Knowledge Port and the Pirates

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

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

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

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.