Things come to a head

Dear Diary,

I can't believe I am finally to return home! While my time and grades here at Eisenheim have improved dramatically once I began what I now call the Blindfolded Harlot, my own gambit, it has run its course. My last paper has been turned in, and the last "Mr Janus" has left me. He was a bit thicker than the last one, and affected a truly dreadful Slovak accent, "revealing" that he had a horrible facial disfigurement and thus would still not reveal himself to me. I assured him that it would not trouble me to see it, but he insisted and took his leave.

While I couldn't be sure because of the blindfold at first, when a great shuffling about occurred one night and "Mr Janus's" penis grew in size and he suddenly sprouted a mustache, not to mention a greatly renewed constitution, I knew I was being tricked. Not that it mattered to me, at that point. When I confronted Samir about it, who has a delightful infatuation with my feet, he quickly admitted to the ruse, begging me not to call the authorities.

I asked him how many, and honestly was surprised that the number wasn't higher. Learning their character, it seems my room had be the final point of many a young man's virginity. What's worse is that I honestly didn't care. They had something I needed, and I they, as we played our little game and everything worked out without innocent girls getting drugged and hearts broken. He was confessing this all to me as I lounged in the tub, my toes in his mouth. "And how many Samirs?" I ask, pushing his face away with my foot and withdrawing it, holding it like a carrot before a draft horse.

"Only three." he said, stroking himself as I let him continue kissing my ankles. I shook my finger, as if he had done a bad thing, and turned over in the tub so I was on my knees, my bum lifting out of the water.

"Only three? Tsk, tsk. For that you'll have to clean me." I said, swaying my hips invitingly. His soft hands parted my cheeks, and I grinned as his tongue circled my anus. He was becoming quite skilled at that. His fingers slipped inside of me, and we wrote the final chapter of the Blindfolded Harlot with glorious copulations and sodomies.

That afternoon, I met Mr Drake at the train station. To my surprise, Wayland was with him. I ran to them, embracing them both. Poor Wayland was unable to keep his resolve, and kissed me deeply. The rains were finally letting up, and Christmas was coming Thursday. I'd received word that my father and Cordelia would be in attendance at the family estate. I couldn't wait to tell her about the naughtiness I'd gotten into. Slowly, I realized that I was the only one excited, the only one smiling.

"What's wrong?" I said, suddenly worried.

"Miss Hughes, its time you learn what has been going on. Come, let us board. Do not speak." Mr Drake said cryptically. I looked first to him, and then to Wayland, who pointed to his ear. We boarded the train in silence, a feeling of uneasiness settling over me. When we found our cabin, Wayland closed the door, and opened his luggage, pulling out a large folder. "Clara, what you are about to see is going to be hard to take in. Don't cry out, and don't ask any questions till the noise of the engines begins." Drake said, lighting his pipe.

I accepted the folder, and took a breath. I knew that whatever had brought these two men together who were now staring at me so intently was going to change my life forever. I opened the file, and my hand went to my mouth. It wasn't the greatest photograph I've ever seen, but there it was: Sir Prescott walking side by side with a man, short of stature with large hands and large feet. He had beady little eyes and was dressed as a savage. Behind them was a great, glimmering pyramid, and row after row of drill tanks. The next photo was of Prescott shaking his hand. There was another man in the background. I squinted, trying to get a good look at him. Thankfully the engines kicked in, and we were on our way.

"That is the American General "Iron" Jack Bradshaw. He led the assault on Kanda. Prepare yourself. The next one will be rough. I flipped the photo over, and gasped. Cordelia was there, stripped naked save for some tribal jewelry, with a collar and chain attached to her neck. She was sitting quietly at the feet of a Mole Man. I could only imagine what she had endured.

"How did she..." I asked, already knowing the answer. "My father sent her with them, didn't he?" Wayland nodded, patting my hand.

"He sent her with Prescott, who appears to have given her as a gift to this...Mole Person....who Drake assures me is Lagus, their king. The collar means she is now his. I'm sorry, Clara. We don't believe your father knew his plans, rather thinking that he wanted her for the usual vulgar reasons."

"How do you know?" I asked, staring at the picture. My poor, sweet Cordelia. What had she been through?

"We, well someone, intercepted a Gravitograph intended for your father. Prescott said he wished for a repeat performance from the Masquerade and that since he had business in the region, would be by for Christmas. Your father inquired about Cordelia, and was told she was to join the party later. We don't believe that is going to happen. Clara, we believe the intention is to kidnap your father, yourself, and your mother now that he is an ambassador, and attack both from above and below. If they succeed, they'll have conquered New India without us being able to mount a proper defense."

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"I've developed a way to breach their defenses. If it works, our Gyropilots will be in for a fight but will have a decent chance." Wayland said, staring into my eyes.

"I'll take care of the Mole Men, and rescue our damsel in distress." Drake added.

"Then what am I to do?" I asked, unsure of what was happening. They looked at each other grimly, then back at me.

"We need you to buy us time." I thought about the implications of that, and my spirits dropped.