Thursday, December 10, 2009

Mayfair Town Hall

Many changes have come to Caledon Mayfair since the last time I set foot in that fair section of the nation. Mr. Steadman Kondor has purchased much of the town, styled himself the Duke of Mayfair, and constructed a magnificent town hall.

Below, the ducal offices inside the town hall.

The building is currently housing an art exhibit entitled "Wanderer: A Collection of Art from Romantic Genius Caspar David Friedrich." Below, the upstairs parlor.


Adjascent to the town hall is a plot dubbed Autumn Park. Around the town square, Mr. Kondor has rented out a number of shops. Current tenants include Third Life Books, Pemberly, Four Winds, Trosca Photography, and Mr. Kondor's own publishing business.

Behind the town hall, on the waterfront, is a spot called Jules Verne Wharf, which consists of a glasshouse and a library (not to be confused with the Mayfair Library, part of the Caledon library system). The glasshouse currently hosts an exhibit, in conjunction with the Steelhead Library, on the Wright Brothers. The exhibit, which runs through January 1, is curated by Miss Riven Homewood, of Steelhead. The library, shown below, has titles of interest to adventurous souls.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

The Streets of Trilogy

Miss hyasynth Tiramisu announced the opening of Trilogy, a quaint, rainy town of shopping opportunities. Though the attire was generally not to my taste, I enjoyed the town itself, from the pub...

...to the narrow, winding streets...

...to the rain-speckled windows, reflecting the permanent drizzle.


Walk out of the rain, into "Trilogy Station" - modeled after a London Underground station - and there are still more goods for sale...
...as well as a familiar-looking map.


One is reminded of the line: "I've traveled all this way and it's the same..."

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Rechara - BlakOpal's Island

When Dr. Fabre mentioned that Mr. Trilobyte Zanzibar and Miss BlakOpal Galacia had opened their own Steampunk-themed island for the flagship location of their store, I had to see for myself.

The island contains much more than the BlakOpal store: balloons and airships...

...and the Eridu Society airship outpost, which contains a cafe (which, as in every other cafe these days, is filled with some thoughtless person monopolizing a table just to type on a Difference Engine, buying perhaps a single cup of coffee over the course of hours).

Hmm, is that a still?


A book shop, a cozy nook (called "Local Shop," for some reason) with pictures of the Steamlands for sale, a warehouse, and a cafe are all available for exploration or just sitting. (A number of places are unfurnished, suggesting a work in progress.)

Ships are docked in the harbors, presumably taking goods to other BlakOpal destinations throughout the Steamlands.


And, of course, the store itself. I confess to picking up a new dress and some outerwear during my visit - the latter a nod to the change of seasons that is upon us.
I was accosted (via IM) by a cad named Alexis Gravois, who said, "tell to your friend to stop or i will make you banned both." Bewildered, I replied to Mr. Gravois, "What are you talking about? I'm here by myself and not doing anything but looking." He never replied. If he is a member of the BlakOpal team - and nothing indicated he is - his customer relations need improving.

The island is worth an extended visit and a leisurely stroll. Be sure to bring a full purse!

Monday, December 7, 2009

On Stage at the Opry

The Ryman Auditorium was the original home of Nashville's Grand Ole Opry until 1974, and a passable replica exists in our little corner of the world. (Some information on the structure is available here.)


Inside, the Opry stage is set, complete with the barn backdrop. (One might think that the www.Opry.com painted on the right side of the backdrop was not strictly historically accurate for 1974. It is, however, a valid link today.)


Below a picture of late Opry stalwarts Roy Acuff and Minnie Pearl stands a bench where the two performers, in bronze, sit facing one another.


And for anyone who wanted to be on the stage...

"I'm crazy for tryin'
And crazy for cryin'
And crazy for loving you."

Sunday, December 6, 2009

The Ghost of St. Hilda's

I found myself in conversation the other day with Mr. Alastair Whybrow, who remarked that my recent report from South End - in particular, St. Hilda's church - made no mention of the crypt ghost.

"Crypt? Ghost?" I replied, monosylabically. "I do so love church crypts, though my encounters with the spirit world have not always been happy ones. However, I did not see a crypt entrance." Mr. Whybrow explained that the entrance was on the opposite side of the church from the main doors, and that there was, indeed, a resident ghost, though he refused to speculate as to who she was or why she spends her afterlife beneath the charming sanctuary.

I made a note to visit as soon as possible. When the day came, I made certain to fully load and then strap on Miss Malaprop's Clock-Winding Pistol; I had my doubts about the weapon's effectiveness on a shroud, but thought it better than arriving unarmed. At the very least, the pistol would be effective against any hooligans who might have taken up residence in the crypt.


My vigil was rewarded when the ghost appeared. She wandered about the crypt. I drew my weapon and aimed, but she had no hostile intent. Indeed, she seemed entirely indifferent to my presence.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Timestream, Part 10

[Here endeth our tale. A link to the entire story on Calameo will be here when I get my act together and upload it. [Edit 12/29/09: The .pdf is available for viewing or download at Calameo, slightly edited to deal with some continuity problems.] I hope you enjoyed it. A small note to ease the transition: at the end of Part 9, Kathy had finished narrating how she came to be in the asylum. As this part starts, that recap has ended, and Rhianon is once again the narrator. - RJ]

“I fear that the only member of the cavalry is Roland, who waits for us in the common room of this place,” I said to Kathy. “Do you think this Commodore Billings will make another attempt to have you arrested once you leave here?”

The small smile Kathy had worn during her telling of the story faded, and her expression was grim. “I rather think he will try to kill all of us in order to keep his crimes – and the enormous potential of the timestream device – a secret. We haven’t much time, as the observation period ends at mid-day tomorrow, and I assume the doctor will release me at that time.”

“We have faced fiercer odds than this before, and survived,” I said, trying to keep up my sister’s spirits.

The only thing that was elevated was an eyebrow. “Really? Do tell, because we are in a strange country, unarmed, locked inside a small cell in a guarded asylum with a homicidal maniac coming to kill us, with only a slightly deaf inventor to assist us. Does that sound about right?”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

A clock chimed the hour, and the matron appeared in the doorway. “Visiting hours are over, Miss Jameson.” Turning to Kathy, she said, “An orderly will be by shortly with your dinner and your shot.”

With a last glance at Kathy, giving her an expression that tried to convey “I’ll think of something,” I let the matron escort me back to the waiting area, where Roland was engrossed in a magazine called Popular Mechanics with a look of rapture on his face.

“Did you stay out of trouble, Roland?” I asked.

“What about a bubble? Oh, never mind. Trouble, yes, I happily amused myself. However, some poor chap is in for it.”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed at the window. “Do you see that automobile parked at the curb? The two gentlemen inside ran in here with guns drawn, and were firmly repelled by the matron, a most formidable lady, if I may say so. The gentlemen then retired to their automobile, where they have been waiting ever since.”

I looked out the window and down. As Roland had said, two men waited in an automobile – both in naval uniforms. Although I did not recognize the man in the passenger seat, the one behind the steering wheel was none other than Commodore Tom Billings. He would be waiting for us when we left the building tomorrow. I saw an orderly push a meal cart toward the cells, and a glimmer of a plan crossed my mind. “Roland, stay here a moment, but be ready to leave quickly.” I walked to the matron’s desk and said I had left my hotel room key in Kathy’s cell, and asked if I could retrieve it.

She looked annoyed, but called the orderly back and repeated what I had told her, instructing the orderly to accompany me to the cell, then to retrieve the key himself and hand it to me, as the sanitarium had a rule against handling visitors’ property.

The orderly pushed his cart down the aisles, a revolting smell rising from the dinner plates. Kathy would not be unhappy at missing this meal. As we reached Kathy’s cell, the orderly banged on the door and instructed Kathy to move to the opposite wall before he would open the door. She complied. As he opened the door with a key from the ring hanging off his belt, I shoved him with all my strength, sending him sprawling into the room. Kathy kicked the hapless orderly to keep him down, then rushed out of the cell and slammed the door shut behind her. It locked automatically. “We don’t have much time before the entire security team is after us,” I noted.

Sweeping into the waiting area, I attracted the attention of Roland, who was perusing a ladies’ magazine. “I say, Kathy, my dear girl, are you…”

“Save it for later,” I said. “We are in something of a hurry.”

We raced down the stairs and out a back door of the facility, making it through the main gates before the alarm went off. We veered left, away from the vehicle with Billings and his crony. Roland hailed a passing cab, and in moments we were on our way to the airship terminal. As we pulled away from the sanitarium, I saw the Commodore jump out of his automobile and head into the sanitarium, gun drawn. Just in time.

We had some difficulty after we reached the terminal, because Kathy was the only one of us who had any of the local currency, and her personal effects were still locked up. The driver would not take Caledonian currency – he looked suspiciously at the picture of the Guvnah in his dapper white suit – and we finally convinced him to accept Roland’s gold watch as payment.

Once aboard the airship, Kathy warmed up the engines while I studied the map through the timestream that would take us back to the Steamlands in our own time. The air bags slowly inflated.

“Tower to Hangover Two. Please turn off your engines and prepare to be boarded. We have received a request from the Octoberville Navy to detain your craft.”

“Uh-oh,” Kathy said.

I pushed the “send” button on the radio. “Hangover Two to tower. We did not receive your last transmission. Requesting permission to take off.”

“Negative, Hangover Two. Permission not, repeat not, granted. Please stand down.”

“The transmission quality is terrible, Tower. And I cannot decipher your accent. I assume you said we were cleared for takeoff.” With that, I placed the hand-held speaker back on the radio and released the tethers. The airship rose. The radio squawked, but I ignored it. When we had reached sufficient altitude to clear the tower, I moved the throttle forward.

“Rhianon, I think we’re not out of the woods just yet,” Kathy said, gesturing behind us. I turned to look, and saw a gyroscopic airship gaining quickly on us. I opened the throttle fully, but I knew we lacked the speed to escape. And if Billings had installed the Patterson device onto the naval ship, he would have no trouble following us through the timestream, back to Caledon.

The radio crackled into action again. “Attention, airship. This is Commodore Thomas Billings aboard Octoberville Naval Airship X-25.” Oh, original name, I thought. “I have authority to shoot you down if you do not land at once. This is your only warning.”

“Something tells me he is not likely to let us land,” Kathy said.

I nodded grimly. “I should not think so either. However, we have nineteenth century technology up against his…whatever era we are in technology. We are outmatched.”

Roland, who had remained silent thus far while he was busy looking ill, said, “Um. Er. That may not be totally correct.”

“If you have something to say, Roland, now would be the time to do so,” I said.

“Well, dash it all, I’m often a little bored, and I start thinking about modifications to things that would be interesting to do. For example, my silver tea urn was in my sitting room the other day, and I thought hmm, wouldn’t it be quite clever to…”

Now, Roland, if you do not mind. I would be delighted to hear about your urn if we survive this.”

I saw several rounds of tracer bullets fly past us, and moved the yoke in random patterns in an effort to make us a more difficult target. Air-to-air combat was difficult, as both the shooter and target were moving in three dimensions, but I had no doubt that a military vessel would carry enough ammunition to dispose of an unarmored civilian craft.

“I took the, um, liberty of retrofitting the Hangover Two with some of my experiments with energy technology. If you’ll look under the dashboard, below the radio, you’ll see three toggle switches. The top is for the forward gun, the bottom for the rear. The stick allows you to aim, but the middle toggle turns on an autoseek feature. It’s very clever, really, if I do say so myself. It uses an Analytical Engine that I programmed…” I tuned out the rest of his speech. Several rounds hit the back of the H2, causing teak to splinter and disappear below us. I flipped the bottom and middle switches and pressed the button to engage the laser canon. A beam of light shot from the rear of the airship, hitting the following aircraft directly. The burst of energy caused something on the craft to explode. Billings sent several more bullets in our direction, but the shots went wide as he lost control. The last we saw, his ship started a nose-dive over the ocean.

“You can experiment with my ship any time, Roland!” I exclaimed as he grinned. I maneuvered the ship through the timestream and headed home.

Friday, December 4, 2009

A Warehouse in Steelhead

I finished some business in Steelhead and still had some time before I needed to fly back to Caledon, so I paid an unannounced visit to Dr. Malegatto Alter and the ETK Warehouse in Steelhead Port Harbor [SLURL]. True, paying Dr. Alter an unannounced visit is taking a chance in more ways than one, but I had not heard from her in some time and decided to press my luck.

Upon arriving, I saw police tape marking off a crime scene.


That triggered my memory of Dr. Beck's account of Dr. Alter's squiddy thing and the unfortunate soul the creature ingested. (Dr. Alter also gives her account of the incident.) Needless to say, I followed the directions on the sign and did not feed the squiddy thing.


On the other hand, I ignored the various warning signs, and strode past the police tape, entering the premises. I saw Mechanical Willard who, thankfully, was not as chatty as the real rat.


The squiddy thing still looked a little peaked from its adventure in- and egesting the stranger. It eyed me warily, and I stared warily back.


I waited for Dr. Alter for some time, but she must have been attending to Evil Tiny Kitty business elsewhere...no doubt plotting a takeover of Steelhead. I say, though, that is a great deal of catnip. Was that all for personal consumption?

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Timestream, Part 9

[Just one more to go after this episode! Our story starts here, while the previous episode is located here. And I'll eventually put the whole thing on Calameo. - RJ]

Back to Commodore Billings’ office. If I was to start moving money through the judicial system, I would need a great deal more than I had at the moment. I did not know how much Tom Billings was willing to pay to keep his nephew out of jail: when he asked me to help, he gave the impression that he would do almost anything to accomplish that goal; after my last conversation with Jason, I was no long so certain of the relationship between the two.

The Commodore was willing to take time to talk with me, however, which I took as a good sign. “Do you think this is the only way to go?” he asked me.

“It is not the only option we have, but it may be the best one. The alternative – trying to solve the case ourselves – may be far more complex and require far more manpower than we have. I tried to see whether the police had overlooked something completely obvious in their haste to arrest Jason, but came up empty.”

“Not to sound crass, but how much will this cost me?”

I crossed my legs. “I cannot be positive until I start feeling out various officials. In Oceania, where we had jury trials with a panel of seven, and the verdict needed to have a majority of jurors, one need find four jurors with money troubles and limited conscience, or a single judge. Sometimes one was cheaper, sometimes the other. If those options failed, it was easy enough to find someone to kill a key witness, for example, but, while that was usually less costly in terms of cash, it tended to draw scrutiny from the prosecutor’s office, and thus tended to be a last resort. Usually the equivalent of L$50,000 would be sufficient, though it varied depending on the crime and the jury. Here…I could not say.”

Tom blanched at the figure. I recalled Jason’s story; Tom was not a rich man. Perhaps L$50,000 was beyond his means. However, he rallied, sighed, shrugged, and said, “Family. What can you do?”

I outlined my plan. It was going to take a little time, a great deal of money, and more than a little luck, but it was based on the time-honored approach of giving the already-corrupt what they wanted. I rose from my chair and turned to leave when something occurred to me.

“Excuse me, Commodore, but Jason suggested I might ask you what Mr. Patterson was working on at the time of his death.”

“Is that important?”

“I do not know at this point. Certainly one possible motive for murdering him would be to obtain any papers or prototypes of his current projects, should any of them be particularly valuable.”

“Yes, of course. Clever of you. As it turns out, I can’t help you. Farley didn’t confide in me. Very secretive chap.”

I hesitated before continuing. “How odd! I was told he often sought backing for his inventions in return for a share of the profits. I was also told he offered you the opportunity to buy into his latest invention.”

“Oh, that.” Tom Billings waved a hand, as though the subject was so trivial as to be not worth recalling. “You’re right, I was offered the chance to buy in. Farley claimed he was doing me a favor, letting me invest so late in the process when he no longer really needed the money and his doo-dad was nearly complete. But I thought there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hades that this thing would make money, so I saw his ‘offer’ as a way of separating my money and me. I turned him down.”

“But…” I stopped. “I see. Thank you, Commodore.” He showed me out.

Rather than heading directly to the courthouse to start on my plan, I wandered the streets for some time. Jason was a thief and a hot-tempered young man, but he told a consistent story. So did Angela Patterson and Colt Schneider. The only person who did not seem to be telling the truth was Tom Billings. Schneider told me that Farley Patterson was working on, and had nearly completed, a device to navigate the timestream. Jason told me that Patterson had offered Tom Billings the opportunity to invest in his latest invention. Tom told me that he had no idea what Patterson’s current project might be. I recalled our earlier conversation about the timestream, in which Tom said that no one could navigate it, save for trial and error. I was adding things up, but I did not care for the sum.

If I now suspected my client of killing Farley Patterson, the loose end was why he brought me to Octoberville to try to clear Jason of the crime. Then it occurred to me: Tom never anticipated that Jason would be suspected, much less arrested, because Tom knew nothing of his nephew’s crime against Patterson. Once Jason was arrested, Tom was stuck. Tom did not want his nephew to be sent to prison for a crime he did not commit, but Tom could hardly urge the police to work harder at finding a different suspect. Enter moi, whom Tom knew from Oceania not as a sleuth extraordinaire, but as the fixer, the person who knew everyone, could move among the various social classes, and – this is the important part – could make things happen through the application of the right kind of pressure. He might have looked pained at the cost of fixing the problem, but that was a lie, too. Given the millions he was likely to make if he had indeed stolen the timestream navigator, L$50,000, or even ten times that amount, was a pittance to him to soothe his conscience over Jason’s problem.

I had to tell the police. This went against every instinct I had, but, without Tom’s protection and help, I was alone in the city. The only reasonable course I could see was to let the police know my suspicions and leave town as quickly and as quietly as possible. I made my way to the police station.

As I approached, I could see I was too late. Tom Billings, having read my expression in his office, anticipated that this was where I would eventually go, and arrived ahead of me. He convinced someone in the precinct station that I was a dangerous criminal, a spy – the excuse hardly mattered. They would take me somewhere, and an accident would happen. I needed a diversion to get away from Tom and his allies.

The best I could do on the spur of the moment was to begin shrieking about giant bugs, punctuating my sentences with random words and sounds. I started thrashing on the sidewalk, as though I could no longer control my body. Alerted by the din I was making, two policemen ran out of the station. Several shopkeepers also came to the rescue. By the time Tom and his cronies arrived, I was surrounded.

“Call the hospital – she may be ill.”

“Ill? She’s crazy! Just listen to her.”

“I’ll call for the sanitarium. Physical or mental, they’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, put her in the nut hatch. She’s scaring all my customers away.”

“That woman is a criminal! She stole L$50,000 from me – arrest her!” That last was from my good friend Tom Billings and, indeed, I had his money hidden on me. I kept babbling, and the crowd kept growing. The policemen were clearly conflicted. On the one hand, they knew Tom and wanted to help him by arresting me. On the other, they did not want a screaming madwoman in their cells. Self-interest won out, and they waited for an ambulance from the sanitarium to arrive. Several burly men – at least one of whom was quite handsome, I noticed – wrestled me into the ambulance and sedated me.

I awoke in this room, locked in until further notice. Although I stopped screaming and babbling once I was safe from Tom, at least for the moment, the doctor apparently wanted to keep me under observation for forty-eight hours. In the meanwhile, I have spent the time alternating between trying to think of a plan to evade Tom and hoping that you would arrive with the cavalry.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

A Steampunk Christmas Carol in Rothesay

Mr. Iason Hassanov has created a tableau in Rothesay for his adaption of Mr. Charles Dickens' story, "A Christmas Carol." Miss Eleanor Anderton has kindly provided a space for this display.

"A Steampunk Christmas Carol" features the beloved Bob Ratchett and his son, Tinny Tim, the miserly Mr. Turnscrew, and the clanks of Christmas Past, Present, and Future.


Also in Rothesay, Miss Anna Darwinian has announced she is selling her duchy, pictured below (with Victoria City in the background). The Curse of Rothesay lives!

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Pumping Oil

My typist has spent a great deal of time studying the petroleum industry over the past dozen years, and thus has a fascination with oil platforms, refineries, and other industry hallmarks.

I stumbled across this platform by accident and, of course, had to fly in for a closer look.

The platform is just about the only thing in a strip of three sims that appears to connect Northern and Southern land masses, all owned by Governor Linden. I suppose he has to supply his energy needs from somewhere.

I can envision a string of crude oil pipelines running to refineries on various continents, and still more pipelines bringing refined products to local markets.


Good thing Caledon runs on clean, coal-powered steam! *cough, cough*