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Codex Immortus: Voin Zhenshchina Soho, London, 1961 Verily, 'twas a most pleasant summer evening, with long shadows from dusky red sun, and the air, in those days, was not quite so $£%" as it had been in years before or years hence. This was London, greatest city in the world. Home to the swinging sixties and everything most splendid that circled that decade of style and hedonism. Club Immortus, London, was the oldest of the Clubs, and arguably the most splendid. Paris had better food, Freedom City had better function. But the club in London had a lovely feel, of warm old wood, crackling fire, and musty smoke. The Library was full of wonderful old tomes, some extremely rare editions, and even some very dangerous eldritch texts that would threaten the brains of any reader. Mr. Murk had money and contacts everywhere. Operating from the shadows, he had tendrils in many pies. Much of it was due to hard work, grind, experience, and canny judgement, mixed with a true skill in making friends (or in some casing exerting leverage on useful enemies). His visions of the future had, of course, considerably helped. An invite had been sent to Voin Zhenshchina, for an evening drink. The Ministry of Powers had been most helpful in procuring this invite. Steak and wine, straight from Paris. Mr. Murk waited patiently in the dining hall, mulling over his Russian. A bit rusty, but still there.