Kingsport 1844: Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities

27) Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities
212 Carver Street, The Panhandle, South Shore. Est. 1836

A) Background
Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities is a dime museum owned by “Professor Riddle,” the stage name of Oliver Moneypenny, an inventor and impresario from New York City. Along with his older brother Oscar, Oliver inherited a great deal of wealth from his family’s involvement in the eighteenth-century fur trade, and Oscar Moneypenny was one of Albert Redburn’s business partners during Milton’s childhood. Oliver spent much of his youth at sea, returning to New York with a collection of “curiosities” and partnering with the Scudder Family to manage and develop the famous Scudder American Museum on Broadway. After Moneypenny backed the wrong Scudder brother during a family squabble in 1831, he found himself out of a job. Moving to Boston, he planned to open the Moneypenny American Museum, but the building burned down before he could install his collection. Taking pity on his luckless brother, Oscar presented Oliver with an abandoned warehouse in Kingsport, and Moneypenny’s Seaside Museum opened in 1836. After the Scudder family sold their museum to P.T. Barnum in 1841, Moneypenny visited New York and met with Barnum, who inspired Oliver to return to Kingsport and make dramatic changes to “rope in the suckers.”

A wildly creative inventor with a penchant for the morbid and bizarre, Moneypenny squandered his remaining fortune by installing exhibits he personally commissioned or designed himself. He increased the museum’s sex appeal, adding risqué waxwork galleries and employing “pretty waiter girls” to collect tickets and offer refreshments. In 1842, Moneypenny reopened the museum as Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities. Aggressively advertising along the Eastern Railroad, he paid town criers to exalt his “astonishing attractions,” fielded barrel-organs emblazoned with the museum’s name, and hired sandwich-men to pace the docks of the North Shore and distribute handbills to incoming sailors and passengers. Although Carver Street is no Broadway, the museum has attracted enough visitors to court moderate success.

That Old Kingsport Magic
There is one feature Kingsport can boast that Broadway cannot, and that’s an underground network of eldritch energy! (Although all those Cats performances…shudder.) And while P.T. Barnum might be the superior showman, Oliver Moneypenny has spent years working directly above this dark reservoir of power, its subtle influence infiltrating his dreams and warping his sanity. Indeed, some of this latent energy has been absorbed by the museum’s exhibits, investing them with valences that range from the vaguely sinister to the definitively arcane. There is something genuinely weird about the Cabinet of Curiosities, a fascinating darkness that Barnum fails to capture with his Siamese Twins and prancing acrobats. And before one asks why a person would fork over a hard-earned dime to be drawn into a vortex of existential angst, ask yourself why you are playing Call of Cthulhu!

B) Hearing the Call: Riddle, Grimble & Prim
Early this year, Oliver Moneypenny decided to revive the dying art of the phantasmagoria, a magic lantern show that employs special effects to thrill and delight its audience. He purchased antique slides from England and Germany, researched the genre’s eighteenth-century pioneers, and contracted with a Brooklyn manufacturer to produce an improved smoke machine. Working from his second-floor office, Moneypenny began drafting a script for the elaborate production loosely inspired by Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. Tentatively entitled “Professor Riddle’s Tales from the Deep,” it was conceived as a nautical-themed show featuring ghost ships, sea monsters, and skeletal pirates.

As Moneypenny became increasingly obsessed with the project, a particular box of slides began to exert a powerful fascination over his imagination. Created by Johann Georg Schröpfer to illustrate the Book of Revelations, the slides were of unparalleled artistry, their detail so intricate it almost seemed they changed each time they were viewed. Late nights of work transformed into hallucinatory periods of insomnia, staring into the magic lantern as its midnight oil illuminated a world of fallen angels and broken gods. And—were they sometimes moving? Or was that just dust in the light beam?

Falling under the spell of Schröpfer’s demoniac images, Oliver Moneypenny succumbed to the Call of Dagon. He began seeing “patterns” in the random fluctuations of clouds, waves, and raindrops, and became convinced the universe was urging him to go somewhere, somewhere else. Somewhere the images made more sense. His nautical phantasmagoria forgotten, when he did manage to sleep, his rest was disturbed by blaring trumpets and black islands. As his sanity unraveled, Moneypenny conceived a plan to construct a canvas sail, one stitched with “lost charts and undiscovered constellations,” a moonraker that would guide a vessel to the mysterious destination of his dreams: the Golden Altar of God from Revelations 9:13.

A Dream Built for Two
Moneypenny tried to share his obsession with his friends and associates, but most were horrified by his rapid decline into “mental perturbation.” He stopped seeing his physician—Dr. Isaac Coffin—and soon his employees began avoiding him. The only exception was Silas Grimble, the museum’s “Amazing Tattooed Man from China,” who was afflicted with the Call of Dagon himself. (See Silas Grimble’s NPC profile for details.) One of the more unsavory characters attached to the museum, Grimble had never been close to Moneypenny, who previously considered the man a “scoundrel and probable thief.” But upon discovering they shared a delusion, the effect was like falling in love. More than finding a sympathetic partner, Moneypenny had found a true believer.

Oliver Moneypenny dismissed his employees and closed the museum in early September. The basement waxworks were transformed into a workshop devoted to the creation of the moonraker. Whereas Moneypenny found inspiration in natural patterns, Grimble was obsessed with mystical scripts written on human parchment— birthmarks, tattoos, freckles, moles, even deformities. Grimble would scout out potential candidates, ply them with drink, then sketch their “mystical scripts” for incorporation into the canvas.

Everything went smoothly until the night of October 17, when Grimble brought back the body of a dead harpooneer, a Maori covered head-to-toe in tattoos. Having observed the sailor betting on a rat fight, Grimble trailed him into a Cock Lane brothel. Three hours later, a pair of rough men emerged from the brothel and placed a Maori-sized canvas bag onto a cart. They rowed the body to Hog Island and came back empty-handed. Grimble paid a chimneysweep named Sydney Prim to help him exhume the corpse from Pauper’s Shame and carry it back to the museum. Moneypenny was outraged by the “unconscionable” act of bodysnatching, but could not deny the importance of the Maori’s tattoos. When Grimble asked permission to flay the corpse, Moneypenny refused. Sketches would have to suffice. The impresario was also unnerved by the unexpected presence of Sydney Prim, whose intuitive understanding of the moonraker nearly challenged his own. Eagerly the sweep rolled back his sleeves to display a network of white birthmarks on his black skin—“Stars on the sky, boss. I know where your sail is bound.”

The situation escalated two nights later, when Silas Grimble showed up at the museum carrying something wrapped in bloodstained butcher’s paper. With a triumphant flourish, he unwrapped the package to reveal a long strip of black skin, etched with a constellation of birthmarks. The blood was still fresh. Making a sound like a strangled cat, Moneypenny finally snapped. He struck the vile giblet from Grimble’s hand and fled through the smuggler’s tunnel in the basement. Emerging at Laird’s Cove, Oliver Moneypenny beheld the sea; the archaic, dream-laden, winedark, scrotumtightening sea. Stripping away his clothing, he swam towards the Fenris, an Illsley merchantman bound for the Orient.

Grimble and Prim Continue the Work
Moneypenny had assumed that Grimble murdered Prim, but the truth was perhaps more disturbing. Prim had allowed Grimble to carve away his tattoo! The very moment Prim saw the moonraker, years of howling chaos resolved into a chord of beautiful music. He finally understood his destiny. As for Grimble, he was liberated from the feeble shackles of Moneypenny’s bourgeois morality. Free to follow the darkest commands of his depraved imagination, he could finally work without restrictions.

Over the last week, Grimble and Prim have been responsible for the murder of three people, with a fourth laying at death’s door in the museum basement. They are now convinced only a few more “patches” are required to finish the moonraker. Once the work has been completed, they plan to sign onto a merchantman as common sailors. Then, one night when the stars are right, they’ll unfurl the moonraker from the highest mast, and under its glorious wings, they’ll slaughter the officers and assume command. A divine wind will fill the moonraker, guiding the ship to the Golden Altar of God.

B) Personalities
Oliver Moneypenny is detailed in Chapter 10, and Silas Grimble has his own NPC profile. That leaves his accomplice, Sydney Prim, who rarely leaves the museum.

Sydney Shaver Prim
Age 27, Nationality: American, Birthplace: Arkham, 1817. Call of Dagon Stage 3.

Combat

Skills
Art/Craft (Chimneysweep) 75%, Climb 80%, Credit Rating 5%, Cthulhu Mythos 2%, Fast Talk 15%, First Aid 40%, Intimidate 45%, Jump 65%, Listen 55%, Locksmith 75%, Mechanical Repair 55%, Occult 15%, Persuade 10%, Psychology 15%, Renown 5%, Seamanship 5%, Spot Hidden 70%, Stealth 85%.

Possessions: Prim carries 2D10 dollars in coins and a loaded Sea Service pistol “borrowed” from Oliver Moneypenny.

Description
A lithe African-American man wearing a stovepipe hat, Sydney Prim is a Miskatonic Valley chimneysweep, as was his father before him, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather “long before the Revolution.” Typical of his profession, Prim has perpetually dirty nails and smells of creosote, but he keeps himself well-groomed, and has a handsome face that’s “always done well with the ladies.” He carries a warped lightning rod he uses as a walking stick. The very rod that saved him from electrocution, Prim is convinced the iron speaks to him, conducting the voices of deformed beings who dwell in the subterranean depths.

History
Once a proud man with a strong moral compass, Prim began hearing the Call of Dagon on February 1, 1844, the day he was struck by lightning in Arkham. He was attempting to rescue a chimney boy stuck in a flue at Bayfriar’s Church when the storm caught him unprepared. Prim awoke the next day at St. Mary’s Hospital, every nerve twitching and his head full of voices. A lightning rod had saved Prim’s life, but his nine-year old apprentice had suffocated to death. That night Prim escaped the hospital and retrieved the providential lightning rod. Abandoning his remaining apprentices, Prim walked to Kingsport Head and flung himself from Orange Point. And, once again, he miraculously survived!

Sydney Prim emerged from the freezing harbor newly baptized. He wandered Kingsport in a daze, driving his lightning rod into the ground and placing his ear to the cold iron, desperate for instructions from the whispering voices. His life passed in chaos until the moment he saw the moonraker. Only the moonraker made sense, and Prim fell so deeply under its spell he willingly offered the birthmark from his left forearm. Although the experience was excruciating, Prim believes himself finally purified, and is ready for whatever comes next. Unfortunately, his infected arm has become inflamed with pain, and the leeches placed under his bandages have begun emitting a funny smell.

John Lewis Krimmel’s ironic 1813 watercolor,
“Worldly Folk” Questioning Chimney Sweeps and Their Master before Christ Church, Philadelphia.

And shipwrecked there, I’ll shake you from your sleep…
Sydney Prim has abandoned his squatter’s lodgings on Prospect Hill and has moved into the museum’s basement, where he tends to Grimble’s victims and makes secretive, imperceptible “corrections” to Moneypenny’s original designs. He enjoys wandering the museum, sometimes staring blankly into the glass eyes of the stuffed panther, engaging in flirtatious banter with the Feejee mermaid, or producing his own magic lantern shows in the theater. When the player characters first enter the museum, Sydney Prim is ready to ambush them in the workshop as described below in Encounter 27-J.

D) Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities—Exterior
Sandwiched among the warehouses along Carver Street, Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities occupies a large, three-story building of bright red clapboard. Unfortunately, it’s begun to acquire a derelict air: the windows are soaped and boarded, the paint is flaking, and the door is secured by a padlock. A sign nailed to the door announces, “CLOSED FOR THE SEASON WHILE THE PROFESSOR SEEKS EXCITING NEW EXHIBITS!”

The museum’s exterior is decorated with painted billboards, many in need of touching up after a long, hot summer. Promising “bizarre and wondrous spectacles, now illuminated by the marvel of modern gas-lighting,” these colorful advertisements announce Riddle’s main attractions: The Amazing Tattooed Man from China, The Serpent Woman of Borneo, a Feejee Mermaid, a Gallery of Grotesque Medical Curiosities, a Circular Panorama of Famous Shipwrecks, and a Mechanized Diorama of the Shelling of Kingsport Harbor. There’s also the obligatory waxworks, featuring a “shocking rendition of the seductive Judith beheading the wicked Holofernes,” a “morally edifying gallery of famous sinners burning in the flames of Inferno,” and an “Oriental seraglio featuring bewitching bathers in real water!”

Meeting Silas Grimble
If player characters arrive before Silas Grimble attacks Quakaloo, they’ll find Grimble sulking near the locked door, sitting by a sandwich board advertising the “Amazing Tattooed Man from China.” Huddled in a worn quilt and drunk no matter the time of day, Grimble waves a copper teapot at passersby, his carny patter slurred by rum, inflected by Pidgin Chinese, and peppered with crude obscenities—“I got China dragons, mates, tattooed in Canton by the hoppo’s number-one man, come an’ look-see for a single penny, chop chop! For three, I’ll showee the nekkid girl on me back, tits’n all! And fer a nickel, I got real pictures of nekkid China girls, them ‘at gots ‘em slits ‘orizontal, swear to God it’s true, mates! Come on, step up an’ ‘ave a look-see, chop chop!” Grimble’s offers are genuine, but he won’t reveal anything until his teapot rattles with coins. His tattoos are surprisingly artistic, both the Western and Chinese alike. Grimble rarely stops talking, attempting to squeeze every bit of copper available—“You likee, amigo? Wen shen, wen shen. All the rage with pirates. Another penny, an’ I’ll tellee ‘ow I met Ching Shi, the famous pirate queen!” If given a nickel for a look-see at his “real pictures,” Grimble produces a rice-paper roll of Chinese pornography, the worn images begrimed by dozens of salacious paws. The pictures are certainly explicit, but despite Grimble’s assertion, they’re quite anatomically correct.

Conversation with Silas Grimble
A Psychology roll observes that Grimble is neither drunk nor destitute as he appears, and notes a cunning aspect to his demeanor. If asked about Professor Riddle or Oliver Moneypenny, Grimble spits contemptuously in the street and quickly drops his routine. Although free from Pidgin Chinese, his voice remains a singular blend of accents. Lower-class London predominates, flavored by the odd Portuguese imprecation: “That babaca closed the museum months ago. Left me ‘igh an’ dry, ‘e did. Oh, Professor Riddle is out to sea now ‘e is, without ‘is faithful Grimble. Jumped port a week ago, maybe longer. Maldito bastardo!” If the player characters ask about gaining access to the museum, Grimble shakes his head and lies—“The Professor paid ‘em Kettle Black Boys to keep a weather eye on the place. I’d avoid it if I was you!” If asked about Liam Teague, he shrugs—“Wot, ‘at Paddy works the lantern show? Ain’t seen ‘im in weeks.” He mimes drinking from a bottle and winks, “Ele é um beberrão, entendeu?” Mention of Dario Martino is likewise dismissed—“That little dago an’ ‘is fucking monkey made off with the Professor’s prize organ! Worth a pretty penny, it is.” A direct question about Revelation 9, the “slides,” or anything specific from Moneypenny’s letter elicits a nervous bark of laughter—“The Professor was mad as an ‘atter, always goin’ on about the bloody Bible. I just humored ‘im mostly.” A Psychology roll catches a wild look in his eyes, but Grimble evades any questions that might lead to his precious Moonraker.

Unless they force a confrontation, Grimble attempts to divert player characters from the museum. If asked where Moneypenny lives, he’ll give a false address in the Hollow—“The Teagarden building near Turkey Hall. Can’t miss it, mates.” If a character openly attempts to break into the museum, Grimble cries “Robbery!” and plays the innocent bystander. (If the Keeper wants to delay the characters from entering the museum, a roaming constable can always be summoned by a “random” Listen roll.) Once the player characters have departed, Grimble retreats into the museum and informs Sydney Prim to expect trouble.

Quakaloo
If this is the first time Grimble sees Quakaloo, he’s not so eager to end the conversation. His ice-blue eyes shining with intensity, Grimble gazes at Quakaloo’s tattoos in ardent admiration. A Psychology roll perceives this intensity as recognition. If pressed, Grimble mutters weakly, “Not quite Mowree, eh? Just professional curiosity is all.” He refuses to say anything more unless an Intimidate roll is made. A Regular success conjures a spiel about cannibalism—“I spent time with kanakas, mate, an’ I know ‘em tats means you’re a cannibal! No worries, this gwailou’s too pickled to eat!” A Hard success is rewarded with something closer to the truth, and Grimble’s eyes gleam hungrily—“Companheiro, you come from a sacred place, your body—it’s a bloody map, ennit? It’s a bloody map!” After this encounter, Grimble begins planning his attack on the harpooneer.

E) Professor Riddle’s Cabinet of Curiosities—Interior
Because Professor Riddle’s is located in a busy section of the Panhandle, it requires a Stealth roll to break into the museum unobserved during the day. (Obviously this cannot be done if Grimble is present.) At night, the streets are occupied by stray cats and beberrãos, and no Stealth roll is required. The padlock may be picked with a Locksmith roll, or the boards may be pried from a first-floor window and the glass quietly broken.

The interior of the museum is gloomy even in daylight, and the windows are soaped to a sallow translucency. Dust particles revolve slowly in the gelid air, and Moneypenny’s newly-installed gaslights have been disconnected from lack of payment. The museum appears to have been abandoned for months, but a successful Track roll discovers recent footprints in the dust. An Extreme success identifies them as belonging to two men, one larger and one smaller. Unsurprisingly, a musty odor hangs in the air; but a Spot Hidden detects an undercurrent of decay—perhaps a dead animal?

F) First Floor Galleries
The museum’s first floor is reserved for the main exhibits, arranged in five galleries bestowed with pompous Roman names. But first, the admissions counter must be passed, a wooden table positioned just inside the foyer. An “Actual Drum from Napoleon’s Army!” serves as the cashbox, the drumhead replaced by a slotted tin cover. When the museum was open, a comely girl was employed to collect a visitor’s admission fee and insert the coins in the slot. She’d answer questions about the museum, and if the guests were sailors, she’d winkingly direct them downstairs—“All the way at the end, boys. Spruce beer and a Turkish harem!” The wooden table is carved with idle graffiti, mostly hearts, smiley-faces, and the name “Mary” followed by tentative surnames. A calendar hanging on the wall is stalled at September, and several animal heads stare blankly from between the soaped windows.

The foyer presents visitors with three options. They may take the left-side staircase down to the “Sensational Waxworks Exhibition,” follow the right-hand staircase up to the “Zoörama and Magic Lantern Theatre,” or pass through an archway directly to the “Gallery of Mercury.”

The Gallery of Mercury
Devoted to “The Ancient Art of Medicine,” the Gallery of Mercury is a small chamber containing the morbid artifacts typical to private medical collections all over the world: deformed skulls, fetuses in jars, inexplicable objects found in human bodies, etc. (The Keeper may find inspiration in Philadelphia’s Mütter Museum, founded in 1863.) Moneypenny’s displays, however, are notable for the jarring frankness of their accompanying descriptions, which forgo the usual sentimentality and euphemism. Notable examples include: “Skull of a British Redcoat, fractured by lead ball during the Battle of Oriskany, 1777.” “Trichobezoar cut from the stomach of a 12-year old girl, Boston 1828.” “Stillborn child with no eyes, found on doorstep of Visitation Church, Brooklyn 1836.” “Sketches of prostitutes with advanced syphilis, Hospital of Lodz, 1840. Note the horn-like extrusion on the third woman’s forehead.” Viewing these exhibits requires a Constitution roll, with a failure triggering a Sanity roll for a 0/1 loss.

Doctor Sark’s Surgical Instruments
One display in particular seems grim even for Moneypenny—a velvet-lined case of bizarre medical instruments. The label reads, “Custom surgical tools designed by the infamous Dr. Alexander Sark, vivisectionist and murderer. Manufactured in Cronenberg, Westphalia, 1822.” A Spot Hidden discovers that one of the tools is missing. (It is a scalpel, and is being used by Silas Grimble to take his “patches.”) A Regular success on a Medicine roll confirms the unorthodox character of the instruments. A Hard success suggests the tools may be used for…unwholesome practices. An Extreme success realizes the specific purpose of certain tools, and triggers a Sanity roll for a 0/1 loss. If anyone takes possession of the instruments—Dr. Lowell, the Keeper is looking at you—an immediate Sanity roll is required for another 0/1 loss. Once per game session, the player may use Dr. Sark’s Surgical Instruments to trade 1 Sanity point for +2D10 bonus dice on any appropriate skill roll—First Aid, Medicine, Science (Biology), Art/Craft (Vivisection), Art/Craft (Operating on Mutant Women), etc.

The Gallery of Neptune
The next room is the Gallery of Neptune, a round chamber featuring “Scenes of Terror and Relics of Wonder from the Deep.” The smell of decay is strongest here, mixed with the tang of brine.

Panorama of Shipwrecks
The circular wall of this gallery is painted with a panorama depicting three of Kingsport’s most famous shipwrecks—the Anna running aground on Ross Island, the Doxie freezing near Doyle’s Rock, and the Polaris being crushed by ice in Greenland. All three are artful renditions conveying a vivid sense of impending doom. The individual sailors are beautifully detailed, each singular face a portrait of fear.

Display Cases
The room contains a variety of nautical artifacts, each bearing a card with a lurid description: “Binnacle of the Hellene, still spattered with the blood of Captain Corben’s traitors, 1731.” “Ship’s bell scavenged from the Gravesend, burned during the Talbot Hospital Massacre, 1774.” “Four-pound cannonball fired by the British upon Kingsport Harbor. Said to have beheaded Cornelia Talbot in her carriage, 1778.” “Captain Mercer’s whaling stamps, retrieved from the wreckage of the Anna, 1824.” Two exhibits seem to be missing. The largest was positioned in front of the Doxie, once fastened to a wooden stanchion. A brass plaque on the post reads, “The wheel of the Doxie, 1828. The very instrument that delivered her to a frozen grave!” The second is an empty case in front of the Polaris, its card reading, “Lantern from the Polaris, 1840. Look closely, and you’ll see the spectral face of a terrified sailor imprinted on the glass!”

Feejee Mermaid
The source of the disagreeable odor, Moneypenny’s Feejee mermaid is—shocker!—an adolescent manatee floating in a tank of fouled seawater. Needless to say, it looks little like the mermaid depicted on the billboard outside the museum, although not for a lack of trying. A hand mirror has been fastened to the right flipper, seashells modestly cover its “breasts,” and the poor creature’s face is concealed by a blond wig. The taxidermy is amateurish at best. The top of the tank is cracked, and the creature’s flesh has begun to decay.

The Gallery of Mars
Accessible past the mermaid, the Gallery of Mars features “Divers Objects of Warfare and Scenes of Terror and Bravery in Battle.” A wooden globe of the planet Mars is suspended from the ceiling, painted to reflect Mädler and Beer’s recent telescopic studies. Some of the more striking exhibits include: “Aztec warrior’s sword with obsidian teeth, 1500s.” “George Washington’s pistol from the French & Indian Wars, 1755.” “The kanaka club that killed Captain Cook, 1779. Studded with teeth from a Tiger Shark.” “Bornean parang candong, presented to Captain Arthur Illsley Jr, 1838. Used for headhunting expeditions!” “Scalps of three enemies, recovered from Dakotah warriors, 1841.” One exhibit is missing: “Sword of the traitor Benedict Arnold, 1780.”

The Exhibits

Only the scalps and the parang are authentic. The Aztec macuahuitl and the Hawaiian leiomano are forgeries made by Moneypenny himself, a suspicion confirmed by an Anthropology or Archeology roll. Each inflicts 1D8+1 damage, but breaks the first time maximum damage is rolled. Washington’s pistol is a rusting Pistolet Modèle 1733 with the initials “G.W.” suspiciously carved in the grip. A History roll remarks on the unlikeliness of Washington using a French weapon during the French & Indian War. With 1D3 hours of labor and a Mechanical Repair roll, the antique can be made operational, but the .67 caliber balls are obsolete. They may be found around Kingsport given 1D3 hours and a Firearms roll, or they can be handmade using a bullet mold purchased from Valentine & Howell (Encounter 38). The only truly effective weapon is the parang. Oiled, polished, and fitted with a wooden sheath carved with floral patterns, it makes a sturdy “chopper” inflicting 1D6+1 damage in a brawl. (Benedict Arnold’s sword is a colonial saber with no special provenance, and is currently in the hands of Sydney Prim.)

The Patriot’s Noose
Hanging directly above Washington’s pistol is a hangman’s noose, its hemp discolored and frayed. The display reads, “Noose that that hanged Nathan Hale, September 22, 1776.” Although most Kingsporters believe it’s a fraud—as does Oliver Moneypenny himself—it’s the genuine article, and has been imbued with esoteric properties after marinading in Kingsport’s subterranean energies. Anyone touching the rope is allowed a Power roll. A Hard success picks up “sensitive vibrations,” while an Extreme success understands its exact properties. If carried upon one’s person, the Patriot’s Noose grants a feeling of courage and bravery. Once per session, the wearer may push any missed roll with no additional consequences for failure. However, if the pushed roll is a critical failure, the noose unravels and becomes useless.

The Shelling of Kingsport Harbor
The gallery’s main exhibit is a “mechanized diorama” of the Shelling of Kingsport Harbor, which occupies a large table beneath a mantle of inoperative gaslights. Sadly, the mechanism is broken, but seems to have moved painted tin pieces along winding grooves. Several ball-bearings and beads of mercury lie scattered about the diorama, which was wound using a hand crank beneath the display table.

The diorama is brilliantly conceived and executed, featuring hundreds of human figures, horses, cannons, buildings, wagons, boats, and three British men-of-war. Close inspection reveals not only stunning detail and craftsmanship, but an unnecessary amount of brutal realism, even perverse cruelty. The polar opposite of Trumbull’s heroic depiction in Turner Hall, Moneypenny’s Shelling of Kingsport Harbor takes its cue from Brueghel’s Triumph of Death. The longer one examines the diorama, the more wicked details emerge. One British cannonball strikes the Old Town House, throwing splinters into the backs of fleeing Kingsporters; another demolishes the Talbot carriage, tossing out the mangled bodies of Cornelia Talbot and her children. The decks of the British warships are slick with blood and severed limbs, while burning sailors leap from a Pickering merchantman sinking in the harbor. Even Kingsport’s townsfolk are depicted without pity—drunkards are trampled by enraged horses, starving dogs tear apart a wounded child, and a laundress is being ravished by a pair of Militiamen behind the Three Haddocks.

It requires one hour of work and a successful Mechanical Repair roll to get the mechanism operational again. Ratcheting to life, the diorama portrays Argus Blaine and his men hauling the cannons up the Causeway and firing upon Captain Mowat’s fleet. Anyone who watches the complete three-minute show is allowed a History roll. A success recognizes some glaring inaccuracies: the attack on Mowat’s ships occurred at dawn, during a fog; and despite a man-of-war “sinking” beneath a trap door in the painted water, Blaine’s cannons only repelled the British from the harbor. A failed roll accepts the reenactment at face value, granting +1 percentile in History and confirming the benefits of successful edutainment!

The Gallery of Venus
Only a place like Professor Riddle’s would conflate a snake-woman with the goddess of love and beauty; yet the lurid image painted on the gallery door leaves little to the imagination. “Venus, the Serpent Woman of Borneo” is depicted as an exotic temptress, a naked lamia with strategically coiled hair concealing her breasts. The smallest chamber on the first floor, the walls are hung with crimson draperies flowing suggestively around protruding brass sconces. The lanterns are shaded with pink glass, but Prim pilfered their supply of oil days ago. A saurian funk suggests the former presence of reptiles. The room holds a solitary glass cage, tall enough for a human being. Inside the cage is a chair upholstered in red velvet, its arms and legs carved to resemble serpents. Behind the chair is an open door. A Spot Hidden observes that the door locks from the outside. The reptilian odor is strongest inside the cage, and a second Spot Hidden discovers a translucent scale on the chair. Greenish in color, the scale is the approximate size of a gingko leaf, and seems shed from a very large snake! An examination of the glass reveals dozens of smeared handprints, lipstick traces, and smudged prints of something else pressed against the lower portion of the glass—like a broad, segmented torso…

G) Second Floor
The second floor contains the Tattooed Man exhibit, the Magic Lantern Theatre, the Zoörama, and the stairs to Oliver Moneypenny’s private residence.

The Amazing Tattooed Man from China
Just off the upper landing is a small room featuring a chair positioned under a gas lamp. A billboard outside the door reads: “See Silas Grimble, the Amazing Tattooed Man from China! For a Penny, Mr. Grimble Will Provide Your Own Personal Tour of the Far East! Over 42 Separate Pictures Are Depicted On His Flesh, from the Factories of Canton to the Great Battles of Genghis Khan! Hear Him Narrate the Scene of Your Choice!” A shelf near the chair supports a dusty magnifying glass and a slotted tin box filled with $1.20 in pennies.

Magic Lantern Theatre
Across from Grimble’s room is a grandly-painted door with a billboard announcing: “Professor Riddle’s Magic Lantern Theatre! Step Inside to See Dissolving Dioramas of Distant Delights! See the Cliffs of Moher, the Streets of Paris, the Pyramids of Ghizah! See Elephants, Giraffes, and Ourang-Outangs! Shows Every Hour for Only One Nickel!” The theater itself is a rectangular room featuring several chairs and a pair of magic lanterns aimed at a whitewashed wall. One of the lanterns can quickly flip between two slides, while the other is an elaborate contraption that rotates slides like the vanes of a windmill.

Pettibone Bros, 1890.

A cabinet of glass slides accompanies the lanterns, ranging from hand-painted antiques to modern décalquer slides printed in Britain using chromo-lithography. As advertised, the majority of images depict distant landscapes, foreign marvels, and exotic animals. Because Sydney Prim enjoys looking at the slides, the lanterns are filled with oil and are kept free from dust and soot. It requires a Regular Operate Heavy Machinery or a Hard Intelligence roll to operate the lanterns. When the museum was open, Moneypenny employed Liam Teague to run the show. Teague was Grimble’s first victim, and lies dead in the basement. He’s also the person who informed Graham Blaine about the “black casks.”

Schröpfer’s Phantasmagoria

A rectangular case on top of the cabinet features another series of slides. The case is made from stained wood with brass fixtures, and is carved with a scene depicting a comet raining fire upon a plague-stricken village, its streets filled with capering skeletons and cavorting demons. A brass plaque on the lid is engraved with the name “J.G. Schröpfer” in heavy Germanic fraktur. An Occult roll identifies Schröpfer as a German necromancer famous for staging séances and raising ghosts; he supposedly shot himself in Leipzig in 1774. (A Library Use roll at an appropriate venue confirms this, and allows players to consult Wikipedia or other sources for more information on Schröpfer.)

The box contains dozens of hand-painted slides dating from the eighteenth century, each fitted into velvet-lined slots. A Regular Religion roll or a Hard Intelligence roll recognizes many of them as scenes from the Book of Revelation. These extend far past the usual Four Riders of the Apocalypse and angels blowing trumpets, and include an obscenely erotic Whore of Babylon, a grotesque seven-headed dragon, and a horse-sized “locust” with a scorpion tail, a woman’s face and hair, and a shining crown. Their quality far exceeds Moneypenny’s other slides, each a miniature masterpiece evoking Hieronymus Bosch and Pieter Brueghel, and prefiguring the work of Gustave Doré.

Two of the slides have been pulled from their slots and laid horizontally atop the orderly rows, each carefully wrapped in white silk. The first shows a shimmering baroque altar. The altar has been decorated with gold leafing hammered to translucency. The second slide depicts a terrible sea-monster; an octopoid demon stretching forward a bat-wing. If Elijah Watts’ Mysterious Talisman has been discovered, a comparison with the “scrimshaw” idol reveals unpleasant similarities. Unfortunately, the slide is damaged, and much of the creature remains obscure. A Cthulhu Mythos roll associates the monstrosity to some abandoned ancient religion; perhaps seen in a book about Babylon or Sumer? However, if the slide is loaded into the lantern and projected, its suggestive character becomes even more discomfiting. What color paint is that, exactly, and how did Schröpfer make its eyes glow with a living sense of malevolence? Or is that alien indifference? In any event, seeing the projection is worth a Sanity roll for 0/1 loss.

The Zoörama
Three chambers on the second floor are devoted to the Zoörama, the oldest exhibit in the museum. A taxidermist’s wonderland of mammals, birds, reptiles, and fish, many of these pieces have been with Moneypenny since his time in New York. Notable exhibits include a Chinese python, a Mongolian eagle, a Mexican jaguar, “American” and “Egyptian” porcupines, a capuchin monkey, two Galápagos iguanas, three colorful parrots, a swordfish, and a two-headed lamb “borrowed” from the Scudder Museum. There’s also display cabinets of pinned insects, a glass tank with a pair of dead Mexican tarantulas, shelves of extravagant seashells, and several “shrunken heads” made from wax and horsehair.

The Zoörama also features geological exhibits such as glittering crystal geodes, double-refracting trapezoids of Icelandic spar, and polished lumps of jade resembling curious frogs. Only one exhibit has been pilfered, its glass case broken and the label knocked to the floor. It reads, “Gold nugget from Devil’s Reef. Note the typically phantasmagoric ‘Innsmouth’ shape!” (The gold was authentic, and Silas Grimble pawned it for $20 in the Cauldron.)

Cabinet of the Heavens
A glass “Cabinet of the Heavens” stands next to the geological exhibits. It contains three astronomical curiosities: a magnetic glob of metal claiming to be a “Fragment of Antichthonic rock from Earth’s sister planet, located on the opposite aide of the Sun,” a geological cross-section taken from a “Local meteorite boasting detailed Widmanstätten patterns created by using spirit of niter,” and a multi-layered “Piece of green cheese from the Moon.” A Natural History or Science (Geology) roll determines the green cheese to be a curvaceous piece of malachite. A Science (Astronomy) roll identifies the “Antichthonic rock” as a small iron/nickel meteorite. The meteoric cross-section is genuine, but not quite local—a Spot Hidden notices meticulous white brushstrokes along the bottom, revealing a British origin: “Temphill 15B, 1831. Brichester U. Astro. Dept.”

H) Third Floor—Private Residence
Behind the stuffed jaguar (“Jaguar from Qaholom, Mexico. Aztec sorcerers believed a jaguar’s spotted coat concealed hidden messages inscribed by the gods!”) is a door marked “PRIVATE.” Its lock has been smashed, and splinters of wood lie scattered on the floor. Beyond is a narrow staircase leading to Oliver Moneypenny’s third-floor residence, a modest apartment furnished with a small parlor and dining room, a tiny kitchen, a bedroom, and a study. Grimble stole or fenced most of Moneypenny’s belongings, and the rooms are quite effectively pillaged. Only a few furnishings remain: an Oriental rug, a coal scuttle, a stuffed pheasant, and a painting of the Hudson Valley that once adorned Moneypenny Manor. The broken case for a Sea Service flintlock lies on the parlor floor, but the pistol and its accoutrements are now in the possession of Sydney Prim. The soaped windows once offered glorious views of Kingsport Harbor, but now suffuse the room with a creamy light that touches everything with a dreamy edge. If Redburn is present, the painting brings back a warm rush of nostalgic memories, restoring +1D2 Sanity points.

The Study
Moneypenny’s study still contains a few items of interest. Although the furniture and most of Moneypenny’s books have been pawned, his personal papers are intact, casually piled in a corner and forgotten by the museum’s current residents. Sifting through the pile uncovers a few curiosities: the designs for Dario’s organ; a letter from Oscar Moneypenny inviting his brother to visit him in Santiago, California; and Gideon Sleet’s calling card, on the back of which Moneypenny has scribbled, “Wax masks, NYC, $250.” But the real find is a leather portfolio marked “PHANTASMAGORIA.” Inside are diagrams of eighteenth-century phantasmagoria devices, catalogues advertising magic lanterns, copies of letters and receipts detailing the purchase of several sets of antique slides from Europe, and biographical sketches on noted phantasmagoria artists Physicist Phylidor and Étienne-Gaspard Robertson. Many of these papers are covered with Moneypenny’s handwritten notes, but the most personal document is a notebook labeled “Professor Riddle’s Tales from the Deep.”

Professor Riddle’s Tales from the Deep
Reading Moneypenny’s notebook takes one hour, and reveals his steadily deteriorating mind.  It begins harmlessly enough, with Moneypenny’s decision to revive the “dying art” of the phantasmagoria with a show devoted to ghost ships and sea monsters. He had set aside the $16 to order a new magic lantern from McAllister Brothers in Philadelphia, and had already commissioned an artist to create a rogue’s gallery of skeletal pirates and vengeful ghosts. There are frequent quotations extracted from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket, the fabulous tale transcribed by Edgar Allan Poe in the Southern Literary Messenger. Moneypenny’s sketches show a willingness to pull out all the stops, with smoke machines, musical boxes, and a hidden lantern mounted on ceiling rails.

Once Schröpfer’s slides arrived from Leipzig, Moneypenny’s notes shift in tone, a growing obsession with the Book of Revelations replacing his cheerfully-demented sea stories. The Golden Altar features prominently, along with the octopoid demon, which Moneypenny refers to as “that damnably obscure creature, that black Tantalus, that dark beacon from the Maelström.” His final note is rather alarming: “Two glass slides, the space betwixt filled with spermaceti, gold dust, crushed glass, and my own blood and semen. I am beginning to see the pattern. I understand what I must do.”

I) The Basement—“Sensational Waxworks Exhibition”
Like most dime museums, the relatively cool basement houses the waxworks. The Cabinet’s basement is divided into six interconnected rooms, five of which contain the exhibits, with a sixth room closed to the public and used as a workshop. A sign above the stairs offers a titillating warning: “Professor Riddle’s Waxworks Are Intended for Adults Only! No Children Are Permitted. Although Erected for Moral Edification, Some Scenes May Shock and Offend Visitors with Delicate Sensibilities! You Will Not Be Issued a Refund, So Proceed with Caution!”

Most waxworks are atrocious; but not this one. Moneypenny custom-ordered his expensive sculptures from a disciple of Marie Grosholtz Tussaud who now works in New York City. The Cabinet’s models are first-rate, their realism almost disturbing in itself, a nineteenth-century “uncanny valley.” More to the point, they’ve been slowly absorbing the ancient energies swirling below their waxen feet; and repeat visitors to the museum have remarked that the sculptures seem even more realistic than when they were first installed in 1842. In fact, Gideon Sleet himself recently paid a visit to Oliver Moneypenny, asking after the address of his “master wax sculptor.”

Gallery 1: Judith Beheading Holofernes
As related in the Apocrypha, Judith of Bethulia was a beautiful widow who seduced and beheaded Holofernes, one of Nebuchadnezzar’s Assyrian generals. The perfect combination of sex and violence, the scene has inspired artists and sculptors since the Middle Ages. The museum’s diorama is shockingly graphic, depicting Judith as a sensuous redhead clad in diaphanous silk. She holds forth Holofernes’ severed head by its hair, trails of scarlet blood streaming down to the Oriental carpet. Judith’s maid reaches out to her mistress, her hand placed suggestively on the widow’s hip. Usually depicted as an older woman, the maid is as young and nubile as Judith herself, her naked body spattered with the general’s blood. Several plump cherubs hang from the canopy, smiling down with heavenly approval. One of them has apparently met with some recent accident—its poor head is half-melted into a drooling mass. A Spot Hidden notices that Judith bears a close resemblance to a certain local madam, while her handmaiden appears modeled on La Gatita.

Grimble’s Nest
Silas Grimble lives in this room, sleeping in a grimy nest of blankets and cushions brought from Moneypenny’s residence and using the beheaded general’s pillow as his own. He’s become fascinated with Judith and her maid, and the room is hung with numerous lanterns to help illuminate his fantasies. A wooden crate contains a whetstone for Grimble’s scalpel, a small jar of mercury taken from Moneypenny’s workshop, and several bottles of cheap rum swiped from the docks. He also has a ditty bag stuffed with his tattooing equipment, and a clay pot of Grimble’s Hammer with 1D4+1 doses remaining. (See “Drugs, Intoxicants, and Poisons” for details.) A Spot Hidden discovers the Penan blowpipe’s metal spearhead and bamboo case hidden under Holofernes’ bed. If returned to Turkey Hall along with the blowpipe, the good Samaritan is offered a $10 reward.

Gallery 2: Mayor Hall Arrests the St. Michael’s Witches
This regional favorite shows the diabolical Father Rufus Cheever being arrested by Mayor Eben Hall in 1722. Historically inaccurate and decidedly fanciful, it’s nevertheless an artistic tour de force, with the front of St. Michael’s Church replicated in white wood, its towering steeple a marvel of forced perspective. (A History roll observes that the steeple was constructed after St. Michael’s became a Congregational Church.) Father Cheever is sculpted as a stern Anglican priest, holding an upside-down Bible and making some vaguely demonic gesture with his left hand. A stuffed raven perches on his shoulder. Standing beside him are several figures in black robes, their faces cartoonishly ugly—leering men and cackling crones with warts and long noses. A black cat curls around the feet of Lobelia Tuttle, its back arched and hissing, while “Old Mother Cawches” is rendered with her plague mask and flying broom. More witches loom just inside the door, painted silhouettes in peaked black hoods. (A second History roll points out that actually, Lobelia Tuttle was hanged during the 1692 Witch Trials, and “Old Mother Cawches” is only a legend, likely based on Kingsport founder Perotine Cauchés.)

Of course, Eben Hall is the star of the show, a handsome man in antiquated Puritan garb holding a silver crucifix and a Charleville musket. (A third History roll helpfully notes that the Charleville is a modèle 1766. And Puritans weren’t exactly known for their love of crucifixes.) Mayor Hall is accompanied by waxen townsfolk, pious Puritans and outraged fishermen, muskets and pitchforks clutched in their righteous hands. A young woman inspired by Delacroix’s Marianne leans from the crowd, her eighteenth-century dress falling past her chest to reveal the bare breast of charity. She’s waving the flag of the Kingsport Militia, an organization that wouldn’t be founded for another half-century. A painted mob awaits behind the sculpted vigilantes, dark silhouettes holding up nooses. (A fourth History roll reminds—oh, never mind. Just enjoy the diorama.)

Prim’s Lodgings
Sydney Prim lives in this room, sleeping on a mattress dragged from Moneypenny’s bedroom and surrounded by his host’s furniture, dinnerware, and clothing. This diorama is his favorite in the museum, and he’s given each model an individual name. Some of them even talk to him at night, especially when he inserts his lightning rod into their soft, waxy bodies. Lately, Prim has considered dragging the Frederick Douglass statue from the workshop and adding it to angry crowd. Maybe he’ll dress the Negro orator as a chimneysweep, just like his great-great grandfather, whom family legend contends was a vociferous participant in Hall’s angry mob.

Gallery 3: The Poxy Blackguards Are Marched to Arkham
This narrow exhibit depicts a stretch of country road during the year 1774. Connecting Kingsport to Arkham, the road is populated by a jeering mob of farmers and fishermen banging pots and pans, blowing horns, and throwing rotting fruit. Their targets are a trio of men who have been tarred and feathered, forced to march along the three-mile gauntlet as punishment for planning to infect Kingsport with smallpox. While the jubilant townsfolk are certainly worthy creations, it’s these figures which draw the eye, and the craftsmanship is amazing—one can see the pain in their swollen eyes and the burns on their exposed flesh. Real chicken feathers were used in the diorama, and the slightest disturbance in the air causes flakes of down to swirl around the chamber. The distance between Kingsport and Arkham has been artistically contracted; to the left, the University’s famous belltower looms above the tree line, while Kingsport Head rises to the right. If the player characters have been to the Burnt Sawmill (Encounter 37), they’ll recognize it behind the travelers, restored to its former glory. A Spot Hidden notices that several of the waxen figures, townsfolk and prisoners alike, have been amended—their left hands have been heated and remelted into three-pronged claws, just like Silas Grimble’s.

Storage
Grimble and Prim have utilized the gallery’s walkway as storage. It holds a barrel of drinking water, a crate of cooking utensils, and three cans of “moonraker oil” they rub into their victims’ skin prior to “taking a patch.” Created by Grimble along Blake’s Creek, the unguent is a combination of bacon grease, fish oil, and “magical herbs promoting clarity of vision.” A Spot Hidden detects an odor in the air more foul than fish oil; an underlying scent of decay that intensifies near the door to the fourth gallery. 

Gallery 4: The American Inferno
The largest of the four exhibits, this chamber depicts infamous historical figures being tormented for their sins by a ring of painted devils. Although Moneypenny is fairly apolitical, the gallery is designed to appeal to Kingsport’s patriotic sensibilities, and adopts a fairly provincial approach to its subjects. Nevertheless, the anguished sinners are caricatured with a certain amount of diabolical flair. The flames of hell are covered with metallic glitter, and the devils prod the figures with pitchforks, gaff-hooks, and other implements of punishment. Each sinner is identified by a plaque supported by tiny wax demons inspired by the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch.

The first tormented soul is “The Mad Tyrant George III,” his eyes rolling in their sockets and drool hanging from his slack lips. He frantically clutches his powdered wig as a devil prods his posterior with a pitchfork tipped with three bayonets. The devil bears a suspicious resemblance to George Washington. An empty space near King George suggests the presence of a missing sixth figure, its brass plaque reading “History’s Second-Greatest Traitor, Benedict Arnold.” (The first being, presumably, Judas Iscariot.) Next is “The Heartless Captain Henry Mowat.” The British naval commander who burned Falmouth, he is depicted with his cutlass raised, ready to order the shelling of Kingsport Harbor. Mowat has earned no less than three tormenting devils, one dressed in the garb of the Kingsport Militia, one as a Continental Navy captain, and one as a common fisherman. Next comes “The Vainglorious Traitor Aaron Burr,” a fake dueling pistol in one hand and a map of Louisiana in the other. An exaggerated British banknote protrudes from his pocket, a sure sign of his nefarious deals with Perfidious Albion. The final sinner is the most recent, a half-dressed socialite hitching up her petticoats for a satyr-like devil, a wanton expression on her face. She is identified as “The Gorgeous Hussy Peggy Eaton,” the “scandalous” Cabinet wife at the center of the so-called Petticoat Affair that marred Andrew Jackson’s Presidency.

The Sickroom
Upon entering the American Inferno, the awful smell doubles in power; a pervasive stench of decay freighted with vinegar and rosewater. There are four canvas-wrapped bodies on the floor, each held captive by thick ropes. A Listen roll detects a low moaning, almost a meeping, coming from the body near the absent Benedict Arnold. One of the captives is alive!

The Victims
Three of the canvas bundles contain corpses. The first one unrolled releases even more foulness in the air, triggering a Sanity roll for a 0/1 loss. Each corpse resides in a different state of decomposition, its odor attenuated by packed layers of salt and the generous application of vinegar and rosewater. Viewing one of these corpses for the first time requires a Sanity roll for a 1/1D3 loss; after that, the other corpses may be examined with no loss of Sanity. (If Beckett fails his roll, the Keeper may reward him with flashbacks of the Arkham kidnapping ring.)

Describing the bodies in the order they were abducted, the first belongs to Liam Teague, the operator of Moneypenny’s magic lantern show. A former sailor, the Irishman had the misfortune of once showing Grimble the Celtic cross tattooed on his back. Teague has been dead for almost a week, the flesh hacked from his back, along with generous strips of skin torn from his arms and legs. The second corpse belongs to a barber named John Nutting. Dead for three days, a long spiral has been peeled from his body, from throat to left ankle. He has no tattoos, but a Spot Hidden observes numerous prominent moles. The third man lies at the feet of King George III, and only died yesterday. A Portuguese sailor named António Magalhaes, his body is tattooed with a map of the seven seas, many of its features freshly excised by Grimble’s scalpel. The fourth victim is still alive, and is the source of the meeping.

Benjamin Pedrick
A “topman” from Kingsport, Ben Pedrick is a middle-aged salt who sports a menagerie of fantastic mermaids, tritons, and sea monsters wrapped around his torso. He’s restrained by tarred ropes lashed firmly to the floor, and Grimble has playfully turned one of the devils around and pointed its pitchfork at Pedrick’s head. Barely able to speak, Pedrick is suffering from extreme thirst, his body is wracked by fever, and his skin is covered with bedsores and rashes. He winces painful at the slightest light, and occasional chills force him to tremble uncontrollably. A Medicine roll pronounces typhus as a likely diagnoses, with a Hard success suggesting that Pedrick’s condition is quite serious.

Benjamin Pedrick’s Story
A First Aid roll brings Pedrick some relief by unfastening his ropes, cleaning his sores, and bringing him cool water. He is frightened and exhausted, but willing to speak. Nevertheless, he’s clearly suffering from delirium. Pedrick believes the wax figures surrounding him are real, and has been having conversations with Aaron Burr in particular—“The vice president is awful sorry about shooting Hamilton, you know.” Nevertheless, his story haltingly emerges as he realizes his rescue is not another hallucination.

Five days ago “Old Ben” Pedrick met Silas Grimble while drinking at the Rope & Anchor. At first, the two men bonded over their tattoos, but Grimble became uncomfortably intense, asking odd questions about “mysterious islands and forbidden tattoos.” Pedrick attempted to leave, but barely cleared the door before his legs collapsed from under him. The next thing he remembers is waking up in this “torture chamber.” At that point, the “the Portagee beneath King George” was still alive, but the language barrier prevented any meaningful conversation except “an exchange of Christian names and a shared sense of terror.” Over the last few days, “a Negro smelling like creosote” returned twice daily to give them water, feed them gruel, and rub “some kind of stinking oil” into their skins. Two days ago, Grimble showed up and carried Magalhaes to the next room. After a few hours of screaming, the Portagee was brought back, his mangled body covered with blood. Magalhaes wept and pleaded for mercy, but Grimble threw salt on his wounds and wrapped him in canvas—“Like he was already dead, mate, like he was meat.” It took twelve hours for António Magalhaes to die. Pedrick was obviously next, but his increasing sickness made thoughts of overpowering his captors impossible—“I got the gaol fever, I just know it.”

Pedrick’s Fate
There’s little the player characters can do to treat Benjamin Pedrick, and a Regular Medicine roll or a Hard Intelligence roll suggests they minimize contact with Pedrick and the dead bodies. (Although it was not confirmed that typhus was carried by lice until the early twentieth century, people understood that “gaol fever” spread through unsanitary conditions.) If Pedrick is left to perish, every character involved is tormented by a Sanity roll for a 1D3/1D6 loss. However, if Pedrick is transported to Mercy Hospital or the constables are summoned, everyone involved gains +1D3 Sanity points. Unfortunately, Benjamin Pedrick will die of typhus on November 2; just one more casualty on the road to Abaddon.

Gallery 5: The Seraglio Antechamber
The most risqué exhibit in the museum is reserved for the final gallery, but first visitors must pass through an antechamber designed to resemble the inside of an Arabian tent. A heavy velvet curtain restricts access to the seraglio, accompanied by a billboard reading: “The Turkish Seraglio—See the Titillating Delights of a Sultan’s Harem, Including Nine Exotic Beauties and Women Bathing in Real Water. Not Included with Standard Museum Fare. Admission Costs One Nickel and Includes a Refreshing Beverage. Only Five Copper Pennies for Five Minutes of Oriental Bliss!” A chair is placed by the curtains next to a brass hookah transformed into a cashbox. When the museum was operational, Moneypenny paid a “pretty waiter girl” to sit in the chair and flirt with customers, flashing an occasional bit of ankle or décolletage to entice commerce. Customers who paid 5¢ were offered a spruce beer or a cup of switchel and encouraged to “cool their heels” until it was their turn to enter the seraglio. Needless to say, this was intended to heighten the sense of anticipation. Visitors were allowed to pass through the curtains in small groups every fifteen minutes, but only for a five-minute viewing period. Forced to exit back through the antechamber, visitors were offered a second viewing at the reduced cost of 3¢. If business was slow and the “sucker” was obviously hooked, the girl might suggest “fifteen minutes for a dime” or some similar discount. Once clients were satisfied—or if they declined entrance to begin with—they exited through a one-way door and emerged at the main staircase.

Gallery 5: The Turkish Seraglio
This room serves Grimble and Prim as their workshop, and is best revealed in stages as the player characters pass through the curtains. They are immediately greeted by a change in smell, the rancid odor of decay now cut by a tanner’s reek. Unlike the previous galleries, this one is illuminated, a reddish light spilling across the floor like blood. Peering into the crimson gloom, the first thing the characters see is a semi-naked woman, reclining forward with her arms outstretched. Molded to appear like an Indian princess, her brown skin is draped with transparent gauze. A golden tiara crowns her shining black hair and a ruby is affixed to her forehead. The red lamp is positioned directly behind the figure, backlighting her provocative silhouette in a satanic red glow.

As the characters’ eyes adjust to the lighting, the details of the seraglio slowly emerge. Typical of such nineteenth-century depictions, the décor is an anachronistic farrago of Oriental fashions, ranging from bejeweled Arabian hookahs to lacquered screens prowled by Chinese tigers. Six “exotic” wax models recline on velvet cushions, their semi-naked bodies arranged in seductive positions. Although genitals and nipples are conveniently veiled by diaphanous silks, curvaceous breasts and bare bottoms are abundant. Women of all races are cheerfully depicted in the usual stereotypes, from a voluptuous Nubian princess holding a stuffed dove to a blonde captive demurely chained by silver links.

In the center of the room is a claw-footed bathtub painted to look like gold, its rim encrusted by costume jewels. Two naked women lounge in the tub, their legs indecently entwined. One leans forward to her companion, lifting her shimmering veil in prelude to a kiss. Once containing—as advertised—“real water,” the tub was designed to hide its wax bathers under a modest level of blue-dyed liquid. The original intent was to create a tableaux where their breasts were just broaching the water, allowing the viewer to imagine all manner of illicit treats beneath the opaque surface. Now that the water has been reduced to a few vile inches of bloody scum, the lower quarters of the wax models are exposed as unfinished slabs with little erotic appeal. Rising behind the bathtub is a column, a trapezoidal canvas unfurled from its top like a pair of bat wings. Two additional lanterns hang from the wings, mitigating the blood-red light and illuminating a series of weird patches sewn into the canvas. A ship’s wheel has been fastened to the rear of the column, just above a platform improvised from two tables bolted side-by-side. The platform supports a tall stepladder, its upper half concealed behind the canvas. Standing by the wheel is the missing wax figure of Benedict Arnold, dressed in the uniform of a Continental general and holding a flintlock pistol.

The Ship
Upon apprehending this final detail, the entire room snaps into focus—the seraglio has been rearranged to resemble the deck of a ship! The Indian princess is the figurehead, the harem reclines on the deck around the bathtub companionway, the column is the mast, and the wings are actually a sail, stretched in place by ropes attached to the gallery walls. Behind the mast is the quarterdeck, with the captain at the helm!

Entering the Seraglio
Once the player characters step inside the gallery, they notice the spilled blood—there are bloodstains all over the floor, and great splashes have dried across the walls adjacent the entrance. A scarlet trail winds through the seraglio and terminates at the bathtub. Naturally, they may wish to examine the room…

J) The Ambush In the Seraglio
The intruders are about to be ambushed by Sydney Prim, who may or may not have help from Silas Grimble. (Grimble’s presence depends on the timing of the encounter and the previous actions of the player characters.) Whether alone or not, Sydney Prim is pretending to be Benedict Arnold. Dressed in the traitor’s clothing and carrying Moneypenny’s antique pistol, the chimneysweep has carved the face from Arnold’s statue and is wearing it as a mask! He’s even thoughtfully powdered the colonial periwig. If Silas Grimble is present, he’s crouched on top of the ladder, hidden behind the sail.

Detecting the Ambush
As the player characters approach the “mast,” the Keeper should call for a Spot Hidden to detect Prim and a Listen roll to detect Grimble. (If Grimble is not present, no Listen roll is required.) Regular successes do no good; only Hard successes or better may prevent the ambush. A Hard success on the Spot Hidden notices that “Captain Benedict Arnold” has exceedingly strange eyes, perhaps replaced by glittering jewels? An Extreme success catches these moist eyes in a blink! Meanwhile, a Hard success on the Listen roll hears an irregular dripping coming from behind the sail—beads of sweat rolling from Grimble to patter on the “quarterdeck.” An Extreme success detects the faintest sound of the ladder creaking.

Combat: Grimble and Prim Ambush the Intruders

If the player characters catch wind of the ambush, Initiative begins as normal, giving dexterous characters the chance to act first. However, if Grimble and Prim remain undetected, the attackers get the drop on the player characters. Sydney Prim fires his flintlock pistol at the invader with the largest Size, while Silas Grimble discharges his blowpipe at the nearest intruder. (They may be the same character.) These opening attacks are free and unopposed, but subsequent rounds are governed by Initiative rules. Prim casts away the pistol and attacks with Benedict Arnold’s saber, while Grimble leaps from the ladder, slashing an intruder with Sark’s scalpel. The Keeper should make a Jump roll for Grimble. If the Jump roll is a failure, this first scalpel attack is subjected to a –1D10 penalty die on the Brawl roll. However, a Regular success is rewarded with a +1D10 bonus die, and a Hard success adds +1D4 damage! Both men fight until incapacitated, slain, or captured.

Aftermath
If Grimble or Prim survive the attack and are captured alive, it becomes quickly apparent they are both hopelessly insane. Each man has fully submitted to the Call of Dagon. If either is witness to the destruction of the moonraker, a period of agonized howling is followed by a prolonged spell of catatonia.

Silas Grimble
Once defeated, Grimble transforms into a whingeing, debased creature squirming in torment and begging for compassion—“It weren’t me, it’s this terrible claw, it makes me do things! If I don’t find the Golden Altar, it’ll be my own throat it strangles next! Deus me ajude!” Desperate to be understood, Grimble tells the story of his relationship with Oliver Moneypenny as honestly as possible, including his acts of graverobbing, kidnapping, and murder. If remanded to the constabulary, Grimble begins howling in Pidgin Chinese and makes a desperate attempt to sever his deformed hand—“Thisee debil-claw makee belly belly bad, sabbee? Muchee piecee bad, number one see-uh! Chop chop!” No matter the outcome, Silas Grimble will eventually be tried for murder and hanged at the Salem Jail.

Sydney Prim
Prim is even more insane than Grimble. No matter what horrible actions he’s committed, Prim seems incapable of remorse, and maintains a childlike sense of innocence. He is proud to display his festering, leech-covered arm as proof of his devotion. A First Aid or Medicine roll offers a grim diagnosis—gangrene has already set in, and the arm must be amputated to save Prim’s life. Once rendered harmless, Prim’s biggest concern is retrieving his lightning rod, currently driven through Benedict Arnold’s nonexistent heart. Interrogating Prim about the moonraker brings an incoherent stream of corrections that still need to be made, most of which include the alteration of a single stitch or speck of paint. Although Prim has not personally committed murder, his assistance imprisoning Grimble’s victims means a lifelong stay in Salem Jail. He’s also wanted in Arkham on charges involving the death of his chimney boy and the abandonment of his orphaned apprentices.

K) Investigating the Gallery
Once combat has been resolved, the player characters may continue investigating the gallery.

The Polaris Lantern
The lamp illuminating the hellish harem is a brass lantern from the Polaris, the very one missing from the exhibit upstairs. Inset with four round panels of red glass and engraved with a serpentine dragon, the lamp is burning its last reserve of spermaceti oil, and seems to shed more light than it should be capable of producing. The lantern is curiously cold to the touch; an arctic chill permanently alloyed into the brass. As advertised in the Gallery of Neptune, one of the glasses contains a strange distortion, a shadowy imperfection vaguely resembling the face of a man. The longer one stares into the lamp, the more the face seems to widen with terror. An Occult roll recalls stories of windows holding images of sudden death or psychic trauma; but then again, some people see Jesus in burnt toast.

Like Dr. Sark’s Surgical Instruments and the Patriot’s Noose, the lantern has absorbed the energies of the museum and has become an enchanted artifact. Once per day, anyone bathed in its crimson light may trade 1 Sanity point for +10 additional Power points and 4 Magic Points. This boost only works if the user remains within ten yards of the lamp. On the downside, objects seen under the lamp’s glow seem distorted and diabolical, and Sanity rolls made within ten yards of the lantern are subject to +1 extra point of Sanity loss whether they are successful or not.

Most Kingsport sailors believe the Polaris was a cursed ship, and no officer would willingly allow this lantern to be brought onboard the Quiddity. A merciful Keeper should allow potential lantern-bearers a Seamanship roll to intuit, or even share, this superstition. If the lantern is discovered during the voyage, it will be thrown overboard and its owner accused of inviting disaster. The character is immediately declared “Bad Luck.” (See “Level 2” in “Curse of Jonah.”) A Seamanship roll also questions the need for such a lantern in the first place. The United States had not yet adopted the recent British system of red and green lights for port and starboard. Is it perhaps a signal lantern of some kind? On an arctic whaler? Designed to signal…what, exactly?

The Moonraker

A Seamanship roll identifies the small trapezoidal sail as a moonraker. The sail is made from traditional white canvas, but features extensive ornamentation. Astrological symbols, star charts, and compass legends have been sewn into the cloth, sometimes adorned with costume jewelry or bits of colored silk. A Regular success on a Navigation or Science (Astronomy) roll locates Taurus, with Aldebaran a red jewel; but most of the constellations appear to be imaginary. However, a Hard success detects a few similarities with sub-equatorial constellations, but nothing precise. More disturbing are the “patches,” places where the original canvas has been replaced by sections of human flesh. Most of these patches feature tattoos, but there’s also birthmarks, including the constellation cut from Prim’s arm, and a long spiral of unsightly moles. The largest of these gruesome additions is an entire flayed skin, spreadeagled in the center like a twisted version of DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man. Although the skin has been heavily tanned, every square inch is covered by abstract tattoos, including the slackened face. An Anthropology or Seamanship roll identifies the skin as belonging to a Maori. It is of course Bembo Burn.

Gazing upon the moonraker requires a Sanity roll for a 1/1D6 loss (+1 if the Polaris lamp has not been extinguished). It also triggers a Power roll. A Regular success encourages the observer to admire its artistry. Somehow, the ornamentation, stitchwork, and patches correctly dovetail into each other, an inexplicable piece of workmanship given all the variables. A Hard success brings recognition of some latent pattern in the design, something just on the cusp of emerging, something incomplete. An Extreme success takes this a step further, from recognition to revelation: “Why yes! There are tattoos on Benjamin Pedrick’s body that should fit right here, and right there! And Quakaloo old chum, that spiral on your back belongs…right…here.” And yet the reason for this knowledge is maddingly out of reach, like an unremembered name. A critical failure on the Power roll brings all of these feelings, but awakens something deeper and darker. At the Keeper’s discretion, the player character advances one stage on the Call of Dagon. (See “Call of Dagon” for details.)

What to Do with the Moonraker?
The moonraker is obviously a blasphemous object. If destroyed, all player characters who participate in its destruction earn +1D3 Sanity points—except for any poor soul who critically failed his Power roll! That character loses 1D3 Sanity points. Indeed, such a wretch actively resists any attempt to harm the sail, and for 1D3+1 rounds must do everything in his power to preserve the sail. Once this “episode” passes, the character snaps out of the spell, unable to recall anything that happened since he first laid eyes on the moonraker.

The Catherine Wheel
The “quarterdeck” is composed of two tables bolted together, the wheel of the Doxie affixed to the central column. It is here that Grimble and Prim performed the worst of their operations, flaying bodies by fixing them upon the wheel. The area is encrusted with gore and dried tissue, and even the tarred ropes are greasy with blood. Grimble rigged a small tin gutter to channel the blood into the bathtub, and preserved the flesh using tanning equipment stored under the tables. If the player characters have seen Mary Brody’s painting of the Doxie (Encounter 2), her flayed helmsman comes to mind immediately. A Spot Hidden discovers an empty bottle of laudanum under the table, its label advertising Calypso Apothecary on Green Lane.

L) The Workshop
A concealed door in the seraglio wall leads to the museum’s workshop, which contains a workbench and tools, paint, spare glass panels, janitorial supplies, and so forth. The model of Benedict Arnold lies on the floor, naked and faceless, a lightning rod thrust into its chest. Wax sculptures of William Lloyd Garrison and Frederick Douglass lean against the wall. Originally part of the American Inferno, Moneypenny removed them after receiving complaints from his increasing number of Negro visitors. Moving aside the waxen Douglass reveals a curtain, behind which is the entrance to the smuggler’s tunnel.

M) The Smuggler’s Tunnel
Reinforced by wooden beams, this damp tunnel connects the former warehouse with Laird’s Cove, a small inlet tucked into the South Shore. A few branches along the tunnel lead to other warehouses, many still in use by Kingsport’s smugglers. Of course, if the Keeper wishes to include a narrow, impassable chimney tantalizingly directed downward, a stray updraft may carry the heady scent of ancient decay, formic acid, and Channel Island brine…

White Leviathan > Chapter 1—Kingsport 1844
[Back to Encounter 26, Sleet, Baker & Blood | White Leviathan TOC | Forward to Encounter 28, Ebenezer Hall Academy]

Author: A. Buell Ruch
Last Modified: 26 November 2021
Email: quail (at) shipwrecklibrary (dot) com
White Leviathan PDF: [TBD]