LADY VICTORIA DARTMOOR’S JOURNAL

[i]3 May.–[/i] Tonight, mine ears dine upon the finest sound in idyllic Arukadiland: the crying of the Waru Wolf. A mysterious beast of starlight and shadow, much discussed by the merchants my father dealt with. It prowls Arukadiland, howling so beautifully that the heart is struck by its divine beauty. Only its pelt outclasses its call.

I must discover it! No man may confront the beast and live, but I am no man. Neither typhoon nor tidal wave shall stay this lady about her duty!

I lodge tonight with Sir Mackleby of the eastern mines. Darkest Africa lies just over the horizon. I cannot wait to open that battle-hardened heart!

[i]14 May.–[/i] Finally, I am granted an audience with Lord Mackleby. He spent the last few days organizing slave activities across the eastern mines, having scarce visited the manor; it appears the indigenous population have given him grief. I cannot blame them – a cornered hyena shall show courage when manhandled by men – but this delay is simply frustrating.

Lord Mackleby insisted I desist. The Waru Wolf is but a myth; it is only the delicacy of my sex which compels him to forgive me my sanity. My sanity! I daresay I am saner than he, who refuses to believe what his ears hear but his eyes see not!

His company offends me. He is a mere auditor, a collector of leaves. A tedious companion. One who rarely ventures beyond his home should venture no opinions beyond his ken.

[i]25 May.–[/i] My journey across Darkest Africa reaches another impasse. The locomotives of the Corrugated Company simply do not venture far enough through the jungles. Intolerable!

Though I have enjoyed the view of the jungles and valleys of magnificent Arukadiland from the carriage windows, the journey has increased my hunger for victory. I have seen the Galoombo Giant of Belphegia, the Lake Leviathan of Daemonis, and the Fire Fish of Malba: merely a camelopard, a seal, and a fraudulent tribesman respectively. This time, the truth must be far more inspired!

[i]6 June.–[/i] I traverse the river of Ooloodunyo – how I wish these absurd names would cease – on a rusty steamboat. The crew are saltier than I am accustomed to, but one is indebted to such noble souls, regardless of their lowly birth. Many refused to have a woman aboard their vessel. Laughable superstitions. Why, my presence was blessed providence: My knowledge of traditional herbal medicine, gleaned from the war-torn lands of Belphegia, helped me treat several injuries. My presence was granted more graciousness after this display of skill!

[i]17 June.–[/i] Even the river no longer aids me. Despite the unsanitary conditions, I lodge in a backwater village with the natives. Most regard me with suspicion, especially the womenfolk, despite my dress being considerably more modest than theirs – at least, what little remains, given the frankly abysmal physical conditions. All warn me against seeking out the Waru Wolf, but I hear its heart-rending call every night. O, pray I am not disappointed in love again! Pray there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio!

[i]28 June.–[/i] The chief of the village, a personal friend of the river folk who assisted me, led me to the den of the beast. I awaited its presence with bated breath.

In war-torn Darkest Africa, slaves and mines and disease rend the population asunder. How noble it would be to find here natural grace. My Lord in Heaven surely meant for this land to show us His wonders, His creations, not the ugliness of Sin.

Feeble as I am in war and strife, this much I can at least accomplish.

[i]30 June.–[/i] With heavy heart, I conclude my travails. In the night, dreadful slavers attacked. Amid chaos, I stumbled into the chief’s den, and find disillusionment. A fake wolfskin, a wind instrument of curious design: I suspected its duplicitous use immediately, and so hidden, used its noble sound to frighten away the slavers. Not before they stole away with many fine savages of my acquaintance!

The villagers banished me, no longer trusting my kind, show kindness though I did. Another dream dashed. There is neither Wolf nor beauty. My bravery counts for nought.

Once more, I refuse to surrender. Legends tell of a Phoenix in Phanatoma. I pray biblical wonders yet remain upon God’s Earth, though I set out to humble Man, who shall not be humbled, and relive my childish innocence for an Eden long since destroyed.