"STEAM LONDON" Game Thread

[Stella Gaslight]

Emma smiled he wasn't the runner she expected but he could come in handy especially with Mr. Fulmineus still recovering. George was leery of him but then again he was leery of everything at the moment. She came out of the door and walked over to Patrick to shake his hand.  "Rachel Smithton, pleased to meet you Mr. O'Landry. Don't worry about the explosion I understand that these things happen in the course of a job and I can promise you I am not a pirate or with the government either.  I am an engineer on the APF Bohème. I can't offer permanent employment but one of the crew is sick and I need an extra pair of hands today.  I can feed you, give you a bit of money and talk to my captain about hiring you on when he comes back if you do a good job."  Patrick accepted any job was better than none.  "I hope you like bacon sandwiches"  Emma said guiding him to the galley.

[Nigel Wetherby]

 "If I do a good job? That's a bit insulting considering every job I do is a good job! As for an extra pair of hands, mine are skilled as to the point in which it is like having 4 extra hands available!" He said with a confident smirk.

 As she led him to the massive ship, a grin crossed his face, his eyes widened with such a look of amazement that it could only be comparible to moses seeing the burning bush for the first time.
His jaw hit the floor. "An Austrian zephyr model...as I live and breathe...." He breathed in utter awe, his lower lip quiverring with amazement and anticipation.
His mind was practically buzzing with questions and excitement. His eyes travelled through the winding halls and moving parts of every odd and end that hung from the celings or lurked beneath the floor.
He was in every engineer's dream, a fully functioning, officially made airship that hadn't been slapped together from spare parts.
Inside the galley, the young man;s mouth watered as the savory smells hung in the air. His hand rested on emma's shoulder. "Emma...You realize everything from here on out that I do will be to make sure this ship never so much as touches the ground unless it is by the captain's will, right?" He said turning to her, then sniffing deep the scent of bacon.
"Speaking of which, where is the stalwart man whom I shall be saluting?"

[Jasper]

The small, nervous Afghan had to trot to keep up with the surprisingly long strides of 'Fabrice Greco' as she headed away from her rendezvous in one the Opium dens on a street infamously nicknamed 'street of devils' in the local tongue. He would periodically begin to stammer out a question, only for his voice to fade away in the icy presence of the pseudo-Italian woman. She had disposed of her black robe some time ago, though all offending places on her body were covered by a mixture of leather, canvas and brass additions, and her head covered with a deliberate shoddiness that people would register as a 'European' trait.

The revolver at her hip jutted against her side as she wound her way through the streets, contained in a holster but prominent enough to warn of a dangerous encounter should you cross her. Another seemingly 'foreign' mistake, for a woman to be so bold. But more thought had gone into her choice of attire than anybody would ever know. Arkham had spent most of the day scouting the dockland and surrounding streets for law enforcers or the vigilante groups that liked to target people misguided enough not to cover themselves, and found a distinct lack of them. But the monthly market in the richer district of the city was taking place, and any thug with half a brain knew the pickings were much richer in that area today.

They reached the docks without any hindrance, though Arkham was very aware of how annoying her guide was, for he was still babbling nervously in Persian and broken Italian. She knew her task and she was beginning to slip into the role she had made for herself, and she'd have appreciated a little quiet. Her utter submergence in her fantasy was unlike any other 'contracted hand' in the business, primarily because none of them could fully detach themselves from reality. But the talent came naturally to Arkham, who could not explain it and did not analyze it. Each time she had a new task she became a new person, and such was her prowess at fakery she had only ever been caught out once. Of course this beginning stage was easy - infiltration - further into a mission was the difficult part, where it took every once of concentration to keep up the facade.

Presently Fabrice had spotted a group of men disembarking from a newly docked airship - they were a mixture of wirery and portly, short, tall and bespectacled, but all greying and obviously war veterans and retirement thrill-seekers. She approached them confidently, and held her hand out to greet the obvious ringleader of this band of five or so men. "Is this your first time in Kabul?" she asked in English, her Italian accent strong but tamed.

"Why, they've sent us an chaperon!" the rotund man said, rousing a wave of hearty laughter from his friends. "Take us to your master's Opium house then girl, where we will regail you with stories of our adventures!" The corners of Fabrice's mouth twitched at this reminder of a very English lack of subtly.

"But it is I, who wish to regail you, sirs." she said, inclining her head politely. Several of the men looked confused. "My name is Fabrice Greco. I am a pilot." There was very obviously ripple of excitement, and a tall man near the back of the group piped up;

"By Jove, chaps, I've heard of her." there were several utterances of 'me too', and suddenly the atmosphere was hearty and boyishly exciting.

Soon the group of men and the female pilot (with her slightly more relaxed guide) were sat deep in conversation under the shade of canvas, piecing through a platter of aromatic meats; courtesy of the gentlemen. As she told them a story involving an air-chase over Hong-Kong, a cargo of live cattle and a drunk engineer, she was subtly watchful of the people who passed through the docks.

[Vienna Fahrmann]

     Lilli wandered into the now deserted galley and poured a cup of coffee.  She decided to stick her nose out of the ships door and see if Kabul had a lungfull or two of fresh air to go with her coffee.  Stepping out, she decided that the air quality between Cairo and Kabul was about equal, and neither was worth smelling for long.
     She was about to turn and re-enter the ship when a large, scruffy looking individual appeared at the base of the gangway and began swiftly to climb it.  Since none of the crew were available, she decided to wait for him and see what he wanted.  She did, however check her self defense equipment and readied her coffee to throw rather than drink if he became hostile. 
     Whoever he was, he was in a bad mood.  Storming up to Lilli, he began to berate her in a language she didn't understand.  When he grabbed her arm, he received her nearly full cup of coffee straight in the face.  Dripping and roaring with anger, he scooped Lilli off her feet, tossed her across his shoulder and bulled his way into the ship.
     Emma and Patrick heard the altercation from the engine room and rushed to investigate.  They were in time to see the stranger with Lilli draped over his shoulder, cursing at the top of her lungs, heading toward the lounge.  Emma was horrified.  Her first thought was that another pirate had invaded the ship.  She just couldn't think of anything to do in the confined space without probably injuring Lilli more than the stranger.  Patrick watched Emma's reaction, and decided that this man wasn't likely his new employer.  He readied his sword for action at the first possible opportunity.
     As it turned out, the encounter ended tamely enough.  The screaming redhead, who he thought might be Rachel's relative, given the similarity in their colouring, was merely flung onto the lounge sofa.  Before Patrick could object at this ungentlemanly behaviour, the man spotted them and explained, in halting pidgin English, that he worked for the captain's employer and that the woman was to stay on the ship.  His explanation took longer than strictly necessary, since he was occupied with dodging every item that the redhead could find to fling at his head.   Patrick admired her lungpower and vocabulary, but wasn't sure about her as a fellow shipmate.  In his experience, temperamental women and ships machinery didn't mix well.
  The stranger sidled warily out of the lounge, carefully not turning his back on Lilli.  Patrick followed to make sure the man really left.  He thought he'd rather let Rachel deal with her screaming shipmate.
     Emma had never seen Lilli like this before.  THe depth of her anger was astounding.  George was chuckling over some of the riper epithets Lilli had uttered and volunteering to translate them for her.  "No, George!" she said impatiently.  THey had sounded bad enough in German, she didn't need to hear them in English.
     Lilli finally calmed down enough to remember to speak in English.  "That is it!" she fumed "That is absolutely the last straw!  I will not take any more of this!".  She noticed Emma in the lounge for the first time, gazing at her wide eyed.  Lilli go t herself under control with an effort.  "Emma" she said tightly "I'm leaving.  Please tell Ben not to look for me, I won't be in Kabul.  He can tell whoever dumped me on this ship that he did his best to fulfil their request.  I'll contact the Boheme when you return to London".  Her lips quirked into a lopsided smile "Even though I didn't ask to travel on this ship, I'd like to keep in touch with the crew.  If you need to contact me, care of the Savoy Hotel in London will do.  Thank you for the hairpin" she settled it more firmly into her hair" and I will miss the crew".  She made a slight motion with her hands and...vanished.
     Emma couldn't believe her eyes.  "George" she asked "is Lilli invisible?  Is she still here?"  George, sounding a bit surprised, answered that she wasn't.
     
     Lilli prayed this would work.  She had never tried to do it.  She knew how it was supposed to work in theory, but that was all.  Her grandfather Jakob had told her that if she touched her finger to the tiny chip of milky stone concealed beneath the little signet on the ring, she would return to Castle Lowenstein.  He had stressed over and over that it was not to be done lightly.
     The first thing Lilli noticed was the cold.  She was suddenly in total, musty smelling chilly darkness with what felt like stone under her feet.  Well, she thought, Grandfather did warn me that the stone was keyed to Sir Siegfrieds tomb in the bottom of the family crypts.  She groaned.  If that was where she really was, it was at least a two hour climb to the ironworked opening in the floor of the family chapel.

[Stella Gaslight]

Oh bother how on earth was she ever going to explain this to the captain when she didn't even believe her own eyes?  People just didn't just vanish at least she didn't think so a minute ago. How could Lilli of manged that?  Theory after theory buzzed in her head none of them making any sense.  This was ever so confusing, Emma flopped in to a chair to get her thoughts in order as Patrick came walking back in.  "I am very sorry about that, I just ..." She shook her head to clear out some of the cobwebs. 

"Well anyway The captain is off securing our route and visiting friends. He will be back before too long and I want to have as many improvements that require the engines to be turned off finished as possible. We are on a pretty tight schedule." Emma gave him a very knowing smile. "If you think the outside is lovely wait until you see the engines. They are twin Condor's and by far the loveliest confections of steel, brass and copper I have ever laid eyes on."  Emma beamed and Patrick looked almost as hungry for the engines as he was to fill his belly.  He was a boy after her own heart even George was coming around to the lad.  Emma suspected it was the boasting that sounded so much like his own that won George's approval. 

Emma made him a hearty sandwich and led them to the stairs past the cabins quietly picking up a few extra tools on the way.  She held her fingers to her lips for silence and then opened the hatch leading up the stairs to the engine mounts.  Emma saw her own ecstatic wonder at seeing them for the first time reflected in his eyes. His hands twitched in want to get up close and peer inside.  "Sit and eat then I can show you some ideas I have for the cooling system and some other things I was planing."   We are going to get along just fine she thought to herself.

[Ben Hudson, Esq.]

Lakshmi and Ben made their way into Kabul. The thrown-together shanties that he had seen from the air were predominant, though the buildings became more structured and affluent the nearer they got to the centre of the city. They made their way slowly across the city towards the market in the east quarter. The smell reached them before they could see it. Fueled by a nation's interest in magic, then alchemy and then science, the Kabul market was awash with chemicals and obscure elements. Here and there a turbanned trader would shout out his wares, holding high a vial or flask full of a viscous liquid, or a few grains of a blue metal covered with oil to prevent explosions. A tiny, wizened woman bent double over a vat bubbling over a low fire, stirring the smoking contents. A fug of coppery acidic air hung over the market. The traders didn't know it, but Ben had heard that this quarter had a higher incidence of black lung than anywhere else in Asia.
He checked his watch. It was ten o'clock in the morning. He had agreed to meet Saeed at his house at two. That gave them plenty of time to acquire all the chemicals needed for the mysterious fuel additive. He looked at the list. Topping it, written in lilac ink, was methyl carbonate, a tiny quantity. Lakshmi spoke to a vendor, who pointed her to a stall a little down the lane. In return for a few coins, the trader gave her a sealed vial with a few drops of a white liquid, and explained how breaking the seal would allow the pressurised liquid to evaporate into a heavier-than-air gas.
He looked at the list again. Alkali volatil, ferro prussiate, iron muriate, white vitriol and so on, each with a quantity and an approximate price. It was going to be a long shopping trip.

[bluestocking]

"Let me see that list." Lakshmi's voice was close in his ear; the crowds in the street had pushed them together. "Gracious, she's asked for the entire contents of an alchemist's lab! I can only imagine the list she gave to our employer's factotum, if this is 'just a few items.'"

She scanned the list. "Well, some of these will be very easy indeed, and at least she doesn't need large quantities of anything. H'm, antimony; that'll be easy enough." Ben followed her towards a tiny stall tucked in a corner. A plethora of aromas assaulted his senses, and he wondered why the doctor was stopping at a perfumers'.

Another brief exchange in elegant Farsi, and Lakshmi returned with a tiny pot and a few amber-glass vials. "Antimony's used as a cosmetic here; the women use it to line their eyes. I was able to get some of the aromatics I need for my medicines, too."

Ben coughed; accustomed as he was to the clean air of the open skies, the acrid smoke was getting to him already. He noticed that Lakshmi had drawn a fold of her scarf over her mouth and nose. He'd thought she was conforming to the local standards of modesty.

She touched his arm. "Let me know if the fumes get to you. We can step outside the marketplace for a bit if we need to; once we're out of this maze, the mountain winds carry everything away, and breathing is easier."

"I'm fine." He looked down into her dark eyes. "You seem worried today, and not just by the bad air. Is everything all right?"

She shook her head "Maybe - I'm not sure. Perhaps it's that we're heading up there - " she nodded at the sky-raking mountains that loomed to the east - "or maybe it's meeting with Saleh after we visit your friend; he's a nasty character. I slept poorly all night."

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll not belittle your fears; I'm worried about crossing the Kush myself, and your mysterious contact has me a bit concerned as well. We'll get through it, though. I've never gotten into a scrape I couldn't get out of - did I tell you about the time Saeed and I had a run-in with Cuban mint smugglers?"

"Mint smugglers?"

"Apparently, in Cuba they take very seriously a type of cocktail that requires fresh mint. As it transpires, there was a mint blight in Cuba that year, so the criminal element of the country was roaming the skies, attempting to procure mint to sell on the black market. So there we were, Saeed and I, standing dog watch on the Dawn Spirit..."

Her presentiments of doom overshadowed by his outrageous tales, Lakshmi laughed heartily as they continued through the market.

[Nigel Wetherby]

 Patrick quickly stuffed the sandwich into the face, partly because of hunger, partly because of sheer extatic and unduplicatable joy he felt as he eyed the stairs leading to an engineer's varitable Vallhalla.
He gulped down the massive, half-chewed sandwich that he had managed to stuff into his mouth, one could hear it splash down into his stomach. He lept into the air, clicking his heels as he shot upstairs to the motor, dragging Emma up the stairs with him as he began to talk ideas with her, his lips practically a blur.

 When he finally came to the massive motor, his knees quaked, his hands twitched, he clung to the massive motor casing, running his hands across it like a lost lover. Kissing the steel casing and nuzzling the metal with his cheek. "Hello there..." He said lovingly to the engine "I'm your new caretaker...it's okay dont be scared....i'll take care of you...." He purred lovingly to the giant metal mechanism.

He then realized he looked completeley mad and let go of the machine, turning back to Emma. "Uhm, eheheh...Right...You were saying something about plans?" He said embarassedly.

[Stella Gaslight]

Emma just had to laugh she had not thought there could be some one who loved engines more than she did. "Well as pretty as your new love is there is a lot of untaped potential waiting for us just inside her skin." She held out her notebook full of diagrams and schematics, Patrick's smile threatened to split his face in two. 

"With the right tweaks we can have the coolant system doing twice the work on half the fluid and grinding down the propellers just slightly should decrease drag by 10 to 20%. After we get her cleaned up and optimize the air/fuel ratios I think we can pull at least another thirty or forty mph out of her if not more and if the captain gets me what I need and my newest formula preforms like I think it should we may be able to make her do all that using half the fuel it would normally take."  Her heart pounded and it took her a moment to figure out it was excitement rather than fear.  Emma wondered in passing if it was possible to get drunk on shared enthusiasm. She tossed him a spanner and they stared to gently open up the protective paneling.

[Nigel Wetherby]

 Patrick hastily slid the panel back, taking the spanner, and pulling out a miniature gaslamp. "I'm going in...Dont worry, i've done this before" He said with a smile, somehow managing to squeeze his entire upper half into the gears without disturbing the intricate clockwork. "Relax sweety! I do this all the time! It's all about double jointedness!" He said reassuringly, his voice echoing through the motor's gears and clockwork.
"Faith and begorra this is a beutiful machine! Not an ounce of rust, cloud mites, or even air barnicles!" he said exitedly to the woman who appeared concerned about the fact that he was now wedged in the ship's motor. "Good news! i just lubricated tha pistons in the manifold! Ya should be able ta turn yer propellers even faster and in less time! There was some buildup on tha shafts! Ooh! lookit this! did ye know ya had an aetherium powered pressure system? Lookit that! this'll keep this baby runnin at 5000 pounds of aerial pressure!!" He slowly slid out of the motor, his clothing streaked with engine grease.

He wiped engine grease off his hands with his shirt, a wide grin across his face, he grabbed Emma and hugged her tightly. "Thank ye for takin' me ta this wonderful, wonderful, mechanised heaven you beutiful, beutiful woman!"

[Stella Gaslight]

Emma was rather surprised her skin could match her hair color.  She stammered a bit as he hugged her not used to sudden physical expressions of affection.  George was madder than a sack of bees at the liberties Patrick just taken and kept telling her to kick him in the shins.  She wished she could yell at him to knock it off but she had no idea how Patrick would react to Georges invisible presence. Later she told herself after he had a chance to get to know her and that she was sane, well as sane as passionate engineers got. 

George was at her side again apparently the scruffy looking individual that had hauled Lilli back on the ship was back and muttering about lists and crazy redheads in pidgin English and Persian peppered with curses. Emma decided he must be coming for the supply lists and she had better be the one to deal with him because some of her requests were very specific. "I have to go give our supply lists to that man from earlier. Can you drain the coolant from both engines. There should be can of Jenson's one shot engine cleaner around here some where. I think there is quite a bit of build up in the fuel lines that we should take care of."  He was half way in the works before she could even finish the sentence.

Emma ran down grabbing the lists and giving them a once over before bolting out the door and nearly running over the man she was suposed to talk to.  She helped him steady himself and handed him the paper.  "Here are the supply lists for the Bohème. Try to fill them quickly I don't thing we will be staying long.  I don't care too much about the clothing but you must get the proper brands and amounts of lubricants and coolants." She pointed to the words in big block letters that had been underlined twice.  "I won't except anything other than what is listed here."  The man nodded. Another crazy redhead he thought. At least this one wasn't throwing things at him and he wasn't about to get her mad enough to start.  Confident she handed things well she dashed back to the engines before Patrick got to have all the fun.

[Nigel Wetherby]

 BY the time Emma had returned, Patrick was dripping in blue liquid, his clothes clinging to his wiry form, his hair wetted down, and his greased, grayish white shirt was now a dingy powder blue from the blue coolant.
A bluish grey puddle formed at his feet.
"Are you aware there was an immense amount of air pressure in your coolant tanks? As well as a pinhole leak that had been plugged with tree sap? Also, I think I may have made a scientific discovery....Air pressure, plus liquid, plus release, equals spray...."
He then gave Emma a wry smirk.
"On tha bright side! I patched tha hole bafore things got worse! And, the gooey buildup in tha axle mixed with the coolant makes a sort of super lube! check this out!"
He proudly held out a vial of the sampled fluid, it was a sickly blackish green, he swirled the vial proudly, like a scientist with a newly discovered medicine. "This may come in handy!" He said with a tone of amusement to himself, slipping the lubricant away into his cylindrical toolbox, which hung loosley at his shoulder.
"Oh, i bet ya dont wanna hear me ramble, can I ask what was up with that arab gentleman?" He asked, referring to the stammering wreck who had chewed Emma out earlier. His expression changed to mortification, "Please dont tell me he's tha captain..."

[Stella Gaslight]

Emma handed him a gray rag that was once a part of her skirt to clean his face with. she would have to get a closer look at the new lubricant later.  Maybe she could make more in time.  "Oh no no no. Our Capitan is a tall, dark blond Englishman named Ben Hudson.  He built the ship all on his own you know.  From what I have picked up he has led an adventurous life. He is off with Dr. Marleybone-Smythe at the moment.  I can't wait to introduce you to her. She has the most amazing clockwork gurney.  Oh and Miss Butcher who manged to fly us safely out of the mess in Cairo."  Emma smiled and there was a good deal of pride in her voice.  The Bohème was her home now and the crew were becoming like family.

"The man from earlier works for the Capitan's employer." Emma tried to explain so Patrick wouldn't get the wrong idea about who was paying them. "I don't think He meant Lilli any harm it is just that I think some one kidnapped her in Cairo and after that the big bully Mr. Umbrella ordered her to stay on board and that other man was just following his orders." That really hadn't made as much sense out loud as it had in her head. "I sent him off to get all the things I need to make this ship sparkle like the jewel it is."

"Now that the coolant lines are empty we can remove some of the redundant heat sinks and redirect the flow in to much more streamlined paths.  Once that is done we won't have to worry about heat when we start speeding things up"

[Doctor Trakov]

The tiny gig was beginning to suffer. It had never been meant to go at this altitude, nor at this speed. The count was still standing silently at the front, never moving.
His men were now worried about the boiler, which was now beginning to run dry.
"Um... Sir, perhaps we should land to take on more water."
It was as if time had frozen. Everyone held their breath, as there was no knowing what the count would do.
The mat nurned around, and the cat leapt into his cloak.
"Yes, that would indeed be prudent. There is a small oasis over there, se if you can make it. We must get to Alexandria."

[Nigel Wetherby]

 Patrick quickly snapped up the rag and began to wipe himself down. He handed her the sopping rag and gave her a cuteous "Thank ye kindly Em'!" He had said with a impish smile.
Upon hearing her instruction upon the heating vents, he gave her a smart salute and worked his way into the complex workings of the motor once more.
There was a loud clunking sound, followed closeley by another, then a peircing squeek. The fuel lines were being bent in terribly un-natural ways.
"No problem! I got it all under controll!" He said in a terribly optimistic tone.
"Just...Dont spark any lucifers." He said precariously.
Within moments, the fuel lines had been streamlined, and the heat sinks now laid in piles of gears and circuitry on the floor before Emma.
Patrick slowly worked his way out of the massive metal contraption, wiping his brow with relief and smiling confidently at their work.
He turned to Emma and shook her hand. "I have ta thank ya Em', It's been forever since I worked on an engine this well made...I'd say the old girl's runnin' better than ever with yer plans, and me flexibility!"

[Dr. Ed]

The port bustled with people that morning, from the dockside cargo loaders to the peddlers greeting travelers right off the gangplanks, to the pickpockets who made their morning swag by pilfering from easy marks. Kamir stood near the dockside inn as Jack emerged with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He nodded at his old comrade and adjusted the strap on his bag, "Got anything?"

"Yes -- a ship called the Bohème. It's an Austrian Zephyr -- the only one in the city. You can't miss it. They're crossing the Pashtun region into India on the way to Shenjing, I believe."

"Is she armed?"

"That remains to be seen, my friend. I didn't hear reports of any armament in the registry, although apparently the captain has friends in the port authority. She could be armed to the teeth and no one would know about it, if this is true."

Jack nodded. "Better than going by land, I suppose."

"Jack... there are rumors going around town. The Khans know you are here, and word has it that there is a contract out on your life."

Jack smirked. "I expected as much."

Kamir placed a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Please be careful, my friend. I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen..."

* * *

"...So who would I meet in person than the famous Robert Liston. Cut off my mate's gangrenous arm in less than twenty seconds, he did. This was before ether, mind you. We had to be tough in those days."

"Aye, we've all heard about the 'fastest sawbones in the west', Winston. What did that bloke from West Lothian say about his surgery? Something about cutting off a man's balls along with his leg, and then his assistant's fingers when he flinched."

"Bullocks. The man was an artist."

The British veterans had been swapping stories for the better part of an hour when Jack walked by the tent. Immediately, the female "pilot" sitting with the former soldiers spotted him and identified his face. When one of the veterans saw her looking at him, he called over to Jack and beckoned him to sit down.

"You sir, you look like an army man. Come have a drink with us. I'm Roger Winston, this is Miggs, Boyle, Dawson, and the lovely lady here is Miss Greco -- from Italy."

Jack looked at everyone around the table, then studied the woman in the group for a moment. "A pleasure. Jack Dervish." He shook everyone's hand, save for the lady's, whom he kissed politely.

Miggs chimed in. "What part of the Empire are you from, my good man? I can't quite place the accent."

"Rhodesia."

"Ah yes. I hear there is some trouble with the Boers in South Africa -- something involving disputes over the diamon--" He took a breath sharply, and a trickle of blood began to pour from his mouth. When Jack looked down, he saw a blossom of red in the center of Migg's shirt growing, and an instant later, he fell forward onto the ground. There was a second of confusion, followed by a overwhelming wave of panic as the veterans, Jack, and Greco attempted to identify the source of the gunshot. No muzzle flash, no sound... Jack thought as he dropped to the ground, crawling over to Miggs who lay dying. The other veterans had pistols drawn and were frantically looking around while Jack grabbed Migg's Mauser and held it ready.

Suddenly, Jack heard the scream of Dawson as he was struck in the back of the head by a silent bullet. A spray of blood covered the tent wall and Dawson slumped over dead. The direction of the bullet wound meant the shooter was coming from behind them across the street -- and Jack could only assume that the bullets were meant for him. He turned to the veterans and gave them a hand signal to stay down, and stealthily slipped out from under the tent with the Mauser in hand.

The streets became deathly still -- something wholly uncommon for Kabul. Jack crawled on his belly to the building where he presumed the shooter to be, pressed himself against the wall, and waited for a sign that the shooter was there. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, he spotted a narrow metal tube protruding from a nearby window at ground level. Jack carefully inched along the bottom of the building towards the tube, staying out of sight until he came up right beneath the window. In a swift motion, Jack grabbed the barrel of the gun, wrenched it forward, and popped up with the Mauser to shoot the sniper in the head. The assassin fell over, his body twitching its death throes -- it was over.

Jack looked at the assassin's weapon -- an antique Girandoni Windbüchse modified with a modern air compressor and a sighted sniper scope. It was a masterful weapon, but judging by the man who did the shooting, it was not used by a master.

Winston, Boyle, and Greco stood with looks of shock and disbelief at the carnage that had just occurred. When Jack yelled out that it was over, it was as if life in the Kabul streets returned to normal. Somebody with power had ordered this assassination.

"Everyone all right?" He said, moving close to them.

Winston and Boyle nodded woefully. Jack turned to Greco and took her chin in his hand in a gentle manner. "Madam?"

* * *

"The assassination was unsuccessful, sir."

The man in the black Chinese-cut suit stood facing Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights painting, recently purchased and delivered to his chamber. It was a macabre spectacle, but the man's sinister tone did more to make one shudder than anything Bosch could have set to canvas. "I think not. It was unavoidable that the assassin would be ill-suited for eliminating Dervish, but his purpose was served. Miss Arkham will have no problem getting close to him now."

"Yes, sir. And what of the monk we detained?"

"Bring him to me."

[Stella Gaslight]

"Your welcome Mr. O'Landry.  I must say it is nice to find another person with a bit of grease in their veins as my father put it.  I take it the fuel lines are properly sealed."   

Patrick gave her a grin. "I fixed them up tight as a drum."

"Good can you please do the same on the port engine?  I want to polish up the propeller on this one." He was off like a flash. She walked in front of the propeller that was many times her size.  "You are going to have to help me figure out what grit to use George." She whispered as soon as Patrick was out of earshot.  Emma closed her eyes and ran her hands over the surface feeling for the tiny pits and scratches that would stop the propellers from slicing the air cleanly.  George put all of his awareness in to making the fingers of her right hand acutely sensitive.  Dust felt like pebbles and dips like craters. They broke off after only a few minutes drained from the intensity of the concentration. 

Emma picked up what looked like the guts of a disk music box, bolted a plate covered in cloth to it and  added polishing compound. Carefully she coaxed a small sealed glass tube out if the belt on her hip. A sluggish looking amber liquid was kept separate from a thiner dark fluid by a brass band with a pin sticking out of it. She pulled the pin and shut her eyes for a moment as it emitted a very bright flash of light. 

She put the active battery in to the re-purposed music box and it spun the disk far quicker than it had in its previous life letting out a high pitched whine.  Emma glided the polisher across the propeller leaving leaving a nearly flawlessly smooth trail in its wake. She had watched a well muscled crew member slave for hours with a rag to do the same thing she was doing nearly instantly. This was one of the reasons Emma loved science.  With enough brain power you could win out over physical strength.   

[Nigel Wetherby]

 Patrick had Finished off working on the motors with immense ease. He walked out to see if he could assist polishing the propeller, when he turned to the pile of circuitry and gears on the floor, He kneeled to it and probed the bits and peices with a look of fascination about him.
A mischevious grin crossed his face.
He organized.
He organized and sorted every loose part from the Heating implements to the leftover pipes. He opened his toolbox, and worked feverishly, his nimble, pale fingers worked like spiders legs in a ballet, nimble, delicateley.
"If i could make this into an electron collection turbine....and this would make a good concentration lense...add some excess bits of metal for the shell casing and....Viola!" He held out his creation, And aether oscilliation pistol, it's oblong chamber and improvised barrel showed no style, but mereley function. He giggled to himself and drcidrd to test it.
A rat skittered across the floor. By the end of Patrick's trigger finger pressing down the gun's trigger, all that remained was a pile of ash, reeking of burnt hair.
Like a child at christmas he ran out to the massive propeller to show emma what he had made. He stopped when he heard the music box music, he fell silent, his thoguhts  muted themselves. He stayed out of sight, fascinated by her fascination with the music box.

[Jasper]

"Si, si. Bene." she said, pushing her revolver back into it's holster and taking a calming breath through her nose. "Yes. Fine." she added in English, taking in their blood-splattered surroundings with not quite completely hidden anger. "Those bullets were not meant for these men. They were adventurers, explorers. Old. Men with no place on a - ah, what you say? La lista.. uccidere? Kill List."

"Hit List." Jack offered politely, as he moved between the corpses and checked the pulse at their neck. 

"Si, grazie - Hit List. Even in Kabul they are not worth a contract, though there are probably many who would do it. Many controlled by few."

Winston and Boyle were both silently gathering up their belongings, a true display of composed English grief amoungst the people who couldn't understand it. Their grief was not hidden - in this part of the world there was no shame and no stigma in tears and and scream of anguish; yet there stood two men who had had friends ripped from them and were perfectly composed. In this world of sand and dust and smoke it was unnatural.

Whilst the surviving veterans spoke with Jack, thanking him for his quick action, the supposed italian watched him. She knew she was reaching the phase of almost totaly emersion in the character she had created for herself, so took the time to recount her mission in her head. Before long she would spend very little time thinking about it, because it would become such a strong drive in her every action that thought was not nessisary.

Jack turned back to the Italian, who was rearranging the scarf around her head whilst still watching him.

"Those bullets were also not meant for me, I do not think." she gave him a meaningful look, but when he chose not to answer she did not pursue it, but spoke again. "I have heard there is an airship in port who's captain plans to take a dangerous route. If luck is on my side they will be in need of a pilot who has chanced the region before. There are very few contracts of value for pilots these days - mainly trade routes and escorts, for which the money is poor. And boring." she added with a slight smile. "I could not pass through the east without taking up the opportunity."

* * *

The Rhodesian and the Italian stepped out into the thronging streets of Kabul, leaving the remaining English veterans with their condolances and best wishes. Fabrice walked with apparent knowledge of the streets, winding her way to the air docks. "What brings you to Kabul, Jack?" she asked when the streets began to become less densly populated. Soon the many airships docked in Kabul loomed into sight.

"I'm just passing through." he said simply, and the woman seemed content with his answer. "What ship are you looking for?" he asked as he watched her considering the gathered airships, in their various shapes and sizes. He had spotted the vessel he was interested in as soon as they had emerged amoungst the ships.

"The 'Bohème', under a Captain Ben Husson. My contact was rather poor in his information. I have abosolutely no idea what sort of ship it is." Jack saw her stiffen and then let out a little excited sound.

"Spero che sia quella nave...*" she said under her breath, looking at the same ship Jack had been considering with a gaze that was almost affectionate. "É bella."

*="I hope it is that ship" .. "it/she is beautiful"

[Ben Hudson, Esq.]

In the market, Ben and Lakshmi heard the single shot in the distance. Ben looked up, then ignored it. Kabul was a fragmented town, where growing unease between the oppressed poor and the oppressing rich led to outburst of violence. The result was always the same - another low-class citizen hanged and displayed in public, and another few months of restless peace.

After their shopping trip, they had accumulated a bag full of vials, boxes, jars and paper twists, all double-wrapped in tissue and linen. Lakshmi wasn't taking any chances with their volatile groceries. Ben caught the attention of a local boy, who gave him directions to the address Saeed had given him over the radio. After paying the boy off with a sum worth less than a tenth of a penny - which the boy hugged to his chest as he ran off - he looked around the street.
Compared to many of the others in the town, it was fairly comfortable. The road itself was crudely cobbled, with a camber and gutters. The houses shared many parts with their scrap-built cousins of the totally poverty-striken area, but with brick sections holding up the wing sheets. Some even had basic glass windows, made mostly from the readily available sand. The inhabitants went to and fro, or sat on stools, many cradling the babies that were for many the only hope of a comfortable future. As with all poor Kabul, there were no street names or house numbers (a pointless exercise when new houses sprung up like mushrooms), but Saeed was well known by the neighbourhood, and they found his house in no time.

A purple curtain covered the doorway - far cheaper and more convenient in the Persian heat. Ben entered, knowing that Saeed would be expecting him. 'Ahh! Ben!' Saeed bustled from another room and seized Ben's hand in two of his. He was as tall as Ben, but broader and strongly build. Like most of the local men, he sported a handsome beard. He released his moist, crushing grip as he noticed Lakshmi. 'I see that you have brought a lady with you!' Saeed grinned and bowed deeply to Lakshmi, who returned the greeting. 'Your wife...?'
Ben smiled. 'No, a friend, and a crew member.'
'Of course, of course. I was admiring your ship this morning. It's quite a thing. Very pretty. Can't believe you built the damn thing, after all these years.'
'I said I would, didn't I? You have no idea how hard it was getting the half-ribs. Found them under a few tons of wreckage in a Newfoundland scrapyard. Taken from a Indonesian privateer... but anyway. We have so much to talk about!'
'Indeed, indeed.' Saeed led them into the main room. A low fire in the corner heated a small kettle, which was just coming to a boil. Ben and Lakshmi followed Saeed's lead and sat down cross-legged on the floor before a low table. A lady entered, dressed in a long patterned dress and a modest headdress. She was heavily pregnant. Saeed looked up. 'Of course, you have not met my wife, Hediyeh. She is a gift indeed!' They greeted her, and she sat down, leaning on Saeed. It was clear from the looks in their eyes that this was no arranged match.
'So what winds brought you here?' asked Ben, slipping into a phrase fond among airmen.
'Rough one, but auspicious ones indeed. When you left the Dawn Spirit, my indenture had three years to run. When it ended, and I was free to stop flying salt to rich bastards the world over Captain Brook, Iblis take him, wouldn't tell me where you had gone. With none of the connections he had, I had no way of finding out where you went. I found jobs, and other jobs, and more jobs, and made a little piece of money. Then, in a slave-dir over the Asiatic, I found something worth far more than just money.' He looked into the eyes of Hediyeh, who smiled beautifully and took his hand. 'So I knocked out the slave-dealers, brought the dir down, let go the slaves, and kept this one!' Lakshmi laughed. 'That's love for you.' Saeed smiled 'Very true, sister. Well, I was bored of being paid nothing to be up to my hocks in coolant and grease, so I put my experience to good use and got working on airfields. And here I am, second class radioman at Kabul Airfield! And imagine my shock when I heard a voice over the wireless that I had not heard in near on a decade!'
He poured hot water onto the tea-leaves in a patterned pot and wrapped a cloth around it. 'And now your turn, you rogue.' He remained silent, occasionally smiling as Ben recounted how he had got from being a mechanic on the Dawn Spirit to being the captain on his own ship. Time passed like the years that they had missed.

[Dr. Ed]

"That she is." Jack said in response to her last uttered comment, to which she conveyed a look of delighted surprise.

"Parle italiano?"

"Yes. Is it easier for you?"

"Si, but I would like to speak in English... Not many speak Italian." She smiled at him before turning back to the zephyr. "Shall we?" She held out her arm for Jack, which he took with a smile as they embarked up the gangplank to the Bohème.

* * *

"Feng Dai Shen. I am honored."

The old man on his knees was shackled by his neck, with manacles hindering his ability to make full motion. This was arguably one of the most dangerous men in the eastern hemisphere, and the man in the black Chinese suit was not going to take any chances.

"My name is Mr. Khan, great master. You have been brought to me because of what you possess."

Feng Dai Shen's voice creaked like an old rusty vice; no one was certain how old he was, for his body was still a specimen of fitness. It was only when he spoke that the true scope of the venerable monk's age could be fathomed. "You desire knowledge that would take time to possess... time I do not have."

"You misunderstand me, great master. I am not interested in becoming your student." Mr. Khan turned around and placed his hand on his desk. Suddenly, the wall that was once an exhibit for Bosch's masterpiece revolved and revealed a hidden contraption whose workings the master monk couldn't begin to comprehend. "Curious, is it not? I have been developing this device for a number of years. It utilizes principles of science and alchemy -- concepts that have, for various reasons, been locked away from the world community -- to harvest the engrams of a particular mind... yours, for instance."

Mr. Khan began to put on a device that bore resemblance to a glove, but had sinister metallic machinations along every digit. "It is, of course, impossible to harvest years of engrams all at once. They must be taken in small doses for the device to translate them properly." Mr. Khan began to flip several switches on the device, causing the machine to let out a disturbing hum. "The process, I'm afraid, will be quite painful."

Mr. Khan leaned in near the monk's face and whispered in his ear, "Know that I hold you in the highest regard, great master." With that, he placed the glove portion of the device on Feng Dai Shen's forehead.

The scream would resonate in the minds of Mr. Khan's guards for the rest of their lives.

[bluestocking]

Lakshmi sipped her tea - heavily spiced chai masala, it was a heavenly taste of home after many months - and listened to the men reminisce. It was a pleasure to relax in such a comfortable home, and Ben's friend and his wife were truly lovely people, warm and welcoming.

Had Saeed not paused in his account of an adventure involving a Bulgarian freighter and three Indonesian spice-merchants to take a sip of tea, she might never have heard Hediyah's stifled gasp. She leaned closer to the young woman and asked in a low voice, "Are you well?"

Hediyah pressed one hand gently against her full belly. "The pains... I think my time is very close. I... oh!" Lakshmi looked closely, and watched a contraction ripple her abdomen. She reached out a hand.

"May I? It's all right; I'm a doctor." Hediyah nodded. Lakshmi palpated her belly swiftly. "Egad! How long have you been having the pains? What about contractions?"

"A few days. It was like this with our first child, too."

Lakshmi nodded, then sat up and interrupted Saeed's yarn. "Would you gentlemen be so kind to put some water on the boil?"

Disconcerted, Saeed nodded.

"I'll need some clean cloths, as well." She took Hediyah's hand and led her into the bedroom in the back of the house, gently quizzing her about her physical condition all the while.

"Hediyah? Sweetheart? Is everything all right?" Saeed asked.

She nodded as another contraction shook her. Ben took his arm gently. "It'll be just fine; Lakshmi is a quite gifted physician. She'll take good care of your wife."

[Stella Gaslight]

George was singing a pretty lilting song about a black train streaking across a lonely landscape. He had a rich baritone voice and a good memory for songs.  Emma loved it when he sang it was like having her own portable gramophone at her beck and call. He started another song one of her favorites from a comic operetta about a young man that stumbles in to a career in air piracy. Emma took the role of pirate hunter that had fallen for her bounty adding her sweet soprano to the whine of the polisher.  She spun the next blade in to place and ran the polisher across in time to the music.  Patrick watched has she danced with her reflection singing of the joy held in the sky above.  Emma was half way through the heroine's song when George noticed the people coming up the gangplank.  Emma broke off suddenly listening eyes narrow and nervous.  "Two of them and they are armed.  Do they have the Stars' mark on them any where?'  She exhaled deeply. "Well that is a relief but still I don't know about going out to greet them.  Good idea George. I think that should work."  She turned off the polisher and called for Patrick who scrambled to look busy. 

"Whatcha need?" He said poking his head around the propeller.

"We have guests, Armed guests and I would feel much better greeting them if you were with me.  I lack combat experience so to speak.  I don't know if it will even be necessary to draw a weapon but still." She stopped knowing she was rambling.

[Nigel Wetherby]

  "Ya want a man with combat experience greetin' 'em then? Can do!" he tossed her his newly made Aether oscilliation ray gun. "Fire that if i seem in trouble, just aim using the little pin at the top of tha' barrel." He turned towards the bridge, fingering the hilt of his sword. He ran up to the gangplank, standing before the two men, a flintlock raised from it's holder and held out to the intruder.
His eyes narrowed, "What's yer buisness aboard tha Boheme? Sir? I warn ye, I've trained with red-eyed bart fer 4 years, and I dont much like ship theives."
He could tell by the man's stance and garb that he was british, he had an air of confidence about him, a smug look he had learned to never trust.
His eyes fell on the woman who was clearly an Italian, he could tell by her olive complexion and curling hair.

"Ya heard me! what do ye want? This aint no pirate ship, if yer hunters, yer wastin' yer time!"

[Stella Gaslight]

The gun felt strange in her hands more like a toy than a weapon but she didn't doubt it's potency.  She knew from experience that small things could cause large holes. She watched Patrick draw his weapon with a sinking sensation in her stomach.  Oh dear Emma thought I really should have realized that he tackles everything with the same enthusiasm.  He could get them all killed if she didn't act fast to diffuse the situation. Luckily she had practice at disarming Capitan Black's stormy moods.

She stepped up beside him smiling what George called her benevolent mother smile.  It had the desired effect of easing the tension a bit. Emma turned to Patrick placing her hands gently on his shoulder and spoke quietly in to his ear. "Mr. O'Landry please holster your gun until we are sure we must use it." He let it point toward the ground but made no move to release it. She held the ray gun in her right hand but let it too point at the earth.

She looked at the newcomers they were far too well dressed to be natives.  There was blood on the man's boots and on the womans head scarf.  She stepped back in to what George insisted was a good stance to pull a weapon. Emma was sure Patrick noticed the blood too because he moved in to protect her. George shifted the ray gun in her hand ready to aim as soon as things stared looking bad.  If they were violent she would have to tread carefully indeed but if they were the victims she wanted to help them.  Emma knew was it was to be hunted.  "You must forgive Mr. O'Landry he loves this ship more than his life. However he does have a point even if he is rather blunt about stating it.  What brings you to this ship?" Her voice was cheerful and descriptively calm but her eyes kept darting to the flecks of red adoring the woman's head scarf and her knuckles where white where she griped the gun.  What have I gotten my self mixed up in now she thought.