"STEAM LONDON" Game Thread

[Ben Hudson, Esq.]

'That shouldn't be a problem, Emma. Because of all this chaos, they won't have any idea how many of us should be on board. Besides, Kabul is not exactly renowned for the thoroughness of their guards. If needs be, a little money can change hands. For now, we just need to get safely there. The ship wasn't significantly damaged in the fracas, but there are now potentially a few hundred criminals, some of whom are certainly pirates, flying out of Cairo in ships that aren't theirs. We need to keep an eye out that none of them are sneaking up on us.'

[Doctor Trakov]

The count decided to up the ante with the mirror.
If it looked more frantic, perhaps people would come over.

[HAC]

Lamont strolled down towards Bucer's. Outside the bar, he tossed a penny to the urchin selling the  Times, and entered the bar. He took his customary seat at a booth, and almost immediately a glass of wine was brought to him.. He looked at the headlines..

"MYSTERIOUS MAYFAIR FIRE"
"A severe fire has destroyed the  townhouse in Mayfair belonging to Col. Hiram Merriwether. Two bodies were recovered from the ruins, presumed to be those of the Colonel, and his longtime companion and manservant Uriah Wickfield.  Scotland Yard does not suspect foul play, but rather an unfortunate accident.   The Colonel, retired, was well known as the hero of Gandapor, and a leading officer in the East India Company native forces. He leaves no heirs. Funeral services will be held at St.Oswalds, Tuesday."

Lamont folded the paper, and took a sip of wine.. He placed the paper on the table, and stood. Lamont walked out through the door of Bucer's and into the street, smiling and whistling a sad little tune to himself.. "Things are going exactly as planned" he thought to himself, and gathering his cloak around him... disappeared......
 

[Doctor Trakov]

The count saw the ship's cat.
He grinned behind his mask. The cat wandered up to him, and in a flash, he had grabbed the cat by the head.
He would be having fun with this, he thought, as he slowly tightened his grip, still operating the mirror.

[Philetus T. Flambuginous]

"He's flashing more now!"  Cried the Tizedes with a tinge of hysteria.
"Damnation!" Lelyushenko cursed to himself.  Why did the stolen gig decide that now was a good time to have boiler problems?
"Get this thing moving NOW, Szakaszvezető! Or I'll give you the pleasure of explaining our tardiness to the Count!"
A look of abject terror flashed across the man's face as he redoubled his already frantic activity amid the workings of the stolen craft.   Suddenly the flash furnace ignited with a roar. Black smoke belched from the small funnel.
  "Steam's coming up,Sir!  Be ready to fly in a moment!" cried the Szakaszvezető.
  "Excellent!  Button Up, men!  Let's go!"  Lelyushenko bellowed as he pulled the respirator across his face and secured it to his helmet. 
  The gig lifted from the floor of the warehouse and started forward as the three other soldiers clambered aboard.  The Tizedes thrust the rickety sliding door aside and just managed to jump aboard as the gig shot past him and out into the blinding sunlight scattering longshoremen and passing merchants with its suprise exit.
  As they gained altitude Lelyushenko scanned the port looking for the Count's signal.  He knew the count would be upset by their delay.  He could only hope that the man had found something to keep him occupied!

[Stella Gaslight]

Emma was relieved some of the ports she had visited in the past were very strict about procedure being followed. She had never been to Kabul before but it sounded like it would be a good idea to keep some one aboard so the locals didn't try anything   "Thank you for offering George that should be very helpful." Emma smiled he could be rather nice when he put in the effort.  "Capitan, George says he can keep an eye on things while we are in the air.  He never sleeps and he can travel just as efficiently in the air as he can on the ground.  I am a fairly light sleeper and he can wake me quickly if there is any trouble. I plan on staying aboard while we stop in Kabul and I will keep an eye on the ship but I need a way to protect myself. Smacking people with frying pans while exhilarating is most likely not the best way to go about it."  She had been frightened half out of her wits at the time but now safe and among friends she laughed.   

[Jasper]

The market streets of Kabul thronged with life, full of noise and scent. The market traders yelled out their wares, vying for the attention of the men and women that passed through. Between the bleating of livestock and grind of gears from the stall that was selling a contraption to grind twelve times more wheat per hour than a full-grown man, nobody took any notice of a dark-haired woman dressed in black and brown stood in conversation with a herbalist.

She was bent low, letting a pinch of green powder fall back into the sack. Everything about her would suggest she was local - dark skin, dark eyes, modest dress and fluent Persian, though the truth was far different. But the truth meant nothing to Arkham; she currently answered to the name Nazia.
"How much should I give?" she asked fluently in the local language, turning her face up to the herbalist who watched her from behind his table full of leaf cuttings and bowls of powder.
"Just a pinch in a cup of water will treat symptoms. It will take, aaah.. around an hour at most."

The pseudo-Afghan nodded, and raising herself gracefully, and handed two small leather draw-string bags to the herbalist. "One of that," she said, pointing to the green powder she had been examining, "and one of that, please." she said and pointed out a strong red crushed leaf. She traded the filled pouches for a few coins pressed into the man's hand, and turned to merge herself into the river of people trailing through the streets. 

With the mysterious powders stored safely under her robe, Arkham made for where she knew the ships were docking. She had business there.

[Doctor Trakov]

The Count looked across the skies.
Finally, an airship was hailing.
From the look of it, yes, they were his lackeys. He silently cursed them for being late. He decided to put the cat down, in a moment of unusual compassion. Why was he so angry? What had those poor men done to him? Why did he kill them? He took off the gauntlet, and stroked the cat. He felt strange again. He picked up the cat. He wan't going to let the poor thing die on this airship when he brought it down. It purred, and he stared into the green eyes. "Nice kitty" he rasped. He placed it in one of the fur-lined pocke of his cloak. Once again, he felt cold, and furious. Forgetting his new friend,  he smashed the contols for the airship, and saw the gauges spin out of contol. As he boarded the other airship, this one would come crashing down on Cairo, causing much suffering. Again, he felt a flicker of remorse, and tererible, terrible guilt.
He lauged his gravelly laugh, muffled by the filter on his mask.
The cat miowed.

[bluestocking]

Lakshmi slowly reassembled her composure as she sipped her brandy, stilling not only the panic caused by her precipitous drop, but the ruthless savagery she'd used to deal with the invasion. Such emotions had their time and place; once that passed, she kept them tucked away, in reserve for when they were needed. It saddened her that there was a need for such things at all, yet she knew that denying that need was nothing more than foolish idealism - foolish idealism that might get her killed, at that. She'd been gone from Oxford's dreaming spires long enough to know just how rough and dangerous the world could be.

Professional facade restored, she got up from the comfortable chair and poured another round of drinks.

"You're right, Miss Lighton," she said, "the skillet is not best suited for use as a weapon; if nothing else, I'm certain we'd miss it in the galley sooner or later. However, you do seem to have an affinity for bludgeoning weapons. Perhaps we can fabricate something more appropriate for you."

Emma smiled shyly. "It just... it felt so good, to wallop that blighter! I don't know how to fight, though, not really."

"I'm sure we'll be able to teach you a little, between us," Lakshmi reassured her. "Everyone should know how to defend him- or herself. It's a wise decision you make, to stay aboard in Kabul, though, especially as you're uncertain of your martial prowess." She looked at the rest of the crew.

"Has anyone else been to the fair city of Kabul before?" she asked, and was answered by a unanimous shaking of heads.

"It's a rough city, and a not entirely pleasant one. There's no law but that which the warlords choose to enforce, and even that is on a whim. I'll suggest that we loiter as little as possible, and stay on the ship unless absolutely necessary - particularly those of us who cannot count on being able to defend themselves in an altercation. The ladies should not walk the streets unaccompanied, in close-fitting garments or with uncovered heads; some residents of the town take that sort of thing very seriously, and tend to be vehement in the enforcement of their beliefs.

"I'll need to go into the city to deal with a gentleman I know who may be able to assist us with armaments, and perhaps a degree of safe-passage through the Hindu Kush; Captain, I'll ask that you accompany me. We will need to take on provisions for the trip as well. Does anyone else have any business to which they must attend?"

[Vienna Fahrmann]

     Lilli replied "I've left a provisions list for the ship and a personal shopping list for the Captains employers on his desk".  She grinned "If they're going to be rude about my leaving the ship, I can at least put them to the trouble of running my errands".  There was a twinkle in her eye as she said it.  As an afterthought, she turned to Emma "I believe you have a supply list also?".

     Vienna

[Stella Gaslight]

"Yes I do. I hope it isn't too much of a bother but I was running low on most of my working chemicals even before I left and well you saw the state of my clothes.  How trustworthy are the people we are turning this over to?  I think making more fuel additive might be a good idea but I don't want my formula to get away from me." Emma sighed who knew how many of her inventions were being put to strange and twisted uses in the criminal world.  Well she could protect this one at least.

"If you all wouldn't mind when we reach port could you call me Rachel Smithton?  I don't know if Capitan Black  is looking for me there but I would rather be over careful than run the risk of my name reaching his ears." The  idea of him appearing out of nowhere while she was earth bound with nowhere to run sent a shiver down her spine.  "I think the mess in Cairo has given me the time I need to make the Boheme as powerful as The Star if not more so.  I know that won't make up for dropping my troubles on your doorstep but it is a start."

[Doctor Trakov]

As the count stepped onto the gig, the freighter began to sink, slowly at first, then quickly.
Thankfully for the people of Cairo, the entire airship had been in poor repair, and by the time it hit the ground, only a few smouldering rags and chunks of wood remained.
As the little craft gathered speed, the cat crawled out of the pocket in the cloak, and curled up on an old coat.
The Count stood there for a few minuites, gazing out across Cairo and the dusty land beyond. Finally, he turned to his motley group of mercenaries, and said. "Why were you late, Lelyushenko? I hope there is a good reason, or I will shortly be getting very annoyed. However, seeing as you are a good soldier and a competent airman, I assume it was technical failiure." The slightly scratched glass of the heavy mask's eyes glinted in the setting sun.
" We must leave Cairo, and set off for London as soon as possible. We will need a much better craft than this, I doubt this could make it out of Egypt. Alexandria, perhaps, will yield us a new ship.

[bluestocking]

Lakshmi thought for a moment. "Well, your additive depends as much on proportions as ingredients, correct? Ask for more than you need of some items, but not all. Pick one or two critical ones that should be readily available; the Captain and I should be able to acquire them in our perambulations.

"As to clothes, you'll be unlikely to find much in the European fashion in Kabul, but if you can content yourself with the salwar khameez, there should be quite a selection. Also..." she fished in her bag and retrieved the packet of green powder she'd purchased - had it only been this afternoon? "Here; this is the powdered leaves of the henna plant. Mix the powder with water and a little vinegar in a glass bowl, then put it on your hair and leave it for a few hours. It will change the color of your hair dramatically; while you'll still be recognizable to anyone who sees your face, at least you'll be harder for someone looking for a blonde to spot in a crowd."

Emma took the packet dubiously. "So it'll make my hair... green?"

Lakshmi laughed. "No; red, like the Countess's. Be careful not to get any on your skin; it'll turn you a lovely shade of orange. In India, we use the paste to dye patterns on our skin for special occasions."

Emma considered this. "That's a good idea! Captain Black's men won't be looking for a redhead." She headed off to the galley to return her frypan and find a bowl.

[Vienna Fahrmann]

     Lilli rose.  "I'll help Emma" she said with a grin "An extra pair of hands is always helpful with any kind of hairdressing, and an orange engineer might draw more attention than wanted".   She glided gracefully out of the lounge.

     Vienna

[Stella Gaslight]

Emma watched with interest has the powder changed color has she mixed it. Chemistry was always fun to see.  She pulled the two quill pens out of the windswept mess on her head and let it tumble down to her shoulders.  Emma tried to tame the tangles with her fingers luckily Lilli had more sense and brought a comb.  She was parting it in to small easy easy to work with chunks when Emma realized that the aetherphones were going to get in the way.  As she moved to take them out her right hand grabbed her left.  "Stop that George. I don't want aetherphones harmed or large patches of un-colored hair by my ears.  Yes, I know you are just looking out for us but this is important. You know I don't like being cut off from you either so stop saying otherwise.  I will not loose them you are just being silly now."  Emma rolled her eyes he could be so unreasonable sometimes. 

"All right here is what we are going to do you big worrywart.  I am going to put them on the table right out in the open were both of us can keep an eye on them and if you see trouble make my hand squeeze three times and I will put them back in.  Her right hand released it's hold and she slipped the silver horns out of the places they had worn in her ears over time.  Even after she placed them on the table she could still feel the phantom weight on her ears.  The world was a much quieter place without George's stream of chatter.  "Sorry about that Lilli.  He means well but all this running has made him paranoid.  Not that he doesn't have a good reason to be so but that won't stop it from being aggravating.  So I take it we just saturate the hair and give the reaction time to work?" 

[Sir Nikolas Vendigroth]

Underwood strode confidently down the middle of a busy street in London, heading for the tower. People seemed to dodge out of his way, and not acknowledge him. Hardly any of the people even saw him.
The tower was dark and the guards were few. Excellent.
The recent fire in Mayfair had left London shaken...
The guard at the gate to the tower was smoking a cigarette.
"You there! Put that out at once!" shouted Underwood
"Don't you know that's a fire hazard? After what happened in Mayfair, i'd have thought people here of all placed would be more considerate!"
The guard quickly ground out the cigarette and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off
"I'm a government inspector. In light of the recent fire, i'm here to asess the risk to the tower and to the crown jewels"
Underwood waved a piece of paper. He'd picked it up off the floor earlier.
"If you let me in without any fuss, i won't report you for smoking that."

Needless to say, Underwood was allowed into the tower.

He walked across the grass. None of the Beefeaters even registered his presence. The trick in the matter was to walk in the space where no-one was looking...relatively simple, but it took a long time to master. Underwood had spent 150 years learning it.

The locks on the safe on which the jewels resided were almost too easy. Underwood picked them in less than a minute, and swapped his counterfeit gem for the Black Prince's Ruby.

As he left the tower, he paused by the gate.

"I hope all was satisfactory, sir?" said the guard, tentatively.

"Yes indeed. There's no chance of a stone building burning down any time soon.
Ah, one more thing.."
Underwood's voice became subtlely different;
"it would be a very good idea to forget that i was here."

Underwood walked directly to Bucers. He had sucessfully stolen the gem and there was no chance whatsoever of any suspicion.

He strolled up to the bar

"Shandy."

[Jasper]

None but the sharpest of eyes would realise that the local woman of dark skin hair and eyes who had walked modestly dressed but unaccompanied through the markets of Kabul was the same woman as the one who stood watching the airships docking. She was wearing a dark headscarf and loose fitting dress, thought it was quite obvious it was only worn to avoid trouble from the local population, and if one looked closely it was plain to see the outline of a well-stocked utility belt and large pistol at her waist. Her feet were encased in strong leather boots with an engraved worn steel cap on the toe, and each time the long sleeve of her robe fluttered in the wind a glimpse of leather gauntlets was on show. This woman was not from these parts. Her skin, though darker than any English woman's was not tanned enough to be Persian, her hair was long, wavy and midbrown and her eyes were a steely blue.

The small man by her side shifted on his feet nervously. His eyes flicked around the port, watching everyone who happened to look their way. Arkham rolled her eyes. This little minion was going to ruin her plan before it had a chance to begin. Not that he actually had any idea of her true intentions; he thought he had been hired to accompany Fabrice Greco, an Italian pilot of notable reputation through Kabul.

"Why are you so worried, man?" she spoke in Italian, shooting him a sharp look that made him gulp audiably.
"Nothing. No reason." he said in a broken version of her language. "People are looking."
"Of course they're looking. Can you blame them, with my absolute beauty?" she said with a dry laugh. The little guide laughed too, though he didn't have enough grasp on the language to actually understand what had been so funny.
"Did you complete what I asked of you?"
"Yes! Yes." The little man said hurridly. "Please, we go inside. Looking. People looking." Her companion's voice was growing progressively louder, and Arkham had to exhale slowly to steady her hand that had been creeping close to her dagger.
"You spread the word I was looking for work?"
"Yes."
"That I would take dangerous routes for the right money?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now be still!" she hissed finally, in Persian so there was no misunderstanding her.

[Ben Hudson, Esq.]

In the distance, Kabul was just becoming visible. Silhouetted against the rising sun, first shacks and then erratic, leaning shanties of several storeys rose from the horizon, before that too was broken by the jagged line of mountains. It was clear that Kabul had not profited so well from colonisation as Cairo had. The vast majority of the sprawling city was accomodation for the poor, jerry-rigged together from whatever could be found. As the airship drifted sedately over the city, Ben picked out from the urban mass houses made from aeroflot skins, plane wings, even shards of fuel tank. The Hindu Kush was reknowned as being among the most dangerous places on earth for airships, and this was evidently capitalised upon by the hardy poor.

Moving over the outskirts, they passed the great defensive walls and passed into the airspace of Kabul proper. The wireless crackled, then spoke a few words of Persian. Ben rubbed his eyes. He had been up all night piloting the Bohème, and the last thing he wanted now was to have to piece together a message in broken Persian. 'Emma, take the controls for a moment, could you?' Emma emerged a few seconds later. Her hair had become red. 'Ah, um. Decided to change hair colour?' She grinned and nodded, and took the wheel.

Ben went over to the wireless set and sent three long squelches of static, signalling that he did not understand. The person at the other end said a few words, and fell silent. Ben faintly heard him talking in the background beneath the static. Another official came to the set. 'Hello? English airship?' Ben responded. 'Yes, the APF Bohème, looking for air clearance and permission to land.' There was a brief pause. 'You come from Cairo?' The voice sounded familiar to Ben. 'Yes... hang on, is that Saeed?' There was a rippling laugh from the other end. 'Ben! I thought it was you the moment you say your ship's name! You always said that would be what you call the damnable thing. Never thought you would build it! It's been six year, at least!' Ben grinned. 'Well, you know me.'

He had met Saeed on a salt-courier ship, the Dawn Spirit, back when that had been his trade. They had worked together on the engines and had become friends. Saeed, however, had been indentured, and had to stay behind when Ben went off to try and find a new trade. Saeed laughed.
'Yes, yes, I do indeed. Come in. I'll have a space for your ship. It's been too long. Surely you will come to see my wife, and son? I am married now, you didn't know that!'
Ben groaned. 'I'm on a tight schedule. I won't be able to stay for long, if at all. Maybe only tea.'
'Tea, tea, all you English think about is tea. I'll see what I can do.'

By now, Emma was looking up from the wheel and smiling. 'An old friend. We met in the air but lost touch. No idea how the old rogue ended up here! You mind taking the ship in to dock? I'll go and get her ready.' Emma agreed, and steered the ship towards the flimsy-looking pylons that constituted the Kabul dock.

[Stella Gaslight]

It had always amazed Emma how such large airships were guided by small turns of the wheel.  The Bohème was more responsive than The Star making her movements at the controls feel more like a dance than the shoving and pushing she was used to.  Using George to gauge distances felt like cheating but it made things much easer.  He was clinging close to her still bothered by the long silence last night.   They had been perfectly safe but he had worn himself ragged with worrying and made her sleep uneasy with muttered fears.  Hopefully he would calm down after they landed.  Nothing like a hard days work to drive the fear from a person. 

Emma eased the ship down between pylons of Kabul's dock slowing to a genital stop.  George told her with pride that those still sleeping hadn't  stirred and she smiled.  She could have gotten her pilots license long ago if her night vision wasn't so abysmal.  Emma would invent something to get around that someday but she was in no hurry. Working on them was more fun anyway.  She had turned the engines off and was getting ready to grab her tools when her stomach made itself known.  Wandering in to the galley she found a pack of bacon in the cold box and some flat bread that smelled like herbs.  Her cooking skills were poor but she could manage bacon sandwiches and coffee.  Soon wonderful smells were winding their way thought the ship.  Emma sat sipping her coffee and admiringly her refection in the window. She felt like new person, an Emma that would solve the problems the other had run from.  It was a good morning.

[Nigel Wetherby]

   An audible explosion sent the cobblestoned paths rumbling as a thick column of smoke rose from the docks of the small, port city. A young man with a tangled mess of red hair crawled his way out of the smoking motor of a trade galleon, which appeared to be the spurce of the great din that had occurred.
"Tha problem wasn't as bad as it sounded!" He reassured the captain of the ship.
 "Ya had a latent yet active bomb shell wedged in yer fulcrum there!" He said as he squeezed his way out of the massive inner workings of the lumbering turtle of a ship, his clothing streaked with grease, his pinkish-pale face, blackened by soot and smoke.
"Ye're lucky ya found me when ya did, 'er else tha whole thing'd 'ave blown sky high!"
The captain scratched his head beneath his captain's hat.
"What did you do with the bomb?" Asked the aristocrat.
"Oh! I tossed it into crates where a bunch of stowaways with swords were hidin' I supposed they were tha ones who tossed the bloody thing at ya in tha first place! and i guess they never met a *ahem* well-rounded person like meself." The young man stated proudly.
The captain rubbed his temples. "And of the 4 metre HOLE in my hull?" He spat impatiently.
"Oh that? Ya can fix that up with a nice slab o' brass till ya can find a shiphand who'll fix it up fer ya cheap down in the Irish Isles, I know a bloke there by tha name o' Finn, tell 'em Patrick sent Ya and He'll fix ya up lickety splits! Now, as fer tha matter of me fee..." He said holding out his hand.
The aristoctat prosceeded to chew the young man out for blowing up his ship.
Thinking it best to leave, the young irishman beat a hasty retreat from the deck onto the docks of Kabul before the angry fop decided to draw a firearm of some sort.

Patrick found himself looking at the ships parked along the docks, still coated in soot and smoke.
"Geez, the people in Kabul sure are cranky! Even when they're not from here! Must be tha dry heat"

[Dr. Ed]

Kabul: city on the edge of the Far East, where the occident and the orient collided into an impoverished scrap heap. Jack Dervish had been to this city several times before, and each time he saw no improvement over the last, despite modernization from the West; it was as if the city enjoyed being ramshackle. In the slums by the docks, the tall, handsome, and athletic white man from Africa stood out amongst the myriad Afghans. The malnourished and frequently diseased paupers couldn't help but look on at the paragon of robust health that walked among them, but the purpose with which he walked told them that this was no common foreigner who could be begged or grifted. By the way he moved it was obvious that he had been here before, and he had somewhere to go.

He moved on through the streets, virtually clearing a path before him with his presence alone. The den that he had visited a dozen times before greeted him with the aroma of opium creeping from the cracks in the door, and with a confident gait he walked in. Men sat on long couches, barely able to keep their heads up enough to inhale from the pipes that naked den whores placed in their mouths. The aroma of opium and sex assaulted the senses, as pleasures of all sorts enticed him as he walked. Not today... he reminded himself.

A fat man with a fez sat near the back of the room, surrounded by women, his body engorged with excess. As Jack approached the fat man took on a look of surprise, followed by sinister grin. "Captain Dervish..."

Jack smirked. "You're looking well, Ismet."

"I see the report of your demise was misleading." Ismet began to sweat, though his wicked expression remained. "I am relieved..."

"I didn't know you cared."

"... relieved that I get to enjoy your death in person... öldürmek!"

Suddenly, four men emerged from hiding, their garb the traditional black robes of the Persian assassins. In an instant they produced scimitars from hidden scabbards and closed in from every angle. Jack had only a split-second to react, and as the first assassin lunged at him from behind, he dipped to the side, grabbing his arm and pulling his body forward in time to block the lunge from the other assassin to his right. The assassin behind him keeled over as his side was impaled by the other assassin's blade; Jack pushed off his body and fell backwards right as the other two assassins to his front and his left swung at him. The second assassin pulled his blade out from his fallen comrade and joined the others in advancing towards Jack, rushing him with their blades held high. Jack, who had fallen back to a nearby couch with a den patron smoking peacefully, grabbed the patron's pipe and hurled it at the center assassin, striking him in the face and stunning him long enough to feint left and chop the other assassin in the throat with the ridge of his hand. The third assassin moved in to take a swing but hesitated as Jack hid behind the choking assassin, blocking his shot. Jack took the initiative by vaulting off the choking assassin's shoulders and smashing his heel into the other assassin's face. With one assassin dying from a stab wound, another choking from a smashed windpipe, and the other's face smashed in, the last assassin took up his sword and charged angrily. Jack used the clumsy attack to his advantage and deftly palm-struck him in the nose before he had a chance to swing. The final assassin's sword clattered against the ground as he fell to his knees, knocked out of a fight. All Ismet could do was sit with his mouth agape.

Jack walked up to the fat Turk now scrambling to his feet, but smacked him down and grabbed him by the ear. Ismet whimpered as Jack pinched down on the sensitive area. "P-please... Don't kill me, Dervish!"

"I have a mind to unless you tell me what I need to know." Jack pinched down, causing Ismet to let out a yelp. "Feng Dai Shen. The name mean anything to you?"

"N-n--" Jack twisted as he pinched. "Aiee! Yes! S-some monk! The Khans wanted him for something!"

"Tell me something I don't know, Ismet, or I keep the ear."

"Aah! Something about a hidden martial art! They want what he knows! That's all I heard, I swear!"

Jack thought for a moment before releasing Ismet's ear. The fat Turk gasped and clutched his head, sobbing profusely. "Keep your nose clean, Ismet."

* * *

As Jack walked down the Kabul streets back to his quarters at the dockside inn, he pondered the situation that had been presented to him. How many years had it been since he had seen Nepal? How many years had passed since Feng Dai Shen instructed him? He had never fully realized why Feng Dai Shen had chosen to teach him the art, forsaking all others who cloistered themselves in the temple of Varmapayatt. One thing was certain, however: he would have to find his old aasaan before The Khans.

 

[bluestocking]

The smell of bacon roused Lakshmi from a disturbed sleep. She dressed quickly and tidied her hair into a single long braid down her back.

Leonard seemed to be sleeping peacefully when she checked in on him. His wound was healing quickly and very neatly; the inventor would barely be left with a scar to brag about. She refilled the glass of water by the side of his bed and ghosted out of the cabin.

The aromas of bacon and coffee drew her inexorably to the galley. Emma looked up from a plate of bacon and smiled.

"Good morning! We've landed. I docked the ship all by myself."

Despite her unease, Lakshmi couldn't help but smile at the girl's enthusiasm. "You did a fine job - I didn't feel a thing. That dress suits you, by the by; you've been wearing brighter colors since you came aboard, and they work well on you."

"Thank you. I was always nervous about wearing bright colors before, but - well, I guess I haven't much choice; I've been wearing whatever extra clothes can be made over to fit me, and I guess you and the Countess like more vivid hues. I've grown to like them quite a bit."

"That's wonderful." Lakshmi drifted over to the ice-chest and took out an apple and a lump of sharp cheese. She sliced them into small pieces and alternated neat bites with some of Emma's proffered bacon. "Now, do you have your list for me?"

"It's right here." Emma rummaged in the pocket of her borrowed gown. "I did just what you said; the list I'm giving to our employer's men is incomplete. The items on this list should be easy to find, but the formula won't work without them."

"I'll be sure to acquire them." She looked up from her plate as Ben entered the galley, whistling. "Good morning, Captain. You seem to be in a fine mood today."

"Indeed! Turns out an old friend's one of the air-traffic controllers here; haven't heard from him in a dog's age. I'm hoping  we'll get a chance to see him today."

Lakshmi finished her last bite of apple. "Well, if you're willing to eat as we walk, we can set out now." She pulled the scarf she had draped around her neck up over her braided hair.

Ben took a hearty bite of his bacon sandwich. "I can live with that. Shall we, madam?"

[Stella Gaslight]

 Emma decided to let the others sleep as long as they needed and covered the rest of the food so it would remain fresh for them. Quietly she crept back in to her room trying not to wake Miss Butcher. Emma put on the leather apron and tucked her sleeves in to the heavy oilcloth gaiters.  She was ripping the waistband out of her bustle to use as a crude tool belt when a muffed boom came out of nowhere like phantom thunder. It didn't even wake Miss Butcher from her sleep but George being the bundle of nerves that he was ran off like a shot to find the cause of it.   He was back in moments telling her of the other ship in the docks engine trouble.  She held her finger to her lips for silence gathered all the supplies she thought she would need and went out to sit on the stairs that wound their way from the cabins to the observation ports at the very top of the ship. 

"See" She said slinging the bit of faded blue fabric over her hips and bucking it firmly in to place. "Nothing to worry to worry about.  Yes I know a 4 meter hole is rather impressive but as long as they aren't making war-like noises at us I don't think you should bother yourself about it anymore.  There are plenty of non villainous reasons why such a crater could be blasted in to a ship." 

"Name three? Are you sure you want to challenge me?" George wasn't about to let the subject drop.
"All right how about the first batch of fuel additive or the time Wintion left the tray of thickening aether reactive gel in the sun thinking it was marmalade and what about generator prototypes two, five and seven.  I can keep this up for quite a while you know."  He admitted defeat.  "Come on I want to have that cooling system sorted before the captain come back and if we get a move on we may make some progress before our employer's men show up for the supply lists."
 
George butted in almost smug to know something she did not. "What there is already some one here? Well why didn't you say that before I am sure they don't want to be kept waiting."  Emma ran down to the bridge and poked her head out the round brass door to look at the rather blackened boy with wild red hair and grease stained clothes.  He didn't look as well put tougher as Mr. Umbrella but maybe that meant he was nicer.  "Um hello. Can I help you?"

[Dr. Ed]

Ismet sweat profusely as the harem of women around him caressed his bulbous body, feigning signs of concern at his distressed mood. The woman who sat before him now obviously didn't share their false worry. "You come highly recommended." A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and one of the harem girls blotted it off with a silk pocket square. "But this man is no ordinary target for... termination."

Suddenly a manila envelope fell at the table between them; inside were photographs of a handsome man in British military fatigues, a picture of the same man standing over a dead lion with a rifle in his hand, and another of him in the company of Arabs -- all armed with what appeared to be German military rifles. She looked up and spotted another man, dressed in what looked like a Chinese-cut suit, sporting a pointed goatee and slicked-back black hair. He began to speak -- in an accent that seemed vaguely English but with a far more sinister quality to it. "Captain Jack Dervish, age thirty-five. Former officer of the Royal Infantry in Rhodesia, known mercenary and gun runner, and doctorate of chemistry at the American University of Beirut. He's an apparent linguist and master of several martial arts styles from the far east, one of which is of particular interest to the group I represent."

Another bead of sweat trickled down Ismet's cheek and was blotted up quickly. "This man... has disgraced our organization for the last time. He--"

The man with the goatee raised his palm, cutting Ismet off mid-sentence. "He is as cunning as he is dangerous. We do not expect you to survive a direct encounter with him, which is why your payment will be tripled upon completion of this task. Do you accept this mission?"

* * *

"Ah, Jack! Come in, come in. Would you like some tea?" Kamir Mahyet was a veteran of the second Anglo-Afghan war and one of Jack's more important contacts in Kabul. Though he preferred the idea of an independent Afghani state, he saw the alternative of Russian control over the region as doom for his country, and so ceded to the more benevolent British government. He supported the leadership of Abdur Rahman, the Emir primogenitor who desired to westernize Afghanistan despite pressure from the Ottoman Empire and Russia to do otherwise; this was how the two met.

Jack had been running guns to Panjdeh in the north, when he and Kamir were forced to join forces during a surprise attack by Russian troops. Jack saved Kamir's life that day by joining in the battle, and the two had been friends ever since. Now, ten years later, Jack was calling in a favor. "I need to know what airships are crossing the border into India."

"There has been a lot of tension in the Pashtun region, my friend. Not a lot of traffic these days." Kamir set a glass of tea on the table and sat down. A moment later, Kamir's wife arrived with a bowl of grapes, bowed to Jack, and left the room.

"It's urgent, Kamir."

"Yes yes yes, my friend. I will check with my contacts at the docks tomorrow morning. Do you have a place to stay?"

"I'm staying at the inn by the docks."

"This will not do, my friend. I insist that you stay at my home tonight."

Jack smiled. "I would normally, old friend, but I think I've dragged a few old acquaintances out of hiding. I don't want to bring trouble into your house."

Kamir nodded. "You are a good friend, Jack. I pray that no harm comes to you during this ordeal."

Jack popped a grape in his mouth and smirked. "That makes two of us."

[Nigel Wetherby]

 Patrick turned to the young lady, his hand grasping the handle of his sword/wrench until he saw she was unarmed.
He cooly slid his hand off "Depends, can ya pay me rent, and pay me enough ta get real food?" He mumbled to himself with a sulk, wiping the soot from his face, revealing his pale visage, Boyish and thin face, and pinkish scarred right cheek. He lifted his goggles revealing black rings of soot circling his eyes. The boy had a terribly malbourished look upon himself, his cheeks were narrow, his deep brown eyes sunken. It was easy to see that a combat engineer was not a lucrative job here in Kabul.
"If it weren't fer that cheap fop I'd be worry free!" He grumbled, his fists balled in frustration at his predicament.
"And if yer here about that explosion, it was just an explosive round lodged in that cheap fop's motor, If i hadn't a' gotten it out when I did, tha whole thing'd have blown sky high! If yer with tha government, I took out a few raiders aboard tha ship with it too, if that's worth maybe a bounty?"

It was then he saw the girl was adorned in the clothing that was very commonplace in airship pilots.
He saw a chance to escape his debts, a chance to return to the skies and all their beuty and magesty, his chance to run his hands through the clouds and lick off the sweet water that collected on his fingers, ignoring the numbing cold.
He saw a chance to get it all back.
A smile crossed his face as if pure happyness had been injected into the base of is skull.
"Tha name's Patrick O'Landry!" He said with a buisnessman's flare. "Ex sky pirate, and combat engineer! 10 years of research, 4 years of combat experience aboard a sky pirate ship doin' battle with tha' royal navy! I assure ya, I am fully allied with tha' queen, tha pirates were moreso privateers."
He said covering his bases with every possible demographic she may have been under, unless she was a pirate, if she was a pirate, he was doomed job-wise. He tried to ignore that.