Chapter 1: City of Steam

"What are you going on about Whil...whoa...I just had a feeling of vertigo...and an image? Memory? Also flashed behind my eyes. I was loading medical supplies onto a boat? No not a boat. Something else. And blackness. Everything around me was blackness. What does all this mean. Have we all been infected or poisoned? Perhaps that is why we are all having these hallucinations? Fritz. How are you feeling? Is anyone feverish?" Dr. Holmes feels his own head. Not feverish myself at least.
"Hey. But I do feel like I've seen something like this in town before. What of you two? Perhaps if we've seen all we need to here we should go back and tell Mrs. Wynne what we have discovered. But I do not think a trip to the offices would be wise. Unless. Perhaps there may be some records of where this boiler came from? What do you think Fritz?"

I can check the offices in the morrow. I do not like the feeling of this. Fritz touches the boiler. Seen as how we're all get'n a funny feel'n it seems we should away. What do you think? Wilhundt are you returning to your quarters for experiments or to the tavern for merriments. Doctor, I should hope you would like to as well. This doesn't feel right.

Weigel's misgivings aside, Veryu puts his hands on the sides of the boiler, presses his ear against it, and lightly taps with his knuckle. He keeps at it for a while, occasionally waving off an appeal from Weigel. He works his way around to one end of the boiler, rapping and tapping on the endplate, always with a faintly metallic sound.

He passes an area on the endplate, then works his way back. The lightly ringing sound changes do a dull *thunk* in a roundish area a hand's breadth across.

Curious, Wilhundt places his palm squarely in the center of the circular area he's just discovered and apllies a bit of pressure.

"If this does nothing, perhaps a bit of gun cleaning solvent can safely remove the paint in this area so we can get a better idea of what lays below this.

The press does nothing. Wilhundt pulls out his gun cleaning kit, from it he procures solvent and a cloth and begins to scrub the paint gently from the circular area.

" Henry, Fritz, if you're unoccupied, come look at what I've discovered."

After clambering to the top of the boiler with the help of his two companions Dr. Holmes runs his hands across the top surface looking for any handles to a hatch, seams in the metal, or anything else that may seem out of place, occasionally rapping his knuckles on the surface like Wilhundt was doing. Listening for a hollow sound.

Fritz holding up the good doctor with Wilhundt questions the wisdom behind him, such a short man holding up a larger man, though Wilhundt is rather stout to compensate. This boiler, this thing, is no substitute for a stout woman and a stout brew.

Find'n anything up there are you, doc? There's merriment awaiting us back at the pub. I'll be rooting through the inventories tomorrow to find what I can. I'm sure there'll be something there.

Fritz struggles with a nip from his flask. It falls to the floor in the dust and dirt with a clang. The whiskey spills some. While helping to hold up the doc, he's attempting to scoot the flask towards him with one foot.

With one of Holmes' feet on his shoulder, Fritz's attempt to reach his flask are ridiculously awkward, but strangely successful. The flask sits at his feet. He realizes there's no way to pick it up, but he manages to tilt it so that the whiskey (mostly) stays on the inside.

Holmes' other foot rests uncomfortably on Wilhundt's shoulder, and with one final push, is able to get himself to the top of boiler. He raps his knuckles up and down the length of the boiler. No matter where he taps, there is the same tinny ring of hollow metal. With Holmes finally on top of the boiler, Fritz is free to retrieve his beloved flask, which he does immediately.

And with Wilhundt's shoulder free of Holmes' weight, Varyu goes back to his solvents. Within minutes, to the sound of Holmes' tapping, Wilhundt has cleared a patch at one end of the boiler. In the light of the lantern, he sees some white underneath, and an oval patch of smooth yellowish material, barely two hands wide. He raps it with his knuckle to a dull thud. The material is clearly different, and to his eye, does not appear to belong.

Wilhundt pulls his pick out and digs at the newly uncovered material. He is not surprised that he is able to pry chunks of it free without much effort. It looks much like the putty sold at the general store. He swaps the pick for a small chisel and the hammer. After only a couple careful blows he hears a metallic chink as the chisel strikes something within the putty. More carefully now, he clears away more of the putty to reveal a metal bar running crossways through the putty.

" You finding anything up there Henry? You should come take a gander at what I've uncovered if you haven't."

Wilhundt continues his work, determined to remove all of the putty if he can.

Someone has gone to a lot of effort to disguise the true purpose of whatever this is.

Not finding much of interest up top Dr. Holmes attempts to slide his body carefully over the edge and gently, he hopes, drop to the ground.

"Not much to find up top Wilhundt. I'llcome take a look at what you have found."

"Scooch over so I can get a better look." Dr. Holmes peers inside, and without really thinking about it, reaches in, and gives it a pull and a twist at just the right moment.

With the pull from Dr. Holmes, more of the putty crumbles away and drops to the ground. The twist breaks apart more of the putty, and to the shock of the intrepid trio, a sudden hiss comes from the boiler. A momentary clunk, and the hiss subsides as the oval endplate of the boiler first releases from its mooring, and slides gradually and gracefully to the left.

The boiler is open, and dark inside.

"ummm"

Wilhundt takes a step forward, momentarily adjusts his torch back to full swath, holds his arm out,, and peers inside.

In all Wilhundt's experience dealing with boilers, they were used for a multitude of things -- for heating, for propulsion, for powering all sorts of steam-driven trinkets. In all that time, he'd never seen one used for sitting.

Yet here, a scant meter from the open end of the boiler, was what appeared to be a chair. And in front of the chair, a pedestal. The lantern light played off these two things, casting shadows in the back of the boiler.

The inside is white, with no black paint, no fake rivets. To enter would take a rather large step to manage, sitting on the plinth as it is, but there is certainly room.

With excitement tempered with nervousness, Wilhundt hoists himself inside. He runs his hand along the interior wall as he approaches the chair and pedestal.  A sure knowledge floods over him. He is inside a spaceship, but more than that, he knows in his gut that this is not his first time. He feels an overwhelming urge to sit in the chair, like a child being offered the opportunity to sit in his dads lap and steer the steam tractor.

He sits, pausing breifly, pleased and excited at the familiarity where it should be so foriegn. He closes his eyes briefly, heightening his other senses. Memories come back to him. Memories, that like this ship, were disguised. Memories of traveling by and sometimes piloting boats, ships, and trains begin to shed their veneer and are recognized as possible memories of travel on starships much larger than this one. He begins to recognize other momories that MUST be disguises of the truth, but now is not the time to meditate on those. He opens his eyes and reaches out to examine the pedestal, which must house the ship controls.

Practically trembling with the knowledge of the lie he's been living, Wilhundt reaches to the pedestal. He sees only a few details.

Three red, raised discs on the panel have labels. From top to bottom, the labels read:
"OPEN"
"CLOSE"
"DOCK"

A fourth label, set apart from the others, with a protective wire cage surrounding it, says simply "LAUNCH". Instead of a red disc, there was merely an open hole in the panel.

Beneath the controls, a panel lies open, bare wires exposed. A metal panel lies on the floor at the base of the pedestal.

Not knowing if has been joined by Holmes or not, Wilhundt Calls out to him.

"Henry, are you seeing this? We have discovered a starship! A small, seemingly simple one, but a starship nonetheless!"

'these conrols are too simple, this must be a nearly fully automated ship. Seems like anyone could fly this should they find and rewire the missing launch button. But where would it take them?'
Wildhundt looks behind himself, making sure Holmes is clear of the rear hatch, Don't be alarmed, I'm seeing if there is power to this control panel. Just stay clear." and with that, he presses the close button.

Upon pressing the button, absolutely nothing happens.

Silence.

Nothing.

Somewhere, a dog barks.

But nothing happens.

"seems repairs are in order before anyone will be able to make use of this ship."

Wilhundt begins to examine the rest of the ship, looking to see if the missing control button is laying inside the pedestal, could it be under the seat? Are there any stowage bins?

Dr. Holmes steps in behind Wilhundt once nothing had happened after his warning. "What do you mean starship? Do I need to shut the door for it to work?" Dr. Holmes peers over Wilhundt's shoulder for a better look at the controls. .

On further examination, no button is present. In the empty hole of the pedestal, Wilhundt can clearly see a series of colored copper wires. Evidently, they have been cut, and by all appearances, they centered in a single location. Presumably, they were connected to something that no longer resides there.

"I am saying,  this machine was designed to leave this planet as if it were flying to the stars. Something was unlocked in my mind upon sitting in this chair. I know that I have been in one of these before, I am positive that are memories have been disguised much like this craft has been."

The night draws short. I don't think we can decifer more tonight. We should depart, I am eager to share what we have discovered with Fritz and Ms Wynn.

Let'ssee if we can close this back up with the outside lever we discovered.

With that, Wilhundt moves towards the open hatch.

"I still feel like I've seen another "boiler" shaped like this around town. If we can find it, perhaps it is working or we can take parts off of it to fix this ohapsne. But I think you are right. We should button this back up the best we can. And tomorrow hopefully Fritz can find something about who is having this placed here and why."

Dr. Holmes waits for Wilhundt to exit the craft. Then he swings the door shut, twisting and pushing the handle back in place. Then the two begin repacking the putty back into the opening. But it's dried and just crumbles back out onto the floor.

"We need something to repack this with Fritz. Can we get some mud? Is there anything in the factory we can use? Any ideas? We would need to try to match the color of the metal as well."

The Hangry Haven had one slow night a week. The Hangry Haven was always busy, no matter what was happening elsewhere in town, except on Inventor's Night.

While everyone loved gadgets that worked, the weekly showcase of experimental gadgets at Inventor's Night had become notorious for singeing the eyebrows off the casual patron, while the most curious of patrons were liable to lose a nose, or an eye, or worse.

The Matron Eliza drew the line at experimental weapons, but even the most innocent of inventions became lethal in the manifestations of an untethered imagination.

On Inventor's Night, Mrs. Wynne used the mechanical card shuffler and dealer at her poker table. Manufactured by Mr. Spadille - an Inventor's Night regular - it could shuffle between 1-5 decks of cards, deal up to 5 players simultaneously, and it did all this with absolute silent precision. The cards floated - they hovered lightly in the air until they were received by the player. It seemed more magic than machine. But the Spadille Spitter, as it was called, was ugly and did not make great conversation, so Mrs. Wynne's company remained in high demand.

On this evening, Mr. Spadille wanted to present his automatic hair braider, but he was having trouble finding a volunteer with long hair who was not afraid to lose it. The week before, his automatic shoe fitter - which manufactured a shoe around someone's foot - had been a qualified success. While the shoe was a sound creation, and it fit perfectly, Mr. Hooves had yet been able to remove it.

The other inventions presented at the Hangry Haven that night were as follows:

Alvis, a short, fat man with a bulbous nose, set a spidery looking contraption on top of the bar. Poured a mug of beer and set it into a depression in the middle of the "spider". He pressed a button and pulled a lever and it began it's herky jerky way down the bar top. The intent was probably to deliver it's payload to the end of the bar but most of the ale was spilled before it got half way. Then it began issuing a loud whistling sound before blowing up in an exciting fashion. One leg impaled itself in Alvis's leg, one stuck in the cieling. What was left of the "spider" walked around in a circle for a bit before tipping over the edge of the bar and crashed to the floor. It's legs kicking out it's last movements.  Alvis, clamping a hand to his leg, shuffled his way out of the Hangry Haven with an exclamation of, "I think I just shot myself!"

Miss Longhand was next. She had few teeth and whistled when she spoke. She had short, silver hair. She worked at the factory and was always dressed in pants and a shirt, ready for work. She did not drink but was always recommending new flavors of crickets.

Miss Longhand presented what looked like a small piano that she inserted a sheet of paper into. She then played a tune on the piano, which was not all that remarkable. However, then she removed the
sheet of paper, and on it was printed her name, forward and backward, as well as a rudimentary sketch of a chicken.

The patrons congratulated Miss Longhand on creating something that worked and did not injure anyone, however insignificant its purpose was.

Mrs. Wynne wordlessly rewarded her with a bowl of red beet crickets.

Dr. Holmes drops his hands in frustration. "Fritz, Wilhundt, I don't think there is anyway we can hide this hole. We should probably just get out of here and head back to the Hangry Haven and tell Mrs. Wynn what we've found." Making sure the boiler door is securely closed and kicking the putty residue under the boiler Dr. Holmes stands and heads for the door to do just that.

"I totally agree, someone will know that this has been tampered with, but hopefully, not by who. I expect that there will be a guard posted tomorrow.  Perhaps if you are rightand there is another here in town, that will not matter."

Wilhundt shines his light towards the other boiler, takes a step in that direction, and then, deciding that the work tomorrow will put him back here within range of investigating in better light, turns and follows Holmes to the exit door.

I could go for a drink. I've been struck dumb by such an oddity. If there's another, I'd like a gander. I'll see what I cam find in the morning in the office. I'll find your pay there too, Wilhundt.

Fritz hurries to keep up with his compatriots.

There is a matter of my payment, gentleman. Perhaps the first round?

Some of us work to hard at not working. It's more difficult than you'd think.

Fritz points to his head, nodding.

Don't you think?

" THAT, I cannot deny. "

Wildhundt subtly shakes his head, and ponders whether Fritz may actual have the right of it? His aching muscles would certainly agree.

"I believe Mrs. Wynne offered to buy the first round did she not Fritz? Though it seems ungentlemenly to have a lady buy us a drink. So I suppose I can buy your first Fritz. Just be careful tomorrow. Let's see if our investigations are discovered and what response that might elicit. But to your second point. There have been days where I feel my skills are drastically underused and have attempted to get out of the work I was assigned and I can surely attest that it is indeed harder than it looks to do nothing all day long." As the trio enters the Hangry Haven Dr. Holmes groans inwardly as he realizes this was "Invention Night" and he has surely lost out on some coin for tending to the injuries that this night usually produces.

Ah! Invention Night! Let's see what we can steal! Fritz scurries off into the crowd.

Percival, the watchmaker is the last presenter of the night. His inventions are usually some fantasticly rendered creature that moves by way of delicate clockwork motors and tonight's is no exception. As the trio enters, Fritz bellows out his usual request for anyone to buy him a round of drink. This causes Percy to lose count as he winds his owl, resulting in a very over wound contraption. Designed to gently flap its wings, Percy is dismayed, and the crowd delighted as the owl actually takes flight in an erratic circle around the room. The flight is shortlived however, and on the second tight lap around the room it collides with miss Longhand's piano sending shards of both inventions flying explosively about the room.

Mrs. Wynne feels relieved to see the three gentlemen return, seemingly unscathed - though she cannot attend to them directly, as she, Miss Leicester, and Mr. Wallace are engaged with ensuring the Hangry Haven does not burn down.

Once the sparks have settled, Mrs. Wynne sees to it that her guests are seated comfortably and that their drink orders are fulfilled. They look a weary bunch, except perhaps Mr. Weigel, who seems more parched than fatigued.

Mrs. Wynne takes out her journal as if to take their order for food - and she sees the napkin map tucked inside, and she rereads her journal entry regarding how everyone in town is a family-less solitary figure.

Her life is not an uncomfortable one, but there is also a wildness in her that rebels against living out her life as a domesticated stable mare. Mrs. Wynne waves at Mr. Wallace, encouraging him to make some noise with his instruments. She wants her conversation with the gentlemen to be as private as possible.

As Mr. Wallace begins a nonchalant tune, Mrs. Wynne addresses the guests:

"Gentlemen, a word, if you please. I entreated you to return, and you have. I am relieved to see you have returned safely.

"Here is the silver I promised each of you -" Mrs. Wynne lays a silver for them each on the table, "-though I cannot hold you to our original bargain:

"Gentlemen, if we persist, and you share your evening's adventure with me, I dare say there is no going back to our perfunctory lives. My every recollection is that we are little more than strangers, and that we can return to our previous peripheral existences.

"For my part. . . ." Mrs. Wynne unbuttons her sleeve, revealing the gash on her forearm. "I am not myself since yesterday. Something is burning at my conscience, and it is setting my nerves aflame.

"Perhaps you found nothing tonight, and your night unfolded as unconcernedly as mine - apart from the peril of the inventions. Why should we not live unconcernedly? Why should we not live comfortably?

"So take your silver. And offer me your order, or the tale of your incursion - or offer neither, and depart. But we must all make our own choice in how we continue with our lives in Dorset."

Mrs. Wynne covers her injury. She buttons her sleeve.

"Are we willing to kill who we are to become. . .who or what exactly? I am willing to ante this life, but I do not understand my own motivations, which may be frivolous."

"Well good evening once again Mrs. Wynne. I for one am willing to tell you of what we have discovered this evening. Though I dare say you might not believe the tale." Dr. Holmes holds up the silver coin before pocketing it. "If you wish me to take a look at your injury while I tell it, you are paid up for the service." Dr. Holmes proceeds to tell Mrs. Wynne about all that they had discovered. The hidden handle in the boiler, how it opened up to reveal a chair and the broken controls and how he may have seen a similar boiler somewhere in town. "We need to keep our eyes open for this other boiler.
Perhaps it will not be damaged or will have the parts we need to fix the other."

Mrs. Wynne declined Dr. Holmes' medical attention in favor of making notes of his evening's findings in her journal. When he finished his tale, she responded thus:

"While I do not understand much of what you have related, I find that it does not surprise me. It confirms that all is not as it appears in Dorset.

"What is also apparent is that you have all had a long and arduous day. I do not work tomorrow evening. Shall we meet at Foxhound Fountain after your day's labors?"

For his part, Wilhundt agrees to the proposed plan, bids his farewells and departs for home. Foremost in his mind is the news that Holmes has perhaps seen similar vessels in town. He heads straight home, but at a slower than normal gait as he walks, glancing into dark alleys and side streets, and peering into the spaces between homes, questioning every odd shaped shadow. He doubts that in the dark of night he will notice anything, but, you never know. Many mental blockades seem to have dropped from his mind the past two days. Who knows how many remain, or when something will trigger a fresh vision or memory.

After Wilhundt gets up and leaves. Dr. Holmes sits there uncomfortably for a few minutes more. Bids Mrs. Wynne a good evening. Sends a wave in Fritz's direction and heads home himself. As he heaves his weary body into his bed he doesn't even register the silence of the voice that usually fills his head.

Now that things have settled for the evening and the excitement of discovery has worn off, a weariness like he hasn't experienced in a long while overcomes him. Zombie-like, Wilhundt puts one foot in front of the other all the way back to his flat. He makes it a point to look up and down the side streets as he goes, but it's dark, and any action that costs even one extra step to get a better view becomes deeply unappealing.

Fritz' day hadn't been as grueling, but the work on the sluice was more physical labor than he cared to do. Even so, he still has a spring in his step as he makes his way home.

All surrender to sleep in various states of curiosity about the day's events, and all hope for new revelations to come.

In the morning, the three make their separate ways back to work, Wilhundt doing his best to shake the aches from his muscles as he looks up and down the side streets, hoping to see something that triggers his memories. He looks for boilers (that may be ships?), but all he sees are the usual suspects: Carlson of Carlson's Powder & Shrapnel, the pie vendor, Bollinger continues his work on his steam cannon. For the first time, he looks at his surroundings and the people of Dorset, and feels like a stranger.

The three enter the work area with all the other workers, still tired from yesterday's exertions. Before splitting into their work teams the each get a glance to the back of the warehouse building. The huge boiler looks poised for movement, just needing completion of its tracks. Presumably, that's today's work. They take surreptitious glances to the back of the warehouse, and to their chagrin, the 'boiler' is covered in what appears to be a giant canvas tarp. None of the things they had seen the previous evening were visible -- all was covered by the tarp. Access during the course of the day may prove difficult, at least not without drawing attention.

Wilhundt, slightly refreshed after a deep but short sleep, walks to work with inquisitive roaming eyes hoping to spot anything that seems out of place.  Henry had stated that he'd seen an object similar to the ship 'Pod?' they had discovered last night and Wilhundt is eager to spot it as well, though Henry was unable to enunciate where that object might be.

Arriving just a tad later than his usual promptness, Wilhundt joins his fellow workers to await the days work assignments.  He glances towards the open warehouse he had left not too long ago and sees the newly applied tarp.  He peers beyond the tarp, towards where the larger boiler sat.  If chance allows it, he'd like to get a closer look at it later but it appears that this too is tarped over.

"Today is your lucky day!" Wilhundt turns to see Mr. Wuyuan, a slight man with short, dark hair, a rather flattish face, and a small nose. Wuyuan is properly dressed, obviously not for heavy labor, and he approaches with a smile.

"No rails for you today, friend. Misha has taken ill, and not many are competent for driving Milford's Ram." He points to the 6-wheeled iron monstrosity sitting on rails near the large boiler. Two men are already at work on The Ram, shoveling black coal from its hopper to its furnace. It will take some time to build the heat and pressure needed for the job. There are no tell-tale wisps of steam from its stack, so it may be a while. "You can relax for a bit, while the others finish the rails. Familiarize yourself with the controls. Don't confuse piston control with the brake, unless you want to crash and kill all your friends." He laughs, and gestures for you to take a look at the controls before wandering off.

Wilhundt agrees that this truly is a stroke of luck.  He cannot recall having been given more than a cursory bit of instruction for operating any specific machine. Each time he sits at the helm, His thoughts stray... 'I never noticed before, odd that I refer to it as a helm, as if it is a sailing ship upon the water, when I should more correctly refer to it as the operator or engineers seat.  Even a horse draw carriage where others refer to it's driver, my 1st thought is pilot.'

Back in the moment now,  he finds he has reached the ram.  Before climbing aboard, he takes an inspection walk around it.  checking that the massive wheels have been properly greased at the hub bearings.  He checks the towing latch that connects the tender, verifying that the connection is locked and the safety applied.  The tow latch at the rear of the tender he takes extra time with, making sure that it closes and opens as it should, but also glancing curiously at the tarped shapes he will eventually be hauling. Willing some new vision to manifest.  Alas, today, they are just tarped lumps.  Wilhundt rounds to the other side of the ram and works his inspection forward, checking the bearings and thrust pistons on this side just as he had on the other.  The lifting forks at the front of the tender he takes extra time with, making sure that it closes and opens as it should, but also glancing curiously at the tarped shapes he will eventually be hauling. Willing some new vision to manifest.  Alas, today, they are just tarped lumps. Satisfied, he grabs a handhold and hoists himself up onto the tall 1st step, then climbs the short ladder and into the cockpit. 'heh'

He sits at the controls, instinctively touching each as he names them in his head. Steam Chest Pressure Gauge (at zero as they should currently be), Main Boiler Pressure Gauge (Climbing, but not yet at 250psi), Vacuum Brake Gauge, Manifold Isolation Valve, Injector Steam Valve, Boiler Water Gauges (full), Regulator lever, Vacuum brake lever, Reverser lever, Cylinder drain cock, Whistle.  Familiarization complete, he moves to the side, out of the way of the 2 men stoking the firebox and ponders on the tarped objects. We only messed with the smaller object. Why would they cover the boiler I now face as well? He gets the attention of the two workers stoking the firebox. Do you happen to know why they covered the boilers we are moving today? They were left uncovered all of yesterday, curious that they would need some sort of covering today.

jabmb4 wrote:

Do you happen to know why they covered the boilers we are moving today?  They were left uncovered all of yesterday, curious that they would need  some sort of covering today.

One of the two men shoveling coal pauses his work to have a chat with Wilhundt. "Oh no, just moving the big one today. The little one stays, according to Mr. Milford. Put him in a weird way, it did, when he saw the smaller one this morning." He gives his head a thoughtful scratch. "All storming mad at first, then he just looked at it and looked at it. That's when he had me and Arvin go fetch the tarp. Need to get back to it in a bit, after Arvin finishes shoveling coal into the box..."

The other man, presumably Arvin, looks up and scowls at the speaking man, throwing him a rather obscene gesture before stooping to continue with his shovel. Wilhundt's new friend keeps rambling away, laughing off the gesture. "Arvin's a bit of a naughty scoundrel, but once you get past all the dirty gestures and him touching himself and whatnot, he's a decent fellow."

Wilhundt sees it before his new-found friend does, as Arvin launched a lump of coal in your general direction. Your new-found friend's head serves as a perfect shield, taking the full brunt of the flung coal. "All right, all right, you ornery bastard, I'm working'...", as he gets back to work with his own shovel.