Letters From The Colony

Too Little Information

2007-12-07T05:45:00.000-08:00

Extract from Alfonso Avalanche’s Caledon Citizenship Application Form:

To ensure you are the kind of person we are looking for in Caledon, please provide in the space below 8 (eight) random facts about yourself (Please note - evidence of the authenticity of these facts may be requested from you by a Caledon Ministry of Information Officer):

1. Despite my profession, I do not possess a full Circus Strongman licence.

2. I served as an engineer onboard the Circus Dreadnaught Barnum during the Clown Wars and was briefly attached to the Human Cannonball Commando unit.

3. My Uncle Monty had an unfortunate accident while juggling elephants.

4. I wrestled all comers at my Uncle’s circus under the name of “Gigante Enmascarado”.

5. The Flying Circus’s main tent is in fact constructed from steel plate, rather than canvas (to hopefully avoid a reoccurrence of the unfortunate “elephant juggling” incident).

6. My Professorship issued by the Royal Society for High Adventure was purchased over the aethernet for the low, low price of L$100.

7. My mother was the Circus strongwoman, and bearded lady at my Uncle’s circus.

8. The steam powered elephant gains its lift from a unique uni-directional pressure system that is accomplished by an unusual arrangement of boiler pipework.

Big Finish

2007-11-30T07:27:00.000-08:00

JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 4 (Strongman and Pixie Finale)

Governor Shang stood high above us all, a maniacal grin playing across his features as he surveyed the chaos and destruction before him.

I gasped. The Governer? Here? Behind all of this?

“Mr Guvnah Sir’s been a very naughty man!” said Fuschia, and she was right.

Everyone was still frozen in place, looking up expectantly at the Governor. I seized my chance and continued my dash up the stairs. The clattering of feet broke the silence and the clammer of the crowd roared back around us. Pursuing tribesman mounted the stairway behind us and as we approached the top the Governor slowly turned towards us and withdrew a small box with a single red button from his pocket.

Still a good few paces away I dived forward to tackle him, but the button was pressed, a trap door opened beneath him and he dropped through it. My hands snagged on his jacket and hair as he slipped through my grasp. I was just a moment too late to catch him, but fast enough to catch something else. With a tearing noise I found myself holding a shredded jacket and an amazingly lifelike wig and face mask – so maybe it wasn’t really the Governor after all.

Sprawled over the trap door I peered down into the darkness catching a flash of long blonde hair as the figure plummeted out a view. A lady…?

“Quick! Quick! Quick!” Shouted Fuschia as she came running up behind me. I twisted around to see tribesmen now pouring up the stairway on both sides of the dais towards us, viciously sharpened fruit at the ready. Without pausing for thought Fuschia grabbed me by my collar and leapt down into the trapdoor dragging me behind her. As we followed the Faux Governor on his speedy downwards journey, I really hoped there would be a soft landing.

The walls of the narrow tunnel had been polished and as the passage in which we plummeted jogged to the left we found ourselves starting to slide rather than fall. Fuschia was giggling about it being just like a big helter-skelter, while I nervously glanced behind us, but could see no pursuers in the gloom.

We slid into a brightly lit section of tubing, no not brightly lit, but glass, taking us through a bright white room. Below us we caught site of a huge machine churning out what looked like mechanical bunny rabbits. Then back into darkness…Then out into another cavern. This one glowed red from the sea of lava bubbling away beneath us and there on a narrow finger of rock, I’m sure that was Baron Bardhaven and Mr Abel sword fighting, Mr Benmergui holding a carved stone idol in his off hand…but no time to get a good look as we were soon back into darkness again.

I felt more than heard the mountain roar, the tunnel around us starting to crack – then fall apart and soon we were falling through darkness and then…oblivion…

I woke with a sore head, Fuschia poking me in the ribs. I was lying on my back and opening my eyes I could see a tiny grey circle of light way, way above me.

“Wake up, big ‘un, you’ve had more than enough rest.” She sounded worried and reaching up I felt the damp bandage she’d wrapped around my head. “We fell out of that slidey-tube and you hit your head and you looked like you probably needed the rest, but the mountains gone all shakey and angry again…

I winced as I got back to my feet. I ached all over. We appeared to be at the bottom of some deep shaft. In the dim light I could make out a few large rocks and animal bones, but no sign of any exits or passages. Looking up I could see the shattered remains of the tunnel-tube we’d fallen out of and far, far above it a stormy daylight coming from, I presumed, outside.

The cavern convulsed and rumbled. Dust and small stones began tumbled down around us from the walls of the cave. “It’s been doing that more and more for the last few minutes,” Fuschia said. “That’s why I woke you up – I think we’d better go.”

The last few minutes? How long had I been unconscious? Again, giving me little time to think, Fuschia grabbed me under the arms and flapping her butterfly wings began lifting me up towards the light. “Ooof! We’d better stop you eating so many fairy cakes. You’re definitely getting heavier.”

Slowly we climbed as the rock walls moaned and grumbled around us, occasionally showering us with rocks. Fuschia deftly avoided the larger ones and eventually we emerged from the cave mouth into a scene of chaos.

We were halfway up the side of the volcano and most of the jungle below us was burning. The bits that weren’t burning appeared to be falling into the sea. As Fuschia gained altitude I could see lava flowing freely between the trees and with a growing rumble one whole side of the mountain began to collapse.

“Wait! Wait!” I shouted. “We’ve got to go back for everyone else!” Fuschia began pirouetting in mid air back towards the volcano just in time for us to catch the full brunt of the island exploding.

The retina burning flash was followed a split-second later by an ear splitting crack and then we were hit by the pressure wave.

We were blasted through the air. A feeling I was getting more and more used to on this journey. We both held on to each other as we splashed down into the water as rocks, fireballs, trees and bits of mountain crashed down around us.

I struck out for a large piece of floating, smouldering debris, something to hold onto, to help us get our breath back. Beyond it I could see the blackened smoking remains of Philip sinking below the water.

The deadly rain eased, settling into a steady fall of ash. I reached the big piece of flotsam helping Fuschia on to it before pulling myself up to join her and suddenly realizing what it was.

I ran my hand along its surface feeling its soft vibration, the soot and grime coming away to reveal it’s battered, blue wooden shell and the words “Police Public Call Box”. It was Oolon’s Cabinet. And the doors we were sitting on suddenly opened and we tumbled inside.

Oolon looked up from the console as we splashed, dripping wet onto the floor just inside the doors. “Ah Fuschia, young Avalanche you’re just in time, Terry’s just put the kettle on.”

I began spluttering out “What..? How..?”.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll explain later…” A frown played across his lips, “Don’t worry, everyone’s safe, but there are a few more people we need to fish out of the old briny.” He strode over to a tall cabinet and pulled out a pair of oars. “You couldn’t do me a favour and paddle us about a bit..? I’m afraid the Old Girl’s taken a bit of a knock and needs to get her strength back before she can do it on her own and I don’t want our friends to get too chilly.”

I took the oars as Fuschia curled up happily on the chaise long.

One thing about life in Caledon, I thought as I clambered back outside, it’s never dull…

Fight Club

2007-10-11T01:26:00.000-07:00

JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 3

Lady Darkling’s song rose above the deep rumble and roar of the mountain, the eerie music and the bubbling of the lava below us, a gentle soothing tone, ethereal and unworldly. The hot air felt a little cooler, the sparks and embers that floated through the air pirouetted around her and a strange peacefulness fell across the cavern.

“She’s singing the mountain a lullaby,” Fuschia laughed. “Putting the mountain and the burny rocks to sleep for us to get across the bridge. She's not daft, her.”

It looked like it was working; the lava boiled away slowly beneath us but sent forth no more burning balls of molten rock. The song grew louder and louder as Lady Darkling drifted across the bridge, carried by her music and that of the mountain and we all followed, carefully watching our step. I was halfway over when I suddenly realised we were all singing along, joining Lady Darkling’s song, keeping the mountain slumbering.

As the last of the penguin sherpas crossed the bridge, the mountain must have decided to turn over in its sleep as a huge gout of flame leapt up from the pit, spraying the bridge we had just crossed only moments before. We feverishly hurried onwards; there was no telling how long the mountain would stay rested.

More caverns, more tunnels, more twists and turns and finally a decision, a fork in the path. Without hesitating, Lady Darkling carried on down the left hand path and was followed by Baron Bardhaven, Miss Kelley and Mr Abel. Lady Eva, however, stopped just short of entering the cavern and cocked her head to one side. “Listen…”She said. So we did.

The strange melody had become part of the background noise, along with the rumbles and groans of the caverns, but it was much louder here – and much louder from the right-hand path. Lady Eva, Lady Gabrielle and Lady Amber were already drifting in that direction, their bodies swaying in time to the beat of the music and before I knew it, I was too. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the music, but here it really was becoming loud. We followed the Duchesses and Baronesses onwards with Oolon fractiously muttering about “hypnotic sub-harmonics in the lower frequencies”.

Almost without warning the passage we were following opened up into a huge chamber filled with native men and women in various states of undress, cavorting around bamboo poles and swigging from half coconuts with little umbrellas in them.

“Rudey people!” Fuschia exclaimed happily and Terry laughed, covering Oolon’s eyes as he began blushing furiously.

“Good Lord!” Lady Eva cried “It’s a Gentleman’s Club!”

I had to agree that’s exactly what it looked like.

The music here was pounding and deafening. The walls of the “club” were exquisitely carved organ pipes, formed by the looks of it from the living rock of the mountain itself. Opposite the entrance, on a raised dais of steps, a figure cloaked in shadow maniacally played the gargantuan organ.

Lady Gabrielle shouted out a warning and I turned to see a large group making their way through the dancers towards us. They didn’t look like a welcoming committee.

We didn’t stand a chance in the yawning maw of the cave opening; we had to make things more difficult for them.

“Into the crowd!” I shouted and set off at an angle into the throng of people, grabbing Fuschia’s hand and pulling her with me. Terry did the same with a befuddled looking Oolon, whisking him off into a group on the opposite side of the entrance. The last glimpse I caught of the Duchesses and the Baroness before the crowd closed in was of them standing back to back, each adopting a fighting poise and silhouetted by a fire ball leaping up from one of the open lava pits in the room. Somehow I got the feeling they could look after themselves.

I pushed on deeper into the crowd, trying to make my way to the dais and avoiding any of our unfriendly greeters. Our luck, however, didn’t hold for long. Thankfully, I’d spent some time when I was younger earning money at my Uncle’s circus by wrestling all comers and when the tribesman lunged for me from out of the crowd, I let go of Fuschia, grabbed his sleeve and collar and suplexed him up over my head and down onto a nearby table. Coconuts, rum, umbrellas and table splinters flew in all directions. With spilled drinks, the crowd around us was turning nasty; Fuschia had drawn her swiss army spork from her sock and was waving it menacingly at anyone who came near her. Things were about to get out of hand very quickly when suddenly four black and white shapes dropped onto the ground in front of us. Four penguins, each wearing a different coloured headband and each brandishing a different weapon (of far eastern origin I would guess), posed dramatically and then leapt into what had turned into an angry mob, buying us breathing space and time to escape. Mr Abel certainly trained his little assistants well.

We jostled our way quickly through the mass of people. At last, we reached the dais and began pushing our way up the steps when suddenly the music stopped, the room fell silent and all eyes turned to the raised platform.

The mysterious organist stood, leaving his glittering marble keyboard, and strode into a shaft of light, illuminating his features and at last revealing his identitiy to us all…

The Descent

2007-09-27T02:20:00.000-07:00

JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 2

Bunzilla’s roar split the air as a fearsome, carrot-crazed eye peered down at us. There was nowehere to go but into the cave, so that’s where we went - at great speed. From the mouth of the cave I watched it snuffling and grunting at the tangle of balloon, trees and tents. Behind me I could here discussions of where we should go next and what we should do.

From what I could gather, it appeared as if Fuschia and myself had indeed appeared just off the coast of Caledon. This new volcanic isle threatened the very safety of that great nation and this small group had been sent to solve the problem. I’m not entirely sure how they were going to achieve that, but any help we could give them, we would.

Most of the discussion seemed to centre around a tattered map that Mr Abel had discovered. Sadly the major problem seemed to lie in the fact that the cave system was represented on the map by a tangle of lines, almost as if they’d started drawing it all out nicely and then just decided it was too complicated and scribbled a pencil round and round for a bit.

Lady Amber stood in the corner surrounded by a gaggle of penguins swigging from a battered hip flask. The light from the cave entrance glittered off her cleavage…No, hang on, I don’t mean cleavage, I meant her…bosoms. Now that’s odd; everytime I looked at her my eyes slid away onto her ..er… attributes. Something at the back of my head was itching – trying to tell me something, trying to show me something… I caught Fuschia’s disapproving look; I think she’d caught me staring – so I hurriedly looked away and pretended I was studying the cave wall instead.

We decided to push on into the darkness. Baron Bardhaven believed that’s where the source of all this trouble was and that’s where we’d find answers. We pressed on because…well…he sounded like he knew what he was doing and we certainly weren’t going back out there with Bunzilla.

The tunnels wound on and round and round. I began to wonder if the strange scribbles on the map weren’t entirely incorrect; the passages seemed to twist onwards and downwards for such a long time. Baron Bardhaven and Lady Darkling took the lead. At times, Bardhaven peered at the map then indicated a particular direction; at others, Darkling drifted down a certain passage following a mysterious glowing orb as if in a trance. All the while, Oolon kept up a running commentary on the fascinating rock stratification and geological formations while Terry rolled her eyes. The Duchesses chatted excitedly about the grand adventure and the balls that would be held in all our honour when we returned home. Miss Kelley’s eyes darted around each cavern we passed through, gently mewing and watching every movement and shadow.

The strange music continued throughout our journey, echoing from the passage walls and fading in and out. The strange thing was, down here it seemed less alien, less unusual. Maybe we were getting closer to the source, or maybe the echoes and harmonics of the tunnels were just right, but I was sure I was beginning to recognise familiar phrases and bars. This was music I’d heard before, music I’d heard in Caledon when wandering through … was it Tanglewood? Or by the Governor’s mansion? Lady Amber slipped into my field of vision and again I found myself … distracted. Even more so as she appeared to be peeling off layers of clothing again - because of the heat she claimed.

And she was right; it was getting a lot warmer. We began passing through chambers filled with lava flows and sparkling embers dancing in the air. Soon we were all removing some of our more bulky clothing.

We finally came to halt in a large chamber. Our path took us across a narrow, crumbling bridge of rock and across a lava flow, all the while fireballs leaping up and exploding over us.

I’m sure this wasn’t marked on the map…

The Poison Belt

2007-09-17T03:39:00.000-07:00

JTTTLBTMI Crossover Part 1

The butterfly tunnel swirled around us. It had been a good few weeks away; a nice, relaxing change of pace. Pixie had it’s peculiarities but was certainly a marvellous place to relax.

We were travelling to Caledon rather than the Colony, because Fuschia said that it was much easier to navigate back to somewhere like the Homelands, where the love of it’s people acted as a sort of beacon, making it much easier for Pixie magic to home in on.

I felt the balloon catch on an updraft of wind…we were definitely approaching something…something that smelled like sulphur and smoke… The twisting vortex before us darkened, filling with thick black clouds. This didn’t look good.

I gently shook Fuschia awake and she wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Are you burning breakfast, again?” She mumbled before sitting bolt upright and whispering “Something’s wrong!”

I nodded and was about to explain when the tunnel shattered around us and the balloon leapt violently.

Once onto our feet we could see that we were surrounded on all sides by thick smoke. The butterflies that had formed our passage to and from Pixie were lost in the darkness. It was searingly hot and proving very difficult to breathe.

Where were we? This certainly didn’t look like Caledon. The balloon was twirling and I could see no more than a few feet through the smoke and ash. Fuschia handed me a strip of cloth she’d torn from her petticoats to act as a face mask in order to keep out the choking air.

I tugged on the control ropes of the balloon, trying to gain height and get above whatever we were in. A deep rumble sounded below us and a fireball tore upwards through the sky, alarmingly close. I peered down over the side of the basket and could feel even more heat as well as perceiving a dull orange glow below us through the smoke. Were we above some enormous pyre? Had the alien invaders returned and reduced Caledon to nothing but fire and ash?

I attempted to regain some control over the balloon, but we were caught in an unpredictable updraft and the balloon's control vents were useless in the ash laden, turbulent air.

“Look!” Fuschia shouted. “A funny flying man!” I turned, not sure what to expect. The brief glimpse of him I got before impact was of a young man dressed in a pastel shirt, carrying a spear and wearing a helmet crudely fashioned out of a large coconut, propelled through the air by what appeared to be a battered brass and bamboo steam jet pack. A moment later he’d collided with the canvas above us, punching a hole clean through the balloon’s envelope and sending us on a very fast journey – sideways…

We careered wildy through the air, the balloon letting out a strange high pitched wail as the gas escaped.

The balloon described several crazy loops as we clung desperately to the sides of the basket. We eventually shot out of the bottom of the smoke cloud and I briefly caught a glimpse of a volcanic island (the smoke from which we had just left) surrounded by a huge expanse of water. On the downward swing of one of our circuits the basket skimmed the top of the water, scooping up a good proportion of it along with several penguins, a rather surprised looking Baroness (Lady Amber, to be more precise) and an even more surprised looking hammerhead shark.

The balloon curved upwards again, propelling us up over the island (as the penguins heaved the shark overboard) in what would be our final descent. We swung back down again, this time crashing through some tents that had been erected on the beach, and onwards into the deep jungle trees. Tribesmen scattered in all directions and I’m sure I caught sight of several people tangled in the canopy, rigging, tent, trees and, by the looks of it, cooking pot wreckage that we’d accumulated as we skidded through the undergrowth before sliding to a halt at the mouth of a dark and foreboding cave.

Fuschia helped a rather shaken Lady Amber up out of a pile of penguins and the now ruined basket, while I clambered out to help disengage our unexpected, and no doubt shocked, reluctant passengers from what was left of the rest of the balloon. And what a collection of nobles we’d entangled: A Baron (Bardhaven), A Duke (Greystoke), a Timelord (Sputnik), Sidhe (Lightfoot) and no less than two Duchesses (Carntaigh and Loch Avie) and two Marchionesses (East and West Speirling - or at least one Speirling and one cunning "copy-cat").

As I began hastily disengaging them from the rope, canvas and foliage, eerie music drifted from the cave entrance behind me…

Destination: Pixie

2007-08-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

JTTTLBTMI Prologue

Fuschia was the one who suggested we should have a few weeks away. The militia and fund raising was winding down and the unusual invaders that had appeared on the shores had been driven off, many bits of clothing had been made, much tea drunk and many cakes eaten. We were both exhausted and in need of a break.

She suggested we go and visit some of her friends in Pixie (apparently a nice little corner of the otherworld near Faerie, where the pixies live). I’d never been there before, but she assured me it would be really nice and we could even take the balloon.

After an extensive few days of packing we pushed off from our little bay in Penan. We’d locked up the workshop and had employed a young urchin to keep and eye on the circus and feed the boilers of the steam elephants in our absence.

Waving goodbye to young Master Grut we drifted onwards from Penan, out by the nearby floating castle and over the sea, where I realised that what I had assumed was a flock of birds from a distance was actually a huge swarm of multicoloured butterflies gathering over the ocean. Fuschia giggled at my look of surprise and wiggled her nose. The butterflies swirled in the air, coming closer and closer until we were entirely surrounded. And then there was a subtle change; we were no longer in a small vortex of butterflies but in a huge twisting tunnel stretching on as far as the eye could see. This was to be our path to Pixie.

I’m not really sure how long we spent travelling. Not long after we entered the tunnel the hands on my pocket watch began to spin crazily around it’s face, randomly pointing at numbers and every so often even pointing at new numbers that weren’t even on the clock face when we’d set off.

We’d worked through a good number of wax cylinders and books when I felt a breeze. The tunnel we were travelling in was eerily quiet (aside from the soft, scratchy music of the wobbly recordings) and since we’d set off there had been no feeling of wind or motion despite the coloured / shifting walls of the tunnel. I looked down to where Fuschia had dozed off in the balloon’s basket and was about to nudge her awake when suddenly the tunnel around us scattered into a multitude of tiny wings.

The balloon lurched as it once again gained purchase on new air and our tiny escorts scattered into the forests that unfolded beneath us. We were floating in a deep purple sky, a blazing orange sun dipping below a great mountain range in the distance, and I suddenly had a strange feeling. It was almost like deja-vu…but not quite. For a moment it appeared as if the mountain ahead of me burned, as if the sun dipping behind it was actually some great gout of fire erupting from its maw. Strange music echoed in the distance and a peculiar feeling of foreboding began to creep across me…

Fuschia yawned and sprang up onto her feet beside me, peering out across the landscape of her home. Something had changed, the spell had been broken, and once again there was just a sun sinking below the horizon.

Putting the odd trick of the light aside, I pulled on the control ropes of the balloon and we began our descent into a clearing…

Air, Sea and Land

2007-07-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Miss Tombola,

Just writing to thank you for the lovely afternoon of transportation related adventure, and for the very kind charitable donation that set us on this path in the first place.

I successfully retrieved the hot air balloon from the foot of Terry’s beanstalk in Tanglewood last night and am happy to report that apart from the odd branch trapped in the rigging it survived our rather bumpy descent down through the tree canopy.

I’ve also managed to straighten out the slight bend that appeared in my steam board after the unfortunate encounter with the sea bed in Lionsgate, and the hangar walls in Steam City.

Thankfully, I caught Admiral Wind at her shipyard this morning and with her assistance was able to lift the Caledonian Queen from the rocky coastline of the Moors, although I think the keel may need a bit of patching before she’s going to be seaworthy again.

Oh, and your stable boy should be on his way over to drop off your improvised monowheel. I gave him a bit of change to pick up our cycles from where we left them at the Victoria City train station, and he seems a trustworthy enough lad, if a little grubby.

Hope we get a chance to do it again sometime - although not too soon, as I think my legs need a bit of time to recover from chasing the train all the way through Carntaigh.

Yours,

Alfonso Avalanche

Lists Are Good

2007-06-20T05:16:00.000-07:00

Checksheet for regeneration:

1. Old Timelord

Check

2. Cast of thousands

Check

3. White Lady

Check

4. Fireworks

Check

5. Nice Effects Shots

Check

6. New Timelord

Blimey. Check

7. Star Vampire

Er.......check?

8. Power Source

Power source? Oh bugger.........

9. Dancing

Check

10. Bananas

Oh yes. Bananas are good.

I love the smell of steam in the morning

2007-06-15T01:09:00.000-07:00

From the journal of Alfonso Avalanche

What an evening last night turned out to be: regenerations, star vampires, stolen power sources, possessed Time Lords – I definitely needed time to get out of the circus workshop and clear my head. At least Oolon seems to have come through it all largely intact. Let’s just hope the gamble hasn’t caused more problems than it’s solved…

I decided to go take the air in Primverness and check that all was well at the Steampunk exhibition. It’s amazing the technological feats the engineers of Caledon can accomplish.

As I was passing, I thought I’d better check that my own pieces of engineering were still in good working order.

Thankfully, the alignment on the space gun appeared to be fine, and Miss Paris’ steam elephant still showed stable boiler pressure.

The strangely soothing sound of steam trains (thanks to Dr Burton Newall), steam engines (courtesy of Mr Denver Hax), hissing baked potatoes (provided by Captain Lapin Paris), ticking clockwork limbs (built by Sir Edward Pearse), the odd boing of the cavorite repulsion chamber (envisioned by Mr Greggan) and humming laser piggy eyes (by, who else, but Miss Virrginia Tombola), made a most unusual dawn chorus.

A dream? Really, Doctor, you'll be consulting the entrails of a sheep next

2007-06-14T03:36:00.000-07:00

I found it difficult to sleep last night. It was a night of odd dreams.

I dreamt of an old friend sitting in a bright white-marble room, weaving a giant tapestry. He wore colourful robes with a high collar, looking almost incongruous on his small frame. It was a tapestry full of strange images – silver robots, domed automatons, black suns, blue boxes, piano lounges, beaches, planets, stars and so many people. The small man smiled up at me as the last thread fell into place, his robe gone and replaced by a more familiar tuxedo. He’d found a martini from somewhere and finished it off with one gulp. He winked at me with one of his large eyes, reached out and in one sudden move tore the tapestry from the loom.

The room filled with a blinding blue light, and I shielded my eyes. When I reopened them I was elsewhere. It was dark and I was in his photographic studio. He sat at his workbench, looking more like he does now, a flickering light playing across his face. He was surrounded by unspooled kinematic film. It spilled from the desk and covered almost the entire stone floor. He turned and beckoned me over to see what he was doing. He was winding through a reel of film on his home made editing equipment. The images on the small screen whirled along, too fast to follow as his hand spun the feed wheel. With no receiving reel fitted, the film continually cascaded onto the floor. It was impossible - that small reel couldn’t possibly have held all that film. He must have read my thoughts as he tapped the side of his his nose and whispered “it’s bigger on the inside”.

I don’t know how long I stood transfixed, catching a glimpse of familiar scenes, people and faces in the hypnotic glow of the screen, when suddenly it stopped on a single image…an empty white room with a circular motif repeated across the walls. Had we come to the end of the reel? I glanced over to see it still had plenty more to go. His hand slowly, carefully moved up to the guillotine he used for cutting his movie footage. His hand hovered there, almost as if he dared not touch it. His gaze wasn’t on the, film or the guillotine, it was out through the glass windowed walls of the studio.

On the lawn, beneath the bright starry sky, stood his Cabinet. A warm light spilled from the open doors and the blue beacon atop the device pulsed reassuringly. The silhouette of a figure appeared in the doorway, and as I heard the sound of the guillotine slicing through film, the figure stepped out onto the grass…

…and I awoke.

Play Misty

2007-06-12T12:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Virrginia,

Its been a long time since I've been off for a wander, so I thought I really ought to. What with Oolon doing daft things and putting himself out of commission I don't suppose we'll get to do any more ETD jaunts (not that we have for a while anyway, but you know what I mean). Anyways, I kept hearing people talking about a place called Avillion and it sort of sounded a bit like home. Not that I really miss home all that much (there's too many kind and wonderful people and exciting and interesting things here to make me want to abandon Caledon; oh yes, and Alfonso) but every now and again a Pixie needs cool water and shade and the feel of magic between her toes.

I arrived in a castle keep of some sort, in the midst of a thriving market. Burt resolutely refused to come out in case I made him carry something (lazy little oik), but it was all big person stuff and you know the problems I have with proper capes. Some sort of creature gave me a little note on the etiquette of the land and some very nice clothes to wear, so I was quite happy (at least I was then). They're very nice clothes, too; comfy and soft and a lovely colour. Still, poor mite can't have had much room in that sign. I pointed out to Burt how there were Brownies far worse off than him, but he only grumbled.

After I'd got changed behind some packing crates (being small does have some advantges), I left the keep and followed the path down to a little village. There were even more shops here, but I didn't tarry. There was also a considerable number of locals gathered in a clearing near by (I think they were having an argument so I tried not to intrude but you have to say hello, don't you?). They certainly weren't very polite and only one good gentleman responded to my greeting. In fact, the whole time I was there, he was the only soul who even acknowledged my existence. I did wonder if it was part of that strange effect we'd noticed when we did go out in the ETD, but someone could see and talk to me so I guess that the inhabitants of Avillion just aren't very friendly people.

Which is a terrible shame really, as its quite a pretty place (but not one I'd ever want to go back to). There were magnificent tree houses that you could only reach by fantastical stairways (my wings felt very sad and heavy there and I could barely manage a flutter). Many contained ballrooms and opulent furniture, but were oddly silent. Everybody seemed to be downstairs arguing or posing next to a tourney field. Give us that much ballroom space in Caledon and we'd be dancing non-stop, I'm sure of it.

Many more were open to the stars, affording a breathtaking view of the waterfalls all around. The music of the falls was thunderous and mighty and normally this would have filled me with joy. Sadly, although the earth was moving, it wasn't breathing; there was no heartbeat. The life I had expected to feel from all this foliage and force wasn't there; it was a hollow land, lost and empty. I could have wept.

And then I found out why the people here are probably so miserable: Drow. Don't have much of a sense of humour, your Drow. Its all "Oh the pain of existence! Woe is me, woe is me!". Pfffft. It certainly explained the swamp and the tunnel full of dismembered butterflies. They do tend to ruin a neighbourhood with all that misery and spikey nonsense. Can't be doing with them personally and thankfully I didn't run into any of the cheerless gloom-monkeys.

Unfortunately I did run into their sense of humour. Oh wait, that's right, they don't have one, which is why I ended up stuck in a graveyard arguing with a bunch of irritating wisps about how I was going to get home (booby traps, marvellous). Just capped off the trip perfectly, that did. To be utterly frank, I'd seen all I wanted to by that point and so I concentrated really hard and "popped" myself home to the Colony. Its hard work and I always need a good sit down and several cups of tea afterwards, but enough was mostly definitely more than enough.

I wouldn't go there Virrginia, it wasn't fun. I know it might seem frivolous, but I feel the need for fun in a world of gathering storm clouds; I crave sunshine and life, my dear friends and their warmth and companionship. I can safely say that never have I been so happy as to see my beloved Caledon as I was that day.

Your friend

Fuschia

Blue Box Recorder

2007-06-11T02:05:00.001-07:00

Dear Oolon,

It’s been such a long time since I put pen to paper - way back when I was still exploring the mainland. Sadly as you know, all that exploration had to be put on hold when Master Grutt delivered my military reactivation papers and I was summoned back to Tanglewood HQ. Did I ever tell you about my time serving in the engine rooms of the circus dreadnaughts back in the Clown Wars? It’s been so busy since I got back, servicing the engines on the ornithopters and transport balloons for our brave boys and girls.

Anyway, I’m drifting off the point, as I often do. I’m writing because I had a bit of an odd experience and I was wondering if you can shed any light on it?

I was sitting having a nice mug of tea back at the colony a few days ago, when I heard what I took to be the familiar roaring, tearing noise of the ETC engines. However, the box that appeared was similar, but not quite the same as yours. It had the same basic shape but was bluer, squarer, different proportions, if that makes sense? I was wondering if you’d been doing some work on her, when suddenly the door opened and a complete stranger stuck his head out through the door.

Seeing my surprised look the white haired gent lifted an ornate pocket watch to his face, stared for a while as if trying to focus on the watch hands, muttered something about “crossing his own timestream”, vanished back into the box, and slammed the door.

I’d put down my tea by this point and had started to make my way over to this “other” Cabinet, but only got half way there before the roaring started again and the blue box was gone.

Didn't get a chance to get any pictures of the chap or his box, but thought I'd drop you a letter to see if he was one of your Gallifreyan friends? I don’t mind them dropping in, it’s just I didn’t recognise him and he seemed to have such an odd reaction to seeing me. I hope I didn’t offend any of them with that unfortunate mix-up with the pantomime zebra costume last time they were over visiting you in the ETC.

Right, must be off, I’m busy rifling a huge gun barrel at the moment, nothing to do with the war effort, just a personal project. Just out of interest, have you given any thought in trying to get to the moon?

Yours,

Alfonso

Kissing Caledon Colonels Court Controversy

2007-05-19T13:53:00.000-07:00

Clipping from The Caledon Sun:

A recently discovered photograph has led to much wagging of tongues and has sent shockwaves through Caledon society.

The picture allegedly shows two Colonels of the Caledon milita, Col Alfonso Avalanche (Royal Engineers) and Col Hotspur O’Toole (CHIT / Caledon Air Force), engaged in a passionate clinch.

The Caledon militia has launched a full enquiry and an investigation led by Major Erasmus Margulis promises to get to the bottom of the situation.

The Sky Full of Stars

2007-05-19T06:25:00.000-07:00

Oh my poor diary, how I've neglected you of late. It's shameful really, when you've always been such a patient listener and confidante. I really don't know where the time has gone, except that my sewing machine has barely been silent. But these are, at best, excuses and I shall trouble you with them no more.

Do you know the world is a magical place, even here on this earth so far away from Faerie. People forget; slowly, inexorably they stop pausing to enjoy the beauty and wonder all around them. Its nobody's fault; life is hectic and there is always so much to do and be done. So when instants of absolute stillness occur, when you can hear the heart of the Universe beating out it's symphony, when time crystallises into that one perfect moment, these are the times that are the most precious we have.

I had such a moment last night.

I had heard rumours from our friends that Mr Darkle Sands had been experimenting with light in the manner of that august gentleman Mr Tesla. I made so bold as to ask Darkle if I might be able to see his creation and he very kindly said that I could. For all his quiet reserve, he truly does have the soul of a poet (as a very dear friend told me; how right she is).

Above the clouds, nestled between heaven and earth, he laid out his masterpiece with the care and tenderness of a proud father. And he had every right to be proud. The gentle glow of the bulb field was utterly breathtaking, wrapped in silken shreds of cloud that fleetingly touched the earth before melting away into nothingness.

I called Alfonso to see the quiet majesty of the spectacle, knowing how much of a fan of Mr Tesla he is. And Miss Paris as well. Like me, they were most taken with the scene. Taken - the word doesn't do the feeling justice; I know that the moment I saw the tiny, perfect twinkling lights my spirit soared and I felt that magic had returned to the world in all its primal glory; demure, comforting but vast and mighty, a force of nature biding its time, awaiting its moment. This is what we are (or at the very least this is what we can be): beacons of light in the darkness.

I have always loved light, the play of shadows, the sense of mystery and illusion. The stars had fallen to earth, only to be swept up again into the vault of the heavens, waymarkers to guide us all safely home to those we love.

The Answer To Everything

2007-04-24T08:50:00.000-07:00

Dearest Em,

I am very sorry that I haven't written to you in a while. I don't have a proper excuse; I think I've just been having too much fun making dresses and helping Miss Paris (and playing on catapults and springy boards and dancing). Life is rarely dull in Caledon...

What shall I tell you about first? I suppose Steam City happened before I went swiming with Miss Virrginia and flying with Miss Paris so that should really be the one, oughtn't it?

The Guvnah Sir very kindly said that we could go and play on the proposed site for the new neighbourhood and you really can't refuse an offer like that. We'd missed the steam elephant racing and it was all very quiet, so Alfonso set up two of his catapults for us to play on. We weren't alone for long though; the catapult does seem to attract people in a most mesmeric sort of way. Alfonso couldn't resist the opportunity to test his new invention on a willing band of guinea pigs and brought out his Moon Rocket.

It didn't exactly work, but people seemed to be enjoying themselves so Alfonso knocked up some launch boards from the spare building materials that were lying around. That was much more reliable, although there were a few, er, well, embaressing moments.

Its not like Mr Margulis to be so underdressed (except when raving, of course; this was entirely due to the acceleration he assured me), but we were all far too polite to say anything. And Miss Paris and Miss Schnabel were very well organised; they were packed for every eventuality, as proper ladies of adventure always must be.

And then there was Mr Buchanan and his shark. I'm not quite sure what was going on there, but the shark didn't seem to mind too much and I could have sworn he was smiling as he blasted skyward.

It has to be said that the citizens of Caledon are always up for a bit of a giggle and if it includes being catapulted into the air at a huge rate of knots, so much the better. I managed to make it all the way over Port Caledon in my inner tube and I landed in the pond in Caledon II as well! I slept well that night, let me tell you.

It was a shame that Virrginia couldn't be there, knowing her fondness for all things aerial, but I did get a chance to have a small adventure with her when we went swimming at Rua.

This was after she taught me to fly an ornithopter. Let us just say that I'm marginally less bad at that than I am flying with my own wings (we only got stuck upside down twice. Or was it three times?). And the flying goggles were rather useful under water too. There were some nice sea urchins that Virrginia had a sit on (and as she pointed out, exploring requires a great deal of sitting) and quite a lot of interesting wildlife.

But poor Virrginia wasn't feeling too grand and kept swooning (which isn't really a good thing when you're underwater, mermaid or not), so we called it a day and she went for a lie down at home. I wandered over to Tanglewood, where Alfonso was mending Miss Paris' steam elephant (who'd banged his head when he'd been playing with the catapult and he hadn't been quite right since). After my lovely husband had wiped his hands and tidied away his tools, Miss Paris offered to take us all for a celebratory ride.

I'm not sure that Alfonso had completely cured the bumped noggin because this Snorty had a moment of reversion to the activities that made his forebear so infamous. Mr Gray assured us he was fine despite his skewering and the trip continued apace. I didn't stay for too long as I was feeling rather exhausted from all the swimming and flying, but it was fun swooping over Caledon a la elephant.

So, as you can see, its been all go here. I do hope you get the chance to pop over for a cup of tea soon, its ages since we had the chance for a proper gossip and you know how pixies have to satify their natural curiosity as often as possible.

Take care, dear Emilly.

Fuschia

Miranda Miranda

2007-04-16T08:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary,

Its been quite a weekend, let me assure you. Its been lovely to have my husband home from his travels, although his workshop has never been so busy (still, keeps him out of the tent). He does love a good challenge.

Although I think its fair to say that this was much more of a challenge for those viewing it than it was for him. His Uncle Monty has a lot to answer for, that's all I'm saying. I'm not quite sure how he got into my banquet frock, just that I need to thank the seamstress for making it from such durable and stretchy fabrics.

And then there was the catapult. Now I knew that was fun, because we played with it over at the Circus. And it was lovely to see all of our friends having great fun experimenting with exactly what you could throw using it.

I seen a horse fly, I seen a dragon fly, I seen a house fly, and I've even seen an elephant fly. But a zebra????

And then there was Miss Cyn Vandeverre, shortly before some naughty witch turned her into a daffodil (which coincidentally flew very well indeed).

And there was jousting. Not with horses; far more civilised than that. All it really needed was some cake and tea for the journey. Here you can see our gallant Guvnah hurtling towards victory (although Miss Kelley needn't have been quite so alarmed).

And then there was the dancing. It all started so innocently at first, although Alfonso had obviously had too much sun by that point of the day.

And then it began, quietly at first: the Caledon Ladies' Pagan Dance Society, later to become the Secret Miranda Society.....(I somehow don't think Miss Paris had any idea of the repercussions her chance comment would lead to!)

Somehow, I was reminded of Aunty Pan's dance troupe...

At this point, Oolon was still clinging to his dignity and stood as our token male (although Alfonso's and Mr Margulis' dignity had long since waved bye-bye):

It didn't last...

Poor Mr Nino looked most bemused by the cavorting and gyrating sea of blue and red; he found it quite impossible to judge the best dressed competition.

And then the wings came, and the jester hats....

And of course, the bright glowing lights...

Still, her Grace Gabrielle took it marvellously well that we had erm, well, descended into madness on her lands...for the second night running...

Shortly after I retired to the Colony, with very sore ribs and a happy heart. Dancing lifts the spirit (and hopefully we shouldn't have any rain in Caledon for weeks now...)

FB

Stormy Weather

2007-04-10T07:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Virrginia,

I hope you don't mind too much, but me and Terry went off on our own for a little Fey outing to a lovely place Miss Tamura had discovered called Metatheria. In some respects it reminded me of home, although everything was a lot bigger. If you ever get the chance, it would certainly be worth a visit (just don't go left, there were skulls down there...big ones)

And don't take any notice of the creepy whispering voices when you arrive, either. That's just there for the casual tourists who expect these sort of things (I think Terry called it an ambience, whatever one of them is, but it sounded like a lady to me).

Terry was as forthright as usual and boldly led the way into this (to me) undiscovered country. There were lots of very pretty trees and flowers, and a long langorous river and a waterfall and lots of interesting temples, nooks and crannies to climb over and sit in. And mushrooms, of course, this being Fey land (I would have been terribly disappointed if there hadn't been). And a big dragon's nest, which was sadly empty and not as comfortable as you might imagine considering the usual level of comfort most of the dragons I know prefer. Terry looked very funny perching in there, but Burt was too busy hiding in case a big bird came by and tried to eat him, so I didn't get any paintings; he's such a coward sometimes. There were some big birdies, but they had better taste than to go after Brownies (who tend to be a bit stringy and muddy).

The sound of running water was very soothing; swans and ducks dabbled and fish swam in lazy circles beneath the cool blue surface. We wandered over a bridge and found ourselves at the bottom of some very steep steps.

There was a lovely recreational area and a bar up the stairs (Em would have loved it) and that's where we met a Metatherian Sidhe, a very refined lady called Miss Ayres. She was ever so friendly. So were the other nice Sidhe people we met (yes, people! That hadn't all run away before we got there). Made quite a change to have someone else to chat to...

But that was all after we saw the dinky ice palace and I broke the swing. I've been very good lately, and I've hardly got my dust into anything, but there was a storm coming and the breeze was picking up; it must have wafted it into the swing mechanism. I didn't mean to break it, it just sort of, well, happened. Terry thought it was very funny but it was terribly embaressing.

See this was the swing before I tried to sit on it. Terry was having a nice relax and enjoying the flowers. Then:

It sort of got stuck. Still, you had a very good view of the flowers from that angle, although it was a little bit tricky to stay seated. You couldn't see the waterfall anymore though, which was a shame as it was a very magnificent waterfall. And I couldn't get it unstuck again, which was even worse; I do hope that the storm washed all the dust out - I've been too shy to go back and see for myself.

Where did we go then? Oh yes, up to the bar and then over the big, scary rope bridge to where the birdies were. We were looking for the Underground that Miss Ayres had mentioned, but the secret entrance was actually under the bridge and not over it; which makes perfect sense really. Still you never can tell with Fey, they do like to confound your expectations.

The Underground was luminous, with yet more bridges and glowing mushrooms and bridges and flowers. And there was a very pretty swirly thing, though heaven alone knows what it was there for. Mind you, I don't suppose pretty things really need a reason to be; its often more than enough that they simply are.

Terry thought we might enjoy a trip out on one of the boats moored nearby, but the storm was gathering pace and was creating big spouts of water. I know that both of us are pretty waterproof, but that doesn't mean that you go looking to get wet and I get sick if I whizz about too much (which is why I avoid travelling in that confounded bouncing contraption of Oolon's). I do apologise for the quality of the dageurotype - Burt went into hiding again when the spouty thing got too close.

It wasn't long after that the storm hit and what a doozy it was, too. We got a bit lost in the bushes trying to find our way back from the beach, but the branches were going all over the place as the wind picked up. Then I think we got caught in one of the usual storm related dislocations, because both of us found ourselves very unceremoniously dumped back at our respective homes (after a few moments of utter blackness). It's happened a few times lately, but I still can't quite get used to the strength of the Linden winds. We did pop back, but only briefly as it was about then that we received the call to Port Caledon...

Well, better get back to Alfonso; he's running about the Circus with two coconut shells and prancing about in a very alarming manner. I think its something to do with the Rennaisance Faire; at least, that's what he says it is. Hmmmmmm.

Anyway, I look forward to seeing you again soon. You take care and don't work too hard.

Your friend,

Fuschia.

Shadows and Light

2007-03-28T06:49:00.000-07:00

Dearest Em,

You missed another corker last night, let me tell you; made one of your infamous cocktail parties look like a school picnic. What with the horrendous storms that raged across the Grid, the sudden bouts of swooning suffered by several of our travelling companions and some strange dislocations, it was eventful even by our standards.

It started well enough, with everyone gathering at the Circus to await Oolon's arrival in the Cabinet. He was what Miss Saltair described to me as "fashionably late" (although I'm sure she also said that was what ladies did, not gentlemen) but Miss Seisenbacher kept up the side for the ladies by being later. It was a rare old gathering, let me tell you.

Believe it or not, that's Mr Mesmer. Apparently he's been so concerned by the odd transformations occurring to his friends upon entry into Tanglewood that he decided to place his brain in a big jar. The theory goes that only the bodies are affected, not the mind, so if the body isn't there, he can't be turned into something small, cute and fluffy. Its a sufficiently daft theory that it just might be right, but he's such a card.

Of our other companions, we were graced that night by the presence of Miss Rothschild, Mr Chaplin, Miss Virrginia Tombola, Terry, Alfonso and Miss Seisenbacher, who sadly had to leave on unexpected business before we launched (though her skirt had left far earlier, much to her consternation).

It seemed that Oolon knew someone on an island and had a reason for going, but I'd managed to miss the details somewhere along the way (probably hunting for the teapot; do you know where he's hidden it?). The flight was mostly uneventful, with a few bumps and jolts signalling the arrival of the storms. Still, we landed without incident. Er, mostly. The doors did jam and we did sort of end up stuck in them, but a good shove from that husband of mine freed the blockage and out we spilled into the courtyard of a fairytale castle (and thank goodness Burt was napping at the time, or it could have been very embaressing).

Apparently this is the home of a Mr Pendragon, a Lightsmith that Oolon has worked with on several occassions in the past. If it was the past; maybe it was the future. No, better not start trying to figure that one out, it always gives me a headache. It was quite a bit like home and there were mushrooms, too.

And can you see the rays of light? Oolon says that they're Mr Pendragon's friends and that he gives them life by talking to them. So Mr Pendragon has to be some sort of magician to be able to talk to light. The beams and rays were so pretty and sparkly and added to the overall sense of otherworld in this place. So, as you might imagine, it was a little disconcerting when Oolon announced that we shouldn't split up or wander off alone as this was a dangerous place to go poking about. If what happened later hadn't happened, I would have accused him of just doing that because he likes to worry me and Terry, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.

We did all split up anyway because its just in the nature of these things, as you know. Virrginia discovered a very odd dungeon underneath the castle, full of boats and oars and dummies with wings and she went off for a paddle about. Terry shot off across a bridge outside the castle and Oolon wandered off as well. I had another dizzy spell (but no Mr Whittlesea this time) and poor Mr Chaplin suffered some sort of dislocation in place while I was catching my breath. I'm beginning to wonder if all this gadding about leaves a person open to odd effects and increased susceptibility to storms. I should really have a chat to Oolon about that, provided we find him again.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Miss Rothschild became very animated at an aetheric message she had recieved from Oolon, who was concerned for Terry's safety. The mannequins were very creepy, so I was immensely glad to leave the dungeon and go back into the sunlight. Not that we were there for long, because Terry had managed to find herself in some sort of underground catacombs with a big pretty swirly thing at its heart.

It changed colour and everything. Terry was transfixed by it and she said it spoke to her, which really wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. After all, we're both pretty senstive to these things. Not that I heard it, but she's not given to fibbing. We weren't the only people amazed by the pretty thing; for once, there were other travellers (just as confused as us) - Miss Mathy, Miss Dryke and Mr Lowey.

I think Oolon was thoroughly enjoying himself when Burt captured this frame. I kept it because it struck me that he looked like a tiny little star baby safe in the womb of time, a comment which elicited much dismay from our friends (who thought it was a little risque) and a big sigh from Oolon (who I don't think realised that anyone had seen him playing).

Miss Rothschild was thoroughly enjoying herself as well as she had made a new little friend, a lifeform that we named a Babybling. She called hers Mathilda and seemed to be getting along famously with the little creature, who followed her about like a shiny puppy. Several of us managed to attract the attentions of these delightful beings, particularly Terry, who ended up with quite a gaggle of them.

There was also a very sumptuous tent in the cavern, which was pretty puzzling (you can see it behind Mathilda). Why on earth would anyone want to camp down there in the cold and damp? I suppose it is a good vantage point for the ever changing pattern of lights on the large orb, but I can't see why you'd want to stay for too long. Humans are such contrary creatures.

After a bit of hunting about, we managed to find another way out of the cave system but it was a bit wet. Terry and I could fly out and Mr Mesmer had his portal, but poor Miss Rothschild was stranded as we couldn't be certain that it was dry water and wet water has such a terrible effect on her. Very fortunately Alfonso managed to secure a boat (I have no idea where he keeps these things, but he always seems to find something appropriate no matter what the circumstances) and made good everyone's escape from underground. And we had the added delight of Virrginia's yellow gentleman friend coming to keep us company as well.

Oolon led us on around the marvellous parkland; I must say, Mr Pendragon really knows how to manage an estate. There were allsorts of curiosities scattered about it to delight the Victorian mind; giant clocks, observatories, ponds, burning bushes and another swirly thing. This one was blue and flat and sadly very disappointing to stand on for all its prettiness; I had hoped for a least a tingle in my toes when I clambered into it, but it was just a very clever optical illusion.

We wandered a bit more, then Oolon announced that he had located Mr Pendragon. Well, he could communicate with him, but neither he nor I could work out where Mr Pendragon actually was, so I went to find him. He's very nice, as long as your not flammable; Terry and Virrginia described him as hot and then got all giggly, so I take it that they weren't referring to his temperature?

Dear Miss Rothschild had become most distraught, as Mathilda had taken poorly and gone all black and smokey. Oolon was also becoming very distracted as well and began to hurry us back to the Cabinet far sooner than I would have expected. Do you know he brought us here to deliver a beehive? All things considered, it may turn out to be a very costly delivery.

Now I know you'll be pleased with me as I'm remaining calm and objective, just like you said I had to. But things could be very bad, very bad indeed. I managed to get back into the ETD with no problems, as did Mr Mesmer; and Miss Tombola and Alfonso did so reasonably easily. But Miss Rothschild ended up on a tropical island with a shark for company (a big one) and Terry didn't appear for an absolute age. She told me later that the Cabinet momentarily vanished from the castle courtyard before she and Oolon could enter it. When the Old Girl reappeared, she didn't have much power left (inside we had no idea that we'd landed again at all) and she'd had to run and fetch a Babybling, which Oolon used to power up the doors. Terry thought that Oolon was right behind her, but something must have gone wrong and he never appeared at all.

Alfonso and Virrginia tried but failed to make head or tail of the console controls, so we couldn't go back and we couldn't go forward; we couldn't land either. It was all a bit of a puzzle. Miss Rothschild tried to talk to Madame (as she calls the Old Girl), but she wasn't listening and seemed to be just as bemused as the rest of us. Terry and me were pretty certain we'd be alright hanging about in the aether because of our natures, but we really couldn't be certain that it was safe for the humans (and the disembodied brain) or Miss Rothschild.

Terry decided that she should be able to pull us through to Mayfair, one by one, using her natural talents (I can manage one or two, but I'm only little and Terry has far more experience of these things), which she promptly did. Everyone arrived safe and sound, thankfully, and Mr Chaplin reappeared as well, a bit tetchy and most put out by both his missing the adventure and Oolon's disappearance. Virrginia, Alfonso and Mr Mesmer had attempted to make some alterations to the console while they were waiting to be rescued (something to do with more steam), but the results were not to their satisfaction. Everyone was in a very dour mood.

We had hoped that the Cabinet might have made her own way back to Mayfair once she was a little lighter, but that didn't seem to be the case. We knew that Oolon hadn't taken his transmat bracelet with him, because Alfonso had found it on the workbench in the ETD and we were all very concerned as to how he was going to find his way home. We got a nasty shock when we discovered that the charging apparatus had also vanished from the gardens and Terry began to wonder if Oolon had "left" without her. Virrginia was most worried that he wouldn't be able to feed himself properly wherever he was, but Alfonso pointed out that Oolon's pockets were bigger on the inside and there was always cake to be had (although I do hope he doesn't try to eat any of those moth-eaten old jelly babies he has hanging around in there).

It became clear that there really wasn't anything further we could do, so we decided that we should all go home and try to get a good night's sleep. I have to admit that I'm worried but do you know, I don't think anything truly awful has happened to him. For a start, I think I'd know. And secondly, he promised. He said he wouldn't go off alone again to try and face the darkness and I believe him. However else he might behave at times, his word is something he holds true to, no matter what. It won't stop me from looking for him, but he'll come home. And if he doesn't, I'm going to kill him.

You go and get yourself a nice martini, and I'll let you know as soon as we find anything. And if you find him first, I'd appreciate it if you could send the butterfly back so I can put Terry's mind at rest.

All my love,

Fuschia.

When Worlds Collide

2007-03-27T08:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Virrginia,

I know how you like to come along on our little jaunts, so your presence was very much missed on our last excursion. My, what an odd day that was. It didn't start well, what with the Old Girl throwing a wobbly right off the bat. Oolon insisted that there was a rational explanation for it all, of course (something about time rotors being out of alignment; you're good with cogs, does that make sense to you?), but somehow our poor, dear mode of transport just didn't seem to be in the mood for a day trip.

Still, she had a little joke at our expense for making her come out and play. I don't think we landed when or where Oolon had intended, for he insisted that we were some time in Caledon's future (more green goo as well, which does seem to be becoming a bit of a feature of our forays). If it was the future; time did seem to be behaving very strangely here, as I'm sure you'll appreciate by the time you've finished this letter.

A large sign announced that we were in Nakamura and I have to say that it did look very modernish. There were big blocky buildings, like the ones we saw in Toxia, shiny silver trams that didn't use steam (but still attacked any pedestrian within reach) and giant metal men guarding the train tracks.

I should have realised something was very wrong as soon as we arrived, but I have to admit that I wasn't quite myself. Not long after we ventured from the safety of the Cabinet's control room, my head began to spin and I felt very giddy. I remember asking Oolon about our location, but I don't remember hearing the reply; everything faded from my sight and all I can remember, quite perversely, is a large grey archway hovering over me and Mr Whittlesea's calm and gentle voice in my ear. I am informed that I vanished for quite a few minutes, leading to a hurriedly mounted search and rescue expedition.

Where I went, I don't know, and I'm even more mystified as to how I got back. It wasn't magic, I do know that, because it didn't smell right. I did think for a little while that one of the swirly creatures (you can see it in the blocky building picture) had kidnapped me, but it turned out to be one of Mr Mesmer's devices and he promised he wasn't playing tricks on me. Mind you, he didn't fare so well, either - he turned into a ball of light at one point.

After a brief sit down to collect my thoughts we attempted to use the tram system, which proved to be just as capricious as it's Caledonian cousin. Alfonso, Oolon, Terry and Mr Mesmer managed to get on the silly thing alright, but I slipped and ended up falling between the carriage and the platform. By the time I'd sorted myself out and dusted myself down, the blinking horror had rolled away and I had to trot along behind it as fast as my little legs could carry me.

This place seems to have a disproportionate amount of giant creatures living in the locality. Look at the size of this rabbit! You could feed the entire Caledon army on that beast for months. Just don't tell Em or Miss Paris that I said that.

As I chased after the confounded tram, I emerged from a very scary dark tunnel into this place. Now this is more like some of the kingdoms where I hail from, so I was a little surprised to see it in Caledon's future. It was at this point that I really began to wonder if we were when we thought we were. Still, nice and colourful and the flowers were ginormous.

Alfonso, bless him, came to look for me as soon as he had a chance to get off the nasty shiny tram and he confirmed that things were even stranger than we'd previously thought. Despite once again there being no-one about to talk to, I could sense the presence of living creatures nearby (not the bunny, there was no mistaking him). There were ruins (and goo) but there was definitely something and when I screwed up enough courage and popped over the broken walls, there was Port Seraphine (a regular shopping haunt of mine). But that didn't make much sense; how could we be in Caledon's future but not be at the same time?

Mr Mesmer summoned Alfonso and me at that point to use his swirly thingy (a portal he called it), so that we could rejoin Terry and Oolon, who had continued their explorations elsewhere. It tickled.

Time took another twist on the other side of the whirling door and we appeared to have walked into Nakamura's past (even though you can still see the future blocky building in the background). It was so much more tranquil and green here, but it's presence just added even further to the confusion. I have to say, I think that time is all jumbled up together in Nakamura; not that I'm an expert, but I don't see how else you can have the past, present, future and magical all in the same place at the same time.

I was feeling very weary, so when Oolon suggested a shopping trip around the otherwise very intriguing shops I felt I had to decline (see, told you I wasn't myself). We went back to the place we had left the Cabinet, but she wasn't there. It was almost the last straw, I can tell you, but Oolon insisted I shouldn't worry and the Old Girl did indeed pop back into being a few seconds later. I clambered inside and settled down on the chaise in the Bar (its ever so comfy) and promptly fell asleep. I have no idea when everyone else came back, but I awoke in our tent at the Circus.

And there you have it; as I said, a very odd day. Still, I hope that won't put you off joining us the next time we pop out for a bit. It would be lovely to see you again.

Your friend,

Fuschia.

Track Travels

2007-03-27T01:28:00.000-07:00

The lag storm had left the air clear and bright; perfect for continuing on. The little Wind-Whittlesea Steam Dynamo was soon back under full steam and puffing away happily. As the boiler pressure slowly evened out I checked the ornithopter for damage, but thankfully Miss Tombola had built the little craft nice and sturdy and everything appeared in good order.

Taking to the air once more, I came upon two very modern looking stations in quick succession, but still no sign of rail transportation, or as was becoming usual on the Mainland, people.

A careful hand was required on the crafts controls as the blazing red lettering of privacy wards lurked at the edge of the track.

High up above to my left a more familiar looking balloon hung in the air, while ahead a wheelchair hung above the railway line from a cage. For what purpose, I cannot say…

Passing a spectacular tree house that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Tanglewood I came upon the buffers marking the end of the line and had to pull a sharp roll and turn to narrowly avoid a privacy barrier that had sprung up ahead of me.

From the rail map I knew the track must continue on not far ahead, but how to reach it was the question. I continued West, skirting the privacy field until I hit a raised road and a break in the field that let me continue Northwards.

As the burning bands of the fields vanished along the roadside to my right, I was able to turn back onto my original route just in time to catch the start of the next section of track.

A little way beyond the buffers I caught my first sight of a Mainland train. Although of a wonderfully streamlined and modern design this one appeared to have fallen afoul of some kind of problem as it hovered several feet in the air, it’s engines and wheels churning away at nothing. I landed and attempted to right it, hoping to put some of my days as a circus strongman to good use, but the engine would not budge.

I set off once again, hoping that the rest of the Mainland rail network had not been afflicted by a similar problem. Having come all this way it would be a shame not to be able to ride a Mainland train. Undaunted, I pressed on. If nothing else the rails still proved a good navigation aid.

Thankfully, I was not to be disappointed. There, pulling into the station ahead of me, was a seemingly fully functional Mainland train…

Riding the Rails

2007-03-16T02:26:00.000-07:00

As Fuschia busied herself with needle and thread making a lovely frock for Oolon’s Birthday party, I really thought I ought to get back to my explorations of the Northern Continent. It seemed like so long since I was there and checking back over my journal it had indeed been quite a while.

I tinkered with the Etheric Transfer Bracelet Oolon had been working on in his lab for some time (I think partly so he didn’t have to keep ferrying us backwards and forwards between Caledon and the Mainland) and after a brief dislocation I was back to the spot Oolon had picked us up from several weeks ago.

On our last visit Fuschia and myself had followed a railway line to the “Hobo Hub” in the hope of finding some form of rail transport; however there had been no sign of any functioning trains (other than the tiny one Fuschia had found and the ones under construction at a main terminal we had passed through earlier). Thinking back to the map on the wall of the Prim Mining Platform, this particular section of track was marked with a dotted line…Perhaps it wasn’t fully operational yet?

Operational or not it would prove a good route to follow and should, I hoped, lead to an in-use train line eventually (presuming that was what the solid line on the Prim Mining Platform map indicated).

For this express purpose, I had brought along one of Miss Tombola’s wonderful ornithopters. In no time I had the boiler up to full pressure and steaming and was soon on my way.

It’s amazing how much easier a balloon is to control than a flapping, flying machine. Miss Tombola always makes piloting this device look a breeze as she pirouettes through the skies of Caledon, threading under it’s bridges and around its towers. Sadly I do not quite have her skill, but after a little bit of looping, spinning, rolling and heading in the wrong direction, I soon had the measure of the craft (well almost).

The scenery along the line was astounding and I am letting most of the pictures speak for themselves. This will truly be a spectacular rail journey once the trains are running.

At first things started out quite normally with beautiful windmills and stations awaiting the arrival of the first train.

Things began to get more unusual after passing the sign pictured below (and despite its warnings there was no sign of a missing bridge – although the edges of the sign were quite sharp!).

Next to the sign was a shop selling all manner of wonderful slippers, that I’m sure would appeal to Fuschia and Emilly. Although I’m not sure how comfortable or practical they would be.

As I flapped my way above the rails, I was even more sure Fuschia would enjoy this place as giant mushrooms could be spied between the trees surrounding the cuttings and embankments.

Although she probably would not have been quite so happy to see this creature lurking on the side of the tracks. However, as with many of the Mainland creatures, this one didn’t move or react at all as I swished passed.

From this notice, it appears as if I had just flown through a region called “Imperial”; it may warrant further study by any Caledonian naturalists following in my wake.

As I rounded a blind bend on the track I came upon the sight of a marvellous floating island, water tumbling down from the plateau into a pool then beyond that into a cascade.

And not much further, on giant flowers and plants. No doubt grown to such huge size by the spray of the cascading water from the magical floating island.

A statue and temple-like structure loomed to my left and as I circled for a better look, I caught sight of a lag storm approaching from the East and felt the Ornithopter buck and twist below me as the grid winds increased.

I knew I had to get onto the ground quickly. This looked like it was going to be a bad one. The landing was a little bumpy in the ever worsening conditions and as the sky split with the storm's full fury I dragged myself and the ornithopter into the shelter of a huge obelisk to wait it out…

Pretty in Purple

2007-03-06T14:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Oolon,

Seeing as you've been a bit distracted of late and My Dearest Husband has been getting Snorty ready to make his official re-entrance into society (no more munching on passing humans), I thought I'd take this opportunity to stretch my wings and do a bit of exploring myself. My way, with magic and stuff.

You always said you'd take me to Fuchsia (funny way of spelling it if you ask me, but then what do humans know?), so I thought that might be a good place to start. I studied the maps that Alfonso managed to bring back with him from his jaunts across the mainland and concentrated really, really hard. It takes a lot of concentration to bend things how you want them and I try not to do it to much in case something breaks (and not me, before you think to say it).

Fuchsia seemed very small (even by Pixie standards) until I looked over the edge of the metal pathway and discovered I was a considerable distance up in the air. Forunately Pixies are good with heights (even though our delicate stature might lead you to think otherwise) and I managed to flutter down without too much trouble.

Gosh, it was quiet. Which was very pleasant, don't get me wrong; all those lovely trees and grass and rivers, very calming, very serene. Er, except for the giant cubey things, which I don't really understand; unless its modern art or something, which I know you're not supposed to.

At least they were coloured appropriately for the name of the place, which was nice to see. Not that this was all that was there - oh no! There were some lovely buildings, too, which just confirmed my feelings about this place as a haven of tranquility. I had hoped it would also be a place of play because there was a big notice saying sandbox, but sadly I didn't see any spades or buckets or, rather more importantly, sand. If you need somewhere to go and gather your thoughts though, there was a columned building that was very pretty and the pool was perfect for a quick paddle, which made it a bit more like the seaside even if there wasn't any sand.

And you'll never guess what I found there? Mushrooms, several of them, all nicely positioned overlooking the river in a very comfortable pavillion. They must have known I was coming...

All in all, I think its a bit quiet here for you and your cosmopolitan tastes, but next door looked very nice so I might have a wander over there if I get back this way. I think Alfonso is hoping to get back to the Northern Continent at some point, so could we beg a lift?

Bye bye

Love

Fuschia

Pockets in the Snow

2007-02-28T07:45:00.000-08:00

We were awoken the next morning by a familiar wheezing and groaning noise as Oolon’s Cabinet eased it’s way into our part of the Grid. He quickly beckoned us inside, talking excitedly about somewhere he’d heard about from an old friend that we really should visit. I know we are still supposed to be exploring the Northern Continent, but Oolon has such a way with words and a certain charm about him that it’s difficult to refuse. And it was nice to see him happy and not weighed down by whatever he was fretting about a few weeks ago.

The Cabinet made a slight detour to Steelhead to pick up Terry and Miss Virrginia Tombola and then we were on our way once more.

Miss Tombola seemed slightly concerned by the steam escaping from parts of the Cabinet’s ducting system and the fact that several gauges on the console read zero, but Oolon assured us that there was nothing to worry about.

After one of our smoother landings we were out of the door and into the cold, snowy environment of a lovely little mountainside town. The whole place looked Eastern in style to my untrained eye and I began to wish I’d brought a jacket as a light sprinkling of snow started falling.

We ventured out over a bridge and into a lovely, peaceful Zen garden.

However, after only a few minutes of relaxation, Oolon and Terry dashed off without a word of explanation, leaving Miss Tombola, Fuschia and myself to explore on our own. At least we knew that if we were back to the Cabinet within the two hour time window there shouldn’t be a problem (Oolon had provided Fuschia and myself with keys should we need to let ourselves in).

Fuschia found a set of sculptured snow creatures and one in particular looked an awful lot like our own dear “Nessy” in Port Caledon.

Pressing on up the slope we came upon a marvellously constructed wooden, stone and paper building that although appearing in a good state of repair from a distance had obviously suffered at someone (or something's) hands (or appendages).

The door had been shattered, with parts lying strewn all over the floor. The lack of snow piled onto the scattered wood suggested this was quite recent and I began to get a gnawing, worrying feeling at the back of my head. There appeared to be a hole in the ceiling leading up to higher floors and so using my long reach to clamber up, I was able to pull the ladies up through the hole after me.

As we explored, we began to hear eerie noises. Miss Tombola and myself could hear them clearly but Fuschia couldn’t, which is very unusual; her Pixie senses usually pick up on things like that before human ones. As we wandered backwards and forwards trying to pinpoint the sound, it resolved itself into definite music. The music was being played on the bagpipes, no less.

Thoroughly searching the tower revealed nothing except more snatches of the wailing music. There began to be talk of “ghost pipers” and this being a haunted tower. We were determined to investigate further.

Back outside the tower, Fuschia had found a statue of a “sleepy man”, who she said was obviously well looked after and loved by the people of the town. It certainly did seem very well maintained, and she usually does have a certain empathy with objects, so she is probably right.

It was then we discovered the source of our mysterious piping…a young lady playing the bagpipes in the zen garden. She was a very accomplished musician and, as Miss Tombola remarked, had a talent for making even bagpipes sound melodious and tuneful.

We retraced our steps back into the town to see if we could find where Oolon and Terry had run off to. I was feeling a little uneasy after finding the broken down door and the whole situation here seemed a little “off”, if that makes sense.

Passing a bicycle towed carriage, Fuschia and Miss Tombola soon discovered a few retail outlets and as they rummaged through clothing, I admired the craftwork of the armour and swords on sale. Deciding against a purchase, we crossed a bridge and found ourselves in an area populated by “flat” people. This section of town looked like it had been made to look as if it were fully populated by people on the street, but really they were simply flat wooden constructs. I was beginning to get the uneasy feeling again, when suddenly Oolon and Terry made an appearance.

They were both out of breath and were telling us excitedly of a crashed airship they had found on a mountaintop and the fact it was surrounded by blood and near some kind of hidden mountainside stronghold. Fuschia suggested we should head into a nearby tea house and discuss what was going on, but Oolon had that concerned look again and was off taking readings with one of his devices.

As I followed Oolon, asking him what was happening, we heard a sudden cry of dismay from Miss Tombola. We dashed back to the tea house to discover that not only did the tea house have none of its own tea, but Terry had vanished into thin air. Fuschia started getting worried and said she couldn’t sense Terry anywhere nearby.

A certain darkness seemed to appear in Oolon’s eyes and I could tell that he was worried. We quickly made plans to split up and search for Terry. Oolon seemed to think that she may have been relocated to somewhere else nearby. We only had forty minutes until the Cabinet would snap back to Mayfair on her “aetheric elastic” and it would take a good long while to recharge her for another trip. Just as we were finalising our plans, Terry reappeared right back in the spot where she had vanished from.

She had been somewhere she called “otherspace” (as far as I could make out somewhere outside of the Grid; I think it’s related to Faerie, but it can be difficult to follow Oolon, Terry and even Fuschia when they start talking about things like that). She said it felt as if some force had grabbed her and pulled her there. Oolon quickly suggested we should move on and just as he did, Miss Tombola vanished in a swirl of strange lights.

It looked like my gut reaction to this place was correct; something here was definitely not right. Oolon quickly explained what he thought was going on: The engines of the crashed airship were apparently of an unusual design and could, if damaged in a certain way, be warping the “aetheric space of the Grid”, creating pockets (like deep trouser pockets) that one could fall into.

We had to find Miss Tombola and fast. We only had twenty minutes left before the Cabinet “snapped back”. Oolon said that whatever happened we had to be back on board the “Old Girl” before that time expired or we may end up being stuck and with “aetheric pockets” I got the impression that this wasn’t a good place to be stuck. He said that if time ran out he would remain here to look for Miss Tombola, and the “Old Girl” would get us back to Mayfair itself. This didn’t seem like an entirely sensible plan but before I could argue Fuschia whisked me up into the air with her pixie magic and soon had me gliding about up and down the nearby mountainsides.

We briefly stopped off at the crash site Oolon and Terry had mentioned, but could find no sign of Miss Tombola there.

We whipped over the gardens and tower that we had explored earlier; still no sign.

As we hit a particularly dense layer of cloud I became separated from Fuschia and found myself floating in front of an incredible sight. It appeared to be a huge statue surrounded by all manner of strange buildings and unusual craft. There was definitely more going on in this place than at first appeared.

Before I could explore further, Fuschia pulled me back to her side as we swooped over the main streets of the city and there, on almost exactly the same spot she had vanished from, was Miss Tombola.

We landed and Fuschia dashed up to her and gave her a huge hug. Miss Tombola explained that although from our point of view she had vanished, to her we had vanished.

We only had a few minutes left and we dashed along the streets of the town to find Oolon and Terry nervously waiting by the door of the Cabinet. Oolon’s face lit up as he saw us arrive with Miss Tombola in tow. We still had a minute or two before our time limit expired and Miss Tombola wondered if she had time to check out one or two shoe shops. It has to be said she really is a remarkable young lady and seems to remain almost entirely unflappable regardless of the situation.

Oolon politely pointed out that it might not be a good idea and ushered everyone back inside.

As I stepped through the door of the Cabinet, the world lurched and instead of finding myself in the usual wood panelled interior I found myself on the familiar streets of Caledon Mayfair. Somewhat confused, I began to make my way back to the Sputnik Estate (knowing that the Cabinet should be arriving back there anyway) and no sooner had I taken a step than I was back onboard the Cabinet once more. Oolon was rather apologetic and began talking about the Cabinet’s “aetheric door” being affected by the interference in the area.

As the “Old Girl” swam her way through the ether back to Mayfair, Oolon broke out the sake he had collected somewhere along the way and was soon in discussions with Terry about heading back to the town sometime in the future and “sorting things out”...

Note: Checking the punchpaper readouts from the Cabinet’s console, it looks as if the place we visited is a region called: Silk Waters Mountain and is in the South West of the Southern Continent of the Mainland. It would certainly explain the presence of the strange out of place vehicles and structures surrounding the town. The strange etheric and spatial instabilites may warrant marking this area as a potential hazard on charts of the Mainland.

Instability

2007-02-22T08:58:00.000-08:00

Dear Terry,

I do apologise for not getting this missive into the post promptly but I've been experimenting with the sewing machine for this competition and what with all the exploring on the side, I kept getting distracted.

Where were we: Oh yes, after my rescue from the giant starfish you had to leave us. There are some fantastic statues in Cecropia, but also some rather creepy ones (didn't like them overly much). I wandered ahead of Alfonso and left him to study the freaky things and promptly fell down a hole in the pavement. I really must either get some eyeglasses or have my hearing checked. I'm sure clumsiness isn't a standard Pixie trait, but I do seem to trip over or fall down rather a lot since I arrived here; maybe its the constant battering by these terrible Linden winds?

Anyway, down the hole I found quite a few tunnels and a little train set. It was a bit soggy underfoot, but very intriguing. Why on earth would you put a train set underground? Humans are such funny creatures. Problem was, we didn't get much further because it was past my bed time and then there was the Mardi Gras Ball, which I insisted Alfonso took me back to Caledon for (I wasn't going to miss that after all the work Miss Rothschild had put into it; wasn't it a wonderful evening? And I got to meet Mr Hassanov, he's lovely).

All in all, socialising really put a dent in our exploration time, so after a few days of respite we dutifully headed back to our last location. I do like ballooning; its very peaceful and thankfully has fewer crashes than flying one's self. Almost.

You can imagine my confusion when I discovered that not only was the little train now a different colour, it was also imbued with it's very own powers of flight (and carriages) and someone had blocked up the tunnel in our absence.

There are some very inconsiderate people about, don't you think? Still, there were plenty of other tunnels to explore (yes, I found one of them by falling through another hole in the flagstones; pavement instability seems to be a major hazard of this region of the mainland). But look what we found when we managed to escape from the underground: a big crane with a fun tyre on the end of it. Not sure how useful it actually is, but my darling husband was certainly enjoying himself. It's always good to see him letting his hair down (metaphorically speaking of course).

We had strayed from Cecropia to somewhere known as Calleta, a very odd place indeed. I think it must be home to mad scientists and inventors as well as urchins and hobos, because there were some very funny people about. And some very funny things, but not in a funny way just a scary one. Do people normally keep vats full of eyeballs in their workshops?

There were lots of trains about as well; these seemed incredibly well behaved compared to the Caledon ones and were much brighter. There was a construction yard and a place where all the bits lived (Alfonso tells me its called a depot) and some of the carriages seemed to be lived in, presumably by the hobos.

Did I mention there are lots of hobos here? I thought I recognised the scent of Master Grut as we neared a giant fire and I do recall him mentioning this place, although I had no idea where it was. We didn't see him; no doubt he was off scrounging for gin and chips for Mary (I do hope her cough is getting better).

They were all a jolly nice bunch here and ever so generous. We talked to Miss Tizzy (isn't that a fabulous name? Although she definitely wasn't in one), Miss Wind (no picture of her sadly, Burt discovered the free stewed boot and that was him gone for half an hour), Mr Ferraris and Mr Runo for ages and they were very helpful in enlightening us about this place. Hobo Hub has a certain ring to it, doesn't it? Oh and there was a ghost there, a lady called Miss Smythe eye-eye-eye. Rumour has it that she threw herself off the top of the crane for love, but she seemed a canny enough soul and none of the over-theatrical "woo-ing" you normally get from that brigade.

It was getting late again and the discovery of a steaming bath decided the point as far as I was concerned. I do like a good soak in the bath and despite appearances to the contrary it was clean and very refreshing. We've pitched out tent here in the lee of an empty carriage and we shall continue on our way tomorrow, all being well.

How are the Steelhead Offices progressing? Please keep me up to date and watch out for giant domestic fowl....

Lots of love

Fuschia

The Channel

2007-02-15T05:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir / Madam,

Good news! I can confirm that the passage to the Northern Continent exists and is very easily navigable. It is located in a region on the Northern coast called Purple.

I have also uncovered the source of the Mainland’s unusual “plywood” building material, and have acquired a sample for the scientists back in Caledon to examine. Perhaps they will be able to uncover the secrets that allow the Mainlanders to build their strange floating houses.

I will send further reports as I press on into the Northern Continent.

Your Servant,

Professor Alfonso Avalanche (and Mrs Fuschia Begonia-Avalanche)

We slept until very late the next day. It was nice to be on expedition again, but even nicer that Fuschia was there to share the experience this time. I should have brought her along previously, really…but I wasn’t sure she’d enjoy it.

I’m still a little concerned about Oolon. It’s unusual for him to cut short one of our trips in his Cabinet and he always seemed proud of the fact he could extend her presence in a location up to the full 2 hour time limit that seems to afflict his miraculous device. But last night he was back at the helm of the “Old Girl” and whisking her back to Mayfair within the hour. I do hope he’s alright. He keeps on insisting he’s fine and I’m sure Terry will look after him, or at least get in touch with us if there is trouble.

I tried to put Oolon out of my mind as I looked at the vast stretch of ocean ahead of us. I had intended to ask him if he could drop off the balloon so that we could fly over the channel to the North, but as I opened the crate he’d left I realised something wasn’t quite right.

What he had actually left us with was a rowing boat. Oh well, at least it was suitable for what we were trying to do.

As I was putting it together, Fuschia busied herself making a fine breakfast and getting a few more pictures with her Boxed Brownie, who seemed remarkably subdued and quiet today.

Once fed and watered we set off into the Channel.

The weather was beautiful and the sea calm. I couldn’t see any signs or even feel a breeze from the grid storms that battered the rest of the coastline and the vicious lag storms of the previous evening seemed to have cleared the air, leaving a fresh bright day.

Soon Fuschia was getting all excited and pointing up into the sky. She’d spotted a balloon. The folks on board shouted out a happy greeting and showered us with talk of blessings from the sea. However their attitude soon seemed to change once we said that we were part of a Caledonian Colony on the mainland. Immediately they changed course for our point of origin on the coastline and set off at high speed cackling about the fact that they would raid and pillage our land. So it seemed my fears were correct, the Mainland coast is beset by pirates, both on the sea and in the air. I still felt pretty secure in the knowledge that the colony was at least several days travel by balloon from our current position and they had absolutely no idea where it was.

My arms were beginning to tire when out of the haze appeared a huge shape jutting up through the water. It appeared to be some industrial structure and Fuaschia said that her pixie nose could smell several people on board including, apparently, someone we knew.

One of the platform’s “legs” had a low embarkation area and as we tied the boat up and clambered aboard, Fuschia’s nose was proved to be correct as we were met by Terry!

Apparently Oolon had dropped her off for a little explore on her own and she was as surprised to see us as we were to see her. A bit of investigation revealed the platform to be some kind of high technology mine, anchored to the sea bed. It’s purpose appeared to be the extraction of the “plywood” mainland building material, which it then sent on to the Mainland via a pipeline or vacuum transport system running along the ocean floor. I never even imagined this wood-like material was actually mined. I had assumed it was simply tree wood. Maybe it is actually some mineral related to Cavorite?

As we searched the structure we found several gentlemen dressed in grey garb and wielding mainland weapons (rather similar to the ones Mr Reymont had previously encountered). They didn’t seem to be causing any harm or shooting anyone, so I can only assume they were there to protect the platform from pirates. They obviously did not wish their “plywood supply” to fall into the wrong hands. Fuschia and Terry also discovered an interesting office that seemed to contain some kind of radio and map. The map was marked “SLRR” and the radio kept announcing numbers, speeds, arrivals and departures. It was only after listening for a little while did we work out it was a railway timetable. It appeared as if the map on the wall and the radio were showing / telling us the location of trains on the Northern Continent railway system. Incredible! Maybe the Northern Continent will prove to be more civilised than the Southern one.

Encouraged, we untied our little boat and headed onwards. We were joined on this trip by a Mr Saltair who needed a lift to the Northern Continent. He was one of the Plywood Mine’s protectors and although he seemed pleasant enough, he had a rather “colourful” use of language (so much so that Terry and Fuschia had to put their fingers in their ears for part of the trip). Pointing out that ladies were present did no good and one can only assume that the young man had spent a little too much time around sailors.

As the shoreline of the Northern Continent swam into view, Mr Saltair jumped into the water and paid me for his passage. I insisted it was no trouble but he was soon gone, swimming off into the distance. Some of these mainlanders can be very peculiar.

At last, though, we had made it…the Northern Continent! I felt renewed strength in my arms as I rowed the small boat up onto the rocky shoreline and disembarked onto the beach.

Here we were. The task I had set myself a month ago was complete. I had finally found the Channel between the continents.

No time for pausing and self-congratulation, though, for soon Fuschia and Terry were off exploring. Nearby stood a lovely home, obviously belonging to a keen sailor and nature lover, from the collection of sailing trophies and little cages of insects neatly arranged around the delightful open building.

As Terry and myself were looking at some of the wonderful telescopes and other devices that lay on the beach, we heard a familiar distant cry…Fuschia! Drawing the Webley, we both set off at a run. What had happened? More pirates? Or slavers or torturers? You never know what will be waiting for you on the Mainland. I should never have let her flutter off out of my sight…

We quickly followed the muffled cries and found her trapped under, of all things, a huge starfish! I grabbed a nearby oar and prised her free. Apparently she was exploring, saw it flopping about on the jetty and, being the kind sole that she is, attempted to help it back into the water, upon which act it flailed out at her and trapped her under one of its arms. Thankfully she was safe, if a little winded. The starfish received a swift warning kick from her for its troubles, though.

At this point Terry received an aetheric message through the special bracelet that Oolon had given her and had to go, but Fuschia and I decided to search the coast further…there was a whole new continent to explore and Fuschia was just as keen as I to explore it.

Nearby was a ship that had obviously been captured by the local mainlanders from the pirates and put to a more legitimate use. Below decks was a neatly laid out bar and stage and Fuschia was soon encouraging me to assist her in a duet of one of her favourite Faerie songs to the empty bar.

I was growing tired and as we left the bar night was falling. All that rowing was taking its toll, but Fuschia was unstoppable and her excitement was quite infectious. She dragged me on into a little stand of trees and insisted she could smell magic, and she was right. The sight before us was both eerie and beautiful and without a doubt quite magical.

The creatures didn’t move or respond to us, merely shimmered in the pale moonlight. For some reason the whole scene seemed very serene and peaceful. It felt almost as if we were on sacred ground.

And then she was off again, pulling me along by my hand, the ethereal creatures all but forgotten. Out of the trees, across an open cobbled area….and tumbling down an unseen hole into darkness….

The Long Night

2007-02-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

This entry finds me sitting in a tent on a small, flat plain. All in all, its been a rather trying day.

It started, as these things do, with an informal gathering in the Cabinet. Terry was there, as was my lovely husband and I was delighted to find that Miss V. Tombola had also joined us. We had another visitor, too: Mr O'Toole, who we had last seen at the Valentine's Ball. It was good to see him still in military garb; gentlemen always look very fetching in their regimentals.

Alfonso wanted to explore the safety of the known passage to the Northern Continent, to ensure that our gallant comrades in adventure would not find it populated by pirates and brigands as so much else of the Northern coastline appears to be. Everyone agreed, so we set off into the unknown.

We arrived at a most unprepossessing place. Apparently it is called Purple, despite the lack of any violet inclinations in the decor or statuary. There reside a lighthouse, a tug boat, a train station and some very large buildings of unknown purpose.

Shortly after arriving, we all fell victim to a most peculiar and violent weather phenomenon known as a lag storm. Whilst several of us were pinned to the spot, Miss Tombola and Oolon both blacked out and Mr O'Toole vanished for a considerable amount of time. I should have known that this did not bode well for the rest of our visit, but at the time I attempted to remain stoically optimistic.

It became obvious that although the locals we encountered (a Miss Audina and a Mr Acropolis) were friendly, the buildings were not. At least it would appear that I am not the sole focus of animosity in this region, as neither Mr Mesmer nor Mr O'Toole could gain access to the majority of the edifices. In a display of pique at his continued exclusion, Mr Mesmer (who had appeared most unexpectedly) displayed a talent for biting social commentary I had not hither to thought him capable of. At least he was no longer looking aged and wizened by this point. He's a very odd chap.

Several of the group decided to carry out their own investigations of these buildings, whilst those of us cruelly excluded began a search of those areas we could access. The Lighthouse was most interesting, with a stunning view from the upper chamber. Sadly, there was no sign of the Northern Continent on the horizon.

An attempt was made to start the tug boat that stood beside the lighthouse, but even Miss Tombola's mechanical genius failed to coax the beast into life. It was becoming clear that this part of the mainland was both judgemental and obstreperous and everyone's nerves were becoming a little frayed.

Oolon, Terry, Mr O'Toole and Miss Tombola decided that there was little of interest here and decided to return to Mayfair, leaving only me and my darling strongman to continue our investigation. Hence the tent.

We will continue on tomorrow by balloon to the structure that Alfonso believes lies in the centre of the channel (we had hoped to cajole a lift from Oolon, but he had apparently lost all interest in the venture) and then on to the Northern Continent. Let us pray that there is more there of note and less prejudice against certain members of our community.

Giant Robot Rampage Fear Grips City

2007-02-11T08:45:00.000-08:00

Clipping from New York Times forwarded to Mr Oolon Sputnik by Professor Alfonso Avalanche:

Giant Robot Rampage Fear Grips City

The streets of New York City stand deserted today as sightings of a giant mechanical man have led the mayor to enforce a city-wide evacuation.

The call was made yesterday evening by the NYC police department responding to reports of citizens leaping from the top of the Empire State Building. However, before the police could intervene, the “Giant Robot” and the several gentlemen accompanying it made their escape into the city’s subway system.

Although only minor damage was caused to the sidewalk and roadway, the matter of large creatures within city limits is taken very seriously in NYC after the passing of the Kong Act nearly a decade ago.

The following four gentlemen are sought in connection with the incident and are alleged to have secretly smuggled the automata into the city inside the ornate crate visible in the background of this picture.

Citizens are warned not to approach these gentlemen as they are believed to be dangerous and possibly deranged. Any sightings are to be reported directly to the police.

Ghost Town

2007-02-07T23:34:00.000-08:00

Oh Em,

What are we going to do? I know you think I shouldn't pay him any mind because he can be a proper misery at times and if that was all he was doing, I'd be forced to agree with you. But he's being too nice and on three or four separate occassions within the space of two hours was heard discussing the relative merits of women's fashion and commenting on the exquisiteness of ringlets! It's just not right, I tell you. He didn't do that when you travelled with him, did he?

I knew a bloke called Jackson once; stalwart and calm under pressure, never failing to keep a firm hand on the rudder and all that. When he started to panic, you knew things were bad, really bad. So you can imagine how I felt when Terry started to openly worry, seeing as she's always been a bit of a Jackson figure to me (and even Alfonso is now beginning to believe me that something funny is going on).

We went to visit Steelhead this afternoon. I had written to Miss Projects, a lovely lady Oolon has invited over to the Cabinet for tea on several occassions, to ensure that our presence would not be offensive to the residents (some places get very sniffy about us non-humans), and she assured me that we would be most welcome. I had heard about Steelhead from other residents of Caledon such as Mr Pearse, as was interested to see it for myself, as well as it providing a pleasant distraction from my concerns.

As usual, we assembled at the Mayfair estate and made ready for the off. Miss Rothschild and Miss Tamala Tombola sent there apologies, but Mr Mesmer (who never seems far away these days) and our dear Mr Chaplin did grace us with their presence. Oolon actually looked slightly more relaxed than he had been in several days, due in no small part, I am sure, to the presence of my darling husband, but later on (after we had entered the ETD) the look returned; far away, preoccupied.

Everyone agreed that Steelhead sounded like the perfect destination and we sallied forth (I think I spent too much time talking to Mr Burleigh and Mr Somme at the opening of New Babbage; very military). There was the usual small talk, meaningless chit-chat that humans seem to find so very comforting and necessary. The Old Girl seemed quite content and everyone was being very nice about her, so I suppose that flattery works even with her.

Our arrival in Stealhead was without incident. My, everything is so large there! I imagine it was all pretty huge to my normally sized associates, but think how tiny I felt, surounded by these monuments of architectural engineering. But it was quiet, so ominously quiet; not a bird song, not another living soul. Were we truly in Stealhead, or somewhere that merely looked a great deal like it?

Wherever we were, there was a great deal to marvel at. The hotel contained an extravagent ballroom that would be magnificent for the Caledonian social season, but it was just as deserted as everywhere else. Alfonso spotted smoke on the horizon and we decided that we should investigate, in case someone was in distress. And then you'll never guess who we bumped into? Miss Virrginia Tombola, who happened to be visiting as well. It was good to see a familiar face in this ghost town.

It was only after we arrived at the docks and found the charming little paddle steamer that I noticed we were two people short. Terry and Oolon were not with us; they didn't get to see Mr Chaplin's fine new wardrobe or take part in the enlightening discussion of the virtues of steam in waterborne vessels. Mind you, neither did I. I like steam, its warm and impressive and some of the creations it ends up in are almost alive; it gives them character and personality. But I don't need to know how it works. And there were mushrooms to sit on, and a pixie can't resist those sorts of opportunities for long.

I wanted to go back and see what had happened to Terry and Oolon, but there was so much to see. There was a magnificent steam train (which my dear Alfonso decided to play with and pushed some buttons that he really probably shouldn't have, hence all the steam on the plate). It rained for a little while we were inspecting the engine, something I have become unaccustomed to since leaving Faerie, but Mr Chaplin was as prepared as ever and sheltered me with his umbrella. The Brownie was most pleased, as he was struggling by this point with all the added atmospheric moisture (bad for the paint, apparently).

And there was a gallery of some sort, wherein my husband found yet another toy to play with. As I'm sure you can imagine, it was rather embaressing later on in the visit when we met the gentle lady who had built both the train and rororororory (planet whizzy thing with too many syllables in it) and had to explain that we hadn't broken her inventions and, despite his bulk, hadn't even bent them a little. Thank goodness Miss Tombola was with us to ensure the structural integrity, so we could do it with a straight face. Alfonso actually thinks this would make a good ride for the circus.

At the very top of the gallery was a massive clock; the cogs and gears were fearsome, grinding and rolling relentlessly, beating out the march of time. Mr Chaplin was enthralled and watching him, in amongst the cogs, in his element, it was like watching Oolon with the Old Girl; gentleness, respect, understanding and more than anything else, love.

I couldn't bear it any longer; I had to know what the pair of them were up to, so I made my apologies and flew back to the Cabinet. They were exactly where we'd left them. Now sometimes, as you know from your own experience, Oolon will stay with her if she's being temperamental, but she wasn't. And from the look on Terry's face, there was much more to it than that. Not that I got to grill her about it, because that was when the highly talented Miss Hilra arrived.

Now Miss Hilra is a very clever lady - she not only built the steam engine and the whirling sculpture but also that monumental clock. Mr Chaplin was positively enthralled when he met her and the two of them chatted away for ages, discussing the ins and outs of clockwork mechanisms like old friends. She showed us several of her inventions, all delightfully crafted.

In the midst of this, Terry wandered off (to do some shopping as it turned out) with Oolon not that far behind. It took me an awfully long time to find them again, but Terry seemed to be behaving quite normally and was investigating the dress sense of the West with gusto. I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so I stuck to Oolon like glue. At one point a lady rushed past and Oolon swore he'd seen the Lady Sen. I didn't get a close enough look to see if it was or not, but there was something about the way he said it that sent a cold shudder right through me. Do you know, he asked me if I was his new shadow; I stuck out my chin and said yes and that if he didn't like it, tough. I know I wasn't being very polite, but a pixie has to do what a pixie has to do (if she thinks its right).

There were several interesting vehicles on display during our visit. Miss Hilra brought a strange article along for us to inspect (something Oolon referred to as belonging to a D Lawrian, which both of them found highly amusing but I'm afraid I missed the joke again). And then there was Miss Tombola's ornithopter.

And there were metal men, too (not naughty ones like Mr Sabre, though). Big ones, bright and shiny and full of energy even though they never moved a muscle. But Oolon was distracted and seemed keen to leave, even though we weren't due to for a good while longer. Mind you, I later learnt from Miss Projects that gigantic domestic poultry destroyed at least one rural building shortly after we left with nothing but their beaks, so perhaps it was for the best.

Now we knew that Miss Tombola (the other one) was opening her new tavern that very same evening and intially I thought that perhaps Oolon was merely determined that we should be there for the first toast. But as he ushered us out of the Cabinet and back to Mayfair, I felt an urge to make him go out before me; we're not clairvoyant as a general rule, us pixies, but every now and again you just know. I couldn't muster the nerve to do it, more fool me, and I dutifully trouped out on my merry way.

I could have sworn I heard the Old Girl kick into life as I stepped through, but it was too late; he'd shut the door and I couldn't get back in. The longer we waited for him to appear, the more everyone became concerned and I suddenly realised that I may never see him again. When he did appear I shouted at him, which was very wrong of me, and he got very annoyed (quite rightly so) and stalked off.

I went inside to be with my friends but I don't mind admitting I wasn't in much of a party mood (a bad place for pixies to be). It was lovely to see Mr Smashcan and Mr Wormser again though, and to make the acquaintance of Miss Chernov at last. Terry was entertaining them with tales of our latest venture and Alfonso was helping himself to a stiff pint or two (so he was worried, too). Mr Chaplin had very kindly offered his services on the bar, but sadly was obliged to return to Toxia soon after.

Oolon came back after a little while and I went and apologised to him. I hate it when anyone is upset and I wanted us to be friends again, but I was a little scared he would still be angry with me. He looked grey and drawn, so I sat down next to him and patted his knee; silly really, but he looked like he needed it. He told me, in a very hushed voice, how he had nearly left us this evening but that he couldn't go, no matter what the outcome. We talked, and although I still have no idea what is wrong, he's here and we will find a way to look after him. He isn't alone, no matter what he thinks.

We found Alfonso asleep under the console when we got back to the Cabinet. I'll swear that man could sleep on a log; must come from being of circus stock.

Oh yes, I did wash my feet, thank you for asking.

Your affectionate friend,

Fuschia

Knowledge Port and the Pirates

2007-02-06T05:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir/Madam,

I regret to inform you that several issues have arisen back at the Colony and Caledon that require my immediate attention. To that end I find it necessary to cut short my advancement Eastwards along the Northern Coast. However, I am happy to report at least partial success as I have located a safe passage between the Southern and Northern Continent, as detailed below. I am still intending to confirm this passage with the assistance of Mr Sputnik at his earliest convenience, but feel it would be useful sharing this location with my fellow explorers in the hope it will save them from having to brave the threat of slavery, torture and piracy that I have discovered in the North East of the Southern Continent.

A safe channel between the continents seems to exist around the coordinates: ANWR 97, 158 , 22

I must apologise once more for the curtailment of my explorations, however I am sure that you understand that the safety of my family and friends must take priority over this endeavour.

Your Faithful Servant,

Professor Alfonso Avalanche

As I readied the balloon the next morning I felt the unnerving feeling of being watched. As I turned towards the huge statue I saw a figure perched atop its head, silhouetted in the morning sun. I reached for my camera to get a picture, but far too quickly the figure was gone. I lifted the balloon off and made one more check of the base of the statue, searching for any names or description of the construction, but still found none. The balloon obediently wheeled North Eastwards following the coast and I headed onwards.

More of the usual Mainland buildings drifted by, including several more “Privacy Barriers”. I even found a gentleman standing alone inside one of these fields; obviously in the process of construction as the base plywood structure so common in Mainland architecture was still on display. I called out a greeting, but he did not respond. I suspect the “Privacy Barriers” may act to filter out unwanted sound as well as unwanted visitors.

Rounding the curve of the coast I came upon a marvellous ship obviously of advanced Mainland construction. The opportunity to study a seagoing marvel such as this was more than I could resist and seeing Mainland engineering up close would no doubt prove invaluable information to the ship builders of Caledon.

Landing beside a man-made waterfall, I surveyed the best way onto the vessel. Floating not several metres away was a cube marked “Info”. Maybe this would help. As soon as I touched it, I was informed that this area was rented out for the next 9 days. I presume it meant the ship. Obviously this craft was available on some kind of rental agreement. No matter how often I touched it, the cube would explain no more about the craft. I hailed the deck for permission to come aboard, but receiving no reply I scrambled up over it's side.

At one end of the deck stood two beautiful glass doors. Looking inside I found a cabin outfitted with much strange technology which sadly I could not operate. The doors within were equally well decorated with carvings of dolphins. These led to further cabins and corridors and steps leading upwards to higher lookout decks. To the far side of the ship stood a jetty, what appeared to be a little park and Mainland shopping structures. I checked the other end of the ship with similar results, except the lookout deck on this side bore a large target with an “H” shaped symbol in its centre. Maybe it was a navigational marker or something to allow for quick identification from the air, or maybe it was as it appeared to be, a practice target marker.

There was no sign of access to engineering decks or to the mechanisms of the ship. In fact I had seen no sign of any methods of steering or navigating the craft. Maybe it was another of the Mainland conventions of things not being what they appear. Although looking like a ship, this vessel did not seem capable of going anywhere.

Perplexed by the “fake” ship, I decided to investigate the neighbouring park. The retail buildings I passed proved interesting. Here and there were signs of Caledon-like civilisation: tea sets, a red telephony box (similar to the one in Mayfair), picnic baskets, brooms, scrubbing brushes and butter churns, but all mixed in with the peculiar incomprehensible artefacts of the mainland.

Looking in the nearby buildings I found something even more familiar to me: A bar! Again, the place was empty and I was about to rap on the counter when I noticed something stuck to the bar top – a price tag. This wasn’t just a bar…it was a shop that sold bars. How disappointing and intriguing at the same time. I was briefly tempted, but then the practicalities of transporting a full size bar on the rest of my exploration struck me. No, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea...

The park area was arranged to give the appearance of a natural lake, despite being suspended over the ocean. The water had also been given the appearance of being frozen despite its salt water content. Perhaps this was just to create a wintry feel? Standing fishing in this artificial lake were two very friendly gentlemen by the names of Mr Rune Schlag and Mr Adaquine Priestman. Another gentleman sat on a bench nearby, by the looks of it in the midst of playing a banjo, however he never moved or spoke the entire time I was there. Mr Adaquine explained that this was a lovely relaxing fishing spot and he was catching more than a usual amount of “Boney Fish”. A small shack stood nearby where bait and fishing equipment could be purchased and signs declared the champion fisherman in the area. Apparently each fish was worth points (depending on its size and type) which could be traded for prizes. As I chatted to Mr Priestman and Mr Schlag, two more fishermen emerged from a hole in the “ice” and sat themselves on an island in the middle of the lake. They had forms even more outlandish than those of the usual Mainlander so I have taken a plate that may prove interesting to Caledonian anthropologists.

I didn’t want to stay chatting too long in case I disturbed the fish, so I headed back to the balloon and plotted a path onwards.

Little did I realise that the next two buildings to appear along the coastline would create such a mixture of emotion within me.

The first of these was built incredibly beautifully and this is the main reason I stopped to explore the place further.

The structure appeared to be an interactive dictionary, encyclopaedia and park all rolled into one. On the walls were words, touching the words gave information on the meaning. As I wandered further I found more words and more meanings and finally a central office that held the promise of even more information.

This office contained two maps, 0ne showing my current location (a place called Knowledge Foundry and Knowledge Point) and one showing locations further up the coast. This second map indicated two further libraries, one dealing specifically with Mainland construction (Knowledge Port) and the other with exploration (Knowledge Park).

This was incredible! It appeared that I had stumbled across the location of the great libraries of the Mainland. I had to continue further along the coast immediately and seek out these places. Buoyed up by both excitement and warm air I continued onwards venting as much of the balloon’s burner to propulsion as I dared. I should have realised such thoughts were about to lead to a fall.

As Knowledge Point dropped behind me an even larger, more spectacular structure loomed ahead of me. “Another library?” I wondered to myself. I reduced the burner and carefully brought the balloon in to land. I positively leapt from the basket and only barely remembered to secure the balloon before I dashed off to see what delights lay within.

I made good my escape just as quickly when I discovered what did!

I still find it difficult to write what I found even now, and I’m afraid I was a little too overcome at the time to record any photographic plates. The building appeared to be some kind of giant torture chamber! The entire upper dome of the structure was filled with all kind of fiendish equipment ranging from ancient wooden contraptions all the way up to those featuring what looked like Tesla coils and Jacob’s Ladders. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen…and so close to an obvious Mainland centre of learning (and, as I discovered as I drifted away from the malevolent structure, so close to an area obviously designed for children).

How could the Mainlanders put up with such things? Was the Mainland truly as barbaric as we had heard? First hints of slavery now evidence of torture? For the first time on my journey I almost considered returning to Penan, packing up the colony and being done with the Mainland forever. Then I realised that the reason we were here was as much to teach the Mainland the ways of Caledon as to teach Caledon of the ways of the Mainland. We were here to help educate the locals to the fact that such practices were wrong. It was going to be a difficult task, but we had to press on with it, no matter what our personal feelings were.

My anger and sadness however only deepened as I swept in over the jetties of Knowledge Port for there, it’s guns holding full range across all approaches, stood a fully rigged ship flying the familiar skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger. It appeared that pirates had taken the Port and the bright hopes I had of the Mainland had taken a further step into the darkness…

Despite everything, I was not going to let a bunch of pirates keep me from the valuable information that may be found at Knowledge Port. Keeping low to the ocean I slipped the balloon onto the shore just short of the Port and awaited nightfall. I kept a close eye on the docks, but saw very little movement during the afternoon and evening. I suddenly realised that piracy, torture and slavery may well account for the low numbers of Mainlanders I had encountered on the coast all this time.

As dusk approached, I dashed from my hiding place, the Webley in my hand but concealed in my jacket. I made it across the jetty and onto a wide open area without being spotted. Hanging in the air in front of me stood a series of what looked for all the world like magic mirrors, their surfaces flowing and moving in the air like mercury. I reached out to touch one and suddenly found myself presented with a map marked with a red dot and an offer of an aetheric transport to its location – the Mainland Governor’s mansion. Incredible! I tried another, a different map, a different dot - a place called “Help Island”, by the looks of it just a little way up the coast. No wonder the pirates had taken this place: In a similar fashion to the “Stargates” Mr Buchanan had discovered, these mirrors appeared to offer transportation all over the mainland, maybe even the entire grid. The only disadvantage with this means of transportation was the stark warning nearby that once entered there was no way back.

I checked that there was still no one about and moved on touching mirrors and receiving many, many more maps, until….exactly what I was looking for! A map showing a passage between the continents.

As I reached out to touch another I felt a delicate touch on the back of my hand. A tiny quivering butterfly had dropped from the sky and as soon as it landed I knew that something was amiss.

Fuschia seems to have an odd connection to her little messengers and usually the little things flitter in gaily carrying their tiny magical parcels (that unfold into full packages of letters and notes – I did ask her once exactly how they managed it, but she just giggled and said it was because they were butterflies, and would offer no more explanation). But this one looked exhausted. It’s tiny body vibrated and twitched, it had obviously been flying as fast as it’s little wings could carry it and I just knew this wasn’t a good sign.

I cupped the little creature gently in my hands as I raced low and fast back to the safety of the balloon. I propped myself against the side of the basket, panting for breath and eased the tiny courier off onto a sandbag where the little creature wove it’s magic and presented me with a letter and series of pictures from Fuschia.

As I read the last few lines I realised that my journey East was at an end. For now, at least, I was heading back to the Colony, Caledon and home.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen

2007-02-05T23:50:00.000-08:00

My Dearest Alfonso,

I am deeply worried about Oolon. For the first time last night he looked so very, very old; I mean, I know that he is, but he really looked it and that bothers me. And there was that terrible sadness in his eyes; it nearly broke my heart to see it. And as for Mr Mesmer, I still don't know what to make of him; by turns both funny and charming and then some dark harbinger of doom.
Sorry, I'm supposed to ask how you are first, aren't I? This letter writing is such a complicated business. And I suppose I should explain about what happened, too. Its been such a strange day, all in all.

I was in Mayfair, chatting to Miss Paris about her lovely watercolour studies with Mr Smashcan and a lady whose name I clean forget (told you it was a long, hard day; I'm usually very good with names), when Mr Mesmer arrived. Its beginning to feel like he's shadowing our footsteps, a sensation that was only confirmed later. As we were chatting, Terry appeared, dressed very nattily in a suit she had acquired from Mr Whittlesea's Emporium in Victoria. We made small talk, as you do, and all was going swimmingly.

Oolon has been keeping a bit of a low profile lately because of all the trouble with the Old Girl, so I was very pleased to hear from him. Everything seemed to be working fine and he proposed another jaunt. Miss Paris declined the invitation, but Mr Smashcan and Mr Mesmer both agreed to come along. We also wired the Governor to see if he would like to come, but the poor man is so busy with business matters that he couldn't at such short notice. Still, hopefully in the future he may join us (wouldn't that be something!).

The Cabinet was standing ready for us, and after a few minor packing issues, we entered and set off. No cowbells this time, which is always a comfort. Oolon asked if anyone had any particular requests as to where they would like to go, but everyone seemed quite content to leave it to fate. My only request was that it be somewhere nice and sunny, after the darkness of our last jaunt.

Even then, there was a sense of something in the atmosphere, something prickling behind my eyes, like a tickle you can't put your finger on. Oolon began to tut again and said that he was receiving a distress signal from something called a Frogstar that was somewhere it shouldn't be. I have no idea what a Frogstar is, other than possibly some sort of boat, but Mr Mesmer tried to alleviate the air of uncertainty by performing transmogrifications upon himself.

Oolon, being the kindly soul he is, decided that we must deviate from our course to ensure that whoever had sent the distress call was still in one piece. I still had this sense of unease, but he was right - you can't leave someone to struggle on alone. If only he would take his own advice...

The Cabinet was brought in for a safe landing and Oolon went out to check to see if everything was safe for us to proceed. He called Terry out first and gave her a quick briefing before encouraging us to join him in this new location.

Yes, well, you can imagine how comforting that sort of a notice is, especially after our visit to Toxia. And the fact that we could hear strange voices singing discomforting songs from somewhere above us really wasn't helping matters either. And the heat - it hit you like a physical blow; dense, suffocating, parched and seething.

Terry was in charge (that's what Oolon had been talking to her about) and I was highly relieved. I didn't want to be in charge again so soon, and she's very good at this sort of thing, as you know my love. There appeared to be some sort of ladder leading upwards towards the caterwauling, which we promptly marched towards and climbed.

On reaching the top of the ladders, it became clear that the Old Girl had taken my wish for sunshine just a little too literally. It was everywhere, hard and brittle, piercing the eyes and mind. And there were lots of people gathered near by, thankfully not all of them singing. Oolon thought it would be a good idea to ask them if they knew of any downed vessels in the locale.

We had apparently stumbled into a place called The Wasteland. They were a pretty mixed bunch living there, I can tell you. There was a mechanical man called Mr Elytis, a half mechanical bunny lady called Miss Oki, another lady called Miss Serapis (who wanted to tell Oolon's fortune, which is rather worrying with hindsight), a strapping young gentleman called Mr Campbell and a bizarre creature called Mr Jimador, who turned out to be about 170 years dead and a ghoul with a penchant for little ditties.

I think I must have fainted around this time, because everything went black for a few minutes and I have no recollection about what happened during that time. I presume it was an effect of the intense heat (perhaps grey wool wasn't the best choice for such a climate), but when I regained my senses, Mr Jimador kept mumbling about radiation poisoning, whatever that is. I can surmise that Oolon had been questioning the locals as to the whereabouts of his missing craft, but with little success.

The locals weren't unfriendly, although they did seem to think that we were all escaped lunatics because Mr Smashcan told them we hailed from 1897 and they seemd to think that they were in the far future after some devastating war. The Cabinet doesn't just seem to take us where, y'know Alfonso, it also appears to have developed a habit of taking us when.

Quite a crowd was gathering by now, which only made me nervous, and a particularly green gentleman called Spoonhammer began to demand books with menaces. Poor Oolon, it must have been just like being back in New Babbage being menaced by those unruly urchins all over again. Mr Smashcan introduced a unique conversational gambit Oolon and Terry called "paradox" by insisting that he had met some relative of Mr Spoonhammer who looked an awful lot like him. I have the impression that "paradox" is about as good as "tourist" in Terry's vocabulary.

Thanks to Mr Drinkwater's valiant efforts, many of my companions had books with them, which they freely distributed to the crowds with the effect of making the atmosphere even more riotous. Mr Elytis sadly pointed out that although books were desirous objects, few could actually read them (which is why Oolon's copy of Alice in Wonderland seemed to go down so well: pictures!). Mr Spoonhammer got so overexcited that he jumped into what appeared to be the equivalent of that devilish steam trolley and promptly attempted to run several people over (a mechanised horse and carriage, it would seem, akin to Mr Vandeverre's bicyclette).

After another brief discussion, Terry and Oolon insisted that we leave the gathering and continue our search for the distress signal. We wandered about this blasted wilderness, looking in vane for signs of a ship, but I couldn't see any sails anywhere, only big cravasses full of green goo. We did find a bar for Mr Smashcan, but the service was sadly lacking and the barkeep no Mr Chaplin.

Eventually we came to a shack, wherein sat a grizzled old man called Mr Dean. He didn't respond to our enquiries and indeed seemed to have lost all will and reason. Oolon made up for it though by getting all over excited by the article that Mr Mesmer was playing with. Allegedly it is some sort of gramophone, but nothing like the lovely one you built for me. Still music of a sort did issue from it after Mr Mesmer pushed a few buttons, which seemed to suit the Brownie so I have no doubt as to its debased nature.

After scratching his head a bit, Oolon decided that this was the source of our distress signal, which perplexed me greatly. There was talk of cannabalism (so do mechanicals eat other mechanicals?) and a lot of muttering. Everyone seemed very disappointed and I can't say that I blamed them.

Fortunately, Mr Elytis had been keeping an eye on us and announced that there was another downed ship in the vacinity, located near an old church. Oolon and Terry pressed him to lead us there, which he promptly did.

For all the sun, this place reminded me a great deal of Toxia; the struggle to cling to life was palpable in the very air we breathed.

This church was in a terrible state. The roof was gone and most of the internal structure had rotted away, leaving only metal gantries and ladders that the locals must have inserted. It was very precarious and I slipped and fell again. Fortunately my wings saved me and I only got my toes wet with green goo, but Oolon got very distressed and made me take the boots off and throw them away, refusing to explain why but promising to buy me new ones when we got home. Mr Smashcan insisted on investigating the goo further in his marvellous protective clothing.

There was this big thing called a "missile" poking through the roof, which had everyone very concerned and Oolon insisted that I didn't go near it. I didn't know what one of them was, but Mr Jimador explained later that it wasn't a good thing and that had we touched it, we would all have gone bang. Therefore it must contain some sort of explosive charge, like your cannon, only more so.

There was also some sort of box on the wall, that had a label on it clearly marked "Forbidden Knowledge". Even pixies know about that sort of dire warning, but it didn't stop Mr Mesmer, Mr Smashcan and Terry from poking at it and trying to get it open. Oolon thought it might be an escape pod (it might have been the sun, but he did seem to be speaking more gibberish today than usual). Fortunately, its mechanisms were all jammed and it wouldn't open.

Time was running short again, so Oolon hussled us away and back to our landing site, but not before commenting on the lack of retail opportunity in the area. Now you can begin to understand quite why I am so concerned about him; first he expresses a desire to go shoe shopping and then he complains when there is nowhere to do so!

Oolon insisted that I have the Brownie take one last plate for posterity and we trundled back into the ETD to go home. Mr Smashcan asked that he be dropped at New Babbage and while we were in transit something very odd began to happen to Mr Mesmer.

This was only the first manifestation; the second was brightly coloured and painful on the eyes and the Brownie refused point blank to capture the moment. I'll swear he was shaking with fear. Oolon began to question Mr Mesmer closely and I began to get that sinking feeling of dread that makes you feel all hot and cold at the same time, thoroughly and painfully aware of every hair on your scalp and somehow greasy.

And then there was mention of a prophecy from the Lady Sen (a beautiful, ethereal creature I met once in the Cabinet), or at the least something that sounded very like one: Something was coming. I felt a chill run through me and a sickness in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with too much sun. I don't like prophecies and I don't trust them. Terry tried to reassure me that the only ones worth paying any attention to were the good ones, but being born of myth and legend means that I know all too well that even the best are a double-edged sword; they all carry a price.

Mr Mesmer bid us goodnight then, as if nothing untoward had happened, but I could see that Oolon was shaken and although she did her best to hide it, so was Terry. Oolon refused to anwer any of my questions, just gave me a little kiss on the top of my head. You know me, that sort of thing usually drives me mad if anyone else does it, but you and Oolon are different; its normally quite comforting, but now it just made me even more afraid. He's trying to protect us from something, I know he is, the dear sweet silly man. I can't bear being helpless, my darling, but that's what I am right now, helpless and useless.

Terry said I could spend the night in her room; I didn't want to go home and be alone - it would only give me time to think and I didn't feel brave enough for that. How are you on your travels? You will be careful won't you? I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you or Oolon or Terry.

I have to go, I need to get my head straightened out so that Oolon doesn't know how worried I am. Please come home soon, my love, I miss you.

Your little Fuschia

Mean Streets

2007-02-02T08:52:00.000-08:00

Dear Governor.

Travel is meant to broaden the mind. I think my travels are broadening my vocabulary; I learnt a lot of new words last night, but Oolon says I'm not to repeat any of them in polite or civilised company. So broadening but probably not improving, all things considered.

I was tidying up at the Colony when Terry came to say hello. I now know properly what she is: a Metamorphose, a Shapeshifter. She had enjoyed herself on the Isle of Wyrms so much that she had taught herself how to mimic the appearance of a real dragon. I was very impressed, I can tell you.

We decided that we ought to go an visit Oolon and show him how clever Terry was, so we popped in to Mayfair and found Oolon and Mr Mesmer having another chat and comparing steam powered flying devices. Mr Mesmer looked like he had a musical instrument strapped to his back and I get the feeling that there was a little bit of one upmanship going on. Mr Mesmer upset Oolon the other night when we were taking the air in Victoria, and I really wasn't sure quite what to make of him.

As we were chatting, Mr Desade dropped by. It's been ages since I'd seen him. He didn't have his lovely dogs with him, but he was as smart and charming as ever. Seeing as a crowd was gathering, Oolon suggested that the time was ripe for another jaunt in the ETD. I was quite pleased about this as I'd promised Mr Chaplin (a lovely mechanical man who bought one of Alfonso's gramophones) that I'd visit his hostelry and I knew it was a long way away. I also knew that he was very keen to make the aquaintance of as many other mechanicals as possible, so I asked Oolon if we could invite Miss Rothschild. Mr Chaplin is very sweet but quite melancholic at times; he has fallen terribly in love with a mechanical lady, but there are dreadful complications. And she's such a pretty thing too.

Oops, digressing again, sorry. Emilly sometimes tells me off for that, so I'd better behave. Miss Rothschild said that she would love to accompany us and we dutifully assembled in the ETD's
control room. Oolon asked me where Mr Chaplin's bar was, so I told him. A strange hush fell on the room and I could tell from the look on Oolon's face that he was just a little bit surprised. Honestly, how was I supposed to know that Toxia was such a dangerous place?

Oolon wasn't sure this was such a good idea, but I'd promised so I felt forced to insist (well, threatened to cry, but it pretty much works out the same way). After a brief discussion, it was decided that those who could should arm themselves against brigands and the like, so I took out the big pistol that Oolon gave me not long after we first met. Mr Mesmer armed himself with his trusty cane and Miss Rothschild considered making use of her natty new appendages.

Our confidence bolstered by our armourment, Oolon finally agreed to take us to Toxia. And that's about when it all started to go wrong again. I know I've mentioned that it isn't a good sign if the big bell starts clonking; well, its started clonking and I began to wonder if the Old Girl didn't want us to go either. I'm sure she had our best interests at heart, but she may just have been throwing a strop (its quite difficult to tell sometimes).

Thanks to some very skilful piloting, Oolon brought her in for a safe landing but declared (perhaps a little too coveniently) that he would have to stay and fix her up and that I should lead the expedition! I was ever so, well, flabbergasted to be quite honest. I mean, I suppose he was right as it was my friend we were going to visit, but I've never lead anything before and I was sure that Mr Desade or Mr Mesmer would have suited the role better. But Oolon insisted that I could do it and I don't like letting him down so I straightened by bathing suit, stuck out my chin and stepped out into the unknown (bathing suits are terribly comfortable for travelling in).

We found ourselves standing on a dock before a large building (later identified for us by Mr Chaplin as the Information Centre) in a hushed and foreboding half-light. As we alighted from the Cabinet, we all found a mysterious message had been somehow thrust into our hands, detailing the modes and methods of behaviour in this land. Mr Chaplin had given me directions to find the hostelry, but seeing as we didn't know what to expect here I thought it best if I scouted ahead, then came back to fetch everyone once I'd identified safe passage.

Problem was, I wasn't feeling too grand by this point. My sense of direction was all higgeldy piggedly and my wings felt as if they had been weighted down; it was all I could do to make may way through the dark, brooding streets. Three feet left of centre is about the best I can describe it, if you know what I mean.

I wandered around, lost and confused and more than a little afraid. I had people relying on me; that's an awful lot of responsibility for a little pixie and I was feeling a little bit lonely and very daunted. It really put it in perspective about what you do up there in your pretty mansion, Mr Shang.

They like big buildings here, ones that disappear into the mists. And I found a big ramp that lead into a big room with thrones and cages. I decided not to investigate further because the cages made me nervous (and the big throne looked like a big fat spider). Mr Mesmer later pointed out that it is never wise to enter a strange building without permission and especially not one in a town with a dark reputation. That was when I began to think he probably wasn't all that bad.

I decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour and wandered out into the streets again. I could hear voices, strange ethereal cries on the ever strengthening Linden winds, but never set eyes on a living thing. I was , however, greatly heartened by the sight of a table set out for tea, as if it were part of a street cafe. How can a place be truly uncivilised if they have the forethought to provide a picnic table?

Still not being able to find the hostelry, I headed back to the docks where my companions awaited me. We decided that more eyes would be useful in hunting the place down and all set off together. I was sorely tempted to use the pretty bracelet and have Oolon take us home, but a promise is a promise.

More eyes had about as much luck as one pair and I began to despair of us ever finding Mr Chaplin. But Mr Chaplin is a thoughtful soul and had heard of the presence of strangers in his town. Surmising that this must be his acquaintances from Caledon (where he has often said he would like to retire) he had sent out a guardian angel to find us and escort us to safety.

Miss Mangala (very pretty wings, don't you think?) is in fact a member of a gang known as the Righteous Angels who work to protect Toxia from nasty horrible monsters. She's a very good angel; I don't think we would have ever found the hostelry if she hadn't come and rescued us, despite Mr Chaplin leaving his penny farthing outside as a signal.

Mr Chaplin's hostelry had a very well stocked bar, which we were all very much in need of after our temporary misplacement. His speciality is something known as a double jack and coke; he has become known as Jack in Toxia (some link to a child's toy was mentioned, but it didn't make much sense to me) and the name of the is apparently some sort of joke linked to that. Human humour can be very hard to figure sometimes.

We began to attract a little crowd of locals, which was a bit embaressing and not a little unnerving, although Mr Chaplin seemed very much in control of the whole situation. There were lots of scantily clad ladies and some cat-like people (and I found out from Mr Chaplin later that the heads of three of the Gangs were watching us; Miss Zaftig of the Cyberpunks, Mr Nakamura of the Kindred Alliance and Mr Maladay of The Aces). Another of the Cyberpunks came over to chat to us. His name was Mr Vanderverre, who is 137 years dead (so pretty young compared to Oolon, who is nearly four hundred now).

It was Mr Vandeverre who taught myself and Miss Rothschild so many new words; he has a bit of a dirty mouth (that is how I heard someone describe it), but I suppose all those maggots and gooey rotting bits would mean that you had a bit of an oral hygiene problem. Miss Rothschild postulated that he spoke his own private language, a subdialect of something she called "Ruffian".

Mr Vandeverre is apparently fond of poi poi (well, that's what I thought he said), so as a friendly gesture I got out my poi sticks and began to show him my act for the circus. You can imagine my embaressment when Mr Chaplin pointed out that several of his clientele had a distinct aversion to fire and it wasn't all that long since the bar had been rebuilt after a particularly nasty conflagration.

Mr Chaplin decided that he would take us on a tour of the city (he and Miss Rothschild really seemed to hit it off, so I was very pleased I had insisted on coming along). He told us all about the very sad history of the city; how there had been a terrible accident and lots of toxic waste had been spillt and killed all the trees and animals and made all of the locals a little bit odd (I suspect the residue from this leak would account for my poorliness). There was even talk of some dread monster called Hasmat that wanted to rid the city of it's inhabitants. The sight of Mr Desade and Miss Rothschild's mechanical horses caused great shock amongst our body guard (Miss Mangala and Mr Vandeverre), as Mr Vandeverre's very noisy and smelly mechanised bicycle did to us. I think Miss Paravane would be very interested in the vehicle, but the Brownie was very nervous and even more reluctant to work than usual, so I didn't get a plate of it.

Our tour led us to a barren square where there stood, quite inocuously, a gallows. Bizarrely it stood there giving off the impression of nothing more sinister than a child's plaything, like a set of swings. Behind it was The Factory, but I'm afraid I missed much of the description of that place, partly because I was arguing with the Brownie but also because I was beginning to get a tugging sensation (suggesting that our time here was running short).

Mr Chaplin led us on past a house of ill repute, where he had to shout a lot at Mr Vandeverre for his continuing attempts to teach me and Miss Rothschild naughty words by repetition. Mr Desade rather worryingly went native about this time by adopting the local dress customs, apparently to prove to Mr Vandeverre that our gallant gentlemen were just as capable and manly as those residing here. Personally I never doubted it for a second.

We stopped outside the Hospital (apparently a very popular venue for local social meetings) where Mr Vandeverre offered to show us his skill with needle and thread. Do you know, I think that the more Mr Chaplin told him off for his ungallant behaviour, the worse he became. Fortunately neither me nor Miss Rothschild understood a lot of what he said, so it was difficult to take too much offense.

Eager to prove that the citizens of Toxia are not godless heathens, Mr Chaplin showed us the church. Unfortunately our time was running vey short and we could not make a closer investigation of this or the hospital. I could really feel the tug of my bracelet now and knew that our exit was imminent. We hurriedly said our goodbyes to our guides, who expressed their disapointment at the briefness of our stay. Apparently we missed the highlight of Toxia, the gruesome monsters, but speaking for myself I was quite relieved not to have seen anything stranger than Mr Vandeverre.

On a final note, I asked the Brownie to make a plate of this image. It was on the wall of Mr. Chaplin's hostelry and I remembered seeing something similar in a shop at the creepy fairground Emilly found. They look a bit like Snorty, Alfonso's steam elephant, but I'm not sure exactly what they are (kissing, perhaps, or twin beings?). Perhaps Mr Burleigh would know if this is art or documentation of local monsters...

Dear Oolon then brought us safely back to the Cabinet and proceeded to take us back to fair Mayfair. It was a bit touch and go, as the Old Girl still didn't seem too happy, but Oolon assured me she needed no more tea. I cannot tell you what a relief it was to see green grass and bright blue skies again. And my wings were all better, too.

Your intrepid adventurer,

Fuschia Begonia

PS. Mr Chaplin has promised to send me something called "postcards" of the Toxian monsters. I shall forward them as soon as they arrive.

Crossing the Inlet

2007-02-01T15:50:00.001-08:00

As the wind dropped I cast off, and set a course to the South, still searching for the turn in the coastline. While taking navigational readings I caught a flash in the air far to the South and East of my position. Was it my imagination or a distress flare?

I coaxed the balloon to a stop and focused on that patch of sky for a moment. As I strained my eyes, I kept thinking I saw a glow or a sparkle, but was never entirely sure if it was merely a trick of the light. If it was real, it was far off, at least ten regions or more by my reckoning. If only I’d packed a telescope. I unclipped the Ordinal flare pistol and sent up my own in response (carefully aiming to avoid the envelope, of course). The flare burned brightly and as it lazily drifted down from the sky I stared South-Eastwards hoping to see another… But there was nothing. It must have been a trick of the light… Still, I have carefully noted down the time and bearing, just in case and have forwarded the details with this report.

I reset the venting and began Southwards again, keeping a close watch for further flares or signals.

Once more the coastline appeared empty of people. Maybe most of the mainlanders migrate inland, heading into the interior to shelter from the strong winds that blow in from the coast?

Buildings of a variety of architectural styles swept by below me, of particular note a little hillside town, but as is becoming usual, no inhabitants.

It appears that at least for now, the weather was in my favour; the wind strong enough to speed my journey, but not so fast as to render the balloon's steering vents ineffective.

As I crossed a spur of land I noticed something in the water below me; a huge sea monster looming out of the depths. I snapped a picture as I took evasive action and realised how similar it is to one Fuschia had said she’d seen on her travels. Maybe it is a common species in the wider Grid. The creature remained still, as many of the creatures I have encountered have done. I wonder if this is a self defense mechanism for mainland creatures, to freeze so as not to be noticed?

Soon I was out beyond the creature and land, over a large stretch of water. The coastline slipped away into the haze to the North, the stormy conditions barred my way further East and so I continue South. Hopefully this route would cut across the inlet and save having to travel the extra distance by following the land.

Everywhere was water now. In all directions it was all I saw. I obsessively checked the compass to ensure my heading was true. The winds and storms of the untamed grid still raged to the East of my position.

I began to wonder if I’d miscalculated or misread my heading. Maybe I had reached the East coast and was now simply heading out to sea, on a small sheltered channel. If I did not spy land within the hour I was going to turn back so that I could locate solid ground again and follow that, rather than just foolishly striking out into the unknown of this “inlet”. Maybe the flare I had spied earlier was from a ship that had made the same mistake as I and had ended up stranded or lost.

At last…land!

However the land I encountered was not as welcoming as I had first suspected. In clear sight of any visitors stood a grotesque statue. I am afraid I cannot fully describe it for fear of sounding uncouth, but I have included a photographic plate but have sadly once more been forced to remove certain sensitive areas of the picture for reasons of good taste.

I pressed onwards, now heading North. At least I was heading in the right direction, once more.

As I searched for a suitable landing site for the evening, a shape began to appear out of the sunset. I had thought it maybe just another tower or a lighthouse that the coastal mainlanders seem so keen on building, but no it was something else entirely.

It was a huge statue of a lady holding aloft a burning torch, wearing a crown and holding a large stone tablet. But what was it for? What did it mean? Was it a depiction of one of the “El El” deities or simply the work of an ambitious artist? These questions and many others raced through my head as I stepped from the basket back on to dry land and prepared to make my camp. Maybe the scholars of Caledon can divine some meaning from the picture.

Isle of Wyrms

2007-01-30T12:05:00.000-08:00

Dear Emilly,

Its been too long since I wrote to you. Its such shame that you haven't been able to accompany us on our little excursions; your grace and composure under pressure has been greatly missed. But we've managed to come back in one piece every time so far, so we're doing rather well for us. Still, it was a close run thing this time out I can assure you.

I was delighted to receive an invitation from Miss Tamura (the lovely dragon lady who we met at the Elven City the other evening) to visit her in her homeland. You can imagine how excited I was - I've heard of the Isle of Wyrms, but never actually been there. Oolon and Terry seemed quite excited too when I mentioned it and Oolon thought it would be a good run out for the Old Girl. So we got ourselves sorted and the preparation almost took my mind off the fact that Oolon had taken Alfonso back to his explorations. I do hope those jumpers fit him; I'm not the best knitter in the world and Cousin Rumpel was a bit busy. I say cousin, but its a bit of a tortuous family linkage, if you know what I mean. Still, excellent craftsman.

This is a picture of me later in the day, but its the only one I have of me in my kimono. I put it on especially as it has dragons on it and its very smart. Dragons like silk and yellow is a very auspicious colour for Oriental ones.

Anyway, I digress. Oolon set the Old Girl in motion and then got a bit over excited, as he does. He kept babbling on about a wyrmhole, which apparently is a terribly hilarious joke of some sort; I swear that Terry was crying. Apparently it made it all the more easy for us to reach our destination.

It wasn't long before our arrival attracted some attention from the locals, so Oolon thought he'd better lock up, just to be on the safe side. We know we can get at least two dragons in the ETD, but he didn't fancy trying for a world record. I thought it was as bit premature to lock up as Terry really didn't seem dressed for all the snow, but she assured me that she was fine (and she does have her own key after all).

Miss Tamura was there to greet us, in her three headed form. It was about this time that the Brownie in the box started muttering about bleaching out and lack of pigment, but he's a misery some days so I just left him to it. Now dragons are very good at controlling elemental forces, which means that they are excellent builders. Miss Tamura, despite her relative youth in dragon terms, is quite an accomplished artificer. She summoned the very rocks for us (apparently it's a present for the dashing Mr Hawks, a very nice wolf she introduced us to). Of course, Oolon had to climb it.

A very scantily dressed young hatchling called Miss Coronet (and I mean scantily - it would make even you blush, Em; well I suppose most dragons do have the equivalent of central heating) then showed us some of her work. Dragons like to take very good care of their eggs and cosset them somewhat, and she had been in the process of constructing a magnificent chamber for them. I must say that the hatchling bed looked as if it would make an excellent pixie chair, with a few minor adjustments.

Oolon then started shouting something about shops, which really threw me for a moment. Then I realised that it was a cunning distractionary tactic to get me away from the cave and on to the adventure. Either that or he hadn't fully recovered from his encounter with Mr Mesmer; who knows? So, I dutifully toddled after him and Terry, while Miss Tamura tidied up her rock pile.

Oolon had surpassed even my skills in retail opportunity identification and had found a gigantic temple to shopping. It was enormous (and I know most things are to me, but this was truly humungous). But it was good to know that as we trailed around this edifice of consumption, even a dragon appreciates the need for a good cup of tea.

Miss Tamura asked us if we would like to see where the dragons currently hatch and of course we said yes. One doesn't often get the opportunity to visit such a magical place. I did try not to get too excited, but it was very tricky.

It was about this time that I began to realise that all was truly not well with the Brownie. It may well have been the cold, but the lazy little blighter hasn't painted in the back wall of the hatchery. Please excuse the fact that several of the later pictures are also missing bits. He insists it was a technical fault, caused by the onset of the hurricane and the low temperatures. He even argues that they are more impressionistic this way (apparently that means he can charge more money for them). I shall have to ask Mr Burleigh about that next time I see him.

Oolon and Terry became very embroiled in a discussion about the relevant incubatory and conduction properties of gold and silver coinage, with Miss Tamura nodding in agreement (although she might just have been being polite). The eggs were very pretty, although there were only two of them. I do hope they'll be alright in there by themselves.

Miss Tamura then took us up to the Great Hall, a truly magnificent architectural space that took our breath away (and not just because of its altitude). It was smashing, Emilly, and you may wish to study the following plates carefully as you design your pavillion.

While we were admiring the sheer grandeur of the Hall, Mr Hawks arrived with his friend Mr Burton (I can't remember his surname, isn't that awful of me?), who is a fox. Mr Hawks is very cute and I can see why Miss Tamura and Miss Andalso are fond of him. Being a wolf, the approaching storm was affecting him already and he was struggling to maintain his composure and his human form.

Miss Tamura contiued to be an excellent guide, taking us next to the drum circle. I now understand why she and Miss Andalso were drawn to our music making at Svarga - they are very fond of elven drums and have their own set here. The dance area was large, as you would expect, and brightly decorated. There were magnificent views back up to the Great Hall (please excuse the missing bits).

The building hurricane began to affect Miss Tamura as we danced and she begged our forgiveness as she took her leave. It was beginning to affect us in little ways; my balance was becoming unsteady and my sense of direction wasn't quite what it should be, which resulted in me getting lost a few times during the following wanderings. And banging my head. But not until after Oolon found something else to pose heroically on.

I then proceeded to fall off the edge of the precipice imediately after instructing the Brownie to paint this shot (he's obviously more afraid of Oolon than me because he actually finished this one). And that's when I banged my head and found this scary thing lurking in a cave near a locked treasure chest.

Well, I think I found it. Maybe I was hallucinating. I did manage to get out of the caves on my own eventually, but I couldn't find Oolon or Terry anywhere and I didn't want to shout in case I started an avalanche. Fortunately that pretty bracelet that Oolon gave me at Svarga came to the rescue. Somehow it lets him find out where I am and call me to him. And I haven't managed to break it yet, so maybe its more magic than science. It has a sciencey name, but I forget what it is. Still he managed to blot his copy book within seconds by prodding the bump on my head. I asked him why and he said so that he knew where it hurt. I told him that I already knew that and he smiled. He can be very dim sometimes for a very bright man, don't you find?

Our time was getting short, so we headed off again, despite the worsening storm. Movement was slow and difficult, but eventually we did come to a narrow ravine with some very impressive buildings in it. Oolon insisted on posing next to this sign. Terry refers to this as a "tourist shot"; I gather from the tone of her voice that this isn't necessarily a good thing. I think Oolon got a bit over excited, because he was crackling again.

I found what looked to be some very pretty houses up on a bluff over looking the ravine, but although Terry and Oolon could enter, I was forbidden by these big glowy red letters. I even tried to use my human glamour to get in just in case the owner had a thing against Pixies, but it didn't work. I got stuck in allsorts of horrible places trying to get in, but I gave up in the end. And to make matters worse, when I tried to go back to being me my wings wouldn't come back.

It must be said that I got a bit over emotional at that point and Oolon decided that the Linden Storm was getting too bad for adventuring and took us back to the ETD. Terry assured me that she could still see my wings, but they were in the fourth dimension and the storm was stopping me from seeing them properly. Oolon kept winking at her, so I think the storm must have blown something into his eye. But she was right, they did come back. I was very heartily relieved, I can tell you. Pixies are practically naked without their wings.

Oh, better go. I have to clean up the Colony and someone is sitting on top of my clock.....

Your affectionate friend

Fuschia.

Here Be Crocodiles

2007-01-30T05:27:00.000-08:00

Oolon’s cabinet deposited me only a few hundred metres from where it had abducted me a few days previously, which is pretty good accuracy for such a device I’m told. He had done nothing but apologise the whole trip for the unceremonious manner in which it had dislocated me across the Grid on the resupply attempt and kept muttering about it being a problem with the “Fluid Links” drying out. To be honest, it was a blessed relief: The chance to spend a little time with Fuschia (and of course Terry, himself and the good folks of Caledon) for a few days was just what I needed.

It had been fascinating to find that Caledon was keeping up with the reports of all the expeditions so far and I had plenty of offers from people wishing to join me or assist in my explorations. It will certainly be nice to have the company and Oolon has once more offered his services to ferry people to and from the mainland via the ether, as required. Such a nice chap!

Thankfully no wayward mainlander had made off with the balloon and it was still nestled in the shadow of the tree, although looking a little deflated. I recharged the burner and repacked extra supplies into the basket. Fuschia insisted that I take plenty more food (as I apparently hadn’t been eating properly) and several more jumpers to keep the chill off. The area was deserted as usual and there was no sign of Mr Tuck, so after making my final checks I took to the skies once more.

The air was choppy today and the grid winds tossed the balloon around the sky. Careful navigation was required around certain regions where a booming voice announced that I was not allowed to enter or that the land was full, although full of what precisely I have yet to ascertain. I take it that these are similar defence systems or engines of privacy created by the mainlanders to keep out trespassers or to stop overcrowding, as the electrical red “fences” I had encountered earlier. However, the sheer number I ran into led me to name this stretch of the coast the “Vale of Privacy”.

Dotted here and there, though, were little refuges and safe passages. The one pictured below reminded me of Miss Ladybird’s dream of building a pavilion in Mayfair and I include this plate for her. I did land and attempt to talk to the owner, however knocking on the door gained no answer and although the door was open, it didn’t seem quite right to walk into what appeared to be a private home unannounced.

Leaving the “Vale” I found a wonder of engineering. Below me stood a lift bridge, ready to be hoisted should any boats require passage further up the river. I tried to land so that I could inspect the mechanism, but the balloon and winds had different ideas… No matter how much I tugged on the control lines or adjusted the burner, the balloon continued on its path.

Glancing up into the sky something didn’t seem quite right with the sun’s position and my orientation with the land. I peered down at the balloon's compass (something I had neglected to do for a while, as I had been confident in simply following the coastline) and discovered I was right: I was now on a due South heading. The coastline had curved back on itself. Had I hit the East coast already? Scribbling down a few distance calculations it seemed unlikely; I was probably simply following an inlet. I tried to pull the balloon out on an Eastward course but straying too far from the land the weather conditions were so bad I had to turn back.

Heading South was bad news. It was taking me farther from my goal, but should (I hoped) turn East again. I decided to continue heading South for now; however if there was no sign of the land turning in a few days, I would head back to the Colony and strike out West from there in the search for a passage to the North. Afterall, I was only assuming that this wasn’t the East Coast from the rough measurements taken from the sketched charts I had seen, but perhaps the mainland wasn’t as large as we thought, or maybe our Colony was much further East than we previously assumed…?

Bump! My thoughts were interrupted as the basket clipped the side of a huge warehouse. The pencil and paper dropped away over the side forgotten as I grabbed for the venting ropes, trying to ensure the canvas did not scrape along the wall. I fought against the winds and managed to lift the balloon away, but venting the air had forced me down onto the wooden pier alongside it.

I clambered out to inspect the basket for damage and thankfully found little. However, the incident had been a little close and showed I needed a little walk to clear my head. The warehouse, which would not have looked out of place in New Babbage, proved to be a retail outlet in the usual mainland style; however the floor was constructed of glass with various sea creatures swimming beneath it. There were also people here! I tried engaging them in pleasant conversation, but received none back, so I left them to their standing and staring at the walls.

Over the bay stood a shop of the most shocking sort, displaying all manner of female nakedness and I include a picture here only for completeness. I have however removed the portions of the image that may prove offensive.

The peculiar juxtaposition of buildings on the mainland showed itself once more, for only metres away from this disgraceful structure stood a beautiful greenhouse and plant nursery. It is amazing that the mainland supports such beauty and crassness all crammed together. Even more amazing were the creatures that could be spied from the nurseries balcony…crocodiles! I had only read of such things in books and it was wonderful to see them in the flesh..er…scales..er..hide…whatever…

I was aware that time was pressing on and I would soon be losing the daylight and I was keen to find the Eastward turn in the coastline. As the balloon climbed, the sun glinted off another fabulous floating mainland construction that I was able to quickly catch with the camera before I was pulled onwards by the strengthening winds.

The speed of the wind was becoming a little alarming and my control over the balloon seemed to be waining. I could just about keep her to a steady pace but manoeuvring was becoming more and more difficult.

Ahead of me loomed a lighthouse, with what appeared to be an incredible silver statue of a horse atop it, but sadly I could not land and investigate further. The grid winds tugged me on and only by heaving on the ropes with all my might was I able to avoid collision with it.

I only just managed to grab a picture of a bell shaped monument bearing the name of the region before I was beyond it: “Harbinger's Haven”. An omen of a name, if ever I saw one…

I flared the burner, trying to climb up over the winds, and soon I was above the clouds and in the airspace of a giant building. The winds had calmed and the balloon now responded well. Climbing over the weather had been a good choice.

This giant structure appeared to be a race track of some kind, yet instead of horses the competitors rode small metal carriages (or “Karts” I believe one of the signs called them; probably a corruption of the Caledonian word “Carriage”). As I watched, an ominous figure in a cloak approached. He asked me if I was “Racing with anyone”? I wondered if he meant was I in some kind of balloon race? I said no and explained I was just trying to find out what was happening here; I received no response other than his unflinching gaze. Perhaps I had wandered somewhere I was not meant to be? I decided to withdraw back to ground level and just hoped the winds had died down.

The winds had abaited and would at least allow a safe landing. On the ground below the race track I found a decorated jetty, a huge fish, a wonderful house, a beautiful kite, and an open air room that reminded me a lot of the Colony. Standing at one end of this area were huge canvases explaining the secrets of something called the “Linden Scripting Language”. These were amazing to read and seemed to be some mainland treaties on the nature of the Grid and Avatars. It was difficult to tell if these were scientific or ritual in nature or a combination of the two. I have taken photographic plates of both sides of these objects for further study. Who knows what they may reveal of the mainland, the Grid or even ourselves…?

Note from the Colonial Office of Caledon:
Word has reached us that an uncensored version of the “shocking display of nakedness” picture is currently in circulation within the State of Caledon. The Colonial Office of Caledon wishes to make it clear that it is by no means responsible for this and does not, as one young man was heard to remark, “offer it for sale to discerning gentlemen”. We would request that citizens should please stop visiting us and asking for it; we do not have it. However, if anyone is in possession of such an item, please can you send a copy to our office in a plain brown packet. We require it purely for the sake of archive completeness.

City of Elves and Dragons

2007-01-25T10:53:00.001-08:00

Dear Governor Shang,

It would appear that Oolon and Miss Lightfoot have no intention of letting me brood on Alfonso’s absence, because they took me out for another jaunt last night. It’s just as well that pixies are renowned for their stamina and determination, or I’d have to admit I was feeling a bit pooped after the Isle of Nightmares episode.

Terry must have really liked my outfit last night, because this evening found us attired identically. We have very similar taste in clothes, despite being from such different worlds (it’s another reason I like her). Oolon despairs of us both sometimes, but that’s just because he has no eye for fashion, poor man.

Tonight our destination was to be where Oolon tried to take us last night. At first, things appeared to be going smoothly, but it didn’t last for long (it never does). No sooner had Oolon declared that we had arrived and walked out of the door than both myself and Terry found ourselves unable to leave the ETD. A powerful force appeared to hold us within it’s confines and forbade us to enter the land of Svarga. Something began to tell me that I might never get to see this place that had Oolon so excited.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, our enforced exile was ended and we both found ourselves on a small island before a gigantic stone doorway. Oolon was waiting for us, with the charming mix of impatience and concern he always has when things don’t quite work how he expects them to. You’d think with all the travelling he does, he’d be used to the occasional delay at his age.

We made our way through the carved doors and into what could easily be mistaken for Paradise. Oolon explained that Svarga had been a city of the Elves, before they left this reality. Terry was most interested in the relationships between elves and pixies, so I explained that as long as they don’t pat us on the head, we don’t kick them in the shins. Apparently, this counts as “getting along”. Still they know how to build, you have to give them credit for that. But why would they want to leave here? Typical of them, makes absolutely no sense; but I suppose that’s the sort of thing you have to do if you want everyone to remember you for being mysterious and ancient and wise and inscrutable.

A native was resting beside a fountain, so we approached and spoke to him (loudly and slowly, just to be on the safe side), but he didn’t seem to be aware of our presence. Oolon became convinced that either they or we appear as ghosts, which would go a little way to explaining why no-one ever talks to us on these expeditions.

Not long after that, I found a shop. Needless to say, Oolon was very impressed by my ability to locate retail opportunities no matter where in the world I appear (especially after I found a sale on at the retail temple in Bora Bora last night). I told him pixies can smell a good deal - it’s a gift (and Terry agrees with me).

We wandered a little until we came upon a wonderful polygonal building (I’ve been hanging around with Oolon for too long, because that’s a science word not a pixie one). Inside there were many musical instruments, so we picked them up and began to play. It was a great deal of fun, even if we did occasionally hit the wrong notes.

An odd side effect of our harmonic exertions was the attraction of more “native ghosts”. Despite their inability to speak to us they picked up the spare instruments and began to play along, which lead Terry and Oolon to postulate (see, that’s another big word) that the vibrations from the music where bringing our resonances in line with each other. I have no idea what that means either, but it sounds good.

But something distracted me, something I hadn’t felt for a little while, something ancient and venerable touching my heart. It’s the same feeling I get in the presence of the Lady Fledhyris and Mr Webb, so I knew what was waiting for us outside the building: Dragons!

Pixies like dragons, simple fact. Dragons are wise and venerable without being smug (like elves), have generous natures and are very good at looking after smaller, younger, less wise creatures. Or at least, all the ones I have ever known have been. But they don’t tolerate bad manners, so always be polite. And they like having their chins tickled, but don’t kiss their noses unless they’re in their true form and you feel that it wouldn’t be too presumptious.

And that was how we met Miss Tamura and Miss Andalso, two wonderful ladies of dragonkind. They were taking the air and had heard our music, so they came to investigate, luckily for us. Did I say how much I like dragons? Miss Tamura has three heads called Order, Balance and Chaos (they all like their chins tickling). Miss Andalso appeared first as a beautiful red and black dragon, before showing us her magnificent rainbow incarnation. She has sparkly green breath, which pixies are very ticklish to and I’m afraid I got a fit of the giggles when she exhaled in my direction.

Sadly it was at this moment that one of the natives decided to speak to us. He was very rude and particularly insulting to the lovely ladies, which made Oolon very mad (he can’t abide bad manners, either). Despite our best efforts to warn this fool of the precariousness of his situation he continued to be irksome, causing Oolon to produce his cricket bat (I still haven’t worked out where from) and shout a lot. And the Misses Tamura and Andalso became most distressed and even began considering chomping the silly creature (which means that they were really, really, upset). He even threatened to put them in a zoo!

Part of me would dearly have loved to see him try, but I have promised to be a good pixie so I attempted to restore order by pointing out that humans are like little children next to dragons and are apt to be foolish when confronting the unknown or when frightened (and he wouldn’t taste very nice and would probably get stuck in their teeth and give them indigestion). It seemed to work, for the most part.

It was about this time that Alfonso appeared, so we had to leave the lovely ladies behind. I don’t know if they did eat that man. I was quite surprised to see Alfonso, I must admit. Oolon had promised to be the baggage train for my brave husband’s foray into the wild and said he'd given him a way to let us know when we were needed, but I hadn't received a butterfly or anything (and I was expecting us to return to the ETD and go and find Alfonso, so I can only assume that something went a little wrong again and he ended up standing in front of us instead). It was lovely to see him again, even if he did look like he hadn’t been eating properly. I should have packed him extra cake.

Oolon’s hujamafercals started beeping then and he shot off into some catacombs (never a wise thing to do; things that eat people like to live in catacombs). Despite my protestations, Terry shot off too hotly pursued by Alfonso. I could hear Oolon getting all excited (rather than all in pain), so I thought it was probably safe to follow.

The reason for his excitement soon became clear – a pool of glowing energy, which he referred to as “galvanic”. Terry got all excited too and they began to make plans about refining it so that they could power the ETD. I got bored and wandered off.

They caught up with me eventually in the sky citadel at the centre of the city. I had found a sparkly thing that Oolon identified as an energy being and everyone started sampling the poor thing. Our time was running out again and we had a quick dash about to see if there was anything else worth seeing. There were mushrooms, perfect for Pixies to sit on (I've given a copy of this dageurotype to Alfonso for his journal).

Oolon ushered us all back to the ETD, just in the nick of time and we took off without any cowbells or clonks this time. But Oolon wasn’t happy, insisting that there was something, or someone, else in there with us. Oolon scared me, but Alfonso went to look and I knew he’d protect me if there was something odd in our little Cabinet.

Then I began to get that feeling again; ancient, warm, safe. Oolon started jumping up and down and shouting Miss Tamura’s name. Apparently she had followed us in one of her less conspicuous guises and had unfortunately become entangled in some sort of rotor when we took off. Still, she managed to extricate herself and was none the worse for wear.

Do you know that she has a glamour very like Terry’s fish lady? And apparently Terry is something called a Changeling. Now I know a few changelings and she’s not like our sort of changeling, so wherever she’s from they must have their own kind. And then we had a party (Lady Fledhyris and her friend Mr Darracq and Miss Rothschild all came along) and there was more dancing. I know I told you that Oolon likes dancing. And I have my Alfonso back, at least for a short while. I really must speak to him about that plank, but for now I’d rather give him a big cuddle.

Do you know, that city was so beautiful, but so full of sorrow. The flora are broken and twisted, cowering away from the world outside; the waterfalls weep for their lost civilisation. I don’t think Oolon is deliberately taking me to places that make me long for my glen, but he does seem to have a knack for finding them. I know he doesn’t mean to upset me, but it makes me very sad when such wondrous places are no longer loved by those who created them. Places need to be loved, just as much as people. That’s why Caledon is special, because it is loved. Don’t let it stop being loved, Governor Shang.

Your obedient (and sleepy) servant,

Fuschia Begonia

Diversion

2007-01-25T10:52:00.001-08:00

Dear Sir / Madam

I am hand delivering this report as I unexpectedly find myself in Caledon. Please do not fret that I have given up on my mission of exploration or on the Colony, it is just that things took a slightly unexpected turn on the last leg of my journey and it seemed that by hand was the most expedient form of delivery before I return to the mainland.

Hopefully my report and that of Miss Begonia will explain everything.

Your Faithful Servant,

Professor Alfonso Avalanche

It may be a terrible thing to admit, but sitting here with a nice hot cup of tea inside Mr Sputnik’s Cabinet, I realise quite how much I missed the comforts of Caledon and the Colony. The simple pleasure of being able to reach out and fill a cup from a teapot, sit in front of a warm fire or hear a cheery “Good Morning” from a neighbour all seems so far away from being buffeted by the grid winds and sea spray. Not that I dislike the adventuring life; I just find that I enjoy life’s little comforts just as much. Oolon is recharging the “Old Girl”, has set the controls and should have me back to where I left in no time, so it’s probably best I complete this report and deliver it before I set off again. Fuschia says she wants to write about what happened at the end, so in the interests of an exciting read, I’ll let her take over when the appropriate cliffhanger arrives. She seems to be much more accomplished on the writing front than myself. All the notes and amendments that you see scattered throughout the margins of my reports are the corrections she kindly makes before they are forwarded back to Caledon.

Travelling on from the village of the “Gorean Protocols” I came upon a huge tree reaching up into the clouds. Curious to see it’s base, I dropped my altitude and found a port area, complete with tall masted ships, wooden piers and jetties. The area was littered with statues, big and small and was dominated by the huge tree, a tall castle and, strangest of all, a giant running water tap. Again the area appeared empty of people. Bringing the balloon into land I noticed the fuel level on the burner was starting to get a little low.

Pushing against the grid winds was burning the oil faster than I had anticipated. Thankfully, I’d made arrangements with Mr Sputnik before I left for just such eventualities. He had given me a small device on a chain to wear around my neck. He said it was a key to his Cabinet (but it did not look like any key I was familiar with), and could also be used to contact him, should I run into trouble or require re-supplying. All I had to do was tap out a message using a pre-arranged code and he would arrive in the “Old Girl” and assist however he could. I hadn’t tried it before, and thought this may be as good a time as any to give it a go. After sending the message I waited. Would it work? Oolon kept talking about it operating through the Cabinet’s empathic capabilities, but that explanation sounded like mumbo jumbo rather than real science. Then again, Oolon talks a lot of mumbo jumbo about his Cabinet, most of which has subsequently proved to be true.

As I waited for him to arrive and wandered between the statues, a voice called out a greeting. It was a very pleasant and polite young man called Robsub Tuck. He asked me how I was finding the “Sim” which is apparently the unit of measure they use to divide up the mainland. 1 Sim equals 65,536 square metres, very similar to the standard “Region” measurement we use in our own cartography. Apparently it was suffering a lot of “lag” – where the grid winds blow so hard it is very difficult to move and makes your eyes water so much your vision becomes hazy and it proves difficult to see. I have to admit I had suffered some of this even in Caledon but had attributed it to a late night at the Anvil.

I told him I had not had much trouble with it since arriving. He seemed pleased about this and made a reference to the mysterious mainland gods the “El El”, not the first time I have heard mention of these curious deities. He was more than happy to show me around and invited me into his “small home” as he called it. He lived within the walls of the huge castle and had a special travel disc that lifted visitors up into his study.

It turned out that Mr Tuck was an artist and had just opened a gallery. I complimented him on his hospitality and suddenly felt a strange tugging sensation, as if I was being pulled from a great distance. A pounding noise filled my ears and suddenly the room around me vanished in a cascading blue vortex and then… I was elsewhere.

Lighthouse Island and the Gorean Protocols

2007-01-25T10:50:00.000-08:00

Fuschia,

I hope you’re resting your foot and not letting Oolon drag you about too far on your little jaunts. You know what happened when I went out with him and Miss Lightfoot looking for buried treasure. It took me hours to hammer the bite marks out of the diving helmet.

I’ve included a picture of a lovely tea set I found for you in the report as I know you like such things.

Love,

Alfonso

Having left the White City and travelled a little way further East, I came across a secluded wooded hillside that I thought would make an ideal overnight spot. A campsite and campfire were already set out, but no one was there to tend them. I hoped they wouldn’t mind me warming myself by the fire, although I was not presumptious enough to use their tent. I nodded off quite quickly in the flames’ warm orange glow and was soon dreaming of steam powered circus animals.

Awaking at dawn, I set the balloon’s burner to re-inflate the envelope and prepared to continue my trip. It would take half an hour or so for the balloon to reach full buoyancy, so I thought I’d take advantage of the time to stroll around.

Obviously the camp belonged to hunters. In the morning’s light I could see the tent I had found the previous night was decked out in animal furs, and at one side of the clearing stood two cages.

Continuing around the curve of the hill I found a wonderful view looking towards a small island complete with a lighthouse…and a person. I hailed them, but they either couldn’t hear me over the roar of the waves or I was just too far away to catch their attention. Once the balloon was ready I decided that would be my next destination.

Further on I found more buildings including an old water mill. I knocked on the door, but received no answer; however I did spy an ornate tea set that showed that, whoever the inhabitants were, they were obviously cultured and well mannered.

Finding no further signs of people, I climbed over the crest of the hill back to the balloon and set off for the island.

As I approached I called down a greeting and the young lady that I had seen from the shore vanished. This seemed to be becoming a habit with people I talked to. Maybe my size is a little too intimidating for casual, friendly social interaction. As I brought the balloon in for a steady, slow landing suddenly she was back, this time with two young men in tow. Was this a welcoming committee? Or had she just been off to find reinforcements? Thankfully the natives proved to be most friendly.

Although the young lady and one of her gentlemen friends said very little, the other, a Mr Skye Gray was very forthcoming. I explained my mission and he seemed very impressed and spent a while admiring the balloon, although seemed rather reluctant to come for a little sight-seeing tour. Talking to him, I discovered he was a neighbour who had seen me land and was just ensuring that I was intending no ill to the young lady, the island or lighthouse. I assured him that I was merely enjoying the view and learning what I could of the area, and was not intending to stay here long. I asked several times about the fabled passage to the Northern Continent, but he did not reply to any of those questions. I suspect the passage may be a closely guarded secret among some of the tribes here.

As we talked, I found my gaze drawn out to the ocean; to a low hazy shape out at sea. I enquired of Mr Gray what it was, but he seemed unsure. Was it a strip of land from the Northern Continent, or another island? Bidding farewell to my new friend I cast the balloon off and went to find out.

The shape squatting on the triangular raft in front of me did not move or respond to either shouts or warning shots. I dared not approach too closely, for simply looking at the thing made my skin crawl. I had the feeling that rather than just being a statue, it was a creature, merely sleeping, awaiting a call or signal that would arouse it from its slumber.

There was also something naggingly familiar about its shape. Something I had seen somewhere before, but that I could not quite place.

It was only when I had set a new course that I realised where I had seen it before. Mr Smashcan! Well, not Mr Smashcan himself, but the small creature he carries with him on his shoulder. I wonder if he realises they get this big when they get older?

As I pondered this eventuality, I drifted and soon found myself over a small primitive village. At what I presume was the village entrance, two huge stones stood engraved with writings. I swung the balloon in low to see if I could read them.

I’m not sure what “Gorean Protocols” are. Maybe some form of mainland legal system? And slavery! You hear many tales of the mainland, but I had not realised that slavery was still legal here.

It was probably best to continue on my way. The last thing I wished to become entangled with was slavers…

Island of Nightmares

2007-01-24T07:45:00.000-08:00

Dear Governor Shang,

Please permit me to submit my first full report regarding my adventures on the mainland. I don't see why Alfonso should have all the fun (and besides, I promised him I would). You don't mind, do you?

You know Oolon, sorry, Mr Sputnik? Well he and Miss Lightfoot (she doesn't tend to stand on ceremony either and prefers to be called Terry) have been looking after me since Alfonso went away and I fell over that silly plank of his and hurt my foot. And Oolon decided that he would help me keep up my end by taking me about in his contraption. He calls her an "Etheric Transferral Device", whatever that means, when he isn't calling her "The Cabinet". No wonder the poor old girl doesn't work very well - she doesn't know what she's supposed to be.

Anyway, my foot was sufficiently better that last evening Oolon thought we might make a go of it. We duly assembled at his workshop in Mayfair ready for the off. I made sure to pack the teapot and some cake for our excursion. You never can tell what amenities will be available in the wilder places of the world and I am fond of a good cup of tea.

Oolon said that he had somewhere in mind that he thought we might like to see, but he wouldn't tell us where we were off to, claiming it would be so much more fun if it was a surprise. He's a big one for surprises is Oolon, which is no bad thing. So, off we went into the ETD and Oolon pushed some buttons and pulled some levers and at least this time it didn't make the bad noises. I don't like it when it makes those - it usually means its going to crash.

I began to get a little nervous when Oolon started to make clucking noises and mutter under his breath but we landed safely enough, so I thought no more of it until we got outside. Oolon then became most distressed because it appeared that ETD had been abducted from her course and we had landed somewhere completely unexpected. Unexpected, dark and creepy. I don't like dark and creepy; in Faerie, that's where the things that eat pixies like to live. I really wished that Alfonso was with us at that point. He's bigger than most things, which is a great comfort in situations like this. Well, except for the monstrous fish I nearly landed on when I fell off the bridge, but you know, usually he's the biggest creature around.

We began to explore, although I wanted to go for a cup of tea and wait for daylight, but the old girl can only hop somewhere for a few hours before she has to go home for a rest (at least, I think that's what Oolon meant). Everything was very big and very dark and we appeared to have entered some sort of temple to retail and picnics (there were blankets and picnic baskets everywhere).

It dawned on us with horror that we had been here before, Oolon and I. This place claimed to be Bora Bora, the Island of Dreams (from a sign on the retail temple wall), but oh how different it was to the first time I came here. Bora Bora was where I first stumbled into this world and met Oolon and Alfonso, but then it was a bright and sunny place with palm trees and golden beaches. What on earth could have happened in so short a time?

Terry led the way into the darkness. She's ever so brave is our Terry; I feel much safer knowing she's going to be travelling with us. I like to think of her as my big sister (and I don't think that she's afraid of anything).

It was Terry that found the big settee we could all have a rest on. It was more like the Bora Bora I remember (comfy and welcoming), but it didn't seem to belong to this Island of Nightmares.

Terry and Oolon pressed on and I trailed along behind, until we came to another temple, even more strange and terrible than the last. Oolon and Terry became very excited, babbling away about the "20th Century", whatever that may be. More worryingly, they also began to discuss the fact that we may have been harvested from the Ether to be part of a Grand Collection as the building was full of relics from places and times that shouldn't have been all in one place (apparently; I just have to take their word for things like this - this is beyond a pixie's knowing).

We made our way back out of the inner sanctum and onto a torchlit bridge, which led to a cottage that would not have been out of place in dear Caledon. Sadly, this merely lent greater credence to Oolon’s theory of a mad collector harvesting interesting items as the mood took him.

From the bridge we could also see an isle shrouded in flowing mists. It was just as scary as everywhere else in this midnight world, but I decided that for once I must be brave and promptly flew off to investigate.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived: Here was a lovely temple, beautifully lit with glowing rays, so serene and calm after the horrors of the land around it. I haven’t seen anything like it since I left my little glen. Not that I had a temple (pixies aren’t grand enough for temples), but the light was the same, exactly the same. For the first time since I arrived in your world, I have to say that I felt homesick. But then I thought about all the lovely friends that I’d made and it didn’t seem so bad.

Oolon and Terry arrived and told me that their sensors had picked up lifeforms on the island. My pixie senses had been twitching a bit, but they’re not as well tuned as Oolon’s scientifical bobbinijigs. We searched everywhere, but couldn’t find them. I was beginning to think that they were invisible when I tripped over my cast and fell into the water (fortunately pixies don’t shrink in the wet). And there they were!! I called to Oolon and Terry, but Oolon wouldn’t come in. I don’t think he likes water very much. Terry did join me, but I was in for another surprise – she was a big purple fish lady! Anyway, more on that in a moment, if you can bear with me.

The two creatures looked like human females, but very skimpily outfitted. They also appeared to be completely mute. One did attempt to communicate through a series of movements that looked suspiciously like the ones Alfonso does when he’s warming up his muscles for a lifting feat, so perhaps they were a primitive race of strongmen who have yet to develop speech. Then again, I do remember stories about mermaids who lose their voices when they get legs (mermaid biology must be pretty odd, even by my standards, if growing legs affects your voice; maybe it’s the shock?). Another possibility is that they were captured, like we had been, and the transfer process had left them dazed and silent. Or they could belong to the primitive race of Noobs I’ve heard people in Caledon discussing. Anyway, they were pretty boring and even Terry attempting to nudge one of them over illicited very little in the way of a response, so we left them to it.

I was curious about Terry’s fish lady trick, so I asked her about it. I mean, I know I can do glamours so that I look different (I used to wear a human one when I first came to Caledon and I did used to be bright pink). I suppose the wings should have given it away – its not like you humans have wings is it? Anyway, she’s like me, sort of, not from here but visiting. Like Oolon. And as for Oolon, well, he’s Oolon. I’ve seen him use disguises too, but he insists its science and not magic. I’m not entirely convinced they’re all that different, to be perfectly honest, just science has bigger words. Although pixies do tend to break science……

It was about this time that I noticed a person standing up high on a roof, so I thought I’d go and be friendly. After all, we are supposed to be spreading civilization to the masses. Imagine my horror when I discovered that it was none other than the owner of this place – Mr Baldwin! I told him that he had a very scary island and he said thank you, calm as you like, thank you. I was getting a little bit nervous, when Oolon and Terry arrived (that’ll teach me to be brave), Oolon armed to the teeth in case I needed rescuing. But Mr Baldwin merely made his apologies and left in a swirl of white light.

Somewhat dumbfounded by this encounter Oolon took the executive decision that we should attempt to leave. The Cabinet was where we left her and never have I been so glad to see her. As soon as we got in, I put the kettle on for a nice cuppa. I thought we all could do with one to restore our frayed nerves. Oolon busied himself so that we could leave, but ETD started making the bad noises and then the Cloister Bell started (that’s what he calls it – sounds more like a cowbell of doom to me). Oolon thought it must be some sort of invisible power holding us to the island, stopping us from escaping.

I put my cup down on the console so that I could grab on to something (did I mention it usually crashes when it makes those noises?) and accidentally knocked it over. I thought Oolon would be annoyed, but apparently the old girl likes a nice cup of tea just like the rest of us and it did the trick! We managed to break away from the Island of Nightmares, and were flung back to Mayfair.

(And I managed to get a dance with Oolon; he’s a very good dancer you know and its not like he can tread on my toes, seeing as they’re three feet off the floor when I dance).

I think that’s everything. We shall be popping out again at some point (hopefully to where we should have gone this time), so I shall let you know how it goes. Don’t tell Alfonso too much about the perilous bits, will you? He only worries.

Your faithful colonist,

Fuschia Begonia

PS: I was so worried about our dear Bora Bora Isles that I cheated and used Pixie magic to go and hunt for it. It's still there!! It would appear that Mr Baldwin likes to collect names as well as objects.......

The White City

2007-01-22T05:54:00.000-08:00

The coastline beyond the “Beetle and Bull”, the name I coined for the strange prankster bar I had just visited, broke up into a jumbled landscape of buildings and other objects; some seemingly put together with some plan, others almost just thrown onto the ground. Looking inland revealed a similar confusion of styles and shapes. It was almost as if the further I got from the relative familiarity of the colony and Penan, the more outlandish and unusual the buildings were becoming. Once more I passed a few buildings surrounded by their electrical red bands, making sure that any visitors knew they would not be welcome. The hour was drawing late and I decided I had to start looking for a landing spot for the evening.

Almost on cue, a large white edifice emerged from the gloom: A beautiful white city.

I circled once overhead looking for signs of it's inhabitants, but there was none. In the same way that the architecture became more outlandish as Penan shrank away behind me, the population of the grid seemed to decrease. Despite all the talk we had heard in Penan about the overpopulation of the mainland, this stretch of coastland appears almost deserted. I had only seen three people in my entire trip so far and I could not be entirely certain that two of those even existed.

Landing on the large flat area on the waterfront seemed the most sensible choice and the balloon drifted in like a dream, the light of the burner flaring yellow light across the pristine white walls of the city as I bumped to a halt.

The city was deserted and unusually, beautifully eerie. Fires burned and a boat creaked on the river below, but there were no signs of life. It looked almost like a story book city and one could almost imagine that the denizens had just stepped out for a moment. There had obviously been people here at one point, as rounding a corner I found myself in a shop surrounded by all manner of items. Some I am afraid I cannot describe for fear that this report may fall into the hands of the young or impressionable, but others like the walls of building materials were incredible. Seeing these brought to mind the wonderful panelling that Mr Whittlesea sells and I thought how much he would enjoy a visit here.

In another part of the city I found a boutique that sold the most wonderful bags and boxes, including an item called an “Explorer’s Lunch Box”. Purchasing one, I was only slightly disappointed to find it did not contain any lunch but did contain a compass and a series of maps. In the morning I will have to look at these more closely and see if they contain any more information on the mainland or the safe passage to the north.

I was almost tempted to stay overnight, but the empty city was really beginning to give me a strange feeling of dread that I cannot fully put into words. I feared that should I stay here I, like its previous inhabitants, may vanish too.

I am about to take off to seek an alternate landing and camp site for the evening. However before I do, I am dispatching this message immediately to ensure the location of this city is communicated back to Caledon, as I am sure it is worthy of a more detailed study. According to my calculations the location is: Tofalar (111, 240, 27)

Bars, Bulls and Beetles

2007-01-22T05:29:00.000-08:00

Fuschia,

Sorry to hear about your accident with the Steam Lift System. I'd forgotten I'd left it there. I'm pleased Oolon, Terry and Emilly are looking after you and I promise I'll be back to finish off the circus soon.

Love,

Alfonso

PS Here's my report to forward on to Caledon:

Having recovered the balloon through the cunning use of a combination of gardening implements and rope, I decided to check the shore ahead on foot. The balloon may be a convenient means of travel, but the basket can get rather cramped.

Clambering over a garden fence, I found myself in the mainland equivalent of a public house. Unlike the Anvil, however, this inn was open to the elements and the glass bar was filled with tiny fish of many colours. I rapped on the bar top for attention but no one came and there seemed to be no way to serve yourself or leave payment for any of the drinks.

Hiding my disappointment, I ventured through a doorway onto a walkway lined by grids, numbers and symbols. Part way along this walkway I found a winged young lady. I tried bidding her good afternoon, but her gaze stayed fixedly on one of the grids as strange symbols flashed by. I wasn’t sure if this was a communications device or perhaps a more advanced form of analytic engine, but it seemed to require all of her concentration.

Not wanting to interrupt her work, I moved on into another open area. This was filled with card tables, but was completely bereft of people. At the far end of this space stood what appeared to be a bull and a brightly painted sign. The bull on closer examination appeared to be mechanical, with the words “Ride Me” emblazoned on a board behind it.

Having tamed a steam elephant, I believed a mechanical bull would prove to be little trouble. As soon as I sat astride the device I discovered that I was wrong. It bucked and span about the room, colliding with furniture, scattering cards and throwing me to the ground. As I staggered to my feet, it returned to the sign to await it’s next victim. Perhaps “Do Not Ride Me” would be a more appropriate sign.

Alongside the bull a colourfully painted board proclaimed “The Beetles – The Yellow Submarine” (beetles was actually incorrectly spelled; I have corrected the spelling within this report) and pointed down into a mysterious hole in the ground. Could this be a submersible manned by tiny creatures? There was only one way to find out.

As I dropped into the vortex of whirling colour, I realised the sign may not have been entirely accurate. This underground tunnel was lined with glowing painted faces and both small and giant fish swam within it. Steeling myself against the disorientating effect, I staggered down the tunnel, reaching out to follow the walls with my hand, when out of the darkness loomed an octopus! It’s bulk blocked the tunnel and it’s tendrils flailed towards me.

I ducked to one side and drawing the Webley peppered the creature with shells. The octopus did not react; it’s limbs continued flapping and my bullets fell harmlessly from it’s hide to the floor. Another mechanical construct, perhaps? It did indeed look that way, although I could not get too close for fear of being caught a blow by one of the tentacles. After a few moments quiet observation, it appeared to be continually repeating the same set of motions over and over again. All that was required was a bit of timing and quick reflexes and I was soon passed the creature and into another chamber.

This chamber contained nothing but a large switch. I cautiously reloaded the pistol, not sure what to expect from this place that had obviously been built as some kind of strange joke. I pressed the button and was shot out of the tunnel and back into the open air amongst the card tables once more. Nowhere in the tunnel system had I seen signs of beetles or submarines.

The sky was beginning to darken and I decided it was probably for the best to head back to the balloon and push on along the coast. This visit had taught me a valuable lesson: Not to trust the signs on the mainland.

To the Brave Adventurer

2007-01-18T04:29:00.000-08:00

Hello My Love!

I hope the butterfly found you safe and well and still all excited about this foray of yours. I never realised just how big the tent was until you weren't in it. Even those nice, stripy blankets (like the ones I gave you for trading with the natives) don't quite keep out the chills of an evening with you not here.

Now you mustn't panic when you see the daguerotypes - it's only a little pot and I can hobble about really well on it. And Oolon and Miss Lightfoot are looking after me for the next few days or until it's better. And I have a lovely cup of tea (and Oolon has given me chocolate to cheer me up). I thought that the music room would be best, then I won't get under his feet while he's busy repairing the old girl.

In fact, Oolon is going to take me out for jaunts in this contraption so that I can keep my end of the bargain up. He won't tell me where we're going, but it will be so much more exciting that way, don't you think?

Please be careful, won't you? I know you're big and strong, but sometimes you can be a big softy and I want you to promise to wrap up warm and don't drink the local water and only eat things that don't look like they'll eat you back.

And look what Oolon gave me to cheer me up as well as the chocolate. It's from when you broke the roof at the Anvil. I shall look at it every time I miss you, and it will make me smile. We're very lucky having friends like Oolon, aren't we?

Well, I shan't hinder your progress any further. You be careful, or else I shall have to deal with you when you get home. And I'll let you know how we're getting on exploring too, if you'd like.

All my love

Fuschia

From the Homestead

2007-01-17T08:03:00.000-08:00

My Dearest Emilly,

It's a funy thing, married life. I still tend to think of myself as Miss Begonia, rather than Mrs Begonia-Avalanche. I mean, honestly, my name is now longer than I am!

Speaking of which, sometimes I could cheerfully strangle that husband of mine (if I could reach that high, of course). I know that he's being all terribly noble by going off on this jaunt on behalf of the Governor, but I do wish he'd finish what he starts before moving off onto his next little adventure. I might have the butterfly wings, but he's most definitely got the butterfly mind.

Is the circus finished? No. Alright, we have a camel and a lion and two elephants for people to ride (although after what happened to poor Miss Tombola, I'm not sure one of them will be let out of his box again in the very near future). Oh, and a giraffe and chickens. I'm a bit confused about chickens in a circus, but Alfonso seems rather pleased with them. And we have a couple of acts, but I'm not allowed to mention them before opening night.

Is the lift installed, so that all our lovely friends can actually reach the circus come opening night? No.

What has he left lying around in lieu of a lift, I hear you ask? A steam powered plank.

I'm not joking, Emilly, I'm really not. He's left a steam powered plank. Which I then promptly tripped over, because I didn't know it was there. And now my foot really hurts and I can't go exploring the lands around the colony like I promised him I would. I know I have wings, but they're not very good over long distances (and flying never was my strong suit).

And do you know how people are supposed to get down from elevated heights of the circus platform once the plank has shot them unceremoniously 400 yards into the wild blue yonder? Diving board or cannon. Not a word of a lie. You have to love his style; its utterly unique. Mind you, as you know, that cannon is a lot of fun.......

As you can see, our fellow Companion Miss Lightfoot greatly enjoys the thrill of the High Dive (and you can see my poorly foot, too)

I don't suppose that I could borrow Oolon and his contraption instead, could I? I'd be ever so grateful. I know its being temperemental at the moment, but perhaps we could just do short hops to interesting sounding places until my foot gets better and I can be the big adventurer on my own. I just don't want to let Alfonso down, because he was so excited about expanding our understanding of the mainland.

I look forward to hearing from you. Please tell Oolon that I promise not to touch any knob, whistle or bell, if you think that will help. And I'll be a good pixie.

Your faithful friend,

Fuschia

Suspended

2007-01-16T11:02:00.000-08:00

Fuschia woke me this morning with quite a surprise. She had worked all night (while I slept) and had redecorated the balloon in a combination of Caledonian and Colony colours. I certainly won’t go un-noticed as I sail the skies of the Grid, now.

She made the astute suggestion that I should add a camera and my wax-cylinder device to the expedition equipment, so that I may be able to record the sights and sounds of the mainland, for all back in Caledon to see and hear. It will add extra weight, but I think it will be worth it.

As the sun edged it’s way into the cloudy skies, I bid Fuschia my farewells and cast off. The winds immediately caught and turned me north, my intended destination… I took this as a good omen. I found it difficult as I left, waving to Fuschia’s tiny figure as she slipped from my sight into the morning mists. I will miss her greatly…

But there was little time to dwell on such things…I had to keep an eye on the compass and the delicate heat venting system of the balloon that allowed me some control of not only elevation but direction.

Looking down I noticed that the large stone castle that had previously stood to our North and West had been replaced by a colourful garden of flowers. I was baffled as to how such a rapid transformation had occurred, until I felt the tug of the balloon envelope catching on something solid and, looking up, suddenly realised I was dragging along the underside of a stone structure. The castle itself had been lifted into the air. It is no wonder the local tribe is named the “Penan Highlanders”. Their skill at building above the ground with no visible means of support is astounding. I still remember the dismayed look I received from one of them, a Miss Drahcir Maidstone, when I set about building my airship tower and support balloons. “Why do it?” She asked. “The buildings will stay there, with or without anything to hold them up.” They hardly even seem to realise what a feat they perform every time they construct one of these buildings. Despite watching them closely and questioning them as to their building materials, I have no idea how they do it. It makes me wonder if the raw materials they use for construction in the local area are saturated with Cavorite or a related compound.

Freeing the balloon, I turned Eastwards, to slide along the coastline. The sights along this edge of the mainland remind me so much of Caledon. Here I see a wonderfully wood timbered house, there a glass observatory, beyond a beautiful cascade of waterfalls. My time here has really taught me that the mainlanders may have their own eccentricities, but are really not that much different to ourselves.

As I reached the limits of my previous explorations I saw it, the thing I had heard so much about in news from the other expeditions: Glowing red bands of writing painted in the sky. Although they hung silently, just looking at them brought to mind the hum and sizzle of the Tesla towers on a damp day. Inside the walls of this barrier stood a grand house. Whoever lived within obviously required privacy, and I did not wish to chance the balloon in an encounter with their hellish “No Entry” sign. I carefully edged around it and continued on…

Not much further down the coast I encountered my first real challenge – an effect I have labelled “Out of Body Boundary Suspension”. I believe it may be related to the “Border Quicksand” effect encountered by Mr Reymont. One moment you are happily gliding along in your balloon, the next you are floating in the air looking down on a strange ethereal landscape (or looking back at your previous location from some distance away) and then back in your balloon again, as if nothing had happened. I have experienced this several times while travelling along the coast.

During the latest occurrence the experience was so violent and surprising that I fell from the basket of my balloon into a private garden. The owners immediately came rushing over to see that I was uninjured. I explained what had happened and apologised for landing unannounced and scuffing up their beautiful lawn. They laughed, saying it happened all the time and not to worry about it. Before I had a chance to speak to them further, they suddenly vanished and I began to wonder if they had been there at all or if I had hit my head and imagined them.

As I stood in the middle of the garden I looked up at the balloon hovering 20 feet above my head and realised this whole adventure may not be quite as easy as it first seemed.

Then I went to look for a ladder….

East or West?

2007-01-15T13:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir / Madam,

By the time you receive this letter, my journey will already be underway, pushing forward the boundaries of our known world in the name of Caledon.

For the record I wish to inform you of my preparations and plans and I hope that, should anything happen to me, future explorers may find this information useful, see where I may have made a bad decision or assumption and learn from my mistakes.

I have spent the evening and morning preparing a hot air balloon as my main means of transportation. This seemed to be the most sensible choice as at least one sea crossing will be involved. The increased elevation of the balloon should assist in spotting the continent and will allow for lifting above cloud cover to take navigational readings from the sun or stars, as required. As it was this very balloon that I had originally intended to use to reach the mainland and establish our colony (until Mr Sputnik’s kind offer of transportation in much greater comfort), I have already taken her for several test flights and feel I have the measure of what she is capable of. I am more than happy to put my life in the hands of this capable little craft.

For the journey I have packed the rather fine Ordinal Enterprises Webley and flare pistol (the two essential items I take with me whenever venturing some distance from our camp), suitable provisions and sundry repair and trade items, including blankets. I have taken a little of the local coinage, but sadly do not possess any of the precious metal called “Bling” that the natives seem to covet so greatly. I also have a small cage of Miss Begonia’s homing butterflies that can carry my messages back to the colony and from there on to Caledon.

I have tried heading directly North out into the sea, but the ferocious grid winds tear at the canvas and I am always blown back to shore. I suspect there may be an unusual wind tunnel effect occurring between the two land masses. However, I have heard that there is a sheltered route to the West of our current location in Penan. This was my original course but during a visit yesterday evening, the renowned Caledonian inventor Mr Webb revealed to me that some charts of the mainland indicate safe passage to the East.

I have, therefore, decided to head Eastward, hugging the coastline in search of this fabled route to the North..

Please note that I am attaching this paragraph without the knowledge of Miss Begonia, as such thoughts would only upset her, but I am fully aware of the realities and dangers of the situation in which I am to place myself. If I do not return please ensure that Miss Begonia is fully taken care of and that all rights, deeds and profits of the colony are transferred into her name.

Your Faithful Servant,

Prof. Alfonso Avalanche

A Brief History of Colonisation

2007-01-14T13:27:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir / Madam,

I apologise for the tardiness of my reply, but Miss Begonia has been most insistent on the order in which things must be done and I am afraid that writing our report has been at the bottom of said list. However, after your recent letter I feel we must raise this matter to the highest priority, lest you believe the colony to be lost.

As you may be aware due to a slight navigational error (apparently a common problem when travelling via Mr Sputnik’s peculiar conveyance) we arrived on the Northern coast of the mainland, rather than the planned Southern coast. We at first believed we had made a grave error as we were descended upon by hordes of brightly dressed native peoples. We feared for our lives and Mr Sputnik and myself stood back to back, Miss Begonia between us, revolvers at the ready…

It transpired that the natives were only after land, which had, they told us, just been released for their use by their gods – mythical beings called El El (as near as I could make out). We smiled and played along that the great El El had also granted land to us and this seemed to make them happy and there was much rejoicing, celebration and feasting. The next morning, having recovered from their local beverages and after unloading our supplies, Mr Sputnik departed and we were left to begin our life on the mainland.

It has now been a month and a half since that fateful day and although we have been made very welcome by the locals we have not had the opportunity to venture far from our initial camp site. Miss Begonia has been organising things on the ground level, while I have been rebuilding my uncle’s Flying Circus at the top of our airship docking spire (itself quite a task to complete, standing at a height of well over 300 metres). Sadly just last week the docking spire received major structural damage in high winds and had to be carefully disassembled to prevent injury to ourselves or any of the surrounding natives. Thankfully the main Circus lift structure was already complete and has enough buoyancy to stay airborne without support.

I have, however, suspended this work having received word in our recent mail parcels from Caledon that the political mood there is now for exploration. I have decided to answer the call of our homeland and assist in this great undertaking.

As I understand an exploration of the mainland to the South of us is already underway, I propose to set out Northwards towards the rumoured location of another major continent.

Miss Begonia has elected to stay behind and report on the local customs and trading posts and to stay ready should the explorers to the South of us penetrate this far inland and need respite from their journeys with a good strong cup of tea.

I must make preparations and will endeavour to make contact again when I am ready to set out.

Your Faithful Servant,

Prof. Alfonso Avalanche

From the desk of the Colonial Office of Caledon

2007-01-14T11:04:00.000-08:00

Dear Professor Avalanche,

I can only hope that this missive finds you well and in full control of your faculties. As formidable as they are, the rigours of such an undertaking can strain the resolve of even the most dynamic of our citizens.

Having issued the requisite titles of deed and precautionary letters of introduction upon your departure from Caledon, it has come to our attention that we have yet to be in receipt of your initial report with respect to the founding of said colony.

Therefore it is with a sense of urgency that I prevail upon you to return to us, by whatever means currently at your disposal, your communique regarding the status, progress and viability of the lands secured by you on the mainland in the name of our Sovereign Majesty.

Please convey my best wishes to your wife, Madam Begonia. The needlework on the colonial flag that she returned to us is of the highest craftsmanship, though one wonders how a person of such delicate dimensions could have wrestled such a textile into submission. One imagines that considering the gaiety and intemperance of her native lands, the mainland will hold little to dismay her.