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  • #7878
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Liz threw another pen into the tin wastepaper basket with a clatter and called loudly for Finnley while giving her writing hand a shake to relieve the cramp.

      Finnley appeared sporting her habitual scowl clearly visible above her paper mask. “I hope this is important because this red dust is going to take days to clean up as it is without you keep interrupting me.”

      “Oh is that what you’ve been doing, I wondered where you were.  Well, let’s thank our lucky stars THAT’S all over!”

      “Might be over for you,” muttered Finnley, “But that hare brained scheme of Godfrey’s has caused a very great deal of work for me. He’s made more of a mess this time than even you could have, red dust everywhere and all these obsolete parts all over the place.  Roberto’s on his sixth trip to the recycling depot, and he’s barely scratched the surface.”

      “Good old Roberto, at least he doesn’t keep complaining.  You should take a leaf out of his book, Finnley, you’d get more work done. And speaking of books, I need another packet of pens. I’m writing my books with a pen in future. On paper. Oh and get me another pack of paper.”

      Mildly curious, despite her irritation, Finnely asked her why she was writing with a pen on paper.  “Is it some sort of historical re enactment?  Would you prefer parchment and a quill? Or perhaps a slab of clay and some etching tools? Shall we find you a nice cave,” Finnley was warming to the theme, “And some red ochre and charcoal?”

      “It may come to that,” Liz replied grimly. “But some pens and paper will do for now. Godfrey can’t interfere in my stories if I write them on paper. Robots writing my stories, honestly, who would ever have believed such a thing was possible back when I started writing all my best sellers! How times have changed!”

      “Yet some things never change, ” Finnley said darkly, running her duster across the parts of Liz’s desk that weren’t covered with stacks of blue scrawled papers.

      “Thank you for asking,” Liz said sarcastically, as Finnley hadn’t asked, “It’s a story about six spinsters in the early 19th century.”

      “Sounds gripping,” muttered Finnley.

      “And a blind uncle who never married and lived to 102.  He was so good at being blind that he knew all his sheep individually.”

      “Perhaps that’s why he never needed to marry,” Finnley said with a lewd titter.

      “The steamy scenes I had in mind won’t be in the sheep dip,” Liz replied, “Honestly, what a low degraded mind you must have.”

      “Yeah, from proof reading your trashy novels,” Finnley replied as she flounced out in search of pens and paper.

      #7858

      It was still raining the morning after the impromptu postcard party at the Golden Trowel in the Hungarian village, and for most of the morning nobody was awake to notice.  Molly had spent a sleepless night and was the only one awake listening to the pounding rain. Untroubled by the idea of lack of sleep, her confidence bolstered by the new company and not being solely responsible for the child,  Molly luxuriated in the leisure to indulge a mental re run of the previous evening.

      Finjas bombshell revelation after the postcard game suddenly changed everything.  It was not what Molly had expected to hear. In their advanced state of inebriation by that time it was impossible for anyone to consider the ramifications in any sensible manner.   A wild and raucous exuberance ensued of the kind that was all but forgotten to all of them, and unknown to Tundra.   It was a joy that brought tears to Mollys eyes to see the wonderful time the child was having.

      Molly didn’t want to think about it yet. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to have anything to do with it, the ship coming back.  Communication with it, yes. The ship coming back? There was so much to consider, so many ways of looking at it. And there was Tundra to think about, she was so innocent of so many things. Was it better that way?  Molly wasn’t going to think about that yet.  She wanted to make sure she remembered all the postcard stories.

      There is no rush.

      The postcard Finja had chosen hadn’t struck Molly as the most interesting, not at the time, but later she wondered if there was any connection with her later role as centre stage overly dramatic prophet. What an extraordinary scene that was! The unexpected party was quite enough excitement without all that as well.

      Finja’s card was addressed to Miss FP Finly, c/o The Flying Fish Inn somewhere in the outback of Australia, Molly couldn’t recall the name of the town.  The handwriting had been hard to decipher, but it appeared to be a message from “forever your obedient servant xxx” informing her of a Dustsceawung convention in Tasmania.  As nobody had any idea what a Dustsceawung conference was,  and Finja declined to elaborate with a story or anecdote, the attention moved on to the next card.   Molly remembered the time many years ago when everyone would have picked up their gadgets to  find out what it meant. As it was now, it remained an unimportant and trifling mystery, perhaps something to wonder about later.

      Why did Finja choose that card, and then decline to explain why she chose it? Who was Finly? Why did The Flying Fish Inn seem vaguely familiar to Molly?

      I’m sure I’ve seen a postcard from there before.  Maybe Ellis had one in his collection.

      Yes, that must be it.

      Mikhail’s story had been interesting. Molly was struggling to remember all the names. He’d mentioned his Uncle Grishenka, and a cousin Zhana, and a couple called Boris and Elvira with a mushroom farm. The best part was about the snow that the reindeer peed on. Molly had read about that many years ago, but was never entirely sure if it was true or not.  Mickhail assured them all that it was indeed true, and many a wild party they’d had in the cold dark winters, and proceeded to share numerous funny anecdotes.

      “We all had such strange ideas about Russia back then,” Molly had said. Many of the others murmured agreement, but Jian, a man of few words, merely looked up, raised an eyebrow, and looked down at his postcard again.  “Russia was the big bad bogeyman for most of our lives. And in the end, we were our own worst enemies.”

      “And by the time we realised, it was too late,” added Petro.

      In an effort to revive the party spirit from the descent into depressing memories,  Tala suggested they move on to the next postcard, which was Vera’s.

      “I know the Tower of London better than any of you would believe,” Vera announced with a smug grin. Mikhail rolled his eyes and downed a large swig of vodka. “My 12th great grandfather was  employed in the household of Thomas Cromwell himself.  He was the man in charge of postcards to the future.” She paused for greater effect.  In the absence of the excited interest she had expected, she continued.  “So you can see how exciting it is for me to have a postcard as a prompt.”  This further explanation was met with blank stares.  Recklessly, Vera added, “I bet you didn’t know that Thomas Cromwell was a time traveller, did you? Oh yes!” she continued, although nobody had responded, “He became involved with a coven of witches in Ireland. Would you believe it!”

      “No,” said Mikhail. “I probably wouldn’t.”

      “I believe you, Vera,” piped up Tundra, entranced, “Will you tell me all about that later?”

      Tundra’s interjection gave Tala the excuse she needed to move on to the next postcard.  Mikhail and Vera has always been at loggerheads, and fueled with the unaccustomed alcohol, it was in danger of escalating quickly.  “Next postcard!” she announced.

      Everyone started banging on the tables shouting, “Next postcard! Next postcard!”  Luka and Lev topped up everyone’s glasses.

      Molly’s postcard was next.

      #7829
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Helix 25 – Investigation Breakdown: Suspects, Factions, and Ship’s Population

        To systematically investigate the murder(s) and the overarching mystery, let’s break down the known groups and individuals, their possible means to commit crimes, and their potential motivations.


        1. Ship Population & Structure

        Estimated Population of Helix 25

        • Originally a luxury cruise ship before the exodus.
        • Largest cruise ships built on Earth in 2025 carried ~5,000 people.
          Space travel, however, requires generations.
        • Estimated current ship population on Helix 25: Between 15,000 and 50,000, depending on deck expansion and growth of refugee populations over decades.
        • Possible Ship Propulsion:
          • Plasma-based propulsion (high-efficiency ion drives)
          • Slingshot navigation using gravity assists
          • Solar sails & charged particle fields
          • Current trajectory: Large elliptical orbit, akin to a comet.
            Estimated direction of the original space trek was still within Solar System, not beyond the Kuiper Belt (~30 astrological units) and programmed to return towards it point of origin.
            Due to the reprogramming by the refugees, it is not known if there has been significant alteration of the course – it should be known as the ship starts to reach the aphelion (farthest from the Sun) and either comes back towards it, or to a different course.
          • Question: Are they truly on a course out of the galaxy? Or is that just the story Synthia is feeding them?
            Is there a Promised Land beyond the Ark’s adventure?


        2. Breaking Down People & Factions

        To find the killer(s), conspiracies, and ship dynamics, here are some of factions, known individuals, and their possible means/motives.


        A. Upper Decks: The Elite & Decision-Makers

        • Defining Features:
          • Wealthy descendants of the original passengers. They have adopted names of stars as new family names, as if de-facto rulers of the relative segments of the space.
          • Have never known hardship like the Lower Decks.
          • Kept busy with social prestige, arts, and “meaningful” pursuits to prevent existential crisis.

        Key Individuals:

        1. Sue Forgelot

          • Means: Extensive social connections, influence, and hidden cybernetic enhancements.
          • Motive: Could be protecting something or someone—she knows too much about the ship’s past.
          • Secrets: Claims to have met the Captain. Likely lying… unless?
        2. Dr. Amara Voss

          • Means: Expert geneticist, access to data. Could tamper with DNA.
          • Motive: What if Herbert knew something about her old research? Did she kill to bury it?
        3. Ellis Marlowe (Retired Postman)

          • Means: None obvious. But as a former Earth liaison, he has archives and knowledge of what was left behind.
          • Motive: Unclear, but his son was the murder victim. His son was previously left on Earth, and seemed to have found a way onto Helix 25 (possibly through the refugee wave who took over the ship)
          • Question: Did he know Herbert’s real identity?
        4. Finkley (Upper Deck cleaner, informant)

          • Means: As a cleaner, has access everywhere.
          • Motive: None obvious, but cleaners notice everything.
          • Secret: She and Finja (on Earth) are telepathically linked. Could Finja have picked up something?
        5. The Three Old Ladies (Shar, Glo, Mavis)

          • Means: Absolutely none.
          • Motive: Probably just want more drama.
          • Accidental Detectives: They mix up stories but might have stumbled on actual facts.
        6. Trevor Pee Marshall (TP, AI detective)

          • Means: Can scan records, project into locations, analyze logic patterns.
          • Motive: Should have none—unless he’s been compromised as hinted by some of the remnants of old Muck & Lump tech into his program.

        B. Lower Decks: Workers, Engineers, Hidden Knowledge

        • Defining Features:
          • Unlike the Upper Decks, they work—mechanics, hydroponics, labor.
          • Self-sufficient, but cut off from decisions.
          • Some distrust Synthia, believing Helix 25 is off-course.

        Key Individuals:

        1. Luca Stroud (Engineer, Cybernetic Expert)

          • Means: Can tamper with ship’s security, medical implants, and life-support systems.
          • Motive: Possible sabotage, or he was helping Herbert with something.
          • Secret: Works in black-market tech modifications.
        2. Romualdo (Gardener, Archivist-in-the-Making)

          • Means: None obvious. Seem to lack the intelligence, but isn’t stupid.
          • Motive: None—but he lent Herbert a Liz Tattler book about genetic memories.
          • Question: What exactly did Herbert learn from his reading?
        3. Zoya Kade (Revolutionary Figure, Not Directly Involved)

          • Means: Strong ideological influence, but not an active conspirator.
          • Motive: None, but her teachings have created and fed factions.
        4. The Underground Movement

          • Means: They know ways around Synthia’s surveillance.
          • Motive: They believe the ship is on a suicide mission.
          • Question: Would they kill to prove it?

        C. The Hold: The Wild Cards & Forgotten Spaces

        • Defining Features:
          • Refugees who weren’t fully integrated.
          • Maintain autonomy, trade, and repair systems that the rest of the ship ignores.

        Key Individuals:

        1. Kai Nova (Pilot, Disillusioned)

          • Means: Can manually override ship systems… if Synthia lets him.
          • Motive: Suspects something’s off about the ship’s fuel levels.
        2. Cadet Taygeta (Sharp, Logical, Too Honest)

          • Means: No real power, but access to data.
          • Motive: Trying to figure out what Kai is hiding.

        D. AI & Non-Human Factors

        • Synthia (Central AI, Overseer of Helix 25)

          • Means: Controls everything.
          • Motive: Unclear, but her instructions are decades old.
          • Question: Does she even have free will?
        • The Captain (Nemo)

          • Means: Access to ship-wide controls. He is blending in the ship’s population but has special access.
          • Motive: Seems uncertain about his mission.
          • Secret: He might not be following Synthia’s orders anymore.

        3. Who Has the Means to Kill in Zero-G?

        The next murder happens in a zero-gravity sector. Likely methods:

        • Oxygen deprivation (tampered life-support, “accident”)
        • Drowning (hydro-lab “malfunction”)

        Likely Suspects for Next Murder

        Suspect Means to Kill in Zero-G Motive
        Luca Stroud Can tamper with tech Knows ship secrets
        Amara Voss Access to medical, genetic data Herbert was digging into past
        Underground Movement Can evade Synthia’s surveillance Wants to prove ship is doomed
        Synthia (or Rogue AI processes) Controls airflow, gravity, and safety protocols If she sees someone as a threat, can she remove them?
        The Captain (Nemo?) Has override authority Is he protecting secrets?

        4. Next Steps in the Investigation

        • Evie and Riven Re-interview Suspects. Who benefited from Herbert’s death?
        • Investigate the Flat-Earth Conspiracies. Who is spreading paranoia?
        • Check the Captain’s Logs. What does Nemo actually believe?
        • Stop the Next Murder. (Too late?)

        Final Question: Where Do We Start?

        1. Evie and Riven visit the Captain’s quarters? (If they find him…)
        2. Investigate the Zero-G Crime Scene? (Second body = New urgency)
        3. Confront one of the Underground Members? (Are they behind it?)

        Let’s pick a thread and dive back into the case!

        #7807

        HELIX 25: THE JARDENERY

        Finkley pressed herself against the smooth metal doorway of the Jardenery, her small wiry frame unnoticeable in the dim light filtering through the tangle of vines. The sterile scent of Helix 25’s corridors had faded behind her, replaced by the aroma of damp earth. A place of dirt and disorder. She shuddered.

        A familiar voice burst through her thoughts.

        What’s going on?

        Finja’s tone was strident and clear. The ancient telepathic link that connected the cleaner family through many generations was strong, even in space. All the FinFamily (FF) had the gift to some extent, occasionally even with strangers. It just wasn’t nearly as accurate.

        Shush. They’re talking about blood. And Herbert.

        She felt Finja’s presence surge in response, her horrified thoughts crackling through their link. Blood!

        Riven’s skeptical voice: “You’re saying someone on Helix 25 might have… transformed into a medieval Crusader?”

        Finkley sniggered. Was that even possible?

        It’s not particularly funny, responded Finja. It means someone on the ship is carrying distorted DNA. Her presence pulsed with irritation; it all sounded so complicated and grubby. And god knows what else. Bacteria? Ancestral grime? Generational filth? Honestly Finkley, as if I haven’t got enough to worry about with this group of wandering savages …

        Finkley inhaled sharply as Romualdo stepped into view. She held her breath, pressing even closer to the doorway. He was so cute. Unclean, of course, but so adorable.

        She pondered whether she could overlook the hygiene. Maybe … if he bathed first?

        Get a grip. Finja’s snarl crashed through her musings, complete with eye-roll.

        Finkley reddened. She had momentarily forgotten that Finja was there.

        So Herbert was looking for something. But what?

        I bet they didn’t disinfect properly. Finja’s response was immediate. See what you can find out later. 

        Inside, Romualdo picked up a book from his workbench and waved it. Finkley barely needed to read the title before Finja’s shocked cry of recognition filled her mind.

        Liz Tattler!

        A feeling of nostalgia swept over Finkley.

        Yes Liz Tattler. Finley’s Liz. 

        Finley—another member of the family. She cleaned for Liz Tattler, the mad but famous author. It was well known—at least within the family— that Liz’s fame was largely due to Finley’s talents as a writer. Which meant, whatever this was, it had somehow tangled itself up in the FF network.

        Liz’s Finley hasn’t responded for years —I assumed… Finja’s voice trailed off.

        There’s still hope! You never know with that one. She was always stand-offish and mysterious. And that Liz really abused her good nature. 

        Finkley swallowed hard. They were close to something big—something hidden beneath layers of time and mystery. And whatever it was, it had just become personal.

        Finja, there’s no time to lose! We need to find out more. 

        #7639
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Work in Progress: Character Timelines and Events

          Matteo

          • November 2024 (Reunion):
            • Newly employed at the Sarah Bernhardt Café, started after its reopening.
            • Writes the names of Lucien, Elara, Darius, and Amei in his notebook without understanding why.
            • Acquires the bell from Les Reliques, drawn to it as if guided by an unseen force.
            • Serves the group during the reunion, surprised to see all four together, though he knows them individually.
          • Summer 2024 (Olympics):
            • Working in a vineyard in southern France, nearing the end of the harvest season.
            • Receives a call for a renovation job in Paris, which pulls him toward the city.
            • Feels an intuitive connection to Paris, as if something is waiting for him there.
          • Past Events (Implied):
            • Matteo has a mysterious ability to sense patterns and connections in people’s lives.
            • Has likely crossed paths with the group in unremarkable but meaningful ways before.

           

          Darius

          • November 2024 (Reunion):
            • Arrives at the café, a wanderer who rarely stays in one place.
            • Reflects on his time in India during the autumn and the philosophical journey it sparked.
            • Brings with him an artifact that ties into his travels and personal story.
          • Summer 2024 (Olympics):
            • Living in Barcelona, sketching temples and engaging with a bohemian crowd.
            • Prompted by a stranger to consider a trip to India, sparking curiosity and the seeds of his autumn journey.
            • Begins to plan his travels, sensing that India is calling him for a reason he doesn’t yet understand.
          • Past Events (Implied):
            • Has a history of introducing enigmatic figures to the group, often leading to tension.
            • His intense, nomadic lifestyle creates both fascination and distance between him and the others.

           

          Elara

          • November 2024 (Reunion):
            • Travels from England to Paris to attend the reunion, balancing work and emotional hesitation.
            • Still processing her mother’s passing and reflecting on their strained relationship.
            • Finds comfort in the shared dynamics of the group but remains analytical about the events around the bell.
          • Summer 2024 (Olympics):
            • (was revealed to be a dream event) Attends a CERN conference in Geneva, immersed in intellectual debates and cutting-edge research. Receives news of her mother’s death in Montrouge, prompting a reflective journey to make funeral arrangements. Struggles with unresolved feelings about her mother but finds herself strangely at peace with the finality.
            • Dreams of her mother’s death during a nap in Tuscany, a surreal merging of past and present that leaves her unsettled.
            • Hears a bell’s clang, only to find Florian fixing a bell to the farmhouse gate. The sound pulls her further into introspection about her mother and her life choices.
            • Mentors Florian, encouraging him to explore his creativity, paralleling her own evolving relationship with her chalk research.
          • Past Events (Implied):
            • Moved to Tuscany after retiring from academia, pursuing independent research on chalk.
            • Fondly remembers the creative writing she once shared with the group, though it now feels like a distant chapter of her life.
            • Had a close but occasionally challenging relationship with Lucien and Amei during their younger years.
            • Values intellectual connections over emotional ones but is gradually learning to reconcile the two.

           

          Lucien

          • November 2024 (Reunion):
            • Sends the letter that brings the group together at the café, though his intentions are unclear even to himself.
            • In his Paris studio, struggles with an unfinished commissioned painting. Feels disconnected from his art and his sense of purpose.
            • Packs a suitcase with sketchbooks and a bundle wrapped in linen, symbolizing his uncertainty—neither a complete departure nor a definitive arrival.
            • Heads to the café in the rain, reluctant but compelled to reconnect with the group. Confronts his feelings of guilt and estrangement from the group.
          • Summer 2024 (Olympics):
            • Escapes Paris, overwhelmed by the crowds and noise of the Games, and travels to Lausanne.
            • Reflects on his artistic block and the emotional weight of his distance from the group.
            • Notices a sketch in his book of a doorway with a bell he doesn’t recall drawing, sparking vague recognition.
          • Past Events (Implied):
            • Once the emotional “anchor” of the group, he drifted apart after a falling-out or personal crisis.
            • Feels a lingering sense of responsibility to reunite the group but struggles with his own vulnerabilities.

          Amei

           

          • November 2024 (Reunion):
            • Joins the reunion at Lucien’s insistence, hesitant but curious about reconnecting with the group.
            • Brings with her notebooks filled with fragments of stories and a quiet hope for resolution.
            • Feels the weight of the group’s shared history but refrains from dwelling on it outwardly.
          • Summer 2024 (Olympics):
            • Recently moved into a smaller flat in London, downsizing after her daughter Tabitha left for university.
            • Has a conversation with Tabitha about life and change, hinting at unresolved emotions about motherhood and independence.
            • Tabitha jokes about Amei joining her in Goa, a suggestion Amei dismisses but secretly considers.
          • Past Events (Implied):
            • The last group meeting five years ago left her with lingering emotional scars.
            • Maintains a deep but quiet connection to Lucien and shares a playful dynamic with Elara.

           

          Tabitha (Amei’s Daughter)

          • November 2024:
            • Calls Amei to share snippets of her life, teasing her mother about her workaholic tendencies.
            • Reflects on their relationship, noting Amei’s supportive but emotionally guarded nature.
          • Summer 2024 (Olympics):
            • Planning her autumn trip to Goa with friends, viewing it as a rite of passage.
            • Discusses her mother’s habits with her peers, acknowledging Amei’s complexities while expressing affection.
          • Past Events (Implied):
            • Represents a bridge between Amei’s past and present, highlighting generational contrasts and continuities.

          Key Threads and Patterns

          • The Bell: Acts as a silent witness and instigator, threading its presence through pivotal moments in each character’s journey, whether directly or indirectly.
          • Shared Histories: While each character grapples with personal struggles, their paths hint at intersections in the past, tied to unresolved tensions and shared experiences.
          • Forward and Backward Motion: The narrative moves between the characters’ immediate challenges and the ripples of their past decisions, with the bell serving as a focal point for both.
          #7583

          Frella rolled her eyes. What were the odds of Truella turning up now!

          “Well, don’t look so pleased to see me,” Truella said sarcastically. “I could have drowned you know, if Thomas hadn’t saved me. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

          Frella looked helplessly at Oliver.  “Perhaps you’d better go now, it’s all getting too complicated.”

          “My good lady, would you curtail my pleasure at this unexpected  meeting with a nephew I knew not existed?” Thomas interrupted, taking control of the situation, in as much as an out of control situation could be managed.

          “My good man,” Frella replied tartly, “Would you curtail my pleasure with your nephew?”

          “Now, now,” butted in Truella, trying to get a handle on the situation, “Surely nobody needs to have any pleasure curtailed.  But Thomas has to get the boat back quickly, so I suggest someone explains to him who his nephew is.  Then he can get back to the Thames. And I’ll walk back to your cottage, Frella, and borrow some dry clothes if you don’t mind, and then you can get on with….it, in peace.”

          “Get on with what exactly!” Frella retorted, blushing furiously.  “Oliver, why don’t you go back with your uncle, you know where the Thames is, don’t you?  It just seems easier that way.”

          Oliver laughed at the very idea of not knowing where the Thames was.  “But my great great grand uncle Thomas died before I was born.   I know of him, but he knows not of me. Well, he does now, admittedly.”

          “So your name is Oliver,” mused Thomas, “Oliver Cromwell. And by the look of your doublet and hose, you’re a wealthy man. We have much to talk about. Pray step into the boat, my good sir, and we’ll find a way to get you back to your own time later. We must make haste for the sake of my boatman, Rafe.”

          And with that they were off in a puff of river mist.

          #7582

          The postcard was marked URGENT and the man in charge of postcards made haste to find Thomas Cromwell but he was nowhere to be found. The postcard was damp and the ink had run, but “send your boatman asap” was decipherable.  The man in charge of postcards was not aware of any boatman by the name of Asap, but knowing Thomas it was possible he’d found another bright waif to train, probably one of the urchins hanging about the gates waiting for scraps from the kitchen.

          “Asap! Asap!” the postcard man called as he ran down to the river. “Boatman Asap!”

          “There be no boatman by that name on the masters barge, lad.  Are you speaking my language?” replied boatman Rafe.

          “Have you seen the master?” the postcard man asked, “And be quick about you, whatever your name is.”

          “Aye, I can tell you that. He’s asleep in the barge.”

          “Asleep? Asleep? In the middle of the day? You fool, get out of my way!” the postcard man shoved Rafe out of the way roughly. “My Lord Cromwell! Asleep on the barge in the middle of the day! Call the physician, you dolt!”

          “Calm yourself man, I am in no need of assistance,” Cromwell said, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he rose to see what all the shouting was about.  Being in two places at once was becoming difficult to conceal.  He would have to employ a man of concealment to cover for him while he was in Malove’s body.

          I must have a word with Thurston about licorice spiders, Cromwell made a mental note to speak to his cook, while holding out his hand for the postcard. “Thank you, Babbidge”, he said to the man in charge of postcards, giving him a few coins. “You did well to find me.  That will be all.”

          “Rafe,” Cromwell said to the boatman after a slight pause, “Can you row to the future, do you think?”

          “Whatever you say, master, just tell me where it is.”

          “Therein lies the problem,” replied Thomas Cromwell, promptly falling asleep again.

          While Malove was tucking into some sugared ghosts at the party, she felt an odd plucking sensation, as if one of her spells had been accessed.

          A split second later, Cromwell woke up. There was no time to lose gathering ingredients for spells, or laborious complicated rituals.  Cromwell made a mental note to streamline the future coven with more efficient simple magic.

          “Take all your clothes off, Rafe.”  Astonished, the boatman removed his hat and his cloak.  Thomas Cromwell did likewise. “Now you put my clothes on, Rafe, and I’ll wear yours.  Get out of the boat and go and find somewhere under a bush to hide until I come back.  I’m taking your boat. Don’t, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be seen.”

          Terrified, the boatman scuttled off to seek cover. He’d heard the rumours about Cromwell’s imminent arrest.  He almost laughed maniacally when the thought crossed his mind that he wished he had a mirror to see himself in Lord Cromwell’s hat, but that thought quickly turned to horror when he imagined the hat ~ and the head ~ rolling under the scaffold.  God save us all, he whispered, knowing that God wouldn’t.

          In a split second, boatman Cromwell found himself rowing the barge through flooded orange groves.   I must fill my pockets with oranges for Thurston to make spiced orange tarts, he thought, before I return.

          “Ah, there you are, bedraggled wench, you did well to send for assistance. A biblical flood if ever I saw one.  There’s just one small problem,” Cromwell said as he pulled Truella into the barge, ” I can save you from drowning, but we must return forthwith to the Thames. I can not put my boatman in danger for long.”

          “The Thames in the 1500s?” Truella said stupidly, shivering in her wet clothes.

          Cromwell looked at her tight blue breeches and thin unseemly vest. “Your clothes simply won’t do”.

          “Some dry ones would be nice,” Truella admitted.

          “It’s not that your clothes are too wet,” he replied, frowning.  He could send Rafe for a kitchenmaids dress, but then what would the kitchenmaid wear?  They had one dress only, not racks of garments like the people in the future. Not unless they were ladies.

          Lord Thomas Cromwell cast another eye over Truella.  She was a similar build to Anne of Chives.

          “If you think I’m dressing up as one of Henry’s wives…”

          Laughing, Cromwell admitted she had a point. “No, perhaps not a good idea, especially as he does not well like this one.  No need for her to be the death of both of us.”

          “Look, just drop me off in Limerick on the way home, it’s barely out of your way.  It’s probably raining there too, but at least I won’t have to worry about clothes. I’d look awful in one of those linen caps anyway.”

          Cromwell gave her an approving look and agreed to her idea.   Within a split second they were in Ireland, but Cromwell was in for a surprise.

          “Yoohoo, Frella!” Truella called, delighted to see her friend strolling along the river bank. “It’s me!”

          Thomas Cromwell pulled the boat up to the river bank, tossing the rope to Frella’s friend to secure it. Frella’s friend grabbed the rope and froze in astonishment.  “You! Fancy seeing YOU here! Uncle Thomas!”

          #7420

          Spring was there. At 5:57am in the morning, true to her name, Truella had been planting truelles incognito in what appeared to be random flowerbeds in the cities she was passing through. The truelles, she would usually find with the locator spell in sheds around the city and magic them out right into her hands. She loved magic for its efficiency, which really meant there was no need to break in and forage for hours in cramped little rooms.

          As she was following a border of plane trees, she chuckled. Believe it or not, she practically invented that spell. At least that’s what her mother used to tell her when she was 6yo and she often wandered alone around the city without mentioning it to anyone. At the time, she had believed her mother. She had bragged about it with her friends at school and pretended she had forgotten all about it like because of a bump on her head. But truth is she had frequent memory losses, which didn’t worry her at the time, and she found it cool to be able to do things and rediscover them later on.

          It was an uncle with a dreadfully red moustache, who took pity on her and decided to shatter her dreams of early accomplishments and fame. Was it that same year? Or the next?

          Anyway, back to the truelles, she didn’t do it for people to take photos of it and post them to social media, like gawdy Jeez seemed to think, but it was to remind people of the treasures they had buried in those dark little rooms just there in their gardens. How long would it take them to realise that those forgotten tools had disappeared?

          Pleased with herself, she noticed a man with a white shirt leaning forward in front of one of the plane trees, his right hand on the bark, two paper bags full of croissants in the other. Frowning, she walked towards him. She was about to ask if he needed help when a strong smell of alcohol made her gag. Then without a warning, the man threw up a red mash in front of him. Truella jumped back, raising the truelle as if it could protect her from any splatter.

          “Eww!” She wouldn’t dare saying anything else as opening her mouth could open the gates for her own early toasted cheese fritter. At least the man would not need embalming fluids if he didn’t survive his nocturnal drinking spree.

          She cast the truelle in front of the tree and a spell on the man so that he would bury deep the traces of his last meal. She didn’t want the neighbourhood dogs getting drunk after feasting on it.

          #7319

          Eris, logged off the Ritual, and stretched her long legs. That pandemic had brought them more work than ever, a new brand of Incense called “Vaxations” which they’d produced in record time, but of the little compensations for that harrowing time was the allowance to HFH (a.k.a Hex-From-Home). The Classical tenants of the Faith were missing quite a few of the modernities of the current world, and despite they’d been accounts of remote hexing from as long as the ages stretched, the Quadrivium Policies were quite clear you had to clock-in physically. That is, until the pandemic brought mayhem unto their clientèle, and rules had to be amended.

          Eris was short for Ætheris, her formal witch name, which sounded much more airy than she’d liked. Eris, like the Goddess of Discord, well, that was more like her.

          If she had to put her biography on the website of the Quadrivium Emporium it would read something like this:

          Eris, the tech-savvy witch of discord, remains an enigma to most. She thrives in chaos, has a knack for bending technology to her will, and is pioneering a new branch of the Coven’s operations.

          Technology had always been the eternal foe of Magic. As if everything explained by science somehow took away something off the realm of Magic. It was neither true, nor that simple, she believed. For one, she loved to blend the two (as most witches did, unwittingly).

          Her familiar, Echo, was a proof of that. Echo wasn’t a tangible creature. Instead, Eris has somehow managed to summon an invisible digital sprite. This ethereal entity, capable of interfacing with any electronic device, was an invaluable asset to Eris’s technological endeavors.

          Malové, their Head Witch CEO, had tasked her to launch a new branch, and given her some means to do so. Her intentions were rather unclear, but Eris had won her over when she showed her the parallels of Incense magic and Social Media.
          Maybe that year, she would be keen to try and enhance their yearly Incense with some tech intelligence. Truth was, most of the artificial lives had been failures so far. Only Echo somehow turned out fine. One of a kind.

          “Echo,” she called, while a glowing blue sigil appeared in mid-air. “When you’re done with the latest…”

          Eris, sorry for interjecting, but you need to hear about this.”

          She was too surprised to be mad. “What’s the matter?”

          “Quality control on the first Ritual. It’s pointing out to some anomalies.”

          #7276
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Wood Screw Manufacturers

            The Fishers of West Bromwich.

             

            My great grandmother, Nellie Fisher, was born in 1877 in Wolverhampton.   Her father William 1834-1916 was a whitesmith, and his father William 1792-1873 was a whitesmith and master screw maker.  William’s father was Abel Fisher, wood screw maker, victualler, and according to his 1849 will, a “gentleman”.

            Nellie Fisher 1877-1956 :

            Nellie Fisher

             

            Abel Fisher was born in 1769 according to his burial document (age 81 in 1849) and on the 1841 census. Abel was a wood screw manufacturer in Wolverhampton.

            As no baptism record can be found for Abel Fisher, I read every Fisher will I could find in a 30 year period hoping to find his fathers will. I found three other Fishers who were wood screw manufacurers in neighbouring West Bromwich, which led me to assume that Abel was born in West Bromwich and related to these other Fishers.

            The wood screw making industry was a relatively new thing when Abel was born.

            “The screw was used in furniture but did not become a common woodworking fastener until efficient machine tools were developed near the end of the 18th century. The earliest record of lathe made wood screws dates to an English patent of 1760. The development of wood screws progressed from a small cottage industry in the late 18th century to a highly mechanized industry by the mid-19th century. This rapid transformation is marked by several technical innovations that help identify the time that a screw was produced. The earliest, handmade wood screws were made from hand-forged blanks. These screws were originally produced in homes and shops in and around the manufacturing centers of 18th century Europe. Individuals, families or small groups participated in the production of screw blanks and the cutting of the threads. These small operations produced screws individually, using a series of files, chisels and cutting tools to form the threads and slot the head. Screws produced by this technique can vary significantly in their shape and the thread pitch. They are most easily identified by the profusion of file marks (in many directions) over the surface. The first record regarding the industrial manufacture of wood screws is an English patent registered to Job and William Wyatt of Staffordshire in 1760.”

            Wood Screw Makers of West Bromwich:

            Edward Fisher, wood screw maker of West Bromwich, died in 1796. He mentions his wife Pheney and two underage sons in his will. Edward (whose baptism has not been found) married Pheney Mallin on 13 April 1793. Pheney was 17 years old, born in 1776. Her parents were Isaac Mallin and Sarah Firme, who were married in West Bromwich in 1768.
            Edward and Pheney’s son Edward was born on 21 October 1793, and their son Isaac in 1795. The executors of Edwards 1796 will are Daniel Fisher the Younger, Isaac Mallin, and Joseph Fisher.

            There is a marriage allegations and bonds document in 1774 for an Edward Fisher, bachelor and wood screw maker of West Bromwich, aged 25 years and upwards, and Mary Mallin of the same age, father Isaac Mallin. Isaac Mallin and Sarah didn’t marry until 1768 and Mary Mallin would have been born circa 1749. Perhaps Isaac Mallin’s father was the father of Mary Mallin. It’s possible that Edward Fisher was born in 1749 and first married Mary Mallin, and then later Pheney, but it’s also possible that the Edward Fisher who married Mary Mallin in 1774 was Edward Fishers uncle, Daniel’s brother.  (I do not know if Daniel had a brother Edward, as I haven’t found a baptism, or marriage, for Daniel Fisher the elder.)

            There are two difficulties with finding the records for these West Bromwich families. One is that the West Bromwich registers are not available online in their entirety, and are held by the Sandwell Archives, and even so, they are incomplete. Not only that, the Fishers were non conformist. There is no surviving register prior to 1787. The chapel opened in 1788, and any registers that existed before this date, taken in a meeting houses for example, appear not to have survived.

            Daniel Fisher the younger died intestate in 1818. Daniel was a wood screw maker of West Bromwich. He was born in 1751 according to his age stated as 67 on his death in 1818. Daniel’s wife Mary, and his son William Fisher, also a wood screw maker, claimed the estate.

            Daniel Fisher the elder was a farmer of West Bromwich, who died in 1806. He was 81 when he died, which makes a birth date of 1725, although no baptism has been found. No marriage has been found either, but he was probably married not earlier than 1746.

            Daniel’s sons Daniel and Joseph were the main inheritors, and he also mentions his other children and grandchildren namely William Fisher, Thomas Fisher, Hannah wife of William Hadley, two grandchildren Edward and Isaac Fisher sons of Edward Fisher his son deceased. Daniel the elder presumably refers to the wood screw manufacturing when he says “to my son Daniel Fisher the good will and advantage which may arise from his manufacture or trade now carried on by me.” Daniel does not mention a son called Abel unfortunately, but neither does he mention his other grandchildren. Abel may be Daniel’s son, or he may be a nephew.

            The Staffordshire Record Office holds the documents of a Testamentary Case in 1817. The principal people are Isaac Fisher, a legatee; Daniel and Joseph Fisher, executors. Principal place, West Bromwich, and deceased person, Daniel Fisher the elder, farmer.

            William and Sarah Fisher baptised six children in the Mares Green Non Conformist registers in West Bromwich between 1786 and 1798. William Fisher and Sarah Birch were married in West Bromwich in 1777. This William was probably born circa 1753 and was probably the son of Daniel Fisher the elder, farmer.

             

            Daniel Fisher the younger and his wife Mary had a son William, as mentioned in the intestacy papers, although I have not found a baptism for William.  I did find a baptism for another son, Eutychus Fisher in 1792.

            In White’s Directory of Staffordshire in 1834, there are three Fishers who are wood screw makers in Wolverhampton: Eutychus Fisher, Oxford Street; Stephen Fisher, Bloomsbury; and William Fisher, Oxford Street.

            Abel’s son William Fisher 1792-1873 was living on Oxford Street on the 1841 census, with his wife Mary  and their son William Fisher 1834-1916.

             

            In The European Magazine, and London Review of 1820  (Volume 77 – Page 564) under List of Patents, W Fisher and H Fisher of West Bromwich, wood screw manufacturers, are listed.  Also in 1820 in the Birmingham Chronicle, the partnership of William and Hannah Fisher, wood screw manufacturers of West Bromwich, was dissolved.

             

            In the Staffordshire General & Commercial Directory 1818, by W. Parson, three Fisher’s are listed as wood screw makers.  Abel Fisher victualler and wood screw maker, Red Lion, Walsal Road; Stephen Fisher wood screw maker, Buggans Lane; and Daniel Fisher wood screw manufacturer, Brickiln Lane.

             

            In Aris’s Birmingham Gazette on 4 January 1819 Abel Fisher is listed with 23 other wood screw manufacturers (Stephen Fisher and William Fisher included) stating that “In consequence of the rise in prices of iron and the advanced price given to journeymen screw forgers, we the undersigned manufacturers of wood screws are under the necessity of advancing screws 10 percent, to take place on the 11th january 1819.”

            Abel Fisher wood screws

             

            In Abel Fisher’s 1849 will, he names his three sons Abel Fisher 1796-1869, Paul Fisher 1811-1900 and John Southall Fisher 1801-1871 as the executors.  He also mentions his other three sons, William Fisher 1792-1873, Benjamin Fisher 1798-1870, and Joseph Fisher 1803-1876, and daughters Sarah Fisher  1794-  wife of William Colbourne, Mary Fisher  1804-  wife of Thomas Pearce, and Susannah (Hannah) Fisher  1813-  wife of Parkes.  His son Silas Fisher 1809-1837 wasn’t mentioned as he died before Abel, nor his sons John Fisher  1799-1800, and Edward Southall Fisher 1806-1843.  Abel’s wife Susannah Southall born in 1771 died in 1824.  They were married in 1791.

            The 1849 will of Abel Fisher:

            Abel Fisher 1849 will

            #7267
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Thomas Josiah Tay

              22 Feb 1816 – 16 November 1878

               

              “Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.”

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1878

               

              I first came across the name TAY in the 1844 will of John Tomlinson (1766-1844), gentleman of Wergs, Tettenhall. John’s friends, trustees and executors were Edward Moore, surgeon of Halesowen, and Edward Tay, timber merchant of Wolverhampton.

               

              1844 will John Tomlinson

               

              Edward Moore (born in 1805) was the son of John’s wife’s (Sarah Hancox born 1772) sister Lucy Hancox (born 1780) from her first marriage in 1801. In 1810 widowed Lucy married Josiah Tay (1775-1837).

              Edward Tay was the son of Sarah Hancox sister Elizabeth (born 1778), who married Thomas Tay in 1800. Thomas Tay (1770-1841) and Josiah Tay were brothers.

              Edward Tay (1803-1862) was born in Sedgley and was buried in Penn. He was innkeeper of The Fighting Cocks, Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, as well as a builder and timber merchant, according to various censuses, trade directories, his marriage registration where his father Thomas Tay is also a timber merchant, as well as being named as a timber merchant in John Tomlinsons will.

              John Tomlinson’s daughter Catherine (born in 1794) married Benjamin Smith in Tettenhall in 1822. William Tomlinson (1797-1867), Catherine’s brother, and my 3x great grandfather, was one of the witnesses.

              1822 William Tomlinson witness

               

              Their daughter Matilda Sarah Smith (1823-1910) married Thomas Josiah Tay in 1850 in Birmingham. Thomas Josiah Tay (1816-1878) was Edward Tay’s brother, the sons of Elizabeth Hancox and Thomas Tay.

              Therefore, William Hancox 1737-1816 (the father of Sarah, Elizabeth and Lucy), was Matilda’s great grandfather and Thomas Josiah Tay’s grandfather.

               

              Thomas Josiah Tay’s relationship to me is the husband of first cousin four times removed, as well as my first cousin, five times removed.

               

              In 1837 Thomas Josiah Tay is mentioned in the will of his uncle Josiah Tay.

              1837 will Josiah Tay

               

              In 1841 Thomas Josiah Tay appears on the Stafford criminal registers for an “attempt to procure miscarriage”. He was found not guilty.

              According to the Staffordshire Advertiser on 14th March 1840 the listing for the Assizes included: “Thomas Ashmall and Thomas Josiah Tay, for administering noxious ingredients to Hannah Evans, of Wolverhampton, with intent to procure abortion.”

              The London Morning Herald on 19th March 1840 provides further information: “Mr Thomas Josiah Tay, a chemist and druggist, surrendered to take his trial on a charge of having administered drugs to Hannah Lear, now Hannah Evans, with intent to procure abortion.” She entered the service of Tay in 1837 and after four months “an intimacy was formed” and two months later she was “enciente”. Tay advised her to take some pills and a draught which he gave her and she became very ill. The prosecutrix admitted that she had made no mention of this until 1939. Verdict: not guilty.

              However, the case of Thomas Josiah Tay is also mentioned in a couple of law books, and the story varies slightly. In the 1841 Reports of Cases Argued and Rules at Nisi Prius, the Regina vs Ashmall and Tay case states that Thomas Ashmall feloniously, unlawfully, and maliciously, did use a certain instrument, and that Thomas Josiah Tay did procure the instrument, counsel and command Ashmall in the use of it. It concludes that Tay was not compellable to plead to the indictment, and that he did not.

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1840

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 2

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 3

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 4

               

              The Regina vs Ashmall and Tay case is also mentioned in the Encyclopedia of Forms and Precedents, 1896.

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 5

              Thomas Josiah Tay 1840 6

               

              In 1845 Thomas Josiah Tay married Isabella Southwick in Tettenhall. Two years later in 1847 Isabella died.

              In 1850 Thomas Josiah married Matilda Sarah Smith. (granddaughter of John Tomlinson, as mentioned above)

              On the 1851 census Thomas Josiah Tay was a farmer of 100 acres employing two labourers in Shelfield, Walsall, Staffordshire. Thomas Josiah and Matilda Sarah have a daughter Matilda under a year old, and they have a live in house servant.

              In 1861 Thomas Josiah Tay, his wife and their four children Ann, James, Josiah and Alice, live in Chelmarsh, Shropshire. He was a farmer of 224 acres. Mercy Smith, Matilda’s sister, lives with them, a 28 year old dairy maid.

              In 1863 Thomas Josiah Tay of Hampton Lode (Chelmarsh) Shropshire was bankrupt. Creditors include Frederick Weaver, druggist of Wolverhampton.

              In 1869 Thomas Josiah Tay was again bankrupt. He was an innkeeper at The Fighting Cocks on Dudley Road, Wolverhampton, at the time, the same inn as his uncle Edward Tay, aforementioned timber merchant.

               

              Fighting Cocks Inn

               

               

              In 1871, Thomas Josiah Tay, his wife Matilda, and their three children Alice, Edward and Maryann, were living in Birmingham. Thomas Josiah was a commercial traveller.

               

              He died on the 16th November 1878 at the age of 62 and was buried in Darlaston, Walsall. On his gravestone:

              “Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil.” Psalm XC 15 verse.

               

              Edward Moore, surgeon, was also a MAGISTRATE in later years. On the 1871 census he states his occupation as “magistrate for counties Worcester and Stafford, and deputy lieutenant of Worcester, formerly surgeon”. He lived at Townsend House in Halesowen for many years. His wifes name was PATTERN Lucas. Her mothers name was Pattern Hewlitt from Birmingham, an unusal name that I have not heard before. On the 1871 census, Edward’s son was a 22 year old solicitor.

              In 1861 an article appeared in the newspapers about the state of the morality of the women of Dudley. It was claimed that all the local magistrates agreed with the premise of the article, concerning unmarried women and their attitudes towards having illegitimate children. Letters appeared in subsequent newspapers signed by local magistrates, including Edward Moore, strongly disagreeing.

              Staffordshire Advertiser 17 August 1861:

              Dudley women 1861

              #6790

              In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

              Star and Tara were seating at their usual table in the Star Frites Alliance Café, sipping their coffee and reflecting on the strange case of the wardrobe. They had managed to find Uncle Basil, and Vince had been able to change his will just in time. They had also discovered that the wardrobe was being used to smuggle illegal drugs, which they promptly reported to the authorities.

              As they sat there, they saw Finton, the waitress from the café where they last met Vince French, walking towards them with a big smile on her face. “Hello there, ladies! I just wanted to thank you for helping Vince find his uncle. He’s been so much happier since then.”

              “It was all in a day’s work,” said Star with a grin. “And we also managed to solve the mystery of the wardrobe.”  she couldn’t help boasting.

              “Did we now?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

              Finton’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my! That’s quite the accomplishment. What did you find?”

              “It was being used to smuggle drugs,” explained Star. “We reported it to the authorities.”

              “Well, I never! You two are quite the detectives,” said Finton, impressed.

              “Sure, we could be proud, but there are more mysteries calling for our help. Now if you don’t mind, Finton, we have important business to talk about.” Star said.

              “And it’s rather hush-hush.” Tara added, to clue in the poor waitress.

              Star’s knack for finding clues in all the wrong places, and Tara’s slight nudges towards the path of logical deduction and reason had made them quite famous now around the corner. Well, slightly more famous than before, meaning they were featured in a tiny article in the local neswpaper, page 8, near the weekly crosswords. But somehow, that they’d accomplished their missions did advocate in their favour. And new clients had been pouring in.

              “Do we have a new case you haven’t told me about?” wondered Tara.

              “Nah.” retorted Star. “Just wanted to get rid of the nosy brat and enjoy my coffee while it’s hot. I hate tepid coffee. Tastes like cat piss.”

              “How would you know… Never mind…” Tara replied distractedly as handsome and well-dressed man approached their table. “Excuse me, are you Star and Tara, the private investigators?”

              “Well, as a matter of fact, we are,” said Star, propping her goods forward, and batting a few eyelids. “Who’s asking?”

              “My name is Thomas, and I have a rather unusual case for you.”

              Tara pushed Star to the back of the cushioned banquet bench to make room for the easy on the eyes stranger, while Star repressed a Oof and a fookoof..

              “It involves a missing pineapple.” Thomas said after taking the offered seat.

              “A missing pineapple?” repeated Star incredulously.

              Tara had an irrepressible fit of titter “So long as it’s not for a pizza…”

              “Yes, you see, I am a collector of exotic fruits, and I had a rare pineapple in my collection that has gone missing. It’s worth quite a lot of money, and I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

              Star and Tara exchanged a look. They were both thinking the same thing. Was “exotic fruit” code for something else? Otherwise, this was not even remotely bizarre by their standard, and they’d seen some strange cases already.

              “We’ll have to think over it.” for once Star didn’t want to sound too eager. “Do you have any leads?” asked Tara.

              “Well, I did hear a rumor that it was spotted in the hands of a local street performer, but I can’t be sure.”

              “Alright, we’ll consider it,” said Star decisively. She fumbled into her hairy bag —some smart upcycling made by Rosamund with the old patchy mink coats. She handed a torn namecard to the young Thomas. “We’ll call you.”

              Thomas looked at her surprised. “Do you mean, should I write my number?”

              Tara rolled her eyes and sighed. “Obvie.” Somehow the good-looking ones didn’t seem to be the brightest tools in the picnic box.

              “But first, we need to finish our coffee.” She took a long sip and grinned at Tara. “Looks like we may have another mysterman on our hands.”

              #6770

              In reply to: The Stories So Near

              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                What satisfying conclusion to this saga?

                Granola was the tying material to their friend, and her pop-in nascent capabilities (ability to project into material matter, sometimes being corporeal) could help. Her goal was to wake her friends out of their routines, and reinvigorate the stories they tell themselves about their lives.

                • Maeve was the one making custom dolls.
                • Shawn Paul her handsome bearded bachelor next door was an aspiring writer looking for a story to tell and to become published.
                • Lucinda is their neighbour, enrolled in creative writing courses.
                • Jerk is a clerk at a local WholeDay*Mart and also manages a forum in his spare time.

                 

                • Uncle Fergus is Maeve’s father’s estranged brother.

                The dolls were found in all across places, used by different groups, maybe glamour bombs for some, maybe ways to smuggle information and keys.

                Across their trips they connect with story characters, and unknowingly revive their stories.

                POP*IN THREAD (plot development suggestions, to be looked into later)

                Maeve and Shawn-Paul are still in Tikfijikoo, investigating the mysterious dolls and their connection to Uncle Fergus. They’ve also encountered strange happenings, including a missing girl and a strange man in a top hat.

                Meanwhile, Jerk is still moderating the forum and dealing with the strange messages. Lucinda is continuing her creative writing course and enjoying her time with Fabio.

                Granola is currently on a mission to find Ailill and learn more about pop-ins, while also trying to reconnect with her friends and figure out what’s going on with the dolls.

                As for the mysterious man following Maeve, his intentions are still unclear, but it seems he has some connection to Uncle Fergus and the dolls. The group is still trying to uncover the truth and figure out their next steps.

                :fleuron:

                In the end, Granola’s pop-in abilities proved to be the key to unlocking the mystery of the dolls and their connection to Uncle Fergus. With her help, Maeve and Shawn-Paul were able to uncover the truth about the dolls and their purpose, and use them to reconnect with various story characters across their trips.

                Through their adventures, they also discovered the power of storytelling and the importance of shaking up their routines to keep their lives interesting and full of wonder. Jerk found a new sense of purpose in managing the forum and connecting with others through his passion for the dolls and their stories.

                In the final chapter, Uncle Fergus reconciled with Maeve’s father and shared the true meaning behind the dolls and their connection to their family history.

                While Shawn-Paul’s path led him to become a successful author, Lucinda’s path took a different turn. She found fulfillment in her creative writing course and continued to hone her skills, but she didn’t pursue a career as a writer. Instead, she used her passion for storytelling to help others, working as a therapist and using storytelling techniques to help her clients work through their struggles and find healing. Lucinda’s work was deeply rewarding, and she felt fulfilled in being able to help others in such a meaningful way.

                As for Granola, she continued to pop-in and out of their lives, using her abilities to bring joy and excitement to their everyday routines, and keeping their stories alive for years to come. The group remained close friends, bonded by their shared experiences and love of storytelling.

                #6621

                In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

                As the four of them walked into the tavern, having walked the mile or so from the Flying Fish Inn to the main street of the tiny town, Zara noticed the black BMW that she and Yasmin had seen parked outside the Piggly supermarket on the way back from the airport in Alice.  She elbowed Yasmin in the ribs to point it out, but there was no need as Yasmin was already snorting nervously at the sight of it.

                black bmw

                 

                Sister Finli caught sight of them as she was just about to leave Betsy’s gem shop and paused until they’d disappeared into the bar before leaving the shop.   It was the first time that Finli had seen Betsy in the flesh, and what a lot of flesh there was to see.   Finli was horrifed, comparing her own elegant thin fingers with the fat sausage like digits of Betsy.  She would never have expected Betsy to look this way. Still, it had thrown her, and she lost her usual efficient composure and quickly purchased a pink speckled gummy bear necklace.  Annoyingly, this transaction reminded her that she seemed to have lost her crucifix.

                Finli was an orphan.  The nuns had named her Finean Lisa. Finean meant beautiful daughter, and Lisa meant devoted to god.  Later they shortened it to Finli.  She’d spent all her life at the orphanage in Suva, having been deposited there at birth, and although she had no particular calling to be a nun, she had not known what else to do with her life.  It was the only family she’d ever known, and so she stayed on.  It was only in the past year or two that she’d had any curiosity about who her real parents were, when she read about DNA tests and ancestry research. She’d been told in the past that no records existed as she had been found on the doorstep of the orphanage one morning 43 years ago.  The knowledge had filled her with comtempt for her parents, whoever they were,  and for the most part she pushed them from her mind, not caring to know.  But when she read about all the successes of adopted people finding their real parents, she was consumed with curiosity. At first she just wanted to know who they were. But once she had found their names, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know why.  One thing led to another.

                Her real father had disappeared, lost down some mines although the story there was far from clear.  Indeed, that particular story was a darn sight more than unclear, it was downright fishy.  Her real mother was was alive and kicking, and living near to the mines where Howard had disappeared. Finli deduced that she must have been born, or at least conceived, in this godforsaken place in the outback.  What an ignominous start to her uneventful life.

                She knew that Fred was her uncle, but she had not told him she knew that. Did Fred know who she was? He’d always been kind to her, but then, he was affable to everyone.   When it came to her knowledge that Fred had given that tiresome snorting volunteer girl a parcel to take with her, to, of all places! that very town in the outback, Finli simply had to know what was in it.  But she didn’t want to spill the beans too soon, in case it hindered her attempts to find the truth about Howard, her father.   She decided to travel to the town incognito.  But how was she going to find the money for it?  Well, she knew she was burning her bridges, but she had to do it. She stole the golden chalice from the church and sold it on Ubay.  She was suprised at how much money it fetched. Not only could she afford the trip, she could do it in style.

                It was an exciting adventure, but Finli was not accustomed to travel and adventure. In fact, she was dreading meeting her mother.   At times she wished she’d just stayed at the orphanage.  But it was too late now. She was here.

                Finli

                #6558

                In reply to: Orbs of Madjourneys

                “Nice BMW,” said Yasmin. She pointed towards a shiny black car parked in front of the supermarket. “My Uncle has that model.”

                “Pretty flash,” agreed Sergio. He sniffed and scratched his nose vigorously. Yasmin was amused to notice Zara frown, ever-so-slightly.  Sergio squinted towards the BMW. “Looks like it’s a rental too. Beats this bloody Toyota any day.”

                “Do either of you want to get anything while we are here?” asked Zara brightly. “I’ve got a little stash of snacks back at the Inn …”

                “No I’m good, but I do need to use the loo,” said Yasmin. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed her surroundings. There’s that garage over the road but it looks a bit dodgy. Wish I’d gone back at the airport now.”

                Zara nodded. “Okay I’ll just get the wine then! See you in a few minutes”

                “The toilet is around the back, but it’s in use,” said a friendly man behind the counter. Yasmin wondered how long before she got used to the distinctive nasally twang of the Aussie accent. She thought briefly of Fred and the mysterious brown parcel in her bag. She thanked the man and perused the shelves while she waited. As she was struggling to choose between a bar of chocolate or a bag of cashew nuts, neither of which she wanted but she felt obligated to buy something, a well-dressed woman stormed in and flung the toilet key at the counter where it bounced and skidded to a stop next to a box of chewing gum. “Disgusting,” Yasmin heard her say before she pivoted on her Gucci-emblazoned trainers and flounced out the door.

                “Looks like the toilet’s free,” said the man with a grin.

                #6343
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum

                  William James Stokes

                   

                  William James Stokes was the first son of Thomas Stokes and Eliza Browning. Oddly, his birth was registered in Witham in Essex, on the 6th September 1841.

                  Birth certificate of William James Stokes:

                  birth William Stokes

                   

                  His father Thomas Stokes has not yet been found on the 1841 census, and his mother Eliza was staying with her uncle Thomas Lock in Cirencester in 1841. Eliza’s mother Mary Browning (nee Lock) was staying there too. Thomas and Eliza were married in September 1840 in Hempstead in Gloucestershire.

                  It’s a mystery why William was born in Essex but one possibility is that his father Thomas, who later worked with the Chipperfields making circus wagons, was staying with the Chipperfields who were wheelwrights in Witham in 1841. Or perhaps even away with a traveling circus at the time of the census, learning the circus waggon wheelwright trade. But this is a guess and it’s far from clear why Eliza would make the journey to Witham to have the baby when she was staying in Cirencester a few months prior.

                  In 1851 Thomas and Eliza, William and four younger siblings were living in Bledington in Oxfordshire.

                  William was a 19 year old wheelwright living with his parents in Evesham in 1861. He married Elizabeth Meldrum in December 1867 in Hackney, London. He and his father are both wheelwrights on the marriage register.

                  Marriage of William James Stokes and Elizabeth Meldrum in 1867:

                  1867 William Stokes

                   

                  William and Elizabeth had a daughter, Elizabeth Emily Stokes, in 1868 in Shoreditch, London.

                  On the 3rd of December 1870, William James Stokes was admitted to Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum. One week later on the 10th of December, he was dead.

                  On his death certificate the cause of death was “general paralysis and exhaustion, certified. MD Edgar Sheppard in attendance.” William was just 29 years old.

                  Death certificate William James Stokes:

                  death William Stokes

                   

                  I asked on a genealogy forum what could possibly have caused this death at such a young age. A retired pathology professor replied that “in medicine the term General Paralysis is only used in one context – that of Tertiary Syphilis.”
                  “Tertiary syphilis is the third and final stage of syphilis, a sexually transmitted disease that unfolds in stages when the individual affected doesn’t receive appropriate treatment.”

                  From the article “Looking back: This fascinating and fatal disease” by Jennifer Wallis:

                  “……in asylums across Britain in the late 19th century, with hundreds of people receiving the diagnosis of general paralysis of the insane (GPI). The majority of these were men in their 30s and 40s, all exhibiting one or more of the disease’s telltale signs: grandiose delusions, a staggering gait, disturbed reflexes, asymmetrical pupils, tremulous voice, and muscular weakness. Their prognosis was bleak, most dying within months, weeks, or sometimes days of admission.

                  The fatal nature of GPI made it of particular concern to asylum superintendents, who became worried that their institutions were full of incurable cases requiring constant care. The social effects of the disease were also significant, attacking men in the prime of life whose admission to the asylum frequently left a wife and children at home. Compounding the problem was the erratic behaviour of the general paralytic, who might get themselves into financial or legal difficulties. Delusions about their vast wealth led some to squander scarce family resources on extravagant purchases – one man’s wife reported he had bought ‘a quantity of hats’ despite their meagre income – and doctors pointed to the frequency of thefts by general paralytics who imagined that everything belonged to them.”

                   

                  The London Archives hold the records for Colney Hatch, but they informed me that the particular records for the dates that William was admitted and died were in too poor a condition to be accessed without causing further damage.

                  Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum gained such notoriety that the name “Colney Hatch” appeared in various terms of abuse associated with the concept of madness. Infamous inmates that were institutionalized at Colney Hatch (later called Friern Hospital) include Jack the Ripper suspect Aaron Kosminski from 1891, and from 1911 the wife of occultist Aleister Crowley. In 1993 the hospital grounds were sold and the exclusive apartment complex called Princess Park Manor was built.

                  Colney Hatch:

                  Colney Hatch

                   

                  In 1873 Williams widow married William Hallam in Limehouse in London. Elizabeth died in 1930, apparently unaffected by her first husbands ailment.

                  #6338
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Albert Parker Edwards

                    1876-1930

                    Albert Parker Edwards

                     

                    Albert Parker Edwards, my great grandfather, was born in Aston, Warwickshire in 1876.  On the 1881 census he was living with his parents Enoch and Amelia in Bournebrook, Northfield, Worcestershire.  Enoch was a button tool maker at the time of the census.

                    In 1890 Albert was indentured in an apprenticeship as a pawnbroker in Tipton, Staffordshire.

                    1890 indenture

                     

                    On the 1891 census Albert was a lodger in Tipton at the home of Phoebe Levy, pawnbroker, and Alberts occupation was an apprentice.

                    Albert married Annie Elizabeth Stokes in 1898 in Evesham, and their first son, my grandfather Albert Garnet Edwards (1898-1950), was born six months later in Crabbs Cross.  On the 1901 census, Annie was in hospital as a patient and Albert was living at Crabbs Cross with a boarder, his brother Garnet Edwards.  Their two year old son Albert Garnet was staying with his uncle Ralph, Albert Parkers brother, also in Crabbs Cross.

                    Albert and Annie kept the Cricketers Arms hotel on Beoley Road in Redditch until around 1920. They had a further four children while living there: Doris May Edwards (1902-1974),  Ralph Clifford Edwards (1903-1988),  Ena Flora Edwards (1908-1983) and Osmond Edwards (1910-2000).

                     

                    In 1906 Albert was assaulted during an incident in the Cricketers Arms.

                    Bromsgrove & Droitwich Messenger – Saturday 18 August 1906:

                    1906 incident

                    1906 assault

                     

                    In 1910 a gold medal was given to Albert Parker Edwards by Mr. Banks, a policeman, in Redditch for saving the life of his two children from drowning in a brook on the Proctor farm which adjoined The Cricketers Arms.  The story my father heard was that policeman Banks could not persuade the town of Redditch to come up with an award for Albert Parker Edwards so policeman Banks did it himself.  William Banks, police constable, was living on Beoley Road on the 1911 census. His son Thomas was aged 5 and his daughter Frances was 8.  It seems that when the father retired from the police he moved to Worcester. Thomas went into the hotel business and in 1939 was the manager of the Abbey hotel in Kenilworth. Frances married Edward Pardoe and was living along Redditch Road, Alvechurch in 1939.

                    My grandmother Peggy had the gold medal put on a gold chain for me in the 1970s.  When I left England in the 1980s, I gave it back to her for safekeeping. When she died, the medal on the chain ended up in my fathers possession, who claims to have no knowledge that it was once given to me!

                    The medal:

                    1910 medal

                    Albert Parker Edwards wearing the medal:

                    APE wearing medal

                     

                    In 1921 Albert was at the The Royal Exchange hotel in Droitwich:

                    Royal Exchange

                     

                    Between 1922 and 1927 Albert kept the Bear Hotel in Evesham:

                    APE Bear

                    The Bear

                     

                    Then Albert and Annie moved to the Red Lion at Astwood Bank:

                    Red Lion

                     

                    Albert in the garden behind the Red Lion:

                    APE Red Lion

                     

                    They stayed at the Red Lion until Albert Parker Edwards died on the 11th of February, 1930 aged 53.

                    APE probate

                    #6333
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      The Grattidge Family

                       

                      The first Grattidge to appear in our tree was Emma Grattidge (1853-1911) who married Charles Tomlinson (1847-1907) in 1872.

                      Charles Tomlinson (1873-1929) was their son and he married my great grandmother Nellie Fisher. Their daughter Margaret (later Peggy Edwards) was my grandmother on my fathers side.

                      Emma Grattidge was born in Wolverhampton, the daughter and youngest child of William Grattidge (1820-1887) born in Foston, Derbyshire, and Mary Stubbs, born in Burton on Trent, daughter of Solomon Stubbs, a land carrier. William and Mary married at St Modwens church, Burton on Trent, in 1839. It’s unclear why they moved to Wolverhampton. On the 1841 census William was employed as an agent, and their first son William was nine months old. Thereafter, William was a licensed victuallar or innkeeper.

                      William Grattidge was born in Foston, Derbyshire in 1820. His parents were Thomas Grattidge, farmer (1779-1843) and Ann Gerrard (1789-1822) from Ellastone. Thomas and Ann married in 1813 in Ellastone. They had five children before Ann died at the age of 25:

                      Bessy was born in 1815, Thomas in 1818, William in 1820, and Daniel Augustus and Frederick were twins born in 1822. They were all born in Foston. (records say Foston, Foston and Scropton, or Scropton)

                      On the 1841 census Thomas had nine people additional to family living at the farm in Foston, presumably agricultural labourers and help.

                      After Ann died, Thomas had three children with Kezia Gibbs (30 years his junior) before marrying her in 1836, then had a further four with her before dying in 1843. Then Kezia married Thomas’s nephew Frederick Augustus Grattidge (born in 1816 in Stafford) in London in 1847 and had two more!

                       

                      The siblings of William Grattidge (my 3x great grandfather):

                       

                      Frederick Grattidge (1822-1872) was a schoolmaster and never married. He died at the age of 49 in Tamworth at his twin brother Daniels address.

                      Daniel Augustus Grattidge (1822-1903) was a grocer at Gungate in Tamworth.

                      Thomas Grattidge (1818-1871) married in Derby, and then emigrated to Illinois, USA.

                      Bessy Grattidge  (1815-1840) married John Buxton, farmer, in Ellastone in January 1838. They had three children before Bessy died in December 1840 at the age of 25: Henry in 1838, John in 1839, and Bessy Buxton in 1840. Bessy was baptised in January 1841. Presumably the birth of Bessy caused the death of Bessy the mother.

                      Bessy Buxton’s gravestone:

                      “Sacred to the memory of Bessy Buxton, the affectionate wife of John Buxton of Stanton She departed this life December 20th 1840, aged 25 years. “Husband, Farewell my life is Past, I loved you while life did last. Think on my children for my sake, And ever of them with I take.”

                      20 Dec 1840, Ellastone, Staffordshire

                      Bessy Buxton

                       

                      In the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge, farmer of Foston, he leaves fifth shares of his estate, including freehold real estate at Findern,  to his wife Kezia, and sons William, Daniel, Frederick and Thomas. He mentions that the children of his late daughter Bessy, wife of John Buxton, will be taken care of by their father.  He leaves the farm to Keziah in confidence that she will maintain, support and educate his children with her.

                      An excerpt from the will:

                      I give and bequeath unto my dear wife Keziah Grattidge all my household goods and furniture, wearing apparel and plate and plated articles, linen, books, china, glass, and other household effects whatsoever, and also all my implements of husbandry, horses, cattle, hay, corn, crops and live and dead stock whatsoever, and also all the ready money that may be about my person or in my dwelling house at the time of my decease, …I also give my said wife the tenant right and possession of the farm in my occupation….

                      A page from the 1843 will of Thomas Grattidge:

                      1843 Thomas Grattidge

                       

                      William Grattidges half siblings (the offspring of Thomas Grattidge and Kezia Gibbs):

                       

                      Albert Grattidge (1842-1914) was a railway engine driver in Derby. In 1884 he was driving the train when an unfortunate accident occured outside Ambergate. Three children were blackberrying and crossed the rails in front of the train, and one little girl died.

                      Albert Grattidge:

                      Albert Grattidge

                       

                      George Grattidge (1826-1876) was baptised Gibbs as this was before Thomas married Kezia. He was a police inspector in Derby.

                      George Grattidge:

                      George Grattidge

                       

                      Edwin Grattidge (1837-1852) died at just 15 years old.

                      Ann Grattidge (1835-) married Charles Fletcher, stone mason, and lived in Derby.

                      Louisa Victoria Grattidge (1840-1869) was sadly another Grattidge woman who died young. Louisa married Emmanuel Brunt Cheesborough in 1860 in Derby. In 1861 Louisa and Emmanuel were living with her mother Kezia in Derby, with their two children Frederick and Ann Louisa. Emmanuel’s occupation was sawyer. (Kezia Gibbs second husband Frederick Augustus Grattidge was a timber merchant in Derby)

                      At the time of her death in 1869, Emmanuel was the landlord of the White Hart public house at Bridgegate in Derby.

                      The Derby Mercury of 17th November 1869:

                      “On Wednesday morning Mr Coroner Vallack held an inquest in the Grand
                      Jury-room, Town-hall, on the body of Louisa Victoria Cheeseborough, aged
                      33, the wife of the landlord of the White Hart, Bridge-gate, who committed
                      suicide by poisoning at an early hour on Sunday morning. The following
                      evidence was taken:

                      Mr Frederick Borough, surgeon, practising in Derby, deposed that he was
                      called in to see the deceased about four o’clock on Sunday morning last. He
                      accordingly examined the deceased and found the body quite warm, but dead.
                      He afterwards made enquiries of the husband, who said that he was afraid
                      that his wife had taken poison, also giving him at the same time the
                      remains of some blue material in a cup. The aunt of the deceased’s husband
                      told him that she had seen Mrs Cheeseborough put down a cup in the
                      club-room, as though she had just taken it from her mouth. The witness took
                      the liquid home with him, and informed them that an inquest would
                      necessarily have to be held on Monday. He had made a post mortem
                      examination of the body, and found that in the stomach there was a great
                      deal of congestion. There were remains of food in the stomach and, having
                      put the contents into a bottle, he took the stomach away. He also examined
                      the heart and found it very pale and flabby. All the other organs were
                      comparatively healthy; the liver was friable.

                      Hannah Stone, aunt of the deceased’s husband, said she acted as a servant
                      in the house. On Saturday evening, while they were going to bed and whilst
                      witness was undressing, the deceased came into the room, went up to the
                      bedside, awoke her daughter, and whispered to her. but what she said the
                      witness did not know. The child jumped out of bed, but the deceased closed
                      the door and went away. The child followed her mother, and she also
                      followed them to the deceased’s bed-room, but the door being closed, they
                      then went to the club-room door and opening it they saw the deceased
                      standing with a candle in one hand. The daughter stayed with her in the
                      room whilst the witness went downstairs to fetch a candle for herself, and
                      as she was returning up again she saw the deceased put a teacup on the
                      table. The little girl began to scream, saying “Oh aunt, my mother is
                      going, but don’t let her go”. The deceased then walked into her bed-room,
                      and they went and stood at the door whilst the deceased undressed herself.
                      The daughter and the witness then returned to their bed-room. Presently
                      they went to see if the deceased was in bed, but she was sitting on the
                      floor her arms on the bedside. Her husband was sitting in a chair fast
                      asleep. The witness pulled her on the bed as well as she could.
                      Ann Louisa Cheesborough, a little girl, said that the deceased was her
                      mother. On Saturday evening last, about twenty minutes before eleven
                      o’clock, she went to bed, leaving her mother and aunt downstairs. Her aunt
                      came to bed as usual. By and bye, her mother came into her room – before
                      the aunt had retired to rest – and awoke her. She told the witness, in a
                      low voice, ‘that she should have all that she had got, adding that she
                      should also leave her her watch, as she was going to die’. She did not tell
                      her aunt what her mother had said, but followed her directly into the
                      club-room, where she saw her drink something from a cup, which she
                      afterwards placed on the table. Her mother then went into her own room and
                      shut the door. She screamed and called her father, who was downstairs. He
                      came up and went into her room. The witness then went to bed and fell
                      asleep. She did not hear any noise or quarrelling in the house after going
                      to bed.

                      Police-constable Webster was on duty in Bridge-gate on Saturday evening
                      last, about twenty minutes to one o’clock. He knew the White Hart
                      public-house in Bridge-gate, and as he was approaching that place, he heard
                      a woman scream as though at the back side of the house. The witness went to
                      the door and heard the deceased keep saying ‘Will you be quiet and go to
                      bed’. The reply was most disgusting, and the language which the
                      police-constable said was uttered by the husband of the deceased, was
                      immoral in the extreme. He heard the poor woman keep pressing her husband
                      to go to bed quietly, and eventually he saw him through the keyhole of the
                      door pass and go upstairs. his wife having gone up a minute or so before.
                      Inspector Fearn deposed that on Sunday morning last, after he had heard of
                      the deceased’s death from supposed poisoning, he went to Cheeseborough’s
                      public house, and found in the club-room two nearly empty packets of
                      Battie’s Lincoln Vermin Killer – each labelled poison.

                      Several of the Jury here intimated that they had seen some marks on the
                      deceased’s neck, as of blows, and expressing a desire that the surgeon
                      should return, and re-examine the body. This was accordingly done, after
                      which the following evidence was taken:

                      Mr Borough said that he had examined the body of the deceased and observed
                      a mark on the left side of the neck, which he considered had come on since
                      death. He thought it was the commencement of decomposition.
                      This was the evidence, after which the jury returned a verdict “that the
                      deceased took poison whilst of unsound mind” and requested the Coroner to
                      censure the deceased’s husband.

                      The Coroner told Cheeseborough that he was a disgusting brute and that the
                      jury only regretted that the law could not reach his brutal conduct.
                      However he had had a narrow escape. It was their belief that his poor
                      wife, who was driven to her own destruction by his brutal treatment, would
                      have been a living woman that day except for his cowardly conduct towards
                      her.

                      The inquiry, which had lasted a considerable time, then closed.”

                       

                      In this article it says:

                      “it was the “fourth or fifth remarkable and tragical event – some of which were of the worst description – that has taken place within the last twelve years at the White Hart and in the very room in which the unfortunate Louisa Cheesborough drew her last breath.”

                      Sheffield Independent – Friday 12 November 1869:

                      Louisa Cheesborough

                      #6320

                      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                      When Maryechka arrived at the front gate of the Vyriy hotel with its gaudy plaster storks at the entrance, she sneaked into the side gate leading to the kitchens.

                      She had to be careful not to to be noticed by Larysa who often had her cigarette break hidden under the pine tree. Larysa didn’t like children, or at least, she disliked them slightly less than the elderly residents, whoever was the loudest and the uncleanliest was sure to suffer her disapproval.

                      Larysa was basically single-handedly managing the hotel, doing most of the chores to keep it afloat. The only thing she didn’t do was the catering, and packaged trays arrived every day for the residents. Maryechka’s grand-pa was no picky eater, and made a point of clearing his tray of food, but she suspected most of the other residents didn’t.
                      The only other employee she was told, was the gardener who would have been old enough to be a resident himself, and had died of a stroke before the summer. The small garden was clearly in need of tending after.

                      Maryechka could see the coast was clear, and was making her ways to the stairs when she heard clanking in the stairs and voices arguing.

                      “Keep your voice down, you’re going to wake the dragon.”

                      “That’s your fault, you don’t pack light for your adventures. You really needed to take all these suitcases? How can we make a run for it with all that dead weight!”

                      #6318

                      In reply to: The Sexy Wooden Leg

                      “You’d better sit down,” said Olga gesturing to the end of her bed. As a rule, she did not have visitors so she saw no need to clutter up the available space in her tiny room with an extra chair. A large proportion of her life was spent in her armchair and she was content that way. While Egbert perched on the end of the bed, she lowered herself into the soft and familiar confines of her armchair and felt instantly soothed. It was true, sometimes she felt a tinge of regret when she considered how disappointed her younger self would be to see her now. But she hadn’t lived through what I’ve lived through so she can mind her own damn business,” she thought.

                      “It is just a story, twisted in the telling I expect.” Olga knew her voice held no conviction.

                      Egbert opened his mouth as though to speak. Closed it again.

                      “You look like a fish,” said Olga folding her arms.

                      “They say you and the Mayor go back a long way. Are you telling me that is not true?

                      “And what if we do?”

                      “You know he is Ursula’s uncle and a very powerful man. They say even the great president Voldomeer Zumbaskee holds him in great regard. They say …”

                      “Pfft! They say!” snapped Olga. “Who are these chattering fools you listen to, Egbert Gofindlevsky?  I’d rather end up on the streets than ask a favour from that mountebank.”

                      Egbert jumped up from the bed and shook a fist at her. “And end up on the streets you will, Olga Herringbonevsky, along with the rest of us. You really want that on  your conscience?”

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