Simon is desperately trying to find a way of commenting on the thugs' poor use of language, but he just can't manage it through his laughter at their fighting skills.
***Round 4***
The Joker is wild, but Simon does not let the heat of the moment get to him. Instead, he takes careful aim at one of the thugs on Palamedes and fires.
**
Pembleton, sweating from both the physical and mental exertion to his aging frame, sobers immediately. He looks up from the barrel sight for about one second, seeing the man topple as his mind moves into a cold and distantly familiar numbness he has not felt in a quarter century.
Dropping his head back to the crackling barrel sight, he is both quietly relieved and slightly distraught that the death does not bother him. He aims again, shifting slightly to miss Simon as he looks to protect his hound.
Meanwhile, the frustrated hound releases his most recent hold on the man's coat and bites wildly at the neck.
Already sweating from the effort, Simon sweats even more as bullets fly past him: "Dammit, man! I thought you said to take prisoners!"
There is a fury of gunfire and the crackle of Pembleton's railgun. Before Lottie and Eileen can even react, the thugs are either dead, dying, or badly wounded. Pembleton and Simon both take out two of the remaining thugs with gunfire, and the last one goes down screaming with a wound in his leg. The small child Lottie enlisted stares at the sudden turn in the fight, and the stone falls from his hand to the ground before he bolts off as fast as he can.
End of Combat
You can feel your ring vibrate slightly at the death around you. The ghostly white spirits of the men seems to rise from their bodies before vanishing into the air, mouths gaped in horror. You perceive a strange sense of satisfaction.
You have five thugs who are dead or want to be dead, and one mostly coherent one who has a hole in his leg. He's sitting down and moaning about it.
Simon absentmindedly tends to the cleaning and sheathing of his rapier, and the reloading of his pistol: "Oh simmer down over there - that hole could just as easily have been through your head." Checking the action of the hammer and cylinder, he continues: "And still could be, I suppose... These folks are going to have some questions for you, yeah? Let's say you answer politely, without all that dreadful moaning."
Eileen tucks her unused knife back into her sleeve and steps over to the prone form of one of the attackers to retrieve the other. Wiping the knife off on the man's clothing, she growls irritably, "It didn't have to go that way. We could have talked them down."
Turning, she stalks towards the end of the alley, her shoulders slumped in resignation. She makes sure to position her back to the rest of the group and then mutters, "So what happened to you, then? Do you-"
Here, she sighs.
"Do you need help or sommat?"
Surveying the scene below, Pembleton lifts his head from his scope and shouts a single command to Palamedes - Pass auf! - before sighing through his nose steadily. Taking his hat off, he wipes his face and head thoroughly with his handkerchief before turning off his weapon and wrapping it slowly back up. Groaning audibly as he gets off his knee, he carefully navigates his bulbous body down the carriage ladder.
"Mrs. Wandsworth?" he asks Lottie, assuming Eileen has gone off to the end of the alley to take a moment for herself. "Perhaps you could assist Mr. de Clare with the interrogation? I rather think he might shoot the fellow if left to his own devices..."
Placing down his weapon, he moves to where the engine and controls should be, opening panels. "In the meantime, I can attempt to discover what went wrong with our carriage, and see if I can't get it to take us safely to our actual destination once we're through here."
Pembleton sets to diagnose what happened with the carriage and if it can be repaired.
"It would be a pleasure, sir," Lottie says, smiling sweetly. She turns to look at the target of her upcoming interrogation, eyes narrowed. "I believe he could do with a short, sharp visit from the smack fairy."
She stomps over to the man and waffs him in the face with her massive handbag.
"Tell us what you know, you damnable whore-pipe!"
Lottie's handbag is something to behold and the man's face jerks to the side. It seems to snap him into reality. He looks around at his dead and dying companions and starts babbling very quickly.
"Some buor came up to me boys when we was bug hunting! She said a buck cabbie was coming right up our alley and we was to put the lights out of whatever mug came out. She didn't tell us you'd 'ave barkers! Oh me leg..."
Lottie and Eileen can translate for Pembleton and Simon. Some woman hired the gang to assault or kill whoever came out of the rigger carriage.
Meanwhile, Pembleton sets to work on the carriage, checking first on the motorized horses. There's a complicated if someone graceless system of gears, levers, and pulleys that determine the directions for the carriage. Some notes have been scribbled on brass plates, which are somewhat smudged, but it's clear the Egyptian Hall is a standard pick up point.
You appear to have gone off-map, as it were. Someone has rather cleverly sabotaged the controls for the carriage and implemented a new routing system with some new wiring and gear work. You can likely set this thing towards the aerodrome... if you know London well enough.
Someone has rather cleverly sabotaged the controls for the carriage and implemented a new routing system with some new wiring and gear work. You can likely set this thing towards the aerodrome... if you know London well enough.
**
Frowning through bushy, overgrown eyebrows and round reading glasses into the control panel, Pembleton conveys this information loudly to his companions, assuming incorrectly that everyone else would be as interested in it as he.
"The servos are fine, but the gyroscopic compass has been re-polarized intentionally, causing the -- oh." Pembleton looks over his shoulder, noting no one is paying attention. With Lottie and Simon conducting an interrogation, he looks about and spots Eileen at the end of the alleyway.
"Miss Gallagher!" he calls, waving from the controls. "Can I beg your assistance for a moment, young lady? I believe I can re-calibrate the carriage and get us to our destination without any further trouble, but... err... well, I'm afraid I don't know where things are, you see. Can you assist me with some coordinates here?"
Satisfied with his pistol, Simon holsters it and redraws his rapier, preparatory to poking this fool with it. In mock surprise: "Oh my! Really, someone hired you to assault us! Obviously, you lout! We want to know who..."
Sighing as the man keeps edging further away and whimpering rather than talking, Simon turns to Lottie: "You seem to be having better luck getting through to him. Kindly relay that he provides better information, or he can expect to have a fine career as a lame beggar."
Lottie cocks her head and looks at the thug, gesturing to Simon with a flick of her eyes.
"You heard the ol' toff, Church Bell," she says. "Give 'im what he wants and no quiff."
The thug whimpers as he holds his leg and yelps as Lottie bats him with a purse. Without his club, or leg, he doesn't seem quite so tough. "SHE DIDN' GIVE NO NAME! She looked a right mollisher. Black hair, black clothes, had some eyepiece wit' gears on it. Liked to talk, seemed real excited when she talked 'bout nobbling whoever came out of that carriage! She hired us out in Soho by the Eccentric's Club."
The Eccentric's Club is a well-known savant society with a bent for social good and philanthropy.
Sorry, no, I meant the one from back at the beginning of the fight:
"You see the spirit of a young woman floating about, wailing angrily at the end of the alleyway. It's likely something Bad happened here. The spirit in your ring is making some disquieting noises but hasn't said much."
Eileen's head turns at the sound of Pembleton's voice. Reluctantly, she makes her way over to the halted carriage, taking a moment to peer at the complicated workings exposed by the open panel.
"Coordinates?" she asks, frowning uncertainly. "I don't know about any of that, but if you're asking where we are, we're somewhere near St. Giles - I'd say..." Her voice trails off as she squints, surveying the surroundings and peering out towards the opening of the alley.
"Coordinates?" she asks, frowning uncertainly. "I don't know about any of that, but if you're asking where we are, we're somewhere near St. Giles - I'd say..."
"Ah, good. Good. You know the area. If you can tell me where the aerodrome would be from here, we will be in good shape." Pembleton does not bother to hide the personal embarrassment on his face as they find the destination on the controls together. "I've lived in London most of my life and don't believe I could find my own back yard if there weren't a door to it off my kitchen. My Elisabeth handled all of those things, I'm afraid." He is sad only a short moment before using a spanner to turn something within, and turns to give her a grandfatherly wink.
"I believe we have it. Oh, and an excellent job with your knife, Miss Gallagher - bloody good show. Quite glad to have someone youth and skill about."
He withdraws his arms from within the controls and snaps the panel shut, turning to the others as he wipes his hands clean on his handkerchief. "My friends, we are in fine order now. The carriage will take us to the airfield when we are ready to depart."
The wailing spirit at the end of the walkway doesn't quite seem to react to you. She twists and moans wildly as you approach but doesn't quite seem to respond to your presence.
As you watch her, it becomes clear that she's going through a cycle of repeated movements. Thrusting out wildly and sloppily with a weapon in hand before her hand is knocked aside, and her head snaps to the left before she fades out, and the motions repeat.
Still at the back of the alley before responding to Pembleton's call, Eileen frowns at a seemingly empty space in the air. She observes for several long moments, saying nothing.
Finally, she reaches out and snaps her fingers in the air at head height several times. "Oi! You there! You gonna keep having this bull for a month of Sundays? Snap out of it. It's over. Done with. Shoo." She makes a small shooing gesture with her hands.
Sighing and giving a small, resigned shrug, Eileen is already starting to turn away when she hears Pembleton's voice.
You leave the thug to bleed out or find some help in the alley as Pembleton and Eileen manage to get the horseless carriage back in order, and point it in the right direction. You all settle back in, leaving the carnage of your brief, strange fight behind you.
==================
==================
Heath Row is a wayside hamlet in Harmondsworth, just a short distance outside of the city limits. It appears to be mostly agricultural with several orchards and fields on the main row leading to the Aerodrome. There, several airships are already parked. An elaborate, but very new terminal has been set up to take in visitors to the aerodrome and process tickets. As your horseless carriage pulls up the automated voice sounds out.
THANK YOU FOR RIDING IN THE LATEST PARKES INVENTION FOR OUR DATA PURPOSES PLEASE RATE YOUR TRANSIT ON AN ELEVEN-POINT SCALE WITH ONE FOR VERY POOR AND ELEVEN FOR VERY SUPERB
Through your window you can see a new luxury airship with EMMANUEL written on the balloon.
Levering himself out the door, Simon shouts: "ONE!! You lousy deathtrap! Why if Pembleton here hadn't scrabbled around with your innards you'd likely have attempted to kill us a second time!"
Pausing his tirade to assist Lottie and Eileen down the step, before thumping the carriage with an enormous fist, and giving the while contraption a mighty shove.
Grumbling under his breath, Simon checks his pocket watch
"Let's try to find this savant, Lemuel Parkes. I want to have a word with him about his machines."
"If this is how his carriages work," Eileen chimes in wryly, "I can't wait to set foot on his -giant metal box what flies through the sky-."
She shifts uncomfortably in her unfamiliar clothes, habitually scanning her surroundings for any possible marks or threats. At Simon's suggestion, she gives an agreeable, non-committal shrug, glancing at the others.
Pembleton brings up the rear, shouldering his large pack as he steps from the carriage. He speaks thoughtfully.
”Five,” he muses, his eyebrows furrowed. ”Assuming that the misdirection wasn’t your fault, I thought it was otherwise fair to middling. Which is to say generally unremarkable but not unsatisfactory.”
Nodding in agreement with Simon and Eileen, Pembleton trudges along with the group.
"One! Highly unsatisfactory! Zero, if that's an option!" barks Lottie, looking like she might try to hit the carriage with her bag. "I shall write a strongly-worded letter to the gentlemen in charge of this whole God-forsaken operation! I have a good mind to give a right walloping to whoever thought you were a good idea!"
Lottie accepts Simon's assistance with a pleasant smile and steps out of the carriage, looking around.
"Well now." She looks up at the airship with obvious appreciation. "I wasn't sure we'd actually live to see this."
=======================
=======================
Despite the delay, boarding is a multi-hour affair for flights such as these and you are well within the required time to make your flight. Your tickets are processed without too much complaint or issue and you are not searched or bothered in any way as you make your way through the luxuriously appointed terminal and onto the airfield proper.
The Emmanuel is a massive luxury airship with an enormous union flag painted along the side of its main balloon and the words EMMANUEL written in elegant script. The balloon has several contraptions at at its top and massive engines which fire it from below. The ship itself is rather stately and looks a little like a clipper, with an open-air deck with a high railing at the front and what appear to be several interior decks with wide windows. It is hard to see inside from out here, but it looks rather fancy.
A handy little leaflet you've been given on the ship notes that it is named in the honour of the family name of the dearly departed Prince Consort and sports the latest in impressive airship technology.
- Wind reduction and anti-insect open-air-deck
- Auto-scenting water closets
- Parkes' Miraculous Unbreakable Flatware
- State of the art salt dispensation
- Hydraulic tie press
The list goes on with a series of mildly useful inventions. At the bottom of the leaflet is an image of a man with a face like a marshmallow and bushy mutton chops, presuambly Mr. Lemeul Parkes.
You cross the open grass airfield and walk up to a wobbly-looking lift that takes you up to the open deck. A lineup has formed of people waiting to have their tickets taken so they can enter. You step in line behind a rather posh-looking man with a lightly dazed expression on his face. The line appears to have been held up as an Indian woman in sailor's garb argues with a dour-faced man with limp black hair wearing a rather impressive captain's uniform.
"You cannot do this! It is an outrage and the crew will not stand for it!"
"I will do what I bloody well like, Vada." The posh looking man gasps in horror at the curse and mutters an 'oh my word'. "Get on the ship and do your job before I find somebody else who will."
She stares at the captain furiously before turning heel and then showing some incredible agility, begins scampering up a network of ropes along the side of the deck before slipping into an open window.
"Great Scott that was a scene," he says to nobody in particular.
The man in front of you is none other than the Baronet Eustace H Pimsoil, a colleague of yours and notorious idiot. His family has proper money, and he's notorious for living a life of relative ease and throwing ludicrous parties. Decent tennis player though.
Eileen watches the woman move up the ropes with a mixture of idle curiosity and professional respect. Standing in line, she shifts her weight anxiously from foot to foot, fidgeting from the stress of her unfamiliar surroundings and circumstances. To distract herself, she falls into the familiar habit of sizing up the other people in line, keeping an eye out for any conspicuous and easily-lifted valuables.
Every now and then, she sneaks a quick, uncertain look at Palamedes.
Simon edges forward in the queue and 'accidentally' bumps into the posh gentleman: "Apologi... - I say, Sir Pimsoil, is that you? What was all this commotion about? Seems like bad form to have the the help making complaints before we've even left!"
The wealthy-looking man in front of you is wheeling about to regard and respond to Simon, a look of fixated joy on his face. He looks ripe for the picking. Gentlemen in these situations rarely carry something as grotesque as a coinpurse but likely have valuable coins in their pockets.
Pembleton was not born wealthy, nor is he exactly wealthy now; his station in the higher echelons of society has been earned through service to a Queen has has met exactly twice. Although certainly refined by good military schools and having enjoyed the trappings his successes have granted him, it is fairer to say that he has not learned to look down on the lower classes than it is to say that he has not forgotten where he came from. When adding his affable nature and disinterest in anything not named Elisabeth or Science to his forty-eight years surrounded by everyone wearing the same uniform, the end result is that he has none of the haughtiness Simon displays.
Sir Ian clicks his tongue at the large man’s comments. ”Though some belittle work, work itself belittles no one,” he says quietly to no one in particular, quite used to talking to himself. He then sets his critical eye on the vehicle, largely finding it as mediocre and wanting as the carriage.
In an act of deliberate self-control, Eileen specifically does not take advantage of the easy, highly distracted mark right in front of her. She purses her lips, folding her arms instead and continues to sneak glances at Palamedes.
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Lottie watches Eileen, interested in the conflict she suspects the girl is dealing with. She moves to stand next to her.
"Wait until we're disembarking, my dear," she says in a low voice, barely above a whisper. Then Lottie winks conspiratorially and allows her voice to return to normal. "In some ways, you remind me of me as a young girl - if you can imagine such a thing! Ha! You must think I was around as the Lord made the firmament. And you'd not be far off."
Lottie's voice drops again. "Several marks. I'll distract 'em when the time comes."
She smooths out her skirts and adjusts the bag on her arm, giving everyone the most charming and patronising smile she can. Lottie has been on the receiving end of this smile more than once.
"I do say, Simon, daaahling, are you going to introduce us to your friend here?"
The man spins around, his eyes bulging out a little as he takes in Simon. "Clarey! Great scott old chap aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Putting a little bit round the belly still eh? Ehh? Oh my word look at that marvelous hound!"
He clangs Palamedes' side with his walking stick. The mechanical hound doesn't respond much although its eyes briefly flicker red. "What, is it defective? Does it bark, sir?" As Lottie speaks, he twists to regard the old woman.
"Ah yes, Eustace Pimsoil of the Buckinghamshire Pimsoils, I'm sure you've heard of us. Charmed indeed Mrs... oh and you have your daughter here! Isn't she a right beauty, aren't you. I bet I have a sweetie for you young girl, just give me a moment. Breaking all the hearts you will some day..."
Distracted after distracting himself, he starts rifling through his pockets, muttering something about a lemon drop. As he does so, the line lurches forward a little. At the head of the line, the captain shouts something about Parkes taking his bloody time, and nobody is on the airship yet.
He clangs Palamedes' side with his walking stick. The mechanical hound doesn't respond much although its eyes briefly flicker red. "What, is it defective? Does it bark, sir?"
Pembleton, usually so very affable and friendly to a fault, stiffens noicably as Palamedes is banged with a stick. His voice is flat.
"Palamedes," he says without looking down at the hound, "gib laut."
"RRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOFFFF!" The bark emanates as a loud, authoritative warning, drawing attention from any in the general area. The clockwork dog otherwise remains motionless, staring at Pimsoil with returning red eyes. Pembleton does the same, his only movement to pat the dog's skull gently.
"Sir Ian Pembleton," he announces with some quiet cheerfulness now pushed into his voice. He motions to Lottie and Eileen in turn. "Mrs. Charlotte Wandsworth and Ms. Eileen Gallagher. And my hound, Palamedes. While well-trained... I would not recommend touching him with your stick again."
Simon edges ever so slightly away from the mechanical hound: "Yess... That's a bit off-putting. Well, not to worry, I'm sure Sir Pembleton knows what he's about. Oh, I'm sure you've heard of him - man's a bloody (pardon my language, ladies) war hero, what? Oh, and uh..." gesturing vaguely, and somewhat embarrassedly toward the Eileen and Lottie "As you've heard, our compan... *ahem* that is, compatriots, Misses Wandsworth and Gallagher."
[b]"Now then, Sir Pimsoil, what's been going on here? Any news on this savant fellow? And what the deuce is happening with the captain of this boat?"
Eileen gives Lottie a small, quiet nod, keeping her face studiedly neutral. To Eustace, she offers a thin smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Though she starts a bit at Palemedes's bark, she makes no effort to increase her distance from him.
Having clearly decided that the stranger in front of her is of little interest and not, at the moment, a suitable target, and likewise seeming to have little interest in the social niceties of the exchanges going on around her, she once again divides her time between peeking down at the metal dog and craning her neck to try to spot any goings-on of possible interest.
Pimsoil yelps, leaping back but remains obviously fascinated with the dog. "Quite the marvelous beast if I say so myself. A pleasure, Mister Pembleton."
The line finally gets moving after a small boy covered in engine grease runs up to the captain to pass a message. He is sent scurrying by a cuff upside the head, but captain whistles sharply and the staff begin taking tickets so that you can enter the airshop proper. The queue slowly shuffles forwards.
"Well, I just saw a lovely leaflet with great big lovely lettering about the new airship. Did you hear they have a hydraulic tie press? The things these savants come up with!" He blinks for a moment before continuing on. "Anyways, this Parkes - he's got a bit of an in with the Queen you see. He does some things she likes, and he gets top billing. It's not obvious, but the ship is named after the Prince Consort, my God rest his soul. Clever enough of him, but the other savants do curse his name. Probably jealous. Who isn't? Hah![ As for that brute of a captain. Not sure what he's on about but he's always abusing the help and is a - forgive me - right bastard to anyone who asks him the time of day. I have no patience for him. Thankfully I intend to be very drunk so shan't care."
Ignoring Pimsoil's use of Mister instead of Sir - Pimsoil is clearly a prat, Pembleton surmises - the old codger nonetheless considers his words silently.
It is absolutely the same Albert. Although royalty does not use last names, Albert's last name upon birth was Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel.
As Pembleton snorts at Pimsoil's lack of social nicities, Lottie wanders off from the queue and begins happily chatting with people, being motherly with the children and flirtatious with the older men. As she does so, it becomes clear she's trying to extract whatever rumours and information she can.
She comes back looking pleased with herself as the queue begins to file in. "Nobody's heard anything about any danger, but apparently the first mate's issues with the captain are about being stiffed on pay and the crew are riotous. Something may come of it."
Clapping a hand on Pimsoil's shoulder a couple of times, Simon drawls: "I shall be sure to find you in the lounge, then. Begging your pardon, but I'm just going to see about the hold up."
So saying, Simon dodges artfully through the crowd, or simply bulldozes his way when that doesn't work, in an attempt to introduce himself to the captain .
"Good morning, captain! de Clare, here - Simon. Jolly good ship - I expect we'll all have a pleasant voyage at your hands once we get underway. Sounds like you are having a spot of trouble with your crew and the savant creature, Parkes."
"If you are worried about any sort of strange activity or rumours, you can be sure to let me know. I've a small but effective group with me, and we help out in a pinch.
Lottie makes her way up behind Simon, smiling like a bewildered granny in her first excursion away from the manor in a generation. She's trying to listen in on the conversation while watching the captain to see if she can identify anything in his expression or manner.
Unfortunately, Lottie is a bewildered granny.
Eileen continues to linger in the line, impatient but nonetheless enjoying the relatively ghost-free environs, a stark contrast to the more densely populated streets and alleyways of the city. She continues to divide her attention between scanning the crowd for anything of note and indulging her odd, growing fascination with the robot dog.
Eileen gets a good look over the clientele as you file your way in. It looks like there's around fifty people filing onto the airship, all of whom appear to be ladies and gentlemen of means. The accents she hears as she moves are all on the posher side. She also notices that flitting through the windows are a couple of young children who appear to be on various errands.
Finally, finally a board-looking young man who appears to be almost immobilized by a very tight tan suit takes your tickets, jerking a terse nod. With that, you finally step onto the Emmanuel. As you stride aboard, there's a thrum within the airship as the engines roar into life. The clacking of gears and blasts of steam fill your ears, drowning out the din of conversation.
Your tickets have afforded you modest, but private quarters. Enough space for a bunk and to move around. It's also become clear as you step on that you do not have changes of clothes, nor do you have any idea how long the flight is.
You are politely told that food and drink will be served on the deck so you can witness the newest fantastic technology as the airship takes off, fifteen minutes from now.
Pembleton inspects in his room, placing his pack in the foot locker and his weapon in the closet. After spending a few moments to wind up Palamedes with his large key, his stomach urges him to go to the Hospitality Deck and try the ship's food offerings. This is when he spots the hydraulic tie press.
The call for food is immediately forgotten. In the moments that follow, he is inspecting it, talking critically to Palamedes about any design flaws and eventually taking it apart altogether to work on some "obvious improvements". Finally, the hound makes a whining sound.
"Eh?" Pembleton looks back at the dog through an eyepiece attachment that makes his left eye seem unnaturally big, and then to his pocket watch. "Oh. Takeoff. Yes. Good fellow, Palamedes."
Cleaning up, Pembleton takes his strange, six-barreled pistol but leaves Bessie inside. "Palamedes," he says pointedly to the dog, "Bleib. Achtung."
Locking the door and leaving the robotic hound within, he ambles his tubby frame upwards to the Observation Deck.
Pembleton is delighted to discover the tie press. He takes a good look over it - this is competent worksmanship, no doubt about it. However, it has the overcomplications of someone trying too hard. After all, simplicity is the true mark of a master. Perhaps a six out of ten. He also handily now has several spare parts thanks to the dismantling of the tie press in his room.
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"Ah, well now."
Lottie sets foot on the observation deck and reaches for a railing, her stomach suddenly feeling a bit rebellious. She makes a face that suggests the eel pie from earlier may make a sudden reappearance. It's the first time in her life she's had her feet so far off the ground and it's not exactly living up to expectations.
"I think I might have ghosts in my blood," she says weakly to no one in particular. "Does anyone have a little bit of cocaine?"
Miffed at having been rebuffed by the captain, Simon frowns thunderously at the man before following the crowd on board the Emmanuel. His frown isn't softened at his small quarters, but as he straightens up before the mirror, he resolves that he is to be the Chevalier Dupin of this story . Checking his holster and holding his rapier in one hand like an unused cane, he makes his way to the deck to schmooze with the crowd before take-off.