Steam and Sand Game Thread

[Skinner]

Skinner frowned, her nose wrinkling.

"Not THAT Channel! I wouldn't step foot in French soil! I mean the passage we came across to get to this damned island! From Sou'ampton to 'ere."
Then she heard the artilery, too.
"Well... Now we are sittin' ducks. They're blockin' the only way back to land! We can't get to neither Brizzle nor Oxford, if we can't get back to main land!" she looked hopefully out of the window on either side of the cabin. The ocean was certainly wet, but she couldn't tell, because of the land around her, how far in it came.

"If... If there's a beach, to the south o' the island, we could, maybe sneak around, usin' the land as cover from the battle, an' try to get away towards the south west coasts. I'd rather spend my time with Cornish folk, than with Anglians, now they have a price on our heads. I always liked 'em better, anyhow..."

Skinner frowned, and looked lost. Frightened. Younger, despite the lines on her face. She felt dread grip at her chest that made it hard to breathe. Another boom went off in the distance and she stiffened. She wondered if that would be the sound of their doom, if this was the end. She didn't want to die this way, trapped like a rat. This was not the hero's demise she craved.
"Could...could we do that? Can...D'yeh fink we make it, Royce?"

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"Hrm. That's our only choice, really. Both sides will be moving to Southhampton, or what's left and then crossing. While French pirates are always a danger, I doubt they'll go out of there way to pick a rig off the beach. Yes... let's cut round the south and see if there's a low enough tide to come up somewhere further west."

He looked. Already he could see the outline of Anglian walkers stomping towards Southhampton, while the engines of Cornish tanks roared to meet them. The best place was not here.

[MWBailey]

Malc surveyed the former Cart Track. it would be a Cart Deathtrap, now, since the Anglian gunners had laid waste to it. Luckily, the smoke and steam of the exploding shells still obscured the scene from those same gunners, or they would have opened fire on him, had they seen him there. He backed up, back into the concealing gorse and holly bushes, and fished his scout's chalk panel from beside the drivers chair, found his lump of chalk, buried under a pile of maps on what later generations would probably refer to as the "dashboard," abd wrotye in large letters,

CART TRACK:
NO ROAD.

He drove Molly back, then, and parked Athwart the path of the 7-7, at what Malc hoped was a safe distance for the 7-7 to stop. he held up his placard and crossed teh fingers of his buttoned-up hand...

[Skinner]

Skinner turned the tracks enough so that the slowing rig wouldn't hit Molly. She peered at the sign, and it took her a little longer than normal to take it in.

"Right. Looks like we gots no choice, either way."
She hung out the cabin window.
"We're goin' south, to the beach. Fraid we can't stop for a spot o' rum while we're there. Head round the land, and high tail it back to the coast- the island's just big enough that we'll be too far away to catch when we come into view. Then full steam to Cornwall."

She gulped, and with a pained expression, added.
"Heavens willin' it works. After this hedge- yes, lad, we're drivin' through it- stay ahead o' the rig, and scout for ravines or sink holes or hidden ditches, an what not. Ickle Molly there can get out o' stucks that we can't get unstuck from. Just... get us safely to the southern beach, and by my honour, I'll buy yeh keg after keg o' yer favourite brew."

Then she turned back to the controls and turned her a little more southways, then bolted the throttle, driving the rig right through a hedge row and into the open field beyond.

[MWBailey]

Malc cursed, and threw Molly into reverse, around and through the hedge backwards, then backed around in the field, changed to Forward again, and opened the throttle, and shifted up the gear train until he got into the running gears again, and tore his left cuff off of his shirt. He then used his newly-freed left hand to slowly, painfully turn the turret around (by remote maneuvering, of course) to point back the way they'd come, and popped off a 35mm shell at the scout car that had spotted them and was following them into the field, watching with satisfaction as the shell hit and exploded in front of the car, causing it to flip over forwards.

He then changed into the speed gear, manipulated the oh-so-illegal speed governor (or it had been illegal ten years before, at least), and shot ahead like a rocket once more, coming close to the edge of the field, and seeing the brook sitting there like a tank trap, blew his whistle six times, and threw up a thin, high-pressure plume of steam from the signal pipe, then swerved to the left, pelting like mad for the field's entrance gate, marked by a rude fence-wire gap gate about a hundred yards ahead. He rammed through, the tightly-strung wire going BYINK!BOINK!THUNK! like a suddenly-shredded string bass, and then he right-faced  Molly down-lane and took off again, still showing the plume, so Skinner would know which way to turn, and parked within sight of the gate, until Skinner pulled out of the gate and into the lane.

He marvelled at her skill as she made the Rig twist and turn like  a serpent, and then he put Molly back in gear, threw the throttle wide open again, and shot off down the track, which according to the map, should take them to the coast, and to a hopefully-not-too--steep little boat-builder's railway...provided it was still where the map said it was.

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan heard the hum of the cornish engines after setting down the unfoldable mat. He quickly dropped the pillow that now lay atop the soft mat. He looked out into the sands to see the silouettes of the war machines drawing ever closer.
"Dear, lower your head. I don't want any stray shells getting you."
The sudden, jerking turns of the 7-7 caused the little slumber arrangement to go askew and sends Conlan tumbling into the ground, making a loud clang as his armor hit the metal floor.
"URgh...Dear, you okay?"

[Skinner]

Skinner pelted the engine along, in a manner very unlike her usual driving style. She was the first to profess that going steady and preserving steam and coal was the best way long distance, but this was a race against time. The quicker they got out, the better, and she was more greatful to Malc than she thought was possible, for the guidance and for the water in the tank.

"Mad old Saint." she muttered, not going any faster than Molly, keeping enough distance to stop and maneuver in. At least, she thought, they were behind the tree-line, and she felt the road starting to angle forward, downhill.

She glanced over her shoulder, caught a look at Scarlette, and twitched a smile.
"It's all down-hill from here." she joked, but her mouth was dry. Her shaking right hand went to her hipflask and she took a steadying swig of the cool amber liquid, felt it turn hot in her throat. For just a minute, she wasn't sure, if the warmness in her cheeks was from the fright, the drink, or Scarlette.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Now as they rounded the back of the island, there were no more sights of the battle, but still much noise.

"If they both try to head over the landbridge...they might end up just destroying it..." Royce muttered worriedly. "I've seen how those big guns can chew up ground - if it was muddy before it might be totally impassable. Then we're trapped until they send in the navy to storm the island..."

He looked worriedly, listening.

"It seems like they're still stuck trying to wrest Southhampton from each other. Come on... we need to get through fast. We may be going through a war zone any which way..."

[MWBailey]

Malc was getting a bit perturbed; the road was supposed, according to the map, to make a long, slow curve back to the left, and continue southwards for a several miles, before coming to a large flat space where the twenty-year-old map said there was a village. the name was smudged beyond true readability, but it looked like something resembling Crosby, or Cromden, or something. In any case, he was relieved when the long, slow curve begana, and Molly began to skid aoround said curve just slightly. he looked at the Tachometer, and at Driver RPM, and estimated he must be blasting along at approximately 100kph. He was a bit shocked, and the thought of a shell or rocket finding him or the 7-7 was the only thing that kept him from slowing down. He swept into the flat space then, and waited until the rig caught up, then blew a long note on the whistle, and turned to teh left. from here it was a straight shot of twenty miles to teh coast, and hopefully, the railway...

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear had instinctively rolled in to a ball and then found a bit of pipe to hold on to.  "Dear is fine. Why is the house going so fast?"  She had never been in a moving vehicle before and found the fact that such a big thing could go much faster than she could run rather disturbing.   

[Skinner]

Skinner was as gentle on the throttle as she could be, and feathered the brakes to avoid the entire rig rolling over down the hill. She too was growing impatient, but now they were down hill, she could see the remains of buildings, preserved from the blasts but still mostly abandoned. And past that, the shoreline, and the receded ocean lapped a good few miles out. She craned her neck to see if that was true for the mainland coast, but the land blocked her view.
It would remain a worrisome surprise until they came upon it.

She whistled, long and low, at the panorama.
"Wish we could stay. The last piece o' greenery... the last scrap o' England." she mumbled, the word unfamiliar on her lips.
"An' it gets torn up by Anglians an' Scots. It'll be raided by sundown an' camped on til the second doomsday."

[Nigel Wetherby]

"The rig is being chased. There are bad men after us."
He pondered why, the reason slowly fell together as he realized just who might want the young princess dead and why they would be so willing to hunt down a rig of mercenaries, one of which was a knight.

"They want you...The Anglian king wants you because you're of royal blood! That's what they were after! It was never about the books or the weapons! It was you!"

[Mina]

After Conlan took over the combing of Dear's hair, Kat headed to her bunk, where she gratefully collapsed. Paying no mind to the massive increase of speed, she pulled the book that she had never really got to reading, and began to immerse herself in the plot line.

But upon hearing the words "Royal blood" shouted from somewhere on the rig, she sat up, and made her way to Conlan's  quarters.

"Eh, whats this? Royal blood? And what yeh yelling at Dear for? You're going to scare the poor thing!"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Your right miss Mina. I am very sorry, Dear. But it appears the books weren't the only valuable treasure within that manor. We have to keep Dear safe!"
Conlan drew his blade and kneeled to Dear, his blade forming a cross which he lay his hands upon.
"Your highness, as a knight it is my god given duty to defend you from all manner of harm. I shall defend you with my very life!"

He quickly sheathed his blade.
"Well now that the formalities are all done, We mustn't allow the Anglians or any other atrium to get their talons on her!"

[Titus Wells]

Away from the chase, Red was being hauled into a crude pavilion erected between two oaks. His hood was removed and he found himself gripped between two stout Scots, facing a lean man with a beaten brass coronet, monocle, sort, pointed beard and the tattered remains of a military dress suit on.

"Greetings stranger. I am Richard, King of Anglia. Bow before me."

Red has no choice as the rough bandits forced him to his knees.

"What favours woulds't thou wished bestowed upon thee brigand?"

Red weighed up his options and reasoned that his best chance stood in flattering this man, who clearly thought himself on top of the heap.

"Your majesty, I come from a west country home. My parents were killed when I was very young and the only heirloom I have is a silver pocket watch my father owned. I recently signed up with a foraging party who were waylaid by a band of your soldiers.  Had I known they were in the service of the King of Anglia we should have handed over our shipment and sworn fealty, however we were unaware and so fought your soldiers to the death. On one of them I found a silver watch matching exactly my father's, but with a Boar's Head symbol. running into another band of these soldiers just now I asked to be taken to you to see if I could learn more of the kinship between my father's watch and those carried by your army."

"Your father had a watch? May I see it?"

The King's tone was more curious than monarchical now and Red held the artefact out to him as best he could with wrists still tied.

"My word, an ancient relic indeed. My boy, I made this watch with my own hand a long, long time ago now. I only made five of these without the Boar's Head crest. I wonder which yours is."

[Stella Gaslight]

"Dear was a good girl. Dear never hurt anyone or took things that weren't Dear's or anything.  Why would they want to make Dear go away? Mama said Dear was special, that Dear was going to do good things when Dear got big but she never said people would want to hurt Dear."  The world was quickly becoming a complicated place. Before she only had to worry about catching dinner and keeping her self alive.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Your mother was a smart woman. You shall do good things, I'll be sure of it."
Conlan placed his armored hand upon her shoulder, attempting to give her that feeling he once had as a child, the feeling of being watched over and protected.

"So long as I breathe, no one shall harm you. Besides, friends don't let bad people hurt their friends."
He smiled at her warmly and lifted the visor of his helm, revealing his sincere brown eyes.
Conlan looked out of the porthole, watching as the silouettes faded like a bad dream, leaving only shadows in the minds eye.

"I think we may have lost them for now..."

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear exhaled slowly, she had been rather scared about being chased. "The water out there is very big.  Are we going to your house Conlan? Do knights live in big houses made out of rock?  Dear saw a picture of one in a book along time ago"  Dear found that with the fear gone she wanted to learn everything about this new big world that she could.

[MWBailey]

Malc pulled out his own watch. It was a silver monstrosity, something his Da had owned, given to him by his Ma, his Da's wife. His had no boars head, but a crest open worked into the front cover, and a lion carrying a sword in its front paw, or "the rampant sword-lion," as his Da had put it, and told him to keep it safe, as it was proof of his origins. It was common back then for people to carry watches with their family coat of arms, but the watch dodn't say "McCrory" on the crest, it just had a crown of bricks above a knight's helm, with all the usual deerskin frippery and curlicues, and up above the brick crown, the tiny lion seemed to dance with the sword held in parade ready position.

On the shield below, there was a downward-pointing chevron, flanked by one battlemented tower above and two below. No motto, though. He pocketed the watch; the 7-7 ought to be along any second, he thought . Let's just hope Skinner can slow down enough to take the railway slope. He waited until he could hear the roar of the 7-7 as it blasted down the disused road. As the cab slowly became discernible in the now- slanting late afternoon light, Malc blasted his whistle three times, nearly playing a tune on the last blast.

Then, he drove down a short driveway to the left, and waited at the start of the incline where the boat railway had once swept down to the waters edge, and on down below the former water level, back when it was used to haul boats out for maintenance,  and roll boats in for launching. the iron track was long gone, but the stone paving was still there, looking nearly brand new, or would have, had not the occasional rusted bolt-head marked where once the railway had stretched. He led the 7-7 out onto the sands of the dry channel, racing againt the tide, that already ran in tiny rivulets in the middle of the channel, for the incline and still-standing stone bridge remnant that led onto shore...

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Usually they do."
Conlan said with a fond sigh, recalling his childhood. He remembered being emotionally dead for a number of years until his days of squiredom.
"I doubt we are going to my house. My home was destroyed years and years ago."

Conlan told himself the smoke he smelt was from the furnace at the head of the rig and not his memories coming back to wrap their burning, hideous claws around him,
"But you would have loved it, Dear. Every year the king would celebrate his birthday with a 'topsy turvy tourney' where the knights would act as the squires and we squires would practice in torunaments meant for the knights!"
A smile crept across his face.
"I was utterly terrible at the joust, but the Duels was where I shone my best. We would fight in old rusty suits of steam armor made from wood and pulled along by squires who had misbehaved."

[Stella Gaslight]

She smiled thinking about the happy times of her own childhood. "Dear used to play with the boys when Dear was little.  We would explore, climb trees, hunt for berries, go fishing and run away when the big man would yell at us. Mama never yelled but she would sigh when Dear ripped her skirts.  Mama taught Dear some sewing so she could fix her own skirts but Dear kept getting poked.  Dear liked the cooking lessons much better."

[MWBailey]

Malc breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. they would get away; he would get away, once again. THIS time. When're ye goin' to stop runnin' an' face your lineage, lad? A voice in his head said, 'way, 'way back where he kept stuffing anything to do with family or blood...but this time, the memories came out whether he willed it or not. The truth, that his father was a rigger because transport had been the family business since the time when The McCrorys, and the family of the Earl of Scarborough had been joined by the marriage of a minor baronet, of a sept of the Earl's paternal family...but it no longer mattered, now that Yorkshire was a republic, and the "Yorkshire Riding" (the royal commission of said Riding being the basis for the family's claim to nobility) was no more. Not to mention that his own disgrace and cashiering would probably have caused him to be dismissed from the peerage, or however such things were handled.

But 'nough o' such-like  things, he told himself, 's not as if you 'ave any prayer... and then it dawned on him, why the girl, Dear, seemed so important. He thought about it, remembered books his father  owned, and remembered a baby picture of a certain princess... Betty? Bethany -- no, Beatrice, that was it. And he compared his memory of that angelic little face in the photograph to his brief memory of Dear's face, and nearly lost control of the tank. So... the dirty, malnourished child was the rightful ruler of England, or what was left of it. Good God, Malc, ye always manage t' land 'ip deep in it, don't you? He noticed, then, that the tide had turned from isolated rivulets flowing toward the bridge toward which they themselves were heading, to a broad river that stretched from one end of the former Solent to the other. The incline from the sandy bottom was still clear, but not for long.

He threw Molly back into the highest gear, and prayed that Skinner or someone aboard the 7-7 knew morse code, as he switched on the lights, and sent, via said code, one word, repeated, with the code for exclamation points: "RUN!!... RUN!!... RUN!!... RUN!!... RUN!!... RUN!!... RUN!!... RUN!!...

HE cleared the incline to the bridge, and onto the bridge proper, at nearly 100 kph; even though teh incline had been relatively gentle, Molly still became airborne for an instant at the top of it; she crashed back down onto the cobbles of the disused and neglected bridge, the impact scattering a huge cloud of sand, dust, and seagull droppings. he looked back through the rear periscope, and saw that Skinner, or whoever was driving the 7-7, had managed to keep from experiencing the same surprise, and breathed a sigh of relief; We're Home free! he thought. We've cheated the reaper yet again, lad!

...And then the APC, with the arms of Anglia emblazoned on its side, pulled up athwart the Bridge's other approach, and shined a spotlight that nearly blinded him...

[Nigel Wetherby]

"I had no clue the queen had skills as a seamstress."
Conlan pondered, stroking his slightly stubbled chin.
"I am sure your mother was a wonderful woman. Our queen died a long time ago, Around the time I was born."

Immediately a look of realization crossed his face.
"Boys? Were there others on your island aside from your family?"

[Stella Gaslight]

"Yup they were the sons of the garden person, the butler and the cooks.  We used to play all the time but when things turned bad they all went away and it was just Dear. The big man said that they were there to serve us and that Dear shouldn't play with them but dear was lonely in the big house and the boys were so much fun.  Dear never understood why they had to be separate and live in little places when there was lots of space in the big house.  A lot of things the big man said confused Dear."  She had never understood the need for class division and that was something her maid\mother figure had worked hard to cultivate in her.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Ah I see."
Conlan finished the last touches of her cot, fluffing her pillow for extra softness.

"There you go. A nice cot for you. Now it's only temporary, until you get your own quarters that is."
He hefted his massive canvas pack and unlatched it, letting the volumes of books spill forth.
"The sun is setting and I would say its about time you got some rest. We had a big day. Would you like me to read you something?"

Conlan sifted through the books, placing them on a metal shelf built into the wall.
"Hmm let's see, Alice in wonderland, A children's garden of verse, Saint george and the dragon."
He chuckled warmly, remembering sifting through these tomes as a child.