Is There a Curse in Campeche?

Mackie was lying on her deck chair on board the S/S William Alexander, eyes closed, and sweating. Not perspiring, and definitely not glowing. There was sweat pouring down between her buttocks, and the underside of her bosom felt like a Turkish bath. Also, the wounds from fighting the panther a couple of days ago were stinging, and they also itched. Any future expedition had better Antarctica, or she'd stay in Arkham. She opened her eyes, flicked away ash from her cigarette, and placed the cigarette holder in the corner of her mouth. She could feel the thin lines around her mouth deepen as she puffed on the exclusive Virginia cut. Shit, it is still only the early evening of Wednesday, June 17, and I'm both drenched and parched. What the fuck is going on here? First we had what seemed to be a case of intentional food, or rather coffee, poisoning yesterday morning. Could the perpetrator have been one of the longshoremen who came on board to work on unloading the cargo? Ramon Sotomayor was down in the galley together with several of his men to grab just coffee. That's also where Franz and Felix (what a name for a circus act) found what seemed to be a broken test tube with some remnants of a compound. Good thing that Moira has a small lab running for God knows what weird purpose.

The vomiting was wretched, and I'll be damned if young Theodore Fitzroy managed to land his cascade of sick in my first deck chair. Gretchen Weiss followed suite, and then Dean Abbott. They were all feeling better now, still rather weak. Damnation! Then we had the much more disturbing case just yesterday, when Ellen Dumont was found dead and nailed to the city walls early this morning, her eyes gouged out. The Guardia Civil wanted to keep this away from the press and general attention, since the murder bore quite some resemblance to the killings of "Il Franchese", father Jean Victor de Galba, who was killed by the police on November 24 last year. Moira and Howards did pay several visits to the Guardia Civil, and Colonel Suarez together with Tenente Juan Alvarez (who found Ellen Dumont) were actually rather helpful, although they were really worried about the impact of the impact of Ellen Dumont might have on Campeche. Il Franchese had really left the townspeople terrified before he was hunted down and killed. As it turned out, de Galba's brother was actually cared for by the nuns of St. Barbara after he was driven beyond the end of his wits. What a mess! 

We've told the members of the expedition to be vigilant, but the students in particular are getting more than a little worried. Even the faculty members are getting worried. Several of the students are grumbling, while others are frustrated and homesick. Most of them are really scared, though. Fear tinged with uncertainty.

Howard Lake was quite certain that he's recognized one of the shady characters from Sloppy Joe's in Havana that evening when he eventually decided to enjoy some fine female fauna before retiring from the bar. Those guys... they were foreigners, and they were accompanied by two women, one older, homely looking, and another one, a true Latina goddess with a fantastic cleavage and the grace of a jaguar. Hell, even an oiled jaguar, if there was such a thing. They took turns observing the St. Agnes hospital when we were dealing with the poisoned explorers, Leighton and Shaw. But what are they doing here in Mexico, in Campeche? The dock workers did not seem to know anything about these people, and neither did Felipe Augustin, the leader of the Trotskyist Worker's Union. Lake was not to keen to ask the dock master, Ramon Sotomayor. He was just too unpleasant, brusque, and frankly, uncouth. 

Felix Jeremiah had been all over the docks and city walls, trying to orient himself and getting a lay of the land. Campeche was indeed a beautiful town, and quite lively to boot. Felix enjoyed watching the locals go about their business, and he managed to order a snack and café con leche at an old but fancy café called El Matador. The place was plastered with bull fighting memorabilia, and it all seemed quite exotic to Felix. As he walked back to the docks, he could not help noticing a group of what seemed to be longshoremen talking to an older woman wearing a wrinkled and frumpy dress. She was clearly quite good at Spanish, although even Felix noticed an odd accent. He also picked up a name he recognized: "Cormoran", on several occasions. Felix was hunkered down between two stacks of crates and a voluminous sack, so his field of vision was limited. Yet, he could not help noticing money changing hands and the woman leaving at an remarkable pace. She was actually so fast that Felix only managed to follow her a couple of blocks before losing track. Dammit! 

Moira Baker was rather happy with herself. She'd actually been able to complete a basic but efficient lab on board the S/S William Alexander with the help of Franz Alter. Apparently Captain Hardee did not mind, but then, perhaps he really didn't know what was going on. The residue in the crushed test tube that Franz and Felix found in the mess was fascinating to work on, and she was glad she read about the strange German chemical experiments that had been conducted just before the end of the Great War. She was almost entirely certain that this was the Germans called E-Stoff, and although it wasn't deadly, it was incredibly potent, creating very powerful nausea, vomiting, and apparently eerie hallucinations as well for a good 24 to 72 hours. 

She found it weirdly comforting that Franz would enjoy watching her work, his hands crossed in front of him, and seemingly never blinking. This reminded her of... never mind. Alter would occasionally point at something with his unnaturally long fingers and actually offer good advice, so good that Moira was thinking of having Franz complete the small laboratory. However, Franz assured her that this would not be necessary, and that he enjoyed watching her work. After all, Franz had his rats, and he was thinking of getting a few more. His poison had worked quite well, but there were tweaks to be made. If he only had a larger subject to test the poison on. So many questions could be answered. Now, where is that rascal Felix?

Jules Pollack was feeling weary. He had been walking around Campeche for almost the entire day, and his legs were stiff. Not was stiff as the drink he was holding in his right hand, but stiff nevertheless. Campeche seemed to hold great potential when it cam to antiques, and Mr. Oswald Lee had been quite helpful in translating. The market on the East Coast was typically not that interested in Latino art, but with artists like Diego Rivera being mentioned in the New York Times, Jules felt confident that he'd be able to restore the finances if J. Pollack Fine Arts before the end of 1925.

Another good thing about searching for antiques was that he actually managed to pick up a rumor or two. First of all, there were rumors of another group of Americans, two young men and two young women, visiting Campeche and asking questions, apparently about some old building. Secondly, the murder of Ellen Dumont was spreading like wildfire through Campeche, and four major rumors were circulating: 

•        The Aztecs are after the MacNamara Expedition
•        This is the work of the Guardia Civil and other oppressors
•         This is the work of counterrevolutionaries
•      Il Franchese, the Terror of the Night, is back!