coloured leather, while light from a series of towering windows bounces off the polished floor, and the view looks out over manicured lawns. On the walls hang Watteau paintings; the connoisseur notices Les Jaloux, 'The Jealous Ones', in oils. To the world, this picture was known only as an engraving.

"Do sit down, gentlemen. A drink or a cigar, perhaps?" asks the butler.

[littlebottom]

Mortimer takes a seat and politely declines the butlers offers. "This meeting should shed some light on whats been going on, yet somehow i feel like it will cause more problems and upset than solve them." He says to no one in particular.

[Voshkod]

"Well, I'll have one of each!," Averell says enthusiastically. `

[Xsesiv]

The butler serves the drinks and cigars from a liquor cabinet in the corner and returns to his butling.

Enter Céline, dressed well but casually, followed shortly by Jean-Claude, her father. Jean-Claude sits behind the desk, wearing another plain suit, a stern expression of tired intentness, and a demeanour that makes him appear to be ten feet tall. His graveside sorrow has vanished.

"Let's not waste time," he says in English that is midway between his son's and his daughter's in strength of accent: the French colouring the occasional word. His speech is slow and careful, with laboured breathing: he looks physically ill, but that illness does not seem to have affected an obviously keen mind. "I do not know why you are here in Montréal, and, what is more, I do not care. I do, however, care about my family's welfare. Céline believes that you are a group of intelligent, compassionate people, and your reputations, which I have taken the liberty of inspecting through agents, generally also suggest this to be the case. I feel that I can trust you, I who do not make a general policy of trusting people. You have helped my family before, but I want to ask your help again. What I am about to tell you is unbelievable; of this I am aware, but it is the truth nonetheless."

"My father is trying to kill me."

[Voshkod]

Averell sips his drink, takes a puff from his cigar, as he tries to manifest a response. "Your dead father, correct? The one you buried today?" He shakes his head. "Well, I've read of stranger things. Revenants. Vengeful spirits. Is this at all connected to the tombstone inscription? Some sort of protective charm?"

They're probably nuts, he thinks to himself, but a man does read things in old libraries, and hears things in late-night opium fueled rambling discussions with people like Crowley.

[Xsesiv]

Jean-Claude nods. "My dead father, indeed. I'll start at the beginning," he says. "My father Lucien moved from France with my mother Clara and my brother Jacques in 1857. Jacques was one year old at the time; I hadn't yet been born. Two years later, my brother André was born, but he died in infancy. I was born in 1862. We lived in various parts of northern Québec until my mother died. That was in 1878."

"Shortly after that, my father began to go insane. He blamed me for his wife's death. He began to be violent and it became necessary for me to flee, so I came to Montréal with nothing but dreams of success. It didn't go too badly. I did well in business, acquired McTanish before Prohibition passed in the US, and brought it here. Jacques joined me here in 1898, mainly for the sake of his son Pierre, who unfortunately disappeared some time ago."

"I used to send my father money, but I didn't have any contact with him until four months ago, when he turned up on the doorstep. I didn't trust the brooding old man, and nor did Jacques. We put him up in the guest house, but stayed distant."

"I was seeing specialists at the Royal Victoria Hospital, but it wasn't enough to save him. He went completely mad about three weeks ago. The butler saw him walking through the mansion gallery last month, lightly swinging a hatchet. He suddenly stopped and chopped into a picture of me."

"Thinking he could be that sort of danger to us was the last straw. I had him hospitalised, and when they examined him, they found a brain tumour. In the last few weeks his mental state got worse and worse. The day before his death, he was almost incoherent, but he told me he was going to curse me. He wrote his epitaph, performed the curse, and the butler found him dead in his bedroom the next day."

He sighs and looks over the group. "By your backgrounds, you know – or at least you'd be unsurprised to learn – that magic is real, yes? Well, my father's curse is also very real."

"Please remove this life-threatening curse my father has placed on me. I don't care if you believe me or not, I only want you to help me. The curse has been structured so that nobody of LaVoie blood can enter Lucien's room, where the curse was cast, and I cannot have something like this leaked to the press. You cannot yourselves be injured, and all the implements used in the casting are untouched in Lucien's room."

"The curse lifted, you will be duly rewarded: Two thousand dollars – US or Canadian, as you choose – each, and a thorough explanation. You don't have to decide this instant, but time is of the essence. I'd like a decision this afternoon, and the actual lifting of the curse must be done soon. Tomorrow night would be best. If you agree, you can look at the bedroom where the curse was cast, but only briefly. I have dinner guests this evening who won't take kindly to strangers on the estate."

He sits back to allow his guests to deliberate.

[Dark Seeker]

Ian has seen enough to know this was no ordinary case, so the doctor took Jean-Claude's admission that a curse had been placed on him rather well.

"I'm by no means an expert on curing curses, but I will do my best, provided the rest of my companions agree," he explains, mostly wanting to look into the curse to satisfy his ever present intellectual curiosity.

"Of course, any information you could provide us with on how to lift the curse would be most useful."

He looks at the rest of the group, waiting to hear their responses to the proposition.

[littlebottom]

"I'm certainly willing to try my best to help you." Mortimer says with a slight bow of the head.

"I think the sooner the better, we should take a look at this room, see what we can find out."

[Xsesiv]

"Of course, any information you could provide us with on how to lift the curse would be most useful."

"Provided the curse has been cast through the conventions of French-Canadian folklore, then the traditions would suggest that reversing the ceremony would reverse the curse. Simplicity itself," provides Jean-Claude. "Otherwise, I'm not sure I can help. And the rest of you?"