You might want to keep an eye out for Assamites trying to kill you.
On a slightly more cheery note, we have finally managed to get something done, mostly due to Mistress Thomas. The locals seem given to amusing themselves by means of Camarilla Princes, & thus saw fit to invite us, to what passes for their Elysium, so as to elect a new one. I & my curse-born Childe, Senorita Isabel Inmaculada de Heredio(whom, to your, one is sure, ineffable relief, managed to arrive safely at the shores of this land of idolatrous murdererous depravity) showed up just in time to observe Mistress Thomas lob her extensive knife collection at a Mr. Abdullah Can, apparently of the Tuna tribe, illustrating to the natives that we, too, know how to amuse ourselves.
Ones own amusement, at least, was slightly dampened by the disclosure that Mr. Cans Tunas were what we would call the “Assamites”. After blustering a bit, he took off, clandestinely escorted by Mistress Thomas. Though not universally in agreement with her solution to “lifes” little problems, to wit, stabbing them with her extensive knife collection, in the case of mortally offended Assamites, one is willing to make exceptions; & even went so far as to ask my shameborn Childe to assist her therein.
The rest of the court session went swimmingly-one chatted with some interesting people, including a Miss Capreocorpus, who seemed not uneducated, though given to Swedenborgian rantings & the inviting of likely Gentlemen into her “Inner Sanctum”; as well as he who Captain Ashe gracefully allowed the title of new Prince of Bombay, His Royal Highness Naam Singh. So far, the new Prince has given one no reason for complaint: he has a fine, firm hand-or should one say, paw?-shake, looks one straight in the eye (a most useful habit, that), valerously declares himself Camarilla, & even bears an uncanny physical resemblance to our heraldic lion.
Mistress Thomas & my poor childe, on the other hand, or paw as the case may be, were found outside, after the coronation was well over, in a state of insensibillty. That it was not, Thank Providence, that of Final Death, should tell sufficently what account they gave of themselves to the Assassin Clan; Can, nevertheless, is still at large, & even more exitable. Hence my initial piece of advice. whilst on the subject, do Assamites traditionally transform themselves into giant cobra snakes when on a Cleopatran rampage? Captain Ash had to fend such a creature off, a few nights before the election-we might be able to use that as an excuse, combined with the right sort of “bakeesh”, of course. One has made approaches to the local Nosferatu leader, or “leper-king”, who, though of a self-effacing manner, has enough discreet integrity to publicly proclaim himself Camarilla. As a physician, one has never shared in the vulgar errors as to this, medically so fascinating, Clan; & have been given to understand that they have some experience in Assamite handleling.
More, so far at any rate, than my otherwise so martially able Childe, or even Mistress Thomas-who, as it happens, claims to act upon a Voice within her head-one who, also, claims a High Place in our Invisible Pyramid.
Bound to your service by Internal Chymestry,
“a small unleavened, undefiled Cake”