"STEAM LONDON" Game Thread

[the Hat]

Bugger it all! Why did he have to be in such situations??? He had just found a group of seemingly fine fellows; and now some thug was threatening to kill the Irishman if he did not comply and tell him about the strange fire that morning. This put Scott into a difficult predicament: he could run, for he knew nothing about the damned fire and he had no desire to be killed; or he could stick it out with these men come what might. He had often run in the past when faced with a difficult situation... but now.... Well, he had companions, however odd they might be. Scott had not had real friends in years, and what had he come to London for in the first place??? Adventure! It was time to make a stand, no matter what the cost...

[AFGNCAAP]

Horatio's explanation clicked right into Demetri's strikingly detailed knowledge of sixteenth century Italy. "Ah...I recognize that. Merci, now I know in English." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I would not make any use of the pistol, ammunition or not. Either he would kill us, or we would kill him and his superiors, such as this 'colonel' who seems not to be doing his traditional work at all, would pursue us. If we do neither and run, we can skip right to being pursued..."
He took the first sip of his third absinthe; despite this, he sat as straight and spoke as lucidly as ever. He was beginning to attract stares from around the pub, but paid no attention.
"The safest thing I can immediately think of seems to be not moving at all..."

[HAC]

There was a rustle at the bar, and the same boy who had  run off earler ran back in and handed a note to Billy.. Billy read it and walked over to the companions...
"Oi, welll, then, its a lucky day fer you all round.. O'ive been told to leave off you lot."  he reached over and picked up his purse, reached in and dropped a sovereign on the table.. "Thats for the trouble O'ive casued you, and thats from me, not on the say of me Boss.. O'ill tell you this, me Boss was told to 'ave me lay off, as it seems the Guvvermint in ole Upper London is "moiking inquiries" about said fire, so its better if they don't know that the likes of my Boss is interested.. Oi'll tell you this, ye'd best keep yerselfs "head-down" fer a while, The Guvvermint h'aint to picky bout niceties ifn they wants yous to talk"
  Billy moved away, then came back and leaned close to Ajax..
"And a word fer ye, my foine Oirishman.. I knows yer type, yer a Tyburn hooligan, what drinks too much, and donnybrooks when he should be listnin'.. Ye may be a fighter, but yer no killer, 'ats where ye draws yer line.. But me, now, O'im am a fine Oirish lad too, and Oi'm a killer times over, wit' no issues about it, or about bein' fair... O'id ave had a hard time of it foightin' wit you, but......"
  There was a soft puff from Billy's sleeve, and a feathered dart quivered in the tabletop, between Ajax' fingers, the wood smoking and blackening where the tip had sunk in...
  "In the end, it would 'ave been like that, an I were getting the worst of it.. Think about that, me foine Oirish gentleman, and remember that life is cheap round these parts.. A word to the wise as it were, O'id be a bit more careful wit that foine Oirish temper of yours..
O'ill say one more thing and trouble you no more.. Ye'll be watched..."

Billy walked over to the bar and poured down his whisky.. He smiled and nodded to his bully-boys and the trio left, vanishing into the alleys as if they had never come by...  The bar, as a whole, relaxed....


   

[Miss Gadget]

Horatio let out a long, loud sigh of relief and knocked back the remains of his ale.

"I..I..Interesting place London," he grinned feebly, "so, erm, as it appears I can trust you chaps I ah have a proposition if I may be so bold?"

He looked at the faces of those assembled and lent forwards, lowering his voice and motioning them to draw nearer.

"I make my money locating old books of, ah, esoteric interest. Presently I have a contract but very little information, should I be able to enlist your aid I can see to handsome rewards for your efforts."

Checking to see they were listening he continued.

"I've been up and down the country these past few months, a short trip to France and a few nights in Spain no less. In all that I've gained but one lead towards the ah, text I seek. Tell me gentlemen, does the name 'Moriarty' mean anything to you? I find the locals somewhat unwilling to discuss and am somewhat at the end of my means right now."

He waited for a response, hoping against hope that he might finally get somewhere in this forsaken city.

[AFGNCAAP]

Demetri shook his head. "I regret to say that the only English books I know well enough are textbooks. I will, however, gladly research its whereabouts for you; the college's librarian might know of such a one. For finding me out in the park, I owe you my best effort."

[HAC]

Horatio looked up, just as the barkeep deposited a fresh round on the table...
"Excuse me gents, but that's from the fellow that just left, said it would help you remember who's who.. Now if you don't mind me saying, there's a few things I could tell you, I heard you mention the Professor's name. I figure you gents are new to London, so here's the way it is. Upper London is for the gentry,the nobles , the engineers, and those that are in Governement.  But down here, Lower London, well, it has its own sort of Government,  not quite so fancy and such. Now, the Professor whose name you mentioned , well, he used to run things down here, but the he was done in by that Holmes fellow from Upper London these few years back. Thats when the Colonel took over, and a bloody time it was. He was the Professor's right hand man, but now he's the top of the heap. Rich as Croesus, he is,and lives up in Upper London. H'es just as hard and clever as the old Professor was, though.  Look, its about money and power down here. When you leave here, look over my door, theres a bit of brass nailed there. That means I pays the Colonels "tax" and I get no trouble from thieves and the like in return.  The Colonel don't come down here much, but he doesn;t need to... he has his Bosses, who run the sectors down here, and they have their people..  Billy there, well, he's a bad one, but in his own way, he's as fair a man as you'll see anywheres, he'll be a Boss one day, mark my words..
 All what happens down here filters up, so to speak, and if its worth anything, well, things happen.. You want my advice, you have a book of the Professores, you'd be wise to sell it to the Colonel.. Make you rich, it would rich enough to move out of here. You want to do that, you come here and tell me, I'll get someone to you..Likewise, I can get information for you, but, it'll cost you"
  The barkeep looked at them, winked, and headed bck to the bar

[Mercury Wells]

Meanwhile in Upper London, a newsboy selling papers is holding a banner of the latest headlines and shouting
"MP* for Harrow found dead, at London home"

Extract from front page
The Chief Constable Lestraad of the Metropolitan Police is quoted as saying that, "The MP for Harrow has been found dead at his London home by his housekeeper. The MP was trying to propose a Bill for the clean up of Lower London. Whether his death was the result of this Bill proposal is not known. Until we can find the discern the nature of his death, we are treating it as suspicious. We will of course keep Their Majesties and Palace of Westminster duly informed".










(*Member of Parliament)

[Gaslight Phantom]

Ajax merely stared, nettled and silenced, at the dart quivering in the table. Damn the bugger, but he's right, he thought, biting his lip and ignoring the conversation around him. Fightin', but no killin'. Couldn't do it even if you wanted to, could you, Callaghan? No, that fire-breathin' dragon o' yours don't have no teeth, for all its steamin' and bellowin'. He hated it when his enemies could read him like a book. Still, I'd've had him and his mates on the run back to their boss with their pointy tails between their legs, without any foul play like that... whatever-it-is... The dart's tip still smouldered, and a tiny drop of black liquid oozed from the cracked wood.

The bartender had approached, and was quietly engaged in conversation with the other three. Ajax listened idly. Rich as creases, eh? But why the hell would a crease be rich?

All of a sudden, he sat bolt upright. Where were Haywood's tools and the drawer with the letters? Had he left them at the fire? He sat forward as the bartender left, and looked from man to man around the table. "...Does anyone remember whether I came in with me tools and all that? Only, I think I've gone an' lost 'em somewhere..."

[Mordecai Maxwell]

As Billy left, Wyatt took his hand off of his revolver.  He had no dog in this fight, but he knew that things have a tendency to get bigger than expected.  He glanced over at the unusual group sitting at the table across the room and did his best to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Since arriving in London Wyatt had begun a systematic campaign, primarily using the press, to attempt the formation of a revolution.  He hoped that if he could just light the spark and guide it that this island would become what the united States were.  Wyatt had been paying off the right reporters and writing inflammatory letters to the editor on both sides of a given issue to fuel tension in the kingdom.  His most recent issue had been the cleanup of lower London.  A few gold coins got him an article on the crime problems of lower London. 

A few farthings to some hungry students provided him with stacks of angry letters to the press, MPs, and others demanding that the place be demolished and reconstructed, after the riff raff and urchins were removed, of course.  Getting the local printer drunk enabled him to print hundreds of two page tabloid papers inciting the locals and suggesting techniques to fight the upper Londoners who wanted to take away their homes.

It didn't seem like much was happening yet, but these things take time, he reasoned.  This "Colonel" character, however, could be a problem.  The last thing a weak, new nation needs is a criminal overlord destabilizing it before it can get on its feet.  With that in mind he gazed at the group, wondering what they were going to do next.

[AFGNCAAP]

"Those...? Back in the park?" Demetri's eyes lit up, and he lifted his bookbag with one arm, which was astounding, because on top of the textbooks was a pile of just those tools. He was much stronger than he looked, but the same did not hold true for his bag; a hole torn in it by a wrench was slowly expanding as he spoke.
"I was feeling much better when we left...nothing is missing, I hope. It was only these tools, no?"

[Gaslight Phantom]

"Aye, that's them!" Ajax eagerly collected the tools, spreading them out haphazardly on the table and checking to see if any were missing. It was a fruitless endeavour, since he had no idea how many there had been in the first place, and since most of them defied classification as hammers or wrenches or any sort of ordinary device. He picked out one that looked like the illegitimate child of an egg-beater and a whirligig, and gave it a tentative spin. "Dunno what they're for, though - Haywood never got 'round to tellin' me. And the letters?"

He felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach as Demetri looked blankly back, unsure. "The letters I saved from the fire. In a big ol' wooden drawer. Leastways, I think they were mostly letters – didn't check. Haywood's letters. To an' from a lass in Liverpool, never got her name. Never met her myself, neither. Where did I... dropped 'em, or... left 'em in the park, or... awful big for letters, some of 'em..." His throat was going dry, but he left his new mug untouched, racking his brains. Billy didn't take 'em, can't have, would've noticed – wouldn't I? – but someone else in the pub? One of these three – no, can't be. Fireman? Why, though? Must've dropped 'em somewhere, that's it. Retrace your steps, Callaghan. Easy does it.

He rose unsteadily, distracted. "Gotta find those letters, mates – nice to meet yous all, sorry I can't be stayin' longer – bleedin' hell..." He hoisted the Illuminator onto his back with great difficulty, scooped up Haywood's tools, and blundered towards the door, nearly knocking over several chairs and glasses with the machine's swaying bulk.

[AFGNCAAP]

As Ajax talked about the letters, a terrific pang welled up in Demetri's chest. Gahh, all the unwanted emotion today was starting to worry him--worry! Another one!
"Perhaps...check your pockets first? They weren't where I picked them up...I can help, monsieur!"

[Miss Gadget]

As Ajax and Demitri attended to the case of the missing letters, Horatio found himself drifting off into a world of his own. His fingertips drummed upon the table top as he stared into space, weighing this new information.

[the Hat]

Scott was rather drunk again, but was rather saddened by the departure of the Ajax and Demitri. He was still on edge from the near altercation with the large fellow, Bucky? Bumbly? Billy! That was it! Seeing that the bookseller was still at the table nursing his ale, Scott decided to make SOME kind of decision.
"What kind o' books are ye' looking fur?" he asked Horatio.

[AFGNCAAP]

It was something Demetri did naturally, something much like a dog or a cat does when introduced into a new family--he would not leave Ajax, the one of everyone who seemed to take to him the least, alone. Professor Agrippa had been the first, and now the Irishman. He bobbed over his shoulder (barely) as they made their way back toward the park, searching his pockets for the letters and talking at the same time.
"I don't have them...there's a chance they were left under the park bench; it was getting dark; I could have missed them, easily."
Back there, his vantage point had been the ground; maybe he could remember seeing them--he tried...no, too dark. By now, it was so dark that when they were drawing near enough to the park to see the bench again, it only looked like shadows, outlines in the last lingering wisps of smoke. The fire had been put out completely.
Demetri squinted for a few seconds, still adjusting to the darkness...he gasped--there were more shadows than just a bench; two things were moving over there, probably two people. He called to them to make sure they weren't just dogs and hoped that, if they were, they were too clever to mistake letters for food.
"Hello?"

[Mordecai Maxwell]

Wyatt reached into his pocket and tossed a few coins on the bar.  The bartender nodded, acknowledging payment.  The odd stranger had been one of his most regular customers the past few weeks, and always left a little something extra when he paid his tab.

Wyatt stood and opened the door; the evening air had a bit of a bite to it as he strode out onto the street and headed for his small flat in upper London.  He'd had a long night last night and was ready for some sack time.  Looking around him as he walked, however, he soon spotted the large gentleman with the unusual apparatus and the Frenchman who had been with him walking in the same direction.

Curiosity finally getting the better of him, Wyatt slowed down and circled around, using the various shadows to conceal himself.  He crouched down and waited with a view of Ajax and Demetri, and the two shadows by the bench.

[Leonard Lightning]

Leonard stopped and listened to the newsboy and gulped, maybe hiding in London was a bad idea.  Perhaps he should hide in a small village somewhere.  All the same he purchased a paper and tucked it under his arm juggling his cane and his small traveling suitcase.  He'd been wandering the streets looking for a hostel to stay at that was out of the way.  As big and scary as New York could be it didn't compare to the coal smoke gloom of London.  As he walked into the worse parts of town he could practically feel the residents sizing him up for robbery.  Finally he came to a hostel off a side street he had been directed to and, felt his stomach clench.  It looked utterly filthy and, he could tell a fire had broken out only a few streets away.  Holding his things to him tightly he went inside paid the grumbling owner and slunk to his room.  London certainly didn't seem the shining jewel it was claimed to be, he thought, as he lay on his bed dreams quickly claiming him.


Meanwhile a wire is brought to the Colonel via runner, "Dear Sir," it says in slightly jagged hand writing,"I have been made aware that you are a fellow of resources, civility, and an appreciation of all things no matter the nature.  I send this letter in hopes of arranging a business deal with you.  I can provide you with unique skills and in return I believe you may be able to provide my brother.  He was last seen boarding a ship set to sail for London.  I myself am set to leave New York presently for your fair city and look forward to making your aquaintance.  -Lemwith Fulmineus"

[HAC]

Hiram sat at the desk in his study, carefully going over a large ledger. He made a few entries, blotted the ink dry, and then carefully closed the book. Taking it, he went to the wall, and swung aside a seascape by Turner. Behind the painting was the door to a rather study wall safe. Hiram twirled the first dial, the the second, and swung open the door. He deposited the ledger and closed the safe.  
 He poured himself a brandy at the sideboard, and sat again. Things were progressing well, he thought, the meeting with Fu Manchu had gone exceeding well, and even now, his agents were working to open up the supply routes agreed upon. Most profitable indeed. There was the odd matter of the death of that MP, Hiram knew that he had not ordered it, and then to make the day more strange, a runner had delivered a cryptic note addressed to "the Colone;" to one of his Lower London fronts. He made a decision, and pushed the button that would summon Uriah.
  "You rang, Master?"
"Yes Uriah, indeed I did, most odd goings on lately. We still have Inspector Blenkinsop at Scotland Yard on our payroll?"
"Indeed Master, a most useful man"
"Get word to him, I want to know whatever the Yard and that fool Lestraad know as soon as they know it. Something is afoot, something, new, and I can smell it. I don't much care who rules in London, but we need a stable situation. Unrest is bad for business. Put Lamont and his crew on it as well, I need answers."   Hiram paced a bit..
 "and this note from this American fellow, intriguing, and very bold indeed. I like initiative in a fellow. Find out what ship he arrives on, and have someone reliable meet him.  Yes, I think we need someone special, a gentleman with a hard streak, what the Americans would call "a killing gentleman".
Arrange for Hickock to meet him, that should do. Put him up in rooms at Chen Yu's, I will met with him there, and see what this plucky American has to say.. and send the coach around, I have an appointment with some gentlemen of Parliament"
  "As Master wishes" said Uriah, and left..
An interesting day, indeed........

[Mercury Wells]

In the Scotland Yard Mortuary:- Messrs Lestraad, the Holmes brothers, Doctors Birken Hare with John Waston (assisting).

("As you see, the heart is badly ruptured along the left and right ventricles, but there isn't any blood in the thoraxal cavity, which is most strange. Note that the eyes are extremely dilated, bulging out of their sockets. Also the lips are pulled back in a feral grin." explained Dr. Hare. "In brief, the poor devil was frightened to death.

Lestraad is holding a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, looking rather wan but with a faint greenish tinge. "If that's all. Can we shall put down that the man died of a heart attack then?".

"Not so Chief Constable" Sherlock quickly cutting Lestraad off, "Notice the strange odour pervading the corpse?". "No" Lestraad replies, "and if you'll excuse me?" "Over there man" Hare indicating a sink in the far corner. Lestraad nods and quickly runs to the corner.

"He is a good man" comments Mycroft, "but made of less stern stuff, not that I hold that against him". There is a sound of a tap running hard and loudly.

"Holmes, that case we called the "The Awakened*" exclaimed Waston, "Of course" replied Sherlock and he goes on to explain what transpired and why it wasn't published.)

As the others listened, Mycroft says in a low serious voice "We know that He (indicating the corpse) lived alone and without living relatives, so we will put on the death certificate, 'death from severe sanguination by a single stab wound' then a simple cremation".

"And of the housekeeper?" inquired Waston, "We'll arrange it that she get a small stipend and encouraged to emigrate to one of the colonies to run a small hotel and also to change her name, but we will keep an eye on her too" said Mycroft.





(*I've just started playing the game, but I thought that would tie in nicely though  )

[Sir Theodore Catchpole]

cool

[Leonard Lightning]

Uriah left as soon as he was dismissed after all, everyone knew the sooner the master's attention was on someone besides yourself the better it was for you.  On his way out he stopped and spoke with one of the house runners, whispering implicit instructions for the Inspector Blenkensop.  That handled he set off for lower London, the sort of man his master wanted to meet the american wasn't the sort to send those of weak will to.  In all honesty even Uriah was frightened of the man.  Not nearly as afraid as he was of Merriweather but afraid none the less.  His master could say he liked a bold man all he wanted, it was obvious he wanted to make an impression with the american that would leave no question as to his and Merriweather's relationship.  After a quick stop at the office of the liner company whose office the wire had come from Uriah discovered he could put off contacting Hickock for at least three days.  The ship wasn't due for a week.  With this discovery Uriah decided to return home to report as such to his master.

Leonard awoke that morning a little stiff and rumpled but no worse for wear.  After straightening himself out he slipped out of his current home.  He would need a job to get by here and, while he had never been employed before he was sure it wouldn't be that hard to find one.  He walked back towards upper London in search of a university or college since those would of course be the only places where he would be fully appreciated.

[AFGNCAAP]

Some streets from Demetri and Ajax and just out of earshot, the only currently unlit lamp in London had, rather, a five foot tall figure in an absurdly oversized coat (for most people, a rather small size) hanging from it by the tips of their fingers, cursing in Russian. One of the person's fingers barely curled around a minuscule gas lighter that was little more than a glorified match, just holding a flame at its tip that was even smaller than that of a match. This hand inched painfully toward its goal...
"Ay, kiddo? Need some help?" A lanky man tipped back his bowler hat below to catch a glimpse of the tiny person's face--it was not grateful, though, it was furious. Nobody likes to be called "kiddo", and this one didn't in particular.
"Nobody..." the tiny lamplighter growled in the voice of a grown woman, dripping of north Russian birth. "Calls me...a child!" Taking advantage of her position, she swung her steel toed boot squarely between the man's eyes; he swooned into a pile beneath her that already contained three other concerned, unconscious fellows with bumps on their head. He would be the last...he had to be the last...she would never admit to herself that her hands were becoming frozen to the lamp as the cold night air set in around her and were unlikely to get any further.

This is not yet important.

Returning to Demetri, he took a step toward the shadows. He had no reason to fear them...well, not that he knew of.

[Mordecai Maxwell]

Wyatt remained crouched in shadow as he observed the shadowy figures hunched over something by the bench.  They failed to notice as a piece of paper blew away from them and landed in the shadows.  Wyatt picked up the paper and glanced at it; it was a diagram for some strange device, but in the poor light he couldn't make out any more than that.  He carefully folded the paper and placed it in one of the pouches on his belt.

"Hello!" he heard the Frenchman call out into the darkness as he cautiously stepped toward the figures at the bench.  They both looked up at the noise.  One of them frantically gathered items and put them into some kind of container (the wooden drawer that Ajax mentioned earlier), and the other stood up and turned to face Demetri.

[Ben Hudson, Esq.]

Meanwhile, some miles to the east, at a small airship docking-station

Hudson descended the rope ladder from his airship, the Bohème. His arms ached from the effort of pulling levers for hours on end, and his head ached from a lack of sleep. He had singlehanded flown the airship from Portsmouth, where she had been lying for a few weeks, and felt every bit of it. I need a sodding crew, he thought. Portsmouth had been no good for finding idle aviators willing to join in for next to nothing. He hoped London might be a better place. He was still to decide what exactly he was going to do with the ship once it was fully manned. One thing was for sure, it wouldn't be the boring freight he had been doing for donkeys' years.
He stepped down onto a mesh gantry, and ran a hand over his chin. He needed a shave, and by the smell of him, a bath as well. But first of all, he needed a stiff drink, and to get to know the neighbourhood. He had been to London before, but never for a great length of time and never in this area.
As he left the hangar, he was amazed by the thickness of the air. It had been bad when he was last here, but now it was like breathing the exhaust fumes of a Renard-Capel diesel. From the air it was harder to see as well, but it was still night and he couldn't see quite how bad it was. As he left the docking yard, he went over to an urchin selling chestnuts and suchlike.
'Boy, tell me how to get to the nearest public house and you'll have a penny.'
The urchin's eyes lit up, then narrowed to a scowl. 'No cove from outatown is gunna call me boy.' He stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. 'And I ent gunna give you directions for a measly penny. I'll tell for tuppence'.
'Righto then, lad. Tell me and you'll have your damn tuppence.'
'Bucer's Quill, just roundtha corner. Want a chestnut?'
Hudson handed him the tuppence from a pocket of his coat. 'No, thanks.'

He found the pub within a few minutes, and was unimpressed. It was a low-ceilinged, smoky place, with towels over half the taps. You get what you pay for, he supposed. For a small pub, it was surprisingly busy. Near a fire sat a suspicious group of people, and several others sat around the bar. Hudson ordered a whiskey from the barman and took his seat near a corner.

By his second drink, there was no sign of inspiration. By his third he had decided that he would just sit here until something happened that could help him.

[Jessica Butcher]

Shortly thereafter, Miss Butcher, fresh of the H.M.S. Prospero's first European voyage in years, casually strolled into Bucer's Quill, dropped the rather large bag she was carrying, picked it up, sat down, ordered scotch and milk, and inquired if anyone had seen an invisible cat lately. She was met only with antagonistic glares from the various (male) toughs occupying the place, but took no notice. This was her vacation, and she was determined to spend it well (or at least find an invisible cat).