Bashing heads for Justice!!!
Hi All -- My name is Othar Tryggvassen Gentleman Adventurer! haHA!
Dangling from an Airship in flames. Do I let go and fall to earth? or Climb up and burn? This ones a stumper
Survived the fall... again.
Received a message that the daughter of the Baron of Micklesburgh has been kidnapped by a masked man riding a flying stoat. Intriguing.
Planned on taking the train to Micklesburgh, but I am told that no trains have returned from there in the last week. Annoying.
On the road to Micklesburgh at last. No news from there for 2 weeks. Bought supplies and a good horse. I believe I shall name him Spooky.
Remember - just because someone is shooting at you, it doesn't mean they don't like you. Some habits are just hard to break
Have found a friendly farm on which to spend the night, which is lucky, as it looks like rain. Farmer's daughter seems most convivial.
A little TOO convivial. Lycanthropy is a messy business. Rain cleared up. Sun out. Spooky is fed, watered and ready to go. Onward!
A quiet day. Weather continues fine. Have made camp for the night in carapace of old clank near brook. Fish for dinner! Yum! Frogs singing.
On the road again. Did not sleep well. Frogs quite loud. Will be glad to leave this area, as they seem even louder. Weather continues fine.
Bad day. Frogs seem to be following me and they're getting louder. But I can't see them. Worrying. Spooky does not seem worried. Odd.
Whew. Found parasitic frog burrowing into ear. Much quieter now. Weather is foggy. Found tools from road repair crew. But no crew.
Search of road crew camp yields nothing. No fire tonight. Alarm wires strung. Unusual glow over horizon towards Micklesburgh. Figures.
Slept well, considering. Weather still foggy. Have noticed that Spooky is staring at me. Follows my every move. Unnerving. Ate some cheese.
Problem? According to my chronolumograph, 4 days have passed of which I have no memory. Even worse, official hero timecard not stamped. Drat
Found a stream and was bathing (cleanliness is important) when I discovered a tattoo upon my abdomen. "Believe Green Eyes". My handwriting.
Found Spooky, made camp. Weather continues odd. Should arrive at Mickleburg tomorrow. Can see town below in valley. Looks normal.
Finally entered Mickleburg. Town gates opened at sunrise. The smell of their famous honey-bread is everywhere. Mighty tasty too. Still foggy
Before I see the Baron, I shall sound out the town. First thing of note, it appears that no one is allowed to leave once they enter.
Town appears normal. There is a growing unrest amongst travelers who cannot leave, but reports of monsters is keeping them quiet for now.
Slept well. Apparently someone attempted to steal Spooky, but were fooled by the cardboard decoy. An old trick but a good one.
Have an appointment with Baron. Observed flying stoat and rider in sky. Townspeople terrified. Street cleared (except for me). We waved.
Have made inquiries. Flying stoat rider is local spark who raised stoats for their pelts for wig makers. Was never a financial success.
Have spoke to Baron. Idiot. Defaulted on his wig bill, daughter kidnapped. Here I was hoping for something different. Had him pay in advance
Stoat rider's name is Zorbit Huffnagle. Stoat farm is in giant tower in middle of town. Deadly devices through-out. Same old same old.
Have entered Huffnagle's tower and encountered first line of defense. Ten feet of stoat dung. Was going to kill him anyway, now I'll enjoy it
Second line of defenses was hoard of undead stoats. Tedious, yet unnerving. It did not help that they sang. How did my life get like this?
Giant flying stoat is a lot larger than I thought. I mean, I knew it was big- but it turns out that Huffnagle himself is twenty feet tall.
I'm sure Huffnagle had a tragic history, but you'll need haruspicy to discover it as I pushed him off the top of the tower. Stoat is mad now.
As I suspected, stoat was deathly allergic to ham. Choked to death. Now I must find the Baron's daughter. View of town from tower is superb.
Problem. Have found Baron's daughter. Several times. There were three girls locked up, all identical, all claiming to be the real Rheeba.
None of them have green eyes. Have also found another prisoner unconscious. This especially worrying as it appears to be me. Handsome devil.
It is me. He has the secret scar that I got during the Nymphenburg Pudding Incident. Ah, Desdemona, you naughty, naughty girl. Dead now. tsk
As best as I can tell, my doppelganger was savaged by some sort of giant rodent. Will survive. I have mixed feelings about this. Must think.
A puzzler. All Sparks must die, yet I am a Spark. I will kill myself when my mission is complete, but now I can kill myself first. Tempting.
Decision may be problematic. My twin is not doing well. All three Rheebas are equally calm and competent and aided me in surgery.
Oh dear. Machinery discovered in closet suggests that Huffnagle dabbled in transdimensional harmonics AND time travel. Not my lucky day.
My twin is too weak to be moved. Awoke briefly. Recognized me and whispered,"You're a...number 28" before fainting. Actually I'm a size 42.
Found a hidden library. Detailed notes on operating machinery. There are a number of notes and corrections in my handwriting. Lots of them.
With these devices I could go back in time. I could correct any number of mistakes. Kill certain Sparks before they broke through. Tempting.
Business before pleasure. My twin is stable enough that I can take the time to return Rheeba to her father. But which one? All of them?
Girls came up with solution. One will return to the Baron, one will become a pirate queen and one will be my new assistant. They drew straws.
Baron attempted to kill me to get money back. Newly installed Baroness Rheeba has been extremely grateful. Populace seems pleased as well.
Interesting. Baron was not responcible for sealing the town. That is the idea of the Captain of the Guards. Rheeba describes him as "a dope".
First things first. Whereas exploring spacetime would be fun, the town is suffering now. I'll have all the "me" time I want. I can wait.
I imagine that the Captain of the Guard is running a squalid little blackmarket/extortion scam. Hope so, I could use some "Punch Therapy".
Have obtained a writ from the Baroness, empowering me to deal with the Captain. We can pretend everything will go all nice and legal. Sure.
Was sent in to meet Captain of the Guards. It's another me. Sufficiently surprised that he got the drop on me. I'm beginning to hate this town
Captain me came to my cell, which is lined with skulls (tasteful). He says that he hopes that I will listen to reason this time. This time?
Ah. The skulls lining walls are apparently souvenirs of all the times "I" DIDN'T listen to reason. There are hundreds of them. Freaked out.
Captain me posits that it is impossible to cleanse the world of Sparks in a piecemeal fashion as I have been doing. He may have a point...
He then goes on to say that it is possible to control a closed environment, such as a small town. I think I see where this is going. Oh dear.
Oh yeah. He's proposing the same clear and expand strategy the Baron is using. I already tried this. The Great Wall of Norway was a mistake.
THIS is interesting. Captain Me never built the Great Wall. But this was the incident that made me realize that all Sparks must die. Hmm.
Captain Me says all Othars have the revelation "All Sparks Must Die", but all are different. Captain Me's involved waffles. Buttery waffles.
Apparently ALL Othars are pre-disposed to realize that all Sparks (including myself) must die, we just come to this truth via different ways.
So the question is, is the Truth so obvious that anything crystallizes it in our minds, or are we just pre-disposed to suicidal craziness?
Well obviously the first option is the correct one. A pity all of the other Othars I've met have been mentally deranged in some manner.
I do the only possible thing. I agree with everything Captain Me says, although I argue about significance of waffles as a revelatory medium.
Amazing. Captain me insisted on frying up a batch of waffles to "educate me" and wound up killing himself in a bizarre waffle iron mishap.
His uniform fits. I guess I really am that fat. No strudel for awhile. Found two more me's in the morgue being turned into wall ornaments.
Have issued orders to reopen the city gates. Reviewed the records and am relieved to see that all prisoners appear to be actual lawbreakers.
City gates were opened and monsters did not pour in. Was slightly worried about that, I'll admit. All available troops are on traffic duty.
Have examined Captain Me's effects. His journals reveal a shallow existence with occasional rhapsodic passages about waffles. Burned them.
My work here is done. I should head back to the tower. Decide to look about the city instead. Feel peculiar. Funerals do that, even mine.
Although strong drink is a mocker, I find that I need to be mocked. Barenjager, schnapps & kirschwasser. Keep them coming, fraulein.
My waitress is working tables to put herself through college. Transdimensional harmonics no less. She sits down after her shift ends. Score?
We discuss Huffnagle's devices. She thinks that the device is collapsing realities as they're invoked, which is why there is multiple 'Me'.
Explain how I can use these devices to further my campaign against Sparks. She breaks a bottle over my head. The Art of Debate is not dead.
She explains (slowly) that every other Othar who used these machines got killed. Therefore, I shouldn't use them. I think I see her point.
The good I could do with these machines is overwhelming to think about. What could I do with another thousand Othars? Wait. What DID I do?
"I" spent all my energies on an insane scheme that nearly ruined this town and tried to kill as many copies of myself as I could find. Damn.
I ask Annisette (my waitress) the odds of every single other Othar being insane and unable to see the simple truths I do. Low, she says.
Very, very, astronomically, implausibly, mind boggelingly low. Wow. Well I AM pretty lucky at games of chance. That was when she smacked me.
According to 'A', doing the 'obvious' thing always results in disaster. If I want to break this cycle, I should do something implausible.
Attempted to go on a balloon ride with a unicorn... What am I drinking?
Woke up. Annisette in my arms. What WAS I drinking? Astonishingly, I remember everything. Oh come on -it's not THAT implausible. Honest.
I should not allow a simple bout of excessive biology to cloud my judgment. Logically- ah, Annisette has woken up. She has green eyes.
I have smashed the machines and burned Huffnagle's notes. I've got to trust someone, and apparently can't trust myself. Lovely green eyes.
I could have sworn that before I smashed machines, Mickleburg was surrounded by wasteland. It's rich farmland now, and there's a river.
Annisette does not remember me.
Time to move on. The horse I pick up at the stable looks like Spooky, but has six legs. Fine. I'll take it. Still have tattoo. That's good.
Beautiful day. Perhaps I will go to Paris. There is a little coffee shop I enjoy, and I could use a dose of the simple pleasures. Onward!
My pocket meteorological station tells me to stay off the roads. Sure enough, I dodge meteors all afternoon. Perhaps I'll take the train.
What luck! A Corbettite Train depot in the next town. I get a good price for Spooky (he comes with his own spare!) and buy a ticket to Paris.
Have a few hours before the train arrives. Help the stationmaster patch a leak in the watertower and fill the coal bunker. Obligation clear.
The stationmaster's wife makes an excellent lunch and brews a fine mead. For a bit extra, I get a long hot bath and my laundry done. Nice.
Train whistle sounds as it arrives. Magnificent engine, provided by the Master of Paris. Ultimately he must die, but a fine craftsman.
Shown to my compartment. Only one other passenger, a brass merchant from Istanbul. Trip should take 2 days. Should have brought a book.
Another passenger in our compartment. She's a professor from T.P.U. on sabbatical. Easy on the eye, but rather prim. Good conversationalist.
New passenger. It's a Jagermonster. He's a courier for the Baron. He tries being horrible and is surprised that no one leaves. Gets slapped.
Not that I try to be combative, but he was being overly familiar. The usual parade of vendors, food, drink, cushions and religion. Good tea.
An endless afternoon of stopping at small towns. Help load freight just for something to do. The Jager joins me. Good worker.
Invited to eat with the train crew, as is the Jager. Aside from drinking from the gravy boat, he behaves himself. Great gravy, I will say.
Whistle alarm and emergency brake. Unhurt. There is a tree blocking the tracks. Deliberately felled. Shots from the dark. We're under attack.
The train is armored of course, but the firing pins down the defenders long enough for attackers to climb aboard. They have green cloaks.
My mistake. They ARE green cloaks. At least that's what they look like. Bullets are useless. Flamethrower time! Luckily, I brought my own.
Green cloak creatures are supported by humans with guns. The Jager and a rumbletoy squad from the train deal with them. I'm on the roof.
Flame works well, and lights up the night. The Conductor joins me, and proves quite good at hucking bottles of oil into groups of monsters.
Suddenly a flare goes up from the train. The conductor's surprised. The attackers stop and we see them retreat. They leave their monsters.
The monsters were easy to destroy without their controllers. A form of giant slime mold, with embedded electronic collars. Taste like cheese.
I aid crew in removing fallen tree. No further attacks. Conductor informs us that there is no significant damage, so we can proceed at once.
A hesitant, frankly incompetent attack. No real damage to train. Freight cars untouched. No one kidnapped. What was the point? Bad feeling.
A nightcap at the bar car. Our T.P.U. Professor allows herself a small glass of sherry. Tightly wound, that one. Conductor comes through.
Everyone must produce their tickets again. Annoying. The porter has converted our seats to beds. Really wish I had a book. The Jager snores.
It's dark.The professor is beside me. She is slowly letting down her hair. As she does so, her clothes are drifting down like autumn leaves.
She's unbuttoning her corset, urgently telling me that I have to get up. What? In my bunk. Train porter is shaking my arm. There's trouble.
The conductor has been murdered. Nasty knife wound. His body had been stuffed out a window, but had caught on a ledge. Time to get to work.
Why? I am informed that The Baron has a payroll shipment onboard. It is untouched, as is all the freight. Conductor still has his wallet.
The Best bet is to stop the train. I am informed that this is absolutely impossible. Which was when the Jager pulled the Emergency Brake.
He says that the trainmen can't blame him, as they claimed it was impossible, thus nothing should have happened. How smart ARE they, really?
The Assistant Conductor insists that this sort of problem is usually dealt with by the Barons Questers. How lucky for them that I am here.
Oh-Ho. There IS something going on here. The A.C. brings me to the rear of the train. The caboose is a snug little armory. He hits a button.
Another train car shimmers into existence. Ah. A Von Bissel Light Folder & Stapler on the roof. The Baron has outlawed those. Interesting.
A collection of the monsters that attacked, as well as the equipment to make them, and their creator in a set of the Baron's best manacles.
I know they're the best because it takes me over twenty minutes to get out of them, and that's if no one has left any cookie dough near by.
So we were attacked by a group of the good Dr's minions and creations trying to free him. Fooled by the old invisible train car bit. Losers.
Remove the containment hood. The Doctor is a rather mannishly garbed woman. Personally I prefer my chained up women Sparks to be in corsets.
Introduce myself, get some water, explain that as a Spark she must die. The niceties observed, I ask her to explain herself. Oddly reticent.
She's embarrassed. No grandiose plans, no desire to rule the world, she just likes making ambulatory slime mold servants. She's not a Spark.
Hello? Making intelligent ambulatory slime mold servants controlled by electronic collars? This is not Gardening 102. A Spark in denial.
Oh I hate it when this happens. Now I have to waste time convincing her that I'm killing her for a legitimate reason and am not just a loony.
Discouraging. My ability to convey my philosophies is deficient. I'll bet Wulfenbach never has this problem when he has to kill someone.
The Corbettite tells me she is being taken to Baron Wulfenbach for the destruction of the town of Waffenhaus. I may be overthinking this.
Her name is Van Zekkertant and I can't help noticing that she's oddly calm considering we're discussing who kills her. I'm missing something.
Damnation. I get it. Why would someone kill the train conductor? Because he's the one who would first discover someone without a ticket.
The ineffective attack on the train was merely a ruse to allow someone to get on. Probably to rescue Van Zekkertant. They'll be coming here.
Obviously they don't know about the invisible train car or they would have attacked it. So the killer is still searching. Time to leave.
No one sees us leave the invisible train car. Good. I'll go through the entire train and talk to everyone. Good thing I'm a 'People Person'.
I meet a water engineer from Baden-Baden. He's invented a new filtration system from carbon & spun glass. Sounds like a Spark, who must die.
Next up is a Musical inventor/salesman who designs instruments that can be played by farm animals while they work. A Spark who must die.
Every single person on this train is a Spark. Including the engineer, who is developing a locomotive that runs on fudge. Where to start?
Hmm. The Chasm of Svantz is about 25 kilometers away. Haven't had a good old spectacular train wreck in awhile. Could be fun. For me.
What am I thinking?! These trains cost tens of thousands of Imperial Dollars! I can't afford that. I blew the budget on that zeppelin crash.
Now that I think about it, I forgot the Jager. He's not a Spark (though I still have to decide about the 'person' part). I can use him.
They have a highly developed sense of smell. Perhaps he can detect the infiltrator. I cannot find him. I have a bad feeling about this.
I also cannot locate my T.P.U. professor or my Istanbul brass merchant. The only 3 people I knew were on the train before the attack. Uh-oh.
The only thing these people had in common was that they were in my train compartment. But if they were worried about me, why not get me?
Why bother with them at all? What could a Jager, a brass merchant or a history professor do that could be dangerous to them. Or anyone?
The Jager was with me when I went to the rear of the train. Train is still stopped. Search around the train. I do find a body. Who is this?
Something is not right about this body. Crew clears freight car for an autopsy. Request medical assistance. 2 sparks respond. I know, I know.
Body is not really a person, but it's becoming one. I believe it's one of the green cloaks. We are in big trouble. Even the Sparks concur.
My first instinct is to destroy it, but we must let it continue to develop, if only to find out how human it gets. Then I'll dissect it!
Creature is… ripening into a duplicate of the missing brass merchant. I have ordered the train crew to search for my companions. In pairs.
One other proto-person discovered. The chief conductor. It awakens as they are hauling it in. Seems like a normal person. Could be messy.
Interesting. It seems to think it is the chief conductor. My dissecting it will provide fodder for a lively ethical discussion sometime.
Ho ho, what a silly mistake. When you cut up something (or someone) that is still alive it's vivisection, not dissection. I AM distracted.
It play acts a train conductor perfectly. Enough so that I feel a slight qualm as I begin to cut. Unnecessary. It's like cutting a mushroom.
No blood, no bones, no internal tissue differentiation at all. Ah-and yet it is capable of almost instantaneous transformation. Monster time.
An amusing cross between a spider and an octopus. Hero Tip: locating the nerve center/brain is challenging. Try right behind (or through) the eyes.
Tricky. It crumbles when you attack it, and the smaller bits become autonomous creatures in their own right. With sharp little teeth. Ow!
Time for the monster hunters oldest friend; Fire. The carboys of spirits I placed around the car explode perfectly. No one will escape! um…
When Othar Tryggvassen builds a deathtrap he does a pretty damn good job of it. Some would call this irony. Everyone else, stupidity. Sigh.
I yell to my companions, "Our only hope is the hatch onto the roof!" The monster is intelligent enough to understand, and gets there first.
Which is why the monster is the one who sets off the boobytrap I placed there. This allows me to escape without too much effort. Excelsior!
My two assistants have apparently led a sedentary life (All too typical when you can construct monsters to be evil for you). They can't jump.
Whereas I would have had to destroy them later, their deaths at this point are inconvenient. How life mocks me! Know what I want? Fudge.
Luckily, the Corbettite Monks have traditionally supported their good works by selling fudge that they make from an ancient secret recipe.
I once foiled an evil plot to capture The Monastery of St. Elmo's legendary Fudge Hounds, saving many a lost traveler from starvation.
As a result, I was presented a scapula that allows me to claim free fudge at any Corbettite facility. Luckily, I have a high metabolism.
Ahh. A fine block of Bavarian Black nut fudge. I need this. Wait. I can use this. Or should I eat it? A Hero's decisions are never simple.
It's hard, but so is being a hero. I walk through the train extolling the virtues of this fine fudge which I am about to eat by myself. Yum.
I am halfway through the third sleeper car when, with a rending of metal, a Jäger hand claws through the floor. "Say, ken I haze a bite?"
It's a proven fact that a Jäger will claw through solid rock to steal fudge. Not often that esoteric knowledge like this comes in useful.
He was stuffed into the sub-floor maintenance conduit. Wrapped in some sort of organic webbing. Time to check the rest of them. Quickly.
Found my TPU Professor, delightfully disheveled, but unharmed under the Observation Car. Only the brass merchant remains to be found.
Uh-oh. It looks like almost everyone on the train is actually entombed under it. All of the passengers are monstergangers. Should've walked.
Confound it! An entire train full of helpless Sparks AND dangerous monsters AND a handy chasm nearby. Someone is tempting me. So not fair!
At least I have figured out what is happening. It is a plot to destroy Wulfenbach, and, I must admit, a pretty good one. Should I permit it?
An entire train full of monsters disguised as Sparks. The Baron will no doubt want to see them personally. Even he would be in trouble.
This is the perfect opportunity to destroy the House of Wulfenbach. I don't have to do anything, except waltz in afterwards and clean up.
You know what I should do? Get off this train and take a vacation. Yes. Right now. Here I go… Wait. I never did find the brass merchant.
This is ridiculous. There were only two and a half innocent people on this train (Jäger = 0.5 person). Surely I can skip the last one. Yeah.
No. I can't. This is what being A Hero is about. I should never have taken that aptitude test back at the university. I wanted to be a chef.
I think that as long as I do nothing suspicious, I will not "activate" the transformation of the creatures. Just gotta act normal. La-de-dah.
What should I do with my two innocents? If I make them leave the train, the others will notice, they'll also be in the middle of nowhere.
Explain what is going on to them. They say they'll find the merchant while I stop the monsters and save the Baron. Slight miscommunication.
I explain that this is the perfect opportunity to let the Baron reap what he has sown. Let Mad science kill the mad scientist. Tough room.
The professor trots out the old saw that the Baron has given Europe a period of stable government and increased safety. That's an easy one.
My foolproof argument remains; THE BARON IS A SPARK AND MUST DIE! (Repeat until they change their mind). Silver medal Oslo Tech Debate team.
The Professor breaks a chair over my head. Ow. Maybe I'm wrong. Damnation! I had always wondered what had happened to the Gold medal winner.
We come to a dialectical compromise. First we will find the brass merchant, then we will decide what to do. A stimulating discussion. Ow.
The Jäger assures me that the merchant is nowhere on the train. Seems he was fond of fenugreek tea, which causes a distinctive body odor.
The train has started moving again. I suspect that any attempt to stop it will result in monsterage. By my calculations, we have 20 minutes.
That is my best guess as to when the train will pass the switch that will send it into the crevasse. If we miss that, it'll reach the Baron.
Wait! There's one place we haven't searched, the secret car at the end of the train. Uh-oh, the controls to reveal it have been smashed.
This is unnerving. I KNOW there's a train car there, but it appears that I must step out into empty space while going 60 klicks an hour.
No. This just doesn't feel right. Hero instincts. You learn to listen to them. I grab a brakeman's pole and poke. No train car within reach.
The car is uncoupled, but still connected by brake cables & chain (by the feel of it). This is a pathetic attempt to kill me. Exhilarating!
If this is the best they can do then this should be a cake walk! I easily scramble across the cable and burst in the door. Ah. A trap. Oops.
They counted on my having a false sense of security for cracking a weak trap, and thus walked into a much better trap. Ah, hindsight.
Van Zekkertant is still chained (I'll admit it, Wulfenbach does good containment systems) and here's my brass merchant, trying to free her.
And here's four creatures waiting to grab me. I call that overkill. On the other hand, my reputation demands no less. Ah, the price of fame.
Yes, I am quite captured. Oh dear, oh dear. As I expected, they gloat. Ah, this explains much. The brass merchant is Van Zekkertant's dad.
That was the final piece of the puzzle. Time to escape. My captors taunt me for being so silent. Do I have a reputation for talking a lot?
It's hard to talk with a mouthful of fenugreek tea. I spit it on myself. As I thought, the monsters recoil, freeing me. Time to hit things.
You ever tried fenugreek tea? I'd rather eat monsters. It was obvious there was a reason he drank the stuff. Ooh, it makes monsters melt!
Thank goodness for waterproof boots. Zekkertant's dad appeals to me. What parent should see their child die? Even if they are a Spark. True.
Impeccable logic. I am moved. So even though he is a lesser threat, I shoot him first. Then I shoot van Zekkertant. Call me Herr Sensitive.
Now all I have to do is get to the switch before the train does. Tricky, as the train is the fastest thing in the neighborhood. A challenge!
Five minutes left. I find the Jäger and the professor and explain my problem. They agree that we have a problem. How very helpful.
I pull the emergency brake. Train shudders to a halt. I charge the professor with throwing the switch and the Jäger gets to protect her.
Off they go. Now, my job is to distract the engineer, while not allowing myself to be torn apart by a train full of monsters. Aerobic!
Luckily I still reek of Fenugreek tea. This allows me to stroll unmolested to the engine. The engineer is preparing to move- who's this?
A hail from the tracks- That badge- He's a Wulfenbach Questor. They are annoyingly resourceful fellows. This could cause a lot of problems.
I grab "The engineer" and stuff him into the firebox. Then I slam the train into forward. Now I have only the coal stoker to worry about.
The stoker wields a mean shovel, especially once he starts sprouting extra arms. They are deadly fighting machines once they get mad. Drat.
However, superb fighters they may be, they've no biological history or traditions to draw from. Thus "Look-It's a Monkey" works every time.
Into the firebox with him as well. Now it's just a simple job to tie the throtle of the engine down, and then leap gracefully-ow! What the?
It's The Quester! What is he… He's trying to stop the train. Of course. He doesn't know they're all monsters. How vexing. To work!
I try to explain that everyone on the train is a monster and must die. He can trust me, I'm Othar Tryggvassen! Uh-oh, now he looks mad.
What a double edged sword a reputation is. Save thousands, thwart evil, bring peace… kill one corrupt quester and it's all out the window.
Now I'm just "The Guy Who Killed A Quester." It demonizes me, and ignores all of my finer points. Bit of a resume stain, to be honest. Sigh.
Questers are usually pillars of honesty. Therefore it's understandable that people are skeptical when you badmouth one. My rep vs. theirs.
A whereas people say hurtful and misguided things about me, at least no one doubts my veracity. Usually. Except when I get philosophical.
Oooh. Nasty thought. Is he a real Quester or is he yet another monster? I stick a knife in him. Yes, that's a real person. Now we can talk.
Seems disinclined to talk. A quick peek out the window. I see the professor at the switch. The Quester is going for the brake cord.
We are past the switch! The chasm is dead ahead! Another job well done! Oh. I appear to have been hit in the head with a large coal shovel.
Can't move! Got to move! The chasm is around the next turn! The Quester doesn't look worried… He doesn't know! Got to save him. The dope.
This is going to hurt. A full body slam to throw him from the engine. Unfortunately, it'll leave me exposed to-yes, a knife. Predictable. ow
At least the Quester is safe. Despite working for Wulfenbach, they're heroes in their own right. I appear to be floating. That's not good.
Freefall, my old nemesis! All I have to do is activate my compressed gas rocket boots and I will cheat you once again! Belt control ON!… On?
Oh look, there goes my suitcase, soaring off to safety. I forgot to change my boots. Okay, plan 'B'. First, find some honey…
The Jäger, my TPU Professor, and the Quester are all lined up on the rim of the chasm. Indeed, it was quite a crash. Why, she's crying. Aw.
I love the childlike look of wonder on their faces when they see me. It gives me a chance to cold-cock the Quester before he gets feisty.
Our first order of business is to reset the switch. There is a high probability that the next train won't be filled with hideous monsters.
Now we have to wait for the next train. I have to report what happened to the Monks. This could take some time. We construct a shelter.
The next train won't be by for at least 24 hours. A good roof and chinked walls. The professor builds a sophisticated firepit & chimney.
The professor built some snares and we have 3 rabbits and a squirrel for roasting on the fire. The Jäger decides to build a swimming pool.
We lounge about the pool after dinner, but it's getting cold. I volunteer to take the first watch, as the Jäger is sleepy from catching bats.
A cold clear night. The stars are beautiful once you get away from the glare of the towns. It's good to be alive. And not mad, of course.
The Jäger shows up eventually. Strange creatures. The dip in the pool certainly helped, but I'm afraid he still has bat breath. Sleep now.
Bedding is a huge pile of cedar boughs. I burrow in and relax. What's that? Oh-it's the professor. She's crying in her sleep. Understandable.
Held her all night. Slept very well. She bit my thumb when she woke up and found me with my arms around her. Apologized very nicely later.
The Jäger and I construct a simple barrier to stop the train. It works, and the train crew comes out. Armed, of course. I introduce myself.
Cheering. How rewarding. Explain that the previous train was infested with shapeshifting monsters. The professor and the Jäger back me up.
I also explain that since the Quester helped me send it over the edge, they can no doubt bill The Baron for the lost train. More cheering.
The Quester is still tied up in the shelter. No doubt he's a resourceful fellow and will easily free himself before the bears get to him.
At last I resume my trip to Paris. Offer to stoke coal and they assure me that they want me nowhere near the engine. Heh. A chance to rest.
I sleep the sleep of the just. Awaken refreshed as we enter the outskirts of Paris and pass the walls. Excellent! Croissants for breakfast!
Ah, Paris. If only all Sparks were like The Master Of Paris. Content to stay at home and simply defend their own areas. I love this town.
Of course, I cannot actively pursue my Great Mission here, as the Master maintains the peace with an iron hand. It's a challenge, certainly.
I believe this challenge can be best met in the Cafe Moliere, a place where they put the proper amount of cinnamon cream in a man's coffee.
In Paris it is disturbingly easy to forget exactly what one's great mission is. I believe that today it is to appreciate the ladies of Paris.
Monsieur Zyn, the owner, remembers me, though it has been what, two years? My coffee is perfect, as are Madam Zyn's lemon squares. Happiness.
At this point we're interrupted by the waitress. I am astonished Madam Zyn allows her in the shop. She's the most delightful girl I've seen.
My delight increases when she flings herself into my lap and hugs me. All I was expecting today was coffee. Paris really is a great city.
Arlene?! This is little Arlene? Zyn's daughter?! What a difference two years makes. I used to tell her stories of my adventures. I feel old.
Ah. That explains it. She was artificially aged two years by an exuberant science project. It happens all the time. At least she got an 'A'.
She insists on hearing about my latest adventures. Lucky for her, it's been an exciting last couple of years. Lots of justice & explosions.
Thus passes a lazy day. Quite a rare thing when one is in the Hero biz. All this coffee and pastry must be playing hob with my blood sugar.
At the end of the day, stuffed with pastry, I lurch back to my hotel. Notice a plains clothes gendarme loitering in the lobby. Interesting.
He asks if he may speak with me. Will say that the Master of Paris has the politest lawmen I've ever encountered. Tempted to say "No". Heh.
Starts off by asking me if I am planning on eliminating any Sparks while in town. Ha! I know this game. Remind him Paris is neutral ground.
He reaches into his coat and flips something toward me. It's a badge. I see the snake and freeze. This man is a Serpent. The Master's police.
They have the power to shoot someone down in broad daylight on the Champs Élysées and answer only to the Master himself. Dangerous people.
I try to hand the badge back and he declines to take it. Uh-oh. I see things are about to get 'interesting'. This badge has my name on it.
I am told that The Master wants me to help him. There is a problem in Paris, and he needs someone from outside the city, who's not involved.
Someone who is a proven hero, someone who has bravely survived impossible odds. With all this buttering up, I feel like a slice of toast.
Someone who can kill without pity, who can stand hideous torture, who one would miss if they were ripped into tiny bits-All right! I get it!
There have been a series of meticulously planned robberies of the Louvre. I'm shocked. The Master had claimed that this was impossible.
Museums from all over the known world have shipped art to the Louvre on "permanent loan" because it was safer then anywhere else.
I can see why the Master wants this taken care of quickly and quietly. His exterior power results from his ability to keep all of Paris safe.
Now the disturbing news. Whoever is behind this has no regard for human life. 25 guards have been killed while trying to catch the thief.
There are no clues, no suspects, no leads. No one knows how the robberies are committed, and none of the stolen art has appeared been found.
I accept the job, not because I do not seriously believe I have a choice. But because even my Ultimate Mission is fleeting. Art is eternal.
My recruiter's name is Rene. He provides a schematic of the Louvre, and shows me where the robberies have taken place. They appear random.
My first step appears to be to examine the places where robberies have occurred. Rene tells me that the Louvre is closed, but not to me.
Ah, this explains much. I had seen that the entire Louvre was hidden under a gigantic tent. Had assumed that they were fogging for roaches.
Rene and I go up to the gate guard. He tells us to move along. Rene shows his badge. The guard tells us to move along. Something is wrong.
The guard looks at us and nods and tells us to move along. I try to move past him and he blocks me and with a smile tells me to move along.
I look closer. He's smiling, but his eyes are the eyes of a man who is screaming. I give him a 'thumbs up', and slam his head into the wall.
I assume he'll thank me some day. We pull back the drapes. The Louvre is gone. Even the sub-basements. Scooped out with a giant ass shovel.
Rene is surprised by this. I've seen it before, but never, I'll admit, on this large a scale. We're dealing with a tough nut this time.
I examine the site. The walls of the hole are too smooth. Some form of matter displacer. Probably combined with a miniaturizer. Good news.
The Louvre is probably still intact. The walls of the pit are still warm. This happened less than 6 hours ago. I SAID I've seen this before.
I explain that the wall's heat come from the shrinking process. As the molecules pack together, they dump excess heat. Rene's eyes glaze.
I check the map that shows where the other robberies occurred. Ah yes. A perfect pattern to cover the whole museum with the shrinkage field.
This is ridiculous. There would have been shrinker mechanisms left behind. Disguised, perhaps, but any investigator should have found them.
I ask Rene who the investigator of record on this case was. He thinks, looks surprised, and admits it was him. Then he pulls his gun. Great.
He then spins the butt and offers it to me. I breathe again. As I take the gun, he slips his finger against the trigger and shoots himself.
I am left holding the smoking gun that has just killed one of The Master of Paris' Serpents. One doesn't really get more boned than that.
Doubt I could get out of the city in time, and I suspect it wouldn't help. I've got to solve this, and I have to do it quick. Really quick.
Although I took out the nearest guard, others will no doubt hear the gunshot. I have to assume they will also be under someone's control.
Whereas Serpents have the ability to kill with impunity, somehow I doubt other Serpents would be cool with the "new guy" killing a regular.
I'll admit that my propensity for solving problems by killing evil people might give the uneducated the impression that I'm unreasonable.
There's just no arguing with some people once they've made their minds up about something, and I accept that. That's why I kill them.
Enough philosophizing. I walk out. No one in sight yet. May be able to do this the easy way. How odd. Here's a cafe facing the gate. I sit.
The first thing I should do is write a note to The Master of Paris explaining what has happened. He is said to be as fair as a spark can be.
The cafe owner supplies paper, pen, and a decent latte. I write out everything as concisely as I can, but it still takes several pages.
Now the Master has to get it. I have to assume that any government agency reasonably capable of directly delivering it would be compromised.
I beg an empty wine bottle from the cafe owner, seal my letter inside, and surreptitiously sneak off and drop it off into the nearest canal.
With how things work in this town, it'll probably be on the Master's desk within the hour. But I can't count on him. First: find the Louvre.
There is no other choice. I have to see how much trouble I'm in. I stroll back to my hotel. If this is my last day, at least it's nice out.
No one appears to be watching my hotel. Grab a few devices and my armored undergarments. A working vacation is better than none, I suppose.
Othar Tryggvassen entered the hotel, but it is monsieur LeGuite who leaves. Usually I hate donning disguises, but sometimes it's necessary.
The first thing I have to do is find a place to sleep. Sufficient rest is more important than you would think from reading cheap novels.
If I don't get enough sleep, I get cranky, my judgment suffers, and I might do something foolish, like allow myself to be swayed by mercy.
Perhaps I could stay at the Zyn's? No, I had best not. My propensity for their establishment is probably already known to The Master. Uh oh.
This is tricky, I have to rush over there without attracting attention. But I see I have an excuse. A column of smoke. Hope it's doughnuts.
Technically, it is doughnuts, as well as everything else. The bistro's a roaring wall of flame. Where are the Zyns? Don't see them anywhere.
Finally! The great brass water dragons of the Paris fire department lumber up, attach tails to hydrants and start spouting. This is arson.
Step back. Look again. Too many people are scanning the crowds as opposed to watching the fire. Looking for an arsonist, or looking for me?
I must take a chance. I approach one of the dragon handlers and show my badge. Did the Zyns make it out? He doesn't know, but will find out.
The first reports are coming in. Fire caused by a combination of spilt cooking oil and natural gas. In other circumstances, I'd be jealous.
As I'm talking to the firefighter, a man comes up a flips his badge. Serpent. I show mine. He nods, says there's a meeting. I follow him.
As we walk, I mention that I've never seen him before. How long has he been on the force? Who does he report to? He grins. "Nicely done."
He goes for his gun, thus opening himself up to the deadly Basque Lepus Punch, which was taught to me by a very irritated old Basque bandit.
He drops. I run. No pursuit. This is troubling. He knew I wasn't a Serpent. But how? Do they have secret signals? Or just know each other?
This means that until I have proof, I cannot deal with any of the Serpents. If I can find one that's not mind controlled. Why me? I ask you.
Ah. The rooftops of Paris. Always a fine setting for adventure. And pigeons. I set my lenses to magnify and start looking at the fire scene.
There's no danger of the fire spreading. Good. The gas main has been shut off. The dragons almost have the fire out. I do not see the Zyns.
Eventually the fire is out. Most of the crowd disperses. Firemen begin to comb the wreckage. I magnify. Charred bones. I feel ill.
They're sorting bones. Efficient. Separating them out. Wait. There are four piles, not three. Someone else was in there. I wonder who it is?
My best course of action will be to find the Louvre. This could be tricky, as it would, by my calculations, now be less than a meter square.
The only thing working for me is that objects that have been molecularly shrunk need to be kept cold. The colder the better. Not a big help.
I have an nifty refrigerator inspector disguise (little used, sadly), but it would take over 11 years to search the city. Probably too long.
Again and again I find myself asking why steal the Louvre? You can't fence it. Hmm- but I'll bet you could ransom it. The Master would pay.
The Master has made a point about Paris being a safe haven for the world's art. He'd pay plenty to prevent this being made public. Good one.
Perhaps I should contact the Master directly. I'd prefer not to worry about the police. This was supposed to be my vacation. Damn it.
Contacting the Master of Paris will be tricky. He's easy to find, he hasn't left the Great Tower in years. And they sell nifty postcards.
I suppose I could infiltrate the Great Tower. But I think I have a better idea, one that requires a machine shop, as all the best ideas do.
I found an excellent little shop with a white metal forge, a disintegrator and a mini cafe. (Of course I never even open the mini cafe.)
A busy day. It feels good to use these talented hands for something other than punching out evil. A man likes to build things occasionally.
I'm finished and out with my device quickly enough that I can watch the police raid the place. Better luck next time, boys. Time to sleep.
I book a room as an inventor with his invention. Luckily, Paris is a city where the hoteliers don't care what you do in your private room.
As always, I sleep the sleep of the just. Early morning calisthenics and a hearty breakfast. Ah! Ready to save the world from itself again!
I find one of Paris' convenient deserted rooftops. Quickly assemble my device, test the controls and launch! My gosh, it looks beautiful.
It is a radio controlled airship, pulling a banner that says; LOUVRE TO RE-OPEN ONE WEEK FROM TODAY! GUEST APPEARANCE BY OTHAR TRYGGVASSEN!
It's beautiful clear day and my banner will be visible all over the city. Let's have it circle the Great Tower a few dozen times. How jolly.
I'm ready for the sound of small lightning. An electro-ionization field generates surprisingly close. Luckily I'm standing on a rubber mat.
It is an electro-æther shadow of the Master of Paris. "Thief," it whispers, "Blackmailer! You will die in Paris." Not off to a good start.
I'm unnerved at how quickly he found me. I have not seen the Master for years. Not since I left college. He looks tired. And pretty cranky.
"Didn't you get my letter?" The Master nods and produces the note I threw in the canal. He reads it. It's a heartfelt confession. Oh dear.
The writer blathers on endlessly, full of smug self importance and a misguided notion of his own infallibility, when he's not apologizing.
I hear a crackle. I've allowed myself to be distracted. Lightning bats are circling. I've never seen them released during the day. Scary.
"That letter is a fraud! Othar Tryggvassen may do things that lesser men find objectionable or slightly illegal, but I never apologize!"
There is an endless moment where everything seems to freeze. Then the bats fly off. "Oui. You are insufferable in that regard." Whew. What?
I recount everything that has happened to me since I arrived in Paris. He frowns. "I remember the young-" A crackle and his image vanishes.
There is an explosion near the top of the Great Tower. Sirens go off. It looks like every light in the city's turning red. Could be trouble.
The Master of Paris under attack. Whoever my opponent is, they don't think small. Why am I not crushed like a bug? Unlike the Master, I run.
I hit the street. The autonomous systems of the city appear to be paralyzed. No one is panicking-yet. Probably because they're ignorant.
My nemesis is very direct. Very audacious. Hmm. Back to the Louvre district. Travel through the city is difficult. Rescue a few people.
Back at the Louvre. There is a refrigerated warehouse down the block. They usually store furs and such. I ask if anyone stored a small box.
A quick flash of the badge and the surly clerk is politeness itself. Indeed, a small box was deposited two days ago. I ask to see it. Alone.
It's a fancy birthday cake box about 70 centimeters square and about 40 cm high. Cardboard. Inside is the Louvre. Covered in a sugar glaze.
The sheer chutzpah of this terrifies me. My opponent is beyond confident. Sure enough, the warehouse clerk is coming at me with a knife.
I mean, it's not like he's a big threat or anything, I flatten him with my elbow, but it's emblematic, isn't it? Danger is all around me.
My problem is that I'm fighting all these mind-controlled innocents. In order to maximize my 'heroic potential', I need to find their boss.
It can't be this easy, can it? I riffle through the rental records. The box was deposited by Mademoiselle Arlene Zyn. No, not easy at all.
A number of courses of action suggest themselves to me. I sit down and think. The wrong move will get me killed, which would be a tragedy.
Whoever my opponent is, they know me well enough to use innocents that I care about, and callous enough to dispose of them. I am very angry.
Horrible thought. Maybe my opponent IS Arlene. But that is impossible. Arlene is not a Spark. None of her family are. At best they'd be… Oh.
They'd be exemplary experimental subjects. And didn't they mention that Arlene was artificially aged? So who caused that? Back to the chase!
The only place I'd expect authorized sparky experiments upon students would be the Institute de la Fantastique. Time for another disguise.
Enter Giles duBarry, gentleman janitor! A disguise I perfected by earning the prestigious 'black mop' from the Dark University of Wørtburg.
The records room is a mess. Half this stuff is misfiled. Fixing it is beyond the duties expected of any janitor, but it is driving me crazy.
I wasted an entire day building a records filing clank (which earned me an honorary degree, always nice) but Arlene's records are not here.
Things are getting interesting. They wouldn't dare destroy her permanent records, where would they be? Of course! Her guidance councilor!
According to what records I can find, Arlene's G.C. was Prof. Babette 'Meathooks' Chantage. Perhaps I'll wait until she leaves for the day.
Prof. Chantage's office has very good locks, but not on the skylight. Sloppy. The sealed files are protected with shaped charges. The Hell?
Whereas I appreciate efforts to keep nosy parkers out of people's files, this seems a bit extreme. Been awhile since I've been to college.
Of course not. Must assume that my nemesis has thought of everything. How tiresome. Explosives are booby trapped. Now that's just excessive.
Explosives deactivated. Booby traps removed. Lock picked. Let's open this cabinet and get… AAAHH!! There was a rabid monkey locked in there!
Vicious little swine. But I was able to stuff it into my derriere carry-all. I shall try to remember not to sit on it. No really, I'll try.
As I suspected. These files have been compromised. There is nothing here about Arlene. Let's see how omniscient my adversary really is.
It takes awhile to find the trigger, but soon the desk swings aside. The secret file section is hidden beneath the desk. Predictable.
Those two months I disguised myself as a guidance counselor have paid off. Too bad about all those students, but 'shepherd' is a good job.
Here we go. Arlene took part in an experiment with a Professor Tymorkin. All the other students in the experiment went insane. He was fired.
The experiment was an attempt to slow down perceived time. So theoretically, you could study for an hour, and it would seem like six hours.
Arlene's body aged two years in 24 hours. She was extremely disoriented when she awoke. Sounds like she got off lucky. A little too lucky.
Professor Tymorkin's file gives an address. Memorize it and prepare to leave. Suddenly, I hear the door locks being opened. Prof. Chantage!
The door slams open. She rushes in and stops dead. Her office is spotless. I silently close the skylight and steal away. A job well done.
Prof. Tymorkin's apartment has been sealed by the police. Flash my badge at a neighbor and ask questions. He died in a fire. At a cafe. Ah.
As I'm leaving, I see a child watching me. "You're a hero, aren't you?" I'm always amazed by children. Admit I am. "I have a book for you."
Prof. Tymorkin left a diary with this lad and told him to keep it hidden until a "hero" came. An odd way to deliver a gloating manifesto.
I settle in at a cafe with a standing order for double mochas. They go well with megalomania & crullers. Crispy crullers filled with cream.
Three mochas and six crullers in and no megalomania. Goddammit. This man was engaged in serious work. Triple espressos and a muffaletta.
This should have worked. I can find no flaw in Tymorkin's work. As soon as he saw that there was danger to the students, he shut it down.
Six students remain in a catatonic coma. One has since awoken, but mentally acts like he's extremely elderly. Arlene's body aged 2 years.
Spark. Tymorkin says that Arlene is a Spark. He claims that someone messed with the experiment and that it had to be one of the students.
I have been "played", as the kids say. That looks really bad on the old hero resume. Hopefully, I'm just wrong, as improbable as that is.
Tymorkin theorizes that Arlene and the other students experienced a perceived time of over ten thousand years. No wonder they went mad.
Why would anyone want to be isolated within their own head for ten thousand years? What was she planning? Wait. The answer is "everything".
In 10,000 years, she could extrapolate every possible action that could happen and plan for it. If she wasn't mad to begin with, she is now.
So what I have to do to defeat her is think of something that she hasn't foreseen and planned for. Tricky. I believe I need a strong drink.
I have nothing against the occasional celebratory dram of schnapps. But strong drink is a mocker and lets one do stupid things. Yes, even I.
What a wonderful town Paris is. Did you know that you can buy fortified apple brandy by the hogshead? It's good stuff. I love these guys.
"Tytebæret uppå tuva voks utav ei liti von. Skogen med si grøne huva
fostrar mang ein raudleitt son…"
Ein gong seint om hausten lagde
Ow. I–Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Paris is graced with chestnut trees. People come to see them bloom in the spring. I'm quite fond of them and appear to be at the top of one.
It feels like someone has apparently strapped a catamount to my head. I've had worse hangovers… no, wait. There really IS one up there. Ow!
Unstrapping a mad lynx from your head while up a tree is not as easy as it sounds. It finally tumbles free… and a scream erupts from below!
When I finally get out of the tree, it is almost too late. I dispatch the cat, but a young girl has been seriously savaged. I turn her over…
It's Arlene! Medicine was only my tertiary field of study, but I can still tell that she is doomed. I didn't mean for it to end like this.
She is still conscious. "Didn't see that coming. Didn't know what you were doing… it was… wonderful." And she dies. Just like that.
I find a key, but no address or any identification. There is a crackle and an electro-æther shadow appears. The Master of Paris survived.
As a matter of policy, I'm disappointed, but in the all-too-messy part of what, for the sake of poetry, I call my soul, I am not unhappy.
The Master says that the attacks originated from the north of Paris. I show him Arlene's key. He stares at it and gives me an address. Whoa.
It's a small apartment in the Latin Quarter. The Master has the building surrounded and examined. No traps. No extra locks. I open the door.
I step in and almost smack into the rear wall. This isn't a room, it's a closet. The only thing in it is a bed. On the bed is a journal.
It is quite painful to read. She did interfere with the experiment. She experienced over 10,000 years subjective time and remembered it all.
Apparently she spent the time endlessly figuring out the best way to die. Then her mind spun through every possible way to prevent it. Mad.
She had almost given up when I arrived in Paris. Apparently it had never even occurred to her that I could harm her. Poor doomed creature.
The Master confiscates the notebook. Arlene went into too much detail about circumventing his defenses, apparently. Don't blame him.
Oh. It seems that The Master feels that the cursory glances I made at those sections threaten the security of Paris, and thus I must die.
I don't bother trying to argue with him. I just remind him that I know where the Louvre is. He looks annoyed, then shrugs. He'll find it.
I remind him that there was a banner assuring the populace that I would be at the Louvre's re-opening. I can hear his teeth grinding. Score!
If he is to maintain the illusion of control, he cannot admit that he did not authorize my banner. A reputation for omnipotence is a bitch.
I am told that I will be allowed to attend the opening of the Louvre and then I will leave the city forever. I tell The Master to bite me.
The Lightning bats swoop in. I tell the Master that a future without being able to return to Paris is not even worth discussing. He smiles.
Apparently that was the right answer. I didn't even know I was being tested. The Master invites me to be his guest in The Great Tower. Nice.
The Great Tower is pretty swanky. My first order of business is to arrange a memorial service for the Zyn's. Someone has to. Busy work.
Ah yes. I have to assume that one of the extra bodies belongs to the vanished Prof. Tymorkin. However this still leaves a mystery corpse.
The coroner's report says that the body belonged to a woman, but that's all he can determine. None of the building's tenants are missing.
Perhaps it was just an unlucky customer. No one is reported missing in a 10 block area around the fire. Not a regular. Let's widen our net.
Impressive. There ARE no "missing persons" in The Master's Paris. Everyone is accounted for. So who IS this dead woman? Time to get dirty.
The body is too burned to be of use. So I shall examine the burnt out shop. The firefighter who found the body shows me where it was. Odd.
I remember the layout of the building well. The body was located in what should have been a solid wall. She was in a hidden room. No doors.
I have the area roped off. Then I sift through the rubble. Fascinating. A lot of cash. The remains of file cabinets. Still no door. Weapons.
Odd weapons. Spark weapons. A policeman comes over. The Master wishes to speak to me. His image has appeared out on the street. Interesting.
Usually The Master appears wherever he wishes. From this I infer that the receiving equipment is in the walls and can be destroyed by fire.
The Master admits that he is concerned. I'll bet he is. I ask if it was a Serpent. None are missing. The hidden room was a surprise as well.
I'm told to come to the Great Tower. The labs of The Master are incredible. Twisted mockeries of decent science, of course, but pretty cool.
When I arrive, the corpse is wired up to a device I am unfamiliar with. A labmonkey throws a switch and there is a burst of purple light.
A naked young lady now lies on the table. White hair. Slim build. A White Lady! She stirs. White eyes. Sees that she is naked. Sees me. Ow!
Inhumanly fast. Mean as a snake and really pissed off. Luckily, she doesn't have a weapon. I'd better not kill her. Ow! Tempting, though.
But can she defend against Norwegian Sweater Fighting? Ha! She knows not the way of the målet and is helpless against a true Genser Hersker.
The secret? When choosing a cable-knit sweater? Get one that uses real cables. She is down! The lab assistant brings some rope. Good man.
The Master appears. She's secured and jabbering in an unknown tongue. The Master is worried. Geisterdamen hiding in Paris. Don't blame him.
So what's the deal with her? The Master explains that she is dead. His device regressed her atomic structure back in time 48 hours. Okay.
In 48 hours, she will re-ignite and die again. I'm appalled. Is there nothing that can be done? He shrugs. Who cares? She's a Geisterdamen.
We shall see. First I must communicate. She is unresponsive to German, Romanian, English, Latin, French, Greek, Arabic and Norwegian. Drat.
I must establish trust. I shall release her, thereby showing her that I mean her no harm, and thus she can-OW! She has trust issues, I see.
All right, back to basic behavioral science. I will now convince her that if she hits me, she can trust that I will hit her back harder.
This is not as easy as it sounds. I do not attack her. I just stand there, and when she hits me, I hit her back, harder. A teaching fight.
Ah! At last I have evidence of a learning curve. She tries to make a break for it. I block the door. She yells at me. This hurts a lot less.
Now that I have a moment, I call for some clothes. When they arrive, she looks surprised, but quickly dons them. I call for food. She sits.
She goes for my throat with her fork, but I can tell she's losing steam. I nail her hand to the table with the knife. She looks embarrassed.
While we're eating, a servant appears with a small device which he places on my head. It powers up and I can understand what she's saying!
And she can understand me. Very convenient. I ask her name. Oslaka. I ask her the last thing she remembers. She looks blank. Then screams.
That would be the fire then. I find myself holding her tight while she cries uncontrollably. Hope she doesn't slip a knife into my ribs.
I have no problem with sex as therapy, but she'd hate herself afterward. Well… maybe not, I AM known in some circles as the 'Love Clank'.
The Master appears. He hands me a clock. It's counting down. He tells me that it's the girl's remaining life before she combusts. Not much.
Now what? We don't have much time, but she really could use some sleep, if only to internalize the massive psychological trauma. Or a drink.
It only takes half a bottle of a most excellent akevitt, and not only is the lass untraumatized, but proves herself an enthusiastic singer.
A number of disturbing verses regarding "What will we do with a drunken giant spider", but at least she seems cheerful. Let's go to work.
Back to the burned out shop. She seems to recognize where she is. I look around. Still no clues. I turn around… She's vanished! Vexing.
But expected. The footprints in the soot tell me everything. I can see it now-a trap door in the floor. And there's a ladder with the girl!
She squeaks in alarm and drops into the darkness. I slide down the ladder after her. The tunnels are lit with Paris' famous bioluminescence.
I land. She's headed off into one of the tunnels. Heavens! This reminds me of my college days! Oh for those innocent halcyon times! Onward!
Of course there probably isn't an inebriated lad with a particle taser and a rubber mask hiding behind that steam pipe. Yup. Just a monster.
Typical Sewer Boggert. I wrote a term paper proving they were a degenerate offshoot of homo fantasticus pellucidorus. Got an A+, of course.
Interesting that it didn't attack the Geister. Either they are more sophisticated than believed, able to form alliances, or they like babes.
Oslaka hasn't stayed around to watch me dispose of the monster, so I do it in one of the quicker (albeit messier) methods. Very cathartic.
Hear her moving off through the tunnel. This could get tiresome. Luckily I placed a tracking device on her. With a 'stun' feature. Hee hee.
Don't look at me like that, I'm an adventurer. I have to think ahead, not to mention use technology to occasionally cheat. Deal with it.
I do the old step-around-a-corner-and-then-step-back move and 'thunk'-there's a crossbow bolt in the wall. I thought we were getting along.
The flick of a toggle switch and there's a soft 'thump'. She is sprawled out in the midst of what is obviously some sort of bunker room.
Stores of food, obviously scavenged from dumpsters and such. Crude weapons, all handmade. A single sleeping area, and some sort of shrine.
It's all been here for quite awhile. I think we're dealing with a single Geister, cut off from the rest of her tribe, hiding out in Paris.
Lord knows how she got into the city undetected. If it was long enough ago, The Master might not have been aware that Geisters were trouble.
I think I can report back to The Master that this is an isolated incident, and not the tip of a Geisterdammen invasion. He should be happy.
He is. I ask what he plans to do with the girl. He shrugs Gallicly. Who cares? In less then a day, she'll be dead again. That seems wrong.
This poor girl was living a life of fear and concealment for years. Surely she deserves a second chance. The Master says I should shoot her.
The Master is not known for warmth or human empathy. However, I, Othar Tryggvassen, occasionally am. When I'm not crushing evil, that is.
At the very least, I think the girl should be able to enjoy her last few hours on Earth. The Master shrugs and releases her to my care. Oh.
Oslaka wakes up from her nap looking refreshed. She sees me and doesn't recoil. Acceptance. I tell her that I will show her around the city.
She is wary, but interested. I imagine she's curious about the place she's caught glimpses of, but could never really experience. Let's go.
We start by going out at twilight. No one pays us any attention. She seems like a spiritual person (that shrine) I take her to Notre Dame.
It's the smell that affects her first. It's like being in a limestone cave. Do Giesters live in caves? It would explain a lot about them.
She bows her head and seems to pray. Don't go in for it, m'self. Once a Hero believes he has a higher power on his side, he gets sloppy.
She seems calmer. We leave and stroll along the river. I ask her what she'll do if I free her. She asks if there are still other Geisters.
It turns out that she has been trapped in Paris for at least six years. There hasn't been a lot of news about them. Which is quite normal.
Whatever the Geisters are doing, she doesn't have to go back, if she doesn't want to. She considers this. Oh great. Now she's crying again.
I hesitate to give her anymore to drink. I know what she needs, and on a side street, I find it. As I thought, she's never had chocolate.
She eats two pieces and then says that's enough. I am in the presence of a person with an iron will. She does tuck the rest into her pocket.
We've been wandering around for several hours and she's looking a bit glassy eyed. I find us a quiet little bistro and order us some wine.
We relax. Again I ask what she'd like to do. She looks me in the eye and asks what The Master has planned for her. This could be awkward.
I answer honestly that after tomorrow, The Master will lose all interest in her, and as long as she doesn't threaten Paris, can do whatever.
She says that she would like to live somewhere in the sun, where she can watch things grow. Touching. She'll need some serious sunscreen.
We wander over to the Latin Quarter. She seems equally fascinated and scared of the crowds and is constantly amazed that they ignore her.
She seems particularly interested in the dance halls. Othar Tryggvassen is many things, but a good dancer isn't one of them. But so what?
I search and soon find a polka hall. I explain that a polka is not so much dancing, as it is running around sideways to music. She's game.
Back in the old hometown, we were more partial to the cod-slapping dance, but anyone in superb physical condition with no shame can polka.
She picks it up pretty quickly, once I tell her that we're not supposed to careen into other dancers. For the first time, I see her laugh.
Eventually we damage enough of the other dancers that, in self-defense, the band switches to a waltz. An empty space opens around us. Smart.
A simple one-two-three box step. Like the moves you have to make when fighting a giant crab. This is a bit more fun, and with less hitting.
Afterwards, we have a late supper. Tasty. I check my timer. She has about ten hours left. We still have some time to kill. Ooh. Poorly put.
Afterwards we stroll along the Seine. How odd. She is apparently terrified by the sight of the moon. I suspect she needs sleep. Big yawn.
A small hotel with a large bed. I feel more comfortable bringing her here than back to The Master's lair. She falls asleep instantly. Good.
I step outside. As I suspected it would, an æthershadow of The Master appears. We're under surveillance all the while. This will be tricky
The Master remarks that I seem to becoming emotionally involved with the girl. I remark that she should have a good time before she dies.
The Master says he has no problem, because he she will die. She knows too much about the hidden ways of Paris for him to allow her to live.
He wants to make sure that I, Othar Tryggvassen, gentleman adventurer & friend to the downtrodden won't try to prevent it. You mean I could?
Interesting. I had assumed that her re-combustion was a given. But it HAS been nagging at the back of my mind. Why should it? How could it?
It would take a thermodynamic miracle. The Master is known to produce miracles on a regular basis, but I never had any religious awe of him.
I admit that I have been trying to thwart her preprogrammed death, but so far all my schemes have been impractical. Am I over thinking this?
I check her clock. 8 Hours and change. I'll give her a few hours, but not too many. Everyone should face their destiny awake and refreshed.
She's a quiet sleeper. I bolt the door and stretch out on the couch. A few minutes of rest will do me good, and I think better this way. I-
I wake up. Embarrassing. Oh. Oslaka is stretched out on top of me. She is deep asleep, and seems happy. I'm not complaining. Back to sleep.
Now what? Oh. Well, I can't be accused of taking advantage of her, now can I? She sees I'm awake & pauses. Let her know I'm good with this.
Exuberant little minx. Eventually she collapses, and is instantly asleep. In the light of dawn her face is… Dawn? Check her clock. 3 hours.
I must find a way to prevent her re-combusting. But how can it happen in the first place? The 2nd law of thermodynamics cannot be flouted.
Oslaka stirs, hugs me and rolls off. Hums and dances about as she gets dressed. Definitely a "morning person". Feeling pretty good myself.
Croissants and dangerously strong coffee for me. Oslaka tries it &spits it out. Don't blame her, really. She takes a quart of orange juice.
After breakfast, I ask her what she'd like to do. She tells me. Tempting, but it would be difficult to think clearly about impending death.
While eating, I've kept an eye out. I've spotted at least 7 agents of The Master. He seems awfully nervous for something so preordained.
Let's assume that I could prevent Oslaka from recombusting. The Master would make sure she died anyway. I have to get us out of Paris. How?
The sewers are no good. Oslaka probably knows them better than most, and she couldn't get out. Of course I left my pocket zeppelin at home.
We can't just walk out, and I'll bet the garbage and mortuary wagons are routinely inspected. This calls for desperate, unsavory measures.
Chez Leon, one of the best restaurants in the city. The Master dines here frequently. Oslaka is puzzled. Didn't we just eat? Indeed we did.
The waiter and I spend twenty minutes discussing our meal choices. I demand only the freshest and most exacting dishes. He almost smiles.
The meal is brought. It's a masterpiece of presentation. The chef himself appears and compliments me on the suggestions I made. He weeps.
He waits for me to eat. I hesitate, and then ask for a bottle of ketchup. We are tossed out the city gates less that 3 minutes later.
We must get as far from Paris as possible. A drover pulls up and offers us a ride. Extraordinary luck. I check the clock: 90 minutes to go.
A lovely day. Oslaka is ecstatic. After 6 years in a sewer, I'd be happy too. Our driver seems intent on making good time. I can't complain.
Now that we are out of Paris, I can concentrate on keeping Oslaka alive. If she's going to burn, the energy must come from somewhere. Where?
I check Oslaka's clock. 30 minutes. I put my hand on her head. She's not getting warmer. What? No! Not now. Hmm. Can you combust from that?
Our drover is certainly keen on getting back home. We're rushing through the outlying 'burbs at a fast clip. No pursuit from Paris yet. Odd.
No aircraft. Traveling so fast, no sniper could hit us. Check the clock. 20 minutes. The drover nervously checks his watch. He has a watch?
What does a peasant need a watch for? I grab his wrist. Not, in fact, a watch, but a countdown device exactly like Oslaka's. To the second.
Wait- Exactly like Oslaka's- except that HIS says there's only 3 minutes left! He dives off the cart. I wasn't going to steal it. I got one.
Oh. Sometimes I have to question my supposed "genius", as I can be so very stupid sometimes. Where is the "extra energy" to come from? Duh.
I rip off the Master's watch and toss it away, then whip up the horses. It explodes- 30 seconds earlier than I'd thought it would. Flying-
My head hurts. That's good, considering. Oslaka is kneeling over me. Also good. I try to sit up. Whoa, that's not good. Must rest a bit.
Must get up. The Master will check to make sure scheme worked. Nice. Get me to take Oslaka away from his precious city. Where's the drover?
Ah. Apparently the Drover was to make sure we were dead. Oslaka has killed him very efficiently. We really do have to get out of here now.
The drover's cart has a snapped axle. The horses, while a bit skittish, eventually allow themselves to be caught. Up now! Muchacha, we ride!
The Master is a sore loser. Or so it's been surmised, as he's never really lost before. We ride faster. I'll feel safer in 100 kilometers.
We are coming up on The Master's famous ever-changing sign. The message on it is for me: 'Othar, Paris is forever closed to you.' That hurts.
We travel another few hours, and then find an inn. I have to sneak Oslaka in, as common folk fear Geisterdamen. Feel like I'm in college.
Have dinner sent up. An excellent coq au vin with preserved beans and a fine bottle of hock. Oslaka crawls into bed and is asleep instantly.
What is she going to do? Everyone will shun her. Where can she go? For various reasons, a nunnery is right out. A lot of obvious reasons.
I suppose I shall just have to make her a spunky girl sidekick. She'll need a make over, of course, but I think she'd be a valuable partner.
Suppose I'll just have to play it by ear. Not far enough from Paris for me to feel comfortable. Oslaka cuddles up to me in her sleep. Nice.
Rain for the last 4 days. A blessing really, there have been few outside to comment on Oslaka's appearance. Arrive at the port of Le Havre.
I have thought about this a lot. I will take her home to Norway. There are no Geisters there, and I can tell people she's a Northern witch.
The Northern Witches are feared, but they're respected and inviolate. The fact that I'll bet she can dice anyone who menaces her will help.
First, find a ship. Luckily, I come from seafaring folk, so I know what to look for. Our luck holds! The 'Døømed ålbatrøss' is in port!
We sign on. I as a deckhand, Oslaka as a cook. I assume she can cook. Who doesn't know how to cook? Luckily, it's a short trip to Bergen.
We stow cargo. Fuel oil, tractors and dried fruit. The other crewmen seem like rough, but decent lads. The Captain has a good reputation.
Oslaka has made a stew. Tasty. The crew come back for seconds as they argue about the type of meat. It is familiar...I ask her. It's rat.
I'll admit I'm surprised. I was unaware that there were any uninhabited islands in the North Sea. Being marooned here was no fun either.
The crew left us with supplies, so I've been pulling in enough fish that we don't have to eat any of Oslaka's rat stew. We have all of that.
We have piled up rock walls and stretched canvas over it to make an excellent shelter. There is lots of driftwood for a signal fire.
The island is less than 2 kilometers in circumference. A few stunted trees. Doubt I'll be able to built a raft from them. Lots of birds.
There is, however, an astonishing array of flotsam & jetsam on the beaches. Surely I can make something useful. I am a genius, you know.
A seafood dinner, then by the fire, I teach Oslaka some Norwegian fishing songs. She teaches me some Geisterdamen hymns. Eerily beautiful.
Oslaka is very apologetic about getting us thrown off of ship. I tell her I don't care, as long as we're together. Where did THAT come from?
I will deal with these feelings later. Now I must concentrate on getting us off this island. A lot of coconuts washed up this morning. Pie!
Potentially there are enough coconuts to float a crude raft. My only fear is wild sea monkeys, but you rarely get them this far north.
I've used driftwood & detritus to construct crude sonar torpedoes & wire guided harpoons. Now to build a raft! My priorities may need work.
Oslaka has learned how to bake a souffle out of seagull eggs. Takes me back. In my home fishing village we never had any other kind of egg.
I have constructed a crude furnace, to heat and blow glass. I make Oslaka a small glass heart. Just to demonstrate the process, of course.
As I am finishing up plans for a glass and driftwood cottage, I realize I don't want to leave this island. I am happy here with Oslaka.
I ask Oslaka what she would like. She shows me. I tell her I mean after that. She thinks, and says to ask her after she gets tired of this.
I have constructed a serviceable evaporator engine that runs on seagull dung. We should have fresh water for the next 7,200 years, I figure.
I find myself wondering if I should abandon my quest. Settle here with Oslaka on our island. Let the rest of the world take care of itself.
Ah. Here this thing is. Does it still work? Test. Test. Yes! Amazing bit of technology. It's been sitting here for what-34 years? No-36. Wow
Oslaka died 2 months ago in her sleep. We had 36 happy years together, more than most people get. I miss her terribly. It's time to leave.
I look over our island fortress home, and it feels so pointless. We never had any children, of course, so there is nothing to keep me here.
I'll miss the coconut groves. I doubt they'll survive. I climb aboard the guano powered steam launch and sail away. I do not look back.
France is closest. I yearn for something other than coconuts, seafood or seagull eggs. I would kill for a cup of hot coffee and a croissant.
Seas are calm. Of course even ordinary storms seem calm these days, after the Year of Storms 22 years ago. Almost drowned the island.
Approaching Le Harve. I think. The shore looks… odd. It's a lot greener. It appears there has been a massive tree planting campaign. Nice.
Slow going. The harbor is full of wreckage. Something's wrong. There're no ships afloat. There is no smoke. No noise. Le Harve is abandoned.
The city is abandoned, and has been for decades, if I'm any judge. I'd expect to find this in the Wastelands, but this is a major seaport.
On the way to Paris, I crest a hill. There was a battle in the valley below. Thousands of slaver carapaces along with rusting machines.
I reach the outskirts of Paris. The walls are breached. The Great Tower of The Master is fallen. The city was defended by Wulfenbach troops.
Paris. The greatest bastion of western civilization. Dead. What happened? My last hope of enlightenment lies ahead: The Autonomous Library.
The Autonomous Library recorded the important things that happened in Paris every day. Even if no one knew they were important at the time.
It seems the fighting swept past the library quickly. It's relatively undamaged. The lobby's a mess, but the important stuff is underground.
When I finally unseal the door, I find a few dried skeletons. The structural integrity of the room has held, and I hear the scribing engine.
When Voltaire installed the scribing engine, he built & supplied it for 1000 years. Let's see if the collation and storage systems lasted.
According to the records, I am the first person to enter Paris in 27 years. The log is a record of landmarks collapsing and bird population.
Going back, the records are unclear, and only records things that happened in Paris, I can only infer the larger story. It's not a good one.
The final attack was defended against by Wulfenbach troops. But neither The Baron nor Gilgamesh led it. The soldiers had nowhere else to go.
A disturbing possibility. I may be the last person alive. Very likely the last Spark. Oh my. I must examine this possibility very closely.
If I am the Last Spark, I am honor bound to kill myself. Kind of cheating if The Other did all the hard work, but still. Who else is alive?
The wasps came out of the East. I shall aim for Sturmhalten. There's enough material, I should be able to construct an airship. And guns.
Harder building an airship than I thought. I'm old. Even regimen of exercise, meditation and chemistry will only retard aging for so long.
The ship is done & aloft. Hunting for provisions was too easy. None of the animals acted like they knew how dangerous a human was. Not good.
Farewell, Paris. I will always remember you as The City Of Light. The surrounding land is covered in dead wasps and war machines. Onward.
Europa appears to be deserted. The roads are overgrown, as are the towns that haven't burned. Trees are growing everywhere. No livestock.
This is new. A sort of crystalline structure. Apparently a hive or den for wasps. Nothing living here now. Aloft again, I see more of them.
Hives're getting larger. More complex. Still deserted. Wait, I was unsure about a lot of the country, but I recognize this city. Heidelberg.
This was a fun town. People were friendly. The beer, excellent. No one is drinking beer now. How could this have happened? Was it my fault?
Finally! I find some readable newspapers. 'The Student Prints'. A weekly. The archive goes back quite a ways. Ah, here's when I retired...
Battle in Sturmhalten… Returning Heterodynes, that'll be Agatha… Castle Heterodyne restored… Wild party at Alpha Omega Epsilon sorority…
Let's skip ahead a few months… Re-emergence of the Other. There is an alliance marriage between Heterodyne & Wulfenbach-not Gil? The Baron?
Gilgamesh Wulfenbach died inside Castle Heterodyne. Well… well, good. He was a dirty fighter, what with all that "winning" all the time.
The two were married with unseemly haste, in my opinion. Things got quiet after that. I have to skip ahead a few years here… Too quiet.
Story after story about leaders pledging fealty to the Pax Transylvania. Ah, the Duchess of Omsk catches an ambassador with slaver wasps.
There's a lot of disturbing information in this article. An unknown class of undetectable revanent? A method of discovering same? Messy.
Things break down horrifyingly quickly. Slavers and revenants are discovered through-out Europa. They even infiltrated the Baron's forces.
Seems the Geisterdamen had a secret city in the wastelands. From it they launched attacks all over the Empire. Oslaka never mentioned this.
Revolt within the Baron's own troops. Paris under siege… That's the last paper. Very depressing. I must push on. First, to the Hidden City.
The city is supposed to be in the northern Carpathian Mountains. Rough country. Stock up on food, weapons, warm clothing & crossword books.
Encounter thunderstorms. Fly above them. The sky still looks so normal. Rather reassuring that there're some things even Sparks can't spoil.
The only directions I have are the rather crude map that appeared in the paper. It's hard to find. That's the thing about 'hidden cities'.
Night falls. I am beginning to despair, when I see a faint glow on the horizon. This's the first artificial illumination I've seen. Onward!
There was a city here. Now it's just a blast crater with ruins. The whole area's got this interesting green glow. Makes it easy to explore.
Weird architecture. No known school. No people. No real clues. This glow is very disconcerting. I feel fatigued. Not surprising at my age.
Maybe I should sit down for a minute-what's this? There's someone here! It's a person, totally encased in some ridiculous looking outfit.
Whoever it is seems very agitated, despite the bulkiness of their outfit. They want me to go with them. They're dragging me after them. Odd.
They drag me to what I have to describe as a bunker. Seals us in and-AAGH! It's a giant shower! A chemical shower no less! Is this guy nuts?
I'm forcibly stripped out of my clothes. My host waves a device over me and gets a snarl of static. What is going-AK! Chemical shower again!
Again with the device, again with the static. Whatever this means, it's obviously not good news to my host. His shoulders slump. Poor chap.
My host removes his garment. I don't recognize him, it doesn't help that his face is hideously scarred. I saw this a lot in my line of work.
When I introduce myself, he's gratifyingly impressed. He is one Tarvek Sturmvarous. Old family from Sturmhalten, I think. Never been there.
We dine, but not very well. My host explains that this was the Geister's last redoubt. He is a student of the Other's technology. Useful.
I ask him about the business with the chemical shower. Poison dust. Sounds nasty. He wants to know where I've been. I explain. I miss Oslaka.
I tell him what I've seen in Europa. He weeps. Can't say I blame him. He confesses that he doesn't know if there are people left anywhere.
He asks me if I would be willing to try to set things right. Ah. This would be another crazy person who's been thinking about time travel.
I patiently explain that time travel can't work. The energy requirements needed to move physical masses are insurmountable. I worked it out.
Tarvek shrugs and says that this won't be a problem. The dust around us is apparently a high energy source and now, I am too. Interesting!
He takes me to a control room and powers up some odd looking devices-Good lord! It's a hole in the air! There's people and-this is the past!
He says that this isn't just a viewer, it's an actual portal into the past. I ask why we couldn't just step through. Ah. It's "complicated".
Apparently the past has a different "energy state". Tarvek questions me a bit and spins some dials-why, that's me! Standing outside Paris!
Tarvek says that he will send my consciousness back in time and it will "take over" my younger body. Okay, I've heard enough. Smack time.
AAAAAGH! My head! My head is killing me! I sit up. A young girl, who was churning butter, jumps up and runs out. Uh-oh. I feel myself passi-
There is an old man looking at me. He asks me how I'm doing? Good question. My head doesn't hurt. Good. The rest of me...Man, I feel GREAT!
I sit up. My hands… my body! Damn! I look good. Amazing! That Tarvek fellow has done it! I'm back in the year-Oh! Oslaka is still alive.
This is wonderful! I can see her again! Of course she won't know me. She's still living in the sewers of Paris. I… I could do it all again.
But… then the Other will devastate the world. It might do so anyway, but I KNOW what will happen if I go to Oslaka. But I was so happy.
Perhaps this isn't an "either/or" situation. I can leave Oslaka in the sewers of Paris, thrash the Other, and be back for her by Christmas.
Now I have to try and remember what that Tarvek fellow said. I think I have to head to the East. He said something about Mechanicsburg.
Been too long since I saw so many people. My host says that I collapsed on the road, they robbed me, and put me to bed. Charmingly honest.
I have been having a great deal of trouble with this recording device. I have banged it on a variety of different rocks to little effect.
My hands are released. Tingly. Grantz, the Baron's monster hunter, keeps a gun on me at all times. Very professional. I'm given a recorder.
I don't remember much about Grantz capturing me. It was fast, confusing and rather unsporting. Probably a perfect job in her eyes. Now what?
I have been charged with going into Castle Heterodyne and retrieving the Baron's son, Gilgamesh. Alive. Unharmed. Sane. Two out of three?
Like all prisoners in the castle, I'm outfitted with an exploding collar. Ha! The fools, my head is the least dangerous part of my body.
I am delivered to the gate by a guard unit. Once there I'm unshackled. Tempted to take a few of them down, but they're just pawns. Like me.
Castle Heterodyne is big. Piranesi big. I like it. It's a place where you can install a gigantic killer clank and it won't seem 'cramped'.
Finding young Wulfenbach will be a challenge. Perhaps I can enlist some of the prisoners. This will be a chance for them to Do Some Good.
Interesting. Have encountered my first trap. A rather crude deadfall with electrified spikes. This actually surprises people? Oh, please.
Ho! Another trap, positioned so that the only way to enter it is by escaping from the last one. Those old Heterodynes were twisted devils.
That was tricky. How odd. I feel like… something has… noticed me. But I don't see anyone. Even a Gentleman Adventurer can get the willies.
Got to the end of the corridor! A sad accomplishment when you realize it's only 7 meters long. But it's not like I'm being paid by the hour.
I turn around and the corridor I came in through is gone. There's nothing there but an unbroken wall. This is going to be one of Those days.
I turn back and there is nothing but blank walls. I am in an oubliette. It's about two meters square. Like this has never happened before.
As I thought. Every oubliette has the same easily exploited flaw… Okay, I have really caught something's attention now. Is it the Castle?
Finally. I see a human. I think. It appears to have horns or something, but it acts like a human. His name is Jack and he's a prisoner here.
Oh right. 'Jack A'Horned'. I heard about him. Lunatic who went around eating farmers in Southern Hungary. He says he's really sorry. Uh-huh.
Jack says that currently there's great agitation in the castle because of The Heterodyne Girl. This must be the fake the Baron mentioned.
Jack believes that she will tame the castle and all the prisoners will be released and the populace will bathe in barbeque sauce. Sorry, eh?
I ask if anyone else has entered the castle? Jack doesn't know, but suggests that we go to one of the main areas where we could ask others.
Jack been here for about two months. He says that if you live past the first three days, there's a good chance you'll last three more days.
He says the castle's crazy. It tells the prisoners to repair something and then tries to kill them when they try to do it. I prefer to rent.
Door slams behind us. Behind me. Jack is gone. And the walls and floor are getting hot. Really hot. Really fast. At least it's a dry heat.
Jack seems surprised when I show up behind him. He tries to hide the BBQ sauce and the bib. I think it's time Jack and I had "The Talk".
After a few rounds, Jack swears that he'll be a good boy, and that he's very sorry. I'm feeling irritable today & choose not to believe him.
Aah. Now that is what has been missing from my life. Some cathartic violence against clear-cut evil doers. And I'm in a castle full of them.
I find a cart I can wheel Jack around on and we proceed to this common area he mentioned. The castle looks quite shabby. A pity, really.
An entire hallway filled with swinging blades. I think this excessive. The pattern is obvious, and we'd have been fine except for this pit.
As a connoisseur of deathtraps I must say that I am disappointed at both the paucity of ideas and the effectiveness of the selection here.
Ran into my sister at work today. Awkward. Had to wait until she fell asleep before I felt up to reactivating this log. I face a choice now.
I can get her out of Castle Heterodyne first or I can find young Wulfenbach and remove him first. The problem is this darn exploding collar.
This device is some of Wulfenbach's best work. I've examined some of these devices as well as I'm able- there is no way to open it up. None.
So how does he deactivate the device when a prisoner finishes their sentence? Any invasive technique would set it off, killing the wearer.
Perhaps the device (along with the wearer) is passed through a field of some sort (magnetic, electrical). This seems a bit too random to me.
One thing you're sure to experience here is randomly generated fields. Surely a percentage of prisoners would thus be prematurely released.
I could solve this problem, or I could rescue Gilgamesh. Hm. Nowhere was it said that I had to deliver him uninjured. My decision is made.
This is not an easy decision to make. I worry about Sanaa. If she dies… Having to revivify family members is always totally embarrassing.
I remember one time I was called in to revive my Uncle Vladikix. He was the only one who knew the old family recipe for Lingonberry Snap.
He was collecting oysters and miscalculated the rate the tide was coming in. We were quite surprised, since he was at the store at the time.
They brought him to me and asked if I could revivify him. This is always tricky stuff, but I did need an experiment for the science fair.
One's first revivification is a special one for a young spark. It's good to get that trespassing in God's domain stuff out of the way early.
I don't worry about that much. As a Deist, I assume that if there is a Supreme Being, it's The Ultimate Spark, and thus, Meddling is good.
So- I get the old fellow up on the slab and start my preparations and discover that my dear old uncle was really my dear old aunt. Surprise!
The family was convinced that I'd played some demented practical joke. Honestly, ONE net full of exploding cod and you're marked for life.
I figured that the only way to clear my good name was to revive the old fraud and let her explain everything. What could possibly go wrong?
Yes, yes, easy enough to point fingers NOW. It was my first revivification. Anyone could have crossed a few wires. It could have been worse.
Things start right. The lightning flows, the meters hum, and the dead body stirs. My grandmother could do this. Oh, hubris, my old nemesis!
So. Now I have to deal with Uncle (Aunt) Vladikix, unstoppable undead killing machine. Apparently there was a lot of unresolved anger there.
On the other hand, guess I did a pretty good job on him/her. Luckily, I'd been fooling around with some electrified harpoons. Just because.
Hey- It your village was periodically attacked by giant poisonous flying ice wurms, I bet you'd mess around with electrified harpoons too.
So I finally manage to take him/her down (along with a church steeple that, let's be honest, no one ever liked), and are the survivors happy?
Of course not! That was when I learned that the public does not always appreciate my efforts, that and it's good to be able to untie knots.
Ah- this was one of the many turning points in my young life. I could very easily have turned bitter and decided that I Would Show Them All!
Granted, I was not mad, exactly, more peeved, and I suppose I did show them a tiny bit, but there was no call for all those bad feelings.
For the next year or so all the herring they pulled up said "You were mean to poor Othar". It was an unstable mutation, what's the big deal?
Okay, yes, so a lot of people almost starved to death due to "ethical conflicts". How was I to know that herring have such big sad eyes?
So there I was, a young sparky lad of 16, and I'd already inflicted a severe moral crises upon my entire village. For this, I was banished.
It was time to head out. To explore vast, new distances, to dare the unimaginable. Then I find I'm also banned from the village next door.
I quickly discover that the word about my proclivities is spreading throughout the land at a rather alarming rate. I must travel incognito.
This was a dark period. I was forced into a series of miserable jobs in order to get enough to eat, and I found that I had to keep moving.
A new year! A new adventure! A new recording device that will surely not turn on me and humanity as a whole. This time I have a warranty.
It seems my last posting enginette was spontaneously editing my words even as I transcribed them. Editing them in a rather draconian fashion.
It seems a very harsh editor indeed, since it has been erasing everything I've been recording for the last three years. What's up with that?
I have thus lost all records of four complete episodes, complete with assignations. This is awkward, as I do try to send out Christmas cards.
I find myself in the southern wastelands. The weather is warm, the natives are proud of the local wine, and the monsters are plump and lazy.
Someone is feeding these monsters. The big question is whom are they feeding them? This could simply be an ecologically savvy penal system.
I arrive in the charming little hamlet of Sbonkj. Good waffles. I ask the sheriff who feeds the monsters. He tries to arrest me. Progress!
We have an engaging little brawl that occupies the next hour or so. This yokel is no mere tavern fighter. He's been trained by experts. Fun!
His over reliance upon the deadly 'got your nose' attack clearly reveals that he trained under Otto Antza–the Basque. Master of Fisticuffs.
Antza, however, was always a sucker for the old Moravian False Nose gambit. A weakness he dutifully passed on to his students. An easy win!
As planned, our brawl has forged a bond of bonhomie. Earn his respect by winning, but build him up by making it look tough. And don't gloat.
The Sheriff's name is Eelman. The local monsters have been a thorn in his side. The people are demanding action. He asks for my help. Sure!
When pressed for specifics, the sheriff admits that no one knows of anyone who's been eaten, but… monsters. They've got to be eating someone.
Obviously a field investigation is in order! I pick a road and head out. All too soon a monster waddles past. When it sees me, it attacks!
A typical reptilian/ursine chimera. They were a bit of a fad amongst Sparks in eastern Europa. Then proved annoyingly fertile and adaptable.
Interesting. My pre-mortum dissection of the beast shows that its last meal wasn't a person, or even an animal. Just eggs and grains. Messy.
But this is absurd. Using these monsters to dispose of people I can understand (I didn't say condone), but someone is feeding them like pets.
So who around here has access to excessive amounts of grain and eggs? None of the farms around here are that large. I will talk to the co-op.
I ask around. The local farmer's cooperative is well regarded. The local crops suffered a bit of Moon Blight, but prices remained stable.
Fascinating thing, Moon Blight. Figure out why crops slowly vanish and then reappear every 30 days, it would revolutionize calendar science!
Trying to meet with the head of the co-op has three fellows with cudgels being set upon me. This town desperately needs lifestyle coaching.
These thuggish fellows have no style whatsoever. Thrashing them is a chore from which I derive no pleasure. Well… maybe a little pleasure.
Their antagonism puzzles me. True, I am no farmer, but as a person who eats, I am a valued customer. Perhaps they are guarding trade secrets.
As I enter, I smell the nostalgic odor of rotting fish. Ah, memories of my youth in Grimmstaad. Odd, but this co-op deals in grain and eggs.
I find one of the main storage bins. The odor is awful. As suspected, the entire bin is full of rotten grain. Moon blighted without a doubt.
Ah- I'm being shot at now. This seemed like such a friendly town. Luckily they're using scattershot. High powered slugs would be a problem.
The last door falls… Good lord! It's a stable for monsters! Hundreds of the nasty fellows, and they're all looking at me. Could be tricky.
They're shrieking… Oh. They want me to feed them. Astounding. It's a farm for monsters. They eat spoiled grain and rotten eggs… and thrive.
Now everything makes sense. …Except for the niggling questions as to who is farming monsters, why they're doing so while trying to hide it.
Okay, get this. If you feed monsters spoiled eggs and grain, and then freeze them and saw them up sideways, they make great waffles. Really?
Is this the sort of thing a Gentleman Adventurer should be wasting his time on? Yes, the waffles are delicious, but I don't want to eat them.
For years now I have traversed Europa trying to make the world a better, spark-free place. Is this what I'm reduced to? Monster waffles? No!
I have done my part. I keep killing Sparks, but there always seem to be more. Perhaps being a Gentleman Adventurer is a younger man's game.
I have decided. I shall settle down somewhere. Let someone else solve the world's problems. I'll still kill Sparks though, there are limits.
I grew up in a fishing village, so I know I don't want to do that. Farming seems a bit too bucolic… No, no, my destiny lies in the big city.
So what is the nearest metropolis? Actually, what country am I in? Being a foot-loose and free gentleman adventurer is occasionally confusing.
Under the Empire, people are a lot less nationalistic. They care more about you impugning the local beer than about where their borders are.
I'll go to the nearest city and see what's available. Spent a decade hauling in fishing nets, I assure you, anything will be an improvement.
The town is East Walachia. As lately I seem to be overly aware of the passing of time, I shall see if any clockmakers could use an apprentice.
As I intend to restart my life with a clean slate, I shall need a new identity. I shall be Otto Took, itinerant mechanic from Lilliehammer.
East Walachia is fairly lax. I had spent an entire day counterfeiting a set of guild papers for the clock makers guild, and I didn't need it.
I wish I'd thought of this before. I am free! Apparently I have been locked up in a Corbettite crypt. A foolish mistake! These are supposed to be where they keep dangerous abominations. I shall have a word with the Management.
According to the Abbot's records, this Corbettite monastery was mothballed because they could no longer guarantee the security of the local rail lines. That sounds ominous. Apparently I am in Provins, just outside Paris. What has young Wulfenbach been doing? To Paris!
I left Paris after an amusing misunderstanding... or... did I? Oh dear, this might be something else altered by my little jaunt through time. How much of what I remember happening is still valid? I have memories, but they are decades old. People I thought dead might still be...
It is obvious that I am already in a different timeline. Therefore there is no reason why I cannot find the Geisterdamen Oslaka who I know is currently hiding in Paris' sewers. After that, we shall see what happens. Is everyone's life this complicated? Or is it just me? To Paris!
Paris is closed! This is unheard of! I mean, the Master has occasionally attempted to keep me out, but I know he wasn't serious. But this appears to affect everybody. No one is allowed to get within a kilometer of the city. Damn it, I would kill for a fresh croissant. Again!
There is an encampment just outside the Parisian no entry zone. I discover an itinerant band of pâtissiers and baristas, still in their colorful native costumes, keeping the traditions of their lost land alive. When they discover who I am, they overcharge me outrageously.
Over a warm goat-butter croissant and a mug of the house cappuccino, I learn that The Master of Paris is dead. I can hardly credit it. We had our differences, and he was a Spark, but he was a noble soul, and the world is smaller with his departure. His daughter closed Paris.
Ah, sneaking into Paris. Just like old times. I have been banned several times. I vaguely remember young Collette from my time at University. I wish her well, but her father couldn't keep me out of Paris, and I doubt she has had time to learn all of the intricacies of her office.
That was quick. One of the better designed cells I've found myself in. Young Collette seems to know all the tricks. Most people like to keep the plastic film on the bars. A pity, as those are useful for escapes. Tsk. Probably learned about that one from the last time I was here.
An audience with Colette Voltaire. She is certainly her father's daughter. She is able to be absolutely terrifying whilst being as polite as a doorman expecting a tip. But I have been in this position before. She should have tried to kill me or throw me out. But she has not. Yet.
It is obvious to me that ruling is a bit more stressful than the new Master would like to admit. Understandable, as these are stressful times. But I find it sad that the one person who cannot enjoy the soul renewing joy that Paris brings to Europa is the person in charge of it.
Collette thrived in old Paris. Raised in the heart of an enlightened, cosmopolitan metropolis, she's frustrated by being cut off from fresh visitors with news and ideas from the outside. She pumps me for news, but is disappointed. I offer my condolences on the death of her father.
She asks why I am here. This is tricky. Simply telling her where to find a hidden Geisterdamen does not necessarily mean that Oslaka will survive the encounter. I must approach her myself, but for picayune reasons, I doubt Collette will allow me to wander about Paris unescorted.
I tell her that there is an innocent who has been caught up in the machinations of The Other. This is true. In all our years together, Oslaka swore she had never known why The Other did anything. I suspect many of the Geisterdamen are in the same boat. Collette seems skeptical.
Collette claims that there are no Geisterdamen living within Paris. I point out that her father would no doubt have made the same claim. She considers this and declares that as long as I take any Geisters I find out of Paris, she will allow me to search. But I will be supervised.
The Master of Paris lived for over 200 years. As a result, Collette has about 100 living half-siblings, many of whom no doubt hoped to assume the late Master's mantle. My supervisor as I travel the dark and dangerous undercity, is one of these. No doubt he is Collette's favorite.
My minder's name is Claude. He is convinced that Collette managed to snatch the Master's power through some sort of fluke or trickery, and the super-science secrets of Paris are rightfully his, even though he's a but a liberal arts major with a minor in interpretive macramé. Hmm.
Claude is refreshingly open about the things and people that annoy him, with copious anecdotes. If I wished to write a scandalous, yet surprisingly tedious tell-all book about Paris, all I'd have to do is boil Claude down for the ink and it would, no doubt, write itself. Tempting.
Claude has never seen Paris' underside. I take pleasure in introducing him to its sewers, rendering plants, abattoirs, chemical dumps, and recycling yards. He is still talking, and the overall theme remains self-pity, but at least he has something substantive to bitch about.
Claude is not dead, fled, or rendered, so I should buckle down. As we approach where I found Oslaka originally, I again see the subtle signs that someone is living in the area. I must admit that I am uncharacteristically nervous. She will not know me, and will try to kill me.
Claude would make a fine distraction and/or shield, but he is not a Spark, and Collette might, improbably, be annoyed if he dies under my care. Perhaps I shall simply knock him out and stow him safely out of the way. While I am pondering this, he darts ahead and I hear him shout-
I find Claude being battered by a Geisterdamen. Something is wrong. White Ladies are fierce fighters. A mook like Claude should have been dead or unconscious before I entered the room. True, his fighting style is unorthodox- not fighting so much as panicked thrashing, but still…
I shout "Vik'edocken sook clamshakk!" This roughly translates as "Your bootlace is untied." The Geister spins in surprise. Claude actually gets in a cheap shot and she folds up. He is as surprised as I am, but grabs a pair of bricks, intending to finish her off while she's down.
I tell Claude to put down the bricks. He ignores me. Now, I take no pleasure from punching him the face. That would be beneath me. However it slamming him back into a pillar in such a way that it knocks him unconscious, appeals to me aesthetically. I appreciate good choreography.
I finally can examine… this… this is not Oslaka. I know it's difficult for people to tell Geisterdamen apart, but I lived with Oslaka for 36 years. This is not her. Her inept fighting is also explained, this poor girl is running a terrible fever. I'm amazed she stayed on her feet.
I find and collect her few personal belongings- the Geisterdamen don't have a lot of them, but treasure what they have. Her sword and knife, her journal, and her S'patzink'a- handmade jewelry and small objects that the Geisters make for each other. There is surprisingly little.
I gently kick Claude awake. He demands to know where "the treasure" is. Apparently he was convinced that I was seeking one. There is much I could say, but mawkish sentimentality disguised as wit only makes me tired. I see an old stone cannonball. Tell him it's made of solid gold.
Claude almost ruptures something, but the ball keeps him busy on our return trip. I manage to get some fever reducer and water into the girl. She keeps fading between sleep and a restless torpor. I hum a little tune Oslaka taught me. It calms her down. I never learned the words.
I must be careful about this. If I bring this girl to a hospital, she may be imprisoned, or even killed. However she is certainly in no shape to travel, and I am sure that Collette will not allow me to just carry her off. Every hand in Paris will against me. It hardly seems fair.
This is a predicament. However, moaning about the ill-ordered state of the world merely lets your enemies know that you can actually conceive of the idea of being thwarted. I will grudgingly admit, in this private journal, that I can conceive of it. I just will not permit it.
One must work with the tools one has, and if Claude is nothing else, he is a tool. After considerable negotiation, I grudgingly allow him to claim sole possession of the solid gold cannonball if he shows us a safe way out of Paris. It can be done, but we will have to trust him.
As I have demonstrated before, I do have some small ability regarding disguise. I described to Claude how we shall be dressed. He helped me acquire a wheelchair, and has gone on to clear the way. The Eastern Gate checkpoint lies before us. Perhaps I have done the man an injustice
Aha. Alarms. Looking through my pocket monocular, I see that a significant proportion of the forces of Paris are converging upon the Southern Gate… which is where I told dear Claude we'd be exiting from. Slip through our Gate without any problems. Enjoy your cannonball, you swine.
We need to travel. Airship or train? An airship would be faster, but the girl needs medical attention. The Corbettite Monks excel at this. Paris may be closed, but the train terminal outside town is still open. We shall take the first available train. Adventure is everywhere!
A few dicey minutes when I identify myself and my charge to the monks. This is understandable. No one likes Geisterdamen, though I have never heard of them attacking trains. But she is with me, and I am Othar Tryggvassen - Gentleman Adventurer. I am expected to keep an eye on her.
Our train is heading North-East. In fact, it is the fabled 'Empress of Thermodynamics' which makes the run from Antwerp to the banks of the Danube River. I shall endevor to keep a low profile. There are a number of tawdry romance novels (ostensibly about me) set on this train.
According to the Physician, the girl is suffering from exhaustion, malnutrition, dehydration, stress, and possibly the influence of Satanic forces, though this last is more likely food poisoning. I'll concede they're hard to tell apart. The first step is to reduce her fever.
The physician shoos me out of the infirmary. I question his wisdom, as when the patient comes to, she will be an insane, xenophobic fighting machine. I am astonished when he tells me, in poor, but understandable Geistersprache, "She's not my first patient." There is a story here.
The conductor monks have given me a complimentary private compartment. Partly out of gratitude for various favors I've done for them, and partly because when I mingle with the general population, there tends to be an increase in troublesome incidents. This is not my fault. Honest.
Travelers on the Empress seems a bit sparse. The conductor tells me that since Paris has been closed, the number of travelers is way down. A pity, as I like talking to people in neutral settings. On the other hand, things are slow in the dining car, and I can have two desserts.
Après dinner, I scrutinize my fellow travelers. Some merchants, a party of academics off to Istanbul, a pair of newlyweds, a fellow who is supposed to be a diplomat but is more likely a spy, one of the Empire's Questors, and some wealthy gadabouts doing the Grand Tour. Typical.
I take my evening cocoa and schnapps back to my cabin, and spent a few ruminative hours watching the western Europan countryside roll past. The moonlit land is largely untouched by the troubles caused by the Other and the fracturing of the Pax Transylvania. It is very peaceful.
I awake the next morning and run through my morning workout routine. It's a bit onerous, but that just means that I'm doing it right! Being a successful Gentleman Adventurer takes a bit of effort, but on the other hand, I am not dead. Time for a hearty breakfast, with much coffee.
I check in with the Doctor. The Geister is resting. The doctor gave her a preemptive sedative, so she'll be no problem until tomorrow, at the earliest. This leaves me free to seek out the Chief Conductor. The train monks are excellent sources of news, and know where trouble lurks.
All of the excitement roiling The Empire seems to be happening in The North. There's a lot of political turbulence everywhere around the tiny (but strategic) country of Holfung-Borzoi, which seems to be remarkably quiet. I think I'd like some of their famous cherry cream waffles.
I check in at the medical car. My Geister is awake, and making a valiant effort to free herself, but it seems the good Doctor knows his stuff, when it comes to restraints. No one ever said riding the rails with the train monks was boring. I introduce myself. She is astonished.
Her name is Eotain. While the Geisterdamen are as identical as twins, mentally, they are as rich and varied as any other people. She has been trained to avoid regular people, but Eotain is a person who likes to talk. Hiding in solitude would have been very difficult for her.
It seems there was a massacre of Geisterdammen in Paris. Most were killed by the late Master, but Eotain swears that any number of them were killed by The Other herself. I am confused. I had thought The Other slept inside Agatha, but Eotain says she is also in a woman named Zola.
Eotain confesses that her partner, Shurdlu, was the more pious one, who was always able to talk her through her moments of doubt. Shurdlu died in Paris. I ask Eotain if she would like me to sing the Song of Memory for her. After I prove to her that I actually know it, she cries.
The Doctor sees Eotain crying and although he is half a meter shorter than me, gives me a clout on the ear I will feel all day and physically tosses me out. I count myself lucky he aimed to the left - putting me in the corridor, instead of to the right - pitching me off the train.
Our train is shunted to a siding to allow an express train to pass. As this is the most exciting thing I expect to happen today, I, along with most of the other passengers, crowd the observation car to watch it go. Wait… on that train… was that Claude?
Perhaps he took my little cannonball prank more seriously than I'd thought. Or perhaps he doesn't want the Master of Paris know I escaped with the Geister. Or perhaps she is using this as an excuse to get him the hell out of town. I know which of those three I find most likely.
I shall have to tread carefully. Even outside Paris, the Master's dictates carry weight. According to the conductor, the train I saw was an express to Vienna, our ultimate destination. Good! I was planning on getting off early anyway. Now I just have to do it surreptitiously.
The stop closest to Hofung-Borzoi is the town of Schmepplefort. It's little more than a depot and transfer point, with no decent restaurants. A place no sane person would willingly go to unless you were active in the transportation business. Sounds perfect. Now to get off unseen.
I poke my head in and the doctor does not bite it off. Obviously he has talked to Eotain. I ask if she can be released. He'd prefer she stay under supervision until Vienna. Not really an option unless he thinks she'd join the Corbettite nuns. She certainly fights well enough.
Eotain gives serious consideration to my question. She asks what would happen to her in Vienna. I tell her I do not know, but I don't know what will happen if she comes with me, either. However I tell her that if she comes with me, I will "Watch her back". She'll come with me.
The first thing to do is find her a new outfit. Trains aren't known for having convenient 'lost and found' boxes. The monks would be willing to help, and would collect donated clothes from passengers. Unfortunately, this would be a memorable event, and we want to disappear quietly.
Sometimes I muse that my life might have warped my perceptions of the world. Case in point: "Quietly" involves breaking into the baggage car, looting some trunks, and then setting a small, easy-to-extinguish fire. This causes the train to stop, allowing the two of us to slip away.
Schmepplefort is an industrial depot, but it is run by the Corbettite order. Thus it's clean, well maintained, and used to the occasional vagrant showing up. We're able to catch a new train heading north. I would have preferred anonymity, but several of the monks recognize me.
Perhaps I should find a place where I can leave Eotain in safety. Her presence… troubles me. She is almost identical to my dear Oslaka- who, I must remind myself, existed in an alternate timeline. I never met her here. But I know her… knew her intimately. Very annoying to be sure.
The best way to counter this is to get to know Eotain as a person. Already I can see that temperamentally, she is different. That makes things easier. She's still unsure as to how to deal with me, but a good meal helps put her at her ease. Like all Geisters, she can hold her wine.
Over the meal, I hear about the death of the Master of Paris. Impressive. I didn't know the old fellow still had it in him. I realize that he was more restrained with me than I had thought. Either that, or he used me to deal with political problems he could not. I get that a lot.
After dinner, I decide I want a walk before bed. Eotain appears to be nervous for some reason, but comes with me. The night is clear, with a bit of a chill. Eotain wants to talk. She asks me who I serve. I tell her that I serve The Greater Good. She is impressed. How refreshing!
I ask Eotain if she knows what The Other is doing in Holfung-Borzoi. She does not. There are Geisters who get more of the Big Picture, but she admits that she knew very little about the whys and wherefores. The Goddess' dictates were not to be questioned. She sounds rather bitter.
It is pleasant to walk through a summer night with an attractive woman by one's side. It would be even more so if Eotain was not so obviously nervous about something. Perhaps she thinks I will try to "take advantage" of her. But that is not how this Gentleman Adventurer rolls.
We turn to return to our hostel, and Eotain shudders and buries her face in my shoulder. Why? I don't sense any enemies, and if I did, I think she would fight rather than cower. What does she see that I cannot? Luckily the moon is up, so the area is clearly lit… But I see nothing.
Selenophobia. Eotain is terrified of the moon. Not unheard of, but certainly unusual. I tell her to close her eyes and lead her back to our hostel. Says she's had the fear ever since the Geisters arrived here, but it has been getting worse, especially since she lost her friend.
I learned from Oslaka that the Geisters were an underground civilization, it makes sense the moon is unknown to them, but they've been aboveground for years. The old therapies are the best- I tuck Eotain into bed and pull the covers up over her head. She is asleep within minutes.
Next morning, I ask the stationmaster which train to catch towards Holfung-Borzoi's capital, Mozenplatz. He nods. "About time someone dealt with the problems there." Great. I'd ask for more details, but we have to run to catch our train as it is. The train monks wait for no one.
No fancy train this. We're on a supply train. We find that we are placed in the caboose with the rest of the train staff, who I see are all veteran fighting monks. I'm told that no sane person is heading into Holfung-Borzoi these days. But they have obviously forgotten about me!
Apparently the Other is not even bothering to hide their work in Holfung-Borzoi. Anyone who enters is wasped. They tried to take the trains, but were fought off hard enough that there is now a detente. Interestingly, there is a small area in the southern hills that is still free.
The supplies are for partisans who are resisting the Other's advance. No one knows who is leading them, as they use the code name, "The Steel Shrike". Suitibly dramatic. I'm guessing it's to prevent the Other from using friends and family as leverage or hostages. A grim business.
We arrive at our destination. It's a small station that has been transformed into an armed fortress. When the train monks take something seriously, they do not mess around. The Conductor comes to me and speaks franky: Eotain is a problem. The locals will kill her if they see her.
The monks fear people would attack Eotain. I am more worried for the people who would try to attack her. But either way we have a problem. Disguising her as a prisoner is out, she'd resist. A cloak is just asking for an ill-timed dramatic reveal. Drat. This is a thinking problem.
Ha! A touch of make-up, a spare pair of snow-glasses (always stylish), a sweater, and people will believe that she is my sister! As for the language, I'll tell people it's a local dialect from my hometown. It works because I can rattle off Geisterspracht like a native. Brilliant!
My actual sister, Sanaa, is still entombed within Mechanicsburg. Distressing on an intelectual level, of course, but while time is frozen, I know that nothing more can happen to her. I'm even envious as she has the perfect excuse for why she didn't write to mother on her birthday.
We test the disguise out and everyone we meet is totally fooled. Although I must admit that the sudden concept that "There are TWO of you?" Seems to drive any other critical thought from their heads. No doubt they are stuck by the realization that they are now Twice As Safe.
Time for plain speaking. I tell Eotain I plan on fighting The Other. I will kill her if I can. If Eotain has any objection to this, I will leave her with the train monks. She will be safe. If she comes with me, I have to be able to trust her. If she betrays me, I will kill her.
The Geisters appreciate straight talk. Eotain proves no exception. She does not laugh at my threat, but does not seem offended either. She assures me that after the massacre in Paris, The Other no longer commands her loyalty. I choose to believe her, but of course, we shall see.
I've talked to the monks, but now we'll assess for ourselves how badly things are "on the ground". To the monks horror, I tell them to let us out the front door. We shall find the nearest bistro, and see how easy it is to dine in public without getting blood on our cherry waffels.
I will freely admit that I've had better plans, but there is no denying that cherry cream waffles taste better after a protracted battle. The tentacles of the Other run pretty deep here. It's kind of refreshing to not have to worry about "innocent bystanders"… There aren't any.
Dammit, another fine restaurant burned to the ground. Those monsters! On the other hand, I never was presented with a bill. Eotain says she had a fine time, and really liked the waffles. We return to the train station. I ask the monks how I can contact the resistance or whatever.
I am told that the word has already gone out, and that The Resistance will contact me. Hopefully before all the good restaurants are burned down. Eotain and I spend the rest of the day in combat practice. She is recovered, and there's nothing like combat to get one back in shape.
Finally! A chance to relax and actually update this journal. It has been a tumultuous few days in Holfung-Borzoi, and everyone is glad that we are on a train back to Paris. Eotain is asleep within the crook of my arm. I must record what happened for posterity- and tax purposes.
Eotain and I were on our way back to the train, when I discovered that someone had slipped a note into my sweater, which I had set aside while we were training. Nicely done. We were given directions to an isolated spot after dark. A trap? Better than a late night cordial, says I!
Once there, we found an old lady who offered us cookies and launched into an incredibly long and rambling set of instructions, with directions, passwords, signs and countersigns Suddenly realize we're about to pass out. Are the cookies drugged? Or is this woman incredibly boring?
When we awaken, we are in a darkened room. Before us is a woman at a table. She's backlit, but she has the regal bearing that is taught to royalty from a very young age. She is flanked by several overly large persons who are trying to look intimidating. Eotain's goggles are gone.
"The Steel Shrike, if I'm not mistaken!" She rolls her eyes. Apparently almost every adjective to be found in the dictionary has been appended to the name Shrike, and she has decided to just "roll with it". She says she'll pick which adjective to use if she lives long enough.
We now come to the Geister In The Room. The Shrike asks me if she really is my sister- plausible, as no one has seen a male Geister, and few have seen my eyes behind my goggles. I remove them now, and explain how I rescued Eotain from Paris. The Shrike nods and says she must die.
I explain that Eotain will not be killed, as she is under my protection. The Shrike draws a sword and asks whose protection I am under. (I had thought it was hers. One of those silly bits of miscommunication that I will laugh about later) Here's a chance to practice my diplomacy.
The fight that follows is surprising. The Shrike manages to keep me jumping while fighting Eotain. Geisters are amazing sword fighters, but it still takes the two of us working together just to keep from being defeated. I'm beginning to think the Shrike is not human. Intriguing.
I stumble, and The Shrike's blade aims for my throat. At the last second, Eotain leaps between me and certain death! With superhuman control, the sword stops millimeters from Eotain's heart. The Shrike looks surprised…and lowers her blade. "Perhaps," she says, "we should talk."
Her companions (who merely watched our fight) bring in refreshments and see themselves out. I examine the Shrike closely. From her abilities, I'd say she must be a construct of some kind, but I see no stitching, no devices, nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Interesting.
The Shrike effortlessly deflects any questions about herself. I find that trying to explain the whole "I lived with a Geister for thirty-some-odd years and then returned from a blighted future" thing tends to be a conversation stopper- so I just say I rescued Eotain from Paris.