Forgotten Futures: The Cassowary and the Continental Zombies

Roster

Captain Neill MacAndrew - Malacandra
Franklin Boyd - Elendil's Heir
Lore O'Cuinn - RabbitMage
Ian Spencer - What Exit?
Dr. Raoul Lefevre - Zuul
Klara Augusta Weber - Orual
James Wilfred Smythe - Ramses
Lucius Nathaniel Barnaby - CatInASuit
Toff - Hoopy Frood

----------------------------
May 19th, 1872

Prince Heinrich XIV, of the Reuss Younger Line has called a number of people to a residence he has temporarily taken up in London. A relative of both Queen Victoria and her late husband, the German prince has many ties in England, including to those he has called to him on an unusually cold, rainy Sunday evening.

Each individual is ushered into the parlour, where the prince waits. He's a relatively young man at the age of forty, his hair neatly styled back and his lengthy moustache curled up at the ends. The room isn't terribly large, but richly furnished and quite comfortable. There are two couches on either side of a low table with high backed chairs at either end of the table. A fire crackles away merrily in the hearth, chasing away the damp chill of the night.

The prince settles himself in a chair while his servants bring refreshments to his guests as they arrive. He refuses to answer any questions until the entire party has arrived.

Franklin "Frank" Boyd sees that he is first to arrive. He bows to his host and murmurs, "Your Royal Highness, thank you for your kind invitation. I'm pleased to meet you." He accepts a cup of coffee from a servant and adds quite a bit of sugar. A former captain of the Royal Marines and the Imperial Indian Dirigible Service, he is of average height, strong and wiry, with hazel eyes, a lean, lined face, dark hair and a full but neatly-trimmed beard. He wears a dark suit of a conservative cut, a white shirt and a cravat.

In something that only happens on rare occasion, Toff is actually living up to his name wearing what is his only high-class outfit (a payment from a tailor he did some work for a few years back). He's got a brown wool suit, wool vest from which the chain of his watch is hooked to an eyelet and the watch is in his pocket, and a pressed linen shirt. Upon entering the residence, he removes his leather bowler hat and leather overcoat and hands them to whichever servant is taking the things. He also wears a pair of recently shined shin high leather boots. Toff's usually untamed and scraggly hair is clean and pulled back in a small pony tail, and his face is clean shaven. Inside on the right side of his left boot he conceals a dagger. It is the only weapon he has on him. If asked if he has any weapons, he will admit as much and will happily hand it over. If frisked, he will immediately tell them to check the boot. If neither, he will mention to whoever looks as the most senior security person that he has a dagger in his boot and he will willingly give it up, as he intends no subterfuge or threat towards the prince. He just always feels vulnerable without a dagger on his person when walking around and will mention this to the guard. He just requests that they return it to him upon leaving.

Upon being led into the parlour, he bows and greets the prince.

"Good evening, your highness. It's my pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality."

Taking a seat nearest the fire to shake off the chill, he orders a glass of dark rum served neat, it certainly has to be better than the gin in his flask.

As far as the rest of his standard equipment, other than a lighter, he's left it all at home. He's not going to need it in this place. He does have a cigarette case in his inner pocket, which he pulls out with the lighter, and opens it up revealing a handful of prepacked cigarettes.

"Is it all right if I smoke, your majesty?" he asks the Prince.

If the answer is no he will pleasantly accept it. If the Prince says it's okay, he will offer both the Prince and Frank a cigarette as well.

Travel was brisk and able from his residence in Staffordshire, the family estate upon which he inconvenienced from one time to another, and he brought with him a single trunk, two rifles well protected within leather cases, and his own person dressed more for a hunt than for meeting royalty. Bedecked in his expeditionary clothes of canvas and cotton, with cravat puffing out from his button-up shirt being the greatest of his fineries he wore, he was not of proper attire to meet with royalty, and seemed to play at no great fawning for their established privilege. Having asked the servants on entry to tend to his rifles, and single bag, that he brought with him from his travel, he moved inward, his face marbled with ire. "Prince," Smythe greeted, his voice brooking a disinterest in pleasantries, but still he offered the most basic.

The word dark would accurately summarize the mood which possessed Smythe as he took in the establishment, his chin strong with a dimple inverting its foremost point, handsome and tall with lean muscle. Adding to the clarity of his foul demeanor, clearly displeased by his own presence here, was the rough nature of his face, having clearly been absent the touch of a razor for some days, scruff that was not yet respectably a beard, nor shaved in anticipation of such.

His safari hat was brought with him, and tucked under his arm. His jacket was worn openly, to make hint seen of the shoulder-slung holsters for pistols that were nestled neatly at his sides beneath the jacket. The band was seen, if not the metal itself, and he moved to acquire drink, letting his eyes travel those other arrivals with a considerate gaze. He wondered at their purpose, their payment and their knowledge, but awaited the telling; the man had hired them with purpose, and he would permit the man his word when he chose it, even if Smythe appeared to scorn the undue pageantry that preceded the sordid business.

Thanks in no small part to the Scotophilia popularised by the Queen, Neill MacAndrew has no hesitation in presenting himself in traditional Scottish regalia - or at least, "traditional" as it is generally viewed in London. With an air of easy ceremony he surrenders his claymore and dirk at the door but retains the sgian dubh in plain view in his stocking, as duty demands that he be prepared to defend his host at need. Entering, he bows first to the Prince and then to the other company. "Good evening, your Highness, and The MacAndrew sends his best regards," he says, in the barely-accented Highland tones that can be more English than the English.

Knowing that the Prince will speak when he is ready, and recognising a fellow ex-serviceman by his bearing, MacAndrew steps aside to make the acquaintance of Frank Boyd. He takes no sugar in his coffee, no more than he does in his porridge, for he is a true son of his country.

Nate arrives at the entrance wondering what he is here for. The request did not appear to be for an example of his usual talents, but it was enough to pique his interest and one never says no to royalty, no matter where they are from.

Handing his coat and hat to the servant at the front door he makes his way with confident steps to where the prince is waiting. To those inside, a thin, neat man walks through the door looking at home in such splendour. The suit is of high quality and the shoes shined brightly.

He looks carefully around the room at the those already there and in turn looks over each of them as if trying to understand who each of them are. When satisfied with something perhaps known only to himself, he walks up to the Prince and thanks him for his hospitality on this night.

Then he will accept a drink that is offered to him and warm himself by the fire.

After handing her coat and umbrella to a servant, Klara hesitates in the doorway before entering the parlor. She stands a little over five feet tall, and wears a plain tan walking suit. Her fair hair is up in a braided chignon, topped with a blue satin hat. Her wide, inquisitive gray eyes examine the room and its inhabitants for a moment before approaching the prince.

"Guten Abend, Eure Hoheit," she murmurs as she drops a curtsey. She will then take a cup of coffee and settle herself on one of the couches.

A man arrives in a dapper pilots suit. Immaculately white with blue piping. He hands off his hat and jacket and heads for the parlor. Sadly this suit does not favor the short man, he might look pudgy at first but it is hard to miss he is of a thick strong build like a wrestler.

"Your Royal Highness, I thank you for the invitation and look forward to a new profitable venture."

He nods to the rest of the guests, "Greetings, I am Ian Spencer, Pilot and Engineer." He hands out business cards with gold leaf printing.

Ian W. Spencer
94 Baker Street, London

Masters of Engineering
King's College London

Pilot, Mechanic, Engineer, Scientist,
Adventurer and Inventor

"A pleasure to see you Neill, I was afraid I would be bored by uninteresting talk tonight, but with a fellow engineer here I feel better."

On arrival, Lore relinquishes his traveling bag and his well-worn coat to the servants. He's dressed far more like a dock worker than a man holding audience with royalty. His brown hair is combed, though, and he is clean shaven for the occasion.

Before there's a chance for proper greetings, a gilded card is thrust upon him. He glances at it and scoffs, tossing it aside.

Free of such distraction, he acknowleges the mustachioed price with a deep nod that one might read as a half-assed bow. A seat is taken on one of the couches, and he waves to one of the servants.

"Y'got any scotch?"

Dr. Lefevre arrives looking mildly nervous about being in a German prince's residence. After his coat is taken and he's shown into the parlor, he blanches a bit to see how large the crowd is that's gathered. His clothing is a season out of fashion, though cared for. He simply is too busy to spend much time worrying about such things. Despite the dark coloring of his hair and eyes, his skin has the pallor of a scholar, all the more dramatically pale as he looks around the room with evident worry.

Once he regains his bearings, he bows to the prince. "Your Serene Highness. It's good to see you in better health these days."

When offered a refreshment, Dr. Lefevre accepts coffee, then seats himself on a couch.

Ian is perturbed by dock worker's actions. He picks up the discarded card and inspects it. If it is undamaged he hands it to the newest person, "Good Day, I am Ian Spencer."

Dr. Lefevre watches the engineer, cocking his head curiously, then accepts the card. "Good day, Mr. Spencer," he responds, his French accent apparent though his English is flawless. "I'm Dr. Raoul Lefevre." He pauses, looking down at the floor.

"Are there cards for all of us down there?"

Ian looks confused and ponders, "No, for some reason that labourer type dropped my proffered card and did not even introduce himself. A pleasure to meet you Doctor. Are you a Doctor of Medicine or Science?"

Toff pockets the card, thinking in the back of his mind he now has a new alias to borrow should he need one.

Boyd thanks Spencer and, with only a slightly-raised eyebrow, puts the gold-lettered business card in his pocket. He asks MacAndrew, "From where in Scotland do you come, sir?"

"Appreciation for that, Mr. Spencer," Smythe said calmly, as he took the card and looked it over, twisting it to inspect, before sliding it into one of his pockets, upsetting the necklace of varied bones that hung around his neck as an array of his victories.

The hunter then watches, less interested in their conversation, than in that between Boyd and MacAndrew. They were both clearly of service, and he remained askance from them, eyes lingering as subtly as he'd manage. Otherwise, he returned to his quiet brood, awaiting the Prince's address. Many did not appear, he recognized, to have a full clarity of purpose, either, and that gave him only some comfort in the moment.

Finding a wall, he placed his back to it, and continued to watch the room and its interactions, with special note made to MacAndrew and Boyd still.

Klara accepts Spencer's card with a smile and a "charmed, I'm sure."

As conversations begin to spring up around the room, she continues to observe from the couch, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and confusion.

The card is acepted with a smile. "Thank you sir."

"A strange way to introduce oneself, but perhaps not unusual in such a strange collection of people. Engineers and army men, workers and doctors, I wonder what the Prince has in store for us? " Nate ponders why such a strange collection of people should be brought together.

Despite his decidedly working class appearance, Lore is brought the scotch he requested and treated as graciously as any of the other guests. Once everyone has arrived and settled in, the prince clears his throat. "Leave us now," he tells his servants. The three young men who had been serving step out immediately, shutting the door behind them.

"I'm sure you're all quite curious about why you've been brought together here. I promise that there's a purpose for this, however. What you in all your diversity have in common is that I've either crossed paths with each of you previously or else I'm well aware of your talents."

He pauses for a moment. Klara, Nate, and Toff note that he's hiding some other aspect of why he's chosen them.

"There is a Welsh scientist who has taken a remote estate in my own principality. It's believed that he's working against the crown here and because of that it's...preferred that those retrieving information on what he's doing be primarily British subjects. A rotorcraft that my associates have been designing for me is prepared to carry you to the estate and among you there are enough talented people in order to keep it in flight."

He gestures to his guests. "Mr. O'Cuinn in particular is already experienced in flying ships such as this one and with the automation put in place with the assistance of Miss Weber and her father you may fly with a crew of five."

Prince Heinrich pauses again to take a sip off of his coffee. "This is for the good of my principality as well as the British Empire, at the request of your queen, but I cannot tell you more if you do not agree to the mission. You'll be rewarded generously, of course, but if you are not interested you may leave now and hear no more."

(Earlier, to Boyd: "The MacAndrews call Perthshire home, sir, and a pleasant seat it is at that. Perhaps you would like to see it some time?")

"Rewards are of small account next to loyalty to Queen and country, your Highness. I'll stay and hear the rest for sure."

Before the Prince begins speaking, Dr. Lefevre answers Spencer, "A medical doctor, though I assist in the physiological aspects of zoological studies at King's College."

In response to the offer to leave, Dr. Lefevre raises a brow, but makes no move to leave. "I've no homeland but this one now, your Highness. I intend to stay."

"Y'know I'm willin'," Lore comments over his glass of scotch. One he takes his time sipping, since this is no barroom swill but fine, royal scotch.

One might think he were more concerned with the quality of the alcohol than the purpose of the mission. And one might be right.

Ian says, "Did you say a rotorcraft? I'm in your highness!"

He looks positively blissful and distracted.

Klara is slightly troubled by the fact that the prince is holding something back, but hopes he will be more forthcoming once he is assured of the group's interest and good faith.

"It would be silly of me to have come all this way just to go back again, ja?"

Boyd earlier said to MacAndrew, "You know, I have a vague memory of visiting Perthshire as a boy. It rained quite a bit, as I recall, but it was nevertheless an enjoyable visit."

He now says to the Prince, "If I may be of any service to you, I gladly offer it."

"From what I know of Your Highness, You have a reputation for being most fair in payment for services rendered. While I don't give much stock to the whole 'sacrifice for Queen and Country" thing myself, I am confident that we will all be amply compensated for the effort. Besides, every opportunity to extend my horizons is always a welcome one. I was getting a bit tired of London anyway."

*Raises his glass.*

"My skills are at your service, your Majesty."

Smythe, for the entirety of his action, said nothing; they did not ask for affirmation, after all, but merely stated one could leave if they so wished without problem. Smythe remained, arms crossed as he gazed out at the Prince, waiting more of their host's commands with a patience and deference.

It was, as he imagined, working still for the crown, and that rankled him, but the money was fair and a distance would be placed between the land and so he was willing to provide that which they asked of him. Even if the provision he granted was bitterly offered.

"Your Highness, undoubtedly it will be a generous reward and the thanks of the queen herself comes without comparison. But I do hope that should we all accept your offer, we will be told everything."

"You will be told everything, Mr. Barnaby," Prince Heinrich assures him with a faint smile.

"There is a second reason as to why I've chosen you, aside from your skills and abilities. You see, this scientist has found a way to take control of men's minds. I've yet to see an example of a woman being susceptable, but even so I've been cautious. Most thorough research into your backgrounds has assured me that not a one of you has ever crossed paths with Dr. Victor Llewellyn.

"We're unsure what agent he uses to take control of them, but the results are terrifying." The prince gestures to a stack of folders on the table. There's one for each person attending the meeting. "Please, take a look for yourselves."

Henry Nevill, son of Baron Bergavenny, had been a typical sixteen year old boy of his station. Several photographs and descriptions of his hobbies attest to that. He had blond hair which had a tendency to raise up in a cowlick and pale eyes with somewhat heavy eyelids. But then, Dr. Llewellyn had been invited to the Baron's estate. Two nights after the doctor's arrival Henry had attempted to kill his father in the midst of dinner. It had taken four men and a broken arm to subdue him. He would answer no questions about why he had attacked his father. In fact, he never spoke again. The final photograph of him shows his eyes wide, yet blank, hair in a mad dissaray.

There is a similar story involving a lieutenant-commander in the Royal Navy suddenly attacking the Earl of Romney after having met the doctor. The man had an examplary background with no sign of madness or violence in his family. He was killed in protection of the earl, so that he could not be questioned.

The third story is the most troubling, involving the village Grünhohlen--a village of 252 people--in the the duchy of Saxe-Gotha. The doctor had spent several months in the village before moving on. Shortly after he left every man and youth in the village had taken up arms and attempted a revolt against the duke, brother to Queen Victoria's late husband. The village had always been peaceful before, with no great political upheavals. The men who were captured rather than killed would not speak, simply gazing fixedly into space.

"You will leave in two days for the lunatic asylum in Gera, the capital of my principality. That's where a number of Grünhohlen villagers are being kept. With your various talents, I hoped you might be able to discover something from them we've yet to find on our own. From there you would then go on to infiltrate the country estate Dr. Llewellyn is staying at to recover further intelligence on what he's doing and how. You'll be announced as guests of mine, preparing for a safari in Africa. Dr. Lefevre has heard of Dr. Llewellyn's studies into the functions of the brain and has requested a meeting, with his assistant Miss Weber at his side and leaving the rest of you to do your work."

The prince pauses again for a moment, looking over the assembled group. "And now your questions?"

"I would like to know the name of the vessel and how many rotors it uses. What speeds can it achieve? This is quite exciting." Ian says in his unaware way.

"I know little about the workings of the brain and the mind. I know there have been some pioneering advances made by German doctors in recent times, but such matters are specialised studies quite distinct from my own. On the other hand, give me a few minutes and some common laboratory reagents and I can blow quite large holes in almost anything," smiles MacAndrew, "including any hellish contrivances that might be responsible for the phenomena you enumerate, your Highness; for I'm no believer in sorcery or witch-doctory. Otherwise, it's likely I can help to manage this rotorcraft while my more talented confreres get to the bottom of this mystery."

He takes out a briar pipe and a pouch of aromatic tobacco, setting to work with a speculative look in his eye.

Mind control? Inspiring a whole village to treasonously take up arms? Boyd is puzzled but intrigued.

"I have no direct questions for you. But I think we should discuss our strategy before we set out. My goal will be to try to break into Llewellyn's lab and get his research info. If there is time, I might sabotage his work, but I think ultimately getting to the bottom of what he's doing is paramount. I will need one of the scientists on our team to accompany me in this, both to help me figure out exactly what we're looking for, and to throw a wrench into Llewellyn's plans. Hopefully Dr. Lefevre can distract him long enough for us to pull this off. Your highness, if you have any maps or at least a rough idea of the layout you can tell us about, it would help immensely."

Klara picks up one of folders and starts examining the contents, with a bit of a quizzical look in Spencer's direction.

"Is there anything known about this man Llewellyn - his family history, or where he studied?"

Turning to Dr. Lefevre, she says, "if I am to masquerade as your assistant, Doctor, you will have to give me a bit of instruction. I have not studied much Biology or medical science."

The facts settled in and he understood the written invitation better. Steeling his chin, he gave a curt, understanding nod as the information was laid out for them. They would be traveling to a specific path, to follow a specific man... and he would kill people on that path. The facts of it were sharp in his mind, and he listened as others went on. The most painful were the words spoken by this Spencer, who's card Smythe casually flipped in consideration.

Faced with the horror of mental thefts, he flippantly inquired into the wondrous workings of a flying machine. Typical society fool. "No questions," he clarified, then, his voice catching for a half a moment, and he forced instead his calm demeanor return, his upper lip stiffened and chin upwards, as the old phrasings insist in times of emotional acrobatics.

Dr. Lefevre listens attentively and with interest until the Prince gets to his part of the plan. His eyes widen somewhat, his lips pursing in a frown. He's silent for a long moment once the Prince stops speaking, letting the others make their comments first.

"I'll tutor you in what I can during the journey," he tells Miss Weber softly, before looking to the Prince once more.

"I know a bit about the actual physical structures of the brain, but surgery in these matters tends to be...hopeless in most cases with our current medical knowledge, so matters of the human brain aren't something I've applied any sort of delicacy to. I'll need to get more information on Dr. Llewellyn's work if I'm to appear familiar with it in any capacity."

"An interesting conundrum, your Highness, at a rough guess I take it that it goes beyond mere hypnosis of the victims? There are many tricks to make people do you want, given access and a willing patient."

Nate picks up one of the folders and begins to peruse it.

"It would be interesting to see if his control goes beyond parlour tricks and he has tapped into something hidden within the human psyche. The first two instances, how much access did Dr Llewellyn have to them. To put them under his control is one thing, to ensure they carried out the correct instructions is another. Certainly when it comes to forcing them to do something that they would normally not do. Was he treating them professionally or did he just happen to be in the area at the time? In which case, do you know how he gained access to them?"

Prince Heinrich regards Ian with a bemused look for a moment before answering his questions. "It is called the Cassowary and it has twenty-six rotors at the top with a single large propellor at the rear."

To Toff: "I can provide maps. In addition, there will be materials for Dr. Lefevre and the others here with scholarly minds to look over to better prepare themselves. You will hopefully have as much of an idea for what to look for as any of us do at this point."

At Klara's questions about Llewellyn, the prince shakes his head with a sigh. "He'd studied in Cardiff before going to London. He's sixty-five and is the only surviving child of his parents, both of whom are dead. He's a widower and he has something of a reputation for being an eccentrically entertaining dinner guest. Five years ago, he began to do brisk trade for cadavers in Newport for his research into the brain and its relationship to personality. That petered out after a few months, followed by a number of disappearances. One of his assistants made accusations of fiendish and inhumane experiments, but he was murdered shortly thereafter and an investigation turned up nothing."

Nate's questions make the prince smile slightly. "I've never seen hypnosis that could have results like this, but it may be a new technique. It's unclear how much access he had to the villagers, but in the case of young Henry Nevill and Lieutenant-Commander Murray it would have been a few hours. It's possible he may have had access to Nevill while the boy slept, but there are only four hours when Llewellyn could have had Murray isolated. With Murray, they both happened to be guests at the same party while with Nevill he and his daughter were invited to stay with the Earl, as he had an interest in Llewellyn's research."

"Sounds fun," Lore muses over his scotch, seemingly unconcerned with all this talk of mind control and breaking and entering.

"It's a start your Highness, a few hours of hypnotism is not really enough for something of this nature, unless they are exceedingly susceptible and I doubt that is the case. I wonder what it might be. Well I guess we will find out more at the lunatic asylum."

Nate beings to ponder the options, his professional curiousity now piqued.

Ian, "Perhaps he is using true Mesmerism rather then mere hypnotism? I hear that some can take true control over others with these ancient techniques of Animal Magnetism. But a mind controlling machine or pharmaceutical could also be the answer."

After the group's questions are answered by Prince Heinrich, he dismisses them with instructions to meet again for their journey. They all have two days to prepare themselves for the journey, as well as to purchase any last minute items they might feel are needed. The prince will reimburse them up to seven pounds for their purchases [see here for prices], though warns that weight will be a consideration for the trip and so they shouldn't needlessly weigh themselves down. Space must be considered as well, as some of them will have to share rooms.

Files on Dr. Llewellyn's research are sent to those who requested them. Dr. Llewellyn dissected the brains of criminals in an attempt to discover the physical component of the mind. He had also theorized that by altering those physical structures, human behavior could be changed and had written extensively on a procedure he called a "leukotomy" that might be used to control lunatics. His former assistant had accused Dr. Llewellyn of having performed this procedure, which involved the destruction of neural tissues, on five psychiatric patients. No evidence of such surgeries was found, however, nor were the alleged patients. The theorized surgery would have involved a steel spike introduced to the cranium via sinus cavities in the face in order to sever connections between different parts in the brain.

As the day of their departure dawned, those chosen by Prince Heinrich would assemble in a modified warehouse near the River Thames. Workers in the prince's employ are busy retracting the roof of the warehouse, which had been replaced with vast sheets of canvas and ropes forming a framework to support them. The prince has apparently not arrived yet.

The Cassowary sits there, awaiting them. In profile it's somewhat similar to the same shape seen in the non-rigid, lighter-than-air crafts, except for its many rotors. The primary difference is that there is no gondola beneath, but instead a cabin incorporated directly into it. A secondary oddity is its size. The entire ship from nose to the rear rotor is only one hundred feet long.

http://i1126.photobucket.com/albums/.../cassowary.gif

A stern looking woman waits until everyone has arrived, then introduces herself. "I am Frau Friedrich. I cook, I help nurse, I watch Fräulein Weber. You will behave yourselves."

Frau Friedrich will briefly show them where things are located within the ship. O'Cuinn and Spencer are both well-acquainted with the layout, but the others are not.

1 - Bridge
2 - Library and Babbage engine
3 - Cabin
4 - Cabin
5 - Cabin
6 - Cabin
7 - Cabin
8 - Cabin
9 - Galley and dining room
10 - Head
11 - Sick bay
12 - Mechanical access
13 - Guns
14 - Storage, accessed through floor

The ship's guns are quite similar to the artillery Boyd is experienced with and he'll feel confident that he can man them if ever that becomes necessary. There are mechanical controls to maneuver all of them from the bridge. The sick bay is fairly well-stocked for its size and Frau Friedrich will give Dr. Lefevre a key to the locked cabinet holding the medicines.

Frau Friedrich will tap at the door to the eighth cabin and give a hard look to each of the men in turn. "Fräulein Weber and I share this room."

One of the workers from the hangar steps in, holding his hat. "Pardon me, but we've brought in your luggage. If you could direct us where each of you'll be staying we can stow it close at hand for you."

"I'll be staying in the medical facilities so that there is more room and I won't have to wake up a bunkmate should someone turn ill in the night," Dr. Lefevre says, gesturing toward the sickbay for his things. He hadn't brought much with him anyway and had felt no need to purchase extra equipment. A firearm may have been useful, but he wouldn't know the first thing to do with one.

He's trying not to show his concern over being in a giant flying piece of metal. He's never been in any sort of airship before, but can already guess this won't be his favorite way to travel.

"Just as you like, Doctor - though my door will always be open should you feel like a late nightcap and a chat. I shall transfer the glassware and so on that I have brought with me into Cabin 3 and if anyone wishes to share with me and does not mind the proximity of some slightly unstable chemicals, I have not the least objection to his presence."

MacAndrew returns Frau Friedrich's hard look and pointed remarks with the bland expression of one who could not have needed the warning less were she instructing him not to swallow-dive from the Cassowary at ten thousand feet above datum.

Aside from his normal supplies, MacAndrew will take the opportunity to pick up a few carboys of industrial acid, (chiefly sulphuric, nitric and glacial acetic), distilled water, sodium, ammonia, nitrous oxide, lead oxide, mercury, pure ethanol, bulk cotton fibre, palm oil and coal tar. He will synchronise one dial of his pocket watch with Greenwich time by telegraph.

"Cabin 3 or 6 would be best for me, I would probably be best off bunking with you Captain, I imagine we'll rarely be in the cabin together anyway. I've heard reports I am a terrible room mate. Though those reporting were usually just jealous of my abilities."

Aboard the ship, Lore purses his lips at the shipfrau's stern warning. Well, there may be some way around that, yet. It doesn't sound like there will be much chance for female companionship on this journey, after all.

He shifts his bag over his shoulder. It's no more weighted down than it was at their first meeting. He travels light, and he travels prepared.

"I'll be takin'...this one, then." He points to a random door, as though it's very important.

"Jealous?" says MacAndrew, with a peculiarly Scotch air of entirely suspended judgement. "At least we may be certain there'll be no cause for any of that between you and me. It'll help if you don't snore, but I've bunked in some out-of-the-way places and with a variety of companions, some gentler than others, so no doubt we'll do well enough."

Klara sees no need to make any demands on the Prince's generosity. In the days prior to departure, she writes to her father and sister - nothing specific, just letting them know that the prince's offer was intriguing enough to pique her interest, and not to worry if they don't hear from her for a few weeks (though she rather doubts that her father has noticed her absence yet). She also starts a notebook on Dr. Llewellyn, compiling all the information they have received about him, in the hopes that some sort of useful pattern might emerge from the sequencing of events.

She's very excited to be travelling aboard the Cassowary, and is eagerly anticipating examining the workings of its Babbage engine as she approaches the warehouse. She's reading through some old notes of her father's on its mechanics when Frau Friedrich makes her appearance. She can't stop herself from blushing in embarassment when the nurse starts in on how she needs to be 'watched'. A chaperone is one thing, but treating all of the gentlemen like potential seducers isn't going to make it any easier for Klara to discuss the case or their plans with them.

"Cabin 8 it is, then," she says to the worker with her trunk and travel desk. She gives Frau Friedrich an awkward smile and a nod and returns, red-faced, to her notes.

Toff goes back to his quaint home and grabs the rest of his stuff (as detailed in the setup thread), including the contents of the dufflebag. Changing into an outfit more appropriate for adventuring/theiving, he puts his dress outfit into a garment bag and folds it into the duffle bag as well. Who knows if he'll have to pretend to be some rich dandy or such in a pinch? Might as well be prepared. He takes out the crossbow and sticks a 5 bolt magazine into it. He then hooks this to his belt under his cloak. He makes sure to secure his house on the way out and heads to the warehouse. On the way, he stops by a local merchant to pick up some charcoal pencil. He hadn't realized he had run out.

Upon arrival, he throws his dufflebag into Cabin 5. He then starts looking at the diagrams of the layout of the estate Llewellyn will be at.

Boyd selects Cabin 4 for the moment. He is not averse to sharing a cabin, but will not volunteer to do so. He has a large Gladstone bag with his things: several changes of clothes, cold-weather gear, toiletries, small binoculars, a compass, an Eley's No. 3 revolver with a box of ammunition, a small framed picture of his late wife, a half-dozen leatherbound books, a notebook and pencils, and various other odds and ends. He is pleased to be heading back into the air once more and, once settled in, will look over the Cassowary from stem to stern.