Chapter 1: City of Steam

An alleyway, eh? I guess we'll have to look down each one.

Fritz keeps his eyes open, peaking down alleyways. Fritz packs his pipe, while continuing.

A lady in a blue dress, turned your head. Must be a sight ain't she? I seen her before?

Dr. Holmes remembers back to the night when he tried to get Miss Ellsworth, the woman in the blue dress, and her friend to come over and sit with him and Wilhundt. And how they barely seemed to take notice of him as a certain Mr Fritz Weigel waved them over to leave him standing there like an idiot. Even now he can feel his face burn with embarrassment.

"Hmm? What was that? Oh I don't know if you've seen her. I don't think so. Let's try down this alley over here. I remember going in the barber's to try to sell him a skin balm. And then I came out this way."

Ah, I doubt I'd remember, if'n I had seen this blue woman. There's so many. Ah, the barber. Many o' tips I've stolen from their tip jar. Low hang'n fruit they say. I could go for a trim me-self.

Fritz rubs his face. The hair making a scraping sound.

I been figur'n and I ain't that grand -uh, math wizard, can count money add, subtract...
Ever since I seen that Whitey, t'ings don't seem right, whatchu think, Doc. You ain't hating me call'n ya doc, are ya? Suits ya. Ya got anyt'ing for a headache?

"I've been having the same feelings Fritz. Working at a shirt factory? This just isn't my life. I can feel it in my bones. No I don't mind you calling me Doc. It actually has a familiar ring to my ears, and to be honest with you Fritz, I think I quite enjoy your company. And you certainly have some talents of your own that I could never hope to equal."

Henry opens his bag and digs around for a bit. Pulls something out and hands it to Fritz.

"Willow bark. I haven't had a chance to process it down yet, but if you chew on it for a while it should help your headache. Just get it good and wet. Ahh I don't know. I'm not seeing it. Let's head down this way. Hopefully Wilhundt and Samar are having better luck."

Dr. Holmes leads Fritz down the alley and heading in the general direction of the museum. Checking each side alley along the way.

"Mr. Varyu. Wilhundt." Samar started and stopped. She looked at the coins on the table, the new object with the wires, and her notebook. They were all treasures in their own way - but what she had wanted to say did not come out how she wanted to say it.

The treasures were not hers. They belonged to this nascent fellowship. But how can you trust anyone when you know that someone or something is not to be trusted?

Samar stood and poured herself some stew, then returned to the table.

"Wilhundt - what you need to know is this. Outside the museum, there is an animated display that...displays the flying movement of a manner of vessels. All but one of these vessels hovers in relation to the ground, just like some birds fly higher than others, or how different insects can have different types of wings than birds or than each other, or how leaves float or seeds spin on their way to the ground.

"But one of these ships flew vertically, and it was depicted to move not by steam, but by fire. It struck me that whoever invented this display might know something about this sort of vessel you uncovered in the factory."

"When I questioned Ms. Wickham, about the display in general, she told me that this display was the work of Mr. Davies, a smith who lives north of the Milford factory. I believe we should go pay him a visit and flatter his craftsmanship. Perhaps we should take him a gift - show him some true courtesy.

"Now we know Mayor Milford to be a bit on the eccentric side. Mr. Davies - well some might call him a loon. Now we have come to understand that there might be some reason to his madness, but we will have our work cut out sorting what is what.

"So yes, you should come with me, because you know more about mechanical things than I do. But what do we take with us? Do we take this contraption from the museum? I cannot tell you if Mr. Davies is friend or foe of Milford. I trusted Milford till yesterday. Having a job, however ill-suited, is preferable to not having one. None of us live in poverty.

"I have decided to trust you, and the other two. I probably told Ms. Wickham too much about myself - so Mr. Milford or Mr. Wuyuan will find me before long. And if they see us together, you will find yourself implicated.

"So let us be off, and quickly, before the reckoning occurs. But what do we take and what do we leave behind - in regards to the contraption, my journal, and even this money?"

Samar swallowed the rest of her drink and took to the stew.

Dr Holmes and Fritz make their way through town. Methodically checking each side alley as they slowly make their way to the museum. As they finally walk up to the museum and the kinetic sculpture outside Dr. Holmes stops mid stride and puts his arm out to stop Fritz as well.

"Ahhh Fritz, but I am a fool. I fear I have lead you on a wild goose chase this past hour. For here before us is the sculpture Mrs. Wynne described. Which I also must surely have seen but a few days ago when I was here selling a tincture to Ms. Wickham. Aaaand there you can see just rising from the ground is most assuredly my missing craft."

And sure enough the two can see the tiny "boiler" shaped object making it's way over the horizon with tiny little brass flames shooting out the bottom.

"But perhaps you'll allow me a small kindness Fritz and just go along with me when I blame this damnable memory block, or whatever it is, on my poor recollection. We might as well go in and see if the others are here."

So Mrs. Wynne and Mr. Varyu departed to pay a visit to Mr. Davies. Mrs. Wynne took the companions' money and her notebook - to continue with the idea that she wanted to report on Mr. Davies' talents for the newspaper. She left it to Mr. Varyu to decide whether he brought the contraption, so she was not sure if he did or did not.

They picked up a bottle of wine on the way to present as a gift to Mr. Davies, all the while keeping their eyes open for trouble or spectacle, as each was as likely to cross their path.

When they arrived at Mr. Davies' shop, they found it closed, and there were no lights on. Upon polite inspection, it appeared as if Mr. Davies lived elsewhere or had already turned in for the evening.

With that, the pair made their way to the Hangry Haven to meet their counterparts and report on their conversation and investigations.

"Wilhundt, you keep the contraption - I would prefer to not keep its company until we understand more about it or Milford's intentions. As you have the day off tomorrow, and I do not work till the evening, shall you and I meet at Mr. Davies' smithy at...9am? The others are welcome to be close by, but it might be too conspicuous if we all arrive at once. Then we can rendezvous thereabouts afterward."

The morning comes bright(?) and early with fog and drizzle. Traffic in the streets is noticeably lighter. For the tinkerers, it's time to show off their wiper mechanisms for keeping their goggles clear. The fog settles on the chilly metal bits that adorn their clothing, the gears that drive their contraptions.

Samar turns north on a small street off the main drag, not far from the factory, bottle of wine tucked under her arm. She looks at the signs as she heads down the street -- tobacco, a bakery, a glass blower, a printer, and finally towards the end of the lane, a sign for 'Davies Bits and Bobs'. From a distance and amid the other sounds of the street, a faint clanking noise can be heard. As Samar approaches Davies' workshop, the clanking grows louder. It seems that Mr. Davies may be here, and has started his day's work.

After going to bed early, Wihundt wakes a couple hours before dawn. After a quick breakfast he grabs his coat and gear, pockets the item Samar had left in his care and, glad once again that his flat is at the edge of town, heads out into the woods to clear his mind and ponder things for a bit. He hikes only 20 minutes or so when he finds a downed tree at the edge of a clearing. Laying down on the trunk, it is dark enough that he can still see the stars. He imagines himself up there, navigating to different worlds, unsure if even there are other worlds. The visions or memories he has been having certainly indicate the probability that there are, and that he had perhaps flown through the black void himself. Absently, he fidgets with the button on the panel, imagining that it is back in it's pedestal, pondering it's curious workmanship, wondering upon a method of reconnecting the wires that would be both quick but also effective. The flexible material coating a copper core seems to indicate that the copper should not contact anything besides itself. He must think further about what he might have onhand to facilitate that. As the sun begins to rise, He strikes and idea that just might work.

Gathering himself, he begins the hike back to town, after a few minutes he turns down a game trail which he knows will take him close to the district od Dorset where Mr Davies' smithy abides. Entering Dorset, he makes his way to the Smithy. Up ahead he sees that Samar has arrived before him. He is both surprised, and pleased by this. As her work hours routinely have her up throughout the night, he quite wrongly judged that she would be unable to meet at the time she herself had set.

Increasing his pace, to a brisk walk, he sees Samar notice him. She pauses outside awaiting his arrival. Together, they enter the workshop,eyes gazing this way and that, taking in all of the bits that Mr Davies has for sale, some of which are in fact bobbing. Wilhundt takes in his surroundings looking for something specific before calling out to get the attention of Mr Davies. is there anything here like his display at the museum?

Looking around the workshop, there are shapes in metal similar to what you've seen on the kinetic sculptures in the museum. A hot air balloon here, a lion over there, a train, a weasel, an animal you don't recognize, a few ornithopters. Perhaps they'll go on a kinetic sculpture, perhaps not. One kinetic sculpture, smaller than the ones at the museum, has its metal casing open, exposing the intricate gears and internal workings.

The whole place has pieces of various projects scattered about, in various states of completion, repair, or disrepair as it were. How he gets anything done is anyone's guess.

In your general amazement at the gadgetry all around you, you hardly notice that the hammering has stopped. A smallish man approaches with a smile, holding a hammer. He has a round belly, hair gone completely white, a leather smock, and a shoulder-mounted contraption that looks much like brass shoulder pads with arms attached. Each arm ends in a rudimentary hand -- the right holds a pair of tongs, the left what appears to be some kind of bran muffin.

"Good morning, what can we do for you today? Browsing? Shopping? Collecting trash?"

”My name is Mrs. Wynne. Are you Mr. Davies? I happened upon your kinetic sculpture outside the Museum of Oddities yesterday - and I wanted to tell you how impressed I am by your work. I brought this bottle of wine over for you last night, but your shop was already closed. Would you mind telling me more about what you do? Does the sculpture outside the museum have a name?”

Miss Wynne hands Mr. Davies the bottle of wine and takes out her notebook. She gives her full attention to Mr. Davies.

As Samar hands the bottle of wine to Mr. Davies, he turns his left shoulder to her to extend the artificial hand. Realizing a bit too late that the hand is already occupied with a muffin, he shrugs and holds out his actual left hand to accept the bottle.

"I most certainly am Mr. Daives of 'Davies Bits and Bobs' fame!" He laughs at the moniker. "Thank you for this, I will drink to your good health tonight", and he sets the bottle on a nearby shelf that contains some raw metal stock and a few bottles of wine.

"Oh, yes, you've seen it? I call it 'Flights of Fancy'. Kind of a stupid name, I know, but customers like that sort of thing." He looks at Samar, his look a little more intense, "A notebook? Why the notebook? Are you giving me that, too, to go with my wine? A little light reading?" He smiles, but you can't help but remind yourself that he's armed with a hammer. And a muffin.

”I am glad you asked, Mr. Davies. This notebook is a sign of how seriously I admire your work. You are a true visionary, and I would like to support your endeavors however I can. I was thinking I would write an article for the paper about your sculpture. Perhaps an article would drum up some business for your shop, if you need it? Of course I will put the notebook away if you prefer.

Please, I entreat you, tell me what inspired that piece? I am obsessed with the flight of birds and insects. And I hope to travel by ornithopter myself one day - or ornithopter-train. Airmobile? Do you think it would be possible for commoners like myself to travel the world by air one day, like we do on stream-wagons and trains?”

Mrs. Wynne cannot stop herself - she finds that she is genuinely excited by the topic of flight. Of course she ultimately wants to know about the spacecraft in “Flights of Fancy,” but everything she has told Mr. Davies is true. She would follow through with writing an article, for example. ”I could sure use a couple of extra arms like his for waiting tables tonight,” Mrs. Wynne muses.

"No, no articles, please. Look at me, I'm an old man! What would I want with more business and deadlines? I'm happy to talk with you, but if people start banging on my door waving money in my face, I just may hunt you down." He laughs, and looks around for a couple of chairs. He finds a couple of mismatched chairs from a couple of workbenches, and pulls them close. He offers Samar one, and sits in the other.

"Now. Flight. What do you wish to know?"

Wilhundt sits, and almost blurts out TELL ME ABOUT THE SPACESHIP!, but contains himself. Samar's tack of questioning seems to have Mr Davies in good spirits and willing to talk. He absolves to let Samar take lead on this. It seems that this is one time when the direct approach may have a negative result.

Mrs. Wynne closes the notebook.

“Thank you, Mr. Davies. All of your pieces, the animals and flying machines, are works of great craftsmanship and exquisite detail. How do you do it? What inspires you?

“Please let me introduce Mr. Varyu. When I told him about your sculpture, he wanted to meet you himself, as he is mechanically inclined.

“Is it imagination? Is it experience? Did someone teach you? How would you explain your expertise?”

Dr. Henry Holmes wakes up and gets some breakfast. Eggs over rice with cheese and jalapeños. One of his favorites. He looks at his supply of tinctures and decides he needs to go foraging to restock. He grabs a burlap bag and heads out past the edge of town into a nearby forest. He goes to the willow trees he has found previously and trims off several of the smaller branches. Ensuring he does no lasting damage to the trees. Next he finds the elderberry bush he spotted near the creek. He picks about half the berries on the bush and heads back towards town. He stops by the general store and picks up several different sizes of empty bottles and some sealing wax. On the way home he stops by the Hangry Haven and purchases a couple bottles of vodka. It takes a couple hours to strip the bark off the branches and cut it up in to smaller sizes. He then puts half of it in his large pot and begins to boil it down to extract the salicin in the bark. This will producer a weaker tincture but will give him a supply now. The rest of the chopped bark he splits between six of the larger bottles he bought and fills them up with the vodka. He crushes a handful of berries and adds them to each bottle to add color and flavor. He stoppers the six bottles, gives them a good shake and sets them aside. These will sit for about a month and periodically get shaken during that time. This will make a far more potent tincture that he will put in the smaller bottles when it is ready. The rest of the berries he crushes into his boiling pot and lets it boil for ten more minutes. He pours the liquid through a cheese cloth to separate out the bark and fills the medium sized bottles he purchased. Which he then seals with the wax and places them in his medical bag to sell later. He carefully cleans his pot and puts it away, sits down heavily and sighs loudly, satisfied with the days labor. It was a long day, but one he enjoyed far more than his days spent at the factory. It's at this time that his stomach began to complain about missing lunch and that it was an hour past dinner time, so he grabs his hat and cane and heads off to the Hangry Haven to find dinner.

Haku=Kohaku wrote:

“Thank you, Mr. Davies. All of your pieces, the animals and flying machines, are works of great craftsmanship and exquisite detail. How do you do it? What inspires you?

“Please let me introduce Mr. Varyu. When I told him about your sculpture, he wanted to meet you himself, as he is mechanically inclined.

“Is it imagination? Is it experience? Did someone teach you? How would you explain your expertise?”

Mr. Davies stands briefly to shake Wilhundt's hand. "Ah, a practitioner of the mechanical arts, eh? A worker of metal and steam? Always a pleasure to meet another who tinkers." He glances at Varyu's hands, sees the bruises and the cuts -- some old, some new from working on the rails at the factory -- and seems satisfied.

"Reality is as much an inspiration as anything else, Mrs. Wynne. What I see is wondrous enough to inspire me to build, whether it's animals in the wild or in books, flying machines that fly (or crash)...the world is full of wonder, and there is great joy in bringing these things to life. A picture may paint a thousand words, as they say, but a moving sculpture gives that picture vitality. Getting the machinery to move like the real thing takes a great talent, one that I'll never achieve in this lifetime, I'm certain of that."

"Simply put, Mrs.Wynne, steam ornithopters are bullshit. But, tinkerers and engineers being what they are, abandoning a useless idea is sometimes harder than coming up with a good one. I, myself, have stuck with some silly ideas for far too long, and with poor results. Have you ever seen the Davies Steam Stilts? Fantastic! You could run as fast as a horse!" His eyes light up at the memory, before a pained look crosses his face. "Stopping, however, was a futile and painful endeavor. I broke many bones..."

"Anyway, I doubt that steam-powered flight will ever happen, but some of us still dream of it. The vertical flying machine as you call it, I doubt it was steam-powered...but what a sight it was. Flames shooting out the back, powering its way into the sky...truly a sight to behold. It used to come and go quite often, usually bringing rocks and metals, though one day it left and never came back. Only a few of us remember (maybe even less than that). It's been quite some time, many many years."

Mrs. Wynne takes in Mr. Davies story, and she cannot help but smile.

"Well, Mr. Davies - if Mr. Varyu told me as much, I would not have believed him. In truth, he probably has told me as much, and I have discounted him. But neither would I have believed that a person could have four working arms, and here you are, Mr. Davies, a testament to limitless possibilities.

"I would like to think that what I lack in imagination, I make up for with curiosity and enthusiasm. You have indulged a young woman's fancy, and I feel indebted to your kindness. I have a few more questions, but I do not want to trouble you too much longer - and Mr. Varyu is liable to begin gloating here soon. My questions are these:

"First - if this 'star-ferry' did not operate with steam power, how do you think it operated - with all those flames? Could coal do that? Second, are you from Dorset, Mr. Davies, or from somewhere else? Do you have family in Dorset? Third, would you have an extra pair of arms for a lass such as myself, or could I commission you to create a pair for me? And at what cost?

"And finally, how can I repay you for indulging my unabashed inquisitiveness? Though I hate to lose a wager to Mr. Varyu, knowing how he will crow about it ad nauseam, I can stomach his boasting for having met a practiced boffin, such as yourself. I hold you in high esteem, Mr. Davies. And though it pains me to admit it, I have learned something for all Mr. Varyu's, and especially your, enterprise."

Haku=Kohaku wrote:

"First - if this 'star-ferry' did not operate with steam power, how do you think it operated - with all those flames? Could coal do that? Second, are you from Dorset, Mr. Davies, or from somewhere else? Do you have family in Dorset? Third, would you have an extra pair of arms for a lass such as myself, or could I commission you to create a pair for me? And at what cost?

"And finally, how can I repay you for indulging my unabashed inquisitiveness? Though I hate to lose a wager to Mr. Varyu, knowing how he will crow about it ad nauseam, I can stomach his boasting for having met a practiced boffin, such as yourself. I hold you in high esteem, Mr. Davies. And though it pains me to admit it, I have learned something for all Mr. Varyu's, and especially your, enterprise."

"How it operated? I cannot begin to imagine getting that kind of power from coal and steam. It is something currently unknown in Dorset, built by someone long before me, and its secrets lost to time, apparently."

He glances at the two mechanical arms, one holding the hammer, the other still clinging to the muffin, and shakes his head with a laugh. "Miss, I'm afraid you wouldn't like them. More of a glorified paper-weight they've turned out to be. You see, I'm working on mechanical levers to control them, the idiocy of which should be plain -- it takes two good and proper organic arms to operate these two clumsy mechanical ones! Whatever I might use the mechanical ones for, I could just be using my own arms. So at this point, I just use them to hold things while I'm otherwise occupied. They do look spectacular, though in an utterly useless way."

He ponders the arms for a moment, then looks around his shop at all the stuff just sitting around, still needing work. "But if you'd like them as an adornment, perhaps I could part with them for 200 silver. Word of caution, they are heavy! It's a lot of extra effort just to carry an extra muffin or two." He smiles a broad smile.

Wilhundt ponders the arms for a moment wondering how he might improve upon them. " perhaps you could use liquid to drive a piston, much the we use steam pressure in larger machinations. A lever mechanism could be actuated in the armpit to compress the liquid down a narrow tube to a larger piston reservoir at the pincers, thus giving you a mechanical advantage. This would still limit your natural arm's abilities, but would still allow some freedom of use and mobility in them."

Wilhundt stands and demonstrates the action. To any onlookers not privy to this conversation it would look very much as if Wilhundt had at that moment, stood and flapped his elbows like a duck.

jabmb4 wrote:

" perhaps you could use liquid to drive a piston, much the we use steam pressure in larger machinations.  A lever mechanism could be actuated in the armpit to compress the liquid down a narrow tube to a larger piston reservoir at the pincers, thus giving you a mechanical advantage. This would still limit your natural arm's abilities, but would still allow some freedom of use and mobility in them."

"Great minds, eh?" Davies quips, pointing to a set of pistons sitting on a shelf amongst a set of gears and a drive shaft.  "Movement without control is just....flailing..." He waves his around around comically, while his mechanical arms sit there, rather inert. "I don't seem to have the means to build it properly, though I am somewhat fond of having four arms just for the sake of having four arms." He shrugs with a resigned smile, and adds, "For 200, you're welcome to try yourself, though. If nothing else, you'll be the talk of the town for a little while. Can't have my muffin, though..." he adds, giggling as he snatches the muffin from the inert mechanical hand and chomps into it. Crumbs fall into his lap, and he laughs through his mouth stuffed with food.

Mrs. Wynne's visit to Davies Bits and Bobs has alleviated all her anxieties about being hunted down by Mayor Milford. What a character Mr. Davies has turned out to be!

Mrs. Wynne gives Mr. Davies a peck on the cheek. "I hope to stop by with some muffins for you soon," she tells him, and she turns to leave.

She gives Mr. Varyu a peck on the check on her way out as well. "Swing by work tonight, and I will get you that pint I owe you," she tells him. Then she whispers, "Who knows? Maybe you will get to save my life!"

Mrs. Wynne walks home, has a snack, writes a summary of her conversation with Mr. Davies in her journal, and gets some rest before her evening shift. What a strange day off it has been.

Mrs. Wynne arrives at the Hangry Haven in her blazing rose dress - the one that turns heads and leads to trouble. It is not long before Dr. Holmes arrives, and Mrs. Wynne sees that he is seated comfortably. She fills him in as she can between customers, and she wonders at his healthy appetite. She lets him know that she has invited Mr. Varyu to swing by as he is able.

A patron offers her a dart, hoping for her tradition bullseye, but she declines for the time being. She is saving her luck tonight, just in case.

Fritz finds himself in a stupor, beneath a stoop buried in refuse. His mouth tastes dry and metallic. The night before, he cannot recall. There's a familiarity there, not remembering, but knowing something outside his reach of recollection.

He left his newly christened buddy the good doctor of tinctures and the hunter and the scary lady at the museum of oddities with a display of flying things. The flying things the phallic protrusion gliding upwards, the thought, even now puts a lump in his throat and a desire to drown it away. He believes he'll never understand it. He'll never know why every morning he wakes in such a mess, forgetting the night before. It's always been this way in Dorset, since...

A tenant in the building throws out a pale of trash. He jumps through the barrage of molded breads and vegetable matter. A potato peel sticks to his unshaven face. His head claps back a lightning storm of recognition that he drank way too much and his crotch agrees. He picked something up. He thinks. He checks his pockets to find the hidden things still there, but his purse gone and pipe and smoke, as well.

Fuck

He finds the butt of a cigar on the cobbled stoned street and bugs a patron for some tinder.

Perhaps his good buddy the doc'll have something for both.

He clammers through the streets, thinking he'll find his friend at the Hangry Haven, when he arrives he sees him, much to Mrs. Wynne's chagrin it seems, for Fritz still smells of piss and vinegar.

Fritz removes his hat and a bit of cabbage falls on the table.

Oh, me good friend, doc, I've got a mighty itch and a pounding head. Have ya got anyt'ing fer dat? Ah, Mrs. Wynne, I didn't see you there, fine miss, might I bother you for a pick me up and a bit of grub? I haven't the coin, it seems. I was turned out late last night and left for dead. Yer mercy would be greatly appreciated

"Ahh, Good evening Fritz. You've looked better. Barely." (Gives Fritz a wink)
Dr. Holmes orders two shots for Fritz and some hot tea for himself.
"The shots should help your head and I would start with a good hot bath for the itch. If it persists after I can give you something for it. Mrs. Wynne says Wilhundt should be along shor....soon. Sounds like they had an interesting visit with Mr. Davies. Have you eaten? I've got a chicken fried steak coming with mashed potatoes. I see you've brought a salad. But I can order one for you if you like?"

Wilhundt parts ways with Samar as they leave Mr. Davie's workshop, ostensibly to return home, but at some point along the way he changed paths and found himself staring at the factory building housing the small ship, hand deep inside a pocket of his duster, finger tracing the edges of the button on the launch switch. His thoughts, currently, are in a jumble. 'i shouldn't be here... it's curious that Mr Davies seems to have... relax, it was a day off... memories intact... besides, i work here... ships that fly to space... shouldn't be here... routine deliveries... STOP!... don't go further, stay close the... they just stopped, don't know... to the building, look from cover... why would they stop... should look... should have asked... are there guards??? did he seem guarded??? good idea, look carefully... never answered about family... where would the guards be... where would the ships have landed??? there, you see what you see... he said what he was willing to say... Go now... it was time to go... before you are suspicious... yes, time to go... We need to come back... we need to fix the panel... Have to install this switch... I have to know if what Mr. Davies described, what the sparks of memory indicate, if man really does inhabit the stars, have I really been there myself,'

The Hangry Haven suddenly sounds more appealing than being home alone. Perhaps he can report to Fritz on what he saw at the factory. Perhaps Fritz has already scoped it out himself. One thing is for sure, Henry is not going to be able to just wait out the next 2 days and risk that Milford's own plans for the ship are taking a back burner to the factory refit.

Wilhundt walks through the Hangry Haven doors and hears Fritz before spotting him.

'why am I drawn to befriend that man? We could not be more different.'

It is obvious that Fritz is already well in his cups. Also obvious is that Henry is not. Samar is still waiting tables, not yet late enough for her turn at dealing cards.  Wilhundt, seeing that the two are are seated in Samar's section, stops her and orders a tea for himself and plates of the night's special for the table before walking over and seating himself with them.

"Miss Leicester," Mrs. Wynne began. "I came across your drawings the other day, and I must say, I am impressed by them."

"Thank you," Miss Leicester said - but there she stopped, for she saw the look in Mrs. Wynne's eye, as only a good flatmate can.

"Miss Leicester," Mrs. Wynne continued. "Tamarind. Do remember the time I came in on my day off to practice my darts, and Mr. Weigel made sick on your dress? I only bring it up because I took the rest of your shift that evening, and I was hoping you could cover the rest of my shift tonight."

"Only if you will never speak of the matter again. I had quite forgotten."

"That is why I have acquired this notebook. To remember - not to forget. Will you borrow it, and write a note or two? And then you can return it, and I will write a note or two for you? Now that I have begun it, it seems absurd that I am the only one reading it."

"If it pleases you."

With that, Mrs. Wynne threw her bullseye, played her poker, and all the while plotted with her gentlemen friends. They discussed Mr. Davies, and the spaceship, and they settled on a course of action - that of returning to the factory that evening, to spy what they could spy, and to fix the ship and escape if there was a chance of it. Perhaps it was all a trap, but all their clues had come from the factory.

So with lanterns, weapons, the missing spaceship part - and all the stealth they could muster - they approached the factory at the stroke of midnight.

For an evening such as this, it only seems fitting that a light fog had rolled in, creating a gentle haze around each of the streetlights in Dorset, and muffling their light. There's little to be heard, except the occasional scuffling of small animals, like the horned rats that live in the little hidey holes of Dorset's streets.

A solitary figure can be seen ahead, faintly, carrying a lantern. Whether the fog is thick enough to hide the four of you remains to be seen, but the figure's proximity to one of the street lamps gives you a glimpse, outlining a tall, rounded hat -- clearly the hat belonging to one of the town constable's night watchmen.

Spotting the watchman, the group stops, after a brief whispered suggestion from Samar, all four silently backtrack to a sidestreet they had just passed. Keeping to the fog aided shadows, they circle to the right, and continue their approach towards the factory lot.

If the night watchman had noticed your group, you are unaware. Approaching from the back of the factory, the lights of the streetlamps filtering between buildings, you can approach to about 30 meters. Samar and the good doctor both point to the roof of the warehouse, where through the fog, faint wisps of steam can be seen coming from the peak. The factory and the warehouse both remain dark.

A faint *chunk* sound in the distance suggests that a large door has just been closed...

Samar whispers, "Someone just left the warehouse - it looks like they have a lantern and they are headed home, I imagine. But the steam above makes me think there is still something on inside, which means there may be someone as well. Or this person could return - so we need to scout now, but carefully."

I don't know how you saw that in this gloom, good looking there. Yes, seems like an opportune time for Fritz to sway his way over and have a look. The steam could just be residual from whatever they were doing. But, our plan is bold enough on it's own merits, let us not add bold assumptions to it as well. Wilhundt whispers in reply.

You lot talk an awful lot for people trying to sneak about. LEave it to me, I'll sneak on over there and have me a look if it's advisable I'll motion ya over. Anyone gets lost, meet back here.

Fritz scurries the length from the side of their building, across the street, where he is stopped by an unseen lamp post. He tumbles, but maintains his forward momentum, luckily the thick fog left it all to the imagination of onlookers. the warehouse and its smaller of the three doors. He touches the doorknob testing if it's locked. He fishes for his lock picks and begins the task.

'Course the bugger's locked how'm I gonna keep busy this even'n. There's an awfully lovely lady in the Haven. I should chat her up, show her my-

The tumblers popped into place. Fritz opens the door for his head to pop in. He searches the immediate area with his eyes. He can't make out too much of what's in the anteroom, but seems safe enough. He waves his partners to follow.

Weigel's companions reach the door quickly and quietly, using what little light that filters between the buildings from the streetlights. On Weigel's gesture, they enter the darkened warehouse, Fritz closing the door behind Wilhundt. A moment spent adjusting to the low light proves insufficient, and Wilhundt's lantern sputters to life.

The beam flicks towards Whitey's location, but the beam illuminates only empty tracks. Beyond the edge of the beam can be seen the faint outline of Milford's Ram, but towards the rear of the warehouse, Whitey was nowhere to be seen.

Their dismay disappears, though, as with the lantern's brief sweep of the room, the four spy what they had come for. To their left, sitting on the tracks near the large front door of the warehouse, sits the odd white cylinder in its new resting place.

Ain't that the prettiest thing y' ever seen?

Fritz walks towards whitey rubbing his hands. He licks his lips. He takes another step. Stops.

Is it too quiet? I feel like it's too quiet.

Fritz shuffles over to whitey as the others crowd around. Fritz catches up, too busy worried about the darkened corners.

Wilhundt, flustered by the crowded cohorts barks, barks silently, "Keep a look out, Samar, Fritz, we'll handle it.

Fritz notices the complicated wires, nods in agreement. Fritz walks the perimeter inside the warehouse, noticing noises and and holes to see the city outside.

Seeing that Fritz had already headed off to the far corners of the warehouse Wilhundt nods to Samar, and walks towards the rear of Whitey. He shares Fritz' uneasiness. This is going too smoothly. Pantomiming his intent to Henry with hand motions, he quietly steps around the back of Whitey so as to flank the rear hatch when Henry opens it, adjusting his coat for free access to his knife as he does so. Finally, drawing his pistol to the ready, he motions to Henry that it's time to work the hatch release.

Henry quickly kneels down and reaches for the door release. He stops, his hand nearly reaching into the hole but decides to peek inside the handle area first. Just in case. He whispers to Wilhundt "Shine your light in here real quick for me. If it is a trap there could be someone waiting inside. We'll need knock them out quick. If they are waiting outside the building we can try to lock ourselves inside and hope we can repair the damn thing." As Wilhundt shines the light on the release handle Henry quickly looks for any makeshift traps.

Both Fritz and Samar move into the warehouse, cautiously checking the darkened corners. Finding nothing, they peer through the gaps in the wall slats. The lone lantern Samar had seen can be seen faintly in the distance, fading second by second in the gloom.

Wilhundt and Henry approach the cylinder tentatively, wondering what surprises Whitey might hold. The lantern's light reflects from the handle area, but there's nothing to see -- fresh putty fills the depression.

As Wilhundt shines his light on the handle opening Henry sees it has been refilled with putty. Instantly there is a knife in Henry's hand and he is digging the putty out. Wilhundt is a bit surprised. This is no scalpel, but a long, wicked looking hunting knife that Henry seemed to have pulled from out of his sleeve very quickly. Henry makes short work of the putty and reaches in and grasps the handle. He looks to Wilhundt and waits for him to get ready. On Wilhundt's nod Henry gives the handle a twist and a pull and jumps back, knife in hand, as the door slowly swings open once again.

Twist, pull, slide to the left, the door opens smoothly. Wilhundt immediately directs the beam inside the cylinder, positive it will blind anyone who might be lurking inside.

No one lurks there. It is as Varyu and Holmes remember it, eerily strange yet familiar. The removed panel still detached, the single seat awaits.

Samar gingerly opens the door they came in and gathers the padlock that Fritz had picked open from outside. She then reenters the warehouse and quietly closes the door behind her. She did not want the company to get locked in!

She waves Fritz over and whispers to him. "I will stand guard at this door, since the lock is off. But we need to think - if we are going to get that spaceship out of here, then you are going to have to pick the padlock off one of the large warehouse doors from the outside when the time comes."

She draws her father's knife and crouches by the side door. "My father's knife...?"

'S alright, I got me own. As far as them other locks're concerned, they's outside, I'll have you know and I ain't in the mood to go stalk'n just yet, 'specially he ain't got the thing doing what it does.

Fritz reverses a step and heads in the opposite direction. Fritz turns

With Holmes holding the lantern, Wilhundt tries to make heads or tails out of the colored wires. He inserts the panel into the pedestal and attempts to hold the green wire to the green wire, but can't quite figure out how to make them stick together. He twists them, and they hold. Sort of.

He repeats the process with the black wires, and the red, and the blue, and the white. He touches the last wires together, and....nothing happens. Is something supposed to happen? Steam? Pistons? He has no idea. But the panel, the button, and the cylinder itself remain lifeless.

Henry peers over Wilhundt's shoulder. Trying to see what he is doing.
ok. So he's matching up the colors. Seems reasonable. Twisting the wires together. Well could have done a better job with that one. He's rushing it. Worried about being caught. Not focusing.
Henry puts a hand on Wilhundt's shoulder.
"Stop Wilhundt, and breathe. You're too worried about us getting caught and rushing it. Those two wires are barely held together. Just slow down. Better to take a little more time and get it right. You've clearly seen what needs to be done. You've got this."