The Mysterious Island é um dos meus filmes favoritos com efeitos visuais de Ray Harryhausen. Esta adaptação de um livro de Júlio Verne tem um bocado de tudo, incluindo uma gaja de mini-saia no século XIX. A história para quem não conhece gira em torno da fuga de um grupo de prisioneiros da União, durante a guerra civil americana, de um campo de prisioneiros em Richmond, Virginia. A espetacular fuga da prisão, é conseguida com o roubo de um balão que os soldados da Confederação usavam para observação. Graças a uma tempestade enorme, o balão é levado para Oeste através dos Estados Unidos até aterrar perto de uma ilha perdida no Oceano Pacífico. Esta ilha vai estar recheada de surpresas animadas por Harryhausen, que juntamente com uma dinâmica de Lost vs The Others consegue criar um clássico filme de aventuras, que nos cola ao ecrã até ao último minuto. Realizado por Cy Endfeld, com Michael Gray, Michael Callan, Gary Merrill, Dan Jackson, Percy Herbert, Joan Greenwood, Beth Rogan e Herbert Lom.

Típico rodeo à moda dos Boxinos, com uma galinha amestrada. Segue-se o encerramento das festas com o espetacular fogo preso de Páscoa e Cia Lda.

Jason and the Argonauts (1963) is a Columbia Pictures fantasy feature film starring Todd Armstrong as the titular mythical Greek hero in a story about his quest for the Golden Fleece. Directed by Don Chaffey in collaboration with stop motion animation expert Ray Harryhausen, the film is noted for its stop-motion monsters. In particular, the sequence in which seven skeletons rise from the earth and attack Jason and his comrades is still widely considered to be among the greatest achievements of motion picture special effects.

Only $22.76!

The score was composed by Bernard Herrmann, who also worked on other fantasy films with Harryhausen, such as Mysterious Island and The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad.

Ray Harryhausen

Tagline: Greatest Odyssey Of The Ages – for the first time on the screen

In April 2004, Empire magazine ranked Talos as the second best movie monster of all time, after King Kong.

Talos

Ray Harryhausen regards this as his best film.  Previous Harryhausen films had been generally shown as part of double features in “B” theatres. Columbia was able to book this film as a single feature in many “A” theatres in the United States. The skeletons’ shields are adorned with designs of other Harryhausen creatures, including an octopus and the head of the Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth.

Visual Effects Department
  Ray Harryhausen … special visual effects creator
  Arthur Hayward … sculptor: model (uncredited)

Ray Harryhausen

As a survival characteristic, I was programmed to catch every conceivable disease going. That way, I would get it all out of the way early on and have immunity for the rest of my life. This meant that, as a child, I spent many weeks flat on my back, vaguely contemplating death a couple of times, while my mother, desperate to distract me from my physical woes, read the classics of fiction to me. It seems I was destined to be a well-read survivor. So, my encounter with Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson came early on, closely followed by Verne’s Lighthouse at the End of the World and Mysterious Island. This gave me a fascination for stories about the sea and pirates. The discovery of Conan Doyle’s Tales of Pirates and Blue Water simply added fuel to the flames and, before you could say, “Long John Silver”, I was off with Captain Sharkey and enjoying the spookiness of the Polestar. Yet, even with a fair wind behind you, the repetition of the tropes becomes boring and interest wanes over time. One waits for someone to come along to reinvigorate or reinvent the genre so that the same dishes can be enjoyed all over again.

A brave attempt was made by William S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan to produce a musical entertainment, Victorian style, in The Pirates Of Penzance Or The Slave Of Duty. J. M. Barrie also takes firm aim at the clichés by having his pirates become the butt of Peter Pan’s youthful exuberance. Hollywood briefly entertained by making the thugs debonair and daring with Errol Flynn and others bringing wit and charm to the roles. Then, equal opportunities bore fruit with Jean Peters and Geena Davis swashing their buckles along with the men. More recently the Muppets and Johnny Depp have been entertaining rather than frightening. Along the way, there was more serious fictional meat from C. S. Forester and Patrick O’Brian who combine historical accuracy and intelligent storytelling. While others engaged in more overt silliness by transplanting pirates to science fictional settings with Edgar Rice Burroughs and others relocating the tropes to Alien Mains. But, to my mind, with the possible exception of The Pyrates by George MacDonald Fraser which brings a brilliant over-the-top lunacy to the subject, no-one has really “rescued” the pirate novel.

Thus, it was with some trepidation that I picked up Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key by Kage Baker. When she is on form, Baker is a highly entertaining writer and the sustained inventiveness of the Company saga which does, incidentally, have a pirate element to it, encouraged me to set prejudice to one side. If someone can reinvent the “cyborg” tropes as a time-travel device, then this author can single-handedly do something to breathe new life into old pirate stories. Unfortunately, my hopes were dashed within the first few pages. Indeed, as I continued to read, I simply grew more angry. This is nothing more than an outline an author might dash off in haste to prove to a willing publisher that a book can be delivered on the given topic — everyone expecting that, upon acceptance, the author will then sit down to more seriously “write” the book. There is no attempt to flesh out the catalogue of clichéd plot devices. Everything is flat, simplistic rather than simple, completely devoid of context and setting, and one dimensional where we might have expected two or even three dimensions. There are no interior monologues to illuminate character and motivation, no omniscient author to give us hints and insights. It is a plot, with some dialogue and the minimum possible number of words to get to the end.

I note the irony because, in other posts, I rant about the failure of editors to take out their blue pencils and cut away all the dead wood. Here we have the exact reverse. The publisher should have said, “Thanks, but no thanks” to the manuscript as delivered. This is not a book that should be allowed out into the real world at $35 without a health warning. In the good old, bad old days when editors did cut chunks of redundant prose out of already overblown novels, these excisions did appear in print but more honestly labelled. Thus, for example, Stephen Donaldson was told to cut down his first draft of The Illearth War, the resulting deletions being picked up and published by Underwood Miller as The Gilden Fire. But there was no attempt to deceive the reading public. This was for the die-hard fans as deleted content. Unfortunately, Subterranean Press has chosen to advertise Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key as an “exclusive pirate novel” as if this is some special event. I despair of publishers. They talk themselves into contracts with “big name” authors and then get caught with the sorry task of having to promote something not even third-rate to get their money back on the advance.

Well, as a sucker who shelled out $35 for this drivel, I can only advise you to wait until the word-of-mouth spreads. This will soon be hitting the second-hand market for a few dollars. If you really do feel the need to see just how bad this is, you need not waste any serious sum of money to find out. In mid 2009, I see Amazon.com has two copies going at $5 plus shipping. That’s about the right price to pay.

Escape Rosecliff Island (42 MB download)
An unexpected storm has left you shipwrecked on a mysterious island. Find over 2100 hidden objects in 25 intriguing and mysterious locations to find items that will help you escape! Play 3 different game modes: Escape the Island, Unlimited Seek and Find, and a Mystery Bonus Game. Play 5 different types of mini-game puzzles to collect inventory items from each location that will be needed to help you escape the remote Rosecliff Island!

Kate Walker has left behind her life as a high-stakes lawyer in New York City. She travels now across Europe on a train built by Hans Voralberg, the brilliant and aging genius responsible for the automatons. Hans is obsessed with finding a mysterious island known as Syberia, where he claims the last mammoths still roam. But the journey is once again fraught with hidden perils and wondrous mechanical puzzles that tantalize the imagination. Complete the adventure into the mythical land of Syberia.

Download Syberia II pc game

We are a household of readers and we read a lot of books. Here are some particular favorites, past and present. Our son is now 12…

Perhaps these are aimed too young, but they’re delightful reads…

Winnie The Pooh
The House At Pooh Corner
When We Were Very Young
Now We Are Six
Old Possums Practical Cats
Paddington
The Marvelous Inventions of Alvin Fernald
Alvins’ Secret Code
Emil and the Detectives
Rabbit Hill, The Long Winter - Robert Lawson
Stuart Little, Charlotte’s Web, The Trumpet of the Swan.

Age Appropriate & enjoyed by all of us:
“Bone” graphic novel(s) Really, really, great art, characters, story, plot, you name it. Beautiful.

All Creatures Great and Small, etc, etc. “James Herriot”.
Really good story telling, and yes, though based on real people, this is fiction. Some drinking, smoking, a fair number of complicated deliveries for sheep and some other farm animals.
Based on the writer’s experience but a work of fiction. In the real world, “Helen” wasn’t the woman he married, for starters… All Creatures and the second book were re-read requests, I think we read the pair more than 3 times all the way through…

My Family and Other Animals, Birds, Beasts and Relatives – Gerald Durrell.

British expatriots in Corfu during the 1930s. No clue where theirmoney comes from or what happened tothe father- Gerald (Gerry) is a pre-teen and already a naturalist in training and the youngest of the 4 children. Oldest brother Lawrence is already becoming A Famous Writer, middle sister and brother are teenagers, nowhere near as interesting as the animals Gerrald collects or the locals he meets. “My Family and Other Animals” is my favorite, and we re-read it at least 2-3 times.

A Zoo In My Luggage – Gerald Durrell.

Durrell’s other books are accounts of his collecting expeditions to find animals for other people’s and finally his own zoo. He has great stories, and started the first zoo-as-refuge-for-endangered-species around 1960, on one of the
Channel Islands.

The Cockcoo’s Egg - Cliff Stoll.

True story of a Berkeley grad student who discovers someone breaking into the computers he’s supervising, ends up discovering a German who is hacking university and government computers for the KGB. Includes a goode chocolate chip cookie recipe

The Periodic Table – Primo Levi -

Levi trained as a chemist, growing up in Italy in the 1930s.When the war starts he ends up in the Reisistance, is captured and shipped off to Auchwitz. He survives (working in the I. G. Farbin facility) and returns to Italy after the war. He becomes a paint and varnish chemist. Each story/chapter uses an element as the anchor for an episode, telling his life story from youth to age. Two stories are fictional the one about lead and the one about carbon. He wrote them in a feverish burst along with his acclaimed “Survival In Auchwitz” in 1946. Its wonderful in translation, it must be even more fun in the original Italian.

The Survival of the Bark Canoe – John McPhee.

Profile of Henri Vallencourt, a young man who mastered Native American canoe building technology and built them to order in the 1970s. No pencils, no saws, just a hatchet and a “crooked knife”, bought from the Hudson’s Bay Company. They’re easier to use and maintain than the sharpend beaver tooth they replaced, which is why HBC still sells them. Second half of the book is a canoe trip consisting of McPhee, the canoe maker, and some friends, through the Maine woods that Henry Thourou traveled and wrote about 150 years ago. One half-page reference to Deliverance and jokes about banjo-playing rapists mean it can’t be “G” but “PG” is very fair.

The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings trilogy. You know these.

The Harry Potter books. You know these too.

The Complete Sherlock Holmes – Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle

All 1100 pages. out loud, twice. If you haven’t had the pleasure, I recomend it. Smoking, light drinking, cocaine use by Holmes when he’s bored. (Watson portrays this unsympatheticly…)

The Fallen Man – Tony Hillerman.

Set on the Navajo Reservation in New Mexico, Hillerman’s mysteries are solved by members of the Navajo Tribal Police. They’re deeply rooted in place and time, and the Navajo and dominant cultures. In this story, a skeleton discovered over 1000 feet up a pinacle which is both popular with climbers and a Navajo sacred place. It may be a rancher who disappeared on his honeymoon years before…

The Maltese Falcon – Dashiel Hammett.

A woman with a complex story visits the small detective agency of Sam Spade and Miles Archer. Archer agrees to watch over her case personally. He is found, shot dead, in the middle of that night, and Sam Spade has to figure out who killed him, and why, and do something about it. One character in a criminal association is gay, and Spade refers to him as a “fairy” in one scene. There are suggestions that another male member of the gang may be his lover, which are not treated as positive. Relatioinships outside of marriage, past and present are key parts of the plot. Archer’s is not the only death. None the less, this is Hammett’s finest and a terrific book about being an adult.

Animal, Vegitable, Miracle – Barbara Kingsolver.

A year of eating locally, and in low-impact, means raising their own food animals and growing crops, as well as preserving by canning and freezing, and seeking meals away from home which are also of locally produced food. Naturally, seasonal foods become staples, and much thought is given to what comes from far away and how commercial, agribusiness farming works, as opposed to small, organic,efforts. Many recipes, the majority of the text is by Kingsolver but her husband and one daughter contribute as well. A really delightful book. A more positive take on the same subject as “The Omnivore’s Dilemma“

Hoot, Flush,

These are really terrific kids books- kid centered points of view, serious conflict without it becoming overwhelming, justice triumphs more or less. Unsympathetic characters get a comeuppance and wits and dairing are shown to match brute force and come out ahead. Very likable protagonists, not the same in each book. I was sorry when each ended. Also see “Scat“, about Florida panthers.

Fate Is The Hunter – Ernest K. Gann

Memior of an airline pilot, from the wild days of the 1920s through the Depression, the war and the post-war boom. Superb, humble and honest adventure stories where nobody succeeds without help and kindness from others. Much dry wit, and a steady roll of the names of friends, co-workers and legends who died when fate finally had their number. I read this in 6th grade and loved it. We read it with Benjamin a couple of years ago and he loved it too. Superb writing. When he tired of the airline business, Gann went to medical school and became a doctor- quite a guy.

The Silent World – Jacques Y. Cousteau

From the invention of the Aqualung, in occupied France, through setting up Calypso for expeditions and setting out to make a life with science and diving. Cousteau wrote all his books in English directly, for the world market I suppose.

The Living Sea, World Without Sun, Jacques Y. Cousteau

Further adventures, exploration and science in the 1950s and early 1960s. I remember reading about most of this in The National Geographic some in the latest issues, some in back issues…

Incredible Victory – Walter Lord

The battle of Midway, as told by hundreds of survivors to Mr. Lord, 20 years later. He manages to tell the central parts of the story using quotes from people who were there, on both sides, the very best kind of history. In mid-1942 the Japanese Navy sets out to destroy the remaining US Pacific fleet. By capturing Midway, only 1200 miles from Oahu, they expect to provoke the US fleet into a final battle and defeat them. They don’t know the US Navy is reading their radio codes. In a single day, and amid enormous cost in American lives from Midway and afloat, dive bombers from two US carriers sink all 4 Japanese carriers, though the Japanese manage to sink one American carrier and an accompanying destroyer. This is the beginning of the why Admiral Nimitz got a freeway named after him… This and “A Night To Remember” are Lord’s most famous books, It helps that the good guys win, but the waste and savagery of war are not glossed over.

A Brief History of Time – Stephen Hawking

This is such a great book- it starts with a good cosmological joke, and contains only one equation. Its both a story of what is and how we know it, and what we don’t know yet. We saw Hawking on his last visit to the Bay Area and he’s inspiring. Robert Heinlein once wrote that any scientist who can’t explain what they’re doing, to a child, in 10 minutes, is a fraud. Hawking is not a fraud.

Benjamin read a number of Charlie Bone books to himself, and we read one as bedtime reading. Not my first choice, but he liked them a lot. He’s also current in the Maximum Ride and Levin Thumps series’, and looking forward to the next one in each case.

More fiction:

Holes
Around the World In 80 Days, Jules Verne
A Wrinkle In Time – L’Engle (?)
Jonathan Livingston Seagull – Bach
Summerland
Owls In The Family – F. Mowat

More natural history:

A Fish Caught In Time -
Waiting For Aphrodite – Sue Hubbell
The Ancient Engineers – L. Sprague de Camp
Wonderful Life - Stephen J Gould
Life (the first 4 billion years) – Richard Fortey
Trilobite Eyewitness to Evolution – Richard Fortey
The Decypherment of Linear “B” -
The Periodic Kingdom -
Giant Squid – Ellis
Platypus

The Wisdom of Bones – Walker & Shipman – Benjamin loved this and after this we read The Hominid Gang, by Delta Willis, which he liked even more. Willis has a different view of some of the same people and places that are the foundation for Walker and Shipman’s book. Willis was writing while the Nariokatome aka Turkana Boy, the oldest and so-far best preserved Homo Erectus, was being un-earthed and pieced together.

Books we read pieces of but stopped before the end or didn’t want to read all the way through start to finish:

Little Women - Louisa May Allcott – stopped before Amy died.

Read some, then stopped:
Little House In The Woods
Little House On the Praire
Anne of Green Gables
The Yearling

Read here and there, but not the whole thing. Enjoyed in small pieces. Favorites of mine :^)
Rising from the Plain – John McPhee
Assembling California – John McPhee
Looking for a Ship – John McPhee
Taking Wing – Pat Shipman and
Synapsida – McLaughlin
The Man Who Walked Through Time – Colin Fletcher
Carrying The Fire – Michael Collins

In theory good ideas but not yet actually read by/to Benjamin, yet:

Broadsides From The Other Orders – Sue Hubbell
A Country Year – Sue Hubbell
Life on the Missippi, Mark Twain

A Distant Mirror – Werthimer
Tom Sawyer – Mark Twain
Huckleberry Finn – Mark Twain
Endurance – Lansing (a powerfully written account of Shackleton’s last Antarctic expedition.)
House of Seven Gables -
The Red Badge Of Courage – S. Crane

I, Juan De. Pareja -

Historical fiction, story of a Moor who is enslaved and owned by the painter Velasquez… De Pareja eventually becomes a paint himself and provokes controversy by painting a black Jesus and Mary Mother and Child picture.

Pride and Prejudice – J. Austin
Sense and Sensability – J. Austin
Emma – J. Austin
Persuasion – J. Austin
Northanger Abbey – J. Austin
Is Paris Burning? -
Beyond the 100th Meridian – W. Stiegner
Wuthering Hieghts -
Last and First Men, Starmaker – Olaf Stapleton
A House In Space – Henry F. S. Cooper
(More) Tony Hillerman…
Diary of a Young Girl – Ann Frank

Machu Pichu, The lost city, is one of mysterius places in the world. Look at the picture, and find out a little part of all Machu pichu mysteries !

Another side of machu pichu …

at long last…!

the Pixie and Strongman’s Big Finish

Conseil’s Tale

A printed handbill blows along with the crimson leaves on the chill autumn wind.

You stoop to pick it up, and read:

Caledon Library Book of the Month Discussion for October Two Thousand and Seven

Sunday, October the Twenty-First, 2:00 – 3:45pm SLTtime
Whitehorn Library, Caledon VictoriaCity

The Caledon Library’s Book of the Month for October is “Islands of Mystery”. This book comprises two works, the novel _The Secret of the Island_, by Jules Verne & the blog adventure _Journey to 20,000 Leagues Beneath the Mysterious Island_, by The Journeyers of Caledon.

_The Secret of the Island_ is the third novel of The Mysterious Island trilogy, Verne’s sequel to _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_. Castaways on an island in the South Pacific at the time of the American Civil War establish a colony, and undergo a thrilling, and closely described, series of privations and adventures. But a mysterious hand seems to be intervening in their fate….

In the collaborative adventure _Journey to 20,000 Leagues Beneath the Mysterious Island_, The Journeyers of Caledon chronicle a remarkable tale as it unfolds. A Mysterious Island arises off the coast of Caledon, a volcano the locals nickname “Phillip”. As the volcanic activity and earthquakes threaten Caledon, an expedition is assembled by the Royal Society of Natural Sciences. The expedition consists of an unlikely mixture of scientists, adventurers, curious nobles, a stowaway neko, a winsome witch, and a dastardly noble set on taking the treasure of the island for his own. On their Heroic Mission, the journeyers encounter all manner of curious beings, giant killer bunnies, amorous penguins, insane tribesman wearing jetpacks made of battered discarded industrial parts and bamboo….and each other!

The Mysterious Island, by Jules Verne

The Secret of the Island, by Jules Verne
http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/21489
http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/v/verne/jules/v52mi/chapter43.html

Journey to 20,000 Leagues Beneath the Mysterious Island, by The Journeyers of Caledon

Miss Kiralette: Down Into the Caverns We Go

Mister Gnarlihotep Abel: From the Bowels

Miss Fuschia & Professor Avalanche: the Descent

Lady Eva: the Chow Chow Club

Miss Fuschia & Professor Avalanche: Fight Club

Miss Terry: Having Landed

I told the cannibals they shouldn’t bother with the cook pot, that I was best served raw.

Well I thought this was funny! but the cannibals did not. It would seem that a predelection for the taste of human flesh (and I do mean the inside, not the outside) does not include a gourmet’s desire for experimentation. They were completely uninterested in hearing about sashimi or Darkling tartare.

At least we got a good hot mineral soak out of it. My knotted shoulder muscles were almost loosened to a state of warm bliss by the time Kiralette flounced out of the jungle and saved us all. My plea of “just five more minutes!” was lost in the crashing sound of upended cookpots and doused flames. Ah well… Good kitty! I am growing her a catnip tree if ever we get out of this. I gave her a healing salve for her hands, (I shall have to watch them to make sure they heal properly), then she and Gnarli trotted off to coo at each other under a tree.

Miss Terry and Lord Zealot looked like wet, sullen cats. The Duchesses were exclaiming at the tastiness of the vegetables that had been stewed with them in their cook pot.

Old man Oolon actually looked less wrinkly when he came out of the hot cook pot than when he went in. I’d encourage you to imagine that but truly, I’m not that cruel; I wish I hadn’t seen that. … Oh. Ah. I suppose I’ve gone and made you imagine it after all. So sorry, really… here, instead have a good long look at this photograph of a pretty flower, you’ll feel better.

Back on the island, we stood around staring at each other, we intrepid explorers; wet and dressed in our undertings, ash-flecked and scratched and burned and slightly pink. I grinned at the dismayed faces around me. They stared back, disturbed at the giddy light in my eyes.

“Is anyone else havin a bloody fun time too? Because I am havin so much fun I could scream! Wooooh, how long has it been since any of us had sooch a rippin good adventure?!” I did a crazy-happy little dance, the wet ribbons dangling limply from my corset. They just stared at me, as if awaiting the punchline. “Did anyone happen to see what they did with our clothing?”

Eventually, we found our various sand- and ash-smudged clothing pieces tossed into a bin marked “donations”. Well, we did find most of them, but being short several pieces, were forced to share what was left in the interest of decency and warmth.

Hah! I lie, actually. I had my small beaded bag, and within it, nearly everything I owned, including my entire wardrobe. (It’s bigger on the inside than the outside. It’s magik.) So I suppose I could have found enough to cover everyone properly, but it was so heartwarming watching everyone share and look after each other, we priviledged of Caledon down on our luck like hobos, I just couldn’t ruin the moment.

So I ended up dressed for adventure like so:

The Pixie and the Strongman laughed very, very hard at us when they crashed down out of the sky in their airship, balloon, tingy. Miss Fuschia the pixie told us she would design a new clothing line after our style and call it Grab Bag. Professor Alphonso, her steadfast strongman, mostly just tried not to look too closely at Lady Amber, who had “valiantly” declined all but the most necessary of coverings.

Stop looking at me like that! I am not suffering a tea hallucination! A pixie and a strongman really did come down out of the sky on a balloon. Oh, where is that photographe… It’s probably at the bottom of my bag, all torn and scuffed and bloodied and scorched, considering all the wild things that happened next…

Journey to 20,000 Leagues Beneath the Mysterious Island: Interlude

the Pixie and the Strongman: the Poison Belt

Enough with the silly jokes! Now we are cooked.

BardHaven’s Story Part Four

Lady Gabrielle: Does Not Wear Apricot

Lady Eva: Cream of Duchess Soup??

Gnarli Remains Chased

Amber’s Part the Fourth: Chapter One

Miss Kiralette: Cat Out of the Bag… and Into a Stew Pot?

Mister G. Abel: Into the Jaws of Adventure (MIND the nose!)

Lady Eva: A Journey of Titanic Proportions

BardHaven’s Story: Part 3, in which the Expedition Accosts Phillip (with a Crash)

Lady Amber: Sea Voyage and Arrival at Phillip

Miss Kiralette: I’m Free!

Oolon: Brief Paws

Lady Eva HRONKs in Passion!

“the Executives” – Summer Pilots

Mister G. Abel runs from the Fossil-Hare!

Oolon: All Our Base

Miss Terry: Arrival

The cute little bluebird fluttered down from the sky, wings laden with volcanic ash, a large official-looking envelope clutched in its’ wee talons. It had flown here to Caledon Cay all the way from my home in Tanglewood, valiantly braving disorienting sim border-crossings, cleverly avoiding the airspace above no-fly and dangerously full parcels, deftly dodging barely-controlled airships and gravity-defying skyboxes. It alighted upon the apple barrel that secreted the kittygirl, Miss Kiralette, shook some of the soot from its’ wings, and twittered adorably at me, so very proud that it had completed its’ mission. I took the envelope from its’ grip, patted it lightly on its’ little feathered head, and broke the seal of the Royal Society for the Advancement of Knowledge in the Natural Sciences. I found within exactly what I had hoped for: an invitation to join the expedition to explore the dangerous volcanic island Phillip, the newest and most unwelcome, (aside from the recently-retired casino magnate, Biff Hardshaft), addition to Caledon.

“Good birdie!” I crooned at the little thing. It fluttered its’ wings happily, accidentally flicking a speck of ash into my eye. “Is there any other news from Tanglewood?” It tilted it’s wee head at me, looking at me confusedly with one black beady eye. “Has the ash reached western Caledon yet? Can the earthquakes be felt that far?” The wee bluebird tweeted sweetly, clearly not understanding, then hopped around the barrel, pecking at it once, experimentally.

One bright green eye showed in one of the holes in the barrel then, and the neko-girl attached to it whispered, her voice slightly muffled by the wood, “Who are you talking to, Darkling?”

“Delivery bird, lass. Look!” I waved the letter from the Honourable Kate Nicholas where Kiralette could see it. “I’ve been invited. No apple barrel hiding for me.”

“Good. ‘Cuz there’s no more room in here.” She sounded annoyed that I had the invitation she craved, so I stuffed it away into my small beaded bag.

I looked back at the bluebird, which was looking at me expectantly. “Would yeh like a nice fat hempseed?” I tried several different languages, including the one avian tongue I knew, but still it did not understand me. Stupid little thing. “Kira, are yeh hoongry?”

“Well I’ve got apples, but… yeah, I am. Why?” Her bright green eye blinked expectantly from the shadows inside the barrel. “I don’t want a Phillip-burger, though!”

I grinned slowly at the little bird, my eyes sparkling wickedly. It fell back half a step, finally catching some sense of my meaning, this time without words. Before it could fly away, I scooped it up in my hand, then shoved it through one of the holes in the apple barrel in a flutter of blue feathers.

“Here, kitten. Protein.”

There was a little flurry of sound from inside the barrel as Kiralette caught the birdie, then her tail snaked out through one of the lower holes, flicking excitedly. I stuffed it back inside. There was then the little sound of crunching. “Mmmmf! Thanks, Darkling!” And then she spit the beak and talons out onto the deck, which I tucked into my small beaded bag. There’s probably a spell somewhere that would call for “pokey bits from a non-sapient bird”.

“Anytime, lass. I’ll make sure yeh get what yeh need in the crossing… we can let yeh out when yeh want, but probably best to wait ’til we arrive and they’ve little choice but to bring yeh along. And when the Baron’s hopefully distracted with soomting nefarious. And unarmed. And… can we wait ’til he’s out of shouting and weapons range too?”

Then two jolly seamen sauntered up to the collection of barrels and crates, clearly intent upon hefting them up and into the ship. I drew myself up proudly, and despite the ash-tangled hair and wanton’s dress, cut quite the picture of the noblewoman. Part of being an aristocrat is knowing that, with all these lands and monies and social station, one can do whatever one pleases, provided one do so with confidence. I sniffed haughtily… then sneezed as the ash tickled my nose.

“These barrels are full of ~achoo!~ important, delicate equipment… see to it they are handled carefully and stacked properly. Over here… by the rail… no, not like that, like this– follow me, I will show you.” And I flounced up the deck. They did as they were told, good lads, though seemed a bit annoyed that I would think they didn’t know how to handle themselves. Eventually they got it right. Kiralette huddled down inside the barrel, prudently not watching, for fear they would notice her.

Seemingly speaking to them, my words were intended for Kiralette. “I must change out of this dirty little dress. I’ll check up on yeh later!” And I clutched my small beaded purse, then flounced below deck to my stateroom.

Later, after trying several other choices, I had finally selected a wicked-sharp outfit that seemed perfect for adventuring: it was shadowy and black, consisting of a pair of well-fitted trousers (skirts and bustles are SO hard to run or swim in), belted with a stout leather belt (actually a good whip with a buckle), a billowy, floor-length coat (which might double as a blanket or sail or parachute), a light shirt with a matching silk jabon (strong silk scarves can come in handy in a variety of situations), and a pair of steel-toed, delicately-spiked black leather boots (my eebil shite-kickers, I call ‘em). Strapping my Ordinal Stiletto to the belt, I felt like I could out-stab any cutthroat, out-smart any beast or primitive, out-cackle any evil mastermind. I was ready.

I strode confidently out onto the deck like I owned it, the ash-strewn air whipping through my indigo tresses… and saw the Baron. Wearing the same outfit. Drat! Well, we do shop at the same place.

I turned to go back to go change again before anyone had noticed the faux pas. But before I did, I spared a moment to study the Baron. His eyes were covered as usual, this time by a pair of red-tinted goggles. The confidence in his stance was unmistakable, but also typical of the man. Probably he would look confident hip-deep in screaming, slavering demons, or even saccharine wide-eyed Tinies. As he watched the supplies being loaded and stowed, the volcano flared again, casting the scene in a flickering flash of reddish light. He smiled then at Phillip, a wicked, secret little smile, and I could see his eyes behind the red glass, dancing over the sight of the flames. Ah… there it is. Avarice and mischief. There was something there he wanted, or else he would have remained behind, in safety, and sent a more expendable party. Hopefully what he wanted there was more than simply flinging a few of the expedition members (surely not me) into the lava.

Phillip growled and rumbled again, and even aboard the ship, we felt the great rocking, the water churning. Lord Zealot, Baron BardHaven, then turned his eyes to his manor in Caledon Mayfair, the House of Three Graces, where surely his wife Lady Kirawill was even now, perhaps humming a morbid little tune to herself as she nested, converting the dungeon into a volcano shelter. His brows knitted, almost imperceptively, in concern. So. He was certainly up to something, may well even have caused this great calamity, but he did not have complete control over it. He still worried over the safety of his beloved wife and home.

I took the stairs back down to my stateroom slowly, carefully, musing at how I was both reassured and worried at what I had read in those moments of watching Lord Zealot. It made me anxious to learn that Phillip was not merely his plaything, as I had rather hoped. So there was real danger there, and I felt a fleeting stab of guilt at helping Kiralette to get closer to it.

It was, however, quite good news that there was something within Phillip that the Baron wanted. Anything Zealot wanted would be a lot of wicked fun to a playful fae and shameless witch like me. Could it be treasure? Some strange weapon, a mountain of Linden$, a rare limited edition outfit? A harem of volcanic demi-god/desses, a sexgen bed programmed with every position ever attempted since the dawn of humanity? Compromising photographes or kinetoscope sequences depicting Phillip Linden or Desmond Shang in embarrassingly improbable situations? Or even…

I gasped. Surely not that. Surely no animator would be so foolish as to build such a thing…

Surely not a gesture capable of bringing every single resident on the entire grid to their knees?

The Baron would like that very much, wouldn’t he? Well, so would this former Baroness. I smiled, slow and wicked, much as I had smiled at the wee birdie. Whatever it was… I was sure I could hide it in my small beaded bag.

I returned to my stateroom, shut the door, and lay down on the bed, ignoring its’ whispers, visions of great reward dancing through my head. I remembered the twinned outfits then, realizing I should change into something less Zealot-ish, and reached deep inside my purse. I had just the thing… somewhere… next to my sword.


To be continued! here and within the tales of my Fellow Journeyers. Return soon for the next thrilling chapter, or get speared by hungry natives!

Duchesses Step Aboard for Adventure

Miss Kiralette: Trapped in a Barrel! and sat upon

Lady Amber: Backstory

Lady Amber Prepares

Commodore Oolon Sputnik: Unlikely Bedfellows

Miss Terry Lightfoot: Oolon’s (Travelling) Companion

The great and epic tale! in the words of my fellow adventurers…

Mister Gnarlihotep Abel: the March to BardHaven

Amber Lady Palowaksi, Part the First

Miss Kiralette: What a Way to Go!

Baron BardHaven’s Story: Part Two

Lady Eva’s Preparation

Mister G. Abel Reaches the Cay, Longing for his (absent?) Kitty

Caledon Cay was a carnival by the time I arrived. They had named the island Phillip, which seemed awfully naughty, even if our Avatar Overlord was often spectacularly wrong. The shores were swarming with gawkers and land speculators, ashen gray had become the new black, and I did indeed find an adventurous meal of a thick, meaty Phillip-burger and a pint of Lava-lager. After a few bites, however, I had to return to the burger-seller and threaten him with my wand.”Yeh said there was no Tiny in this!”

“There isn’t! ‘Tis Tiny-free, my lady! Medium-sized woodland creatures graciously provided their meat for it!” The sweat standing out on his brow was not due entirely to volcanic heat.

“Did these woodland creatures perhaps wear clothing? Or speak?”

The greasy half-wit stammered unintelligibly and tried to back away, so I had to tie him in my golden lasso. He wore the attached shackles with terrified style. Ah, Caledon! e’en your dregs look elegant in leather! After more questioning, he did admit that while he saw none of the creatures in clothing, someone else might have stripped them first.

“But they didn’t speak!” he wailed. “… English!”





I had too much to do to figure out how to slay the cutthroat without anyone noticing. So I simply imperiused him to wheel his little cart out to Loch Avie and give the remainders of the Phillip-burgers and Volcanowursts a proper burial. And to sing to them all the best and nicest songs from his childhood.

Turning back to the island, and ignoring the angry stares of hungry revelers, I decided to climb the lighthouse where I had landed for a better look. Major Margulis may not consider it a proper landing, what with the handle of my broom having embedded itself deeply into the wood of the roof, but if he didn’t want it crashed into, he shouldn’t've built it so damn tall. This IS Caledon, after all, and few airships are so dull as to always go at the rate or heading requested by the pilot. Gentlemen and their phallic symbols, boys and their toys! I made a note to schedule a good giggle with Miss Beaumont over her cousin’s high tower.

The island. Now I could see it properly; it was great and huge, huger than Major Margulis’s tower, far bigger than Davaar and the House of Three Graces smashed together, and laggier, even from this distance, than Caledon Castle. Over the sound of the opportunists hawking their Phillip-wares, I could hear … the island singing…

I was distracted by movement down on the docks, specifically, a parting of space to give room to the Baron BardHaven as he made his way to the collection of excited, squealing scientists. Ah, yes, the locals know well the danger of annoying Lord Zealot, or of even being noticed by him without sufficient armour and distance. I smiled, hoping he would catch scent of the Tiny piggy being roasted in one of the food stalls he passed and lash the seller with his tongue or whip or both. Alas, he was intent upon speaking with the scientists, his darkly cloaked figure sweeping between the parted waves of Caledonians like a shark through clear water.

It occurred to me, then, that this king-sized volcano might have been his idea, his doing. It bore some marks of his style: it was black and red and wicked deadly, hotter than hell, viciously scathing and conveniently located to his and his Baroness’s home in Mayfair. Perhaps the Baroness wanted to REALLY redesign the House of Three Graces. With lava. I decided then to speak with him if I could catch him and ask if he was behind it, and if so, how I could get in on the mischief. Not just for the fun! but to protect any innocents that might stumble too close.

While the Baron spoke to the scientists (aha I was right! Miss Kate Nicholas was there leading them), I looked back to the magma-spewing island. It was… beautiful and terrible, the lava floes slithering into the sea with a great steaming hissing, the power of the molten rock hot and red like the furious monthlies of Gaia. It rumbled violently a few times, the Earth turning and twisting fitfully and forcing all of us to grab at anything to stabilize our quake-destabilized footing. Somehow I managed to not slide off the roof of the lighthouse. Another great selling point of my lovely new slippers.

I strained my ears, seeking over the hissing of the island and the exclamations of the crowd, seeking to recapture that music… the island singing, I knew I’d heard it…

And there it was. Strains of organ music, hot steamy air howling through metal pipes, a minor key… mmmh I am a sucker for a minor key… I found the beat, let it slide up and down my spine, let my hips shimmy slow, twisting, revelling in the sensual celebration of change and death and destruction and remaking … raising my arms like adoring snakes towards the sky, fingers weaving the air like little beckoning prayers for mercy…

I was lost for a time in it, the stunningly gorgeous music threaded through and through with the passion of a heart overflowing with grand misery and unsolvable sorrow. I felt a deep sympathy with the person or persons or creature or creatures or god or beastie or whatever playing the tune. Oy, you can take the woman out of the heart of darkness, but you cannot take the darkness out of the woman’s heart.

The music reached deep inside me, unhooking my heart from its’ tethers, exquisitely painful. And then there were visions (or hallucinations, eh, it’s anyone’s guess)… molten rock bubbling like potion in a cauldron one should never drink… dark dirty naked shrieking men wearing airships on their backs… carved stone, stones, steps, sculptures… fire and screaming revelry and a damn good dance beat… a high-pitched, maniacal laughter…

When the voices from Phillip crowned the song in climax, their ululating cries rising up, I joined my voice with them, my tongue quick as an adder, my spirit singing free!

Then another earthquake hit. I was slipping, sliding down the sloping roof of the lighthouse, plummeting to the ground and crowds below…

I woke up on the ground, as I often do, to a circle of concerned faces and hurried assertions that they had only been loosening my corset to help me to breathe. I stood up, brushed myself off, made sure I had my little beaded bag, then looked out over the water again. By the height of the sun, I had lost several hours in my communion with the island.

I stared back at Phillip thoughtfully, running my fingers idly through my hair, which changed at the touch from deep purple to a lovely new shade of dark violet indigo. No, not blue! That sort of colour that the deepest parts of the night sky are, between the stars, that dark colour that people who only glance at it think is black, but is actually like the blood of night and violets and haemophiliac nobility all squished up and mixed together, well, not quite that dark, but add a few drops the colour of stormclouds and you’ve got it. That colour of indigo. It went beautifully with the colours of my frock.

While I was shaking off the shock of my enchantment, and fall, and morning tea, and that awful Phillip-inspired cuisine, I spied Miss Kiralette in the crowd, trying to blend in. Which is to say, she was looking around, bright red hair flying like a red flag, looking suspiciously like she was up to something.

When Kiralette is up to something, one can be assured there is great trouble and hilarious fun close by. She’s the best one to have along on a shopping trip, at a party, or at a garter-sock raid on the gentlemen’s barracks. Not only because she’s easy to blame it all on (sucker for punishment, that one), but because she comes up with the wickedest ideas so as to squeeze the most peril out of any already-inadvisable-venture. I adore her, and would follow her into even the most foolish of situations, and not just because I want to make sure she gets out of them safely.

I flounced up to her with a wicked grin, sensing giggling adventure.

She looked at me in a mixture of delight and relief, and I could see the naughty wheels in her brain turning in mischievous calculation.

“WHAT are you wearing?!” she asked, voice muffled in my snuggling hug.

“Wha….. dis? It’s, ehm… my cocktail dress o’ doom. Yeh don’t tink it’s appropriate?”

She looked up at me scoldingly, kitty ears flicking. “Darkling, everyone can see the tops of your stockings.” She leaned over a bit to peek under the flouncy skirts. “And they can probably see your… cushy attributes when you walk.” She looked around hopefully. “Is there a rave going on?” she asked, already considering what she might get away with wearing that was even naughtier.

“Oh. Nay, no rave. Yet.” I looked down at myself, realizing I’d never changed from last night’s party dress. Perhaps that explains a few of the leering stares and lewd suggestions from the crowds. “Well… tha’s not important now! What’s important is… how do we wring the most fun and danger out of Phillip?”

She grinned at me, and we found a semi-private space between two stacks of crates in which to plot and giggle and compare frock styles. As I suspected, she was indeed up to something, having been forbidden by the Baron to join the expedition to plumb the steaming belching bowels of Phillip. I could understand his concern; we both adore the teenaged kittygirl and would rather eat candied glass than see her suffer in a manner she did not enjoy. And I am no fool, I was hesitant to act directly against the Baron, at least not in a way in which I might get caught.

“That’s the ship they’re taking.” She pointed to the docks, to a great tall ship being loaded with crates and barrels of supplies. I couldn’t see the name of the ship, but I was sure it was something clever. I looked from the barrels to Kiralette’s small form and back again, and got an incredibly unoriginal idea.

“Come on.” I grabbed her by the hand and had a quick word with the planet beneath our feet, convincing it to keep turning while we stayed in place for a second. We emerged several meters away, in the water near the docks. I’d intended to shift us to the docks, but, well, for some reason I’d miscalculated. Good thing I hadn’t landed us inside the dock wood.

As we dragged ourselves splashingly onto dry land, she regarded me like a… well, like a cat that’s just been dropped into the water. I was expecting claws at any moment and hoped her respect for fashion would confine her fury to my flesh and leave the cute little cocktail dress alone. She spluttered and tried to ring out her skirt, then peered deep into my eyes. “Your pupils look all big and black. What party were you at last night?”

“Ehm, I … I don’t remember. Oiya, it’s dark here! Now let’s get yeh on tat ship…” I slipped my wand out of my small beaded bag and pointed it at a nearby apple barrel. It went pop! pop! pop! as several knots in the wood were persuaded to spring free, making good airholes. Then I turned to Kiralette, hugging her squelchingly, both of us still dripping with ash-infused oceanwater. “Now. Are yeh sure yeh want to defy the Baron, go into sairtain danger, and possibly ruin that adorable pinafore?”

“Do a pair of Caledonian Duchesses make a sandwich faster and hotter than any chef on the mainland?” She smirked impatiently.

I laughed with her. “Alright! Here yeh go… Exchangus Applekittygirl!”

Where the lovely (and surely more innocent than I have depicted here) redheaded neko lass had stood, there was now a little tumble of apples. I pressed my eye anxiously up to an airhole. “Are yeh ok? … Kiralette, lass, are yeh alright?”

“You left some apples in the barrel, Darkling.” With relief, I heard her shifting around inside the barrel and not screaming that her foot had been fused with the wood.

“Tha’s ta keep yeh from starvin. No tellin how long til we can get yeh out.”

“We?”

“O’ course, lass. Yeh don’t tink I’d let yeh go have such a wild and stupid adventure wit’out me, do yeh? Somebody’s gotta protect yeh from kitty-sacrificing natives and great balls of fire!”

“Yay!” we cried together, and gigglingly plotted how we would Save the Day, and Look Cute Doing It.



To be continued! here and within the tales of my Fellow Journeyers. Stay tuned, or get caught unawares in a lava flow!

Aha, I have found it! Here is my photographe of the Pixie and the Strongman, and Oolon as well… taken after we extricated ourselves from the wreckage of their balloon, and before we fled into, er, decided to explore the caves. As I suspected, the photo is bloodied and singed… well, I should be thankful we escaped at all, and moreso with photographic evidence intact.

Again, I apologize for displaying so much old man skin… really, he’s got a lovely personality and a great fine mind, a splendid dry sense of humour… in there, underneath.*

Even after all of these trials, we were still determined to continue our exploration of the volcanic island we had named Phillip, to protect Caledon, and to find the secrets within. Miss Kiralette told us we shouldn’t go into the caves, and having gone, should go back out as soon as the lepus giganticus, or Bunnzilla, stopped snuffling at the cave mouth. I think she’d had her fill of adventure and just wanted to go home to her ball of yarn and catnip garden. While she made grand gestures with her machete, Lord Zealot and I conferred quietly about the idol of my visions. I could see by the interested gazes of our friends we would have to tell them something soon.

The brave Mister Abel had managed to acquire a native map, but it was so primitive, and the tunnels so labyrinthine, that we might wander for days or weeks before finally stumbling into someplace terribly unhelpful, such as the Inchysporkchowchow’s main barracks of warriors. We needed a guide, and lacking any natives to Dominate, er, influence, the only option I could see was a spell I learned a long time ago, and haven’t used in at least a century. I was nervous about casting it, I can tell you; it was dark and sunless down here, and that helped, but it would take a lot of blood out of me. I warned Lord Zealot that I might grow so weak I would lose control: faint, or worse. I didn’t want to frighten the others, or frankly, reveal so much of my weakness to them all. I treasure Caledon and the warm acceptance I’ve enjoyed here. But if they knew all of my dark history, all of who I was and am…

Torch-waving mobs are no fun unless there is, at the very least, a good dance beat.

The strange maudlin organ music (sans a good dance beat) again wafted up to us from the tunnels below as I began to sing, to cast… weaving my song into it, my heart and soul and blood… my spirit soaring with the high notes, my thoughts lofty with love of Caledon and my companions… my body thrumming with the low notes, blood shivering, burning, as I felt, became, the great island around and above and below… felt its’ strangeness, its’ longing, its’ flatulence, the restlessness of its’ flames… and then I could feel it, within Our womb, growing… coalescing slowly… what was this, what is this, this strange thing being created…?

I lost myself for a time, as I knew I would. The dark, sparkling orb that coalesced before me was Us, the island and I, the manifestation of our union of selves. It wanted to lead me to its’ greatest treasure, so that we might reunite completely…

And so we followed it down, leagues and leagues down, deep into the hot steaming stinking bowels of Phillip. I following Our spirit, they following me…

We are too high, We must go deeper… drifting through the passages, hewn from rock by ancients ancient to the ancients, living rock, Our veins, Our lungs, the passages of Our breath… down deeper, towards the hot flaming gooey center, along and around it, oh so bubbling the burning blood, oh so fragile the creatures within, oh the desire to care for them, Our little parasites within, feed them, Our babes, take them where they wish, for We are restless, We need not remain, We travel where He says, with Its great power, oh how We hunger, deeper still, nearer the boiling blood and cooling waves, no not that way, they will scream and throw sharpened spanners if they see Us, yes this way, watch your step, mind the gap, now we’re almost to My Heart but first must pass over the river of …

I froze when I saw it, terror gripping my, ehm, tender bits, like an overzealous and rather clumsy lover. Casting bright flickering orange light onto our fearful faces, pressing down on us with suffocating heat, a river of molten fire… the Beast in me knew it could burn me, end me, and screamed into my brain to run far and fast away and shred anyone or anything that got in my way. I fell back against the rough stone wall, my body and the guide orb trembling in fear. But the guide told me the only way to the depths we sought was over the narrow stone bridge over the lava flow.

My companions were sweating with the heat, and some were already removing what sparse clothing was left to us. Lady Amber was already down to a few triangles of fabric.

Still I could not move, for fear that if I did, I would simply flee, howling. I looked down at my hand, gripping my small beaded purse, and saw a thin line of blood-tinged sweat flow down my arm and between two white-knuckled fingers. Why did it have to be fire? There is not very much that can kill me at this point… but that, oh that could do it.

Perhaps I should not tell you that. You won’t tell anyone, will you?

____

* If I go missing after this publication, then you shall know that posting this image has finally crested his annoyance level at all my previous prune jokes, and Oolon has decided to whisk me off in his space machine and drop me into a supernova. Remember me, Caledon!

At last the beaches of Phillip helped me to remember why I am no longer quite fond of beach parties; the sand gets EVERYwhere.

Miss Kiralette didn’t care; she had at last been reunited with her darling Gnarli, or at least had been until her adventurous beau took off into the jungle. Forest, thing. I’d've raised an objection but when he left I thought surely he was just availing himself of the privacy of the sheltering branches. When neither Kiralette followed him whistling innocently, nor he returned to the beach, I realized he’d be long gone. As I watched from under my black lace parasol, she was fishing whilst singing silly tempting songs to colourful (and likely inedible) fish, barefoot again.

The Baron didn’t mind the sand; he’d gone to sleep (again), waiting for us to set up camp. Well. He’d looked asleep, but when I walked past him, he cracked open one eye and quietly asked me to refill his coffee mug. The one with the little stick figures doing violent but incomprehensible things to each other. I replaced the sand and ash with a hazelnut cappuccino, extra dry and didn’t ask him to help with erecting the tents.

Their Graces, Duchesses of Carntaigh and Loch Avie, were loving the sand. After sweet-talking a few of the remaining sailors into setting up their tent, Lady Gabi and Lady Eva stripped to their tartan-emblazoned underthings and spread out to sunbathe. Why anyone would want to encourage the sun to slowly burn one’s skin, I’ll never understand, but I’m admittedly not from around here. The Duchesses looked quite stunningly non-threatening lounging there, but there was a very hefty-looking claymore under Lady Eva’s towel, and callouses on her otherwise-delicate hands, so I was sure the blade did not belong to the cabana boy. Er… upon closer inspection, that would be a penguin, not cabana boy.

Baroness Bauerhoff, Lady Amber was consulting her tarot cards repeatedly, seeming having made a drinking game of it. She didn’t seem to notice the sand anymore at all.

Oolon and Miss Terry seemed to dislike the sand as much as I; he for its’ persistence in getting into his scientific equipment and she for the combined sand and ash’s insistence on weighing down her delicate wings. After watching her attempts to fly (and subsequent crash into the sand), I concluded my own folded wings would likely be useless, unless I wished to use them as sunscreens.

Soon after our (crash) landing, Oolon had startled a scream out of me whilst I perched on a recently-demised sailor. Really, he’d been dead when I found him. Mostly dead. Close enough to death that my ministrations only soothed his transition from this world to the next. (And actually by the time of this writing, he’s feeling much better.) After finding his body made a better chair than driftwood, I’d nearly forgotten about him in my attempts to shake some of the ever-present ash from my hair. So when Oolon started waving his finger around, in my direction, spouting out words in latin that I didn’t know (as they were neither religious, infernal, herbal or sexy), I thought either Lady Amber’s servant’s madness was catching, or else Oolon was objecting to my treatment of the dead. Or nearly dead. Or… well, maybe he was just resting.

I tried to look innocent. “Whut?” Then I looked around, and spotted the big, I mean huge, animal footprint that I seemed to be sitting in the middle of. When I realized how big the creature owning it must be, I screamed. Just a little. It was– oh that dream, I thought– surely the beast couldn’t be so immense! I fainted, sliding into the sand and vision…

…someone was screaming, “My god, no, you should never have worn orange!!”

And someone else was screaming back, “It wasn’t orange in the full light of day, more of a warm cream with apricot highlights!!”

… I felt my dream-body flung about and all I could see was a confused shifting blur or fur, and smoke, and then crimson, and whatever colour it had been before it was now red, all red–

–and I woke up with a start to the sight of Miss Terry leaning over me, her skin dark as the cosmic sky, deepest night black, spangled all over with stars and stardust, her eyes like twin deep pools into infinity, and I thought surely, surely this pureblood Sidhe will know what to do, surely she too senses the wrongness on this island, surely–

“Uhm, Darkling?” She sounded faintly bored and embarrassed. “Would you mind sunbathing over there with your, with their, with Eva and Gabrielle? Oolon wants to take measurements of the, uhm–” she gestured at the giant footprint in which I had fainted, “– thing.”

Elsewhere… the Strongman and the Pixie go on holiday by balloon on

Destination: Pixie

Zealot Benmergui, Baron of BardHaven, cheats at cards, even when they’re Tarot cards. No, he doesn’t do so in the conventional sense; there are no Death cards up his sleeve, and certainly he hasn’t managed to mark my own deck. But he can be very … distracting … and make a girl forget what she was about to do. Or what game is actually being played.

“Go fish,” he smirked.

“But I– I t’ought I had a straight flush!”

“I think, my dear, the only straight one on this barge is Sputnik. And evenso, he is a Commodore in the Navy, is he not? Have you ever seen him dancing with the other sailors, mmm? Perhaps before he aged so rapidly?”

“I… euh… I don’ remember…” I drew a card from the top of the deck. The Page of Swords. “Ehm… yeh may have a point…”

The Baron drew a card too, then said something that sounded like “McMulligan”, discarded his entire hand, then drew seven new cards.

“But… but I have only six…”

“My dear Darkling, surely such intimacy is not only inappropriate to disparage so, but imprudent to mention on deck, whilst in the midst of so many jolly seamen.”

I tried to ignore the snickering of the sails above us. Cheeky baseborn ninnies. “Six! Six! I said six!”

“Very well, if you wish to announce it so loudly, you cannot expect us gentlemen aboard to be able to protect your honour from their advances indefinitely.”

Spluttering would be no use, I knew that much by now. So I threw my cards down, face up, on the crate we were using as a table, and announced, “Check. And mate!”

“Didja finlly winnone, Darrklingk?” slurred the Baroness of Bauerhoff, Amber, from two crates away. I did not look at her, as she had been playing strip solitaire, and losing, for hours. Miss Terry had already caught me staring at Lady Amber’s décolletage twice and her own thrice and asked me if I was from a specific island in the Mediterranean. I laughed it off then, attributing it to her noticing my assumed surname was Greek, but had no desire to be caught staring again.

“Quite so. Another game, Darkling?”

“Hmmm…” I considered the cards on the crate. The Queen of Cups danced a taunting little dance, grinning up at me, and the Knight of Pentacles was doing unspeakable things with his sword to the Star. Her blood was like a brilliant flow of rainbows. Somehow, I managed to tear my eyes away. “Perhaps later, once the cards have cooled down a bit.”

Lady Amber then stood, gathered her own cards, wrapped them in a yellow silk scarf, and tucked them down into her generous cleavage. “Drinkie, anyone?” She raised eyebrows at us both. Lord Zealot and I shook our heads, at which my tankard gushed thanks at not being handed over to Lady Amber and filled again to the brim with firewater. I’m Irish, and even Amber’s ability to give vast amounts of alcohol a warm gurgling home astonishes me.

She drew a shawl around her shoulders (to the disappointment of the sailors looking on), then moved with surprising grace across the deck and down the stairs below. I smiled warmly at her as she passed. Lady Amber reminds me a great deal of one of my favourite sisters, now centuries gone, who had had the poor grace (and great insight) to die of alcohol poisoning in the revelries prior to her marriage to an English Viscount, thus sticking me with the odious task of marrying the lout. I’d tried to follow her, but I just can’t drink that fast.

As soon as Lady Amber was out of earshot, I leaned over the crate and whispered conspiratorially to Lord Zealot. “As I was sayin earlier… I couldn’t see teh scoolpture clearly in me vision, but I tink it was grey and smooth, like polished granite or marble. Maybe it hadn’t rezzed yet. It was definitely too big for one person to carry aloone.” And I would be staying up late with magikal needle and thread tonight, enlarging the mouth of my small beaded purse so that I could fit it inside, I added silently.

“And in your… dream… did you see any guards?” he asked intently. We had been trying to finish this conversation about my ever-increasing visions for hours, unheard.

“Nay, but there was soomtin guardin it. Soomtin nasty. T’ere were bones strewn all around on teh cave floor.”

“Indeed… and have you spoken of these visions with anyone else?”

“Nay, Zealot. I t’ought, as yeh were teh one fundin dis ting, yeh were most entitled to a, ah, return on yehr investment.”

I don’t actually lie very well. Especially to my friends. He raised an eyebrow at me, clearly not accepting my answer, silently prompting me for more.

“And. Well. Whate’er de ting is,” I admitted, “it’s bloody powerful, and I doon’t want to see it fought o’er by noblewomen who wish to redecorate our gardens, or placed in de town square by a well-meanin bohemian, or claimed ‘for scientific study’ by Oolon. If it’s as powerful as it… feels… I wanta be able to actually use it. Yeh’d share wit’ me, wouldn’t yeh?”

“Of course, when I have you to thank for leading me to it.” I believed the Baron. We’d been allies since we’d met last winter in a House of Ill Repute and Comfy Cushions. I’d been working as hostess and he was merely there to, ah, play cards. “Hmm.. that is quite intriguing, Miss Elytis.” Lord Zealot drew his revolver and polished it thoughtfully. Lady Amber then returned, carrying three tankards of ale.

“Zealot!” I exclaimed peevishly, “How many times must I remind yeh that I am not a Miss?! I am a Madame (retired), and a Lady of Caledon! Get it right, or I’ll start callin yeh ‘laddie’!” This was an old playful argument of ours, and he repeated his lines with a smile.

“And how many times must I remind you that in Caledon, ‘Miss’ stands for to ‘Maid I’d Surely S–’”

“Doon’t finish that!” I exclaimed, laughing and sharing a wink with Lady Amber.

“And would you like me to stop calling you Miss, then, Darkling?”

“Well… nay, not actually.”

“Good.” And then he slumped, falling instantly afk. He’s a bit narcoleptic; out of politeness, we generally pretend not to notice, only make sure he doesn’t slide off into the sea. I waited for a few minutes to see if he would wake, but as he didn’t, and I didn’t want to play strip poker with Lady Amber, I made my way below deck.

I passed by the commoner’s mess hall, where Oolon, Miss Terry, and Gnarli were still trying to choke down their hardtack rations. The poor dears. I’d suggested they all decide they were nobles from some foreign land and therefore gain access to the decent fare being served at the Captain’s table (even if it did come with the dubious honour of sitting with the Captain, who had a typical pirate’s, er privateer’s, er… sailor’s near-religious objections against bathing). Upon hearing my suggestion, Lady Amber (five sheets to the wind) had offered to knight them all within her Barony, (which, by her gestures, was located someplace to the north of her bosoms), but as of yet none had bitten the bait. That I was aware of. It would seem I could do no more to assist in feeding them, as I’d been caught twice trying to sneak them meals from the noble fare (the Captain knocking the plates to the floor with sweeping gestures as he tried to explain his rum-sotted views on social hierarchy). My trick of tempting the fish up from the sea with a siren’s song had left none of them hungry (Oolon with his fingers resolutely in his ears, Gnarli staring spellbound at his own navel, and Miss Terry pitying the fish floppingly inviting her to eat them).

I waved at them, and they waved back. I wondered for the hundredth time how to tell them about my visions, or if I should. When I imagined how those conversations would go, it never ended anywhere useful:

My inner Terry said: “Uhoh, crap, Darkling! Those visions could mean something, we should tell Oolon! What else could have caused daydreams like that… oh… what do you mean, dancing tea?”

My inner Oolon said: “Hmm, errmm, very interesting, Darkling… and you say these visions began the morning you imbibed a very strong cup of tea containing unspecified herbs which may or may not have, individually or collectively, inspired hallucinations the like of which you are already familiar, believing, as you do, you adorable younger race of mixed and partially-undisclosed lineage, to not be indicative of unreality but rather hyper-reality, in which, unbeknownst to us all, we all reside, and therefore teacups speak, teapots dance, and can’t you remember for sure anything you put in that teapot, let’s just take a blood sample, and tell me what else goes on at those late night debauches, do please assure me young Kiralette always leaves before there is any talk of corsetry or intoxicants, no, no, it’s just a little needle, a little blood, be over before you know it, now put down that probe, that’s delicate equipment… my. oh my. What a fascinating manifestation of er-ieeee!!!“

I sighed at the inevitably edited eventuality. No, I quite liked Oolon, I’d rather not go there in a trip to the future.

I made my way down the hallway towards my cabin, delicately cursing the wakefulness of the Arronax since we’d boarded her days… weeks… ago. The poor cat was still in the barrel, and was getting understandably more… difficult as her appley incarceration took place. I could hardly blame her, but she wouldn’t let me place another shapechange on her, not since I’d accidentally transmogrified her stripes on vertically several nights ago. Really, it’s quite difficult aiming through a hole in a barrel. My poor wand, it had been looking rather a little… twisted lately. My usually omnipotent but slightly laggy magik just hadn’t been working the same; I was all out of sorts. Really. I should stop using the twisted thing… oh honestly, sometimes a wand is just a wand.

My inner Gnarli tapped his cane thoughtfully, then said: “There are two lifeboats attached to this vessel, and my darling Kiralette can paddle a boat. We should put her into one of them with two pengis, for protection, and supplies to get her home safe to Caledon. And a nice comfy cat bed to curl up in, with a lean-to to protect her widdle pink nosey from the sun. You think there’s what on the island? Well, you should always follow your instincts and listen to talking fish, so we should tell everyone about your visions! Starting with Oolon…”

I snerked a little and rolled my eyes. No, I’d better keep my mouth shut until I had some proof in my hands.

Passing by the Duchesses’ joined stateroom, I heard the sound of the gramophone loudly playing something crackly but danceable within. I knocked, then knocked again harder, and cracked open the door at what sounded like “auntrayz!” shouted over the din.

Peeking inside, I saw their Graces gracefully dancing in their underthings and well-matched taffeta kilts. Baroness Amber was there with them, dancing ecstatically, but she was already naked. Where… how long had I been wandering in thought? Or was Amber really that quick to find the party? Two pengis waddled to the beat near Lady Eva’s finely-shoe’d foot. Lady Gabi grinned at me and beckoned me to come inside. I smiled, relaxing. At last! A little rout.

I looked up and down the hallway and spotted two reasonably clean looking sailors. “Oiya! Gentlemen… can yeh dance?” They demonstrated that they could. “Excellent! Coom on… their Graces’ chambers are a-needin attendance.” Looking around behind me to assure none else saw, we slipped inside and shut and locked the door behind us.

Really. Sometimes a dance is just a dance.