9,000 Petals of Insanity

Chapter 30: The Ivory Ark

"Then, after an interval, the Third Royal Calender rose, and related his story as follows:—"

The Arabian Nights, "Story of the Second Calender"

EXCERPTS FROM DUSANG'S NOTES

Personal Account of Mr. Jörmungandr Charlemagne.

Rorschach faked his suicide? Good Lord... that's quite a shock. Why? It's unthinkable. Oh, to exact his revenge? That's absurd... Rorschach has never inclined towards violence. I think that you have already established the impossibility of Rorschach being Armageddon. Why was he poisoned, then? It's quite a shocking development. You're talking about diamonds? Well... I'm not quite sure about that. Although, there might be another lead you may want to pursue. I don't know why I didn't recall this earlier. Rorschach and the Zodiac Club encountered each other much earlier than you were told. Several years ago, Rorschach was on a private yacht with several other friends of the yacht's owner, Pharaoh Czarok. Yes, the multi-billionaire. The Zodiac Club was among them. I don't quite recall who the other guests were... anyway, while on the yacht, they were stranded near an island, where nothing was heard from them for several days. When they finally returned, none of them was willing to relate their experiences, nor what had happened in that small period of time. Rorschach was never the same when he came back from the island. Perhaps the reason behind these murders resides in what happened on that island...

Personal Account of Yegmann Poltriq. Note: Poltriq was Charlemagne's butler.

Let's see... why, that was quite a long time ago, sir. But let me see if I recall the details. It was late at night. I am not a heavy sleeper, sir, so naturally I was awoken by the sound of a window opening. Before long I heard someone creep into the house. I lit a lamp and walked out of my room. Then I saw the burglar. He was walking slowly across the carpet, and I was very alarmed to find that he was progressing towards Mr. Charlemagne's study. Quietly I tailed him. I was too late, however. He had already entered the master's study. I heard shouts and revolver shots echoing from within. By the time I had hurried into the room silence had fallen again. When the lamp was lit I saw that Mr. Charlemagne was standing, horror-stricken, in front of the lifeless body of a man clad in rags, lying upon the ground. It appeared that the intruder had accidentally dislodged a massive marble clock with a revolver shot, and it had fallen onto his face, scarring his features and killing him. You can only imagine Mr. Charlemagne's shock. His revolver was still clutched limply in his left hand. Was the intruder an Arab? I believe so... all I know is that he was from some country in the Middle East.

Personal Account of Mr. Pendragon Bumflebiddle, 52. Note: Lived across the street from Rorschach Delbofont.

Rorschach Delbofont... wasn' he tha' man who was arrested for murder so many years ago? Wahl, I can' say I remember much abou' tha' old chap. Good guy, really. Mild-mannered, polite. Quite impossible to think of him as a murderer. Really, it's all very unsettlin'. But wha's your business, anyhow, askin' such questions at a time such as this? Oh, yur 'un of them 'private investigator' fellows. Wahl, I can tell you this: he didn' have tha' much friends. Le's see... tha' day I was mindin' me own business, you see, when I's suddenly see Mr. Delbofont walkin' outta his door. Suddenly I sees thi' woman sprawled in front o' his house. I though' she were dead. I can' remember wha' happen' next, bu' wha' I do remember is when Mr. Delbofont started shoutin', sayin' all sorts of stuff abou' sum woman gettin' murdered an' all. Then ol' Guillotine Diore-- you know him? He was passin' by tha' day. When he sees Mr. Delbofont standin' over tha' body, he starts up a ruckus, you know. Callin' him a murderer and whatnot. Anyways, Mr. Delbofont scarpered. Dunno wha' happened next, though. Then I heard from the papers he'd committed suicide. Poor old chap. Such a nice guy, really. Can' think of him as a murderer.