5 February, 1895

From the Journal of Laszlo Camden, Lord Wivenhoe:

It has been a couple of days since I had written anything, due to the manic lifestyle our illustrious host possesses at times, invalid though he's become. Dr Hawthorne has this enmity with Lord Caruthers, of which I've already heard the gossip surrounding the nefarious baron and the lengths he will take to silence anyone he sees as an obstacle. He besieged Bleak House yesterday in his airship, pelting the elderly walls with reckless abandon from several guns. Alas, I venture too much without disclosing the details of this tragedy.

Sunday morning rose fresh enough, attending Mass at St Joseph's in Bude. Mr Trowley, after Mass, sent a telegraph to the Watchers to explain our former predicament with interrogation of the monks of Mihnea that squatted in the mausoleum on the 2nd. Meanwhile, young Karl guarded over the bodies we stored in the cellar until further orders from the Watchers. Dr Hawthorne and Dr Trevelyn fret that the cadavers might animate and wreck havoc, mind you, in broad daylight. I've read LeFanu's novelette Carmilla and I doubt the dead monk's bodies were of sufficient pedigree to warrant animation.

Mr Trowley returned with a dispatch from the Watchers to await the arrival of a Martian named Kalim. Kalim had a reputation as a noble savage, a warrior from the hills, if you will, and in league with said Watchers. The Martian paladin would arrive later that evening or on the morrow, weather permitting. Until his arrival, we were to take all means necessary to guard the Tome. Dr Wilhelm, Mr LaSalle and my manservant, Seward, went to London to return with the Hermes.

Supper was served at seven, a light dish of salmon fillets smothered in lemon butter. Fortunately, Mr LaSalle wasn't present to complain of the lack of ambition in English recipes, for it was delightful with a glass of Pernod. At supper, we scheduled watches. I was to be first. I stayed my watch reading the Times until a little past eleven and roused Mr Trowley. Just as I was settling down for bed and easing Uncle Seamus' leg off my phantom stride, Kat burst into my room in tears, pleading with me to come to the cellar.

"He's dead," she cried. "All gone! Vanished!"

Realizing these hysterics weren't imagined of the little milkmaid, the disshevled state of her dress, and through my drunken haze, my conclusion was of Karl, possibly grievously injured. I immediately warned Mr Trowley. Kat led Trowley to the cellar while I knocked at Dr Hawthorne's chamber.

Passing back into the inner parlor, I encountered a large brute of a man in a tattered cloak. He was too large to be any Cornish local, most vagabonds being ill-fed and less imposing. This giant was a monster, a revenant. Through the courage brandy, I bellowed a challenge to him, cause and effect being twofold: his distraction and to give warning to the others. Without the use of my false leg, I lunged at him with my walking stick, dealing a blow which should've brained any prize-fighter.

It didn't phase him in the slightest. I ducked one swing, but the second connected, sending me unconscious against the far wall.

I recovered about five ten later from the concussion. Everyone was drugged and eventually succumbed. Dr Hawthorne confronted the revenant and was beaten; Dr Trevelyn managed to sneak to the lower floor with the Grimoire; Kat returned to the salon, broke my walking stick and staked the bestial man, who disintegrated into dust.

We fortified ourselves with a libation before retiring, Mr Trowley was left to clean the salon. The drink was apparently drugged, for we all fell unconscious.

Later the next morning, we recovered individually. Upon awakening again, the tome was gone. With little time to shake off the drug's effect, Kalim had arrived, and not alone.

Another brute of a man accompanied him, an American representative of the Winchester Company aptly named John Loadmore. The American had with him several cases containing his contraband arsenal (at least they are in England, God save Her Majesty!) Lucky we were at that moment to have this arsenal, for within minutes of their arrival, Lord Caruthers ambushed the house from one of his rumored fleet of zeppelins.

Four gunmen burst through the foyer. Mr Loadmore opened his arsenal, ordering Mr Trowley, Dr Hawthorne and myself to help ourselves to the weapons. The savage Kalim, leaving caution to the wind, stepped in front of the firing line and cleaved several with his Martian claymore. Then, he fixes a primed stick of dynamite to a rather large arrow and fires it at the escaping zeppelin. Mr Loadmore manages to place a well-aimed shot up the barrel of the gun on the main deck. The zeppelin escapes in spite of our efforts. Unfortunately, the ambush takes the life of Dr Trevelyn, cut down in the crossfire near the chapel.

Just then the Hermes landed outside Bleak House. Mr LaSalle, Dr Wilhelm and my servant Seward began unloading several crates and lending us such aid as they could.

Mr Trowley remains busy as usual. Kat and myself go with Mr Trowley into town that afternoon while the rest load the Hermes. Inquiries are made. Mr Trowley spots Mr Wicker on the train bound for Exeter. We returned to Bleak House with Dr Hawthorne's exhausted pony in time to lift off with the Hermes and follow the train. Mr LaSalle disclosed with us his discoveries of the ambushers: none were of a single nationality; low-class workers who had been weeks in etherflight.

We arrived in Exeter about two hours later. Mr LaSalle volunteered to check with the station master of arrivals and departures. As he ventured onto the train departing for Plymouth, Lord Caruthers' zeppelin had followed from the clouds. The Hermes took flight to escape Lord Caruthers, engaging him from just under the low clouds. I manned the Gatling from the blister with Kat assisting me, while Mr Loadmore opened the hatch to fire off shots from aft keel. After numerous rounds at the pursuing zeppelin, I managed to set it on fire and it dropped from the clouds to crash into a nearby church. Kat was wounded in the exchange and I carried her to our makeshift infirmary (actually, Dr Wilhelm's laboratory). At this point, Seward spotted Mr LaSalle's flare from the correct train departing for Plymouth.