Shooting The Messenger

Grace heard the whooshing sound and small clink as the little vessel reached her portal. She checked the pneumatic tube and found a letter in an unfamiliar hand. She turned and sat at her desk before unrolling it slowly.

Miss Toussaint.

In further correspondence, please use term "person" in place of "human being," unless you actually wish to define a person who is a member of of the genus and species homo sapiens.

Your oversight is apalling. Your presumption has nearly caused an international incident and caused difficulties for our commerce interests abroad. Need I remind you of how fast news travels in the modern world?

Shame on you.

-Mosseveno Tenk

Clockwinder

P.s In the meanwhile, Mr. YoYo Underby may be released to house arrest. I trust a militia member will take up watch at the Bucket of Blood to ensure compliance.

Grace's face first drained of color, then red blood rushed to her cheeks as her anger rose. How dare he lay this at her feet? Was she not merely following the letter of the law as her solemn oath required?

She ripped open a desk drawer and withdrew a fresh sheet of paper. She took a moment to compose her thoughts and steady her hand, then put pen to paper.

Clockwinder,

I am appalled at your misguided and tardy response to the current situation. If there is any blame to be laid, other than on the killer of Pip Steamer, it must be at your feet. A statement from you may have settled the populace, and diplomatic issues are your concern, not mine.

I am simply an officer of the court. I must represent my client's interests to the best of my abilities. I read the law, in black and white, and applied the words there to the facts at hand. If people object to such a classification of "human beings" vs. "persons" it is not for me to bow to public opinion. It must be up to the civic leaders and lawmakers to improve the laws and protect all of our fair City's citizens.

Personally, I would like to see Pip's killer brought to justice. I have no doubt that all beings, be they human, clockwork, or other should be given rights and a safe harbour in the law. Should you or any other citizen of Babbage propose a law to that end I would be happy to lend my support.

I remain your humble servant of justice,

Grace Toussaint, Esq.

By the time she had poured her ire out on the paper Grace's angry tears had dried on her cheeks. She stood slowly, straightening her skirts and pulling on her gloves. She folded the letter carefully and slipped it into her bodice and strode to the door. She slowly crossed the street and warily looked both ways before hopping quickly over the trolley tracks. She was headed to the gilded City Hall, and then perhaps to see for herself that her client was indeed going to be released.

In re Underby's Case

The dawn light seeped through the hazy Babbage air as Grace read over her final draft. She leaned back in her chair, joints in her hands aching and eyes bleary.

To The Clockwinder, Mosseveno Tenk, Mayor of New Babbage
and The Babbage Militia

In re: Underby's Case

Esteemed Mayor and members of the New Babbage Militia, chief among those being Jedburgh Dagger and Sky Netizen:

The continued jailing of Mr. Yoyo Underby, accused murderer of the being called Pip Steamer, must cease immediately.

The following facts cannot be disputed:

1. Mr. Underby, a citizen of New Babbage, has already been held on the basis of hearsay evidence longer than the law allows.

2. The autopsy of Pip Steamer, performed by the esteemed Dr. Miggins, has demonstrated conclusively that Pip Steamer was not, by definition, a human being.

3. The law, as written, states that murder is the act of one human being causing the death of another human being.

Regardless of public opinion concerning the nature of Pip Steamer, the law as written does not provide for the punishment of a human being who has allegedly murdered a non-human. Thus, logically, it follows that the "murder" of Pip Steamer is not an actionable crime, and all charges against Mr. Underby must be dropped.

I await your confirmation that Mr. Underby will be set at liberty post haste.

Sincerely,
Grace Toussaint, Esq.

***

Grace slowly copied out her letter three times, and then headed to City Hall, hoping to put one in the hands of Mr. Tenk before heading to the Militia headquarters to post the letter on its doors.

((It is now up to the citizens of Babbage to work together to either change the law ... or I suppose attempt vigilante justice. *smirks* Either way, I look forward to more healthy debate on just what constitutes life and how best to protect it!))

The Letter of the Law

Grace slowly climbed the stairs to her office, the dark night close around her. She had much to ponder and research....

***

The interview had revealed a few surprises and also confirmed a few of Grace's own suspicions. She had a list of several people she hoped to interview, particularly one urchin called Bill. Grace had managed to procure a copy of Doctor Miggins's autopsy report and apprised Mr. Underby of the results.

"What do you know of the nature of such creatures, Mr. Underby?" Grace had asked.

"A homunculus? It is an artificially-created thing, Miss Toussaint," he had replied.

***

Alone in her office Grace bent over the dingy old book on her desk.

Murder is the most egregious of human crimes. It is defined as the killing of a human being by a sane person, with intent, malice aforethought, and with no legal excuse or authority.

Grace stared at the words "human being" and thought back to Underby's cold description: "an artificially-created thing." She shook her head and looked up to stare out the window at the dark, smudged sky. Though it went against her nature, she knew what she must do. She must follow the letter of the law and demand Mr. Underby's release.

"Whatever Pip was, the law does not yet recognize him as a being to be protected. A man cannot be guilty of murder if there is no victim," Grace muttered under her breath as the thoughts swirled in her head.

She stood up, took a quick turn about the room, then threw herself back into her chair and pulled a clean sheet of paper in front of her. The night passed quickly as she drafted her arguments.

Diary, 27th August

Babbage and its citizens are in turmoil today. Last night, tragically, Pip Steamer was found dead in the holding cell where he was being kept by the brothers of the Church. Suspicion has made the rounds, from the Church members themselves to various individuals in town.

I am hopeful that, though there is no formal judicial system here, true justice will prevail. Misses Dagger and Netizen have begun an investigation, and the Brothers are willing to cooperate with them. I shall attempt to remain a neutral party, and as I have no specific connections to either the Church or to Mr. Steamer and his friends I believe I am capable of doing so.

In other matters, Ms. Rinq's pharmacy is nearly outfitted to her specifications. She wrote to me just yesterday and informed me she would be arriving on Saturday to inspect the premises, and she expects some of her inventory will also arrive shortly. I am anxious to finally meet one of my best clients.

My own offices are also being fitted up quite nicely, although they remain sparse. I shall devote this afternoon to reading up on criminal law and investigations lest my services are required.

Diary, 24th August

It has come to my attention that Babbage is a place where nearly all citizens are armed in some fashion on a day-to-day basis. As a pacifist I find it ... unsettling to think of arming myself, but as a woman alone with interests to protect I do believe it is time I consider some form of defense.

But what form should that defense take? In general I detest firearms, though they are perphas the easiest weapons to conceal and operate. The idea of wielding a katana makes me fear for my own limbs. And walking around with a bow slung over my shoulder just will not do - my sense of style recoils at the idea.

So what form of weapon shall I take up? Or shall I continue to rely on my wits to avoid unpleasant people and unpleasant scenes?

((OOC: I'd like to hear about your weapons and why you like them! It is time Grace began training in something at least.))

Things Fall Apart (Part 3)

Lord Blackburn opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled a small writing case from its depths. Grace watched him place it onto the desk's shining surface before his hand slipped under his collar and pulled out a fine silver chain from beneath his shirt. Attached to it was a small, rusty key, the metal pitted from age. Blackburn quickly unlocked the small case and tucked the key away again, giving Grace a grim smile before he lifted the lid. The little hinges gave a slight squeal.

From within Blackburn pulled a battered book, bound in vellum cracked with age. She could see signs of water damage on the cover and wear along the spine. Several pages were loose and threatened to fall to the floor. Blackburn silently regarded the little tome in his hand, then gave a sharp huff as he handed it to Grace. As she reached forward to take it from his hands she could smell the old paper, calling up memories of her time spent shut away in her father's library.

"This is a most sacred document, my dear," Blackburn began. "It is the records of the lucht siuil, or as much as has been saved. They rarely wrote down their accounts, always fearing discovery, but some record was made to instruct future generations of Travelers in the importance of their task."

Grace ran her fingers over the vellum as she listened. She still felt as if her world had been suddenly overturned. Not two days ago she had met a stranger who claimed to be one of these mystic "Travelers," and now she had been ordered to leave her home in London and to act as a guardian to a young girl who was in grave danger.

"I shall leave you to read in peace, my dear." Blackburn took a step toward the door, then paused and added, "Ring for tea if you need some, and I shall come back in an hour's time to answer whatever questions you may have." He then paced over to the heavy library door, giving her a sad glance as he stepped through and shut it behind him.

Grace settled back into her seat. Her fingers swept over the cover of the little book once more and she could just discern a beautiful celtic knot engraved into the soft leather. She slowly opened the cover and began to read.

------------

Her eyes were strained after puzzling out the several hands and the scrawling scripts. She looked up at Lord Blackburn where he was leaning against his desk in front of her, and he regarded her silently.

"And so the Travelers are in danger?" she finally whispered.

Lord Blackburn slowly nodded. "They have always been in danger. But with the rise of this Consortium, that danger has grown exponentially."

"And you and your family have been aoire for generations past?"

"Yes. We have always served as the guardians, the shepherds, of the lucht siuil. It is our honour to protect them and their gifts."

Grace nodded slowly and looked down at the battered book resting in her lap. So much had changed in just the last hour. She had learned the story of the lucht siuil and those who guarded them, the aoire. She had read of the Travelers' journeys through the Nethereal Realm and their great power. Her mind was still reeling, trying to adjust the world of an hour ago to include this new knowledge.

"Am I to understand, then, that the Travelers have truly directed the course of human history?" Grace's eyes widened and she looked at Blackburn, confusion and disbelief playing alternately across her face.

"Yes, my dear. Behind every major battle you will find a Traveler inflaming passions. Behind every great work of art you will find a Traveler acting as a muse. And behind every scientific leap you will find a Traveler who has sparked imagination at just the precise moment necessary. From the Nethereal Realm they can whisper into a man's thoughts and weave a web of influence. They have the ability to guide a human mind gently, help a man achieve his potential and bring about great new changes to the world. But they can also drive a man to mad ambition, causing him to wage war and trample on his fellow human beings."

Grace shook her head, trying unsuccessfully to order her thoughts. "But now there are only a few left?" she whispered.

"Yes, only a small group remain. After they were discovered, they were hunted. Many men coveted the power that could be wielded through the Nethereal Realm. And so the Travelers were hunted, captured, and forced to enter the Nethereal Realm to do their captors' bidding.

"This is why we must hide Roisin from the Consortium. They are a deeply secret group of scientists and politicians who seek to bring about a new world order by seizing control of human minds through the Nethereal Realm. Roisin is one of the last of the lucht siuil, and her father believes she may be the most powerful of those left."

"Do the Consortium know about her?" Grace gasped.

"No, and that is why we are hoping sending her with you will completely cover our tracks. They are hunting Conall unceasingly, and if they capture him they may be able to create the bridge they have been planning between our world and the Nethereal Realm."

"And if that bridge is built?" Grace felt her body tighten as she awaited the answer, one she knew would not be pleasant.

"If the Consortium finds a way to enter the Realm, they will be able to influence anyone. We will all be at their mercy, with no real way to fight back. How does one fight against an enemy within one's own mind?"

Things Fall Apart (Part 2)

Things had begun to fall apart several months earlier.

The snow was still on the streets of London when Grace scurried down the narrow alleyway, eying the pavement to avoid the small heaps of rubbish piled here and there. She came out of the alley into a tiny courtyard surrounded by the ramshackle tenements towering above her. Cooking smells mingled with the cloying odor of waste and decay. Grace scanned the buildings until she spotted the symbol that had accompanied her instructions earlier that day.

Grace pulled her heavy cloak tightly around her, carefully concealing the fine muslin gown she wore beneath it. She moved purposefully toward the door even as her stomach knotted severely. She rapped quickly on the door and then stepped back, placing some distance between her and whatever was going to answer.

She heard the snick of two deadbolts being drawn back, and then the door swung open just far enough for the man behind it to step halfway over the threshold. He regarded Grace for a long moment and then gave a little nod. "Miss Marlow," he mumbled as he stepped back and pulled the door open. He motioned her inside.

Grace tensed as she stepped past the man into the narrow hallway behind him. As she noted the crumbling plaster and mouldy wooden floor she heard the door shut behind her and the deadbolts slide back into place.

The lone gas lamp halfway up the hall cast eerie shadows as Grace followed the silent man towards the other end. Here he stopped and pushed open another door. Light spilled suddenly out of the chamber beyond as he turned to step aside, waving his hand to indicate Grace should proceed. As she passed him, Grace's eyes slid up to his face. Her breath caught for a moment as the bright light revealed a red, puckered scar running from just below his left eye and down across his lips, ending just at his chin. Grace quickly looked away and stepped into the next room.

The light came from both a roaring fire at one end of the room and from a massive chandelier of gas lamps overhead. As her eyes adjusted, Grace noticed the room was entirely windowless, with just one other door directly opposite her on the far wall. A long, low table surrounded by rough wooden stools dominated the space. The stool at the furthest end of the table was occupied.

With a small smile the figure stood up. He was tall and broad, fashionably dressed in a finely-tailored suit. He had a sharp nose and rather widely-set eyes, but the piercing blue irises shone with wisdom and confidence. His dark hair was graying around the edges and his face showed deep wrinkles, making him look like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His top hat sat on the table, his beautiful calfskin gloves thrown down next to it.

His smile widened as he stepped toward Grace. "Good evening, Miss Marlow," he said, making a small but courteous bow. He paused a moment, observing the young woman wrapped tightly in her dark cloak. "I am Connell Hollow."

Grace's voice cracked slightly as she replied. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hollow."

Connell motioned to a stool as he perched back on his own. "I do apologize for the rather rustic venue, and commend your bravery for coming here unescorted."

Grace merely nodded, unwilling to engage in useless small talk. She was impatient to learn why she had been sent to this place to meet this man.

After a moment, Connell began, "Miss Marlow, you were asked to come here because of your connections. You are both the beloved of and confidante to Lord Blackburn, as well as being in the employ of the firm of Marley and Dickens. It is due to these circumstances that you now find yourself in this rather uncomfortable position."

Grace's eyes had widened at the name of Lord Blackburn, but she had otherwise remained motionless on her stool. Her mind, however, was suddenly racing. "How could this man know of my connection to Lord Blackburn?" she thought. "We have always guarded ourselves so carefully...."

"I have brought you here because both your lover and your employer commend you as a most trustworthy woman of uncommon intelligence and capability." Here he gave a little seated bow in an overly-gallant showing.

"I deserve no such great praise, Sir, though I highly esteem the opinions of these gentlemen," Grace said in a hard voice. She continued to sit ramrod straight, unyielding to his flattery.

Connell's face quickly became serious. "You have also been summoned here because of your indiscretions, Miss Marlow." Connell fixed his gaze on Grace as she shifted slightly, almost recoiling from his words. "We know about your gambling debts, and your penchant for providing rather high stakes entertainments. In fact, we know that Scotland Yard has begun investigating your little operation."

Grace's face had gone from white to ashen and she seemed to sink down inside herself. "Sir," she mumbled, "surely you cannot believe these most ludicrous rumours...." Her voice trailed off as Connell chuckled slightly.

"My dear, I care not that you enjoy the games of chance. What matters is that you have a good reason to flee London."

"What?" Grace gasped, head snapping up and color flooding back into her cheeks. "Flee London?"

"Yes. We have chosen you because people will assume you left town as a result of shame or guilt. However, your departure will also serve as a cover for removing something very precious to a more secure location."

Grace's brow furrowed in confusion. "You mean to tell me that I must leave London and ruin my reputation for some mysterious 'precious thing'?" Grace shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

"It is not just some 'thing' that you must protect." Connell's face filled with worry, and his eyes were nearly pleading. "It is my daughter that must be kept safe." Connell searched Grace's face as his statement sank in. Grace met Connell's gaze and saw the anxiety burning there. Her thoughts were scattered into a million pieces.

"Lord Blackburn will be able to explain all of this to you more fully. He has been in our service for many years and knows our tales. We would never ask this of an outsider if we weren't desperate."

A thousand questions burned in Grace's mind. Finally one made its way to her lips. "And who is 'we,' Mr. Hollow?"

Connell sighed and his face seemed to age before Grace's eyes. "We are the lucht siuil, the travellers of old. We are the wanderers of the Nethereal Realm."

Though she didn't understand the answer, Grace blurted out the next question. "And where must I go?"

"You must go to the city of New Babbage. Hopefully there you will find safety and secrecy." Connell stared down at his hands in his lap and muttered to himself, "And perhaps the brilliant minds resident in that town will be of some use to us."

Things Fall Apart (Part 1)

The wind blew harshly outside the old cottage. Grace pulled her chair closer to the fire and extended her fingers to the warmth. Through the window she could see how the wind stirred the thick air into strange patterns, obscuring the edge of the steep cliff on which the small house was perched.

Grace shifted slightly in her seat and turned to gaze at her visitor with a wary feeling in her heart. She sensed his aura of danger, but was relatively certain he was not a danger to her.

"And you say you have news, Mr. ...?" Grace leveled her gaze at the black eyes brooding under a dark brow.

"Aye, Miss Toussaint, I bring news," he replied, his voice rasping as if rarely used. "But I carry no name, Miss." He stared into her eyes and set his jaw, daring her to press the matter.

At that moment Roisin entered, bearing tea and biscuits on her tray. Grace caught her eye and nodded slightly, indicating to the girl to set the tray and remove herself from the room. Roisin carried the tray to the table, set it down silently, and then quickly spun on her heel, anxious to be away from the stranger's sharp gaze.

Before she could slip out the door, the gruff voice again cut through the air. "Your servant should stay, Miss Toussaint, as my news pertains to her in a most peculiar fashion." Roisin froze midstep, her back to the worn, hard face.

"I bring news of the girl's father, you see," he said, slowly turning his shaggy head to stare once more at Grace. At his words, Roisin's hand twitched against her side and her breath left her in a rush.

Grace quickly tried to compose herself, hoping her face was not betraying the fear that had suddenly flooded her heart. She shook her head with a small movement and then found her voice once more. "Roisin's father, Sir? But she is an orphan."

The visitor merely grunted and stared into the flames.

"Well then, Roisin, come sit here by the fire and we shall hear this 'news' together." Roisin turned and Grace met her wide-eyed gaze, hoping to silently express to her the need to stay calm. Roisin passed behind the stranger's chair, giving it a wider berth than necessary, and knelt on the far side of her mistress's chair.

The women watched the man as he watched the fire dance in the grate. The wind buffeted the windows, sending icy tendrils through the worn sills. The stranger slowly shifted, leaning forward to gaze into the fire even more intently.

"Miss Toussaint, Miss Hollow, I know your secrets, even better than you do. I have been sent here to bring you news of Conall Hollow, the last of the lucht siuil."

Roisin glanced up at Grace, her brow furrowed, her eyes quizzical. Grace's eyes never left the rugged profile of the visitor. Hearing those words pronounced had nearly stopped her heart. If this stranger knows Roisin's father, she thought, then he must know what Roisin is as well. Grace felt her body tense as the man drew a long breath.

"Your father, beautiful girl, has been captured." His head turned and he regarded the pale creature kneeling near the hearth. He watched the emotions flicker across her face: confusion, anger, fear, disbelief.

"He has been taken by the Consortium." His voice deepened and his eyes suddenly crackled with anger. "We fear they have found a way across. They are using your father as a bridge."

Roisin looked from Grace to the haggard-faced man and back again, confused as to his meaning. Grace had become perfectly still, every nerve in her body tingling, her heart crashing in her chest.

"Things have fallen apart," he muttered. "The aoire are not strong enough to fight this on their own any longer."

-----------

((The names in this story are old Irish names. I can only hope that I have translated what I mean into the correct words - relying on internet translations often ends up making you look like a fool. If anyone actually speaks Irish, I apologize if what I have constructed is completely wrong.))

Roisin = rose

Conall = strong as a wolf

Lucht siuil = traveller

Aoire = shepherd

Diary, June the 26th

I am relishing the quiet day at home. Soon enough Saturday mornings will be filled with calling on others or receiving guests at my own home.

My mind wanders back to London, wondering about my acquaintances there. Have they heard the rumors? And what do they believe? I have received no word from Lord Blackburn, not even a hastily scribbled note. I hope every day for some communication to assuage my fears and reassure that the investigation is not being pursued any farther. Such a to-do over such a little "indiscretion." Ah well, such is my lot for being a successful female. The tables arrived yesterday and were quickly ensconced in their new home. I shall not give up my pleasures; ladies are entitled to indulge in their own amusements as much as any gentleman.

Bess has been bustling about the house making everything comfortable. Perhaps in time I can also employ a cook - Bess's skills in that area are wanting. I plan to look in at a few local shops for additional furnishings and oddments this coming week.

Diary, June the 24th

Today marks the beginning of my legal career in the bustling town of New Babbage. I acquired a suite of offices in an excellent location from Lord Mureaux. Now begins the process of furnishing the rooms with the necessities of my practice. Of course, the second floor room will be for my more distinguised and entreprenurial of clients....

My lodgings are also excellent. I have taken a row-end brownstone with pleasant views of the waters. My lady's maid, Bess, is quite pleased with her small room in the attics and has been set to scrubbing the entire from top to bottom before my larger furnishings arrive from London.

I now only hope to become acquainted with the principal people of my new City. Of course Dame Burgess and Sir Wainright provided me with excellent letters of introduction.

Off to the dress-makers. I have in mind a new gown in a beautiful worked blue muslin that will be arriving with my goods from London.

Curriculum Vitae

Grace Toussaint, Esq.

New Babbage

Curriculum Vitae

Education

Queen's College, Cambridge
Juris doctorate

Lowton Academy for Girls
London

Qualifications

Member, Law Society of England and Wales
Former clerk to Sir Richard Wainwright, Esq., Howard & Wainwright, London
Solicitor to Dame Anne Burgess, Rochester, Kent
Author, A Short Discourse on the Education of Females and the Benefits Thereof to English Society, Cambridge Presses
Solicitor for Carter Ironworks during its acquisition of Robertson Smelting, Colchester, Essex

References

Sir Richard Wainwright, Esq.
Howard & Wainwright
52 Archers Court
Westminster

Dame Anne Burgess
Holyfield Manor
Rochester, Kent

Sir Edward Marley, Esq.
Marley & Dickens
23 Nottingham Road
London