Alchemy: Physics of Vices and Virtures

ALCHEMY

Expedition! - Issue 2: "Gloomhaven"

It is said that those who live in the “The City of Shadows” wear heavy furs, a skeptical expression and have a ready hand on his pistol. 

I wish that I could tell you the whole of the sordid and colorful history of Gloomhaven, but much of its history has been lost to the war and destroyed by those less sympathetic to the trials of a historian. But it does not take a student of history to see the challenges of this unusual place. Blasted from the bitter Shaar much of the year and bombarded by seasonal storms from the sea, life in Gloomhaven is hard and cruel. The streets are ruled by thieves, cutthroats, pirates and is a sanctuary for criminals of every stripe. Many political and religious miscreants have carved out a little home in the glorified shantytown. Though it has been condemned by every holy and righteous person as a den of sinners and degenerates, it sits on the second largest river in High Moor, contains valuable resources, artifacts from the old world and is, quite frankly, impossible to conquer.

The city was originally named Glomehaven, which is an older word "to grab or steal". A fitting name in most quarters of the city. But its current name has clung to it like the perpetual fog which creeps maliciously across every surface of the city, making it a very dark place indeed. The earliest known record is of a small settlement among the ruins of a once glamorous city. Necessity has always governed the state of affairs within the walls of Gloomhaven. It has no regular streets, buildings are erected atop older buildings, layers and layers of stones, wooden beams and planks have been set atop each other until you couldn't see the ground below. Spires and towers break through the jumbled mess of buildings and structures like claws through a thin shirt. The one true landmark is the old fortress; a grey stone star-shaped castle, which looks like a lair of some villain. Called the Eyeless by the locals, the interior is a half dome building without windows, doors or any obvious way to enter. But locals report strange voices emanating from the smooth stone and feeling that you are being watched.

The city is separated into two districts and connected across the Mirror Lake by a series of bridges. The harbor is blockaded by a sea wall and several small islands. Ominous towers dot the wall, shining dark blue lights down on the waterways and patrolling the shore. Once inside the immense gates is a labyrinth of docks, piers, scaffolding and wooden buildings built atop each other in impossible layers. As you sail up the river Spine, Red Dragon District on the left side close to the Shaar and Ten Towns District is on the right closest to Gloomhaven Woods and the Scrimshaw Ridge.

Despite various factions squabbling over control of smaller streets and neighborhoods, the undisputed power in Gloomhaven is the Shadow King and the Weeping Queen. Enigmatic as their titles, there seems to be order amidst the chaos. There are unwritten rules and traditions that are carried out no matter how painstaking or nonsensical. Those who step out of line or disobey are visited by “Pales” who enforce the quasi-monarchy. Some describe these hooded figures as undead creatures or those cursed by the Malificium. But I find this dramatic description more in kind with the stories of ghosts, telepathic suggestion and rumors of strange women seeing the future.

Religion in Gloomhaven is as diverse as its people. All manner of men and woman walk the streets, practicing the old heaven religions, praying at shrines, trusting in trinkets and lucky charms. The Aluminat would be hard pressed to find a single person who adhered to the tenants of its faith. superstition rules the fate of many a sailor and bandit. 

Wealth in precious metals, minerals and pirated goods flood the streets. But Gloomhaven's true wealth comes from its ancient artifacts and relics from prior worlds which seem almost alien. I saw dozens of shows selling jewelry, trinkets, cursed items of foul wizards and dark magical items. Much of it appeared to be "window dressing" but there were a few items which bore magical runes, inscription and even hummed slightly with a powerful Aether. Many of these shards were sewn into clothing, incorporated into steam engines, personal tools and weapons. I believe even the streets were inlaid with the history of this great city, drug down from the mountain in stones and dredged up from the bottom of the river and used the reinforce the foundations. Despite of all of these little marvels, the chimneys belch out black smoke and the streets are filled with all manner of detritus. I saw modern amenities right next to what amounted to shacks. Walking down the street at any time of the day you might rub shoulders with poets, wealthy barons, merchants, pirates, murderers or tyrants. As more wealth is dug up from the earth, in mines in and outside of the city, more people seem to be drawn to its strange energy which draws prospectors, delinquents and fortune seekers into its ever-widening maw. 

After partaking of a small drink in a small tavern which stretched for miles in a collection of buildings all tied together in one long row, I ventured along the streets, noting the warehouses, silos and humongous digging machines. I contemplated the shops, the factories and pushed my way outside the public exchanges. I could not see why any man would desire to wade into the oily whirlpool as it slipped down into the dark tunnels beneath the city. This was a city on the fringe of the civilized world. It was a toppled giant whose bones were being picked clean by vultures. This was the world that lay sleeping beneath our feet, with unknown horrors a picks-fall or a turn of a spade away from being woken.

I lit my cigar and returned to Newhaven by the 10 o'clock train, away from the mad scramble of this blister on the edge of civilization.

S1: E22 "At the Bridgerton's" Part 1

Learning Curve

An interesting meeting took place before the events of the Bridgerton Party. Many are eager to learn of what happened in those revered halls, but this does warrant a bit of a mention. 

Father Collins had returned to the Royal Library to continue his studies. He was prepared to burn away the midnight oil in the company of his leatherbound friends when he spied Lindion Mavienness talking with Sylkas. A stroke of good fortune for Father Collins, as he would save postage. After exchanging the normal felicitations, he relayed the details of his meeting with the agents at the Ministry. In short, it was not looking good for Mr Thompson, as the Ministry was being pressured to find the culprits of these string of magical artifacts. 

Their inane conversation continued until Yuko Dendrar entered, surprised to see Lindion and delighted to meet yet another interesting person of Newhaven, especially of the religious caste. Lindion leaves the two of them to converse while she goes in search of more knowledge. She did ask Yuko to find her after she was done with her studies so they could talk. 

The priest and the ambassador did talk of many things, but the particular subject they both gravitated towards was religion. Of course they did. Yuko was of course interested in a discourse of the tenants of Aluminat theology. As a priest, when a person asks you to do your job and you don't have to back them surreptitiously into a corner or ambush them at the dinner table with a question that will profoundly stump them and give you adequate time to illuminate them on the dispensation of certain antiquities, Father Collins was more than willing to hand her his card and plan for a special time to discuss this topic.

Father Collins went to his corner and began a most laborious search of
the ocean charts, manifests and ledgers to form a complete picture of the lucrative smuggling operations inside Newhaven. Newspapers, gossip columns and recalling the bits of news and whatnot he learned on his visits to his parishioners. They were always full of interesting stories and rumors. He acquired two names; a leathery sea captain of the ship Cerberus named Morgan Black, and a group known as the Northstars led by a gnome called Waldo. He also found the Constabulary had been laughably unsuccessful in their own investigations into the flow if illicit booty into Newhaven's harbor. From my experience, a few extra pounds have a way of deafening ears and blinding certain men.

While Father Collins was thus occupied, Yuko went in search of Sylkas to learn of there was any resources that might help her in her academic investigations. Gaining a somewhat helpful reply and a warning. (This is because librarians, after extended periods of time sniffing old paper, fidgeting over broken bindings and shuffling around mumbling to themselves, develop a certain nose for danger. Words form sentences. Sentences form ideas. Ideas form men, and that can be very dangerous. One must move cautiously around ideas, or they are liable to get inside your head and start causing all kinds of problems). Yuko went to find Lindion who was perusing her own designs on the impressionable young Yuko. She had actually prepared a speech. I found it lying about, so I tucked it here for our mutual amusement;

“Think back to your mentors who first showed you how to use your weapons. They taught you and told you to practice every day and that if you didn’t the wild would calm you. You would be lost to them forever. I wish to train you in a new weapon. One which people are born with, but few know and even less master it. When, for there are no if’s when you seek to succeed. When you wield this new weapon, you can strike at the heart and mind bypassing the physical body. This weapon can build or destroy kingdoms. I believe it was this very weapon the Forever Empress used to divide our kingdoms. But it can also be used to unite them. It has been said that knowledge holds power and that the tongue can break the spirit. When these two are one, and you know how to use them properly. Then all the rules of Newhaven and other regions could not hold you back. It is knowing to whom you speak, and how to speak to them. Knowledge of your opponent is key in both war and peace. In words I will instruct you, in action I will guide you. But in mastery of this weapon, you must practice surviving. The weapon is knowing the people, not just currently but what made them from the beginning. Ambassador Dendrar, do you wish to master the hearts and minds of the people?” 

“Let us use Mr. Belabrante, I am sure he would not mind. I would like you to suggest to him that it would be advantageous for both you and him that he come to the Bridgerton party accompanied by a lady. And that you believe it should be Lady Mavienness, with whom he should go.”

It was almost poetic. Of course, Yuko agreed to this course of action. The brazen suggestion to manipulate the ambassador into acting as a confidant resulted in a such a spectacular turn of events it actually brings a smile to my face. You might assume that Lady Mavienness had some romantic notion in her actions. I suspect it was more ambitious, making the unintended result truly comical. For no sooner had Yuko gleaned what information she came for (she had discovered a strange tome of some magical significance, the volume titled the Holy Pilgrimage and contained a once perilous journey by a fairly pious person who endeavored to traverse and collect lore regarding the old sacred sites of the old faith) that she returned to the homes of Arthur Belabrante and confided in him that Lady Mavienness had actual feelings for him and recited Lady Mavienness' wish to be his partner at the ball!

It should be noted the author had to step away, for the fits of laughter had grown so uncontrollable that he had collapsed and had to be revived shortly thereafter by myself.

Stop that, Winston. What did I say about dictating? 

To never touch the pen, sir.

Precisely. And yet...you touched it again.

It tickles, sir. 

Scratch this part from the record.

House Bridgerton

Now we reach the part you have breathlessly waited for. The wrought iron fence loomed up like a row of spears, ridged in the white marble half wall which surrounded the elegant and fertile gardens. Hedges, old trees and dark grey gravel paths formed a labyrinth, broken only by the large fountain and drive which was now filled with carriages which glistened like black glass. Yellow lamps and bronze braziers illuminated the night with a roaring glow. The main house was stately, elegant and trimmed with marble, plaster and black trim. Bronze glistened from various places, flashing sporadically as the light caught it.

From Gibsons fall catalogue

As each carriage rolled across the cobbles, depositing some auspicious couple to the curb, one hansom arrived bedecked in a red and crimson dress which slipped just off the shoulders into a cascade of tucks and folds. Her hair was pulled up from her neck, teased so as to look loose and fanciful. She wore silver jewelry so as to match the silver sewn into the hem and lace of her dress. Despite being almost 70, she didn't look half bad. She mounted the steps carefully, her eyes searching for her escort. He was to be found just exiting the main doors, his dark suit shimmering ever so slightly in the yellow glow. She took his extended arm, careful to place the right amount of pressure so as to keep her own balance. Maids and doormen approached, helping them shrug off their cloaks, hats and canes. As they turned towards the elegant hall, Arthur Belabrante leaned close and whispered, "Are you ready?" Of course, Lindion Mavienness could face anything the bourgeoisie could hand out, even if it was on gold platters.

Entering the ballroom, Lindion surveyed the wealth, power and nobility collected in this room. She almost didn't notice Mary sulkily trailing in behind them. She saw many notable houses represented and some she did not yet know. She saw Lady Vyse and Thomas Thompson moving around the room together. The former was wearing a rich reddish-brown dress, accentuated with cream cloth and lace, embroidered in gold. The latter was wearing a poorly fit suit which he was realizing was tailored for a man slightly taller and bigger. 

Fashioned by the venerable Ladybird

Featured in Lords & Ladies

Arriving just behind them was more familiar faces. Yuko walking proudly in a brightly colored silk gown, styled like that of the North, with peacock feathers, gold filigree and pictures of dragons and ancient birds woven together in golden boughs, shining on a field of royal blue. Telmage looked no less decadent as beamed in his usually annoying manner. The last to arrive behind them was a man dressed in a white suit, wearing a pink flower in his lapel and bearing a magnificent cane. The wild curl in his hair, the easy swagger in how he moved, and the athletic build would have made him easily recognizable in Newhaven's athletic circles as the cricketer, Raymond Lamb.

Raymond Lamb

As nobles mingled and laughed with the snootiest of laughter, two doormen approached and announced the arrival of the royal family. Strangely, this possibility did not cross the mind of Lindion that her grandmother and distant kin would be in attendance of such a prestigious affair. Perhaps it was because she was far too busy being worried about other people's affairs. The royals entered and precession formed. This was, in high circles, the chance for a lady or gentleman to announce themselves to the world. This was for the elites, a means of coming of age. Those who had already spent the better part of their life getting to this spot, it was a means of going further. First impressions were key, and the noble blessing or curse would haunt you forever. And so, each member of its noble family approached with all the etiquette and grace drilled into them for years and hoped they would not faulter. I supposed I could relate how each one bowed, curtsied, held one's chin and clenched one's buttock to make the right effect. But I shall contain this with the performance of each of our titular characters.

Lindion approached alongside Arthur. Lindion understood the gravity of such a situation. It was not a simple matter to approach the monarchy, much less her own flesh and blood. What she did next would reflect on not only her, but them as well. As she swept up before the baleful eye of her grandmama, she gave a slight twist of her hips, so the frame of the dress would pull her short train and spread it around her in an even manner. Thus centered, she dipped her body down so that her body appears almost prostrate before her family. This was not only a sign of great respect, but something altogether not done in high society. She might have noted the expressions and whispered words of awe save for the pounding of her own heart in her ears. As she slowly, perfectly rose to standing position again, she thought she saw a fleeting bit of admiration in her grandmother's impervious gaze. Whispering a few words in Eldren and Teran, she stepped lightly to one side and bowed to a woman who she remembered from her childhood. Her mother's sister, Genevieve was a mysterious figure in the childhood memories of Lindion. As Lindion attempted to mount the same feat a second time, Genevieve extended a hand and smiled. Also, something not done except to show the highest honors to another nobleman, Lindion took the outstretched hand and signed a few words to her aunt and quickly moved away, relying a bit more on Arthur's arm then before.

Aunt Genevieve

Next to approach was Lady Vyse and Thomas Thompson. This was the earliest highlight as Lady Vyse made her best effort to impress, the clasp on her rather ponderous necklace broke, sending the article in question squirreling down the bosom of her dress. She of course immediately reached down into her dress to retrieve it. Right in front of dozens of people. The only saving grace of such a scandalous act was Lady Vyse's reputation, as she gave a quaint laugh and pretended to be embarrassed. She felt a hand on her waist and turning, noted the rather dashing young Raymond Lamb. It was a bit of an awkward exchange, Lady Vyse assuming some other meaning behind this brazen act, when Raymond had merely attempted to aid her in the midst of her wardrobe malfunction. They soon settled the matter and Lady Vyse made the mistake of asking what Raymond did for a living, a subject he was more then willing to share in detail if necessary. Thomas had followed up behind Lady Vyse and had made the normal gestures, but realized that this whole situation was a little too big for him. Namely, the suit Mayflower had lent him. Thomas successfully passed it off as some kind of whimsical fancy.

Last in our collage of characters, Yuko and Telmage approached. This was sensational for all the obvious reasons. How would a northerner, dressed in the garb of her people, the sworn enemy of the very people she was to bow before, fair under the gaze of the Lorieths? She approached, and with a dizzying amount of pois, grace and innocence, and energy endeared the royals of Newhaven who had heard everything about this strange woman from the barbarian wastelands. This was not just a sophisticated but enchanting woman of superior breeding. Though she greatly outshone Telmage, his presence only helped cement the stories that had been circulating about her. As Yuko rose, made eye contact and smiled as if by a single look the bloodshed and barbarism had been swept away, the musicians lept to the aid of everyone holding their breath and began a stirring waltz. Couples partnered up, prospective suitors went in search of their Mary and the whole of the ball began. 

S1: E21 "Saving Mr Banks"

"The golden lad dipped his head and whispered in those ears the greatest secret he possessed. The jeweled eyes sparkled, and the seal was broken on that hard face. For as the doors swung open his lips parted, and the guardian's smile bade them pass." 

~A Tale of Fairy by Honeydew Millicent-Green

Adamant Refusal

A man has his limits. Pushed too far, he snaps. Pushed far enough and he becomes more interesting. Thomas Thompson had been pushed around. All his life someone was kicking the poor unfortunate soul. Now he was at a crossroads. There was a line too far. Unfortunately, he was sticking up for himself with all the wrong people. The next few hours were going to be very interesting.

After their little truce, Thomas and Lady Vyse had gone to the home of Lindion Mavienness at her request. Well, Lady Vyse was not requested. Lindion very much resented this woman being in her home. In the decadent and formal society of Newhaven it was very common for anyone who made a pound more then you or was regarded as a someone to be able to be hosted, doted on and given every consideration despite your personal feelings. Lindion had far too much pride. More accurately, Daverreinna was having none of it. She would in life have repelled such behavior and now was unwilling to take it from a floozy, no matter how much money she had married into. Lindion tried her best to silence the protests, but they came out anyway. Lady Vyse was of course offended. You weren't supposed to question bad behavior or any insensitivities. They were endured, like an overbearing mother-in-law until you could shirt off the burden. I personally relished the idea of Lady Vyse knocking the old hack off with poison or a knife. I would relish the mixture of hurt shock and resentment in the wrinkly lines of that woman's face. But then, as long as she was alive, mortals had to endure her tenacious existence.

After the birds smoothed out their ruffled feathers, Lindion ventured to ask Thomas the question that had brought him here in the first place. She inquired as to his relationship to Low Park, if his relationships would be ideal for starting a network of informants to feed her useful information. Thomas politely refused. It wasn't that he disliked Lindion. But this was him standing up for himself. Perhaps Thomas was embarrassed about the fact he was of low birth and did have friends and family in Low Park. He had rich friends now. He had purpose and more work than he knew what to do. Who needed an eccentric Eldren to muddy things up. Oh, Thomas. If only you knew how complicated things were about to get. I said Lindion would save his life. Perhaps it had already. But mankind always has a choice. When you throw open the window and jump clear, many more doors slam shut.

This was not to be the only adamant refusal of help Thomas was to turn down. Having been refused, Lindion graciously turned Thomas over to Father Collins. The gnomish priest asked Thomas about the bombing and his involvement in the attack on the gin house. Thomas refused to talk about anything regarding this whole situation, perhaps taking a page from Lady Vyse's book on taking offence. He wanted to put this all behind him. He had a mission, a purpose and plenty of reasons to keep his nose clean. He was on his way up. 

Realizing that pressing the issue would yield little but further alienation of the boy, Father Collins excused himself and left his friends' house. Thomas and Lady Vyse also departed, needing to prepare for the Bridgerton Party.

Refuge

Yuko was enjoying a carriage ride outside of Newhaven. The sensation of being alone in so many weeks without a guardian or a yammering lady at her elbow was intensely satisfying. They passed over the small bridge and through the town of Stonehill. The tar and smoke of the small fishing town rose up and mingled with the cool salty air as the carriage rattled past down the common roads cut through waves of tall prairie grass. This was a new sight for Yuko, and one she had not the real pleasure of soaking up until now.

There were many estates, country villas and beach houses owned by the wealthy of Newhaven. Some were elaborate, while others served as a shelter to enjoy a day or two on the seashore. The seagulls cried overhead as they swooped down or leveraged the air currents, gently gliding across the open space. A few people could be seen walking the short paths along the shores and the sandy shores. 

The carriage pulled off the main road and wound down around beneath a bluff which would have made a more cautious person nervous. But as it rounded the corner, Yuko saw a series of wooden structures behind a wall of stone and wooden fences. A footman approached. Yuko told him she was here to visit Telmage Etherington. The footman disappeared for a few moments and returned, beckoning Yuko to enter. The driver was dismissed, and she was escorted through the gates into a small paradise.

It really was unlike anything she had ever seen. The interior was a series of flat wooden platforms supported by rough stone pillars. Chairs, low wide hearths and various outbuildings were spread about in such a lazy fashion that it made the place seem quite large. There were canvas awnings stretched here and there to give it a feel of a bazaar or marketplace. But Yuko felt everything was intentional. The artwork displays of swords, nautical devices and paintings were set in such a way there was no way of turning without bumping into another bit of beauty.  The largest building was set right up against the face of the bluff. Its wide porches were broken up only by wooden pillars which had braziers set on them and seemed to be nothing but panels of wooden boards which could be opened or closed as the need arose. It gave the place a very open and spacious feel. It was spartan by comparison to the wealth of Newhaven's mansions. This was something special, removed from the world. A private paradise for one, Telmage Etherington.

The man himself came up a large flight of stairs which led down into a series of hallways and rooms. Some sleeping quarters and others storage for food and wine. This Yuko learned later, while Telmage was giving her the grand tour. Set further back in the rock was more rooms, including a library, studios and salons. Telmage was wearing a loose-fitting linen shirt opened uncomfortably wide at the neck. He wore white linen pants and was barefoot. He looked the part of a sailor, with his hair flowing freely. Yuko quite liked the look, oblivious perhaps to the unseemly nature of his appearance. Most women would have politely fainted or excused themselves as this would have been considered a state of undress. No Northerner could be considered a prude. They were less likely to feign shock at the sight of a bare-chested man or "scantily" clad woman. They had the highest of standards for social events and formal occasions. There was a sense of common respect. But they were also very practical people. However, their traditions and social norms might have stunned a well-bred man or women from the High Moors. Some might have appreciated the gravity of the situations that crossed a line. The punishment might have even been considered harsh.

I will not recount their conversation as it mostly involved such grotesque use of the Teran tongue, it would have little bearing now. Suffice to say, Yuko wished to have Telmage join her on the hunting expedition and in turn Telmage saw an opportunity to enjoy the company of Yuko at the Bridgerton party. Both accepted, naturally. They continued chattering on idly while drinking some wonderfully aged brandy and basking in the sun and the waves. It was an equally enjoyable time for both, though if I had to listen to more inane chatter, I should have strangled the butler. Which, as you know, is against the rules.

Yuko eventually pried herself away from the company of that oily man and returned to Newhaven with high hopes of sending back a positive report to the Royal House of a positive gain for peace.

A Little Burne

Father Collins returned after his meeting to talk with Burnes about his interview with Thompson. He paused outside as the sounds of a heated dispute were going on inside. Leaning down to tie his shoe he happened to better hear the conversation, he could make out the voice of Goldie. Just as he managed to straighten up, a red-faced man with white hair and mustaches barged out, nearly knocking him over as he stormed down the hall. Father Collins let himself in, trying to sound positive as Burnes ineffectually smiled and asked if he had any news. Father Collins climbed into the chair offered by Goldie and with legs dangling off the chair, he told of his interview with Thomas Thompson. It was obvious to see that this was disappointing news. Burnes then told Father Collins about the recent clash with the Whalers and the resulting death of a Constable. They manifested strange aetheric powers, remnants still lingering in the vicinity after the clash. The violence was becoming noticeable, and they needed something to stem this tide of twisted magical trinkets. Burnes encouraged Father Collins to lean on Thomas more or they might have to take a more aggressive approach. Father Collins assured him that things would work themselves out and excused himself, his mind turning towards the magical sigils scribbled down on the paper in his pocket.

S1: E20 "Party Favors"

"Souls are like cobbled roads which sway through endless moments of grief, wonder, pain and beauty. Walking these roads present many pitfalls, hidden secrets and wonderous adventures that take a lifetime to wade through." ~Unknown author

Cock and Bull

While I stroked a stray cat behind his ears, I observed the affable B. Mayflower (as is printed on his cards, which he handed out in abundance) use the various charms he possessed to ingratiate himself to the populace of Newhaven's social circles. The man spun words like golden threads, strangling his listeners with compliments, prodding them with a few subtle hints and then letting them go like a windup toy. A seasoned gentleman, Mayflower wanted to know the Bridgertons, his hosts. What he learned was that House Bridgerton was very private. But everyone knew everything about them.

Over the course of a day in gin houses, parlors and clubs, he learned much. House Bridgerton was not thought to be natives of Newhaven. Though nobody was sure where they called home, they were spread far and wide with ports in every major city. The coat of arms or specialized sigil could be seen stamped on crates, warehouses and factories which spanned several city blocks. It was seen flying on flags destined for foreign seas and on wagons carrying materials to construct yet another part of a city. But what Bridgerton was known most for was its ability to make war. Some accused them of being indiscriminate to who they sold munitions, fueling, instead of ending conflicts. They were also rumored to have had a hand in funding military academies that taught the art of warfare. An old and bitter philosopher once wrote that if Death reaped souls, Bridgerton manufactured the scythe. (A highly romantic and stirring sentiment, it was highly inaccurate. Death made his own scythe out of bone, a sickle and straps of leather.)

To be invited to a Bridgerton party was an honor indeed. Even to have received an invitation was like receiving a key to the city. Social, political and economic doors soon cracked open to those who were perceived to be someone of importance. Nobody understood the reasons why certain people were invited. But you could be sure Bridgerton had noticed. That meant you had better take notice as well.

After completing these preparatory steps, Mayflower returned home briefly to select a suitable outfit and visit his friend, Thomas Thompson.

A Bombshell

Father Collins had spent the wee hours of the morning doing what he loved best. After he was done with that, he traveled by coach to the Royal Library and was granted access to the old tomes and archaic books about magic. (It should be noted, in case the reader is confused, that he read books about magic, not books of magic. It's a small distinction in the minds of common minded men, but it is significant when you are suddenly sucked into parallel dimensions or find yourself accidently in the lair of a very hungry and very ticked off thing with far too many arms and eyes. One does not merely read books of magic unless you are a fool or have performed the proper rituals. Often both qualities help.) He had pored over the vellum pages and yellowed parchment, scribbling a few notes or sketching something for later. His primary research delved into the nature of the sigils inscribed on the relics which were being smuggled into the city. There were many stories of a strange man who appeared in dreams. The numerous accounts usually ended up in the records of doctors who served in mental hospitals. But even older accounts weaved together formed a picture of men and women who encountered this stranger in dreams, who touched their minds and illuminated their understanding of the world. But this usually resulted in their madness, and the accompanying sigils which began to appear on bones, stones and other ornaments. They all changed in small ways, performing feats usually secluded to the cadre of magicians and practitioners of the Aether. But usually, some poor fate befell the poor creatures who had been cursed in this manner. These sigils began to be associated with this mysterious traveler. 

Pulling himself away from this most stimulating study, Father Collins pocketed his notes and proceeded to his next appointment. Gnomes are naturally nocturnal, shying away from too much sun during the day and staying up all night. An odd habit for a priest, but Father Collins was required to keep somewhat normal hours. And he was scheduled to meet with his friend Lindion Mavienness for a cup of tea. He was received in the proper fashion and shown to the parlor by a very worn Philip. Father Collins engaged his host in common conversation as is normal among the high society. He slowly eased into the reason behind his visit, gauging her mood and responses as a man of the cloth is skilled in doing. 

Lindion Mavienness was, for her part, feeling self-conscious. Her thoughts on the subject were as tangled as bed hair and would require a good deal of straightening out. She was uncertain as to the nature of Arthur, who both seemed a cad and was willing to keep her good honor intact. Though Lindion did her duty and as a host initially, she soon found herself pulled from her thoughts to a happier place and cheered her as only a scholar and friend can. They did confer on the subject of Thomas, the interest of the Ministry in his activities, and his potential involvement in the smuggling operation and the bombing in Low Park. Lindion offered to introduce Father Collins to Thomas when he visited later. Thus settled on this course of action, something interesting happened that I think some might find of some use. Father Collins revealed one of the symbols he was tracking down to Lindion. Though she was unsure of its origin, it did prompt her to show Father Collins the strange knife she had been given by UNSEEN. Father Collins utilized a handy spell that reveals the supernatural. Visus Praeter is one of the first spells utilized by the Aluminat clergy gifted in such arts. Its cheating really. 

Bending over the blade, we both examined the sigils glowing in the air over the shimmering blade. I recognized them instantly but given how old they were, Father Collins did not know those sets of letters. He copied them down for Lindion who attempted to cast Lingua over the script. I suspect certain voices in her head had begun to distract her and the spell failed to go off as intended. But now armed with these sketches, she could begin the process of discovering the use and lore of these blades. I would love to tell you now, reader. But I think it would be intriguing to see just how far Lindion makes it.

Tentative Alliance

Though my narratives tend to run in a very linear fashion (even though I cannot exist in such a state) I must take you back to short moment that followed the interview with Thomas and Roald. After Thomas had left, a few pounds sterling richer, Lady Sara Vyse stepped from behind the curtain she was using to conceal her presence and sat down across from Roald. It had apparently slipped past the notice of Thomas that Roald is a man who is very well connected. Using Sara was perhaps a scoundrelly thing to do, but completely within character. Sara had, in fact been present from a distance the whole time, as she now related to Roald the events as they happened from her perspective. In short, she could verify Thomas' story. She even left out the same details as he had. Now, you might think less of her for it. But Lady Vyse had a long history around men with rubbish character. And so, she vouched for Thomas and left it at that. She could not tell if Roald believed her. The man had the face of a sphynx. But he gave a yellowed piece of paper to Lady Vyse, who quickly slid the old marriage certificate into her handbag. 

It was after this that we return to another fortuitous event. Mayflower arrived at the door of Thomas' rooms at the same moment Lady Vyse arrived. Thomas ushered them both in and watched as the two of them measured the length of one's nose. It was civil. But even the Bourgeois each other in a manner so as to put one in their place.

Mayflower of course wanted to discuss the party at the Bridgertons and relay all the things he had learned. If ever a man could not fathom how rumors start one had to merely listen to the grand tales Mayflower perpetrated. One person makes a passing comment about how he thinks the Bridgertons are underhanded and crooked because rich secretive people always have something to hide. The next man affirms that he knows someone who thinks the Bridgertons are nefarious villians and can tell the story of a person who was in their employ once and vanished. The next man in the chain relays his suspicions about the behavior of the Bridgertons because they bump off anyone who crosses them. And then Mayflower tells his two listeners about a man who betrayed the Bridgerton family and subsequently vanished without a trace, clearly showing Bridgertons to be ruthless and cutthroat. (The story of the vanishing man is actually quite hilarious, and I must tell it to you sometime.)

After confirming a few details and being introduced to Lady Vyse, an acquaintance he would further at the Bridgerton party later, Mayflower departed, leaving Lady Vyse and Thomas to talk quietly of some more sensitive business. Thomas and Lady Vyse conferred on the events of the previous evening, talking of the revelations of the Spring-Heeled Jacks, Jacqueline Parsons and the deal that would eventually be struck between her and Roald. They managed to clear up some of the confusion in that very chaotic night, and Lady Vyse thought that this would prove a most entertaining relationship if they remained partners. Adventure and trouble followed the young inventor and she found him a change from her dull life living with an overbearing mother-in-law. And so, the truce was struck, the dye cast, and the strange partnership of Thompson and Vyse sealed in the threads of Fate.

There are a few other details I could relay, but I think I shall save the conversation about the hunting excursion and the curious guest that was to be invited by Yuko, for a later time...

S1: E19 "Deal, No Deal"

The cobbled streets glistened with the grimy gas light. The clatter of wheels and the shuffling of soft soled boots receded into the background as the sun dipped down behind mountains. The day gave way to the night. Respectable men and women trailed in and out of gin houses, private parlors and intimate parties. From the top of the city down into the bowels of Newhaven, there were favors given and a drink shared. The life of this city retreated behind glowing windows, thick curtains and into the company of friends. The only life on this street was a constable walking his beat, dollymops cooing from street corners, and laborers walking to and fro from the blast of the steam whistle that cried out for the next shift.

Two figures emerged onto the street, locked arm and arm as they walked at a steady pace up the side streets, weaving this way and that towards the upper districts of Newhaven. Ed Gurunkel was puffing away happily on his pipe, the soft glow adding a cheery light to his dark eyes. Jasmine Gooding likewise was enjoying her own pipe, though she was relying less on its warmth than usual. The combined fog surrounded them in thick, fragrant tendrils, shielding them against the night as it trailed behind them and dissipated in their wake. They were near the end of a promising investigation. They had found friendship in their own kin, something that was unique and mutually shared. Jasmine had become aware of something stirring inside her which seemed terrifying and wonderful. Ed was not exactly the first person she had expected to find. He was mellow, kind and thoughtful. She had thought her life would have ended with a typical brute who she would have sired a large family for and been reduced to surviving in the harsh conditions that her kind was forced to endure. Most of her kin would have said it was her duty and to accept it. But Jasmine knew that deep down she was not entirely Ork. There was something else mixed into her blood. Maybe that was why she liked humans. It made her wonder about Ed's kin. He was so unlike other Orks. He was optimistic, idealistic in some respects and even possessed a control over his emotions she found rare in the purebloods. It was a strange Fate that had merged their paths together.

As they rounded the next bend, they cut across the narrow street and crossed into a small alley. The light was poor here, but that was no obstacle for the acute eyes of the Ork species, who had developed a keen sight even in the dark. As the hues of yellow and orange faded into shades of grey, Jasmine felt something. Some people feel the hair on the back of their neck stiffen, while others have a gut feeling. Jasmine had always trusted the buzzing in the base of her neck, that sense that something in the world had become detached. It came only a second before Ed, who had been cheerily talking and savoring his pipe, stiffened, his face twisted into a mixture of terror and anguish, and nearly doubled over. The pipe slipped from between his clenched teeth and clattered against the cobbles. Jasmine turned just in time to see a cloaked and hooded figure emerge from the shadows, her pale hand outstretched towards them. She was muttering something. A witch, Jasmine thought to herself with mounting anger and fear. Jasmine slipped her hand into her pocket and slid her brass knuckles over her fingers, readying to charge this assailant.

The woman, for Jasmine could recognize the supple figure of the female form even beneath the drab clothing, suddenly charged, her voice rising suddenly as her pale eyes focused on Ed. "Murderer!"

Jasmine interposed herself between this witch and Ed, her brass knuckles brushing the face of the attacker as she swung for her thin nose. There was a flash of steel and Jasmine felt the quick slash of a blade slice through her dress and glance off her corset. There was a crack of gunfire as Ed had managed to draw out his pistol and discharge a single shot, which slammed into the attacker’s shoulder.

Jasmine spun around, bringing her fist across in the classic haymaker. Jasmine struck low, feeling the thick leather armor absorb her blow to the woman’s gut. The woman stepped to one side; her spindly fingers outstretched towards Jasmine's head. The tips of her fingers touched Jasmine's skin, the cold icy touch of Death. Jasmine felt the wave of emotion washing over her, the burdens of a weary traveler, the long shift that never ended, the echoes of a mother in the throes of labor and a man gripping the edge of a cliff, desperately trying not to fall. Jasmine felt her limbs buckle beneath her, images and emotions spinning like a top inside her head, and all her strength trickled away like water down a drain.

As the darkness enclosed around her, there was a muffled pain somewhere at the back of her head, which now felt miles away. There was a roar and a blast from a pistol. And then nothing. A blissful silence settled over Jasmine, like a thick wool blanket. There was not a thought, sound or feeling as she was swept away in an endless abyss of sleep. Time did not matter. Space was relative and there was not a soul which could disturb her. Was this the final place of rest? Was this how her life was to end?

"Ah, a visitor."

Jasmine glanced up. At least, she felt like she was looking up. But she was lying on something solid. She picked herself up, instantly regretting it as a spider-like sensation of pain shot across the back of her head. She glanced down and saw the red, smeared across the black stones. She thought they were stones, or at least a mirror of what stones should look like. Her eyes swam as she took in the grey space, slowly shifting into focus as a sitting room began to take form and shape. Furniture and fixtures began to float into view, a wall was suddenly where there had not been a wall. Then a fireplace burst into a welcoming warm glow. As she looked around, bits of light began to sparkle overhead. Vague shadows of buildings floated past, like memories of a place she once saw.

Then she saw him. He was sitting in a chair near to the fireplace, a thin smile drawn across his narrow, pointed face. He was wearing a black three-piece suit with a ruby red rose in his lapel. His black wavy hair was combed back and shone slightly. His bright eyes peered inquisitively at Jasmine in a way that made Jasmine feel like he was looking past her, or perhaps, through her.

"Who...who are you? Where am I? Where is..." Jasmine's voice trailed off as she tried to stand and felt the pain ripple down her spine. She felt like she would throw up. She felt a hand the gentle smell of...was that roses? She looked up through squinted eyes to see the man standing over her. He reached down and took her hand.

"We have much to discuss, Miss Gooding."

Father Collins

In the wee hours of the morning

I've encountered so few men who possess such a bright and positive outlook on life while simultaneously encountering the dark things of the world with the candor and grace of a priest baptizing a newborn baby. Most of them were mad. Father Collins was not mad. In fact, he was a little too sane. This is why his visit to the Ministry was to him as common as visiting the barber or eating breakfast. When one encounters the things on the wrong side of the veil, you tend to appreciate things like breakfasting well, vacations in quiet places and comedies about demons eating children. That is, he would have enjoyed them if he ever took time to enjoy them on the way to some crisis or another. That was why he was here at the behest of Douglas Burnes. 

The two men had engaged each other's services many times over the years. One such incident involved a soldier who had encountered a vile amount of the Maleficium and had contracted a rare condition known as "having a tale". His condition worsened, despite Father Collins and Burnes actions, that eventually, the soldier, and his recently acquired tale, exploded in a burst of red mist. I think it scarred a few bystanders in that regiment. However, Father Collins made a note to explore the combustive effects of human tissue when in contact with the Aether. For scientific purposes, of course.

The dark-haired lad welcomed his old associated into his cluttered office. "Goldie" Hughes was lingering behind a pile of files and books, sulking. She nodded as Father Collins acknowledged her and sat down. Douglas Burnes explained the reason for summoning his friend here today. They had been engaged in an investigation regarding the influx of magical artifacts. They had hit a wall in their investigation. He laid out to the Father how they had been put on the trail of a man known as Thomas Thompson and Ed Gurunkul by way of a package they believed had killed the last recipient. The man's name was Leigh McNab and he'd been under suspicion for a while. They had come into some kind of arrangement and had begun searching for the package. These two had formed or been connected to others as well, including a strange detective, some upper-class socialites and others. When McNab was murdered, they began looking into Thomas and Gurunkul. He relayed the events they had observed, but again, had been unable to prove a solid motive in the execution of McNab. There was also another body in the rubble presumably in the room with McNab when he died. The body vanished the next day. 

Then there were the events of the previous night. A large group of these aforementioned people had all gone into Low Park and managed to get themselves ambushed by a group of thugs. It raised for questions than gave answers. The conspiracy seemed to have a deeper current Burnes was unable to discern. He knew Thomas was holding back information and he had an affiliation with famous, rich and low life individuals. Douglas relayed all that he knew of the events and how they had transpired, as well as the others that had been seen at the incident. Douglas Burnes asked Father Collins if he would approach Thomas Thompson, recruit him if possible, and suss out the smuggling ring.

While relating this tale, Father Collins perked up when Burnes mentioned a name. Lindion Mavienness, an associate of Thompson. Fate that Father Collins should already have a connection with someone who could help in his investigation. Promising quick results, he departed. Good old Goldie caught him in the hall and gave him a warning. She didn't trust Thompson. She felt something else was going on. And as with everything Father Collins learned in his life; he filed it away for use later. Right next to that recipe for Elderberry Pie and how to definitely not summon a demon.

Invitations and Apologies

Benedict Mayflower was picking through his mail and sipping on his morning coffee as he congratulated himself on a masterful job the previous evening. Things were looking promising. Now he only had to begin his campaign of drawing other nobles and aristocrats into his circle of influence so as to gain support for his goals of raising up Newhaven to a glorious monarchy once again. He had two promising events this week that would be his making. One was a coveted and prestigious invitation to a party hosted by the Bridgertons. "House Bridgerton would like to invite Benedict Mayflower and a guest to attend the intimate dinner party hosted at the Dupont Gardens. Arrive promptly at 6:00. Dinner will be served at 7:00."

The Bridgertons were an old family with deep ties across Faerun. Their trade was in war, and they had a monopoly on controlling interest in the manufacturing of munitions and killing engines. There were rumors about how they conducted their ruthless business dealings. But it was clearly the propaganda of jealous rivals. Their connection to the Royal Crown of Newhaven made them powerful as they supplied weapons and armor for the fighting men and women of the armies that were fighting in the North.

The other was from House Amcathra. "Festival of Good Spirits! The latest fine wines from Amcathra Brewery will be available for tastings, as well as some aged wines from the Amcathra Reserve and bottled right in Newhaven. Light refreshments served." Amcathra was equally old but had distinguished themselves as master swordsmiths and vintners of coveted wine. They stood as high members within the Splendid Order of Finesmiths and the Vintners, Brewers and Distillers Guild. They avoided the mass production industry and instead focused on quality. Their crowning achievement was forging weapons during the Great War and, legend has it, crafting one of the most excellent weapons for the Forever Empress herself. (The Legend goes that the blade composed of a rare, unbreakable metal and enchanted with ancient magic. The blade was given to the Empress on the eve of a great battle. While facing a great monster which had slain many of her soldiers, she plunged the blade into its side and snapped the blade, leaving half of it in the creature. The swordsmiths apologized profusely when they learned the sword had failed, but the Empress told them that she could not suffer more of her men to perish at the hand of his monster and so broke the blade herself so that it would continue to kill the creature long after the battle was over. The Forever Blade still sits on display in the Royal Palace to this day.)

At this point Thomas Thompson arrived, having posted his own morning mail, including an apology to Miss Mavienness and a quick word to Roald, who he would meet with later to relate his success in tracking down the Spring-heeled Jacks. Thomas and Benedict discussed the prospects of these events together, the telegram Thomas received from his friend regarding Joules Verne and some ideas for the new suit. Benedict was especially pleased when he learned that Thomas was himself acquainted with nobles, aristocrats and people of some influence. They planned to accompany each other on these various journeys and meetings.

Leaving his new friend and benefactor, Thomas then went to meet with Roald before returning to his rooms and starting his new designs. A small gin house in the boarder of Low Park/High Park boasted a scattering of patrons who were either desperate enough for a drink or retired enough to not have anything better to do. Thomas nodded to Roald's boys and seated himself across the man barely discernable in the dim light. Thomas told Roald that he had made contact with the leader of Spring-Heeled Jacks and had brokered a deal of mutual interest where they would give over their inventions and make the gang disappear. But they required a partnership. Roald thought this over and agreed, instructing Thomas to relay this information to Jacqueline Parsons. Thomas of course left out the interesting bits that involved his being kidnapped, nearly killed and the gun fight that came as a result. Roald rewarded Thomas with a good bit of coin before he retired to his rooms.

Rest, for the Weary

The superficial wounds of the previous night had begun to heal as Lindion enjoyed a few comforts of home. Her rooms were spacious, and now with her personal nurse, a proper change of clothing and other personal items, she felt somewhat more confident to face breakfast with the Belabrantes. She sat with the family, seeing the family joined together in solemn feasting. Mary was naturally curious but directed her statements and questions to herself so as to not risk losing the flow of conversation. Yuko was the only one who seemed quite unperturbed. She had come down earlier to converse with Vengarl about the short, but glorious campaign the previous night. He related all the pertinent details with the elegance of a storyteller and champion of many wars. He noted how puny the people of Newhaven were compared to the magnificent and terrifying beasts of their homeland. Even their own warriors could stand up to more than these little rabbits which ran and scurried away the moment he appeared. I will not relate all the things the spoke of, though it might be worth noting they did talk of the proposed hunting expedition. Yuko thought about asking Arthur if they could invite Telmage to accompany them. 

Their talk soon devolved into other subjects as Vengarl vanquished another plate of food and had his fill of drink. Lindion picked at her own plate politely until Arthur excused himself and she had a chance to talk with him privately. She noted that what Mary knew of the previous evening was cleverly disguised as a common mugging and left her completely innocent in it. Leaving Philip in the hall, Lindion entered Arthur's office and was fully prepared to defend herself, perhaps even level her own accusations of ungentlemanly behavior. But Arthur turned and apologized before she had a chance, effectively disarming her. With this swept out of the way, Lindion and Arthur were able to establish a new truce as they would work towards their combined goals. Arthur had influence, Yuko needed a steady feminine influence and their designs for the future could be mutually achieved. Arthur was ambitious and wished a united North and East. Lindion of course wished for the war to end, but she had social ambitions for the society, and she thought politics suited her. Women in government was not unheard of, but impressing Guild Men required some doing. Arthur was the ticket, and she had a hope for attaining these dreams. 

Parting ways, Lindion quickly collecting her things and eagerly returned to her home. Arthur occupied himself with plans for the future, uncertain just how far this new alliance would go.

S1: E18 "Double-Double Cross"

Midnight, early morning

An Interesting Partnership

Thomas walked along the dark cobbled lanes surrounded by his once assassins, now turned captors. They eventually reached a tall wooden fence which had seen better days. One of the orcs pulled three of the rough planks aside where they leant against the barrier and the group passed into rutted yard. A large warehouse loomed up from the dark interior. Thomas could barely see in the darkness, but he thought he saw piles of scrap and broken lumber piled haphazardly. Two orcs pushed aside a heavy iron braced door, the heavy beams of lumber notched and worn down, but still retaining their rigidity after all this time. Once inside, a fire was rekindled, a dirty lantern lit and set on one of many pillars that supported the interior of the long building. Thomas guessed it had been a factory once. The walls were high, and a ladder connected to a second story gangway on either side. A few planks had been set on either side for ease of crossing back and forth overhead. Chains and heavy ropes dangled from pullies and eyelets which had once been used to transport large loads back and forth across the interior of the factory. Empty crates, wooden stalls and a few piles of scrap were all that remained.

As Thomas was instructed to sit, he took in his surroundings. Joe was beside him, the Ogre doing a poor job of keeping an eye on them. There were not many exits. Besides the main door, there was a smaller door barred from the inside a few yards down just visible in the yellow lamp light. The soot-covered windows were set slightly higher than normal but could be scrambled through in a pinch. A crude wooden ladder could be scaled to reach the upper gangway. There was little else in here. A few beds made of straw and wool blankets were positioned near the fire along with some personal sacks or bags. The smells of a stew being revived over the fire started to fill the air as the orcs and humans took up various positions. 

Thomas decided to break the silence by asking some questions. The answers were a few grunts, a harsh laugh and an inquiry into whether his curiosity extended into the knowledge how well a knife would fit up his nostrils. Thomas decided that his curiosity was satisfied. He did learn that this rag-tag group was not affiliated with the Spring-Heeled Jacks. It wouldn't have taken a detective to surmise this just from the few details presented.

It was not long before a carriage pulled up through the gloom and parked just outside the firelight. It was a smart looking carriage, unlike its driver. You might remember the surly Orc who had pronounced a death sentence upon Thomas & Friends. Turnball was even more enraged, which some might think impossible. But Orcs are known for their rage. It's a trait praised in battle, encouraged in slaughters and sung about in yore. But among civilized people it really is a nuisance. Turnball was arguing with his orc companions for a while in their native tongue, a speech made even more terrifying when roared through bared canines. Thomas waited until one of the Orcs who had captured him told him to go to the carriage. "Someone wants a word with you." Remembering the quip about the knife up his face holes, he left his seat and walked over to the coach. Turnball was waiting nearby, his fury barely contained, as it boiled and seethed behind his eyes, like a fire behind grating where it licks desperately trying to consume anything it can.

The door opened and a feminine voice beckoned him to enter. He did, settling down across from Jacqueline Parsons. It was amusing watching the gears click into place. This was not exactly who he expected to appear in his hour of trial. But luckily for Thomas, she was in a generous mood. She tried to explain and justify her position of course. Miss Parsons was of course born to ambitious parents who wanted her to excel at university and marry up in society. Their daughter had ambitions of her own. Though her family forbid her, she married a technologist named Benjamin Parsons. It was a contract of opportunity, and by her own admission, he was not a bad person. He just cared more for his inventions then he did for Jacqueline. She used his endless thoughts and theories and made something of them. The Spring-Heeled Jacks were born and had terrorized those who already had too much, buying their silence with shame and fear of scandal. She had proven her cunning, execution and leadership. She had demonstrated a level of competence to sell her invention and fund her next project independently. But others she had trusted and loved romantically had gotten greedy and only saw the smaller picture. They were content stealing. This had complicated her plans when they had struck the local guilds and drawn the ire of the upper class and detectives. She had cut herself on her own blade, in a manner of speaking. Hence of use of the old adage "the blade of the assassin cuts twice" was a fitting description of what happened. (Humorously, her use of the proverb from the Voice of Truth was a slight misquote. The original had gone "the blade of an assassin cuts once. The blade of a friend cuts twice.")

She had become intrigued by Thomas' own cleverness. She tried to maintain the illusion of his own blackmail, even though she admitted after that she knew he was bluffing since all of her own Jacks were accounted. She had intended to pay him off and leave it at that. But Turnball had forced her hand. He had taken things into his own hands, and it was only by a stroke of luck she had learned of his plans. He had become arrogant and dangerous. Thomas seemed like a much better fit for the next part of her plan. Jaqueline offered Thomas a partnership; his prosthetics with her own Spring-Heeled apparatus. Thomas wanted assurance of mutual friendship and respect as partners. Jaqueline granted this without hesitation. But she also become curious why Thomas had been so interested in her activities. It was then that Thomas revealed his connection with Roald. Thomas might have noticed the change of expression, the fear that flashed across her countenance at the name of the underworld figure. If Roald had taken an interest in her work, she had was in an excellent position or a very dangerous one. She petitioned Thomas to help her gain an audience with Roald, negotiating an equal place at the table in exchange for the Spring-Heeled Jacks disappearing from the public eye. She just needed one thing from Thomas; Turnball had become uncontrollable. She needed him "removed" before any deal could be reached. Surprisingly, Thomas protested being involved in any intentionally dubious activity. He drew the lines at theft, deception and blackmail. Being the triggerman was where Thomas drew the line. Jaqueline didn't press the issue any further.

As they parted with plans forming in both of their minds, Thomas exited the carriage and proceeded to collect his things and the young gardener, Joe. I would like to explain what happened next as those who observed this next scene might not understand what happened. Turnball was not a man who was known to control his own temper very well. Something about Thomas walking away a free man, somehow having beaten Turnball at his own scheme, infuriated the Orc beyond his last strain of self-restraint. It was a thin line, and the Orc could not stand being undone by a greasy-thumbed dandy. Turnball, overcome by rage and smarting from his scolding by Jaqueline, advanced on Thomas with his pistol drawn. Consequences be damned.

The Bela and the Brante.

A portrait of Vengarl. The artist tried to make him look
younger, much to the chagrin of the captain of the guard.

The amusing scene taking place some few blocks from the attempted assassination of Thomas Thompson was worth noting as it pertains to the current situation. Otherwise, it was largely inconsequential. Lindion had managed to drag herself towards the carriages with the help of Philip, who was very concerned and chiding himself for not being a braver man. Butlers were routinely asked to do things not normal to their position. But this was beyond the normal responsibilities he had been tasked with during his time as a manservant. Arthur and Vengarl had managed to catch up with them at this juncture. The sight of Arthur and Vengarl was surprising. 

Some men might have felt smug and a little self-righteous in this position. This reversal of positions would have made some men feel superior. She had scolded Arthur for his own sister's behavior, as well as his guest, Yuko. Now he had "caught" her in a scandalous position in which a lady of good breeding would never have found herself for fear of losing her position. Not that Arthur enjoyed such things. But Lindion had gotten under his skin, and he disliked the feeling. Moreso, Arthur found her enchanting, confusing, aggravating, sympathetic, like-minded, proactive, and completely opposite of himself. He was cold towards the type of woman that society had carefully curated. Lindion looked and behaved like them, but on the other hand had traits many would find contrary to the modern woman. He liked contrary. And so he was, by and large, not sure what to make of this enigma of a woman who had entered his life and seem determined to challenge him. Arthur was a man who was one thing. He hated duplicity in other people and in himself. Being in politics was a game of compromise, and one he loathed. He was careful to be one thing and never faulter. It was a fine line to walk, but he thought of himself as a man who walked on a consistent line and not one who crossed over whenever it suited his purposes. Maybe that was why there was a bit of satisfaction putting Lindion in her place. He thought he knew what had happened and made the mistake of assuming Lindion's role in the events of the evening. A mistake he quickly regretted. He might have regretted the little jabs and cutting remarks he made if he had noticed the wound sooner, or Lindion had actually given him the rebuke she thought he so richly deserved. Maybe it was her physical control which made him second-guess himself. 

Arthur did notice the wound Lindion had suffered and understood better the situation Lindion had entered. He did not approve of her putting herself at the mercy of some rogues, but he admired her tenacity and prudence. There was more to this woman after all. After examining her injury, Arthur and Vengarl insisted Lindion return to Belabrante Estate and the two would carry on after the young boy and missing accomplice of Lindion in hopes of freeing them both. Thus instructing Philip and Lindion, Arthur and Vengarl picked up the trail of the kidnappers and closed in on the warehouse.

The Lymington Gentlemen

While Turnball was savoring murder and Thomas was observing a short life flash before his eyes, another factor was about to come into play. Thomas was lucky, if not touched by something divine. For at that moment a man by the name of Benedict Mayflower was training his flintlock pistol on the Ork who was about to murder his newest prospect to his private philanthropic organization. The blast of his pistol caught Turnball directly in the back. At this signal, the other members of the Lymington Gentlemen descended upon the warehouse, armed with weapons which they discharged upon the Ork. The legends of Ork resiliency were not underrated. Turnball seemingly shrugged off the attacks like the Angel of Death. Thus distracted, however, Thomas had a chance to flee. 

Arthur and Vengarl had arrived while this gunfight ensued. Vengarl rushed in, threw the doors open and issued a warning to flee or be vanquished. The other Orcs and Humans who had been employed by Turnball had seen many things in their time. They had thrown down with the best of them. But something about a giant of a man bursting through doors of thick oak beams, brandishing a great axe and wearing chain with death in his eyes, has a way of unnerving even the most stalwart of warriors. Even the Lymington Gentlemen were a little hesitant to attack this assailant. The goons thought better of attacking this foe and fled. The Lymington Gentlemen turned their attention to Thomas and pulled him from the building as Turnball, who was made of tougher stuff then his friends, drew out his weapons and fell upon the unwelcome intruder. 

This was when Jacqueline stepped out from her carriage and took advantage of the chaos to take matters into her own hands. I always admire a person who is proactive. She drew out a specially designed electric pistol and fired into the back of Turnball. It hurt, but not enough to kill him. He spun around with a roar and discharged a barrel of his shotgun which he kept underneath his coat. She caught the blast and flew backwards. She was saved by the intrusion of Vengarl, who gripped the barrel of the gun and spared her the full fury of the blast. But poor Vengarl took the other barrel in the chest at point blank range. Somehow, he managed to shrug it off, a miracle if you believe in such things. I think it had something to do with the special chain he was gifted by his master. It had rare properties even he was not aware of. Though that would not have stopped him even if he did. He always flew into the fray no matter the odds. He had many a battle scar to prove it. The two wrestled, landing blow and blast upon each other as Arthur fired round after round into the Ork, who refused to go down or be intimidated. 

Eventually, the truth that Turnball was abandoned and betrayed, he chose to seek his revenge from a more advantageous position. He pulled a smoke bomb from his coat and pulled the pin, running as the canister dropped at the feet of his adversary. The smoke enveloped Vengarl, who resisted the poisonous effects. It was an ingenious invention by Miss Parsons and had aided in their getaways on more than one occasion. As Vengarl cleared the smoke, Arthur trotted up with his rifle trained on the empty space. Their prey had escaped. And Thomas and Joe had been spirited away in the confusion by someone unknown to them. Even Miss Parsons had vanished. They took her carriage and pursued Thomas and Joe, who they managed to gain on until they could keep them in view. 

During this final altercation, The Lymington Gentlemen had followed the lead of their leader, Benedict, and taken Joe and Thomas to the waiting cab and fled the scene. It was then that Benedict introduced himself and his fellows, Joe listening and Thomas gleaning the meaning of this welcome intrusion. Benedict explained that he wanted to fight "degeneracy" and restore Newhaven to its former glory. They had taken it upon themselves to combat the criminal element they thought the primary cause, illicit drugs and its trade. This campaign against crime was a mission they hoped to succeed at with the help of Thomas Thompson. They needed stealth suits, armor, and weapons. Thomas agrees to join their cause.

Making a small detour past the house of Lindion, they dropped Joe off at his residence and departed for Benedict's flat and home of their operations in Newhaven, on Lymington St. They failed to notice the carriage which kept a safe distance behind but followed them all the way to the flat and then parked around the corner. Thomas entered the wonderful home of his new friends and patron, talking of their plans and enjoying his newfound luck. Benedict gave Thomas his own Lymington suit and showed him the rough idea of plans for their future success. Thomas then bade his new friends farewell and retired to his own dwelling where he was going to enjoy a good night's sleep. But as he pushed the door open to his rooms, he noticed a telegram envelope which had been slipped up his door by the landlady. The telegram was from Richard and contained the message: "Discovered Idenity of engineer. Rumored Breakthrough in electrical engineering. Lives in Redsmith. Known as Joules Verne. --Richard G"

My, how the plot thickens...

S1: E17 "The Spring-Heeled Trap"

Earlier that Evening...

Thaddeus Turnball was blowing off more steam than a demon on a Sunday. The Orc was pacing back and forth in front of the soot-stained hearth in the back room of the Red Brick. His face was contorted into a dozen difference expressions as his thoughts flowed onto his face, a condition which did not much improve his loutish features. 

The gin house was a favorite of cabbies and servants of the middling and upper class which clung desperately to the title of Gentry by their fingernails. From maid to butler, each gossiped and shared the latest news. It was such news that had Thaddeus grinding his canines and huffing angrily to himself. His three friends, fellow orcs and laborers in the poorer districts of Newhaven, had informed him of the "clean-nailed snoopers" who had been asking about him. 

"It's no coincidence, maggots." Turnball said suddenly grinding peanut shells beneath his boots. He turned halfway, his hands behind his back like some important man of leisure. "Them copper-cards must be working with those extorters."

Lefty shrugged and stared into the drags of his gin mug. Ormus stifled a yawn and Bowyer examined his reflection in the polished surface of his butcher knife. Turnball had an infamous temper and was quick to rash action. This was not a surprise to his mates. There was nothing mild about Turnball. The only thing that set him apart in their little tribe was the fact he could handle himself. They had come up together through the bowery, worked the steel, cut coal and drank their share of gin together. They had also been in their fair share of scrapes, watching each other's backs when it counted. Somehow, even after Turnball had gotten "sophistication" and "moved up" they somehow found themselves rekindling old memories over a glass of gin back in Low Park.

"Endive's Face, T'ball." Lefty said, his gin-fused vowels crashing into each other. "They was just a couple of sniffs. They don't even know'er name."

Thaddeus cast a baleful gaze upon his compatriot. "Mark my words; they will know me soon enough."

"Now, Thad, don't do nothing crazy." Ormus said in his deep, even-keeled voice. Dust from the mines had reduced a once rich voice to a chalky, rasping reminder of the darkest years of their lives. "Lefty is right. No good comes from blowing air up a chimney. You need to keep yer head down and ride low."

"And let them copper-cards pick me out of a line-up." Thaddeus spat onto the ground and ground the moisture under his boot. "There is no way in Hells shall I be found without a knife in my hand. I shall strike first before they find me out."

The three orcs exchanged uncomfortable glances. Thaddeus cursed. "Cowards."

Bowyer stopped staring at his knife and stood, his chair scraping across the floorboards with a sudden squeak. "By Marron's Beard! No man or maggot has called me a coward and sucked air through his throat again!" Bowyer leapt forward, the cleaver flashing in the yellow light. There might have been any number of dead orcs if Lefty, gin mug in hand, had not smashed the potshard over Bowyer's head and sent him sprawling into a nearby table. A warning growl from Lefty caused Thaddeus to hesitate as he reached for the Colt Merlin which he kept on his hip. Ormus helped Bowyer into a chair as Lefty picked up the cleaver from the floor and weighed the blade in his hand. "Words been said. But bonds'o'blood are stronger than words."

Thaddeus' arms returned to his side, empty handed. He turned and extended out an open palm to Ormus, who, rubbing the side of his head, struck hands with his friend. "Brothers." They echoed before returning to nurse their individual grudges.

"If we be brothers, Lefty," Thaddeus said casually, "then you'll see that they mean me harm. Nay, the day a brother turns his back on his kin will be a cold day in the Hells."

Lefty nodded. "I just don't see us a'killin' them to be kip."

"Then how 'bout I sweeten the pot." He reached into his coat pocket and set a mottled handkerchief on the table. He released the knot and something golden spilled out.

Ormus let out a raspy whistle and stepped appreciatively towards the loot. "Blood money for a head."

"Two heads," Thaddeus corrected. "I want the two extorters dealt with. Cuts the throat and slit the wrists. Get a few boys if you need to make sure the job is done right. They will regret the day they crossed Thaddeus Turnball."

On Dolly Ln & Peckam St.

As the group of adventurers had returned to the sceneof the crime, and laid their ambush, the moon had pulled up high in the sky, stars shimmered behind patchy clouds and the shadows deepened on the cobbled streets.

In all, there was a good many people who had joined this expedition. Two aging butlers, a mute gardener and two soldiers. The plan was to have Lindion, sloppily disguised as an aristocrat who wanted to conceal herself, walk a circle of Dolly Ln and Peckam St in order to get spotted by the Spring-Heeled Jacks gang. The rest of the group had taken up positions on either road as spotters. Bloomberry, Sara's butler was on one alley exiting on Peckam St. Thomas and Joe, the mute gardener, were on the other end of the alley overlooking Dolly Ln. Philip, Lindion's butler, was in a larger alley across from Thomas. Yuko and her two soldiers were waiting on a street adjacent to Dolly Ln waiting to rush upon the gang if given a signal, such as a pistol shot or a cry for help. Sara was disguised as a poor street woman, occupied with such menial jobs and tasks as to make her indiscernible from the great masses of lower-class citizens of Newhaven. The only other people on the street was a laborer patching some cobble, a few tramps calling to passersby and a few loafers, presumably keeping an eye on corners and prospects that belonged to them.

If I was a gambling man, I might have thought this inexperienced group of interlopers stood a five-to-one chance of actually succeeding by some miracle of the Fates. But the principal word here is experience; a quality which they displayed admirably in the following events. If Ed was not beating his way towards Lindion's home in hopes of some assistance finding Turnball and Yuko was about to be a little distracted.

Sara moved up the street before the others, noting a light in the window of the butcher shop. Someone was staying late. Her plan was to get up on the roof for a look around. She attracted the attention of a cliche man with bulging arms, a respectable mustache and a receding hairline, which he kept very short. Sara used her innocent looks and quick talking to sway the butcher. She told of her woes -the son who lost his kite on the roof of the building and her husband who talked more with his fists then his lips. She needed a bit of meat for her husband before he returned from work and to retrieve the kite for her son who was beside himself. The Butcher was a family man himself and quite understood. He had children of his own. They each presented their own unique challenge. Especially his daughter with the golden-blue eyes. But perhaps more than that was the description of her husband. As he let her go up to the roof, a few thoughts about slipping a carving knife into her meat package, but he dismissed this. He might not understand what was going on. Maybe he misjudged the situation. But it made him quite angry thinking this poor woman would return to such poor specimen of humanity. Sara might have appreciated these thoughts, if she was not already on top of the roof, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen next.

Down in the street as Thomas was smoking his pipe and trying to look inconspicuous, a young dwarven dollymop approached him. Her name was Hettie Trask. She was a beautiful girl, with rounder features of the dwarves, shorter stature and a slightly shorter 3rd finger which had been cut off. Hettie worked in the factories during the day, prowled a corner at night and sent every spare shilling she didn't need for food back to her poor mum and younger brother. Her mother thought it was from Hettie's good uptown job. Hettie was too stubborn to admit to her family she plied the oldest trade in existence. Nor was she particularly proud of this fact either. But it kept food on the table since her father had offed himself with a pistol and decided he'd had enough of life in the Rookery.

Hettie had also fallen in with the Spring-Heeled Jacks. She spotted potential targets for them, signaled a runner who then brought the whole gang bearing down on its next victim. It felt like justice in a way. The rich had taken everything good from them. They had taken the house when the debts piled too high. They had taken her father. And certain members of the Gentry had taken her innocence as well. She had coin from them, but it felt like a mockery. Like throwing scraps down from their lofty table for the "pleasure" of her company, only to discard her like a dirty napkin when they had finished with her. 

But Thomas was different. As she talked with him, enjoying the first real tobacco she had had in over a month, she knew that he wasn't like the others. She would have wagered he worked for a living, given the condition of his fingernails and his shoes. Everything was worn slightly at the knees and elbows, like a man accustomed to labor. She might not have minded his company on a cold evening. He wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. Maybe even more because he seemed put off by what her perceived as advances. That's why the contract on his head was strange. Had misfortune befallen him as well? Had he made enemies? She pushed it down inside like she did with everything else and focused on the job. Her role was easy enough. Lure the blighter out into the street where one of the lads could nick him with his rifle. It worked too. She looked back when the shot rang through the street. She had noted the woman who lay in the street. She had noticed her trying to conceal her fine dress, probably on the way to another art of town to meet a forbidden lover. Maybe she was the mistress. It didn't matter now. She had been hit. Thomas was alarmed, running to the woman's aid. A gentleman then. She would remember him if their paths met again. Though he would probably ring her neck. As the lads ran into the street to finish the job, Hettie beat a quick retreat, hoping in her heart the poor man would die quickly and relatively painless death. There was mercy in that.

If Hettie had stayed around longer, she would have known that Thomas did not die. Since the others were not actual targets, Thomas and Roku were the only ones in any real danger. Even though Lindion had taken the bullet, her corset had saved her from the worst of it. She had seen the bullet strike Thomas just seconds before she warned him, taking the shot instead. As the chaos broke through, everyone scattered like rats from a sinking ship as the sharks descended upon fresh blood. Several Orcs found Roku where he had been rummaging through a trash bin. He threw a grenade at them, the explosion turning several crates into burning matchwood. The orcs managed to jump clear, but the renewed their attack, Roku only managed to scramble from the suit into the night as a gang of raccoons flee an angry squire protecting his domicile. The orc stared down at the empty suit in complete amazement.

Meanwhile, a large ogre and several humans had barreled up the alley where Thomas had been previously. Bloomberry fled when he saw the superior forces, attempting to find his mistress, Sara. Lindion and Thomas fled back towards Philip as the orcs bore down from the direction of the meat shop. It was then that the gang emerged, the ogre carrying the writhing form of Joe. With growing means of escape vanishing, Lindion locked eyes with Joe. She signed a quick message to him letting him know she would return for him. His only reply was the sign for "Sorry" and pleading eyes. Lindion panicked and fled up the alley with Philip, leaving poor Thomas to fend for himself. 

I've always thought that Fate had taken a particular interest in young Thomas. The odds were stacked against him, and he was about to be chopped up and thrown into the river. But Thomas thrived in difficult situations. Using a superior intellect (the bar was not high considering present company) he reasoned that he was a many of station and was worth more to his would-be assassins alive then dead. This caused the orcs especially to stop and think. They had, of course, already been paid. But perhaps they could squeeze a few more coins out of this chap before they murdered him. Turnball had not been specific on this point. He wanted them dead. But who said it couldn't be in a few days? Also, they would need to find the raccoons which had escaped. Realizing they had the upper hand, with Joe tightly in hand and superior numbers, they saw no harm in this change of course. 

Meanwhile, Sara had landed atop the building opposite where she had supposed the rifleman was stationed. She climbed down the stairway, only to be rejoined by Bloomberry. The rifleman was gone. But the other assassins had captured Thomas and the young boy. Nobody else was seen. Sara and Bloomberry concealed themselves and watched as the prisoner was marched up the street and down a narrow sideroad. Sara followed with her trusty butler and her wits backing her up.

They walked through several lanes of the Rookery, until they reached a large abandoned factory. They pushed through a broken picket fence and went inside where a lamp was lit. As Sara contemplated her next move, something else unexpected and inopportune had taken place just moments before the nearly fatal rifle shot...