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Although I cannot claim to recognize the markings on these aircraft, they look as though they would be quite exciting to fly.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Aircraft Exhibit - Steelhead
Through July 11 (or 13, according to the note card), the Steelhead Hotel and Ballroom is hosting an exhibit of aircraft, both for full-sized people and the, ah, height-challenged among us, courtesy of Mr. Hotspur O'Toole and Miss Eladrienne Laval.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
RL Diversion to Pennsylvania
Independence Day weekend found my typist on a brief trip to central Pennsylvania; specifically, State College, where one of our party spent some formative years, with a side trip to Bellefonte, with its downtown of Victorian houses.
Below, Old Main at twilight:
I will admit some disappointment in Bellefonte. Though some of the buildings were magnificent - in particular, a massive brownstone built in the early years of the 20th century by the Women's Christian Temperance Union, and a majestic white courthouse, the town itself seemed well past its prime and unable to resurrect its main streets the way other small towns have recently. Perhaps its time will come after the current economic difficulties are over.
Penn State people are a little touched when it comes to buying memorabilia. The blue-and-white bandages, for example, or the Penn State dog dish, were over the top. I joked about not seeing any school-branded products of a more intimate nature, but it's possible I wasn't looking in the right place.
College towns are not a good place to find fine food or beverages. That's not an indictment, just an observation. It can't be steak and lobster every day. Still, one would like to remind people that beer is not a major food group. Liquor can be used in concoctions other than frozen daiquiris and variants of the Long Island Iced Tea. I had forgotten how seriously college town bars and restaurants tend to take ID checks. I observed one place check IDs of everyone coming in, including several elderly customers. (Then I wondered why the Jameson party had no IDs checked. One explanation: we just looked like senior citizens. My explanation: we were so unaware of the process that we just waltzed past the bouncer, who was too intimidated to ask.)
(As an aside, not every place is quite as compulsive about enforcing drinking age laws. Many years ago, in a completely different Pennsylvania city, at a bar that shall remain namess - oh, heck, let's call it Smokey Joe's - my 19-year-old self walked in with an equally underage companion. No one asked for my ID, but my friend was asked for hers, so she showed her actual driver's license that showed her to be underage. The bouncer looked, eyed her, and said, "Eh, close enough." We wondered how much the bar was paying to have the police stay away.)
My favorite photo of the trip was of this church, on College Avenue.
The sign reads: "Do not be misled: bad company corrupts good character. Come back to your senses and stop sinning." I was at a loss for words. Which of us was the bad company?
Below, Old Main at twilight:
I will admit some disappointment in Bellefonte. Though some of the buildings were magnificent - in particular, a massive brownstone built in the early years of the 20th century by the Women's Christian Temperance Union, and a majestic white courthouse, the town itself seemed well past its prime and unable to resurrect its main streets the way other small towns have recently. Perhaps its time will come after the current economic difficulties are over.
Penn State people are a little touched when it comes to buying memorabilia. The blue-and-white bandages, for example, or the Penn State dog dish, were over the top. I joked about not seeing any school-branded products of a more intimate nature, but it's possible I wasn't looking in the right place.
College towns are not a good place to find fine food or beverages. That's not an indictment, just an observation. It can't be steak and lobster every day. Still, one would like to remind people that beer is not a major food group. Liquor can be used in concoctions other than frozen daiquiris and variants of the Long Island Iced Tea. I had forgotten how seriously college town bars and restaurants tend to take ID checks. I observed one place check IDs of everyone coming in, including several elderly customers. (Then I wondered why the Jameson party had no IDs checked. One explanation: we just looked like senior citizens. My explanation: we were so unaware of the process that we just waltzed past the bouncer, who was too intimidated to ask.)
(As an aside, not every place is quite as compulsive about enforcing drinking age laws. Many years ago, in a completely different Pennsylvania city, at a bar that shall remain namess - oh, heck, let's call it Smokey Joe's - my 19-year-old self walked in with an equally underage companion. No one asked for my ID, but my friend was asked for hers, so she showed her actual driver's license that showed her to be underage. The bouncer looked, eyed her, and said, "Eh, close enough." We wondered how much the bar was paying to have the police stay away.)
My favorite photo of the trip was of this church, on College Avenue.
The sign reads: "Do not be misled: bad company corrupts good character. Come back to your senses and stop sinning." I was at a loss for words. Which of us was the bad company?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The Return of the Clockwinder
Having been called away from Caledon from Thursday evening through Sunday evening, I missed the climax of the Obolensky Affair (as the history books may one day call it). From all accounts, the return of the Clockwinder was exciting, dangerous, and perhaps a tad touch-and-go, and made possible by the courage of many individuals, from the rightfully-lauded commanders to the unsung foot soldiers and clandestine agents. Perhaps one day the entire tale will be told, though it is always unclear whether what history gains from perspective it loses in immediacy.
At any rate, I urge the interested reader to see how the final (for now!) episode played out in The Primgraph, Commodore O'Toole's Journal, Commander Bellambi's account, Capt. Red's Journal, and Dr. Fabre's Journal. Doubtless I have omitted others, for which I apologize.
Let me spend a moment expressing what is perhaps an unpopular point of view: thank goodness for fiends such as Doctor Obolensky, and may we see his safe return shortly! To paraphrase the Doctor himself, in his Aether Salon appearance, we often live a dull existence, and a clever, resourceful villain brings welcome relief to our daily ennui. Heroes, particularly, owe the Doctor a deep debt. Where would Superman be without Lex Luthor; or Batman without the Joker; or Holmes without Moriarty? (The first two would be sitting about in tights and a cape, drinking beer and watching Sanford and Son reruns on channel 256, no doubt.) Being a villain cannot be easy. One has minions, but not friends. Eating a meal becomes an exercise in paranoia. The retirement plan is not great. Yet someone has to do it, and, for Babbage, that someone is Doctor Obolensky. Well done, sir!
((Hotspur's web comic writeup of the episode was sheer genius, with serio-comic dialogue that shows him to be a master of the form. And as he deftly remarked to me in a Twitter exchange, just because we know the outcome of the battle, we can still enjoy the journey to that outcome.
I'll remark again on how well-done this multi-person RP was. Various individuals added to the intrigue on the New Babbage ning, and the little Smashingtons, the billboards, and the graffiti in Babbage, all added to the fun.))
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Primgraph at SL6B
Looking through my assembled photographs, I realized I had completely forgotten about the Primgraph's party at the late, unlamented SL6B. I dashed in and dashed out, but took a few pictures to commemorate the occasion.
The brawny, tattooed fellow in the above photo is none other than mild-mannered librarian Mr. JJ Drinkwater. Who knew?
Mr. Elrik Merlin spun the tunes for Radio Riel.
The build spiralled upward and upward - where one reached a level with information about the Primgraph's newest venture, The Quest for the Golden Prim web comic.
The brawny, tattooed fellow in the above photo is none other than mild-mannered librarian Mr. JJ Drinkwater. Who knew?
Mr. Elrik Merlin spun the tunes for Radio Riel.
The build spiralled upward and upward - where one reached a level with information about the Primgraph's newest venture, The Quest for the Golden Prim web comic.
A Titanic Tale
[My friend, the eminent scientist Dr. Tesla Steampunk, decided that he would investigate a sea voyage, having had some recent unpleasantness involving his neighbors, some late-night flashes of light seen in his laboratory, and a sudden outbreak of two-headed farm animals. (The chickens were the worst: the heads often had contradictory notions, and the animal attempted to move in two directions at once.) This is the dispatch he sent. - RJ]
A crossing seemed like just the thing: the bracing sea air, some convivial companions, and, most of all, distance from the angry mob that seemed to form every time I left the mansion. Neighbors! Mine are not overly unpleasant much of the time - imbiciles, of course, but what can one expect? - but such Luddites! If they had their way, they would light their caves and mud hovels with torches dipped in whale oil, instead of being able to light their comfortable houses with electricity and save the torches for assaulting kindly scientists.
I had heard of a new ship - large, sturdily built, virtually unsinkable - dubbed Titanic. I ventured to port to see her myself.
The Grand Staircase was grand indeed.
I appreciated the fine detail on such things as the clock. Clearly, no expense was spared for her first-class passengers.
I inspected the lifeboats. By gum! I said to myself, these look sturdy enough. And there are plenty for the paying customers. Might be a little dicey if the blokes in steerage got loose, though...
I was nearly ready to book my passage when I encountered this room:
It appeared to be an account of this very ship's maiden voyage, and how the vessel came to an unpleasant end. Surely this must be fiction, I thought, yet the authors provide abundant detail on the ship's construction, her crew, the fate of her passengers. The exhibit left me feeling quite uneasy. I departed the ship, and headed for a nearby park to think in solitude.
There I encountered another shock: a memorial for the "victims" of the "sinking" of the Titanic. Someone must be playing out a cruel but elaborate hoax, I thought.
A crossing seemed like just the thing: the bracing sea air, some convivial companions, and, most of all, distance from the angry mob that seemed to form every time I left the mansion. Neighbors! Mine are not overly unpleasant much of the time - imbiciles, of course, but what can one expect? - but such Luddites! If they had their way, they would light their caves and mud hovels with torches dipped in whale oil, instead of being able to light their comfortable houses with electricity and save the torches for assaulting kindly scientists.
I had heard of a new ship - large, sturdily built, virtually unsinkable - dubbed Titanic. I ventured to port to see her myself.
The Grand Staircase was grand indeed.
I appreciated the fine detail on such things as the clock. Clearly, no expense was spared for her first-class passengers.
I inspected the lifeboats. By gum! I said to myself, these look sturdy enough. And there are plenty for the paying customers. Might be a little dicey if the blokes in steerage got loose, though...
I was nearly ready to book my passage when I encountered this room:
It appeared to be an account of this very ship's maiden voyage, and how the vessel came to an unpleasant end. Surely this must be fiction, I thought, yet the authors provide abundant detail on the ship's construction, her crew, the fate of her passengers. The exhibit left me feeling quite uneasy. I departed the ship, and headed for a nearby park to think in solitude.
There I encountered another shock: a memorial for the "victims" of the "sinking" of the Titanic. Someone must be playing out a cruel but elaborate hoax, I thought.
Then it came to me: of course! This was no hoax, but a disruption in the space-time continuum. Somehow the present-day Titanic shared space with a latter-day memorial to the great ship! That was the only explanation that made logical sense. Comforted by my brilliant deduction, I understood the fate that awaited me should I book passage on the vessel, and returned home - dodging a barrage of rotten vegetables en route - to plan my next move.
Monday, July 6, 2009
I Suppose Not Everyone in Caledon can be Nice
A very out-of-character post here, and I will be blunt: Caledon has at least one genuine, certifiable jerk. Someone named Catan Shamrock, born 6/14/2009. Sure, maybe he's an alt, but I'd like to think anyone who has been in Caledon for substantially more than two weeks would have some good manners rub off on him.
I explore, right? I wander from place to place, seeing fabulous builds, neat exhibits, cool ways to be entertained, that sort of thing. And I take pictures, add a little text, and post it on this blog, to entertain myself and, I hope, entertain others. I spent part of this afternoon and evening wandering through Wellsian, in and about Miss Aevalle Galicia's builds. As Miss Galicia owns a good chunk of Wellsian, and builds both vertically and horizontally, this took some time.
At the edge of Wellsian, where it abuts Morgaine, I attempted to pass to the next piece of land, only to find I was blocked. Further investigation showed I was banned - specifically, from a property owned by a Catan Shamrock. Mr. Catan Shamrock then appeared, asking if he could help me. I inquired politely what I might have done to earn a ban from his property.
He responded by erecting first one, and then several, large "Private Residence" plaques, as shown in the picture above. This seemed like an incomplete answer - I certainly had not gone inside his residence - indeed, I had never set foot on his property, because he banned me before I got there!
[16:30] Kathy Jameson: I was exploring this area of Wellsian/Morgaine.
[16:30] Kathy Jameson: I came across your property.
[16:31] Kathy Jameson: May I inquire what I did to be banned from it?
[16:33] Catan Shamrock: Get? Got It? Good? now stop creeping around the neighborhood like a suspect
[16:34] Kathy Jameson: My dear sir, I apologize if you think I am creeping about the neighborhood.
[16:34] Kathy Jameson: But don't you think this is taking it a bit far?
[16:34] Kathy Jameson: People have builds that they would like others to explore, no?
[16:35] Kathy Jameson sighs and thinks life is too short for this.
So I left. But I'm bothered by the idea that simply looking at other people's property - property that has signs inviting public inspection - means that I'm "creeping around the neighborhood."
Mr. Shamrock seems affiliated with the Caledon Catgirl Brigade (this is possibly what got his knickers in a wad, as I was exploring the CCB builds earlier in the day - what, it's now secret?). Frankly, I'm surprised that that organization would have this man in their midst.
Pah.
I explore, right? I wander from place to place, seeing fabulous builds, neat exhibits, cool ways to be entertained, that sort of thing. And I take pictures, add a little text, and post it on this blog, to entertain myself and, I hope, entertain others. I spent part of this afternoon and evening wandering through Wellsian, in and about Miss Aevalle Galicia's builds. As Miss Galicia owns a good chunk of Wellsian, and builds both vertically and horizontally, this took some time.
At the edge of Wellsian, where it abuts Morgaine, I attempted to pass to the next piece of land, only to find I was blocked. Further investigation showed I was banned - specifically, from a property owned by a Catan Shamrock. Mr. Catan Shamrock then appeared, asking if he could help me. I inquired politely what I might have done to earn a ban from his property.
He responded by erecting first one, and then several, large "Private Residence" plaques, as shown in the picture above. This seemed like an incomplete answer - I certainly had not gone inside his residence - indeed, I had never set foot on his property, because he banned me before I got there!
[16:30] Kathy Jameson: I was exploring this area of Wellsian/Morgaine.
[16:30] Kathy Jameson: I came across your property.
[16:31] Kathy Jameson: May I inquire what I did to be banned from it?
[16:33] Catan Shamrock: Get? Got It? Good? now stop creeping around the neighborhood like a suspect
[16:34] Kathy Jameson: My dear sir, I apologize if you think I am creeping about the neighborhood.
[16:34] Kathy Jameson: But don't you think this is taking it a bit far?
[16:34] Kathy Jameson: People have builds that they would like others to explore, no?
[16:35] Kathy Jameson sighs and thinks life is too short for this.
So I left. But I'm bothered by the idea that simply looking at other people's property - property that has signs inviting public inspection - means that I'm "creeping around the neighborhood."
Mr. Shamrock seems affiliated with the Caledon Catgirl Brigade (this is possibly what got his knickers in a wad, as I was exploring the CCB builds earlier in the day - what, it's now secret?). Frankly, I'm surprised that that organization would have this man in their midst.
Pah.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
A, B, or C? (Part 2)
We traveled at a frightening speed across the water and landed in New Babbage just about ten o’clock the following morning. The young pilot went off to find some much-earned rest, while the three of us remaining boarded the Ada. We found the captain, who was none too happy with the arrangement, and the captain arranged to have all the passengers form a line and walk past Kathy, who attempted to see whether any of them matched her recollection of the stranger she had seen the night before.
“Is this the lot of them?” Major Howell asked. The captain nodded. “No one stowed away elsewhere on the ship?”
“My good sir,” the captain replied, “what kind of ship do you think I run? When the ship is at dock, at all times I have crew guarding all the entrances onto the ship. If your man is here, he is one of those you just saw.”
“Then it must be one of them. Request permission to search their baggage, Captain.”
The captain looked aghast. “Permission denied! I will not have my passengers treated this way. If you want to search someone’s personal effects, you must arrest him first. I will say this: the passenger luggage has not yet been delivered to the cabins. If you find your man and arrest him, he will not have had a chance to remove any effects from his possessions.”
The major sighed, though he did not appear surprised. “We’re going to have to confer. Is there somewhere private we can palaver?”
“You can use my quarters, which is the only really private place aboard the ship. But mark my words: at eleven o’clock you will be off this airship and I will be unmooring. Am I clear?” It was now approaching 10:30.
“Perfectly, Captain.” He escorted the three of us to his cabin, and left us.
“Well?” Major Howell demanded.
“I…I cannot be certain,” Kathy said.
“You’re all we have – you have to do better than that, girl.”
“I really am not certain. There were three men,” she consulted her notes, but for the purposes of this narrative I shall denote them A, B, and C, “who looked as though each could be the man I saw. All were the right height, and their faces looked similar enough to the man I saw, particularly if he could have shaved his mustache or trimmed his hair.”
“We’re going to have to bring in all three and see if we can get the truth out of the right one.” He shook his head. “If the man is a spy, he may have been trained to resist interrogation.”
At a word with the steward stationed outside the cabin door, Mr. A arrived before us. He glared at Kathy, then Major Howell, then me, with rage in his eyes. “What do you mean by this humiliation?” he thundered. “Paraded down the ship like a common criminal, subjected to interrogation by a…a woman. I shall have to suffer this indignity for the remainder of the voyage, of course, as the other passengers shall surely remember me as one suspected of malfeasance.”
“Now, sir, a serious crime has been committed, and I would be derelict in my duty were I not to pursue all avenues of enquiry,” the major said smoothly. “Just a few questions and you may be on your way.”
“Then ask, though you may wish to be careful. I will have you know that His Grace Caer Firnas is a personal friend of mine.” Major Howell’s expression did not change. Kathy, who once dated the Minister of War of Oceania, looked unimpressed.
“Did you board the Ada in Caledon?”
“Yes.”
“Were you in or near the Guvnah’s mansion in Victoria City?”
“No, other than passing by in the hansom as it passed through Victoria City to Loch Avie. Otherwise, I was in the south of the land.”
“What is your business in Americus?”
Mr. A managed a small smile. “That is none of your concern, Major, and is not germane to your inquiry. Let me just say…a business venture.”
Major Howell rolled his eyes. “This is getting us nowhere.” The clock showed they were down to twenty minutes. He motioned to the steward. “Please return Mr. A to the ballroom and bring us Mr. B.
Mr. B bore a superficial resemblance to Mr. A, but wore his hair flattened with a great quantity of an oily pomade and his eyes were more closely-set to one another. He stood before the group and gave an unctuous smile. “What can I do for you, ladies and sir?”
“Did you board the Ada when she was docked in Caledon?”
“Indeed I did. It was my first voyage on the Ada, but what a delight it was! I was talking to Zen Wormser the other day about travel, and Sir Wormser said that the Ada was the future of airships. I quite agree. You see –”
“That’s enough, sir. While you were in Caledon, did you visit the Guvnah’s mansion in Victoria City, or were you traveling near it?”
“Guvnah Shang? Delightful man, simply delightful. I did not have the pleasure of his company this time, but I remember one trip when the man turned to me and said –”
Major Howell attempted to control his frustration. “Enough, man! What might be the purpose of your visit to Americus?”
A faraway look developed in Mr. B’s eye. “Ah, Americus! Land of opportunity! Why, as I was telling Lady Eva, these new lands open up countless ways for a man to make his mark….” He saw the murderous look in Major Howell’s eyes and stopped. “But I digress. I have a cousin in Phillydelphia in the flensing business, and he has offered me the opportunity to join him.”
The major called over the steward once again and bade him bring Mr. C to us. Ten minutes to go.
This time the resemblance to Mr. A was closer, save for the fact that Mr. A was clean-shaven and Mr. C had a neatly-trimmed mustache. “H-how do you do?” the man said anxiously.
Major Howell once again went through his list of questions. “Did you embark on the Ada in Caledon?”
Mr. C nodded. “Yes, at L-Loch Avie.” He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the captain said our delay would be sh-short. I am on urgent business for Lord Primbroke, and His Grace would be m-most upset at an extended delay.”
“I understand, Mr. C. We should be finished momentarily, and the ship should be airborne shortly. Now, did your visit take you to the Guvnah’s mansion in Victoria City?”
He nodded again. “My mission for His Grace Argylle required that I first call upon the Guvnah to ascertain his views on a subject of great importance, and then to travel to Am-Am-Americus.”
“I see. And may I inquire the nature of your business with the Guvnah and in Americus?”
“I’m afraid I c-c-cannot, sir.” He had a pained expression on his face, as though his refusal was something he did not take lightly.
“Cannot? Or will not?”
Mr. C smiled slightly, though there was no humor in his expression. “They amount to the same thing, I’m afraid.”
“Then we’re done here. Steward!”
The steward closed the door behind him as he escorted Mr. C back to the ballroom. I glanced at the clock. The captain would return in about four minutes. Turning to Kathy, Major Howell said, “Tell me, Miss Jameson: was one of those gentlemen the one you saw last night in Victoria City?”
My sister’s expression was grim. “I…I cannot say for certain. The voice…I heard the man speak but one sentence, to the cab driver, and that from some distance away. Perhaps…but no, I cannot name a man and have him placed under arrest on a feeling. I am sorry, Major, but I confess defeat.”
Major Howell shook his head. “Then we are all defeated. The captain will be pleased that his airship can now leave.” He turned to call the steward. I placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Wait, Major. Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
He hesitated, then turned to me. “Miss Jameson? How can you shed light on this puzzle? You were not with your sister last night in Victoria City, were you? You cannot identify the man we want.”
“True, I was not there, but I think I can convince you of the villain.”
He looked at the clock. It ticked down the remaining minutes until our deadline. “Go ahead.”
“To begin with, presumably we are looking for someone who is not a Caledonian, a spy within our midst sent to do the nation harm.” He nodded. “Although a spy might be well-coached as to our ways, he cannot be expected to know all that Caledonians have taken a lifetime to master. Certain idioms or mannerisms, for example, are unique to Caledon, or, at the least, are more prevalent in Caledon than elsewhere, even in other Steamlands. Our culprit made a mistake that betrayed his origins from a society without our aristocratic leanings. Although Kathy and I are not originally from Caledon, even we know how to address the aristocracy. Mr. Wormser is ‘Sir Zen’ – and most certainly not ‘Sir Wormser.’ The other two may be name-droppers and poseurs, and one is almost certainly a smuggler, but the man you want is Mr. B. I’ll wager he is from Americus, sent to learn the secrets of the Caledon Navy and Air Force.”
The door opened and the Captain stood in the entryway. “Your time is up, Major.”
“Understood Captain. Please have a steward offload Mr. B’s baggage. He won’t be needing it aboard the Ada, as I am placing him under arrest.”
In the event, not only were the Guvnah’s plans retrieved, but so were similar plans from Babbage. I later learned that a high-level delegation from Caledon and Babbage met to decide which nation had the honor of executing him.
“Is this the lot of them?” Major Howell asked. The captain nodded. “No one stowed away elsewhere on the ship?”
“My good sir,” the captain replied, “what kind of ship do you think I run? When the ship is at dock, at all times I have crew guarding all the entrances onto the ship. If your man is here, he is one of those you just saw.”
“Then it must be one of them. Request permission to search their baggage, Captain.”
The captain looked aghast. “Permission denied! I will not have my passengers treated this way. If you want to search someone’s personal effects, you must arrest him first. I will say this: the passenger luggage has not yet been delivered to the cabins. If you find your man and arrest him, he will not have had a chance to remove any effects from his possessions.”
The major sighed, though he did not appear surprised. “We’re going to have to confer. Is there somewhere private we can palaver?”
“You can use my quarters, which is the only really private place aboard the ship. But mark my words: at eleven o’clock you will be off this airship and I will be unmooring. Am I clear?” It was now approaching 10:30.
“Perfectly, Captain.” He escorted the three of us to his cabin, and left us.
“Well?” Major Howell demanded.
“I…I cannot be certain,” Kathy said.
“You’re all we have – you have to do better than that, girl.”
“I really am not certain. There were three men,” she consulted her notes, but for the purposes of this narrative I shall denote them A, B, and C, “who looked as though each could be the man I saw. All were the right height, and their faces looked similar enough to the man I saw, particularly if he could have shaved his mustache or trimmed his hair.”
“We’re going to have to bring in all three and see if we can get the truth out of the right one.” He shook his head. “If the man is a spy, he may have been trained to resist interrogation.”
At a word with the steward stationed outside the cabin door, Mr. A arrived before us. He glared at Kathy, then Major Howell, then me, with rage in his eyes. “What do you mean by this humiliation?” he thundered. “Paraded down the ship like a common criminal, subjected to interrogation by a…a woman. I shall have to suffer this indignity for the remainder of the voyage, of course, as the other passengers shall surely remember me as one suspected of malfeasance.”
“Now, sir, a serious crime has been committed, and I would be derelict in my duty were I not to pursue all avenues of enquiry,” the major said smoothly. “Just a few questions and you may be on your way.”
“Then ask, though you may wish to be careful. I will have you know that His Grace Caer Firnas is a personal friend of mine.” Major Howell’s expression did not change. Kathy, who once dated the Minister of War of Oceania, looked unimpressed.
“Did you board the Ada in Caledon?”
“Yes.”
“Were you in or near the Guvnah’s mansion in Victoria City?”
“No, other than passing by in the hansom as it passed through Victoria City to Loch Avie. Otherwise, I was in the south of the land.”
“What is your business in Americus?”
Mr. A managed a small smile. “That is none of your concern, Major, and is not germane to your inquiry. Let me just say…a business venture.”
Major Howell rolled his eyes. “This is getting us nowhere.” The clock showed they were down to twenty minutes. He motioned to the steward. “Please return Mr. A to the ballroom and bring us Mr. B.
Mr. B bore a superficial resemblance to Mr. A, but wore his hair flattened with a great quantity of an oily pomade and his eyes were more closely-set to one another. He stood before the group and gave an unctuous smile. “What can I do for you, ladies and sir?”
“Did you board the Ada when she was docked in Caledon?”
“Indeed I did. It was my first voyage on the Ada, but what a delight it was! I was talking to Zen Wormser the other day about travel, and Sir Wormser said that the Ada was the future of airships. I quite agree. You see –”
“That’s enough, sir. While you were in Caledon, did you visit the Guvnah’s mansion in Victoria City, or were you traveling near it?”
“Guvnah Shang? Delightful man, simply delightful. I did not have the pleasure of his company this time, but I remember one trip when the man turned to me and said –”
Major Howell attempted to control his frustration. “Enough, man! What might be the purpose of your visit to Americus?”
A faraway look developed in Mr. B’s eye. “Ah, Americus! Land of opportunity! Why, as I was telling Lady Eva, these new lands open up countless ways for a man to make his mark….” He saw the murderous look in Major Howell’s eyes and stopped. “But I digress. I have a cousin in Phillydelphia in the flensing business, and he has offered me the opportunity to join him.”
The major called over the steward once again and bade him bring Mr. C to us. Ten minutes to go.
This time the resemblance to Mr. A was closer, save for the fact that Mr. A was clean-shaven and Mr. C had a neatly-trimmed mustache. “H-how do you do?” the man said anxiously.
Major Howell once again went through his list of questions. “Did you embark on the Ada in Caledon?”
Mr. C nodded. “Yes, at L-Loch Avie.” He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the captain said our delay would be sh-short. I am on urgent business for Lord Primbroke, and His Grace would be m-most upset at an extended delay.”
“I understand, Mr. C. We should be finished momentarily, and the ship should be airborne shortly. Now, did your visit take you to the Guvnah’s mansion in Victoria City?”
He nodded again. “My mission for His Grace Argylle required that I first call upon the Guvnah to ascertain his views on a subject of great importance, and then to travel to Am-Am-Americus.”
“I see. And may I inquire the nature of your business with the Guvnah and in Americus?”
“I’m afraid I c-c-cannot, sir.” He had a pained expression on his face, as though his refusal was something he did not take lightly.
“Cannot? Or will not?”
Mr. C smiled slightly, though there was no humor in his expression. “They amount to the same thing, I’m afraid.”
“Then we’re done here. Steward!”
The steward closed the door behind him as he escorted Mr. C back to the ballroom. I glanced at the clock. The captain would return in about four minutes. Turning to Kathy, Major Howell said, “Tell me, Miss Jameson: was one of those gentlemen the one you saw last night in Victoria City?”
My sister’s expression was grim. “I…I cannot say for certain. The voice…I heard the man speak but one sentence, to the cab driver, and that from some distance away. Perhaps…but no, I cannot name a man and have him placed under arrest on a feeling. I am sorry, Major, but I confess defeat.”
Major Howell shook his head. “Then we are all defeated. The captain will be pleased that his airship can now leave.” He turned to call the steward. I placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Wait, Major. Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
He hesitated, then turned to me. “Miss Jameson? How can you shed light on this puzzle? You were not with your sister last night in Victoria City, were you? You cannot identify the man we want.”
“True, I was not there, but I think I can convince you of the villain.”
He looked at the clock. It ticked down the remaining minutes until our deadline. “Go ahead.”
“To begin with, presumably we are looking for someone who is not a Caledonian, a spy within our midst sent to do the nation harm.” He nodded. “Although a spy might be well-coached as to our ways, he cannot be expected to know all that Caledonians have taken a lifetime to master. Certain idioms or mannerisms, for example, are unique to Caledon, or, at the least, are more prevalent in Caledon than elsewhere, even in other Steamlands. Our culprit made a mistake that betrayed his origins from a society without our aristocratic leanings. Although Kathy and I are not originally from Caledon, even we know how to address the aristocracy. Mr. Wormser is ‘Sir Zen’ – and most certainly not ‘Sir Wormser.’ The other two may be name-droppers and poseurs, and one is almost certainly a smuggler, but the man you want is Mr. B. I’ll wager he is from Americus, sent to learn the secrets of the Caledon Navy and Air Force.”
The door opened and the Captain stood in the entryway. “Your time is up, Major.”
“Understood Captain. Please have a steward offload Mr. B’s baggage. He won’t be needing it aboard the Ada, as I am placing him under arrest.”
In the event, not only were the Guvnah’s plans retrieved, but so were similar plans from Babbage. I later learned that a high-level delegation from Caledon and Babbage met to decide which nation had the honor of executing him.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A, B, or C? (Part 1)
[I have always loved and admired the great mystery writing team called Ellery Queen – both the intricately-plotted novels and the brief stories, nearly all of which had an interesting solution. Every so often I find a need to try to emulate the master. – RJ]
For Edward Pearse
The zeppelin was ready to leave, its great engines turning lazily while the ship remained moored. All of the preparations for the lengthy journey were done, and the captain awaited permission from the control tower to proceed. In the meanwhile, he fumed.
Permission had thus far been denied, and the reasons for this stood in the captain’s quarters. Kathy Jameson and I were with Reg Howell, a major in the Caledonian secret service. We were aboard the Ada, at the New Babbage air dock, with the permission of Clockwinder Tenk, but Tenk had been very clear that he would countenance no more than an hour’s delay, measured (no doubt) to the second. Half that time had already elapsed, and the clock was ticking – quite literally, as the Ada’s captain had a clock in a handsome burled walnut case on his desk – on the remaining time.
“You’re certain the man you saw leaving the Guvnah’s mansion boarded this airship?” Major Howell asked for possibly the tenth time.
Kathy sighed. “We’ve covered this ground before, Mr. Howell. I saw a man of below-average height, with short brown hair and a long mustache, wearing a long black cloak and top hat, leaving the mansion about eight p.m., just as it was getting dark. He had a satchel under one arm. I was coming out of Pearse’d and Cut, where I had been admiring Lord Primbroke’s latest Navigational Maps, and heading toward the mansion, when I saw him. As I neared him, he stopped a hansom cab. I could hear him tell the driver to head for the Loch Avie air park as quickly as possible, for he had to be on the Ada before its nine o’clock departure.” The great airship plied the Steamlands, picking up passengers along the way, before making the crossing to a distant land that had only recently become a trading partner – Americus, such a long-distance journey that only the Ada could make the trip without refueling. Americus was a wild, untamed land, and anyone who made it that far would be free from Caledonian justice forever.
Shortly after her encounter with the mysterious man with the satchel, Kathy had related the story to me over a glass of brandy. I listened with interest, for I had had another piece of information earlier that evening: my old friend from the Caledon Police, Captain Armstrong, told me that the Guvnah was missing a number of papers that detailed plans for the Caledonian navy, including detailed designs for several next-generation vessels, both wooden dreadnoughts and ironclad submersibles, and their latest armaments. Having those plans fall into the wrong hands could have disastrous consequences for the nation. I related Captain Armstrong’s tale to Kathy.
“And those papers would…”
“…fit nicely into a satchel,” I finished for her. “Yes, they would.” I sent an urgent telegram to Government House, the not-so-secret headquarters of the secret service, with the information from both the Captain and from Kathy. It was nearly ten p.m., so the Ada had long gone, but it was possible that the police in New Babbage could help us by detaining the airship.
Within the hour, Major Howell appeared at my door, in plain clothes, along with a young man in the uniform of the RCAF. I could hear the second-floor patio groaning under an unusual weight. “Miss Jameson?”
“Yes,” we replied simultaneously.
“Miss Kathy Jameson?” Kathy nodded. “Would you recognize the man again if you saw him?”
She considered for a moment. “Perhaps, but I doubt it. I recall broad aspects of his appearance, but I would have trouble distinguishing him from others of a similar build.”
“Hmm. Disappointing, but I can’t say I’m surprised. And it may have to do. Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Why, to Babbage, of course!”
“I cannot simply drop everything and go to Babbage at a moment’s notice!”
“Woman, it’s a matter of national security. If you will not go voluntarily, I’m empowered to…”
I interrupted. “No need for that, Major. Kathy and I will both go with you to New Babbage, so she can do her best to identify the man.”
He thought for a moment – clearly, a second passenger was not in his plans – but quickly decided that if taking me would help his cause then he would do so. We packed a light travel bag and set off.
The weight on my patio turned out to be a vertical take-off craft that fit four people fairly snugly. This is what allowed Major Howell to arrive at the Downs so quickly, and this is what took us to Loch Avie, where Ilsa Munro, Duchess of Avie, had graciously made available her fastest airship. Major Howell explained en route: “The Ada departed on schedule, so we couldn’t stop her before she left Caledon. However, using this newfangled radio technology, we were able to contact Babbage. Guvnah Shang talked to this Clockwinder fellow directly, saying we had a wanted man aboard the Ada – no details, of course – and the Guvnah would consider it a personal favor if the Clockwinder could delay the Ada in Babbage and allow the Guvnah’s representatives to board her to arrest the man. Tenk agreed to hold the ship until eleven a.m. tomorrow morning – said the ship had a schedule to keep and he had a reputation to maintain. That barely gives us time to get there and identify and arrest the man.”
For Edward Pearse
The zeppelin was ready to leave, its great engines turning lazily while the ship remained moored. All of the preparations for the lengthy journey were done, and the captain awaited permission from the control tower to proceed. In the meanwhile, he fumed.
Permission had thus far been denied, and the reasons for this stood in the captain’s quarters. Kathy Jameson and I were with Reg Howell, a major in the Caledonian secret service. We were aboard the Ada, at the New Babbage air dock, with the permission of Clockwinder Tenk, but Tenk had been very clear that he would countenance no more than an hour’s delay, measured (no doubt) to the second. Half that time had already elapsed, and the clock was ticking – quite literally, as the Ada’s captain had a clock in a handsome burled walnut case on his desk – on the remaining time.
“You’re certain the man you saw leaving the Guvnah’s mansion boarded this airship?” Major Howell asked for possibly the tenth time.
Kathy sighed. “We’ve covered this ground before, Mr. Howell. I saw a man of below-average height, with short brown hair and a long mustache, wearing a long black cloak and top hat, leaving the mansion about eight p.m., just as it was getting dark. He had a satchel under one arm. I was coming out of Pearse’d and Cut, where I had been admiring Lord Primbroke’s latest Navigational Maps, and heading toward the mansion, when I saw him. As I neared him, he stopped a hansom cab. I could hear him tell the driver to head for the Loch Avie air park as quickly as possible, for he had to be on the Ada before its nine o’clock departure.” The great airship plied the Steamlands, picking up passengers along the way, before making the crossing to a distant land that had only recently become a trading partner – Americus, such a long-distance journey that only the Ada could make the trip without refueling. Americus was a wild, untamed land, and anyone who made it that far would be free from Caledonian justice forever.
Shortly after her encounter with the mysterious man with the satchel, Kathy had related the story to me over a glass of brandy. I listened with interest, for I had had another piece of information earlier that evening: my old friend from the Caledon Police, Captain Armstrong, told me that the Guvnah was missing a number of papers that detailed plans for the Caledonian navy, including detailed designs for several next-generation vessels, both wooden dreadnoughts and ironclad submersibles, and their latest armaments. Having those plans fall into the wrong hands could have disastrous consequences for the nation. I related Captain Armstrong’s tale to Kathy.
“And those papers would…”
“…fit nicely into a satchel,” I finished for her. “Yes, they would.” I sent an urgent telegram to Government House, the not-so-secret headquarters of the secret service, with the information from both the Captain and from Kathy. It was nearly ten p.m., so the Ada had long gone, but it was possible that the police in New Babbage could help us by detaining the airship.
Within the hour, Major Howell appeared at my door, in plain clothes, along with a young man in the uniform of the RCAF. I could hear the second-floor patio groaning under an unusual weight. “Miss Jameson?”
“Yes,” we replied simultaneously.
“Miss Kathy Jameson?” Kathy nodded. “Would you recognize the man again if you saw him?”
She considered for a moment. “Perhaps, but I doubt it. I recall broad aspects of his appearance, but I would have trouble distinguishing him from others of a similar build.”
“Hmm. Disappointing, but I can’t say I’m surprised. And it may have to do. Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Why, to Babbage, of course!”
“I cannot simply drop everything and go to Babbage at a moment’s notice!”
“Woman, it’s a matter of national security. If you will not go voluntarily, I’m empowered to…”
I interrupted. “No need for that, Major. Kathy and I will both go with you to New Babbage, so she can do her best to identify the man.”
He thought for a moment – clearly, a second passenger was not in his plans – but quickly decided that if taking me would help his cause then he would do so. We packed a light travel bag and set off.
The weight on my patio turned out to be a vertical take-off craft that fit four people fairly snugly. This is what allowed Major Howell to arrive at the Downs so quickly, and this is what took us to Loch Avie, where Ilsa Munro, Duchess of Avie, had graciously made available her fastest airship. Major Howell explained en route: “The Ada departed on schedule, so we couldn’t stop her before she left Caledon. However, using this newfangled radio technology, we were able to contact Babbage. Guvnah Shang talked to this Clockwinder fellow directly, saying we had a wanted man aboard the Ada – no details, of course – and the Guvnah would consider it a personal favor if the Clockwinder could delay the Ada in Babbage and allow the Guvnah’s representatives to board her to arrest the man. Tenk agreed to hold the ship until eleven a.m. tomorrow morning – said the ship had a schedule to keep and he had a reputation to maintain. That barely gives us time to get there and identify and arrest the man.”
Friday, July 3, 2009
Victoriana to Shengri La
More evidence that the continents move about: once upon a time, there was Victoriana, and there was Shengri La. The former was a small but growing collection of lands that was Victorian themed, while the latter housed the Fashion Research Institute and several small art galleries. Equal, but separate, as one might say. (We visited Victoriana here and Shengri La here.)
Recently, while studying a newly-issued map, I noticed that the two lands had moved close together - close enough that they might as well be touching. I started my journey in the new Victoriana Arctic, aboard my small steam boat.
I meet a native.
I next steamed to Victoriana Atlantic, where I explored Fort Victoriana before moving westward.
The problem with a steam boat is that it produces, um, steam. Steam can be difficult to see through. If the steam is produced through the burning of coal, it also produces a sooty residue and this, too, is difficult to see through. A possible consequence is that one may find one's self foundered upon some hitherto unseen rocks.
Making the best of a bad situation, I discovered a horse and proceded to explore the islands of Shengri La.
Eventually, a nice fisherman appeared on the shore. He was returning to Victoriana, and kindly agreed to transport me as well. All ended happily except, of course, I was out one steam boat.
(N.B. Mr. Mako Magellan observed that Atlantis Rising, which had formerly abutted Caledon, was now located some distance away. Will these blasted islands not stay put?)
Recently, while studying a newly-issued map, I noticed that the two lands had moved close together - close enough that they might as well be touching. I started my journey in the new Victoriana Arctic, aboard my small steam boat.
I meet a native.
I next steamed to Victoriana Atlantic, where I explored Fort Victoriana before moving westward.
The problem with a steam boat is that it produces, um, steam. Steam can be difficult to see through. If the steam is produced through the burning of coal, it also produces a sooty residue and this, too, is difficult to see through. A possible consequence is that one may find one's self foundered upon some hitherto unseen rocks.
Making the best of a bad situation, I discovered a horse and proceded to explore the islands of Shengri La.
The art galleries were just they had been before.
Eventually, a nice fisherman appeared on the shore. He was returning to Victoriana, and kindly agreed to transport me as well. All ended happily except, of course, I was out one steam boat.
(N.B. Mr. Mako Magellan observed that Atlantis Rising, which had formerly abutted Caledon, was now located some distance away. Will these blasted islands not stay put?)
Thursday, July 2, 2009
All Quiet on the Babbage Front
((Tonight's Babbage melee is too late for me, and I'll be gone most of the weekend, thus missing whatever excitement transpires. But I simply had to have an ironclad. Having purchased said ironclad, I had no choice, really, but to take a few pictures.))
The evidence grew that a large fleet had assembled and was steaming toward the Vernian Sea. I was never much of an order-follower - I was clearly the despair of Headmistress in that regard - but I thought I could not simply sit on the sidelines and let others do all the work.
I finagled an old Cuthbert-class ironclad from Murakami Steamworks - the ship floated and her power plant produced steam, but the guns were in questionable condition. The ship needed refurbishment, but would suit my needs. I crossed my fingers that no gunplay would be needed tonight.
I steamed into the Vernian Sea under a moonless sky. I passed Doctor Obolensky's lair dangerously closely, but it seemed the superior alternative to attempting to sneak past the defensive line forming.
The dock was nearly deserted. I assumed that no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire, so merchants, shoppers, and townsfolk alike were either preparing for battle or staying safely out of the way. And then I saw the spy.
((The young lady did, in fact, climb onto the ship and attempt to board. She did not appear to speak English, which limited my ability to find out her interest in New Babbage. However, she was clearly not working hard to stay in theme...))
The evidence grew that a large fleet had assembled and was steaming toward the Vernian Sea. I was never much of an order-follower - I was clearly the despair of Headmistress in that regard - but I thought I could not simply sit on the sidelines and let others do all the work.
I finagled an old Cuthbert-class ironclad from Murakami Steamworks - the ship floated and her power plant produced steam, but the guns were in questionable condition. The ship needed refurbishment, but would suit my needs. I crossed my fingers that no gunplay would be needed tonight.
I steamed into the Vernian Sea under a moonless sky. I passed Doctor Obolensky's lair dangerously closely, but it seemed the superior alternative to attempting to sneak past the defensive line forming.
The dock was nearly deserted. I assumed that no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire, so merchants, shoppers, and townsfolk alike were either preparing for battle or staying safely out of the way. And then I saw the spy.
She did not have the appearance of a typical spy, but that made her disguise all the more cunning. Did she see me arrive in port? I could not say with certainty. Then she attempted to board the ship...I had no choice but to dispatch her with my sidearm. One shot to the back of the head - she never saw me coming - and all was quiet again. I hoped no one heard the report.
((The young lady did, in fact, climb onto the ship and attempt to board. She did not appear to speak English, which limited my ability to find out her interest in New Babbage. However, she was clearly not working hard to stay in theme...))
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