Altered Fates: The Search For The Medallion free porn video

AF: The Search for the Medallion By Bashful Kenneth Farnsworth, Lord of Eastham, was on an antique buying trip when he discovered one of the most powerful magical devices known to man. That is to say, he discovered its existence. 'Lord Farnsworth,' he had a hard time accepting the title. It was his, to be sure, he was the true heir to the Farnsworth title and holdings. He just never thought of a twenty six-year-old man as a "Lord". His father had died suddenly of a heart attack at forty-eight just a year earlier. He had been thought healthy so it had been a shock to all. Kenneth's mother was holding up well. She had always been a strong woman. She was grieving but she was coming through it. Kenneth grieved and moved on, as his father would want him to. Kenneth's hobby was antiques. He loved fine old things. He loved to search out particular items and research their provenance, to insure they were genuine. He was skilled at it and he could have made a good living doing it, if he so chose. However, Kenneth had family businesses to look after and this was just a hobby. Kenneth's mother thought it an interesting hobby but she would prefer he spent his weekends searching for a wife. She wanted a grandchild to keep her busy and happy. Kenneth had just not found a girl he was interested in yet. He would tend to that when he was ready. This day found Kenneth in a small antique gathering that promised an auction. Kenneth had scouted the fair the day before and noted a couple of small items he was interested in. The auction proceeded and Kenneth bought one of the items he looked at but not the other. He was about to leave when he heard them mention a new lot. An odd one in that it was not specifically an antique. It was a bin of old parcels that had been found in an abandoned old post office. The postal service had delivered all the packages that could be delivered and the rest were grouped together for sale there today. They were undeliverable due to a variety of factors. Being a stamp collector since childhood, Kenneth was interested. He purchased the box of parcels for a few pounds and left for home. Business kept him busy for several weeks. He was packing for a business trip when he found the box still in the boot of his car. Kenneth took it in and glanced through it quickly. There were several packages with good stamps on them and they were all unmarked, they had not been canceled, increasing their worth. This was truly just a hobby, he had never sold a stamp though he did trade them with other collectors. The box contained several letters, a few newspapers and several small parcels. One caught his eye. It was a small box, crushed and torn on one end. The address it was to have been shipped to had been obliterated. The return address was clear though, it was the Osburne estate. He felt a thrill of recognition, Kenneth knew of the Osburne family! It had been a small scandal that had received a bit of notice in the papers then. In the early part of the century, Elizabeth Osburne had taken control of the family holdings until her son Kevin was old enough to assume his position as the man of the family. This followed the untimely death of her adoptive parents, Sir James M. Osburne and his wife in a carriage accident. The notable part of the story was the fact that the child was born out of wedlock. For 1900, to have been accepted as the heir to the family holding, was unheard of. Just as unheard of as leaving the estate to an adopted daughter with no male executor involved. Elizabeth proved to be a smart, strong and shrewd woman though. Much different than her working class upbringing should have produced. She married a year after her parent's deaths but retained her name and control of the holdings. When Kevin finished college, he assumed control. Elizabeth was said to have kept a close eye on the family fortune but Kevin had been raised and taught well and he comported himself with honor. Kenneth knew little about Sir James Osburne though. He knew he had been a doctor and an officer in the army. Later in his life, he had been an adventurer, taking trips to Africa and Asia for hunting and exploring. Kenneth opened the package carefully. It had several pristine stamps on it. One was badly torn when the brown wrapping paper bearing the address had been somehow ripped off. Inside the package was a thick bundle of folded papers, yellow with age but in good condition. They could be flattened out without damage. There were two types of paper. One high-grade personal stationary, the other, less expensive. The later seemed to have been cut from a bound journal of some type. It was lined for writing and it was covered in a fine script, for the most part. This appeared to be the notes of an adventure taken by Sir James in the middle of 1899. Some of the entries were written in ink, they were obviously written when Sir James had time to carefully record the events he described. Others are written in pencil and appeared dashed off in haste, as if they might be the last words written by a frightened man. One entry had a brown stain on the corner of one page, Sir James mentioned it was blood. Some of the penciled entries were faded and hard to read. Kenneth tore himself away from the notes. He had to leave on his trip. He would return for the weekend and then maybe he could find out what had terrified a world traveler like Sir James so badly. After his trip, Kenneth sat down to read the journal of Sir James M. Osburne. MD, KBE. Knighthoods were not passed out easily in the nineteenth century. He must have been a brave and resourceful man. Kenneth scanned the pages into his computer and then used an enhancement program to bring out the faded writing. After a couple of hours, Kenneth had a complete copy of all the pages from the package, in readable form. The first page was a short letter to the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne, addressed to someone who was obviously a friend of Sir James. Dear William, I apologize, old friend, for the grave duty I am about to place upon you. I warn you. DO NOT TOUCH the medallion contained herein without first reading my journal. As God is my witness, I affirm every word to be true. I wish that it were not so. If it were false, I might still have a son. I am hoping you will know what to do with this accursed medallion. I ordered my blacksmith to destroy it and we have not seen the man since. I found the medallion next to the forge, lying on the ground. My blacksmith's clothing ripped to shreds and flung about the stable. I cannot sleep at night, thinking of the horrible fate the man suffered. I cannot stand to have the thing on my property one day more. Signed, Sir James Mallory Osburne MD, KBE Next followed the journal pages of Sir James African adventure. As perplexing as the first letter was, the journal was more intriguing. June 13th, 1899 We were met with terror in the night. A huge male lion attacked our camp right after the evening meal, when many were relaxed and not on guard. My good friend and old army buddy, Hillary Edmunds was killed while trying to get a shot into the beast. It is his blood that stains this page. Edmunds died quickly but the lion dragged a porter off into the jungle. We pursued but found only part of the poor man. Another porter died overnight from his injuries. The animal must weigh close to 30 stones! I have heard of lions this large but they are rare. I will avenge the death of my friend and kill the man-eater as soon as he presents himself in my sights. We have buried my friend and the porters. We have prayed to the Almighty for courage and His guidance in our quest for this murderous beast. I must take responsibility for Edmunds death. I persuaded him to come on this Safari. I fear it will be my last and I wanted a good man by my side. Edmunds was that and more. I shall care for his family as he would care for mine if the situation were reversed. May God forgive me. June16th, 1899 We have been searching for three days now for the lion that killed Edmunds and the two porters. No doubt the cat is lying up somewhere waiting for hunger to send him out hunting again. We have staked out goats as bait, but to no avail. Several porters have told us they are leaving when daylight comes again unless the man-eater has been put down. The porters dare not leave at night. I have armed every man who can handle a rifle and placed them in a circle with the unarmed in the center of the circle. Those without rifles have machetes, spears and long knives. I am armed with my trusty Holland & Holland double rifle in the .500 Nitro chambering. If I can get the murdering bugger in my sights, he will kill no more. June 17th, 1899 The big cat attacked last night. The lion leapt from a tree and bounded over the rank of armed men into the center of our circle. We could not fire for fear of hitting each other. The man-killer had to be dispatched with blades and gun butts. We lost a good man, Kinbetto, our cook. He managed to sink his large carving knife into the lion's chest right up to the pommel. Unfortunately, he was dead by then. When the cat was down and too weak to get up again, I finally ended his reign of terror and his own misery with a shot to his head. I want no trophy from this beast. We burned his body after giving medical attention to the wounded. Thank God none were badly hurt, except poor Kinbetto. June 18th, 1899 The news of our killing of the man-eater has been spread to the surrounding area. Many people have come to our camp and brought us gifts for ridding their homeland of the scourge. We did so as a matter of survival but are happy to have been of a service to these friendly people. The gifts are mostly trinkets and the like but the gratitude of the people is warmly received. Tomorrow we march toward Kenya and then home. June 23, 1899 We have had no luck locating any suitable game for table meat in the area but we have been welcomed by the chief of a local tribe. He heard of our killing of the man-eater and wanted to give us a celebration. More out of courtesy than anything else we have agreed. He has asked us to come to their village just before nightfall. June 27, 1899 I have seen sights no man should ever see. Even now, four full days later, I am tortured by what has transpired. My nights are full of terrors that come when I close my eyes. I must have a porter stand guard over me with a rifle for fear of what might happen while I sleep. The celebration at the village was a trap. It was intended to capture and enslave us in a most frightening way. Only by the grace of God and the courage of a brave man, did we escape. The chief met us at the edge of his village compound and escorted us to the center of the clearing. There burned a large fire with a spit over it. Turning on the spit were the carcasses of two roasting goats. The chief bid us sit and we were handed cups with a pungent liquid. I sipped mine but some of the others tossed theirs down quickly. The tribe appeared to be mostly women and very attractive women at that. I had long ago gotten over any embarrassment of seeing the naked breasts of the tribes people, but I could not remember seeing as many attractive girls in the same tribe. Many of these tribes tended to have the problems associated with inbreeding. There were no indications of any such trouble here. Several of the girls danced for us and other were servers. The food was better than most I have had, and the best since we lost our cook. I looked for our guide to have him translate with the chief but could not see him. I then noticed that some of the men were being lead into huts by girls. I might not have approved of such goings on but I was not going to object and be thought an ungrateful guest. If offered such a service, I would refuse. I noticed many of the men from my group were gone, I looked for one who spoke English and located the porter we called Jimmy. Jimmy was a shy young boy and was a little young to go with the girls. He had learned English from an American missionary. I called Jimmy over and he helped me talk to the chief. I thanked the chief for his hospitality and offered him a gift of a good belt knife. I knew how these people prized a good tool and this was an excellent knife. The chief was very taken with the knife. He was a huge man, well over six feet tall and very well muscled. He was younger than most of the chiefs I had met on my trip so far. He told me, through Jimmy, that we had been of great service to his land by killing the lion and he thought we would continue to be of great service to him for years to come. I was confused by the statement and thought Jimmy had translated incorrectly, then a group of large men surrounded me. They were pointing wicked looking spears at my throat and they herded me toward a stake planted near the fire. I was tied to the stake and the chief began bringing out my men. One at a time he had them brought from the huts they had been lured into. They were bound with their hands behind their backs. The chief went to each man and placed a medallion over his head. He then touched the medallion with a scrap of cloth. With each man, he pulled a different scrap of cloth from a bag. Over the period of the next half-hour or so, the man would be changed. Slowly, gradually the man would shrink in size. His hair would grow out, even bald men grew full heads of long, black, kinky hair. Their facial hair would disappear. Their faces themselves would change. After about half an hour, the changes would cease. The chief's men would then cut away the changed man's clothes to reveal a young girl similar to the ones who lured the men into the huts! The clothing was then cast upon the fire. Then the new girl was lead away by one of the warriors that surrounded me. It took hours but eventually there was only myself left from my party. Apparently there was no pain associated with the transformation since this first man so changed did not react to the change until his clothes were ripped from his now female body. Those who followed the poor fellow knew their fate and protested it vocally. The chief approached me and put the medallion over my neck. I had witnessed grown men thrash and wail, weep and scream. Men who had bravely fought the fierce lion just days before, nearly barehanded, were reduced to begging for their manhood. None of this prevented the horrible changes. I determined that I would not give the evil chieftain the pleasure of seeing a Knight of the British Empire cower or wail. Whatever fate held for me I would face, head held high. I stared the chief in the eyes as he drew a different scrap of cloth from the bag he had pulled the others from. I believe I saw a flicker of fear as a brave man stared him down. In addition to my pride, I had a plan. When they had seized me they had made two mistakes. First, they had not bound my hands as tightly as possible. This was doubtless due to the fact that they also bound my chest and legs to the post. I knew that as my body shrunk, as I had seen the bodies of my companions shrink, my arms would be free of the ropes that bound them. Their second mistake was to fail to search me. In the pocket of my bush jacket was my faithful Webly 'Bulldog' revolver. While small, it fired the .455 calibre round and would drop a man in his tracks. When I could loose my hands, I would take the chief to hell with me, though it may be my last act on this earth. Before the chief could touch the medallion though, a dozen men rushed into the compound and pointed rifles at him. I recognized my H & H double in the hands of the apparent leader. I did not relax since I did not know the intents of the new group. One of them stepped forward and cut my bonds. He reached out for the medallion as I massaged my wrists. The leader spoke to him sharply, staying his touch. The leader offered me his hand, he introduced himself, in English! He told me he was John Wallace, an American. He ordered his men to action in the native tongue and they spread out. They returned in short order with the changed men and the men that had lead them off. The new women were very upset and some had apparently been abused. When I found out what they had been expected to do, just minutes after being changed into women, I wanted to take a whip to the buggers. John Wallace had a better suggestion. The chief was tied to the same post I was and each of the chief's men were lead in front of him and changed into women in the same manner that had been used on my men. When they had all been dealt with, the chief was also changed. He was not spared at the last moment as I had been though. Again this took hours to complete and when they were done, the sun was starting to come up. I asked John Wallace about changing the women back to men but he said that would have to wait. He spoke to the changed men from my group and promised he would change them back in a few hours. We then collapsed from lack of sleep, Wallace's men keeping guard. I could not sleep. I dozed but awoke with the visions of my friends and our porters being changed into women and their screams of terror. Hours later, when all had awoke, John Wallace had the chief brought forward. He spoke to the new slave girl in the native language for a short time. Many of the villagers cheered during this speech. Jimmy was by my side translating. He had become a very pretty young girl and seemed comfortable in his new body. He said the American had promised that the former chief would be the bride of the new chief. She would bear many children and work hard and service any warrior who demanded it of her. There would be not escape for the source of the former chief's power was gone forever. My skin crawled at the fate in store for the man and his former male followers. He was a shrinking little thing, more than a foot and a half shorter than before the change. He wept openly and wailed his misfortune. The new girl was lead away. Wallace then had the men who were part of my expedition brought forward. He had brought our tents and supplies from our camp. Each man was told to find a piece of clothing he had worn and bring it forward. The medallion was placed about their female necks and they were all changed back. All except Jimmy, who asked to remain as she was. I was shocked at this. Wallace merely nodded his head yes. Wallace asked if we had lost any members of our party on our expedition. When I told him we had lost Edmunds, he asked for any of his clothes we may have kept. Using the medallion and a shirt from Edmunds pack, Wallace changed into a duplicate of Edmunds. He then dressed in the clothes that belonged to the dead man. After this was finished he spoke to the other members of the tribe. They then departed, some of them going off in a different direction. Wallace spent the next hour explaining. John Wallace had been part of a safari that had gotten lost. They had stumbled onto the village we had just escaped from. His party had been ambushed just as ours had been. All the men were changed into young women and passed out to their new husbands. I am too much of a gentleman to describe the humiliating acts these transformed men had to perform at threat of death. Some choose death above the dishonor they were to be subjected to. Others accepted their new lives after a period of time, even forgetting they were once men. Wallace believed that some were fed a drug to sap their free will. Either it had no effect on him or he was not given the potion. Nevertheless, Wallace remembered who he was and vowed vengeance on the chief who had treated him in such a disgraceful manner. The chief ruled by terror. He would slip into the hut of a man who had offended him or refused the chief something he desired. The chief would use the medallion to change to offending man into a woman or even a child. Those who had particularly offended the chief had been changed into animals. Oxen, cattle and goats. Wallace feared some of these changed men were slaughtered for food. I was repelled at the thought that I had eaten goat the night before. Wallace assured me that those goats had been born and raised goats but the icy chill I had experienced remained. The thought that I could awaken in another body or even as an animal haunted my sleep for weeks. The chief had been the chief for ages. No one knew how long. He had only to use the medallion to make himself into a younger version of himself. He could rule forever in that manner. However, his mind was old. His thoughts had begun to wander. He routinely changed older girls into younger girls to keep a stock of virgins around for the exact purpose you must have already imagined. One day, the chief forgot who he had changed into who. He changed Wallace into a warrior, forgetting he was a slave girl. That was just days before our visit to the village. When the chief had invited us to the celebration, he had sent Wallace and a group of slave women to our camp to burn all of the cloths that belonged to us. He marched the women out of hearing and sight of the village and gave them their freedom. He then raced to the nearest village and recruited a group to attack the chief. He first took them to our camp and gave them all rifles and showed them how to use them. The rest we knew. Wallace described the properties of the medallion. He had seen it work many times and had been its victim on many occasions. The medallion could be used to change the wearer into a copy of any person whose clothing touched the medallion. This was what Wallace believed was it's primary purpose. To change villagers into fierce warriors for battles then back into who ever they were after the battle. It could also cause two people to trade bodies. If a person touched the medallion while it was being worn, the wearer and the person who touched the medallion would change places. The medallion would not work on a woman who was pregnant or any woman who was suffering through her menses. The medallion would also fail to have any effect on the same person twice in 12 hours. Wallace had waited a long time to get his chance at revenge. Now that he had it he wanted the medallion removed from the hands of any human. It was too powerful. I asked Wallace how long he had been captive. "Twenty eight years," he answered. I was troubled seeing the body of my dear friend Edmunds, walking about and talking as if nothing had happened. The knowledge that Edmunds was truly dead but his body lived on stays with me even now. I could not refuse Wallace after he saved my life and the lives of my companions. Wallace handed me the medallion and asked that I drop it in the deepest part of the ocean that I crossed on my way back to England. I was loathed to touch the object but the thought that it might be in the hands of another evil man, scared me even more. I accepted the Medallion and agreed. Wallace planned on remaining in Africa as a professional hunter and to help the village, which he had lived in for so long. I asked him to come back home with us, to tell his family he was alive. "No Sir James, I could not. I am not really John Wallace, I have not been for over 25 years. My place is here, my family is here. I have 4 sons and a daughter." "Who is their mother?" I asked. "I am," was his reply. I left Wallace and we went on our way. Jimmy chose to remain in the village. 'She' seemed perfectly happy in her new form, as hard as that is for me to accept. I did not drop the medallion in the ocean as I had been requested. I kept it for myself. I knew its power. I was frightened of it but I was confident I would be able to control it. I am an educated and honorable man. The power of the Medallion must have some use for good, surely. As a medical man, I hoped it could be used to cure and not enslave. The next page was different paper, good quality stationary such as the 1st page was written on. The Personal Journal of Sir James Mallory Osburne, MD, KBE. The strange events surrounding the death of my son. I made a grave error after arriving home from my trip to Africa. I did not secure the fantastic medallion that had come into my possession. I stupidly left it lying on my dresser. My son, Kevin, 21 and home from his university on holiday, happened upon the medallion. He was looking for a set of cuff links to wear. He thought the medallion looked very African and tried it on. I was in my study, catching up on correspondence that had accumulated in my absence. The next thing I was aware of was the sound of my son's voice, screaming at the top of his lungs, in terror. Then I heard a sickening thud and crash from the front of the house. I came running and found my son, lying dead. He had thrown himself over the banister of the tall second floor of our home. He was naked but I had no clue as to what made him hurl himself to his death as he did. The next 3 days were a fog. I buried my son and came home a broken man. I had forgotten all about the medallion in my grief. I had not noticed it missing or the absence of our upstairs maid. When we returned from the graveyard, the maid appeared at our front door. She was dressed in her maid's uniform but it was filthy, as was she. She begged us to let her in and allow her to speak. I allowed her in, meaning to summon the house-man and have her escorted from the property. As soon as the girl was in the house she announced she was my son Kevin! I was shocked at her impudence but then she showed me the medallion and I knew she was telling me the truth. I immediately ran up stairs and got some of Kevin's clothes and returned back downstairs. Despite all our efforts, the medallion would not work. I racked my brain for a solution. Then I recalled that during the period of a woman's menses, the medallion would have no effect. I delicately asked my son if he was in the midst of this unpleasant experience. He shook his head no. A chill ran through my body. There could be only one other reason the medallion would not work. I had my son recount the days since he was changed. He told us of his search for a pair of cuff links and finding the medallion. Our upstairs maid, Lizzy, was cleaning the bedrooms at that time. We were unaware that Kevin was having a dalliance with the maid. She saw him in my room and she pressed against him for a kiss. They went to his room down the hall and disrobed. That was when he realized he had begun changing and could see the maid was changing also. Soon to their horror, they resembled each other. The maid, now the exact replica of my son, ran screaming naked through the house. She pitched over the edge of the banister and fell to her death. After the change had been completed and poor Lizzy, fell to her death, Kevin panicked. He grabbed Lizzy's uniform and shoes and ran from the house out the back way. He still wore the medallion. He sought to hide until the uproar had settled and he could return to speak to his mother and me. He was terribly frightened, believing God himself, had punished him for fornicating with the maid. Kevin hid in the stable and fell asleep in the loft. He was awakened during the night by someone grabbing at his body. He soon discovered he was being ravaged by the stable boy. Kevin found himself too weak to fight off the lout. He tried to scream but the man slapped him every time he did so. Once the man had finished with him, Kevin ran from the stable and hid in the orchards for the next two days, too ashamed to come forward. He finally got up the nerve to come to us. My fears were confirmed several weeks later when Kevin began having morning sickness. He was pregnant. I took a whip to the stable boy the same day Kevin came home to us. Only Kevin's own pleadings, to spare the man's life, prevented me from killing him. Kevin did not want his father, myself, in jail. I banished the man from our lands and warned him to never touch another woman as long as he lived. I planned on waiting for Kevin to deliver the child and find it a good home. We could then change Kevin back into the fine young man he had been. It may have raised questions but I did not care. Kevin gave birth to a baby boy on April 23rd. He bore up well under the labor and both came through the ordeal in fine shape. It was an unsettling sight to observe one's son suckling a child to his breast, but I also found myself filled with pride in the healthy little baby. I brought up the subject of finding a home for the child. My wife and Kevin exchanged looks and Kevin announced he did not wish to give up his child. My wife echoed his sentiments. Kevin had decided he would remain a woman, with my blessing, of course. He could not bear the thought of giving up the child that had grown inside him. I did not pretend to understand but I love my son too much to deny him this. We have adopted Lizzy as our daughter, which legally makes the baby, Kevin, our grandson. Elizabeth, as she prefers, has begun accepting gentlemen callers. She seems happy in her new life and young Kevin is a joy to his grandmother and I. He will carry the name of Osburne and is now my male heir. I am sure that Elizabeth will choose a fine young man for a husband, one day. I am saddened by the drastic change my arrogance has caused my son. I would have dropped the accursed medallion in the sea had I any notion it would have caused so much grief. I am ridding myself of the medallion. I told my blacksmith to destroy it but I fear he has met with some terrible fate I cannot imagine. I am sending it to a friend at The Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne. He may do with it as he wishes. I am enclosing all records I have made of the object and I hope never to see it again. Signed, Sir James Mallory Osburne MD, KBE +++++++++++++++++++++++++ Kenneth finished reading the journal and sat pensively at his computer workstation. The first thought that came to mind was hoax. The story was too fantastic to believe. However, who would perpetrate such a scam and to what purpose? Kenneth had no friends that played these types of tricks on him or others. He was the only bidder on the box of parcels though it could have been meant for another who did not show up that day. Kenneth looked closely at the personal stationary that the first letter to William was written on. It was heavy paper with a high rag content. It bore the initials of Sir James and a seal that Kenneth assumed was his family seal. Examining the page in bright sunlight, Kenneth saw the unmistakable watermark of an old English stationary company that went out of business over fifty years ago. He no longer believed it was a hoax. Finding this paper would have been impossible. The company closed after a German Buzz Bomb destroyed their factory and all of their stock. Sir James believed it but how stable was Sir James? He had adopted his upstairs maid and made her his legal heir and executor of his estate. In the process, making her illegitimate child his male heir, surely the cause of talk when it occurred. Did Sir James merely take care of his son, transformed by magic? Or did he write a wild tale to cover his indiscretion with a young woman? Kenneth decided to believe Sir James. Kenneth put the papers and the box in a safe. He would think about the matter for a couple of days. He had an idea forming, he would rest on it and consider it another day Two weeks later, Kenneth returned from a business trip and once again considered the story of the medallion. In truth, he had never stopped thinking about it. In that time, Kenneth had done some additional research. There was an ancient legend of a tribe of shape-shifters in Africa. They could change their women into warriors, in time of attack. The legend spoke of one warrior from another tribe stealing a magic object and using it to enslave the tribe. Then, the legend says the object was lost. The legend called the object, "The Medallion of Zulo". The Medallion was said to be very powerful and could not be destroyed. If misused, it would punish the abuser. It had not been heard of in many years. The reference for the legend Kenneth read was many years old, written in the 1920's. Nothing newer could be found that referenced the Medallion. Kenneth had to find the Medallion. He wasn't sure why, but he set a goal to locate it. When he found it, he would decide then. Clearly the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne had never received the Medallion. He had checked just in case. The only clues he had were the box and the papers contained in it. He sought advice from a friend who also collected antiques as a hobby. Wallace Stephans was an assistant curator for the British Museum of History. Kenneth phoned him. "Wallace, how would one find an object such as this?" Kenneth asked after explaining what he was looking for. "If it exists, locating it would seem almost impossible. Sir James chronicled his experiences with the Medallion. If such magic were to affect you in a similar manner, I dare say that you would not write about it. Even if you did, who would publish such a wild tale?" "I can offer only one suggestion. Since you seek a magic object, ask for help from someone who deals with magic. Perhaps a gypsy fortune teller," Wallace said with a chuckle. "I believe the Medallion exists and it does have the powers Sir James writes of. I had hoped you would take this more seriously, Wallace," Kenneth said. "Sorry chap, that was rude. I do know of a Madam Maritza. She is said to have the power to locate lost objects. She lives in Leeds you might try her. I don't have an address or number. There is an occult bookstore there that can put you in touch with her. The place is called " Bell, Book and Candle", quite old and very obscure. Ask for Catherine." Wallace rang off then The bookstore had no phone listed so Kenneth drove to Leeds when he had the time. He found the store in an extremely old building in a run down part of town. The door squeaked loudly when he opened it. The shop was full of shelves stacked with ancient books. Near the door, an old roll top desk was cluttered with manuscripts, books, scrolls, drawings and candles. Kenneth jumped when a large, sleek, jet-black cat lumped up on the desk from behind a bookcase. Laughing at his own unease, Kenneth looked about for a human inhabitant. He started again when he heard a throat cleared behind him. Turning around, he saw a young and beautiful woman, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and black jeans. A she wore a pair of black leather boots with three-inch heels. She had jet-black hair that fell around her face and onto her shoulders. Her eyes were the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She was sitting on the corner of the desk, her legs crossed at the knees, just where the cat had been sitting. He glanced around but the cat was not to be seen. "May I help you, Sir?" it sounded like a purr. "Are you Catherine?" She blinked slowly and regarded him with her bright green eyes for a moment. "Yes, Catherine with 'C', and you are?" "Sorry, rude of me, I am Kenneth Farnsworth. I am seeking Madam Maritza, I was told you could help me contact her." "Why do you want to contact her, 'Lord' Farnsworth?" the question came from behind him. The female voice had said the word Lord like it was repulsive. "You are young to be a lord, did you buy the title?" He spun to look at the third person in the shop. She was tall, with short, brown, curly hair. Her eyes were a dark brown and hooded with distrust. She was about twenty-five years old, maybe twenty-seven. Her beauty struck Kenneth but she made no attempt to capitalize on it. She wore a heavy, gray sweater and relaxed fit blue jeans. Her feet were clad in running shoes that were worn and comfortable looking. She had no makeup on that Kenneth could see. There was no jewelry and her nails were not manicured. Kenneth felt drawn to her for some reason. She affected him as no woman had ever affected him before. He ignored the question about his title. It had been in his family for 350 years. "I need to ask her a favor, I am looking for something. A very important object. I can pay and pay well." "She cannot help you, she cannot help anyone, ever again. Go away and take your money with you. Leave her to die in peace. It was a rich and powerful 'Lord' who killed my parents and he will be the death of my aunt soon, as well. I have no use for you and your bleeding nobility." Her speech was flung at Kenneth full of venom and hate?and sorrow. She had to turn to keep the man from seeing her tears. She hated him more because she was now crying. Kenneth recognized the grief the woman was feeling. He felt the same when his father had passed recently. The medallion was forgotten for the moment, for some reason, he wanted to?he needed to help this woman, all else was meaningless. "Please, tell me, how did you know I possess my family title now?" "For one with the gift, it is easy to see such things." This answer came from Catherine, sitting in the chair by the desk now, filing her nails. "Catherine, let me handle this." The other woman said. Catherine just shook her head and continued to work on her nails. "You seek my aunt, she is dying from injuries she received in the smashup that killed my parents. A fat and wealthy lord who was drunk drove the other car. He was cleared after a mockery of a trial, just days after my parent's funerals. My aunt's injuries are being treated and she may see the New Year but they doubt it. They give her maybe a few months, no more. She cannot help you and if she could, she doesn't take money for using her gift." "Would money help your aunt live? I have the funds at my disposal to make a difference if it's possible. Please, may I help you?" Kenneth asked. "I would spit on you for offering charity but that is not your purpose. I see you are sincere. I have some of my aunt's gift, not as much as she but some. Money might help, but not enough, it would never return her legs to her, or her sight and she will still die. She will die soon and it will not matter. Thank you for your offer. Now please, do not trouble us again. My aunt cannot help you." She had kept her back turned the whole time she was speaking to him She left the shop in a run. Kenneth saw her eyes streaming tears as she ran by him. He stood there feeling powerless and defeated. When she was gone, Kenneth realized he should not have let her leave. He should have followed. "Catherine, please, who is she? I must speak to her again," he said. Catherine stood up, arched her back and stretched. She looked at Kenneth for several moments before answering. "Vanessa O'Toole." "O'Toole?" Kenneth said. "Romanian mother and Irish father. Her Aunt Maritza is her mother's sister. The 'gift' she spoke of is passed to the females of the family. The Irish blood dilutes it somewhat. She's not as accurate as her Aunt is but she runs about sixty to sixty five per cent. That's exceptional in anyone's book. Her aunt is phenomenal, over ninety five per cent accurate. That's unheard of. But she is dying and nothing will stop that. " "I still want to talk to her again. Where can I find her?" Kenneth asked. "She's on her way to see her aunt, she only can see her a few minutes a day. Even then, she's usually asleep. She's heavily medicated for the pain. If you want to find her, wait outside the hospital. She drives a green 1971 VW beetle. You should be able to find it in the visitor's lot. Wait there, don't go in. Family only anyway. She might let you talk to her but don't press her. Leave your card with me. If she doesn't talk to you, I'll have her call you in a day or so." Kenneth gave Catherine a card and thanked her. He stepped out of the door and had a thought. He wanted to know if Catherine had ever heard of the Medallion. He went back inside the shop and she was gone. The cat was back, curled into a ball, asleep in the chair. Kenneth looked around but didn't see Catherine. He called her name but no one answered, the cat didn't even stir. Ken turned and left. Kenneth found a green VW parked in the visitor's lot at the hospital. He waited for thirty minutes until Vanessa O'Toole came out. She was crying again. Kenneth felt her pain and wanted to comfort her. He resisted the urge to touch her and instead, stood quietly until she acknowledged him. "What the hell are you doing here? I asked you to leave me alone," she said. "Miss O'Toole, please, I just want to help, really." "Damn it, you know my name, who told you?it was Catherine. She cannot keep her nose out of my business. Her curiosity will be the death of her yet. Look, Lord Farnsworth?" "Please, call me Kenneth, or Ken," he said. Vanessa stopped and looked at him. "Give me your hand, please, Ken." He extended his hand and she took hold of it. She gripped it tightly and then let go. "I apologize for being rude. You are a good man. I am not myself these days. My parents and my aunt?it would have been kinder if she had died with them. She has no hope and even if they could keep her alive, she would be a double amputee and blind. Ken, you can't help, as much as you want to. Thank you for your concern though." Vanessa opened her car door and Ken stepped closer. "How about a new body, would that help? I might be able to deliver that, with your help." Vanessa looked at him like he was crazy for a moment. "You're serious, aren't you? You think you can get her a new body? How?" "Have lunch with me and I'll explain, you chose the place, my treat. No strings attached," he said. "Follow me, and I'll buy my own lunch." They went to a pub near the hospital that Vanessa apparently frequented since they knew her. She drew a couple of raised eyebrows when she walked in with a toff but no one said anything. Ken recounted the story of the medallion and his goal to find it. He told her if they found it in time, Vanessa could save her aunt's life. She wanted to doubt him but her gift told her to trust him. Ken gave her copies of the article on the legend of the medallion and Sir James's journals. "Ken, I have a gift related to psychometry. That's being able to read a person through the things they have owned or touched. I can read a person by touching them. I can read an object by touching it. I don't know if I can find your Medallion without touching it or someone who touched it directly. According to you, those people are all dead." "How about a box that held the Medallion?" Ken asked. "Let me try," she said. Vanessa took the box and held it in her hands. She closed her eyes and sat motionless for several minutes. Finally she handed the box back to Ken. "It's a very powerful objet. Even after what must be many years, the emanations from the Medallion are strong. I am not sure I could find it but I might be able to. I'm willing to try, under one condition." "Name it," Ken said, sure he knew what it was already. "My aunt gets first use of it, after that, it's yours," Vanessa said. "It's a bargain, Miss O'Toole, I must insist that I pay the expenses of the search, starting with lunch today," Ken said. "Okay, but expenses only. My family has never used their gift for personal gain. My aunt could not even accept the use of the Medallion if she helped find it. Since I am helping, I can accept the use for her benefit. It is an old family tradition that I will not break." "One more thing, you may call me Vanessa, but we are not going to be anything more than business associates. You do not interest me Ken, not in the slightest. Is that understood?" she said. Ken kept his face stolid and nodded, "Of course, very clear. I prefer it that way as well." "Very well then, we have a deal," Vanessa said as she shook his hand. She looked into his eyes when they touched but if she sensed anything, she did not show it. "I want to talk to Catherine and see if she has any information on the Medallion, is that okay with you?" Vanessa asked. "Sure," Ken said, "anything to help your aunt will be fine. More than three could be a problem though. I don't want to have to fight another collector for the Medallion. Let's hold the team to you, me, Catherine and her cat." "What cat?" Vanessa asked. "The big black cat I saw in the shop just before we met. It was there after you left as well." "I've never seen a cat in her shop and I've been going there since I was twelve years old. Catherine's never had a cat." "But she's your age, isn't she?" Ken asked. "I don't know, she always looks the same to me." Ken decided to let it go and concentrate on the job at hand, finding the Medallion and saving Maritza's life. They agreed to meet the next day at the bookstore. Ken stayed awake that night, hardly sleeping at all. The adventure ahead was more exciting than anything he had ever done. He looked forward to the search and being with Vanessa. He hoped for a softening of her feelings toward him. Saving her Aunt's life should go a long way to helping his cause. If they could find the Medallion. If is a huge word at times. The Search: Part 2 Ken climbed out of his car after parking near the Bell, Book and Candle bookstore. He stopped to stretch. He wasn't use to the firm mattress in his hotel room. He hadn't slept much anyway due to the excitement he felt over the beginning of his quest. Ken had entered into the search for the Medallion on a whim. He possibly would have abandoned it if he hit a snag or it became too expensive or time consuming. He no longer was willing to give up though. The thought of saving a life so obviously lost appealed to him deeply. His parents had raised him to believe that he was privileged and that because he was, he should give something back, whenever he could. Ken embraced the concept early on. He believed in helping those who could not help themselves and did so at every opportunity. With a touch of shame he acknowledged he had an ulterior motive. He was in love with Vanessa O'Toole. If he saved her aunt, maybe she would look past his money and title and see the man that he really was. Maybe that wasn't very altruistic but he was sincere in his desire to help Vanessa's aunt. Catherine was sitting at her desk when Ken walked in the little shop. "Good morning Catherine, has Vanessa arrived?" Ken asked. "She never left. She was here all night looking up references to the Medallion. I have a couch in the back, for catnaps. She laid down on it about an hour ago," Catherine said. "Lord Farnsworth, we need to talk." "Please, call me Ken. What did you wish to talk about?" "Very well, Ken. Why do you seek the Medallion? Don't tell me it's to help Vanessa's aunt because that is not why you came here. You want it for yourself, why?" He felt like her green eyes were staring into his very soul and if he tried to lie, she would know it. "I don't know, not exactly. I feel driven to locate it. Beyond possessing it, I cannot answer. I do wish to help Vanessa's Aunt though, I am sincere in that," Ken said. "Ken, I feel the need to make sure you understand. I love Vanessa and her family like they were my own. If you trick, cheat or hurt her in anyway, the terror Sir James witnessed in Africa would pale in comparison with what you will experience. I do hope I am making myself clear." At that moment, a cloud passed over the sun and it became very dark outside. There were few lights on in the building so the darkness permeated the little bookstore as well. Ken felt a chill run through his body. 'What have I got myself into?' he thought. "That being said, I do believe you. I also wish to help. I hope we can be friends." Catherine smiled and at that moment the sun came out again. The feeling of dread Ken had experienced passed. The memory remained though. "Oh, and Ken, we don't need to discuss this with Vanessa, it's just between you and me, agreed?" Catherine said with a crooked smile. Ken tried to speak but his throat had closed up. He just nodded. "Why don't you go wake Vanessa, she asked to be awakened when you got here. She found a little more information." Catherine went back to what she had been doing when Ken walked in. Shaking off the events of the last few minutes, Ken went to the rear of the shop. He passed through a curtain hanging across a doorway. Lying on an old leather sofa was Vanessa O'Toole. Ken paused and looked at her sleeping there. Her face more peaceful than he had seen it before. He hated to wake her, she probably needed the sleep but the clock was ticking on Aunt Maritza, no time could be spared. He paused a moment longer to fix the vision of her sleeping face in his memory. "Vanessa, it's Ken, time to wake up," he said as he gently shook her. She was wearing the same gray sweater she had worn yesterday. Vanessa's eyes flew open and she stared at him for a moment until she gathered her thoughts. Then she relaxed. "Oh, hi Ken. Sorry to be sleeping, I had to close my eyes for a few minutes. I was up all night but I came up with some very good information. Wait until I tell you about it." Vanessa bounded to her feet and stood there. She swayed and started to fall. Ken grabbed her arms and lowered her to a seated position on the couch. "Wow, I guess my low blood sugar is acting up. I should have eaten last night. Maybe Catherine has some crackers around here." Ken looked around but all he could find was several tins of sardines. "Come on, I'm taking you to breakfast, you'll do your aunt no good if you collapse the first day of the search," Ken said. Ken invited Catherine along. She locked the door and they left. Ken insisted they order their meals before discussing anything. Once that had been done and they each had a cup of tea in front of them, Ken asked what had been learned. Ken noted that Catherine insisted on real cream for her tea. Vanessa went first. "I found about a half dozen references to the Medallion since the turn of the last century. The earliest was an obscure manuscript Catherine purchased from a defunct publishing house. It was apparently sent in from a would be author hoping to have it published. It's dated 1915 and has a pseudonym. I have no idea who actually wrote it. The manuscript tells the story of a man who was changed into a woman, on the Titanic." Ken's heart skipped a beat. That meant the Medallion was about 3 miles deep somewhere in the Atlantic. Vanessa saw his face fall. "It's okay, it got off the ship. The author claims to have been a man who disguised himself as a woman to save his life. He was in a lifeboat being lowered when the Medallion was thrown overboard. It landed in his lap and he placed it around his neck, thinking it may be valuable. Another lady on the boat touched the Medallion with a gloved hand and he became a copy of that woman. It was so cold, he didn't realize he had changed until they were rescued and he took off the cloak he was wearing." "He didn't try to locate his wife. He was too ashamed to admit what he had done to save his own life and he thought he was being punished for it. Just as Kevin Osburne believed he was changed into a woman for screwing the maid." "The new woman made up a name and claimed she lost everything on the ship. No one asked many questions at the time. She started a new life. She was thirty years younger and had several thousand dollars with her, but she left the Medallion on the Carpathia. It was a few years later that she realized what had caused her transformation, or so she claimed." "What happened to the medallion after that, we don't know. Several decades went by before another account of it surfaced. Several people have written stories about the Medallion and how it affected their lives. A couple of other references were made to it in some more scholarly tomes. The rules for using the Medallion are the same as John Wallace told Sir James." "By the way, we researched John Wallace, the American who saved Sir James. He was reported missing and feared dead in 1871. That matches Sir James' account. Sir James friend Edmunds was reported killed by a lion on Safari in 1899. Sir James would have virtually no way of knowing anything about John Wallace at the time he wrote the journal. His story must be true." "I've believed it all along, but it's good to have more evidence," Ken said. "What's our first move?" "Ken, it may be harder than we thought. All the Medallion accounts we found ended with the Medallion disappearing in some unknown or untraceable fashion. Stolen by a thief and not recovered, hurled from a car on an unknown stretch of highway or lost in the mail such as happened with Sir James," Catherine said. "What options do we have? I don't want to advertise, it could put someone else on the path of the Medallion," Ken said. "We agree, but we did do a computer search for some odd occurrences that could have been caused by the Medallion and we found one such event that occurred ten years ago, in Liverpool," Vanessa said. Ken had noticed a powerful PC in the back room of the bookstore. "About ten years ago," Vanessa began, "two old women were found in the same flat, unconscious. The flat belonged to a Mrs. Ida Jamison. They had both just suffered identical strokes. They were identical twins. Except no one in Mrs. Jamison's family, including three surviving brothers, ever knew she had a twin sister. There was no proof what so ever that the second sister ever existed before they were found." "They were both dressed in clothes her brother recognized as belonging to their sister. One of the women had a handbag on her arm containing 28,000 pounds. She had just emptied her life savings from the bank." "Ken, we need to drive to Liverpool and visit those women. They are both still in a nursing home. They are being cared for by the public health service. One of them is likely not who she appears to be," Vanessa said. "I need to touch someone who has actually touched the Medallion. Then we find out how good a detective team we can be. Once I've found someone who has actually touched the Medallion, I can maybe trace it down. It's a long shot but it's all we have," Vanessa said. "Okay, we're off to Liverpool as soon as we're done here. Coming with us Catherine?" Ken asked. "No, I have some litter to clean up. I want to clear my calendar for the next month or so. I feel that you may be traveling a bit and I want to go with you. I have knowledge that you two do not have and I have resources even Vanessa does not know about. I can pay my own way though," she said. "Not necessary, I'm picking up the tab for this search. My family is quite well off and I can easily afford it." Ken regretted saying that as soon as he uttered the words. It must sound like boasting to Vanessa. He searched her face for some hint that he had miss stepped but saw none. Ken paid the tab and left a generous tip, as was his custom. They dropped Catherine off at the bookstore. Vanessa asked to be dropped off at her apartment to shower and change. Ken waited in the car for the fifteen minutes Vanessa took to clean up. She came down stairs, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a brown sweater. Her hair was still wet and she wore no make up, as the day before. They then began the trip to Liverpool. Vanessa fell asleep as soon as they hit the highway. Ken let her sleep, knowing how much she needed it. They arrived in Liverpool and located the nursing home. Vanessa claimed to be the old ladies great niece, just in town today to visit. She was shown to the two rooms that held the mystery twins as they were known by. The old ladies had suffered massive strokes that left them paralyzed and mute. They were now ninety-four years old. Vanessa walked into the first room and touched the hand of the shrunken, wrinkled woman lying there. Her face was peaceful and serene. Vanessa spent less than a minute there. She entered the next room and touched the hand of the other woman. Her face was anything but peaceful looking. It was clouded and dark. Though her eyes were closed, Ken could see her lids fluttering and the movement of her eyes beneath the lids. Vanessa stayed by this woman's bed for several minutes. She held her hand and touched her forehead. The woman seemed to relax a bit at the touch. Vanessa looked at Ken and just nodded. They did not speak until they were in the car. Ken was looking for a place to eat lunch while Vanessa spoke. "The first woman was the real Mrs. Jamison. She is very near death. Her mind was peaceful. She lives in a fantasy world populated by her children and late husband. She had no knowledge that I could read about a twin sister." "The second woman is, or was, a man named Timothy Williamson. He was a con man who found the Medallion and used it to commit thefts. He would gain the confidence of an elderly person. When he knew enough about them, he would use the Medallion to change into their twin. He would then dress in their clothes, take their ID and empty their bank accounts. When the victim complained to the police, they were not believed. It was assumed the victim forgot taking the money out. There was even bank camera footage of the victims coming into the bank and, in some cases, leaving their fingerprints." "Timothy got unlucky one day when he befriended Mrs. Jamison. He had just emptied her saving account and returned to her house to switch back when they both suffered the same stroke. Mrs. Jamison was going to have her stroke whether Timothy stole her life savings or not. Now he is paying a very heavy price. Timothy will die in just a few days or weeks as well. His mind is clear. He remembers everything about his own life and he knows he is about to die. He should only be thirty-five years old but his, I mean her, body is ninety-four and failing fast." "Now what?" Ken asked. "We go back to the nursing home. I think the Medallion is still there," Vanessa said. Ken was preparing to turn around when Vanessa stopped him. "It's lunch time Ken, no one will have time to talk to us. Lunchtime in a nursing home is a very busy time. We will get more cooperation after everyone has finished eating. Let's eat also and then go back. We will need to be diplomatic and maybe a little sneaky. I'll steal it if I have to but I would prefer to buy it or borrow it," Vanessa said. Ken and Vanessa ate and then killed time for two hours before heading back to the home. Ken suggested they approach the home director for assistance. "If we tell him we are looking for a family heirloom, he may help us," Ken said. "He may keep it for himself as well. I think we need to be circumspect and tell him as little as possible," Vanessa said. "Okay, but I won't lie." "Even to save a life?" Vanessa said. Ken knew that at that moment and every moment forward he would never be able to refuse her anything. He kept the thought to himself and they went into the director's office. "Lord Farnsworth! What a delightful surprise! I do so wish you had alerted us to you coming, we would have scheduled a reception." The exclamation was from Mrs. Smythe, the director or the nursing home. Ken cringed, knowing why she was being so gracious, money. "Mrs. Smythe, how nice to see you again." Ken said. He remembered meeting her at a meeting of some type several months ago. He had forgotten but this home was on the long list of organizations that his family contributed to each year. Mrs. Smythe was either a pixie or one of the tiniest women Vanessa had ever seen. She was a stylish woman, maybe forty years old, dressed in a very prim and proper blue suit with a calf length skirt. "How may I be of service to you Lord Farnsworth? Name it and it's yours," Mrs. Smythe said, beaming. She stood in front of her desk, her tiny hands clasped together in front of her bosom as if praying. "Wait, we must have tea!" She called her secretary in and ordered tea for three. She then had Ken and Vanessa sit down in chairs in front of her desk. Mrs. Smythe remained standing. Ken looked at Vanessa and sighed mentally. "We are looking for a lost pendant or necklace Mrs. Smythe. Not very valuable or even very pretty, just an old brass Medallion with a figure that looks like a fairy or an angel on one side. It hangs from a copper chain. We believe one of the twin ladies, the Jamisons, was wearing it when she was brought here," Ken told her. "Oh dear, why are you looking for it Lord Farnsworth? Are you related to the Jamisons?" Her flushed face creased in doubt at this strange request. "No dear lady, I am assisting a friend in her search for an old family heirloom. We want to return a sentimental keepsake to her ailing Aunt, to comfort her in her final days." Ken knew he was skirting the truth here but it was for a very good cause. "I see, I think. Lord Farnsworth, I am afraid I can't help you. The Medallion you seek is not here, if it ever was. I'm sorry." "How can you be so sure, Mrs. Smythe?" Vanessa asked while leaning forward in her chair. "Well, some things are confidential, I'm sure you understand Lord Farnsworth. There are liability considerations and?" "Mrs. Smythe, I assure you, anything said in this room will remain in this room. We would not wish to harm you or the home in anyway," Ken assured her. Mrs. Smythe turned and walked around to the far side of her desk. She gazed out the window there for a minute or more. Finally she turned around and rested her hands on the back of her chair. "We had a thief working here seven years ago," she began, it was obvious she was distressed by having to relate the tale. Mrs. Smythe sat down and folded her hands on top of her desk and continued. "I was the assistant director then. I had hired a young man who seemed bright and eager to learn how to care for the elderly. He worked late shifts that no one else wanted to work and he got along famously with the staff and the guests alike. Then we began noticing things missing." "Visitors would tell me of sliver picture frames that went missing and small radios. It was very troubling. We never suspected Sam until?" Mrs. Smythe paused. She took a drink of water from the pitcher on her desk. At that moment, the secretary returned with the tray and several minutes were taken until everyone had a cup of tea. "One day, a visitor came to me and said he found one of his mother's antique silver frames in a pawn shop. The name of the person who sold the frame was Sam Kennsington, the young orderly." "This was not conclusive evidence that he had stolen anything of course. This particular guest was always giving things away and usually the person she gave them too would simply return the item to her room later. She would forget that she had given it to anyone. I wanted to be very fair and make sure Sam was not falsely accused. You do understand, don't you?" Mrs. Smythe's formerly cheery face was compressed into a mask of doubt. She desperately wanted Lord Farnsworth to believe her for some reason. "Of course, you had to be careful. I would have done the same thing," Ken assured her. "I spoke to the police about the