April 28th, 1896, London.
7:13 in the evening.
Second floor sitting room.

"A pair of tens"

"You've beaten me again Colonel" said Arnold Meyer, in a rather lackluster voice, as he placed his cards on the small table. The highest cards in his hand were a lowly pair of sevens. He had been hoping, that he would've gotten something to complement the king spades or the ace f hearts that he had held onto. No such luck and a lost of fifteen shillings. Maybe it was sign, that when coupled with his boredom, was a sign that he should start planning another hunting trip, out of the country.

"Have no fear Lef-tenant" chortled Colonel Goodman, an old and rather portly gentleman who had served in India, "Play a few more hands and your luck will turn."

The old man, who had retired from all things (save for drinking, cards and more meals then was good for him), was one of the few members of the Over-Seas Explorers Club, who could be constantly found at the meeting house. There were a few others, who had likewise grown too old to head out into the field and spent most of their time swapping stories or staring wistfully at the large world map, where other members of the club had mark the general area of the world they had headed off to. The number of actively exploring members at the meeting house was always in flux, save for their probationers (of whom there was only one currently, a Dan by the name Jens Larson), who would always be at the clubhouse. After their first exploration while in the club, they become full-fledged members.

"Excuse me sirs" announced Johnson to the entire room, a youthful but professional butler, "But there is a Ms Fiore Milano awaiting in the room below. She claims that she has something of interest for the club as a whole. I have asked her to wait until a delegation could come down to see her."

"While what does she have" called Goodman.

If there was one thing Fiore's partner in crime paid a nit-picky amount of attention to, it was Fiore's appearance. In fact, he paid about as much attention to it as he did his own. Thus, Fiore was forced into an outfit much too fancy and much too restricting for the journey ahead. As Asher had told her when he was pulling her corset strings taught “you can wear that ugly gypsy attire when we're in the jungle”. This was rather insulting, seeing as Fiore had deducted that her “gypsy attire” probably cost about as much as the dress she'd been squeezed into.

Still, if they'd been dressed like a pair of thieves they probably wouldn't have been let into the Gentlemen's club to begin with. In fact, Fiore was surprised they were even allowed to step into the door to begin with. She was more than sure that a “Gentleman's club” held only gentlemen aside from the women which were entertaining them. Though, Asher had reminded her that this was an exploration club and not a cabaret.

Map in one hand and a fan in the other Fiore had watched as the young butler whom she had just recently explained her story to walked away in order to discuss her terms of being there with the gentlemen in the gentleman's club. Now, mild mannered women would have probably waited for the butler to come back to the first floor so as to be escorted to the men she was about to meet. Fiore on the other hand had about as much impatience as world history had genocide. Because of this the young woman, her half Asian cross dressing companion in tow, had followed close enough behind the butler to trail him but not so close as to let him know he was followed.

Ear pressed to the door with one hand cupped over it, Fiore listened to the conversation that went on in the next room. Every now and then she'd shift in discomfort, the clothes she was wearing being much too hot for the weather. Tucking back a stray hair that had fallen into her face Fiore grinned as an older sound man asked what she had. Oh yes, that was most certainly her cue.

“Gentlemen!” Fiore chimed in an almost theatrical tone as she pushed the double doors open. “What I have is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” She grinned, holding the map between her thumb and forefinger with a smile, leave it to Fiore to be dramatic. “I'm sure a couple of. . .” She paused as if to look for a word. “Fine explorers such as you have heard of the treasure of Atahualpa, yes?” She asked, rolling the map out so as it show the image inside.

Ashley sat quietly in a plush chair in the corner, idly watching the Colonel and Lef-tenant play cards, at least his eyes were cast in their direction. His mind was busy wondering on what his next trip should include. He was torn between South Africa and India at the moment, and going over the ups and downs of each. He had recently received a new camera, much easier to carry, and was anxious to see how it performed in the field.

He only barely noticed the butler enter, and payed little mind to the conversation at hand. That is until the doors swung open to the sound of a young womans voice that pulled him from his thoughts. She held herself very dramatically, Ashely could tell that the woman had been trained, and the careful way she spoke affirmed the fact.

It was a bit out of place, such an unannounced entrance by some one out side of the club was by and large unheard of. Added to that the fact that this was a woman and she launched strait into her proposal with out so much as a courtesy, it was a queer occurrence to say the least.

"I'm sure a couple of...fine explorers such as you have heard of the treasure of Atahualpa, yes?"

It was hard to imagine any answer other than yes in a room full of men who spent their lives exploring the world and finding that which history had lost.

"That, Atlantis, and the courage of France, none of which have been found I'm afraid." He spoke up as he settled one leg over the other and rested an elbow on the arm of the chair. His distinct southern American accent was a pointed contrast to that of the other men in the room. He had heard of many things over the years, some history turned to myth, and some myth turned to history. Personally he felt all three of his list fell firmly in the later category.

There Fiore went again. The woman always had to make quite the dramatized entrance into any type of situation. Well at least she looks good. Asher thought. In his opinion, he thought himself to be an amazing artist. Sure the subject was nice looking, but the clothes she wore just weren't suited for an upstanding club like the one that they were in currently. Fiore's attire wasn't the only thing that Asher took pride in doing. His own appearance was that of a lovely lady. When he had looked into the mirror there had been no wonder of why no one realized that he was male underneath the lace, frills, and make-up.

To be honest if it were up to Asher he wouldn't even be in their current situation. Asher had been having an exciting time in Portugal, living it up in the home of a noble man. What he had been expecting was to steal what he could after the fun turned dull, not the lovely Fiore tracking him down to tell him of the "adventure" that she and his former associates. Apparently his choice to perfect is thieving skills instead of going with the team to follow the damned treasure map had been a good one considering that all but Fiore had perished during the expedition.

"I'm sure a couple of...fine explorers such as you have heard of the treasure of Atahualpa, yes?" His companion loudly announced to all the inhabitants inside of the room. To announce that she possessed a treasure map to an ancient treasure was exactly subtle. Asher wondered if Fiore had ever learned of the word tact.

"That, Atlantis, and the courage of France, none of which have been found I'm afraid." With that comment it seemed that Asher wasn't the only odd "man" out. From the accent that accompanied the words the man was not of European origins. It was the third thing listed that brought a smile to Asher's face. Now he may not have spend much of his time in France but Asher wasn't a particular fan of it's people. Maybe it had been because he was raised in Britain, the eternal rivalry between the two countries influencing his opinion.

With that smile still in place he moved his way towards his counterpart, placing a delicate hand gracefully onto Fiore's shoulder. "Now, what brave men would like to accompany a couple of lovely ladies on an expedition to find fame and fortune?" If Fiore wanted to use the direct approach, Asher would act along with the situation. There was no point in beating around the bush. Hand still placed on the woman's shoulder Asher used his free one to push back a couple of loose curls from his face, his eyes studying and sizing up the many men inside of the room.

“Good lord ma’am” exclaimed Goodman, his face turning an indigent red (and not from the amount of tawny port he had been drinking) over this sudden intrusion of the club, by not only a none member but one of the fairer sex! It was enough to make have her escorted from the house (this of course being a gentler alternative to the normal practice of throwing interlopers into the street). The butlers face was a close match but he wisely back-stepped from the room.

“There there Colonel” said Arnold in a soft tone, while patting the older gentleman’s shoulder. As he managed to calm Goodman, another member of the club spoke up, one of the Americans he believed and made a jab at the French. A smile spread over the lips of the weathered hunter and a laugh bubbled up from his chest. An offer of adventure and insults at an old rival, maybe this evening would be a good one after all and the lose of his shillings be worth it.

Now he didn’t know much about this treasure of Atahualpa, having only heard of it while in the map room, while a couple of chaps were planning a trip to South America. Now if she had claimed to have a map to say, King Solomon’s Mines or the other treasures of sun baked Africa, well he would have perked up right away. However, he was getting bored just sitting around London (and subject to his mother’s endless parading of unmarried girls of the gentry before him).

“Good evening Ms Milano” said Arnold, standing up, making a short bow and then tugging his light blue military jacket straight, “While we are all eager to partake in glory and the untamed unknown, might you be willing to submit your map make to examination? Many have been lead astray by false maps and lying guides. Perhaps Dr. Preston Harvey, a historian of good standing. Johnson, run and fetch the him, would you?”

“Of course Lord Meyer” came the voice of the butler, followed by hurried footsteps down the staircase.

The rotund man hadn't managed to sufficiently capture Fiore's attention. He wasn't attractive, and thus didn't matter to her. While Fiore was well aware that it was horrible to rank people in order of importance by how good looking they were, well, she didn't quite care. Her partner was terribly pretty and sharp as a tack, and Fiore would be damned if all of the important people in the world should have both qualities.

Fiore would have laughed at the comment about the French had it not implied that the American hadn't believed her in some way. This displeased Fiore, people seemed to have a habit of not believing her. Then again, she had a habit of lying. Suppressing a sneer Fiore simply replied with a quick quip.

“Well, clever of it to have never been found when I've seen it with my own two eyes.” She said with an almost snooty air. Like anyone else in the room Fiore had an accent. It was a watered down Italian accent, enough to be prominent but not prominent enough to make her English unintelligible. Fiore wasn't sure if anyone knew about the latest party that had gone after the treasure, but her gang of thugs were notorious enough to have at least some sort of fame. Then again, these were the clean sort of folk, they probably hadn't committed a real crime in their life. At least not on purpose.

Fiore's attention shifted from the American to another man, who's defining trait wasn't an accent but a rather large mustache. He didn't seem half as angry as the plump one, who would surely go into cardiac arrest if he didn't calm down, but he was still to be held in a careful regard. They weren't friends, not yet, and that made them foes. Right now Fiore was still in enemy territory.

“Oh of course I wouldn't mind.” Fiore smiled, but shot a look at her companion. This look could be interpreted as an 'I told you so' look, however, her eyebrows were raised just a bit too high. No, this look was a 'If they steal our map I'm expecting you to steal it back' type of look. It would be easier for Asher to get away with such a crime, he could go in as a man, and them come out as a woman, he was harder to identify.

“And I will be there to witness this examination?” Fiore asked, rolling the map up and holding it in both hands. The woman had an almost manic attachment to the piece of parchment, not that she overtly displayed it, there were certain aspects of one's personality that didn't call for theatrics. Besides, she'd gone through hell and back, and she would be damned if she let a group of dandies steal her map. They could have it after they found her damn treasure, but until then she wanted the map in her custody.

*Dr. Preston Harvey’s office, London*

Abigail Avery was not a woman often prone to fits, but at the moment she was somewhat in a tizzy. This morning had been a complete nightmare, and the afternoon had been little different. Violent compulsions were new to Abby, but at the moment, if her current employer Dr. Harvey were not already on a ship taking him to the other end of the globe, she would have liked to shoot the man with his own decorative pistol. Coming into the office this morning to see the Dr. nowhere in sight should have been the first sign that Abby’s day was about to take a very bad turn, but this intuition would not be confirmed until almost noon when she receive a telegram from him reading:

Abby,

I’ve been invited on an expedition in Egypt by an old school chap of mine. Very last minuet, but very important work, I’m sure you understand. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so be a darling and hold down the fort until my return. Tell the boys their papers will be in the mail, and be sure to keep my accounts in order.

-Dr. Preston Harvey

Abby has spent the rest of the day explaining to the good Dr.’s business associates, and a particularly rude and disgruntled group of college students, that Dr. Harvey was not available, no she did not know when he would be back, nor did she know where in Egypt he was going and could not produce a mailing address. Predictably, no one had taken that news well, and as most did in the world of academia; relieved their own stress by verbally berating the one closest to the person causing the problem; which happened to be her. The majority of her day had been snooty men of the upper crust telling her in detail how she was an incompetent, silly, little girl, because Harvey hadn’t had to decency to give her fair warning, or even any details before he weaseled his way out of the country on his “expedition”. More likely an old boys pleasure trip to Cairo, and the prick had left her behind and specifically given her nothing to calm his frantic associates and students with so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

As she was filing documents in the office’s filing cabinet on the second floor, a knock came from the old wood door. “Come in!” Abby called down, an almost exasperated note in her voice. Johnson, looking a bit out of breath came into the office immediately, and pulled a handkerchief and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Dr. Harvey? Your presence is requested at the Over-seas Explorers club. Your brand of expertise is needed.” Johnson called up, obviously thinking the good Dr. was aloft.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to get in line directly behind the young college bucks old boy.” Abby said, blowing a stray curl of dark brown hair that had come loose from her coil out of her face, and descended the stairs to the lower level of the office. “Abigail Avery, Dr. Harvey’s assistant.” Abby introduced herself dryly.

“Well young lady, would you know where I might find Dr. Harvey?” Johnson inquired stiffly.

“Cairo.” Abby related dryly. She did not particularly appreciate being referred to as ‘Young Lady’ as if she was still some willy nilly school girl. At 24 she wasn’t an old maid, but she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken in most’s minds either. “But that’s just my educated guess. Dr. Harvey Departed this morning, and has left no indication as to his return.” Abby continued.

“Well bother…”Johnson said under his breath.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Abby offered without any real interest, but trying to be polite.

“No offense Miss Avery, but the help we required was to rid the club of a shady woman, not bring another.” Johnson said, appalled by the very thought of what Mr. Goodman would do if he swathe club invaded by yet another female.

“I beg you pardon?” Abby asked, a tad insulted.

“Woman Miss, not shady!” Johnson assured quickly. “A very shady woman has invaded our club with a map she claims is a treasure map. Utter poppycock, but the gentlemen of the club wish to have the map verified before turning the little Italian tart out. That’s why we needed Dr. Harvey.” Johnson explained.

“Well if it’s just a little trifle like that, I am more than qualified to come to your employer’s assistance.” Abby said grabbing her coat and bag, mind quite made up. Any chance she had of building a credible reputation of her own that could not be spun off as attached to some other man she worked with, was worth it’s weight in gold.

“Miss, please, I must protest! It is a gentleman’s club, and there will be many most indignant at the-” Johnson started, but was quickly cut off by Abby. “I’m sure they will be more indignant should you show up empty handed sir. Now come along if we are to rid your club of it’s truly unwanted guest, we’ll need to get a move on.”


*Over-Seas Explorers Clubhouse*

“Let me get the door for you Miss.” Johnson offered with a nervous air once they’d arrived at the clubhouse, and come to the entryway. He also took her coat and hat, placing them on the hanger, leaving Abby only in her long brown skirt and white blouse. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but respectable work attire, and unintentionally fetching on her. “Thank you Johnson.” Abby replied politely before stepping through into the crowded room.

“Good Evening gentlemen, I understand it you have a map in need of verified authenticity.” Abby said without introduction.

*Dr. Preston Harvey’s office, London*

Abigail Avery was not a woman often prone to fits, but at the moment she was somewhat in a tizzy. This morning had been a complete nightmare, and the afternoon had been little different. Violent compulsions were new to Abby, but at the moment, if her current employer Dr. Harvey were not already on a ship taking him to the other end of the globe, she would have liked to shoot the man with his own decorative pistol. Coming into the office this morning to see the Dr. nowhere in sight should have been the first sign that Abby’s day was about to take a very bad turn, but this intuition would not be confirmed until almost noon when she receive a telegram from him reading:

Abby,

I’ve been invited on an expedition in Egypt by an old school chap of mine. Very last minuet, but very important work, I’m sure you understand. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so be a darling and hold down the fort until my return. Tell the boys their papers will be in the mail, and be sure to keep my accounts in order.

-Dr. Preston Harvey

Abby has spent the rest of the day explaining to the good Dr.’s business associates, and a particularly rude and disgruntled group of college students, that Dr. Harvey was not available, no she did not know when he would be back, nor did she know where in Egypt he was going and could not produce a mailing address. Predictably, no one had taken that news well, and as most did in the world of academia; relieved their own stress by verbally berating the one closest to the person causing the problem; which happened to be her. The majority of her day had been snooty men of the upper crust telling her in detail how she was an incompetent, silly, little girl, because Harvey hadn’t had to decency to give her fair warning, or even any details before he weaseled his way out of the country on his “expedition”. More likely an old boys pleasure trip to Cairo, and the prick had left her behind and specifically given her nothing to calm his frantic associates and students with so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

As she was filing documents in the office’s filing cabinet on the second floor, a knock came from the old wood door. “Come in!” Abby called down, an almost exasperated note in her voice. Johnson, looking a bit out of breath came into the office immediately, and pulled a handkerchief and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Dr. Harvey? Your presence is requested at the Over-seas Explorers club. Your brand of expertise is needed.” Johnson called up, obviously thinking the good Dr. was aloft.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to get in line directly behind the young college bucks old boy.” Abby said, blowing a stray curl of dark brown hair that had come loose from her coil out of her face, and descended the stairs to the lower level of the office. “Abigail Avery, Dr. Harvey’s assistant.” Abby introduced herself dryly.

“Well young lady, would you know where I might find Dr. Harvey?” Johnson inquired stiffly.

“Cairo.” Abby related dryly. She did not particularly appreciate being referred to as ‘Young Lady’ as if she was still some willy nilly school girl. At 24 she wasn’t an old maid, but she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken in most’s minds either. “But that’s just my educated guess. Dr. Harvey Departed this morning, and has left no indication as to his return.” Abby continued.

“Well bother…”Johnson said under his breath.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Abby offered without any real interest, but trying to be polite.

“No offense Miss Avery, but the help we required was to rid the club of a shady woman, not bring another.” Johnson said, appalled by the very thought of what Mr. Goodman would do if he swathe club invaded by yet another female.

“I beg you pardon?” Abby asked, a tad insulted.

“Woman Miss, not shady!” Johnson assured quickly. “A very shady woman has invaded our club with a map she claims is a treasure map. Utter poppycock, but the gentlemen of the club wish to have the map verified before turning the little Italian tart out. That’s why we needed Dr. Harvey.” Johnson explained.

“Well if it’s just a little trifle like that, I am more than qualified to come to your employer’s assistance.” Abby said grabbing her coat and bag, mind quite made up. Any chance she had of building a credible reputation of her own that could not be spun off as attached to some other man she worked with, was worth it’s weight in gold.

“Miss, please, I must protest! It is a gentleman’s club, and there will be many most indignant at the-” Johnson started, but was quickly cut off by Abby. “I’m sure they will be more indignant should you show up empty handed sir. Now come along if we are to rid your club of it’s truly unwanted guest, we’ll need to get a move on.”


*Over-Seas Explorers Clubhouse*

“Let me get the door for you Miss.” Johnson offered with a nervous air once they’d arrived at the clubhouse, and come to the entryway. He also took her coat and hat, placing them on the hanger, leaving Abby only in her long brown skirt and white blouse. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but respectable work attire, and unintentionally fetching on her. “Thank you Johnson.” Abby replied politely before stepping through into the crowded room.

“Good Evening gentlemen, I understand it you have a map in need of verified authenticity.” Abby said without introduction.

The nightmares were always the same. It started out back home, on the farm, right after the livestock had begun to die from some germ. Father accused him of bringing the disease in from the filthy streets of town and beat him senseless for it, but it was the fear of the punishment that made him tremble even in his sleep. The thought of his father's voice was enough to make his spine shiver. He was a large, skinny man, very noticeably unhealthy; his father was just as hungry as his wife and son were. When Declan killed his two school friends, however, his father disappeared, most likely out of shame and necessity. This is the part where the nightmare transitions to a darker place under the sun.
Africa was hot. Always hot, and never enough potable water. They killed so many men that the enemy would drag away their dead and place the bodies in local water sources to poison it, and the smell alone was enough to make any sane man cry. The African expedition of the English military was filled with ambitious young boys looking for adventure, gruff veterans, and criminals, like Declan, and most did not have the stomach for the guerrilla tactics of most African opposition. Those that did, however, were in the front rank, the ones pulling the bodies out of the ponds and wells and digging the graves. And then there was the fighting. God, that combat.
Most of them didn't know much more military theory than 'rush the enemy with pointy sticks'. Some of them did; the Boers were probably the most formidable he had seen in his whole time there. They operated rifles effectively and combined conventional and non-conventional tactics against Britain, which bothered everyone in Declan's unit immensely, like an itch on their back they couldn't scratch. The guerrillas lingered and turned the locals against the 'invaders' and eventually, his unit received three Maxim 'machine guns', pulled in next to the rest of the artillery, and that was the end of the insurgency. Though the Martini-Henry's were effective and fired much faster than the muzzleloaders of Napoleon's times, the machine gun only increased defeat exponentially. This was the next part of the nightmare; the machine guns firing into a charging wave of Boers on horseback with antique weapons. The Boers were well-armed. Declan had even 'confiscated' an American cowboy gun, a Remington 1875, from a dead Boer. Though he still preferred the LeMat, a nine-shot beast with a scattergun barrel underneath, the Remington was a cartridge gun, feeding bullets like he put in his Martini-Henry into a revolving cylinder, which, at the time, was futuristic to Declan in design.
It didn't matter; the next part of the nightmare involved the order "fix bayonet!" and "charge bayonet!", and a very busy melee that followed. It was bloody and brutal; Declan had always made sure to keep his Bowie knife handy in case things escalated faster than he could react. Over everything else, the fighting was awkward and messy. After the first few arteries had been knicked and blood began going everywhere, the fight got slippery, especially in the loose sands of Africa. People would lose their rifles or their knives or their hammers or whatever and tackle each other like a fight in a schoolyard. Fists flew and weapons discharged randomly; it wasn't as easy and glorious as those back home saw in the caricatures or the magazine articles or the newspapers. It was hot, messy, and always a hassle. And you could never rid yourself of the faces of those you killed. Declan would always remember the face the Matabele warrior made when he came crashing down with a club onto his leg. Declan loosed a round from his Remington while he was in mid-air, and even after he landed, he still bore his war-face, blood trickling down across those painted lips. Even after he died, he still smashed Declan's leg nearly to pieces, and the pain was enough for him to say enough, if the bugs, the blood, and the lack of gun shells weren't.
The moment repeated in his mind. He had been taught by a wayward adventurer, some American civil war veteran from Colorado, how to quickdraw from the hip and fire rapidly by fanning the hammer. Declan had practiced enough that when the warrior came down on him, he had drawn the pistol, swiped the hammer back, and pointed it right at his temple as he was almost to the ground. He had then looked up to watch for any sign of a further ambush, which there was, but he collapsed to the ground, and didn't feel the pain of a broken kneecap till he had sand in his mouth. It was unbelievable. Declan looked right in the dead man's eyes when he was down, and nothing had changed, even in death. The man had more honor than he ever could, and now his ghost haunted his dreams.

The thought of the dead man forced him awake inside the shoddy flat owned by his cousin. He wished he had a watch of some kind, but he was adapt at telling time by the placement of the sun. His window faced east, and as he stepped out of bed and up to the window, he had no sight of the sun. He was sure he had overslept. It struck him like a bullet; he immediately began getting himself prepared for his meeting at one "Over-Seas Explorer's Club". It was his last chance at feeling better about anything, and he wasn't about to mess it up.

He thought he looked stupid. He had been given permission to borrow his cousin's formal attire, but it was gone by the time he had awoken, so he was forced to improvise, but with few garments to wear anyway, he wasn't given too great a selection. He wound up bearing a semi-clean white button-up shirt and his family kilt, plus his army boots. This did not deter him, however, from wearing his guns; he bore his semi-customized gun belt, which held his two LeMat revolvers, his Remington 1875, and his pride and joy, the Webley Army in .455 caliber. He was .122 centimeters away from firing the same round he fired in the Martini-Henry, which made him feel better. He knocked on the door to the nice house (much nicer than he had ever physically been around in his life) as loud as he could, hoping to God he wasn't too late for the meeting.

“But of course” said Arnold in his most reassuring tone, his cultivated mustache twitching with each word, “We will all be witness as the good doctor examines your map, to make sure that all parties are pleased with the assessment. Now then, may I offer you and your companion something to drink, while we wait for the doctor to be dragged from his dusty books? We have some very good sherry, port, brandy…”

---------

It would take Johnson roughly forty minutes to return and in that time, Lord Meyer took it upon himself to fetch the drinks for their guests and the members alike, after all, it he had sent the only butler off. Colonel Goodman required several refills of his glass of port, so that he remained civil while they entertained the two ladies and refrained from making unkind comments about Johnson, which would be later regretted, even if the man in question never would have heard about them.

He was relieved then the door to the sitting room was opened by the returning butler. While the old Colonel was a good man, he was very set about where a woman’s place was (and that was in the home, being a good housewife, only) and it was only a matter of time before he became disgruntled enough for the drink to stop any comments. However, that relief started to fade when Doctor Harvey did not walk into the room but rather a nicely (if plainly) dressed young woman. She, without introduction, declared that she was there to look at the map.

“Well Miss” said Arnold, glancing over at Johnson, who was slipping away while muttering about hearing a knock at the door, “We do indeed need a map in need of verified authenticity. However, might we know who you are and where the Doctor is?”

“It’s usually polite to offer one’s own name before inquiring after another’s, but due to the understandably puzzling circumstances, I’ll make a concession. Abigail Avery, personal assistant to Dr. Harvey. I’m afraid the good Doctor is on a professional holiday of sorts in Egypt at the moment, and I’ve been ordered to keep his affairs in order while he’s away.” Abby explained civilly to the man with the rather interesting mustache whom had addressed her. “While my acceptance into the historical Doctorate program at Oxford University has yet to be accepted for reasons unanswerable by the Dean of Admissions other than the seeming complication of my gender, I have examined and helped classify countless maps of various origins, and am more than qualified to do the same with this supposed treasure map.” Abby informed them in a very business like manner. She was anticipating opposition to her arrival, and hoped to present her solid case.

“If it matters overmuch to you gentlemen, my father was also Dr. Archibald Avery, so I can assure you I’ve spent many years abroad and had the pleasure of examining authentic maps of this nature before.” Abby finished with reference to her famous (at least in their field) father, that usually at least made some people reconsider a straight out no just because she was a girl.

Declan was scratching his ass when the door opened. Before him stood a man in a butler's uniform, an image that almost confused him. He was not accustomed to seeing or being around the upper class and their servants, but he quickly finished up scratching his butt itch and stood up straight for the butler.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here for the club."
"The club, sir?"
"The fucking adventurer's club, you overpaid dimwit. I was selected for the next expedition."
"Oh, the meeting has already started, sir."
"I don't care if I'm late, I've gotta show up."
"That's not how it works, sir."
"What would you know about things working?"
There was a moment of silence as Declan questioned that statement. He was being argumentative and trapped himself in a statement that didn't make sense.
"Before you come up with another snarky comment, would you impart your name?"
"Declan O'Brien, formerly Sergeant O'Brien of Her Majesty's royal infantry."
"Ah, the veteran from Africa."
"How could you tell?"
"You're the only Scot on the team, sir."
"So will you let me in?"
"I suppose, but you'll have to remove your gunbelt."
"Fuck you, you're not getting my gunbelt, you piece of trash."
"I can't permit you to enter with your guns, sir."
"I took these guns to Africa, and I shot a lot of men with them. I'm not about to hand them over to a snooty servant because he says so."
"I'm not going to ask you again, sir, please remove your gunbelt."
"I'm not gonna tell you again, Jimbo, you're not getting my guns."
"Then I cannot permit you entry to the meeting."
"Look, you sniveling bitch, I spent my best years in Africa getting shot at and stabbed so people like you could live a better life. That, and because the Queen said so."
"You're a barbarian. Like an American, but more brutish."
"You're an idiot. Like an Irishman, but more stupid."

2 minutes later, Declan stormed into the second floor sitting room, gunbelt still wrapped around his waist and the butler in pursuit. Declan breathed in the fragrant air and looked around the lavishly decorated room, looking upon his fellow adventurers for the first time. He had expected exactly what he was looking upon: rich gentlemen and women seeking fun (his first impression definitions were very basic).
"Howdy, partners," he said in his very best cowboy voice.

Ashley had remained in his corner of their little world for the duration of the impromptu meeting. He held his half full glass of brandy by the lip, drawing smooth little circles with it in the air, watching the liquid spin into a whirlpool in the glass. He had never been one for drinking, he enjoyed a glass or two now and again but for the most part he could do with out.

Finally Johnson returned but to everyones surprise it was not Dr. Harvey that entered the room, but the third woman of the day.

"Good Lord Johnson, three woman in one night, I didn't realize you were such a ladies man."

He remained silent for the introductions, he knew Dr. Archibald Avery though he had never gotten the pleasure of working with the man. So this was his daughter, plain dressed, attractive, and decidedly to the point. She wanted to do what society thought only men should do, she wanted to follow in her fathers footsteps. It was easy to see, the way she presented her credentials, even the way she stood, it defied what London society said she should be.

"Let the lady look at the map, no sense twiddling our thumbs searching for someone if we've got someone in the room." He took a drink from his glass, tilted his head up and gazed at the ceiling. He had never been a fan of meetings, especially when no actual work was being done, and at this point no actual work was being done. He hoped that would change shortly.

"Good Lord Johnson, three woman in one night, I didn't realize you were such a ladies man." After his reluctant return to the room, Johnson cleared his throat awkwardly, and pretended to be straitening his blazer after that comment from Mr. Gabel. It was not that he personally took any credence in the American’s dig, but did not want to be the focus of Colonel Goodman’s indignant wrath about the women’s presence. Mr. Gabel’s next comment however, likely shocked the entire room, but a pleased kind of look entered Abby’s eyes.

“Excellent, a very sensible answer.” Abby replied, setting her bag on one of the side tables, opening it, and pulling out a magnifying glass. “Now, which of you gentlemen have the map, or should I be addressing the Ladies?” Abby asked briskly with an expectant kind of look towards the crowd.