The Journal of Jeeves Weisenthal

Campaign: Beyond the Mountains of Madness

The treasure at the end of the map
The natives were nice enough, for savages. Their preferences for tea left something to be desired, but even Jeeves would admit he was a perfectionist in that matter.
Jeeves, Stacey, and their two safari guides Harry and Peter were currently involved in a lively discussion and livelier meal with some Aborigines. Their guides had started the evening off with tales of their own daring-do, stories of rescuing animals or each other from storms, wildlife, or the like. Each was frequently interrupted by the other to add tidbits of failure or additional nuggets of details, but their laughter was infectious and soon the atmosphere was as relaxed as any informal gathering Jeeves had ever been to. Stacey had just finished holding the room in rapture with tales of his exploits in India, though the men seemed less impressed with the exotic locales and more impressed with the supreme heroism Stacey claimed.
“How's my memory, Jeeves?” Asked Stacey as he sat down and picked up his teacup. “I didn't leave out anything important, did I?”
“Only that none of them could match your skill with a sword, no.” Jeeves replied with a smile. “You seem to leave that part out often. If I didn't know you, I'd accuse you of modesty.”
Stacey's laugh could be heard outside their current meeting hall. A four-sailed bark ship, looking seaworthy in every respect except the massive gash where she'd been hulled by an unseen reef in, as far as Jeeves could make out, the late 18th century. The strangest part was its location, as it rested on its side nearly one hundred miles inland. Its sails were long gone, blown away by the wind, but the windblown dust and grit had kept the deck and hull scoured clean, and the dry climate kept the wood intact much longer than a native of the British Isles' rain-drenched lands could have imagined.
Stacey, Jeeves, Harry, and Peter were lead here by a map, said to lead to a fabled city made entirely of gold. The city turned out to be a hoax, but the native people living here were doing everything they could to make their new guests comfortable. What had started as a feast ended with storytelling, and had been going for some time.
The room quieted. One of the older men was standing up again, having told several stories earlier in the night. The room quieted as he began his tale.
“I have heard you ask how we ended up here, in a ship with no water. Many years ago a man carrying a sack came to my great-grandfather and told him to go to the giant water, what you would call the ocean, where he would witness the crash of a ship. My great-grandfather was told to bring the ship back here, and lay it to rest for his house.
“My great-grandfather took a hundred of his strongest men and traveled to the coast. The journey was dangerous, but the old man was insistent. No sooner than he had reached the coast did this very ship crash upon a reef, rending the tear in its side. The captain was most distressed, but was willing to trade the remains of the ship to my great-grandfather.
“Great-grandfather agreed, and soon had the ship pulled to the shore. His men fashioned rollers from great trunks washed up on the beach, and the captain was amazed as a mere hundred men drug it across the sands.
“Seven days it took the men to go to the shore, and seven weeks it took them to return. Great-grandfather swore they did not rest, they did not eat, and they did not stop until they had settled the great ship into the ground, after which the men fell over dead where they stood.
“My great-grandfather was angry, and asked the man with the sack 'Why? Why would you have me kill one hundred of my men to move a dead ship out of the water?'
“The man was unmoved, but put down his sack. 'This sack,' he said, 'contains the universe. Everything that was, is, and will be is in this sack. With it, I can do many things.' So saying, he put the sack down and opened it. All the men jumped up, alive and healthy as when they had left. And that is how he became our first guide.
“He taught my great-grandfather many things. Ways of farming to produce better plants, how to hunt the animals so they would breed in greater numbers, how to find water in even the deepest desert, and even the language we speak to you now. All he asked for was the privacy of the captain’s cabin, which we were happy to grant him.
“Then one day, he entered the cabin and did not come back out. We stay here and prosper in the hope that one day he will come back and teach us more.”
The man sat down, having spent himself with his tale. The room went silent, everyone looking in the direction of the captain’s cabin, as if expecting to hear the footsteps of an old man or the swish of a bag. The feast broke up quickly afterward.

Jeeves was used to sleeping in unfamiliar places, having been more or less constantly on adventures with Stacey for most of his adult life. Still, after a fairly short but vicious tour with the Army Jeeves had learned to sleep lightly. So when he awoke that night, he took a moment to discover why. Harry and Peter were gone, and Jeeves could hear muffled footsteps on the stairs leading to the deck. The rest of the natives in the hold were sleeping soundly, attacks from other people apparently not a worry.
Moving quietly, Jeeves and Stacey chased after their erstwhile guides. It was clear the pair they were chasing after were looking for treasure, and though Jeeves doubted a sack could contain the universe, it could have been filled with many other valuables. Gold, even a small amount, was enough to burden most common people with stupidity and even some nobles with adventure. But after a welcome such as they'd been given, stealing even the smallest trinket would be irredeemably rude, not to mention likely to anger those who had given them hospitality. Jeeves had no desire to fight his way out of an unknown fortified position again, after Stacey and he had nearly died the last time.
Stepping onto the deck, Jeeves' worst fears were confirmed. The door to the captain’s cabin stood ajar, resting on its hinges. Muffled voices could be heard from the interior, a pair of distinctly Australian accents intertwining with one another.
“You suppose this is the bag?” Harry inquired. “Feels a bit too light to contain a change of clothes, much less the entire universe.”
“Has to be,” Peter replied. “The bloke was holding on to it and there's nothing else in here. Hey, search his pockets while I see what's in here.”
Jeeves and Stacey had just opened the door to the cabin when they witnessed Peter open the bag. An unearthly scream, louder than anything Jeeves had heard before, emanated from the bag along with a powerful, unearthly wind. Peter was thrown into the cabin wall, the old wood shattering as he impacted. Jeeves and Stacey both gripped the door frame, trying desperately to retain their footing.
The scream grew louder, beating on the ears of the men like a foul instrument. It was like nothing Jeeves had heard before, an indescribably awful sound that filled Jeeves' head with pain. Looking in again, he could see Harry staring dumbly into the open end of the sack, gibbering.
“Jeeves!” Stacey called over the rising howl. “Jeeves! Damn it man, we have to get that sack shut! It sounds like my wife when we've been home too long!” Stacey hauled on Jeeves' shoulder, nearly losing his balance until Jeeves pulled himself together.
“You stay here and hold the door shut!” Jeeves yelled, “I'll head in there and close it – no point in the both of us losing our hearing!” He pulled himself through the door to Stacey's confirming nod, pulling himself hand-over-hand toward the middle of the room.
Sparsely furnished as a proper captain’s cabin should be, Jeeves saw only rubble in the room aside from his two guides and another corpse he didn't recognize. As he pulled himself forward, he focused on the dead man, desperate to keep his mind off anything but the shriek coming from the bag, the shriek that was hitting him at least as hard as the foul wind. As he made note of the man's Indian clothing, with the bright dyes they favored, he ignored the foul smell that started exiting the sack. As he noticed the age of the corpse, at least forty years dead if not more, he didn't notice the black light spilling forth. As he noticed the hands that had kept the sack shut had been moved, he didn't notice the voices whispering to him.
And then he was on the sack, fumbling for the top of the sack while trying not to look. Folding the top of the sack to seal it off was difficult, but Jeeves persevered to the slackening of both wail and wind.
Harry whimpered, quietly, just before the bag was closed. As Jeeves looked over to check on him, he caught the barest glimpse of what was in the bag.
Eyes.
Many eyes, of all shapes and sizes, all staring with lidless gazes from everywhere at once.

Jeeves woke up in the opposite corner of the room with Stacey shaking him.
“Jeeves! Capital work, old boy.” Stacey said, slapping Jeeves on the shoulder. “Managed to get everything taken care of with nary a problem. I was sure I hired you for a reason!”
Jeeves was about to respond when both men heard Harry abruptly stand. Jeeves was always impressed with the speed at which Stacey could move, but the speed at which Stacey drew his sword was even more astonishing than normal.
“I must take this now.” Harry said, monotone. “It is no longer safe here now that it has made itself known. Do not worry about those who greet. They will not harm you.”
“What?” Exclaimed Jeeves. “You're stealing their treasure and they will not harm us? And what is that anyway, that can make such a howl and such a force, yet stay in that bag!”
“Those who greet have been reclaimed, to be left with the bag in its new location.” Harry droned, no longer sounding like the Harry who had led Jeeves and Stacey here only the previous morning. “And the story was a falsehood, created to save the sanity of those who would seek such things. The bag does not contain the universe. “He turned to go, stooping and somehow looking more aged with every step. “It contains everything else.”
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An excerpt from "A trip to the South - A Memoir" - Excerpt 2
As we returned from the funeral, I had the fortune to meet another of the men we would be sailing south with. Mister Brighton-Foyle seemed a good British man, joining Stacey and I for a spot of tea whenever able. My first impression of a man melding the work ethic of a laborer and the sensibilities of a nobleman proved to be correct, though I would later come to amend that thought.
Starkweather, the impulsive man that he was, convinced his troupe to cut even more time off the departure. We would leave the very next day, with or without such minor considerations as proper supplies and adequate crew.
To the surprise of absolutely no person who had worked with military men before, a crisis arose before we had a chance to shove off. Even expecting everything to go wrong, I was surprised when the crisis turned out to be a massive gasoline fire.

I got lucky, I suppose, that Stacey immediately started organizing the firefighting efforts. Years ago he would have been the first man into the fire for some heroics, and I would have had to have been there at his side. As he called orders and the rescue was attempted by Buernor and Tyson, I manned the fire hose with Starkweather. Together with O'Neil, we managed to fight the fire with minimal loss of life, and I commenced first aid on those not hurt enough to require the attention of an accredited doctor.
Much to my suprise, Stacey and Buernor managed to chase down the arsonist. He proved surprisingly forthcoming with information, telling all in the hopes that I wouldn't have to speak with him again. It's no suprise, though, seeing as he was both American and sporting a broken wrist.
During all this bother, that Tallahassee managed to sneak a sail on us. Repairs to the ship would take a few days, but we managed to sail on without further ado.

I bunked with Stacey and Samuel, as Brits must. If nothing else, it simplified teatime, a ritual that has saved my sanity more than once on long sea voyages. Despite the constant work and my willingness to help anyone with any aspect they need, boredom does set in quickly. This time, classes were held every day on helpful skills in the Arctic and the culture these Americans are lacking.
Before cabin fever could set in too hard, we came to the Equator. During the crossing we were visited by a strange man and summoned before a court. I had experience with this court, but it was not something I would call myself comfortable in.


The page ends there, a full half-page ruined by watermarks. Strangely appropriate, considering the subject matter. -ed
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An excerpt from "A trip to the South - A Memoir"
Transcriber's note: As of the time of this writing, pages to this manuscript are being assembled. It is not clear if the memoir was written by Jeeves himself or ghostwritten by someone else.

Page 64:

The day started off with some questionable accommodations, but I was able to make them right. A few small accessories can make a room into a proper British accommodation, my wife has taught me. I did wish for her presence as I attempted to determine the correct placement of the tea set, but I believe to have succeeded.

Leaving to meet our leaders on this interesting expedition, we were informed of an impending physical inspection. While I profess to enjoy the company of Stacey and would fight to the death for him, I cannot help but admit I took a certain amount of pleasure hearing him exchange words with the dentist.

Exploring the ship, I discovered numerous small hiding places. I determined if I could act now, I could ensure a sufficient amount of tea for the entire journey. The ship's stores called for several cases of tea, but if I am to be along for a year or more I will not stand to only drink the abomination Americans call tea.

After a quiet day of introductions and service, I assisted Stacey in checking the manifest. As one may assume, the charter being American, we found an astounding number of problems. Large timbers had not been ordered, notes had been ignored or misdelivered, and parts had not been stored correctly. The process took well into the night, but we persevered with traditional British stoicism.

We spent the entire next day, the 3rd, fixing the problems we identified. I spent the majority of the day at a lumberyard, ensuring nothing but the finest quality lumber was delivered, then watching Stacey bribe the correct people to license himself to buy explosives. I do hope this doesn't give him ideas, as Lady Clarissa would be furious if Stacey came back with fewer fingers than when he left.

The morning of the 4th I was just finishing breakfast preparations when Starkweather engaged on his daily rant. We now had a rival in Lady Acacia Lexington, quite an interesting woman. Our reporter friend dug up several interesting notices on this woman, including a past history with Starkweather and a possible angle on fortune by homicide, all of which made me thinkshe was one to keep an eye on during our trip.
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