Sunday, 30 November 2008

Love hurts

I will endeavour now to catch up on more recent events, events that have flowed fast since the night of the bonfire almost a month ago.

I had fallen soundly asleep on my bed, fully clothed and unbathed, an event so rare it is noteworthy in and of itself. I awoke, however, as if from a terrible dream, perspiration soaked the bedding and I was shaking like a leaf in the bitter cold autumnal wind. It was perhaps mid-morning, quite late by my standards and forgetting myself briefly, I attempted to sit up. My arm shot bolts of pain, deep into my mind and body, causing me to cry out. I looked down to examine the damage, the nights assault returning to my mind, a strangely calming feeling, a realisation that the half remembered dream had seemed so real because it had not been a dream at all. Cold comfort perhaps.

Looking more closely at my arm it was clear how lucky I had been, I had chosen attire that would suit my night's schedule, some leather gloves lest we should bear burning torches as has happened in the past, long sleeves to stave off the chill. My leather glove was ruined scored deeply, almost but not quite torn through, by those dread claws. At first tugging gently at the fingers, I attempted to remove the glove, but it proved impossible and I had to resort finally to cutting it off with dress making scissors. The reason for the tight fit was then apparent, my hand and wrist were grossly swollen but thankfully with no broken skin.

Pressing gingerly around the discoloured skin I concluded that it was more likely a sprain than a break and proceeded to construct a sling to take the weight of the arm and ensure that the damaged wrist got all the rest it needed. I drifted around the house in somewhat of a shocked daze for the next few hours, not really knowing what to do, but worrying just the same for the welfare of Patch and even it has to be said for Monte. The cure of the Lycan is a cruel one for and adult to bear but in one so young it is crueller still. As a werewolf Monte will be despised, and as a human he will retain his present form not noticeably aging, leaving him stuck in the confusion of adolescence for eternity. I have assumed until now that he has not long been changing but I realise as I write this that he could have lived for so much longer.

It was late afternoon when I heard an almighty thumping upon the front door. I ventured a glance out of the music room window to find that Monte, in wolf form still, was pounding his head against it, and then I saw poor Patch slumped against the wall, bleeding profusely. I grabbed my derringer and ran down to the door not quite knowing what to expect. Sliping the gun into my boot, I opened the door with my good arm only to have the wolf barge past me, Patch, half carried half dragged at the wolf's shoulder. He lay the boy on the floor, looking up at me with big dark eyes and whimpering like a puppy. I looked at the boy and then to my arm. I had no choice.

"Monte, if you can understand me, I need you to take Patch upstairs, quick", I cried, "the bedroom!". I ran ahead, guiding them up the stairs.

The boy, Patch, had clearly beenn badly mauled and keeping one eye on the large beast moping by the bedside I proceeded to examine him as best I could. I sought some water and a cloth from the bathroom and proceeded to bathe the wounds to the back of his neck and each of his shoulders. I said nothing but the location of the wounds seemed inappropriate. My exposure to beast attacks is minimal but it is my understanding that a dog typically goes for the throat, shaking the victim to break the neck. I presumed that the wounds must therefore have been the result of the manner of the boys carriage to my house.

By this time I was pretty certain that the intentions of the wolf Monte were to save his friend from whatever wounds had been inflicted presumably in a moment of, now regretted, anger but at least some of these wounds must have been inflicted before bring him, and the manner and reason of their creation seemed beyond my grasp. As I finished tending the wounds on
his back and sought to move Patch to ascertain the damage on his front side, he began to stir and moan. Between us we managed to roll Patch onto his back to reveal further gouges and bites to his upper torso.

I had done all I could do, I needed to get more experienced help, an untreated wound could go septic, and I feared worse of an untreated lycan wound.

“Monte, listen to me, do not move Patch, you will have to trust me now or he will die. I do not know what you have done here, but I cannot deal with this alone. I am going to go now and seek the assistance of a medical doctor I just hope that there is one about.”

I left the house, and travelling as fast as one can with one arm intent on sending shivers of pain through ones body with every heavy step, I cam to the square and knocked at the door of Mr Holmes and his colleague Dr. Watson who while trained as a physician had not my knowledge practised medicine in Babbage. It was my best hope given the recent loss of Mr Whitfield's surgery in Loner Lane.

Mr. Holmes appeared and immediately assessing my state of mind from my composure or lack thereof called upon the doctor. Their immediate thought, in part at the sight of my own bandages, was that I needed treatment, but quickly I told them that I had a more pressing need of their services back at my house, apologising for  the intrusion upon their time I led them both hurriedly back to my house and up to the bedroom where Patch and Monte awaited us.

I will not dwell upon the treatment, it was conducted with bravery and a bedside manner that would have been appropriate to the gentry. On a number of occasions the treatment caused pain to Patch and the wolf felt some anger at this, threatening our own safety but the brave doctor never flinched form his task. Dr. Watson and Mr Holmes have my eternal admiration for this. I am glad I had not the occasion to do so but , if necesary I would have taken the life of Monte in defence of the others present but his rage at the pain of Patch's treatment did not anger me so much as cause me to pity him, the feelings that had to belie the behaviour, the anger targetted inward at his actions, the fact of his betrayal laid out before him and his complete lack of power over the events that would follow. I knew those deep and painful feelings and at once I recognised the love that they had, as unexpected and out of place as it seemed, that was the bindign that held them. So clearly now the actions of the preceding days, actions that had confused me, the tempestuous, volatile association, stood out with clarity, in the realisation that Monte and Patch were in love, but did they realise?

My realisation of this connection, struck deep at my own regrets. A hint now of anger at how close Monte had come to killing Patch, could he understand how much pain lies down that path? I resolved to keep him from this hurt, to save them this pain. I would need to find a solution to this dilemma, to fail would surely condemn one or both to death, and I pity the one left behind. In the coming days preparations were made to this end. Rip worked with Dr. Dayafter to arrange for Monte to understand what help can be made available. I furnished my own basement with a lockable cage and mattresses so that the boys could be safe even during a transform.

Perhaps through the emotional weakness of the after effects of the attacks I spoke of my past to Patch and Monte, just enough to help them understand why they had forced me to tears. I think for a time at least it may have helped, perhaps they did see some parallels? But boys will be boys and it was not more than a few days more before they were once again up to their necks in trouble.

((I've agonised ove posting this blog, so much good and enjoyable RP went into it that is simply not reflected adequately, Patch and Monte, Mr Holmes and the doctor so enjoyable to "watch", and yet to have a gap in Beq's diary seems less justified still, so I present here what should have been a more intense emotionally for Beq, and altogether darker darker but which time has stripped the impact from))

Friday, 14 November 2008


It is now a full week since the last entry, though in truth if one were to look closely at the binding of this journal they would find that there are 3 pages missing, entries started and destroyed in various rages of shame a self pity.

So much more has passed us by since that bonfire night, I closed my last account with a mention of Monte's transformation, a reference to the doctor and the need to rest my mind as well as my injured hand.

Monte, now a slavering beast of hellish temper had run from the city and into the lands beyond, there we found him by a large tree. I approached, concerned for his own well being and that of the party of mostly children that accompanied me. I pleaded with him to stay calm, promised that we would not harm him if he were to remain where he was. It was not to be. Monte was driven by a hunger for raw flesh, living flesh and we looked in horror as he moved in on poor young Myrtil. I threw myself between them and seeing that Myrtil carried her favourite with her, a tiny squirrel whose name I do not recall, I suggested that she ran to the tree and let the tiny thing scamper to safety. I had by this time extracted the galvanic swordstick from my cane and as Monte continued to advance I let him feel the sting of its power. He recoiled to a few metres distant.

I sent Myrtil and her young friend to seek out some raw meat, knowing that she would undoubtedly have some back at the bakery. Though the intention was to feed Monte and have his hunger sated, it was at least in part to remove the poor children from harms way as with the squirrel now hidden the weakest of the group were undoubtedly the young ones. At this stage Mr Wirefly and Miss Orchid had arrived on scene and wisely stayed back as I once again asked Monte to subdue his nager, telling him that food was on its way. It was never clear through any of this whether the beast understood any word. We circled one another, I trying to keep myself between Monte and the others expecting that the sting of my sword stick would prevent any further attacks. Preently young Myrtil sprinted back onto the field and flinging the raw meat as hard as she could , threw the food to Monte. The boy/dog/beast inhaled the meat with barely a chew and seemed to calm down a little and yet cruel fate had another twist to throw us that night. Young Patch Reina, Monte's friend arrived on the scene and when the beast caught sight of him he flew into a rage. Patch ran off back into the city but the wolf followed and was gaining on him. We intercepted him on the other side of the wall, the hunter encircling its prey drooling. In what now I believe to have been a truly foolish act on my part. I stung Monte once more with my sword. Initially it had the desired effect, the beast recoiling from his attack on the boy Patch and turning on me instead. A vicious swipe of his claws aimed directly at my head miss ed narrowly as I ducked/stumbled out of the way, but a second blow much lower than the first struck home wrenching my arm and wrist such that I felt it must be broken or worse, my sword sent rattling across the cobbles.

Monte bent donw, snniffing the sword and pickking it up inhis jaws bent it clean in two. At this Rip Wirefly stepped forward pushing me aside and out of harms way. He had a gun which he waved at the best. But then in the final twist of the evening young Patch ran between the beast and the gun. "Don't shoot", stand back!", he cried, before proucing a smoke bomb which scattered us all, leaving us dumbfounded and lost as he and Monte ran away.

When the smoke had cleared there was talk of raising a posse of hunting down the foul beast; and yet I found that I could not condone such action, that this was not how this lycanthrope should find its end. I think it was then that I first started to understand this strange pair, to recognise the signs and yet it was not until the next day that it finally came to me.

I walked gingerly home, accompanied by Rip and Orchid, I bade them farewell and assured them that I would seek medical attention for my broken arm, if that is what it was, the next day.

Friday, 7 November 2008

Fireworks and fear

Perhaps it is a good thing that this diary is not truly meant for reading, I write this with my left, less favoured, hand as my right is incapacitated at present. Last night was bonfire night, a traditional night of celebration, as we burn the effigy of one who sought to overthrow Babbage almost before it had been established.

The night started with many a surprise. I had been conversing with Doctor Watson and Mr. Holmes, inquiring as to whether they had seen any suspicious activity by the bakery, because the beacon left by the strange cuckoo twins had been moved or perhaps removed. As I sat, the boy Monte rapped against the window which was quite disconcerting given that the flat is located above a shop. I looked out to the street to see Monte perched atop the shop sign which growned under his weight but luckily held its place.

I made my appologies to the gentlemen and rushed into the street, beckoning the boy down, when a young lady called to me by name. At first I was at a loss. Then as Monte taunted her I saw the fire in her eyes and she snapped back, "I am Elenore". Elenore, who I had last seen some 9 months ago as a feisty eight year old, had seemingly aged another 8 years and stood before me as a pretty young woman. I greeted her, and sked about her mother's welbeing. She refused to talk of Nareth in anything but a professional sense, "the professor is travelling" for example. Though she may not realise it, that marks her out as her mother's daughter more than anything else. WE adjourned to the café and had a small bite to eat and were about to leave for the display when Nareth herself walked in to the shop. I must admit, I was ever so happy to see her again, to see them both.

We walked up to the firework display and I lost myself in the beauty of the spectacle. Across the canal fro me, Monte stood by Myrtil's side, and it pleased me that they were getting along again. At one point though, Monte seemed to double over, and stumble, but he righted himself and I remained where I was. The fire burned, the guy was destroyed, the fireworks lit up the sky, and Nareth and Elenore vanished. As soon as the display was over I headed to the lab half expecting to find them there but there was no sign. I do so hope that they will be back again soon.

I returned to the display and people were starting to drift away. Myrtil asked me if I had seen Monte and commented that he had taken ill and left early. we decided to go and check if he was alright. As we walked back towards the opium den together a dark shape bounded down the allleyway, forcing its way past us and running out into the streets. It was a large black dog, it had to be Monte but it wasn't the friendly dog that we had seen before, it was largely and more powerfully built.

Worried for his safety we ran out into the streets and pursued him along the rail lines, up into the alisades and out beyond the city walls. There we found the beast., but it was inded not the Monte we had seen before, but an altogether more vicious and nasty animal, a werewolf.

As I write, I find that I am shaking, I will not write any more, the doctor has told me to sleep and I must do so. I will write more tomorrow.

Sunday, 2 November 2008

Can a leopard change it moustache?

Doctor Oblensky local hero, good citizen and provider of many public amenities, started his time here in Babbage with a much more evil intent. He began as the personification of evil, always striving to be recognised for his evil. There are many philosophers and doctor's who could expound for hours upon the background to such a yearning for recognition, to be identified as not being part of the human race. Yet we find that he has had a change of heart, there is no doubting that he is a changed man. Great public works, like the lifting tower and bell in the Vernian Sea, the many bridges in the canals are all of his creation. We should all embrace and recognise this outstanding achievement, the reformation of this man and surely he is to be supported in all his endeavours.

However, something is nagging at my mind. Even before he turned over his new leaf I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, evil is as evil does after all. So it irks me to be throwing stones into this millpond, but it is not right there is something afoot.

Earlier today I was pottering about inside my home in the palisade, polishing the tables and generally cleaning up, it was in a pitiful mess having been neglected during the recent busy times. I was startled by sounds of screaming and crying from outside. I moved out onto my balcony to see that two young urchins were brawling in the street. One of them I recognised as young Patch who I'd met a week or so earlier at Juliana's graveside. The other, larger boy, seemed familiar but at the time I did not recognise him.

As I emerged the larger of the two was holding the smaller one by the wrists, trying in vain to stop the flailing arms.
"I'm the closest thing ya got!", cried the larger boy, as the smaller tripped in his anger a fell to the ground. The larger fell upon him like a beast pinning him down against the street and growling into his face, his teeth clearly bared. "Yer as dumb as a pigeon i swear!"

"Hey!, what's all the noise?", I shouted from the balcony hoping to distract the young bully, and frowning at them sternly.

Young Patch looked up angrily and scoffed, still red in the face as he lay prone beneath the larger boy. The larger boy grabbed Patch by the scarf, pulling him up before pushing him away. "Ya know, ya wanna go get yer skin ripped off be my guest!".

I had heard enough, there was something going on this wasn't a simple brawl over who'd get the largest share of a recent dipping, there was real emotion beneath this. The "bully" seemed to be trying to look after the Patch, prevent him from doing something. After all "Ripping off of skin" is hardly a common threat even here in Babbage.

I ran down the stairs and out into the street. To see Patch fall back to the ground once again, spitting with fury.
"Maybe I will! never asked you to be around anyways ya mongrel!"
"What is going on here? Brawling in the streets.", I wagged my finger at them in about as patronising a way as I could imagine, probably not the best way to get to the bottom of this in hindsight.

I stepped between the two, keeping them from blows. The larger boy ignored me, snarling. "Fine! See how long ya last without me 'round! Admitted ya'self ya get lonely!"

"Calm down both of you, what has gotten into you both?"
Patch Reina huffed up, a slight sign of tears building in his eyes, "Its his fault! havin no company is better company then the likes o' him!"
The larger boy stood up straight, eye twitching. "Protectin' pigeon head 'ere and get no respect at all!"
"Protecting from what?", I asked.
"Them circus freaks.", he snarled crossing his arms.
Patch followed suit, adopting the same definat stance, his arms crossed as well, "I don need no protectin!"
"The circus is certainly no place for young children to hang around."
The large boy stepped forward again, evidently ignoring my attempts to appease things. "Fine then! I'll leave ya ass for other strays ta devour! Maybe ol' blood face will come and eat ya tonight!"
"blood face?", I asked, the children are wont to exagerate and give unusual names to the residents but I had never heard this one before. "You children really do have the strangest names for people."
Patch stomped his foot and squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to hide the tears that welled there, "FINE! Just bugger off ya mutt!". With this he turned and ran for all he was worth."
The larger boy stood, looking out towards the vanishing shape of his friend, for this is clearly what they were. He mumbled a response to my question.
"Guy tha' came after us had blood all o'er 'is face..."
"A guy from the circus?",
He nodded and sighed, staring unfocused into the distance where his friend was quickly vanishing from sight. "Dammit'..."

The poor child was clearly upset, I wanted to help him, he needed comforting but there was little I could do. "where do you think he'll go?", I said, indicating in the direction of young Patch. The boy shrugged. "Pie shoppe... hideout.. the island.."
I nodded, he would run to whatever fragile comfort he had in this world.
"there'll be no blood face then, I am sure he'll be safe."
The boy shrugged again. "Pissed the guy off pre'y bad.."
"You are really worried about him aren't you?", he nodded a little, his eyes falling toward the ground. "Shouldn' O' gone tha' far.."
"Perhaps you should go find him. Make amends. If you are worried about blood face, I would happily go and see him for you. What exactly did you do that is so bad?"
The boy mumbled, kicking idly at the pavement, and reaching down the back of his trousers pulled on the base of the tail that fell out.
"Spy.. Gonna run off now, dun' worry bou' the tail ma'am, faster with it out."

That was when I recognised him, though recognise is used loosely. This was the stray dog that was running around in the café a few hours earlier. Monte was his name, the young lady in the shoppe had called him Mr. Monte. How peculiar this was all turning out to be though I don't know how any of this surprises me any longer. I tried not to stare or even seem surprised.

"take care. If you get any trouble please let me know. I would hate anything to hurt either of you."
The boy, Monte, smiled, for the first time. "Lots O' thanks miss!" then turned, falling onto all fours and ran off in the direction that his friend had vanished.

I considered the name "blood face" and the circus and a little concerned that there was more to this than a child's imagination I headed directly to the Circus beyond the walls of the old city.

It all seemed rather quiet as I approached from the city walls, I could hear voices around the back of the Circus caravan and headed round to see who was there. There I met Mr Ichabod String, the clown, and Miss Jezebelle his partner and a silent lady whose name I do not know. It was then that I was reminded of the tale circulating the taverns, a tale that I had heard from Mr String himself, though in the gloom and across the smoke filled bar I had not observed his blood stained makeup. The String had been victim of quite awful circumstances and to avoid starvation resorted to murder and cannibalism. It is not clear whether this is part of the man's renowned theatricals, a bold attempt to raise the profile of the circus or whether therein lies a nugget of truth. It is fair to say however that in broad daylight he carries a ghastly air about him. Upon seeing his makeup, it was clear to me that this was indeed "blood face".

Miss Jezebelle was the first to greet me.
"Good afternoon," I replied, "Have you by any chance been troubled by a couple of young urchins recently?"
"Yes we have, actually." His voice gravelly and stern.
"I just caught them brawling in the street outside my house."
"Ah yes, well they have been warned not to come by here unless on good terms"
"They were spying on us, for what I assume would be Doctor O."
"You certainly seemed to scare them, I replied frowning a little.
Jezebelle String grinned at her partner who reached out to hold her hand.
"Yes well, ", he continued, "threats of showing them how their skins stays on would keep small children away"

So it was clear, this was blood-face and the threats had been all too real for the poor children. I was furious.
"Really! Mr. String that is no way to talk to young children, they were petrified".
"They are under terrible influence", said Mr. String , as if by some means excusing his behaviour. "and children who fall into the clutches of Doctor O, deserve such things.". He paused, adding, "I don't take kindly to spies".
I was surprised to hear such an attack on the good Doctor. "What part does Doctor O have to play in this matter?"
"He told them to spy on us miss.", The clown fidgeted, twitching nervously.
"He is a fine upstanding citizen by all accounts"
"For unknown reasons.", sneered String, "He is an evil genius.". I looked puzzled at this. "Truly not a good man."
I shook my head as if to refute the allegations, "He was an evil genius, everybody says that he has reformed. Though to be frank, I have never known a leopard to change its spots even in a circus."
Ichabod String nodded "I don't quite believe that one can leave their habits behind so easily", then with a sinister twitch, he leered, "I know I can't.....".
"I see.", I was not going to pander to his theatrics, none of this justified his behaviour. "I would like you to assure me that no harm will come to the children. I have told them already that this is no place for them to play."
Jezebelle String looked up at Ichabod, "I think we were quite justified saying that to them; They indeed asked for it.", quite unapologetic, she seemed convinced that they were in the right. Ichabod String seemed more repentent
"I say big words miss, in all reality I would have just put them in the cage over there for a few hours and let them calm down. But, to people who truly mean harm to me and my loved ones....they had better never spy, or come around here with intent of sabotage."
"I will see to it that these children are warned"
"Thank you ma'am." replied Jezebelle
"Indeed thank you.", added Ichabod. I continued, I needed to be sure that they understood, that their threats will not be tolerated by me.
"but, mark my words, nothing should allow you to bring violence upon them. Nothing.". There was something in the back of my mind, these people were perhaps as much victims as the children themselves. It is not uncommon in our society for those outsiders to become a
focus of attention and blamed for many of our own home grown ills.
There was more to this but before I could probe any further a strange voice came from behind me.
"Hallo". It was deep, gruff and had a heavy accent.
"Hello...sir?", responded Mr String, clearly also surprised at his second perhaps third or fourth, if we count the boys, unexpected guest in less than an hour.
"Yah", the new comer responded.
"Very well then.", confirmed Ichabod. "I don't think I have ever seen you around here..."
I looked back over my shoulder, to find the hulking form of a large man/beast, dressed as if he had been travelling a long time.

"Iz zirque hier? Nu, hy neffer been heir bevore", the things command of language was basic and heavily accented. Another freak seeking shelter in the circus I presumed. Either way, I was not going to get any more from Ichabod String for the time being.
"Thank you for your time. I will leave you to your work."
"Very well miss Janus"

I walked back toward the square and the café hoping that I might find young Patch and Monte. However I instead met Mr Merricks, Doctor Oblensky's head of security, half way up the steps from the canal front to the park outside the town hall, evidently, out walking.

"Oh evening.", he greeted me, roused from somewhat of a daydream by my approach.
"good evening"
"How are you today?"
"I am well, how are you?"
"Travelling. That's how I am.", hr grinned slightly.
"I see.", I lied, "I will not hold you up, but I have a question if you don't mind".
"By all means."
"Earlier today, I saw you chasing a dog."
"Did you now? Well he must have been the one who I was trying to give to the pound. Stray pets do need to be watched over."
"I agree, though I believe he is being cared for by young Myrtil."
"Then I will tell her to be wary about leaving the gate open. Wouldn't want anything to happen to a pet.". This man/cat manages to twist everything to an evil way, if his master has indeed changed, it seems to have done little for the demeanor of his henchman.

"My point is, that I believe I just saw the same creature, but in different form. He was a boy."
Zebrati Merricks made a face which showed quite clearly that he didn't believe me.
"Yes well I'll inform her that her...mystical transforming boy dog is lose then.", he smirked unbecomingly.
"I know, I know. It sounds crazy.".
"Quite so."
"But it gets more strange by the hour."
"You live here my dear. I'm surprised anything catches you off guard.". I chose to ignore his attempts to annoy me.
"I have since been told that he/it is working for your employer and is spying on people."
"The doctor is a reformed man. He would never spy on people."
"Indeed so. At least that is what they say, and surely if a boy can become a dog then a leopard must be able to change its spots eh?"
"Then again you have no idea if this boy becomes a dog or if you saw a boy and then a dog.", was he cryptically confirming my veiled accusation? If the boy had not become a dog the the leopard had not changed it spots?
"hmmm, I saw a boy with a tail if that helps, I replied.
Merricks reached behind him and twirled his own tail. "You don't say."
With that I smiled, the quirkiness of Babbage...

"Anyway, I am keeping you from your business."
"Travelling is no business."
"Please send my regards to Doctor O"
"The rails will be there if I am not...However I will do the second bit."
"Good day Mr Merricks"

We parted, heading off in the same direction briefly, descending the steps into the canal side he had presumably changed his mind since our meeting and was heading elsewhere. He turned to the right, heading down the alleyway between the absinthe house and Ordinal's factory outlet. I carried on toward the café, turning right by the theatre.

As I entered the café I noticed through the side window, the distinctive shape of Merricks standing in the garden. What was he up to? Watching, waiting for the boys? Was he following up on my discussion or simply waiting to collect the information gleaned by the children when spying.

The children were nowhere to be found, a gust of wind brought what seemed like a sigh to me, but I could see noone. I headed home my mind full of new questions. Was Doctor O behind this? Why would the children being doing his work? There was after all no love between the urchins of Babbage and the residents of ClockSpire cove.

It was not until later that evening as I relaxed in the music room back home, that I recalled the incident on the jetty a week or more ago. The Doctor before his reformation, angry and spitting feathers, raged at the taunts of the children. At one point I recall that he fired upon us with what he called a HypnoRay gun, and commanded us to assault poor Poopdeck. Luckily his weapon seemed to have no power over us but, I have begun to wonder, if he had managed to perfect the weapon and somehow to develop an even larger version thereof, could he not be bringing the entire population under his control. Convincing us that he is now a man of good deeds and at the same time exacting a revenge upon the children by using them as his slaves towards whatever devious plan he has.

Am I now so mistrusting? Does such a weapon exist? If so, what is it that he is after?

In defence of my wits, if he should attempt to soften my brain and dilute my resolve I have written at length this account to ensure that I maximise my recall.

Saturday, 1 November 2008

Samhain has passed

Yesterday was Samhain the new year in the old world. The cog has turned through one more full rotation and we start anew.

In a reflection of the good traditions of my homeland we said goodbye to the dead. I was not present as the events unfolded but it is safe to say that Lucas has moved on and has passed through to the land of the dead.

Blessings be upon the dead that know.
Blessings be upon the dead that guard.
Blessings be upon the dead that are.

His journey was made possible by the keen eye and sharp mind of Rip Wirefly. Mr Wirefly met the young urchin Victor when he was in the coty to deliver the folder of documents to Sanus. Rip noticed that he had a blue teddy in his backpack, not unlike the description of spud that we had. At first Victor ran away, fearful of Mr. Wirefly's intentions but with careful thought Mr Wirefly tempted him to exchange spud for a brand new cuddly toy that Mr. Wirefly had purchased.

I cannot relate the events that followed directly, but, as seems ever to be the case, they wqere tinged with danger. Angry Jenkins returned, presumably to wreak havoc in the celebrations that he tried to spoil the previous year. Curiously he appeared to be seeking Lucas and questioned him intently, revealing much more of Lucas' details than any of us had previously been able to do. Indeed, Mr Wirefly and Miss McMillan recounted some fairly awful things that the poor boy had been subjected to during the ordeal that finally took his life. It was also clear that Moriarty was the murderer.

But, I digress, Lucas' release was secured by Mr. Wirefly, who presented the bear to him. The bear had a letter stashed inside its jackewt and Lucas asked for the letter to be read.

My dear son, please understand that i could not take care of you and had to leave you in the care of the orphanage.
I hope you have a long and full life.

Keep Spud close, and he will Guide you through the bad times.

I love you always.

Your mother.

A sad sad note, but more than most of the poor children have, something to hold onto in the dark nights and even it seems into the unknown beyond death.

So we start the new year with good omens upon Babbage, brought by the deeds of Mr Wirefly. Yet still there hangs over us the scourge of Moriarty, yet I now have something new to add to my plans. I will need the help of some of the townsfolk though.

Blessing Be!