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.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
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.))
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.))
Friday, August 20, 2010
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?"
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?"
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
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."
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."
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
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
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