Sadly, all additions to our guestbook are now closed, due to abuse.
Please contact the archivist if you would like to add your missive.
The House of Clocks is now seeking writers to assist us in describing
our various exhibits and collections, as our previous staff writer has
vanished under mysterious circumstances. (We're sure he'll turn up
somewhere.) Writers interested in contributing to this work should
contact our archivist.
(Proximity to the Shambles not required. Remote location preferred,
as it lessens our attrition rate.)
IN ADDITION: If any kind and gracious guest has a suggestion on
a piece of guestbook software which would make the guestbook less
prone to being filled with commercial solicitations of an onerous
nature, the atmosphere might be much improved for everyone. Please
send suggestions to guestbook at thisdomain (with the hopes that that
email address will not immediately be abducted for nefarious purposes
and information may be able to be received.) Many thanks to all who
have visited and have persevered through the storm.
What was that noise? *hides, wipes blood off robes*
I think I need a break from my recent offer to assist a viking with a gambling problem on his pillage through time and will be back shortly to sit pleasantly and ponder a sunset...perhaps with a small bottle of brandy. Be alert for barbarians with offers of furries and horned helmets. They have the tongues of snakes!
I'll explain it all in a bit. Blessings to you all. Oh, and please hide this scantily clad slave man for me until I return. I won him in a game of chance and he is causing suspicion in the Abbey. I must gather up my things and a fresh stock of herbs. I shall return.
SaintMarie of the Compounding Slaughter
Poop de Ville, Angleterre USA - Wednesday, November 09, 2005 at 18:45:10 (EST)
It seems that I am once again...delayed at home and have no current things to occupy my time. I am remorse at the rather quiet nature of the guestbook as it is one of the only ways I can reach all these wonderfully interesting people I have encountered. The other way is quite unpleasant for the rest of the world and is highly unrecommendable. At any rate, I welcome anyone who would like to come, visit and explore the manse with me. Quandry is quite lovely at this time of year and I look with fondness upon the beautiful sunsets. They alone are worth a trip.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Tuesday, November 01, 2005 at 09:55:36 (EST)
Greetings to my silent friends. Silence is an undervalued thingie, you know. It gives one so much time to contemplate, reflect, lose teeth, etc etc.
Yes, it's true, I woke one morning to find my teeth missing. I have it on certain authority that they've been used in the construction of some new and terri-fying timepiece. I would very much like them back. Any help on that front would be doubly appreciated.
Yours in Eternal Duplicity,
Gummily Not Louise Brooks
Avoiding the dentist, - Monday, October 24, 2005 at 12:44:27 (EDT)
Notice: One slightly used yet still bright and adventurous soul for sale. Price Negotiable. Leave missive here or at The Ferret's Teeth.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
The Ferret's Teeth, London - Wednesday, September 28, 2005 at 10:44:57 (EDT)
Bless you, my child, and I bid you large blocks of fragrant, holy cheese!
Sainte Marie of the Inviting Odour <neveruse@toendyoursentences.ever>
Cheese Shop outside the HOC, Chicago, IL USA - Monday, September 26, 2005 at 08:44:49 (EDT)
I apologize if I was overzealous in my pruning of the odious missives which have continued to plague this guestbook.
Please post your comment again and I will make sure not to erase it again.
The Webmistress
USA - Friday, September 23, 2005 at 10:00:38 (EDT)
Egads!
I see my latest missive was erased.
My disappointment is inevitable.
Perhaps I should not have offered free beer.
Hoping that someone will leave word if they happen upon my soul on the road.
Saint Marie of tthe Reclining Chair
Meat Street Pub, Illinois USA - Friday, September 23, 2005 at 08:54:26 (EDT)
Thanks
Kingsly Ratshagger-Raymondo <blsr_kingsly@yahoo.ie>
USA - Saturday, September 17, 2005 at 00:11:27 (EDT)
This is a test of the guestbook.
The guestbook is back online. Possibly the unfortunate desecrators of the guestbook will leave us alone for a bit. Perhaps not. We shall see.
The Webmistress
USA - Friday, September 16, 2005 at 10:47:02 (EDT)
I just thought I would ask if anyone might be interested in acquiring some of the feathers from the wings of a fallen angel? If so, leave missive here.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Saturday, July 23, 2005 at 09:00:13 (EDT)
Nice site! I remember the most amazing clock showroom in the Black Forest - really took me back!
Sidney <beta_12@hotmail.co.uk>
USA - Wednesday, July 13, 2005 at 17:22:39 (EDT)
I am in possession of a rare and rather animated antique silver and tortoise shell Gütlin travelling clock whose pierced silver columns have framed a menacing apparition. Whenever this clock strikes the third hour past midnight on Saturday, I am sure I witness a brooding visage hidden behind wild, amber flames. Fearful and vexxing was this vision, and it was receommended to me that I submit the clock for permanent keeping in your reputable establishment. After a lenghty and prodigious campaign to ready myself for a tour of the Americas where the infamous House of Clocks resides, I was thwarted when, unexpectedly...
a dingo ate my baby!
Alasya Avirati
Calmly resting in, fields of clover Angleterre - Friday, July 08, 2005 at 13:00:53 (EDT)
Well...As Mr. O'Reed seems to be eliminating many of my own irritants I believe I must apologize for any taunting I may have done. So sorry Hake. Perhaps I may some of the pieces you might be looking for here at Quandry. You are cordially invited to come look but you may want to scroll through this guestbook to review the rules of a stay at Quandry.
Now I must depart as I have an angel to hunt down and pluck.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Thursday, July 07, 2005 at 08:07:37 (EDT)
Oh is there no end to this marvelously macabre day-trip of mine? The Swiss are not quite as neutral as they would have us all believe. Their clockmakers are simply devilish when it comes to the machinations of cog and gear.
Wizards of Chronomancy, one and all, from the youngest to the eldest. Jurgenstaad Bjornfjurgenmeister, the very eldest and most revered of the Swiss Master Clockworker's Guild put up one of the bravest and effective fights I've had the pleasure of ending in the time since my recent rebirth.
All old clocks eventually wind down, don't they?
I do hope I've not trod upon the relations of any contibutor's to this very guestbook in my quest to collect and collect and collect. The idea all but apalls my finer sensibilites. It would be a shameful mess, and would more than likely draw more than a single line on the battlefield between us, would it not?
Perish the thought.
As one travels and sees what is there to be seen, the bigger picture begins to resolve itself: What is our world but one enormous House of Clocks?
Preserve Us All
Hake Cross O'Reed
Currently Traipsing a Bloody Swath - Wednesday, July 06, 2005 at 17:41:18 (EDT)
Mr. O'Reed,
If your words could wound me I would weep...but first I would have to give a bloody care what you think.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Wednesday, July 06, 2005 at 16:44:54 (EDT)
Should we give thanks to the wind for carrying the pollen? Give thanks to the river for housing the spawning salmon? Thank the rough-hewn stone for concealing the treasured gemstone within?
If we must.
I do thank you for being the mindless vessel that placed this timepiece back in its rightful place.
There are more dead. The Shock-Headed Widow of the Screaming Moors has been stuffed inside her own grandfather clock. Her grandfather will be so pleased.
The clock, however, feels a bit bloated.
Can I help feeling sinister?
Buck.
We should meet. I feel there would be a most curious outcome to such a meeting.
Hake Cross O'Reed
- Tuesday, July 05, 2005 at 19:17:15 (EDT)
Oh Mr. O'Reed! You do mistake my words. I never meant to infer that you encite fear. And you would call me repugnant? I do not feel that you know me well enough to determine if I am such. Your presumptions irritate me but I am patient and we shall see what happens. Remember, your so called heart would not tick in your chest if it were not for me.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Monday, July 04, 2005 at 12:06:15 (EDT)
My repugnant Raihyven, I assure you, fear is nowhere near the emotion that I normally encite. I feel so much different this time around, as if a million secrets of my purpose had been revealed.
I have recently slaughtered the entire monastery located within the Balkan Slopes that whorshiped te Primordial Clock God, P'ndulock. Their secrets are mine.
This whole world is ripe for the ticking.
Preserve Us All.
Hake Cross O'Reed
Between the seams, behind the shadows. - Sunday, July 03, 2005 at 21:50:07 (EDT)
Chin up Buck...I'm sure you will find a reason to live again. You have always been your own individual and I can tell you that being a reincarnation is not very grand. At any rate, I don't think we have much to worry about when it comes to this Hake Cross O'Reed fellow.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
The Loft, no where important - Sunday, July 03, 2005 at 17:58:42 (EDT)
I don't understand. I always railed against the idea that I was somehow a reincarnate or aspect of this Hake Cross O'Reed fellow... but now that I find out that I really am noit, I feel somehow empty. Disappointed. Purposeless.
I know not where to go from this point, nor what to do.
I've truly let you all down.
Buckinham Frondsworth III
A disgraceful State of disappointment. - Sunday, July 03, 2005 at 11:42:56 (EDT)
To the one whose autograph would n'ere spell out L-O-U-I-S-E B-R-O-O-K-S, It is quite true. I have become quite cross and my cowl is drooping ever lower. I am, however, only at the Abby for a brief respite, as other clergy have determined that my refuge here is much safer than my wandering about still confused with the whole aging process. After being subjected to St. Cuan's manipulations of that velocity vexing hourglass, I am often found in a fit of bewilderment as to which century I am engaging. I am tearfully missing my cellular inertia. I will leave word here when I am finished resting and have managed to retrive my left foot from the parallel dimension known as the abstract realm. Thank you also for that warning, I shall happily heed it with haste and without Hake.
Until the future becomes the present,
Saint Marie of the Idling Loiter
free of time but constrained here, in Chicago USA - Sunday, July 03, 2005 at 00:57:22 (EDT)
Normally my attention is divided in so many directions that I haven't the time or inclination to be involved in these human matters, but I want you all to know that I have never been thieved by anyone, especially by anyone bloody named Buckingham!
Thanks ~ Polly
Polly Dimensional
everywhere and nowhere, in the universe - Sunday, July 03, 2005 at 00:20:03 (EDT)
Hmmm...Mr. O'Reed,
I do believe I could solve some of your problem. Hold still long enough and I shall kindly rip out your "heart" for you. It is a solution at any rate. As for my clock. I'm it. The Executioner's Clock and I are one and the same. If I have something you need, come find me...if not, come find and perhaps we can help each other.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Nowhere, at least not important anyway - Friday, July 01, 2005 at 22:49:21 (EDT)
Hello,
I am a clock collector and located in The Netherlands. I have now about 100 clocks. I son created a website for me and published to pictures of a lot of my clocks. Please have a look at my site and enjoy the pictures.
Kind regards,
Hans
http://www.klokkensite.nl
HANS <g_Abma@hotmail.com>
Holland - Thursday, June 30, 2005 at 13:37:56 (EDT)
I fear that the return of this splendid pocketwatch may prove problematic to say the least. It resides where the heart of me ought to be, ticking at the speed of blood, resonating much like the pulse of a madman.
I must begin my collecting once more. The clockworks are a a part of me this time around, and therefore I have no pursuants of consequence.
The Captain is dead, along with all my past lovers and enemies.
But you lot shall do.
I come for your clocks.
-Preserve Us All
Hake Cross O'Reed
Directly Behind You - Wednesday, June 29, 2005 at 20:41:33 (EDT)
I see that my grandfather has been looking for me and he shall be dealt with appropriately. I regret the long absence but I temporarily lost control of my temporally anomolous nature after erroniously leaving my wonderful little pocketwatch hanging upon a rather interesting clock in the H.O.C. Now, if I am to believe my eyes, that very clock has become somewhat of a person. I think I might like to meet this person and see if he absolutely needs that pocketwatch. Shadows know, it aided me well. I have to go now but I shall check back at some point in the future.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
In an undisclosed location, somewhere away from pain - Wednesday, June 29, 2005 at 16:09:17 (EDT)
Marie, do my eyes deceive me? Did I just now read that you've taken up Cross and Cowl once more? I was under the impression that you'd become some kind of godless libertine in recent days. Ah, well; never underestimate the appeal of a monastic lifestyle, as I always say. It's just that now I have a terrible craving for marshmallows...
And on an entirely different note, I advise you, oh my horological compatriots, to stay far far away from the mouth of one Hake Cross O'Reed. It may seem like a grand idea to start off, what with the puckered lips and surge of power, but I assure you, it will lead you down a dark path which not even Buckingham Frondsworth III, the bloody thieving polydimensional creature, would wish to follow.
As always,
Yours in Eternal Duplicity,
Fluffily Not Louise Brooks
Seeking a stay-puft man on the road to perdition, - Saturday, June 25, 2005 at 14:59:09 (EDT)
I awoke to a world of chains and pain. Since I had not paid for this service, to my knowledge, I knew that it was not Madame Vanadu, dominatrix extraordinaire at her usual work.
She's been dead for fifteen years, besides.
No, I was in fact within the demesne of the House of Clocks once more. How I had gotten there, I could only guess. The cold iron chains around my feet were indubitably a nice touch, surely the Captain's. But being neither of the sidhe nor unseelie fey, and certainly not being of the demonic persuasion... to me cold iron is merely cold and uncomfortable... and heavy.
No my dear Captain, inform your precious Tenille that I am a breed entirely unto my own. Eel-like and well versed in the arts of escapism, both physical and mental.
I do not know why I am freed once more, but your petty and superstitious preventative measures worked about as well as they would have on a werewolf or a chinese water spirit.
I am once more free from the House and all its enforced foibles. Once more I tick and talk. I walk amongst you,
Preserve Us All.
Hake Cross O'Reed
USA - Friday, June 24, 2005 at 02:27:09 (EDT)
I am back at the Abbey for a brief repose and some meditation. Since, according to scholars of old, letter writing is the only device for combining solitude and good company, I decided to leave a brief message here for those privy. Yesterday was a day that seemed to go on forever. I did find myself again in The House Of Clocks. This visit was not for the expected horological cause, but rather in response to a call for capable clergy to quell a nasty poltergeist appearing in the downstairs hallway adjacent to the alley, apparently intensified by the recent full moon. I'm afraid my schedule prevents me from any elaborate relation of recent events, but I must confess that the smell of wet animal hair and burning marshmallows was almost more than I could bear. With fractious spirits carefully curtailed, I spent idle time leafing through the notorious notations chronicled in this beguiling guestbook. Simply for clarity, I would like to verify that I am of no relation to any of the Tiglers(or any other patron of the HOC), and had n'ere before set eyes on the pages of this cryptic register previous to my appointment by Sister Constance Lacuna to seek advice before our seemingly endless shopping trip to Brussels last autumn. I do hope that you are all observing the ceremonious sun-inspired celebrations of summer.
Longer letters following lager,
Sainte Marie of the Reclining Armchair.
Saint Marie of the Innacurate Assertion
Shabby Abbey Parlour, IL USA - Wednesday, June 22, 2005 at 14:28:57 (EDT)
I am returned.
More details to follow.
Hake Cross O'Reed
A State of Mild Disrepair - Monday, June 20, 2005 at 23:43:01 (EDT)
I have taken the liberty of sending to you by post, since to write it in the Guestbook would be somewhat injudicious, a small spell containing incantation and list of ingredients (all cheap and simple to obtain in a metropolis like Chicago).Once cast, it should infect all spammers with boils and suchlike phenomena. The spell is completely free of charge in gratitude for providing such an edifying website. I should warn you however, that the spell though effective may not stop the spamming. The Nigerians, of course, have counter charms, and the deviants who write of sexual matters will simply assume that they have contracted yet another STD and carry on regardless.
Again, though not much of an horologist myself, I have read this Guestbook and list of exhibits with much interest and plan to visit your museum the next time I cross the pond.
J.W. Wells of Wells and Co. Family Sorcerers
London, Britian - Friday, June 17, 2005 at 02:11:52 (EDT)
please keep offoooooooooooooo i doy reach here
guyman <guyman@yahoo.com>
lome, togo USA - Thursday, June 16, 2005 at 07:33:32 (EDT)
To the proprieter, House of Clocks, The Shambles, Chicago, The United States of America:
I have recently come into the possession of a remarkable timepeice. It appears to be a grandfather clock, three or more meters high, composed almost entirely of lead. I have opened it to examine the workings and can confirm that gears, cogs, pendulum, face, hands, and even the springs are carefully wrought from the most delicate lead.
I purchased this clock at great expense from a gentleman, formerly of Romania. Though I was initially loathe to part with it, I find myself becoming increasingly fearful of it, and dread the day that the key is turned and the pendulum sent a-swinging. As a precaution I have removed the pendulum and stuffed the inside with fleece, but my irrational fear is daily growing.
Would you be willing to accept this clock as a donation? I feel that it will be in better hands at the House of Clocks, preferably in the Weisshaupt Room, than if it remains in my care.
Kindest personal regards,
Messr. Einar Galansen
London, UK - Friday, June 10, 2005 at 16:53:28 (EDT)
Hello Herr Hans,
..."moet ik dus zo nu en dan –met pijn in m’n
hart- een klok van de hand doen."
Ah, poëzie! Uw website was zo mooi en dwingend, dank u. Mei goodly Lord zegent ons die vrede en de correcte tijd houden!
Saint Marie Wie Geen Nederlands Spreekt
where for art thine mind, Illinois USA - Thursday, June 09, 2005 at 18:37:30 (EDT)
Mr. Malkovich,
Could you possibly discover the color of the bird you noticed? My dearest grandchild is missing and may have been trapped in...a flighty situation.
To the Irritatingly NOT Louise Brooks:
What under the heavens did you ever do with my pince-nez? I would appreciate it back as it is a necessity.
If there is anyone who may help me find my dearest Raihyven, it would be worth your while. I'm sure there is something I can provide you with if you can help me.
Sincerely.
Luc Morningstar
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Wednesday, June 08, 2005 at 19:38:57 (EDT)
To Ybyss (and other interested parties),
Acting upon the words of she who suspisciously reminds me of one Louise Brooks, I gathered my effects and set off for Britain. There I encountered quite a bothersome Agent of the Crown under the guise of a customs handler, who held a more-than-passing curiosity as to why a traveling meteorite collector such as myself (a clever disguise, dear allies, nothing more!) would carry such an estensive array of pocketwatches. Seeing a narrow escape to ellude the man for a moment, I took a risk and uncerimoniously transported him a few hours backward in the chronometria. I was able to slip out of the building through a disused laundry chute, but if you are ever in London, beware the man Jenkinson; he means to undo your livelyhood.
I found The Big Ben Clock by and by, and did indeed witness a bizzare spectacle. A solitary bird idled about the top of the tower, encircling it once a minite to the very tenth of a second. After hours of observation from a nearby pub, I could discern no immediate effect of its behaviour, although I could sence there was more to the scene than the naked eye could behold.
Tomorrow I shall seek an aquaintance of mine, a student of the late alchemist Gregory Hood, for advice, as she is a specialist on the omenous flight of birds. If anyone else is local, perhaps we could arrange a meeting.
Past and Presently,
Mikhail Malkovich
London, England - Tuesday, June 07, 2005 at 10:10:56 (EDT)
Although I may have glimpsed a representative from the International Brotherhood of Meatworkers scurrying from the scene on the banks of the River Thames Friday evening, I suspect there's more to Big Ben's 90-minute delay than the brutality that comes with the Brotherhood's lot.
A bird in the cogs seems as reasonable a supposition as any, does it not?
Yours in Eternal Duplicity,
Currently Not Louse Brooks
Keeping on top of things, in London, England - Sunday, May 29, 2005 at 07:08:53 (EDT)
To the mostest esteeming of personages here:
We have become oh so worriedness for the dear lost mistress. We are hungry and the clock of the killing bird is restless. It ticks and bongs at us and is making her grandfather mostest in the angry set of the mind. He stands here telling me I am to ask the kind and esteeming personages if anyone has seen his raven. I and my loyal sumerian brothers are lost without our Mistress. Please be helping me saving ourselves from Mistress's grandfather.
Thank you for help me.
Ybyss
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Night and Fog - Sunday, May 29, 2005 at 00:31:58 (EDT)
OY VAY!!
I have heard it said that a bird in the hand is worth two in the Isle of Quandry!
Saint Marie of the Declining Ardour
at the end of the road in, chicago USA - Friday, May 27, 2005 at 11:28:44 (EDT)
Hmm. I recall, when I was still with my itinerant kapelye, crossing paths with a band of Rom musicians who carried about an empty birdcage. We had difficulty communicating, but I did understand many of their ballads to be laments for a lost raven. It causes me to wonder...
At any rate,
Yours in Eternal Duplicity,
Farshluginally Not Louise Brooks
On a dusty tsimbl string, - Monday, May 09, 2005 at 17:39:52 (EDT)
To the mostest esteeming of personages here:
My Mistress is still missing. We last was seeing her in Romania. Please be helping us find her. We are hungry and her grandfather is not letting us eat. So hungry. She is a very lovely Mistress. No phantom, no stealer is my Mistress. The end of time rides her wings.
Thank you for help me.
Ybyss
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Monday, May 09, 2005 at 16:32:41 (EDT)
To Ybyss,
I take from your words to mean one of either: a woman of the night, a dastardly thief such as myself, or (more literally) some frightening beast of darkness. Of women and thieves, I am most capable of locating, but a fantastic devil such as you might describe would prove to be slightly more difficult to find. Not impossible, mind you, but I would be put out a tad.
By fortious auspice, I happen to own a timekeeping relic of Victorian Georgia, used by the late inspector Gregory Hood to locate hauntings, spectre, and the occasional houdou. As the watch is suspended by a chain, it slowly spins while it's mirrored surface illuminates any phantoms present.
Where you to point me toward a suspected locale, I could uncover your Mistress.
Please alert me if I should come armed, or if I should elicit the assistance of the other esteemed personages who frequent this comunique.
With haste,
Mikhail Malkovich
Places and spaces, - Wednesday, May 04, 2005 at 08:56:28 (EDT)
Hans,
That's a lovely collection you have, and I thank you for shewing it to us. However, I would suggest constant vigilance around the, er, Schitterende vuurvergulde antieke Franse pendule. I recognize the slippery sylph adorning the clock, and you ought to be warned, she is not actually cast in gold. Be certain to cover your beverages and lock your larder, in case she reverts to her former practices. If you begin to degenerate into a feverish, fatigued wreck, shipping it to the House of Clocks in Chicago -would- be in your best interests.
Yours in Eternal Duplicity,
Indubitably Not Louise Brooks
Between a feather and a ticklish place, - Tuesday, May 03, 2005 at 00:17:56 (EDT)
To the mostest esteeming of personages here:
My poor lost Mistress is a lovely creature of Shadow. Is this good to helping me be finding her?
Thank you for help me.
Ybyss
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Sunday, May 01, 2005 at 18:25:28 (EDT)
Hello,
I am a clock collector and located in The Netherlands. I have now about 100 clocks. I son created a website for me and published to pictures of a lot of my clocks. Please have a look at my site and enjoy the pictures.
Kind regards,
Hans
http://www.klokkensite.nl
hans <klokkensite@versatel.nl>
Holland - Saturday, April 30, 2005 at 14:30:45 (EDT)
To Ybyss,
Having recently been evicted from my lodgings and denied gainful employment by my oncetime colleges (the phrase "honor amongst theves" proving to be a concoction), I would most certainly have the vim, time, and ability to assist you. A description of your associated guardian, perchance?
We can discuss the matter of compensation at a later time.
At your service,
Mikhail Malkovich
Out and about, - Friday, April 29, 2005 at 11:04:27 (EDT)
To the mostest esteeming of personages here:
I am seeking my Mistress. If you can be finding her and sending her home it would be niceness. Her grandfather is waiting and we are most scared of him. He is mean and says we can not be eating what we are needing. Please help me be finding my Mistress.
Thank you for help me.
Ybyss
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Thursday, April 28, 2005 at 14:44:14 (EDT)
Is THAT what I smell? Now it all makes sense! Thank you for your concern. To you who unconquerably could never be Louise Brooks, I must say the smoke had me worried for a bit but I see you had your work cut out for you. Dare I call foul? What treacherous means brought you to such an end? I stopped by the House of Clocks for a repair, but also in hopes of adventure. I must admit that my thyme still runs thin, but I wanted to leave word that I've been lurking in the alley behind The Shambles waiting to meet with a strange individual. He has sent me several messages inquiring of the Brotherhood of Meatworkers in exchange for information regarding St. Fursey's timepiece. I normally would not follow up on such an ambiguous request, but this person seems to hold some clues to a most treasured mystery. I will let you know more as the weave unravels. I wish I knew more, but this informant has left me clutching at claws, er I mean, straws. If I can lend you a hand in disposing of that mess, please let me know by dropping a line here. On a wing and a prayer(although you must know I've given up my faith), your partner in crime, er, I mean, time...
St. Marie
Saint Marie of the Inviting Odour
In a wayward field, of daisies USA - Friday, April 22, 2005 at 01:03:12 (EDT)
Well it is good to finally be here (its getting harder to make a connection via tree squirels). Anyways the 89th window did in fact carry the piece you were looking for. Its always messy buisness down (up?) there,but in the end I did succeed and will be bringing the piece presently.
Mr. Drake <Drake@89thwindow.versit>
Chicago , IL USA - Monday, April 18, 2005 at 14:19:08 (EDT)
Marie,
I'm afraid what you smell on the wind are the charred corpses of two hundred and twenty-seven bird women. I'm afraid things got a bit out of hand...or dare I say claw? Hopefully the smoke will not adversely affect your lung condition.
Yours in Eternal Duplicity,
Scorchingly Not Louise Brooks
Fleeing from the treetop, - Friday, April 15, 2005 at 18:41:36 (EDT)
A toast? Buckingham, nice to see you old chap and although we hardly know each other, I'd like to request mine with jam if I may. Chuck has no arms? Perhaps we should regale him with fond yet insulting quips in order to make his stay more humerus? A bit of a "Chuck"..."roast"? Forgive my silence as well, I have been suffering a terrible lung affliction and ran out of thyme. I do long for more adventures, and smell something on the wind...
Saint Marie of the Inclining Driveway
near Chicago, of confusion USA - Wednesday, April 13, 2005 at 01:54:28 (EDT)
Dearest N.L.B.,
Why are grafting a beak onto anything? Curiouser and curiouser...
Dear Buck,
So nice to see you're well. By the way, did you want that whirligig wristwatch back? I still carry it with me. Leave missive here if you would like it back.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
No one's business, Somewhere - Monday, April 11, 2005 at 18:24:24 (EDT)
Buckingham! You ubiquitous bastard! It's been too long! How is my...er, *your* Windy Riley faring these days?
For the record, of course you're not Chuck. Such an assumption never crossed my mind. Chuck has not stolen any of my belongings. How could he, afterall? He hasn't any arms.
Now if you'll excuse me, I've a botched beak graft to deal with. It's really beginning to hurt.
Yours in Duplicity,
Hawkishly Not Louise Brooks
Treetop Surgery Room, - Sunday, April 03, 2005 at 23:14:32 (EDT)
I must make it very clear to everyone here that this armless Chuck fellow is not in fact, me.
For a while there I was closely associated (by all of you... not personally) to some bothersome individual named Hake who used to frequent this site.
I wanted to make it abundantly clear that my recent silence on this particular message board has only been due to the fact that I have had some dealings in the bizarred occult world of Toaster Ovens... of which there is much less activity, but of a much larger potency.
So anyway, Chuck does not = Buck for those of you reading and posting here.
Buckingham Frondsworth III
In the Periphery, off to the left, near the Toaster Ovens. - Sunday, April 03, 2005 at 16:03:54 (EDT)
Feeling anxious?
Depressed?
Tired of life?
Keep it up.
The Undertakers, in conjunction with The International Brotherhood of Meatworkers
A slippery curve in the road, - Sunday, April 03, 2005 at 03:07:36 (EDT)
To the honestly Not Louise Brooks
Hmmm...bit of a problem there. If she is the same, er, thing then you may be able to distract her by talking elephants. Even hummingbirds are a safer topic than corvines...Try flying insects as another discussion topic. Those things just might work. I would rather it not remember birds.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Enigma's Keep, Romania - Saturday, March 26, 2005 at 14:57:27 (EST)
Raihyven,
I'm afraid all we've been discussing for her last few visits is the characteristics of corvines. It's the only subject which distracts her from the topic of my damnation.
What should I do now?
Yours in Duplicity,
Avistically Not Louise Brooks
Treetop, - Friday, March 25, 2005 at 17:33:27 (EST)
To the Wicked Not Louise Brooks,
I do believe that the little girl may be more my problem than yours. I think I know her. Enjoy her company but do not answer any questions she might ask about birds. It would be appreciated. Until she is gone, I fear I shall not be visiting you.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Enigma's Keep, Romania - Wednesday, March 23, 2005 at 18:31:04 (EST)
My Dear Mr. de Vyre,
Best of luck in the matter of finding your mirror-self; mind you retreive the correct one.
I recommend keeping the elephant-gun to fend off the curators after they discover what you have done to their exhibit with the other two objects.
Gamaliel R. Devon II
Chicago, IL USA - Tuesday, March 22, 2005 at 21:43:27 (EST)
My dear horologists,
In my travels, I have come to own several chronographs and timepieces of a most peculiar nature, or at the very least, of singularly baffling and sometimes morbid origins. I would be most happy to donate these timepieces and detail their histories, as they have proven a considerable nuisance in my journeys. My rail car is not allowed on the L's tracks, but I shall endeaver to find a trustworthy courier for these devices as soon as possible.
And, a word to Miss Fellgreave regarding her domestic troubles: The solution, madame, is to throw a monkey wrench into the plans of this malevolent clock. While this is typically meant in the metaphoric sense, I believe the simplest resolution will be to open up an interior wall of your home and insert the iron plumbing implement directly into the offending chronometer's gears.
L. Mog Kavanagh
A well furnished and constantly mobile rail car, USA - Friday, March 18, 2005 at 21:27:27 (EST)
Yes, yes, yes, i bloody well know the Brotherhoods are a secret, we wouldn't want to go into long explanations about the camel and the swarm of carnivorous grapefruits and the like, but HONESTLY, how private should it BE? We're supposed to be taking over the wor-...i mean...no, we are definitely not trying to take over the world...ahem, no, there isn't even a we, just me,Chuck. Um, i have to go now.
And no, my arms have not grown back. I'm not even typing right now.
There is no Brotherhood. This is only a dream... *waves arms*
Um...
Chuck "Manslayer of Moths With Crumpled Newspapers" _______hood of the _____ could be a leg or some such.
Beneath Tables, USA - Sunday, March 13, 2005 at 21:37:17 (EST)
Ah, Ravey dear, I must thank you for choosing Japan as a dropping off point. There must be some quality I possess which endears me to those of a monastic mindset, for I was taken in by a cadre of itinerant Buddhist monks. They destroyed the carriage clock, but as it called off the transubstantiating realtors, I didn't really mind. It irked me at first, but they've assured me repeatedly of the unimportance of material possessions. Granted a pallid young woman with large, pensive eyes visits me once a fortnight, clutches her rosary, strokes my cheek and calls for my damnation, but that is besides the point.
I am interested in this CHUCK fellow. Perhaps I can activate my skills of humunculation and be of some assistance to you, sir, but only under a certain circumstance. I have heard the name of this Brotherhood of the Empty Hand (perhaps some connexion to the Meatworkers?); I would like to speak to you about them, in PRIVATE, mind. These Brotherhoods do not take well to being discussed openly on such forums. I rather suspect it's them placing the offers of gratuituous webcam incest, if only to detract from our most noble mission.
Well, if you still possess your arms, I will be looking forward to a hasty response.
Yours in Duplicity,
Monastically Not Louise Brooks
Makeshift temple with broadband access, Japan - Sunday, March 13, 2005 at 16:07:38 (EST)
While I find most mail amusing for one reason or another I must admit that the MULTIPLE invitations from the H.O.C. to become a "semi-permanent exhibit" are no longer funny. I went there once to do something nice and I knew I was being paranoid for a good reason. Not long after departing from that oh-so alluring establishment (I kept fighting the urge to give my wonderful little pocketwatch to this chained up clockwork man) I began to get these irritating cards in the mail...at ALL my houses! I don't recall signing anything while I was there. Is there a way to get the nice, yet persistent, people at the House of Clocks to cease sending me these letters?
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Enigma's Keep, Romania - Tuesday, March 08, 2005 at 20:46:28 (EST)
My cry of help goes out to you, oh experts of the ebb and flow of time in all its many forms and faces. I am Mistress Fiona, of the House on the Moorlands. Within the walls of my manse there is the constant slow ticking of some great, behemoth time-piece, all giant cogs and clacking springs. The sound is constant... and maddening. Piotr went quite mad two weeks ago, and has locked himself in the study. I hear the sound of smashing glass from time to time, but nothing more.
I fear that this clock has some malefic purpose; some grand design for which it was crafted into my home. It has always been here, of that I am quite certain... but never so loud and raucous. It celebrates the nearing of some event I suspect. I cannot seem to leave the house any more, and I need assistance.
Please to any of you who frequent this site... please... help me with the horological horror.
Mistress Fiona Fellgreave
A Misty Moore from Long Before - Thursday, March 03, 2005 at 18:01:56 (EST)
Well...
While rescuing the ever-entertaining NOT Louise Brooks was quite an adventure I think I shall stay away from that one for a bit. May happiness find you where I left you in Japan N.L.B. Being stabbed by my own knives is not particularly my favorite hobby. I'd go home but I'm afraid I might just end up stuck there again and that would be boring. I noticed that there have been a couple of new folk posting missive here. Let me know if there is anything I can do...my prices are reasonable and my references are impeccable. Just out of curiousity, whatever happened to Buck? Oh well, I'm sure we'll hear from him again.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
In pain, Lots of pain... - Saturday, February 26, 2005 at 23:32:25 (EST)
Further to my letter of late October 2004,
Your accursed clock has stolen my reflection. Needless to say, this makes shaving excessively difficult.
I am returning to the Shambles to reclaim the image that is rightfully mine, and am willing to use force if the clock cannot be persuaded to give it up. Should this be the case, I am well equipped for use of force, with the antique but still serviceable elephant gun that has been handed down from my great-great-grandfather, the ancient book of accursed magick known as the Liber Animus Damnatorum, and a stout wrench.
~Dante de Vyre
Dante de Vyre
Arkham, MA USA - Saturday, February 26, 2005 at 10:21:20 (EST)
I appear to be a mite lost. I am carrying a rather large shipment of "Henchmen Masks #3" and this box is ever so heavy, i do not believe my arms are up to the task of checking maps (seeing how one is swollen and red and the other 3 are pulsing something dreadful).
There is also the matter of being trapped inside of this clock.
Anyway, directions would be wonderful. I appear to be in clock whose label reads "etiB yaM kcolC ,hcaorppA toN oD". I would appreaciate haste, seeing as how there are a great deal of teeth in here with me.
Impatiently Yours, (Waving)
Me, who the bloody hell else could it be?
Chuck "He Who Hides In The Cavities Of Dragons"
Brotherhood Of The Empty Hand HQ, Between Chicago and Cthulu's Nightstand, USA - Sunday, February 20, 2005 at 16:05:31 (EST)
The Chilean Brotherhood of Oriental Studies
P.F. Vicuña 201
Nogales. 5° Región
CHILE
Muy Señores míos:
I am hoping that you might be able to direct me to one
Sr Roberto Jimenez. I believe that he is known both to you and
I am seeking his expertise in horology and eastern desert travel to aid me in my search for Magister Philippos. Magister Philippos, which you may not be aware of, was the last known bearer of that most holy timepiece, the Sanctus Periculum. The Sancus Periculum was the greatest creation of His Holiness Pope Alexander III, the clock-making Pope.
It of the greatest importance that I recover this timepiece as it may reveal to me certain paticulars of my ancestry.
Le saluda atentamente,
Algernon Featherstonehaugh
5C Turnip St.
Ocibar
Sigfrid County
FRISLAND
Algernon Featherstonehaugh
Ocibar, Frisland - Thursday, February 17, 2005 at 16:35:59 (EST)
I wanted to leave a note that I am returning from my (lair) new home overseas to the House of Clocks for a brief tour to gather some clues to further the continuing search for St. Fursey's elusive Flying Clock. I am feeling refreshed from my rest in the new abode. I received a disturbing letter from a retired Abbess in Cologne regarding a randsom note involving a carraige clock she had custom made for a friend many years ago that has been missing for some time.
I told her I knew nothing of the timepiece, but I did inquire of her knowledge of the legendary flying clock and was met with great excitement. It was, to my dismay, a confusion on her part as she thought I was discussing flying buttresses and the entire effort was in vain. She is quite senile. I hope you are all in conjoined halves and not falling apart at any seams. I hope to catch up to you all soon and let the adventure continue...
Sacre Bleu is my favourite colour!
Saint Marie
Saint Marie of No Particular Order
state of confusion, USA - Friday, January 21, 2005 at 19:27:19 (EST)
I am certain that, although robust and often, it only takes place in the shower or when I am traveling the astral plane.
sherwin <aoqisz@126.com>
Fidgad, Florid USA - Saturday, January 08, 2005 at 02:08:16 (EST)
Darling N.L.B.
I am coming...just do not attempt to steal anything from my person as it all comes back and I would hate to have it return unexpectly (otherwise known as ill-timing). If you have not already passed it, I suggest you take a left through the rather imposing, gothic door which will promptly close behind you. Stay there and refrain from touching the grandfather clock at the end of the room. It will attempt to eat you and it's dashing fast. I come swiftly so fear not the realtors.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Between the Shadows, and coming ever closer - Thursday, January 06, 2005 at 23:07:13 (EST)
Shit. Well, things are not going *quite* according to plan, I'm afraid. Aloysius escorted me to the gentleman you mentioned, Ravey dear. He really was quite handsome AND angelic, although he seemed rather attached to the bear. I attempted to deliver your message, but he ignored me utterly and began tearing apart his bedchamber. I suspect he is, in fact, a dipsomaniac! Quite scandalous. I wonder if he knows the Captain? At any rate, I took the opportunity to steal his pince-nez. They were just so tempting, perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. Would you have done any better? I think not! Do not JUDGE me!
After my theft I ran for it. The building was rather labyrinthine in nature, however, and I unexpectedly came upon a matronly woman in a study filled with religious artifacts. She pounced on me in a manner so furious, it was not to be believed! I clocked her over the head with the pince-nez, and she fell into a swoon at my feet.
I could not resist one last theft before leaving; a carriage clock, decorated with an art nouveau pastiche of the Virgin Mary, which was displayed prominently on the woman's mantle. I have since discovered that, on the hour, it spouts pretentious French phrases, i.e. "bondieuserie! bondieuserie!". Very puzzling. At any rate, I now regret the theft as I am being pursued by a fleet of overzealous realtors.
Some assistance at this point would not be remiss.
Yours in Duplicity,
Meteorically Not Louise Brooks
A Brief Shadowy Pause, - Saturday, January 01, 2005 at 19:06:45 (EST)
It is a brief note that I must write to you all. In regards to my singing...I am certain that, although robust and often, it only takes place in the shower or when I am traveling the astral plane. Perhaps this gives you some clarification or perhaps not. In any case, I am in the midst of a dream as we speak and must return before the tall, dark, handsome young man turns into a 4-foot tall, violet and green wig that won't stop reminding me about the dirty linens.(I hope this astral plague spares you all, it is tremendously frustrating). Peace be with you.
Saint Marie of the Revolving Door
a most confusing dream, astral plane USA - Saturday, January 01, 2005 at 04:50:29 (EST)
Journal Entry 81~
As I rest in my flat above the textile mill, I took a few moments to inspect further my entrusted timepiece while I soak my aching soles. It appears to be a rather handsome pocketwatch, but made of an indescribable metal. Perhaps I shall seek the aid of one practiced in the "alchemistry" to devine its make.
Mik Malkovich
Mickhail Malkovich
The offices North of Main, - Wednesday, December 29, 2004 at 22:22:43 (EST)
Oh. I do believe I know where you are now dearest NOT Louise Brooks. I shall come to retrieve you shortly. If you tell Aloysius to show you to the Master's chamber he will not only get off of you but should take you to a much more comfortable room. If a rather handsome, angelic man is there when you arrive would you please let my grandfather know I am coming? Thank you and good luck with Aloysius.
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
At home but packing for a looooong journey, - Wednesday, December 29, 2004 at 17:14:01 (EST)
Dearest Raihyven,
I suspect I am, in fact, still somewhere in your domain. There is a cluster of Sumerians standing about ten feet away from me; they keep pointing and giggling and chanting "free adult webcam chat! Teens jerking off!". I am not certain what they mean by these things. They're making no move to free me, however, so at this point it really doesn't matter WHAT they're blathering on about...
On the positive side of things, Aloysius has very soft fur for an overlarge foul-mouthed bear. The things he says...they do not beaaaaaaaar (oh my, oh my) repeating!
Besides Aloysius and the Sumerians, there aren't many definitive features. Though every so often, I think I hear an angelic voice uplifted in song...and on the hour, the tolling of a great bell...
You don't keep any overzealous celestial beings in the Quandry, do you? Or perhaps it's just Saint Marie?
In Eternal Duplicity,
Patiently Not Louise Brooks
'Neath the Arse of Aloysius, - Monday, December 27, 2004 at 23:05:36 (EST)
I now write these word to appeal to anyone knowlegable of the local underworld. While on a delivery of particularly valuable timepiece, I was accosted in an alley by two ruffians. Somehow they had learned of my purpose and sought the clock for one "Boss Hershal". Being that I was in a sour temperment from the ordeal of obtaining it (his rib bent the tip of my new blade, and bloodstaining my new trousers in the process), I was in no mood to simply hand over the prize. Managing to duck past them, I was chased into a foundry, where I was able to elude the men by hiding in the sewer entry (so much for my suitcoat).
If anyone could provide me some informative words describing the man Hershal, you would earn the appriation of a handyman of sorts.
Always polite in rude company,
Mik Malkovich
Mikhail Malkovich
The offices north of Main, - Monday, December 27, 2004 at 15:15:54 (EST)
To the Brilliantly NOT Louise Brooks:
Interesting...At first I thought you might have been in one of my homes but frankly I fear I have no clue as to where you are. So sorry. Perhaps I should make an adventure of discovering your whereabouts? Was there some place you always dreamt of when you were a child? Perhaps you ended up there? I shall come search for you. I do it odd that I DID watch you sinking into some feathers...or maybe it was someone else dressed like you. It was hard to tell as it was rather bright in there.
At any rate I just thought I would post warm holiday wishes to everyone, as it has been passed along to me.
Enjoy your holidays.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Quandry Manor, Italy - Saturday, December 25, 2004 at 14:15:02 (EST)
E.B. Lytton, my good man or woman, that made no sense.
I would contribute to the renewal of our quest, possessing as I do a very erudite, stifled snicker, mind, but I am afraid I'm at a bit of an impasse. I made it past the pit of oily feathers, only to find myself set upon by an overlarge stuffed bear calling himself Aloysius. He is, at present, sitting on me. As soon as I discover a solution to my predicament, I assure I will take up our torch with renewed vigor.
Duplicitously,
Grandiloquently Not Louise Brooks
Beneath a Bear of Foul Temperament, - Friday, December 24, 2004 at 20:08:26 (EST)
Harrumph.
My views on the damnable quiet are, of course, known. One can only suppose that commentators are part of the class of _omnes res_, which _tempus_ and its material ambassadors, _viz._, your hideous timepieces, is busy devouring.
I still struggle to retain a solictor of both competence and erudition. The few possessing both of those qualities seem to have difficulty with punctuality. Rest assured, you have not heard the last of E.B. Lytton.
Yrs. Very Truly,
E.B. Lytton
E.B. Lytton
London, England - Monday, December 20, 2004 at 01:27:54 (EST)
I see quiet has taken all us again. While a little peace is nice I do so yearn for a good adventure. It was confirmed by an associate that the clock, while interesting, was indeed NOT St. Fursy's. Perhaps we should search anew? Leave missive here if the idea is striking. Does anyone know if Buck landed safely?
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Quandry Manor, Italy - Thursday, December 16, 2004 at 21:21:15 (EST)
Dearest Raihyven,
I do think it was both noble and wise for you to donate the timepiece to the House of Clocks. Having returned from my real estate venture overseas, I see that I must stand corrected for a semantic error that may have been fatal, but thankfully is minute. Proper cognitive adjustments have been made.
Buck, I would have been glad to arrange for you a more comfortable and reliable landing spot and refuge at the Abbey had I been aware of your visit sooner. I do hope you are in one piece.
To she who in no way could possibly be construed as Louise Brooks, that sounds like a sticky predicament you find yourself. Now you can truly be considered a fine feathered friend.
Although I am uncertain of his exact location, I have received word that the Captain is biding his time at Bury St. Edmunds writing, no doubt some memoir of his exploits or something similar. Wherever he is now, I am assured there is at least plenty of air and an agreeable absence of shrimp. Only time will tell I imagine.
With that I leave you all. I have some unfinished business acquiring the deed to a lair I have selected and must start sewing apparel to suit my new alter ego. I will leave you with a small traditional Welsh saying I was reminded of while on my trip to Europe:
"All the world is queer save thee and me, and even thou art a little queer"
'Til the future becomes now,
Saint Marie
Saint Marie of the Declining Ardour
where the streets have no name, IL USA - Tuesday, November 23, 2004 at 22:57:35 (EST)
I find myself overjoyed at my now painless existence. The gentleman at the House of Clocks' reception desk seemed a bit nervous when I handed him the clock but he assured me that it would find a happy home there.
As for you, Oh-so-descriptively NOT Louise Brooks...WHERE would you like me to move you? I seriously doubt you want to drown in feathers. Leave me notice on this guestbook of the exact location you would like to be placed (Coordinates work best). I tried to offer a helping hand but it seemed you were enjoying the theatrics of sinking in feathers...so I finished my business.
Buck,
I saw your tattered balloon while I was leaving Chicago. I do so hope that you landed alright...or at least in one piece.
I wonder if the Captain has had any luck finding his way out?
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
Venice, Italy - Sunday, November 21, 2004 at 22:28:49 (EST)
I spoke to Sir Gaiman regarding the attempt on his life, and all he did was scream in my face and grin rather lopsidedly. I grow worried. The paradigms, THE PARADIGMS...
My mental energies are expended at present. My body is still in the land of the oily black feathers and equally unctuous shadows, to which my mind has just returned. I'm afraid I sent it flitting to and fro over the weekend. I must thank Buck for the tip on homonculae he gave some time back; it's come quite in handy as of late.
I would fortify myself, if I were you, my friends. There are dark times ahead of us. For now, I must rest my mind, and allow myself to sink more deeply into this pit of feathers...
Exhaustedly Not Louise Brooks
It's really very filthy here, - Sunday, November 14, 2004 at 22:54:32 (EST)
Ah yes, the shoddy workmanship of this balloon has finally eminded itself upon me. I am nearing Chicago of all places...
If anyone here reads the Blog over at www.neilgaiman.com, you will see that the International Brotherhood of Meatworkers has made an attempt on the life of one Neil Gaiman (who may or may not also be the Great Creator mentioned at various other points on this blog). A Screaming Alarm clock made by the Brotherhood was given to Mr. Gaiman as a birthday present.
Could this have anything to do with St. Fursy?
Desperatel seeking information and a soft place to land in Chicago. With help on either please contact me here.
Buck
In A Swiftly Descending Balloon - Saturday, November 13, 2004 at 17:20:48 (EST)
So I have arrived at the well known House of Clocks...I have decided to irk my client and donate this agonizing timepiece to the House. I never planned on being here...ever. Oddly, I do not believe this is the flying clock which spawned our adventure. However, I can say congratulations to St. Marie on her capital ventures. And please do not call me a mercenary...I generally kill beings for a living...this was a special, very old client. I place a stress on WAS. Anyway, a minor correction for you dear Marie...I am an assassin.
I am generally assuming that once I leave this clock in the capable hands of the horologists here at the H.O.C. I will feel much better and can begin finding a way to help get the REAL flying clock.
Good luck to all!
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
Chicago, IL USA - Friday, November 12, 2004 at 22:57:11 (EST)
My dearest companions,
I am quelling my ardor at the moment with a much spoiled bottle of wine I nabbed from the anomalous-ridden cavern under the abbey gardens. The Viscount has been released, and I learned several new curse words while listening to him relay his feelings about his recent experience. He does have a vivid imagination!
As I did not foresee that your wayward spirits would compel you all to disregard our common goal so quickly, I have had to conjure a wealth of forgiveness from my heavily-burdened bosom. I must say it was a lofty task.
The entirety of the wine I procured from the cavern (excepting this one
bottle) was purchased by a suffering California wine seller whose indiscriminate tastes and experience with young, bitter vintage allowed me to unload the stash for a hefty sum. The one bottle allowed me to do so with an eased conscience. I was going to use the newly acquired wealth to fund the rest of our expedition. I see now that my efforts were wasted, as was I, but now am found and see that your autonomy outweighs this alliance.
I forgive your willfulness, as I feel those winds tugging a bit myself, and I am off to France to inquire about a rather grand bit of real estate. If any of you care to send word, please do so here at the House of Clocks and I will look forward to any offers to adventure further. I think I am still gearing up to continue the search for the illusive flying clock, but for now I am going to secure my newfound freedom and mercenary outlook by procuring what I will like to consider a "secret headquarters."
Buck, I would like to thank you for your honest commentary in response to the foot-focused verse. I hate to trod upon one's feelings, so I simply forgave the author quietly. I do hope that acquiring the balloon does not inflate your ego. Remember that the material is transient and fleeting, and considering the Captain's rather obscure condition during our pre-flight maintenance check, I think you may find the efficiency of your transport waning at a quick pace.
Raihyven, I hope you find a buyer for your vexing timepiece, and as soon as I am settled I will notify you as I could use a good Sumerian groundskeeper.
I'm sure the Captain has forgiven your antics at the Abbey. It is to be expected of a mercenary after all. I hope this finds you all well and until further notice,
Saint Marie
"God is Alive, Magic is Afoot"
Saint Marie of the Disintegrating Order
arriving soon in, France - Wednesday, November 10, 2004 at 14:51:48 (EST)
To the NOT Louise Brooks,
I recommend that you actually look up if you would like a helping hand out of the...er...pit. I shall gladly help you up so you are no longer in danger of oily black feathers. Sadly, I have no idea from where those came. I never noticed them before. Maybe I molted? Memories of my other form are a little squewed. At any rate, I will wait at the left of this pit (as this is the only you can actually see anything from) should you like to get out.
And Kanshi Ng
Please...No more dreadful poetry...we have already had enough of that from Kricket. I promise there are more interesting things to do with one's time then make bad poetry.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Feathers and Bones, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Tuesday, November 09, 2004 at 19:41:53 (EST)
Eeeeew. Poetry about feet.
Unpleasant old chap.
Unpleasant.
Buck
In a Balloon Built For Several... but Now Belonging to ONE - Monday, November 08, 2004 at 21:30:21 (EST)
Times soft pace strips down the clock gears of our life
We all knew the troubles of this strife.
I am but a foolish man
but still in action is my plan.
Do you hear the many feet? Then I am coming to you all!
Kanshi Ng
- Monday, November 08, 2004 at 21:13:15 (EST)
Oh dear, I just remembered: I left the Viscount, bound and gagged, in my disused hearth back at the Manor House. Nobody knows he is there. If it's no great inconvenience, and if there is anyone left in Bury St. Edmunds to read this, someone may want to release him. No sense in wasting a perfectly good horology expert. Really, please do, because the only thing that shall alert passerby to his presence otherwise, will be the eventual smell.
Raihyven, why is everything here covered in oily black feathers? The Sumerians are trying to sell them as souveniers in the gift shop, but really, when you can't take a step in any direction without slipping on a pile of them...
Buck, you should give me a lift. I have...somewhere...to be next weekend. And I won't miss it for all the fiddles in the world.
With Utter Duplicity,
Flightily Not Louise Brooks
Atop a Mountain of Feathers, - Saturday, November 06, 2004 at 19:21:11 (EST)
And so it was over before it ever began.
The fellowship of the Flying Clock is disbanded like toilet paper in the rain.
Captain, I still seek a way to free you, albeit, from miles and miles away from your actual location, in your newly borrowed hot-air balloon.
But I shall find the key to your egress. Eat some shrimp and sit tight.
Buck
A Deep and Brooding Depression High Above the Earth - Saturday, November 06, 2004 at 09:21:57 (EST)
To the Ever-descriptive not Louise Brooks,
Hmmm...If you open the door and see any Sumerians I apologize for the fright and do hope you enjoy your stay on Quandry. If there are no Sumerians, then I most likely sent you to my other home and can only say...Please excuse the mess. I tried to keep from sending you anywhere but it seems that you're a bit odd...not that it is a bad thing. Either way, have fun.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Still, Somewhere painful - Thursday, November 04, 2004 at 14:32:53 (EST)
Raihyven, dearest heart! I truly was -about- to remark upon your theft when something very very peculiar happened. The skies above me grew dark as night. Granted, it was 6 am, so it wasn't terribly dramatic, but it was rather odd to see dawn approaching, only to be cast out, replaced by utter darkness.
For days I found myself wandering in a void. A void! Voices called out to me. They weren't terribly coherent, but they sounded vaguley irritated, and I caught several references to season three of the old television programme "Dark Shadows".
At last the interminable darkness came to an end. I now seem to be in a room. With internet access. I have yet to leave this room. I am nervous what awaits me on the other side of this highly polished, gleaming oak door. Well, I imagine I'll figure it out, one way or the other.
Ta.
Errantly Not Louise Brooks
The Room at the End of the Void, apparently, - Thursday, November 04, 2004 at 04:59:55 (EST)
Interesting to see that no one reacted to the fact that I stole this rather grating clock from someone and attempted to trap the Captain, who watched me kill the fellow I stole it from, down in the cavernous below. This timepiece is a work of agony and apparently clashes against my own chrono-anomalous nature. My price just went up. If my client does not agree, is anyone else interested in this device? Please leave your messages here.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Somewhere painful, - Sunday, October 31, 2004 at 16:34:38 (EST)
I will confess to being completely entralled by a recent visit to the House of Clocks, most notably by the intricate mechanisms of the Zodiac Clock and the Harbinger's Clock.
However, I feel I must point out that there appears to be a significant error or omission in your otherwise superb guidebook. While you describe the existance of only three basement levels, at one point in the tour, I found myself in a fourth sub-basement. Curiously, the area seemed mostly empty and extremely ill-lit compared to the rest of the building. Fortunately, the only three exhibits to be found were alone worth the price of admission.
The first was a vast room of shelves on which rested hourglasses of every size and shape, all allowing their sand to trickle through infinitesimally slowly. The constant whispering of falling sand was most calming, and I felt compelled to stay in that chamber for what must have been several hours before a fellow guest absent-mindedly walked into my motionless form while viewing the room. Try as I might, I could not persuade her to accompany me on the rest of the tour, and she prefered to remain and listen to the sand's whisper. You might want to check if she's still there.
The other exhibit was more wonderous still - a vast and incomprehensible construction of black iron that completely filled the room it was housed within, such that I was obliged to duck beneath gears and clamber across parts of the mechanism to reach the clock face - which I eventually found to be housed at the bottom of a deep shaft beneath the clock, and lit from behind by a flickering crimson glow as if of a vast furnace. I saw it was close to striking the hour, and that the monstrous bell above me would undoubtedly be loud enough to shatter my eardrums, so I fled with utmost haste. I find it difficult to imagine how such a wonderous device could possibly have been constructed, and furthermore how you managed to get it inside the room it was within. I am certain many of the pieces were much larger than the doorway.
The final exhibit seemed quite mundane by these standards, though it was still marvelous. A chamber-clock of polished ebony, with hands that circled smoothly and soundlessly, with no visible pendulum or weights. I was watching as it struck the hour, but was disappointed that it appears to be silent, whereas so many of your clocks have a most melodious chime. Oddly, before it chimed I recall it having a circular mirror taking the place of the clock's face, before which the fine silver hands turned slowly, barely disrupting my reflection in the glass - and yet afterwards, I was certain it was but a circle of dull metal, for no reflection could be seen.
Dante de Vyre
UK - Friday, October 29, 2004 at 17:21:37 (EDT)
Forgive my silence. I think I'm alright now. I was in the midst of investigating a strange ticking in the border shrubbery near the back of the gardens, when I seemed to have fallen into the same subterranean abyss as the captain. I still carry this rather bulky rosary and a small censor in my purse, so while lost in this cavern, I did manage to finish grinding and mixing a potent concoction to quell Henrietta's rather prodigious aroma and affliction. Let me assure everyone that I carry no prejudice against any manner of the living, as is part of my oath and nature to be compassionate to all creatures. There is always strength in numbers, so welcome!
My dear captain, if you will please cease the infernal bellowing for a moment and look behind you, I think you shall see a dim light coming from several holes in the back of that crawlspace there. I suspect that wall will give way with much ease. I would offer to come aid you in digging, but I have discovered an unusually well-stocked wine cellar of sorts in here.
I tasted what appeared to be the oldest vintage, but I swear it tastes as bitter as a wine bottled yesterday! No wonder it has been abandoned! There seems to be a passageway leading towards the Manor House according to my compass. I will wait for you, Captain. If you would like to accompany me I think this underground maze worth exploring, as well as this wine!
Saint Marie of the Declining Order
under the Abbey somewhere near the gardens, - Friday, October 29, 2004 at 02:05:20 (EDT)
I hate to interpupt lofty persuits but does any one know the location of a good tobacconist within the Shambles. I am running perilously low on a good burley and I fear I get a bit mosterous with out my smoke.
Dr. Hob Peachbrook <From_hob@yahoo.com>
Chicago, IL USA - Wednesday, October 27, 2004 at 23:11:40 (EDT)
Captain,
I must admit, that is rather dreadful. If you'll just hold out for another day or so, however, time will test Buck's hypothesis. The clock-work lady simply deteriorated, however...you, like the caged birdies, are a living creature. By this time tomorrow you should be a toddler! I poked about a bit earlier today, and indeed heard your song. There seems to be a small gap in the ground at the base of the nearby Abbey ruins. If my intuition is correct, you should be able to burrow your way through said gap, -especially- if you really do revert to your puerile form! The gap is, you see, decidedly toddler-sized. I'd suggest you not drink the rest of your brandy in the meantime, and use it to drown some of the shrimp. Your ickle wiggly body won't be able to handle the blood-alcohol level you're accustomed to. Not many among us are so freely given a chance for a second youth. Be merry, Captain! Be merry indeed!
And if we're all wrong and you simply remain in your present condition...er, well, we'll figure something out. I'm happy to report I tracked down our slippery Viscount of Horology and have him doubly bound and hog-tied in my disused hearth. If anyone here will know what to do, it may or may not be him. I'll get an answer out of him one way or the other.
I think the moral in all of this is to never, ever trust a spelunker. I can only hope that the item he ran off with was not a clepsydra. Such a thing would not bode well. Where is our dear Saint Marie? I wonder if she is missing her mortar and pestle? I was beginning to think that perhaps the flying clock was in the form of an Astrolabe, but this turn of events casts a new light on my ponderings.
I have a vague notion that I ought to be investigating further the tricksy duality of ours saints. Two Irish fellows, steeped in the ancient traditions of their homeland... Christian or not, there is more to all of this, I can feel it.
With childish delight,
Sidhe is Not Louise Brooks
Bury St. Edmunds, - Wednesday, October 27, 2004 at 03:51:11 (EDT)
Oops. I did not plan on the shrimp. So sorry. Enjoy getting him out. I have a clock to deliver to a client. Ta ta!
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
In between here, and somewhere else - Wednesday, October 27, 2004 at 02:52:44 (EDT)
Captain,
My remaining clockwork lady was set to tunnel a quick escape route for you, but as work progressed I noticed a strange phenomena at work. The deeper the gear-powered dear actually, dug, the rustier she became, as if she were decompsoing at an excelerated rate before my very eyes. I am of course reminded of the phenomena that afflicted the birds of Abbey Garden. I worry that there is some sort of residual chrono-field that has been left in the earth hereabouts due to the proximity of St. Fursy's (or Cuan's, whicever is more apt) clock. I fear that in this case a tunneling to the rescue shall not be possible at this time. On the other hand, if the shrimp are either communicative or simply lonely, I would suggest you try yo breach their language barrier in the hopes that thye may lead you on to some draina pipe... or failing that lead you into the care of a certain race of mole men mentioned by a late colleague on this very site.
Beyond this, I'm fresh out of dope ('dope' meaning ideas, not the opiate... though I'm fresh out of that as well).
If you are in fact irrevocably trapped in he nether quarters, I will be more than happt to take over the operation of your large and lovely hot-air balloon.
Buck
No Longer Digging A Hole (For ealth reasons) - Monday, October 25, 2004 at 18:05:27 (EDT)
I’ve been looking through images and icons of St. Fursey and I’m a little confused as to what his fabled timepiece looks like, beyond it’s disregard for gravity. The chapel image at Norwich Cathedral is of little use (although I think he looks a little like Kanshi Ng!) and neither are illuminated texts that someone who isn’t Louise Brooks acquired from Ireland and Picardy.
I thought Gator-Legs Pinke was carrying a pestle and mortar for St. Marie to grind Henrietta’s herbs, but I now have a new hypothesis.
Lets hypothesise that Fursey’s clock was a clepsydra (simple water-clock) then it might just look like an old-fashioned mortar. Also if someone found the priceless mortar-like device they might, conceivably double-cross their colleagues and escape with their booty. If this was the case, it is also conceivable that when they invited their expedition leader to a secret passage beneath the Abbey they might have locked him down there in complete darkness and with no intention of releasing him. It is also highly possible that the small phosphorescent blind shrimps that I had thought were products of an embarrassing intolerance to Absinthe & Banana cocktails are, in fact, real and are attracted to my warm and apparently tasty skin.
If this message finds its way to any of my colleagues via the House of Clocks Guestbook, could they please bring shovels and shrimping nets to the Abbey gardens and dig wherever they hear the muffled sound of a man of indeterminable age, singing a delightfully bawdy version of ‘Rule Britannia’. There is a constant supply of water here, but I only have one small hip flask of brandy left, and I’m not sure how long I can survive.
Capt. S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Monday, October 25, 2004 at 13:13:08 (EDT)
Oh dear, is old Louise out on the town again? That may cause eventual confusion... especially if she's taken a fancy to time, itself.
Now, back to my ashes. There are some fascinating ashes here, you know. Bit messy, but fascinating all the same.
No, really, I'm NOT Louise Brooks
Disused Hearth, Manor House, - Sunday, October 24, 2004 at 05:38:29 (EDT)
A fake Rolex? Good Captain, your age defies your eyes, or perhaps it was the quart of Blakeney's Undefined Gin which did it. No sir! That fake rolex was nothing other than the forty-favoured wristswatch of Pang Shen! Nevertheless, Louise Brooks either di or didn't purchasse it, in any case, I am now with funds and most possible in assisting you.
Kanshi Ng
- Saturday, October 23, 2004 at 16:48:55 (EDT)
I’m grateful that the group has decided to accept my offer and have made sure to groom myself properly. I’m looking forward to once again being to put my bargining skills to use and hope that they haven’t become too rusty during my unemployment and absence.
I see that my old employer has once again raised his bald head from whatever cave he resides in and am disturbed by the Captains possible sighting of him selling fake Rolexes. He’s a hard man to mistake for anyone else and would be much happier if the man himself would venture an explanation for this seemingly out of character behaviour.
Lastly to Buck, I know you and I have had our differences and am sure that the unfortunate events at Ms Tigler’s House have left something of a sour taste in your mouth but I have no doubt that we will be able to put these behind us and work together amicably.
At your service,
Henrietta Mood
USA - Friday, October 22, 2004 at 08:31:29 (EDT)
I know I should probably be with the rest of my group but something within the Shadows caught my attention...It seems I'm not the only chronological anomaly in this place. Should I kill it Captain or just bring whatever it is back to all of you for study (or pugilistic endeavors)? I think for now I'll just bring it to you.
May the Shadows bow down.
PS. I'm glad we may gain a new ally. Welcome to our humble group of extraordinary people.
Raihyven
Between places lesser and greater, - Thursday, October 21, 2004 at 17:03:45 (EDT)
An old foul-smelling local told me (whilst dribbling into his pint) that there used to be two more bird cages in the Abbey gardens, but the Victorian menagerie-managers discovered that the asiatic and ornamental specimens that were kept in the last two cages did not last long.
They appeared to get younger and less able to feed themselves, until one day they apparently all escaped leaving nothing but a clutch of eggs in the corner of the cages. This same pattern of dissapearances happened over and over again until they gave up on the extra cages and dismantled them.
Currently Pinke is investigating how to dig beneath one hundred years of concrete where the old cages used to stand, whilst Buck is looking for anomalies within the existing bird cages.
On a possibly unrelated incident a man who looked a little like Mr. Ng, tried to sell us a fake Rolex today and Saint Marie is mixing some ingredients to buy us an ally.
And Buck appears to have parrot feathers hanging out of the side of his mouth...
Capt. S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Thursday, October 21, 2004 at 16:07:50 (EDT)
Hmm...yes, the Captain has all the ingredients, but Saint Marie is our group's apothecary. I imagine she will have to prepare the tincture herself. Let us pray that Catholicism has not prejudiced her against the changelings of this realm. But oh! 'Twould be a bit silly, all things considered. A strange bedfellow, after all, is infinitley more amusing than a predictable one. I'm certain she would be more than happy to assist you.
I think we're going to need a larger hot air balloon.
With Eternal Duplicity,
Ferally Not Louise Brooks
Disused Hearth, Manor House, USA - Wednesday, October 20, 2004 at 23:16:47 (EDT)
I do have to apologise for my appearance but the moon is only just waning and I still have yet managed to rid myself of this dratted affliction, the fishy smell let me assure you is merely how I what I decided to eat over the past few days so as not to raise the suspicions of the locals. If you will have me I’m happy to lend my rather unique talents to your expedition as I’ve been led to believe that the captain may have something that can at least ease my affliction which would be payment enough.
Henrietta Mood
Around - Wednesday, October 20, 2004 at 11:42:00 (EDT)
I cannot help my current chewing habits. Not being entirely human, my teeth tend to grow into malclussion if not ground down on a regular basis. This is all I shall say on this topic.
I found nothing at the Bury St. Edmunds Art Gallery. It was dull and bloodless work, and there was no one to pugiligate my pugilism upon at all. Honestly. I am a pugilist without a cause.
I was a bit more excited to investigate the local Pistol and Rifle club, but found that the pistols and rifles were only to be directed at non-living objects such as targets and skeets. I livened things up there as much as I could before escape was necessary. Lucky there was a wheelchair ramp for easy access.
Next I visited the Table tennis league, which was much more violent, in a surprising turn of events.
Still no leads on the floating clock or its minions (or its overlords, as the case may be) but I am having one damn fine time of playing the tourist if I do say so myself.
Rave, (If I may call you Rave, and which I shall do even if I may not) I would not pick that Rose if I were you. Or anything growing on the large, fishy-smelling woman if you really want to wheedle the point. That would be exceedingly destructive, I suspect (to you, in the case of the fishy woman, and to the entire multi-verse in the case of the rose, if it represents what I suspect it might).
To the others, I hope that no danger finds you before I do, and I leave word that my next inquiry shall be into the sewer system and water-mill of these parts... if they should exist.
Ta-ta.
Buck
Off to Burt Saint Edmund... in a deeper grave this time. - Tuesday, October 19, 2004 at 19:45:42 (EDT)
I must say my favorite bit of our adventure thus far was getting out of that hot air balloon. I'm as big a fan of Byronic atmospheres as the next dark-eyed dark-lipped lady, but the mournful fiddle airs, cloying cloud of foul pipe smoke, and sounds of Buck chewing on my...I mean, his umbrella was beginning to affect me most adversely. Before venturing elsewhere, we'll really have to teach Mr. Shaftsbury-Merrimann a jig & reel or two.
The quaint English air seems to be doing me a world of good. I would have stuck with you, Captain, but I find the pubs less charming than I did in my youth. However, it's good an avenue as any to explore, St. Cuan being the bibulous meat-stealing beatified individual he undoubtedly is.
After recovering some sense of myself and bathing thoroughly, I set off straight to The Manor House, which is where I am currently. I joined one of the guided tours that's given, though there seems to be a sad lack of tourists. I dropped off from our little group midway. I blend, with surprising ease, into the 1920s costume collection. One fortuitous turn of fate after the other, I tell you! I have since built a little fort for myself within a disused hearth, hidden conveniently behind a pair of Victorian-era gowns. I have every intention of staying here until I can track down the slippery curator of horology: Viscount Alan Midleton. Should anyone wish to assist me, it would be greatly appreciated.
Occam's Razor is whispering to me that perhaps St. Cuan was enlisted by the St. Edmundsbury council of tourism to increase the flow of sightseers. Really, though, they may have found a more coherent saint. And what good is Occam's Razor if not for slitting things?
With all the hope and joy of a soot-stained orphan forced into labor before the age of ten,
Sneakily Not Louise Brooks
The Manor House, Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk UK - Tuesday, October 19, 2004 at 17:35:31 (EDT)
Captain and fellow compatriots,
I may have found something worth our while...an ageless rose bush with a single rose. I am tempted to pluck this lovely specimen (which happens to look very much like something from my underground gardens) and bring it to you all. I am being watched very closely though by a large, hairy woman in a bathing suit bearing an iron mace. There's something about this rosebush though....At any rate, I am currently located next to what appears to have been a pub covered by something viscous and black...And no Captain, I had nothing to do with the viscous-black part. Apparently it was that way before we came here. So, I shall stand and silently wait next to this lovely bush and endure the odd odor of fermenting grapefruit whilst I wait.
May the Shadows bow down.
PS I fear the unpleasent stench may be coming from the...woman's bathing suit. Please hurry. I fear she may shed on me.
Raihyven
Bury St. Edmonds, Near something Black and...Oozy - Tuesday, October 19, 2004 at 04:03:45 (EDT)
Oh it’s good to place your feet on terra firma again. We have landed to the North of Bury St. Edmunds, where the stench of the sugar beet factory helps disguise the smell of a week’s habitation within a tobacco-rich atmosphere.
Things I have learnt about Bury St. Edmunds so far:
1.The Mansion houses a number of interesting and ‘mostly harmless’ chronological devices.
2.The Local History Museum contains some grisly artefacts celebrating the media furore that was ‘The Murder in the Red Barn’.
3.Mr. Nicolas Cave (Antipodean Miserablist) stays there when trying to escape the grey smog and elemental abuse of London.
4.The ruins of the abbey are made of sharp local flint, which regularly cuts unwary passers-by and allows profane blood to drip over the abbey gardens.
5.St. Fursey’s clock is not to be found in The Macebearer, The Black Boy or The Spread Eagle. It has been suggested by Mr. Shaftsbury-Merrimann, that we should be looking for the device outside of drinking establishments, but temperance has never been part of my modus operandi.
Capt. S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Monday, October 18, 2004 at 12:41:17 (EDT)
Oh please leave up the message about the person whose belly rings for you. I find it rather amazing, personally.
Buck
I Can See Your House From Up Here - Sunday, October 17, 2004 at 15:20:19 (EDT)
Our belly-rings special for you!!!
belly rings <belly@bk.ru>
HI USA Continental - Sunday, October 17, 2004 at 02:55:11 (EDT)
Dear Captain,
As I take my Silent Witness duties seriously, I decided to leave you message here...While the cloud cover is truly fantastic I must note that the shag you smoked smelled oddly like my Sumerians after bathing and that should I turn up missing from the balloon when daylight returns, I assure you I shall return shortly. I had to jaunt home to retrieve a little something I forgot.
Faithfully silent and enjoying the company of troupe greatly...
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
Somewhere being quiet, - Saturday, October 16, 2004 at 01:52:03 (EDT)
Damnably comfortable these vestments!
Must find out what fabric softener the nunnery uses.
Examining the blasted landscape below us, I wondered aloud if we had drifted into some hellish-parrallel world in which Satan had made his kingdom top-side. I was assure by my colleagues that we would be leaving the Detroit airspace soon enough, and that I should just shut up and resume napping.
I ache to pugilise something.
Buck
In a Balloon Built For Several - Friday, October 15, 2004 at 08:42:04 (EDT)
My, these clouds do seem to be getting darker. I am adjusting well to my fear of heights, and I think I could get used to balloon travel. Oh, Dear Captain, with all due respect, I feel you may have erred. That nun you smoked your pipe with last night was...well...that was Buck, not I. Perhaps a little less Rum before we embarked may have steadied your eye, although as Buck and I are identically clothed, I can partly grasp your confusion. Nonetheless, I do have a small confession. I did sneak a large pinch of mullein in your pipe mixture in order to keep your lungs clear and insure your good health for when we arrive. I felt inspired by both this damp air and a sense of duty, and hope you see it as an act of goodwill. I have decided to change into Raihyven's apparel as soon as we land to avoid any further confusion, but will keep my vestments close by if needed.
Saint Marie of No Particular Order
confusion good question - Thursday, October 14, 2004 at 15:31:38 (EDT)
I am currently writing this message from a hot air balloon on a Northern passage to Bury St. Edmunds. Most of the team are together and despite the cramped conditions and the independent character of many of the passengers we are still in good spirits. The quest for St.Furseys clock has very much started.
To shield us from the prying eyes of potential, real, surreal or hyper-real enemies, myself and a couple of colleagues have disguised the balloon as a wayward cumulus. The effect was achieved by filling my pipe with a grimy tobacco called ‘Aunt Bacteri’s Olde Medicinal Shag’ and puffing ‘like billy-ho’ (as they used to say in the regiment). I was particularly impressed that although Saint Marie confesses to have never tried this vice before, she is a fast learner and now smokes like a trooper.
Capt.S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Wednesday, October 13, 2004 at 14:09:46 (EDT)
Clever Captain and Crew,
I have lingered a while in repose at the Abbey whilst sorting my thoughts and beseeching those above for blessings on our departure. Raihyven, I am so pleased with your selfless offering of apparel and, yes, black is no stranger to my wardrobe. I do think it wise for you to arm yourself heavily, and I myself do plan to harness a few tricks up my sleeves...and various other places.
Buck, I most certainly agree that my attire may be extremely vexing and handy subterfuge. I will happily raid the vestments closet in your honour. I must add that a martian-slave-girl bikini might be a welcome blessing after countless years of adorning these well-worn robes, at least for the pre-departure soirée. I will carry my faithful vestments with me on our journey, however, in case they are needed.
I must confess that I've been well cloistered I have no experience plundering nether-regions, but when that time approaches I feel it may benefit me to disrobe.
Thanks to you who will not be mistaken for Louise Brooks for suggesting Bury St. Edmunds. I agree that St. Cuan's dissident quickstep around the true facts in this matter make me question why he would mention it at all!
The Manor House is indeed intriguing and seems a favourable beginning. I now must go rest, but will be prepared for this enterprise when the time comes, I assure you. I have strained a shoulder muscle trying to quell yet another stir caused by St. Cuan's visit. It seems he left behind a House of Breguet limited edition Tourbillon wristwatch on his nightstand, and for the sake of peace in the Abbey I had to silence the damn thing as it refused to stop repeating it's minutes. The task was dreadful, but necessary.
Saint Marie of the Reclining Marauder
Shabby Abbey, IL USA - Monday, October 11, 2004 at 05:14:50 (EDT)
Captain,
Having been dreadfully busy tying up loose ends, winding up slack ones, and searching for a suitable back-up host form for myself to jump into if the need arises, I have not yet had time to consult with our dear Saint Marie.
However, as far as a first destination point goes, I have one most assuredly in mind: Bury St. Edmunds. Granted, it was not the childhood home of St. Fursey and really has very little to do with any of this. Nonetheless, seeing as it is home to The Manor House, a museum with a horological collection to rival the one in the Shambles, I believe it's as good a starting point as any. St. Cuan was the one who perpetrated these lies, if you'll recall, and I can only imagine that he selected Bury St. Edmunds because of it's connexion to...well, clocks.
Yes, I believe we should mark our maps, cast off the sandbags and begin the long floating journey to England (as soon as everyone is assembled, of course).
With Eternal Duplicity,
Vapourously Not Louise Brooks
Mass carnie grave outside of Chicago, IL USA - Sunday, October 10, 2004 at 23:09:11 (EDT)
perhaps in time a humble barefoot doctor with some small knowledge of the arts chronological could find a home within your troupe.
My heart beats slower these days, and I think a little workout would do me good.
Kanshi Ng
USA - Saturday, October 09, 2004 at 18:09:30 (EDT)
Thank you kindly Captain. I understand that on occasion it will be necessary to remove my weapons but until then I shall remain comfortably armed. I am looking forward to our adventuring.
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
In a pub, In some lost corner of Chicago - Thursday, October 07, 2004 at 15:51:57 (EDT)
So, with Saint Marie filling the much-needed apothecary position our expeditionary force is complete and we can begin our hunt for Fursey’s Flying Timepiece.
I would suggest that we spend the next week packing essentials, saying goodbye to loved ones and locking-up our more troublesome clocks and watches in safe places. Then if the one who isn’t Louise Brooks (in collaboration with Marie) can ascertain a suitable starting destination, we should be off: pausing only to make periodic updates here at the HoC Guestbook for the benefit of the horological community and, in the event of us splitting up, to provide a safe means of communicating with each other.
Raihyven, I have no problem with the Silent Witness bearing arms, but please be aware that some of the places we may be heading for may ask that you leave weapons at the temple door or the temperance bar.
Marie, I agree with Buck, that due to nature of the timepiece we’re going after, I would suggest that your garments might grant us access to places that my bluster or Buck’s teeth might not. I personally will be wearing a waistcoat that despite having several bullet holes in the back and an embarrassing claret stain on the front has been blessed by two Popes and a high-ranking Lama. My fob watch is 24-carat snarling-silver and has a thirty-foot long watch-chain. My suit will be a standard warrior-class pale number made by Withmores of Saville Row. I would suggest that we pack lightly as the angel-winged beastie that we are chasing is unlikely to slow down if it becomes aware of our presence.
Capt.S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Tuesday, October 05, 2004 at 14:44:06 (EDT)
Kindly Saint Marie,
Should you need them, I believe I can supply you with slightly more mundane clothing. I'm guessing an all black color scheme would not bother you in the least if the need for other clothing becomes necessary. Just do not ask what the garments are made of...(nothing grotesque I assure you.)
To the Captain,
Would you so kindly inform the large, drunken red-headed fellow that I am not some "chickie" and that petting the feathers in my hair will only get him the loss of a hand? He talks to you before he stumbles toward me. I generally would not ask this of anyone but I do not want our grand adventure starting off...bloody. I have to say that this limited chrono-anomaly that still radiates around me is quite useful. At any rate, I shall finally meet you face to face shortly.
May the Shadows bow down
P.S. Is it wrong for your Silent Witness to be fully armed? If so, I'm dreadfully sorry and will find somewhere to store my weapons.
Raihyven
There, and Here - Sunday, October 03, 2004 at 18:47:20 (EDT)
By the almighty cog, it seems we've all come together like a snug little puzzle!
It seems too fortuitous for reality.
Saint Marie, the only clothes I have to offer would be a metallic martian-slave-girl bikini, stolen from a science-fiction convention in Idaho a month back. I usually let my clock-work-slave-girl wear it, but as she has no signifigant anatomical features that can't simply be shut and locked... I suppose you could wear it.
As far as your wardrobe hampering our stealth... you must think hard on the group you are preparing to set out into the world with. I for one think that your wimple and robe may be the most intimidating outfit that any of us could hope to wear in some of the nether-regions I'm sure we'll be visiting.
I wonder if you have an extra set I could borrow?
Buck
Chicanerically Charming Chicago - Sunday, October 03, 2004 at 15:44:10 (EDT)
Marie,
I am delighted to hear of your enlightenment! St. Cuan always did strike me as a bit dodgy, I'll have you know. And indeed, it seems you will be a valuable asset to our fellowship. You're a regular Hildegard von Bingen, you are!
And as far as suitable garments go...you may want to speak to our mutual friend, Buckingham. He's quite an expert in procuring garments at, how they say...the drop of a hat.
Duplicitously,
Resentfully Not Louise Brooks
Chicago, where the meat grows on trees, IL USA - Sunday, October 03, 2004 at 15:42:56 (EDT)
Goodness gracious and goodly bless us.
Oh Captain and stalwart crew, forgive my delay in answering such a beckoning to adventure. I do feel the lord works in mysterious ways, and other gods conspire as well to bring forth such serendipitous circumstances. There is much to be conveyed in a limited time. The revelation of such a notion brought me to investigate the mystery of the specter clock that hovers in obscurity. It seems the suspicions of one whose appointment it is NOT to be Louise Brooks were completely unerring. Saint Cuan bestowed more to this Abbey on his visit than guidance and wisdom. Indeed there is reason to hold him suspect, and I dare say to hold him responsible for diverting one from knowing the truth of the floating clock and its abilities.
After several bottles of the Abbey’s medicinal liqueur, St. Cuan unwittingly revealed the following to me. (His tale grew to great lengths during his visit.)
If captured and configured appropriately from the ninth hour of the day to cock-crow, this hallowed time piece could gift us with the ability to reverse our own aging process. By reversing the hands of the clock, one can travel back through time and experience anti-aging benefits retained when time is restored with no injurious consequence. It seems that the abbot has in fact used this clock to refresh not only himself but the Abbey and all its occupants. Apparently it has fallen out of his possession after so many years of manipulation. Having never stepped outside the Abbey except for a few trips to Brussels, I am now faced with the uncertainty of my actual age. My memory has not been sharp these past few years. Seeing how this has changed my outlook towards Abbey life, I am willing to abandon my duties for however long it takes to locate and harness this clock. It is widely known that, although I have taken these noble and chaste oaths, I fall short of the duties of an Abbess and certainly of a Saint.
In regards to my contribution as a member of your crew, my dear captain, I believe I may have some use. As fate would have it, I have written many treatises about healing and the medicinal uses of plants, animals, trees and stones. In fact, without my extraordinary powers of healing and gifts for music, I think I would be removed from my station. I would be happy to act as apothecary on your expedition, my captain, and as fate would have it, I also play a mean violin!
Thank you all for your concern regarding the integrity of the abbot. It seems his need to imbibe cost him much and he has retreated to Ireland to contemplate his own misgivings. To you, captain, I offer my loyalty on this venture and my blessing. I will remain at the Abbey sorting out what year it is while you organize the expedition. To the rest of you I wish you well, and could someone see fit to loan me some mundane clothing before we set off? I think my robes would somehow lesson the achievement of stealth. Au revoir et dieu vous bénit!
Saint Marie of the Declining Order
Shabby Abbey, IL USA - Sunday, October 03, 2004 at 04:20:17 (EDT)
Buck, could you bring along your Clock-work Lady to fill the remaining pugilist post. I know she might not be the most obvious choice but with a can of oil and some brass polish, she should prove more reliable and deadly than a band of Hussars.
To accommodate the wishes of someone-who-is-not-and-never-has-been-Louise-Brooks, I am employing Mr. Shaftsbury-Merrimann as our team’s forger. Like most representatives of his trade he is not trustworthy, but I can vouch for his musical ability: he is one of the few individuals I know who is not only a forger, but also a fiddler.
Now if only I could find an apothecary with experience in the horological arts, then I could open up a bottle of Chateau Moribund that I had been saving, and toast the start of our Grand Enterprise.
Capt.S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Friday, October 01, 2004 at 12:51:03 (EDT)
Captain,
I would be happy to have an audience with you regarding the voyage. However, I must remind you that I am not actually ON screen, and that when I say "audience", I fall no way into the equation as some form of cinematic entertainment. While on that topic...if anyone calls me 'Lulu', at ANY point over the course of this trip, I will not be held responsible for my actions. You have been warned. At any rate, we will discuss these matters in full when we are all together, I am sure. I have some last minute errands I need to take care of before this all gets underway.
As far as other members go...hmm. It's such a pity that my fellow Klezmer troupe members have all messily perished. We could certainly do with a touch of music. It can be quite therapeutic; it can calm great beasts; excite village simpletons to action! And we will doubtless encounter all manner of village simpletons! Yes. I think our group needs a musician...a fiddler, perhaps?
Buck,
There are remarkable wind gusts that naturally occur when one is floating about in a hot air balloon. Surely if your bowler hat, crisp suit and pearl-handled umbrella were to, er, blow away from you, and into MY possession, you would not hold it against me! I am no more capable of controlling the winds than a bottleless Aeolus.
See you lot soon,
Theoretically Not Louise Brooks
Waiting in Chicago, IL USA - Thursday, September 30, 2004 at 01:46:54 (EDT)
Oh and Buck,
The steak knives are not horological in nature but they are perfectly capable of cleanly slicing through bone. By all means keep them. I have plenty of knives. Until later.
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
Where it does not matter, Quandry - Wednesday, September 29, 2004 at 23:31:32 (EDT)
I shall gather what information I can from Shadow along the way. Sadly, I have no recommendations for other positions as most of my encounters are...prearranged. I miss spontaneous things. I shall see you on the morrow eve. Look for me in your usual pub where the shadows grow deep dear Captain.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Within the Shadowmanse, Quandry's darker half - Wednesday, September 29, 2004 at 23:11:11 (EDT)
I will have it known that I am a master of the ancient Asian fighting form of Byte-Yu. It involves discipline, patience, fortitude of mind and spirit... and a sharp set of choppers, both upper and lower.
I shall be the most pugilistic of pugilising pugilisers to ever pugil... as your pugilist.
Most exciting. Yes yes!
p.s. What time-pieces should I bring? Anything lethal or load-bearing? Sentient or sub-servient? I have one operational clock-work lady left, some pieces of the whirligig clock, one demonic cuckoo clock (bagged in Florida for my own personal use) and a rather lovely set of steak-knives (possibly horological in nature?) that I lifted from the Quandry. I also have the contents my private collection, but as you know, the contents may be a bit of over-kill in some situations.
It is odd, Captain Hendley, how I once swore to kill you (still 7-5 on your end of the court) and now I giggle like a boozed-up school-girl at the idea of allying myself with you. Most peculiar indeed.
I most be bored.
Buck
On the Winding Path to Chicago - Wednesday, September 29, 2004 at 19:25:00 (EDT)
Ahh it’s good to see old hearts beating like more youthful organs at the prospect of another Great Adventure. I would gladly work with Buck, Raihyven and the one who should not be confused with Louise Brooks, if you will in turn work with myself and any others who I deem as necessary for the endeavour. I have also been approached by Gator-legs Pinke (who some of you might remember as the first man to tunnel to Ilkley Moor without a hat) who has volunteered his services as a spelunker.
If I might count you as one of the pugilists Buck (although I know your methods of ‘self-defence’ are seldom confined to bass fisticuffs), whilst Raihyven can act as the necessary silent witness (I believe you have performed these duties before to the Clockers of Maine), then if I might have an audience with Not-Louise-Brooks to discuss the ideal starting position, I shall rely on her/him as my ecclesiastical expert.
I apologise heartily for defining such well-rounded individuals by such simple responsibilities but I have found that in the past it has been useful for each member of the team to know the boundaries of their responsibilities before the offing. I, of course, will be expedition leader. This does not mean I claim to be better than anyone, just that in matters of debate, I shall be casting the deciding vote. For those of you who have never worked with me before, please note that I am a brave, decisive and punctual leader and will only accept cowardice in the event that I am leading the swift retreat personally.
Assuming that Buck, Raihyven, Not-Louise-Brooks and Pinke are in agreement, have any of you any recommendations for the remaining positions.
Capt.S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Wednesday, September 29, 2004 at 14:18:47 (EDT)
I just hope that if we're all in a hot-air balloon together, tis person who is so emphatically NOT Louis Brooks doesn't try to swipe my nice shoes, hat and my dear Windy.
S/he's always trying to swipe my stuff.
Although, I must agree, with him/her wholeheartedly about this St. Cuan fellow. Why, I recall one poker game I sat in on with some of the more... questionable saints, in which Cuan was in possesion of no less than SIX aces in one hand (The aces of: Spades, Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs, Stars, and Little Duckies). He claimed the whole thing was a miracle, and that the will of the Lord was present in his draw.
I mean, honestly. Little duckies?
He won one of my oldest French Marble Porticos.
Cheating saintly bastard.
Buck
Traipsing Down the Train Tracks. - Wednesday, September 29, 2004 at 11:58:01 (EDT)
Hmm...Sounds like I upset you a bit Buck. So sorry. Really. At least I turned down the price on your head. I shall attempt to behave better next time.
To the Captain,
I could possibly fill your slot for the silent witness. Your adventure perks my interest.
Until whenever...
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
No, - Tuesday, September 28, 2004 at 23:56:13 (EDT)
Captain,
I am a modest soul, and would hesitate to call myself an expert in any field; however, I do have something of a zest for ecclesiastical matters. Balloons can be fun, too, especially when used in conjunction with the skills of an apothecary...
Ahem. Back to my point. All plund...er, exploring aside, there are a few matters which need to be set straight. I fear you've been put on the wrong path altogether. Bury St. Edmunds is decidedly NOT the home of St. Fursey. It does, however, have a great deal to do with St. Edmund, who had no clock and is therefore of no use to us at present. St. Fursey did reside for some time in Suffolk; he set up a neat little monestery inside the enclosure of Burgh Castle, where he spent a great deal of time sweating, and speaking to the Picts.
There is one oddity amongst all of this: Bury St. Edmunds is home to The Manor House, a museum which contains, among other things, a sizable horological collection. I am beginning to think we need forget St. Fursey altogether. He was a bit notorious, you see, for his angelical visions and powers of ressurection. It is my belief that St. Cuan took advantage of this reputation when HIS -- not St. Fursey's, but HIS floating clock was discovered by his underling monks.
Oh yes, it's all well and good for a respectable abbot to be witness to a miracle; this sainted abbot, however, stinks of treachery and deception! I suggest Saint Marie guard herself, if he is still skulking about. He may try and steal your supper.
Yes, it is St. Cuan who should be tracked, in order to discover this floating clock. LORD knows what other things may be ticking away, in the blessed dark...
With too-much-time on her hands, in every sense of the phrase,
Pontifically NOT Louise Brooks
On the Red Herring Trail, USA - Tuesday, September 28, 2004 at 22:46:32 (EDT)
Captain! Your endeavor sounds like too much fun to be passed up! I'm a bit of a jack-of-all in that I've done some fist-fighting, done some cavern-crawling, know how to handle a balloon, and have certainly defiled enough religious temples to know a thing or two about thir cultures... I know enough herbs to at least poison or zombify, and can forge everything from handwriting and official documents to fingerprint and DNA evidence. I would never be one classified as 'silent' however, and all my eye-witness accounts have to be taken with a block of salt. I am a dabbler in all crafts, an expert in none, but would be more than happy to helo fund your expedition and join you in your quest. The great creator has indeed drawn a line in the sand for us to, each and every one, prance across like the macabre mutant children that we are.
Please consider my application tendered, as I plan on meeting you soon in the general proximity of the House. (Not too close, mind you, wouldn't want any unfortunate mishaps after all). Please let me know if I can be of help, or if I should plan on becoming your hated nemesis in this endeavor, slowing you down at our every move. I'd hate to waste any precious time. A message here should do fine.
As for what to do with St. Fursy's clock once it is located? Heh-heh. All things shall sort themselves out with time, my good man. All things.
Since becoming a super-hero has failed miserably, I feel an adventurer and artifact seeker in the vein of Quatermain may be just the niche I am looking to fill. I wait on pins and corkscrews for your reply.
Buck
On the Road Again - Tuesday, September 28, 2004 at 16:13:38 (EDT)
To the collective minds that meet here.
It seems that Mr.G. has set us a challenge that so far only Saint Marie has answered: ‘Where is St. Fursy’s Clock?’
I believe Illinois is an unlikely resting place for the evangelical instrument and I’m trying to put together a group of ‘explorers’ (I have never liked the word ‘plunderer’) to help me locate the item for the House of Clocks. I believe that we should start in Fursy’s hometown of Bury St. Edmunds (whose ruined Abbey and ruinous public houses, I know well).
I would suggest that the clock itself be donated to The House of Clocks, but any other less-interesting-but-equally-valuable-artefacts uncovered in the expedition should be shared amongst the group as bounty.
I am currently looking for:
An ecclesiastical expert.
A spelunker.
A forger.
Two pugilists.
An apothecary.
A Balloonist.
& A silent witness.
All applicants can find me in my usual haunts amongst the Shambles more friendly drinking environments.
Capt.S.S.Hendley
The Old Country - Tuesday, September 28, 2004 at 15:55:41 (EDT)
You realize, my dear Raihyven, that that is a chronological impossibility. Your anachronistic habits have always put me off more than any of your other foul mannered behaviors. Try not to be both behind and in front of me again, or we shall exhange words, I assure you.
Deja Vu.
Buck
Away from a burning bayou. - Tuesday, September 28, 2004 at 11:03:24 (EDT)
I just realized something...I do so apologize for the cuckoo clocks Buck. It seems I was there a bit before you. I apparently let loose the clocks after finishing my work. Sorry about that. Anyway, I have a very disgruntled fellow to finish...strangling...my fee from.
May the Shadows bow down
Raihyven
In a place not for polite company, - Tuesday, September 28, 2004 at 02:24:03 (EDT)
Hello again. I ought to let you know that, in my boredom, I did attempt a bit of work with my shucked peas. I began by disassembling an old dial clock of mine, which was in all likelihood my first mistake. I had been assured at the time of purchase that it was not actually FROM the Victorian era, and was strictly for novelty purposes. I suspect I was lied to. Even novelty dial clocks are generally sold for more than two pennies. I should have known something was up when the merchant in question wept tears of relief as I walked away with my purchase...
At any rate, my venture ended in something of a mess. Squashed pea-bits everywhere, a fresh pendulum wound on my hand...and now the pretty, evil thing has taken up residence in my elderly neighbor's vegetable garden. I would take action to remove it, but well...she's got another ten years on her, tops. It won't be a great loss.
And to dearest BUCK -- I like the way you think. Homonculae and all. After this experience I would very much like to pay these vegetable clock-making former comrades of yours a personal visit. I suppose I should begin to plan this jump-of-sorts.
And to...Saint, was it? Yes. Saint Marie. Where precisely IS this Shabby Abbey of your Declining Order located? I, too, am in Illinois, you see. I'm not doing much at present, vegetables aside. On my good days I daresay there's part of me that would love to...BE...a nun.
With a small smile,
Corporeally NOT Louise Brooks
Chiiiiiiiicago, IL USA - Thursday, September 23, 2004 at 17:12:41 (EDT)
Despite the toil and isolation, life at the Abbey lately has seemed innocuous and soothing. My latest excursion to Brussels was complete with exorbitant plunderings and bewilderment. I aquired the treasure I sought in Brussels, a Swiss Louis XV style Neufchâtel clock with a black backing and coloured flower decoration. I have to admit, I strayed far from conventional Abbey decor, but Sister Constance Lacuna's reminder that we were vacationing was incessant and inspired me to indulge my whimsy. I will savour that holiday for eternity. Always the perfect holiday companion, Sister Lacuna surprised me that day in Brussels. After securing my new timepiece in our hotel safe, she emerged breathless from behind the door and revealed a bounty I couldn't have imagined. From underneath her robe she produced a couple of the most ample shaddocks I had ever seen! My feast was so decadent some might have deemed it unholy. Sister Constance Lacuna remarked to me that she wished our respite would never end. The memory is still so fresh I can smell it! Life at the Abbey is rewarding, however. I must remain steadfast
and humble in my chosen duties.
Saint Cuan is visiting for a undisclosed time, and has been dispelling rumours that the abbey is home to a legendary, inanimate spector. Tales have been tossed of a flying clock once believed to be gifted from above to Saint Fursy. I can assuredly say that the myth is just that, a fabrication. No clocks in the Abbey can fly, but they do often move their hands about in a futile attempt at levity.
Saint Marie of the Declining Order <neveruse@toendyoursentences.net>
Shabby Abbey, IL USA - Thursday, September 23, 2004 at 01:23:26 (EDT)
Things have taken a rather southward turn here in Florida. It seems that while I've been sleeping nights my body has been leaving my mind tucked under its pillow and jaunting off on its own. Several pets and slow-moving grandparents have gone missing. The plague of cuckoo clocks has been put to a stop, but I must be moving on soon, as I think the natives have begun to suspect me (no one's said anything overtly yet, but I suspect they may be calling in some help from an outside source). I shall be moving on soon.
How odd that Raihyven would be headed down to this foot of the woods. Perhaps our paths shall intersect.
And to the fellow who proclaims his innocence from being Louise Brooks: I happen to know of two very talented clockwork gardeners who specialize in vegetable-based timepieces. Not made from peas, I think, but some rutabagas and one giant heirloom-squash that was naturally "grown" into a grandfather clock. One is based in south Birmingham operating her own novelty store, and the other is in southeast Asia, near the old carrot mines (now closed due to vorpal bunny infestation) he may or may not be dead, but this may or may not hinder you from contacting him. They used to be partners, until a violent falling out (although I insist he was pushed) between the two. Good luck.
Also, considering your 'short-leash' issues: I would first ask if it applies to both physical and spiritual halves of your being. If only the physical, simply do as I do, and seemingly "die" in one area, popping up in a convenient locale elsewhere. I've done it before. Simply find a convenient homunculus to place yourself into until a proper body can be reconstituted. It's quite a lot of fun.
Also: Has anyone found a sundial that causes the sun to become eaten by an ancient god? If found, please contact me here in this guestbook. I'm a collector you see, and interested in buying. I have a little cabin I've recently bought im the tropics, but its much to warm there to ski... so I'm really looking for something to control the climate. Let me know!
Cheerio all!
Buck
A Floridian Hell of My Own Making - Tuesday, September 21, 2004 at 18:34:41 (EDT)
Yes, I'm afraid. That will happen if you ride about on enough coattails. Fishtails. Serpent scales. It changes, from time to time. Oh dear, now I'm feeling a bit cowed.
Florida, eh? Is that where the action is? I'd visit there myself, I would, if it weren't for the short-leash effect I seem to be cursed with. That being said, I'm quite bored, and rather miss my -chimerical- adventures.
Have any of you lot had success with crafting timepieces from shucked peas? It sounds like a worthy venture, at this point.
Apathetically NOT Louise Brooks
City of broad shoulders & cloven hooves, USA - Monday, September 20, 2004 at 22:24:10 (EDT)
So now you're chimerically NOT Louise Brooks? That's wonderful dear. It's good to see you're still alive and doing. I hope things go well for you and yours. Now I must go as I have two hours to arrive at a swamp in Florida so as to "find" some fellow called - nevermind that part...I wouldn't want to give it away.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Between here and no where special, - Monday, September 20, 2004 at 13:30:19 (EDT)
Well heeeeeeere we are again, aren't we now? This is all rather uncomfortable, for me.
I resolved, after my incident with the pendulums, to wash all remaining traces of the House of Clocks, the Shambles, and you sordid (yet creamy and delightful) lot from my life
altogether. It's true, my dears, I fled! I fled, all the way to the mountainous terrain of Idaho, where I intended to begin a simple life as a factory worker. It came to pass, however, that I made the mistake of stopping at progressive-minded dry cleaners. My dapper suit was a bit soiled from my adventures, you see. Why I entrusted them with my bowler hat, wing-tip shoes, and pearl-handed umbrella (his name is Windy Riley, by the way) I shall never truly know.
Suffice to say my belongings were stolen. Naked, bereft, I wandered through the darkened streets and back-alleys of Boise, now unable to attend my job interview. To my luck I
stumbled, in my desperate wanderings, across an errant Klezmer band. Owing to an unfortunate incident involving a bass clarient they were short a member, and so accepted me into their fold. All was going well, for a time. I was given new clothes, learned to play a few tunes...
Sigh. We made it all the way to New York (narrowly avoiding Chicago in the process) before Istvan decided he wanted to have his pocketwatch fixed. It had ceased to tick many years before, though he retained it still, for sentimental purposes. I warned him stoutly against
it, but Istvan was always headstrong. Needless to say, with my predeliction for attracting horological monstrosities, it was only a matter of time before this brief golden period in my life was irrevocably destroyed. Istvan...well, Istvan never was the same after poor
Yankel's head exploded. I'm afraid it wasn't a very subtle pocketwatch.
Needless to say, after the worst of it, I blacked out. I woke up to the pungent aroma of dead fish; for some odd reason I was on a Shoreline boat, the purpose of which is to give tours of the Chicago river.
Inexorably I am drawn, again and again, into the clutches of this sense-forsaken city. I suppose I simply must accept my fate, and remain here, to provide what meagre assisstance I can, when TIMES call for it...
Oh, and one more thing... I find this spam problem a bit disturbing. Frankly, it reaks of clockwork. Surely there is something we can all DO? We'll just have to put our heads together! And well, if you're lacking a head...just stick something out, it will have to suffice.
With Utter Duplicity,
Chimerically NOT Louise Brooks
Bound in Chicago, IL USA - Sunday, September 19, 2004 at 13:52:51 (EDT)
Also, if I may address Monsieur Anonymous? Forgive the neglect of any social morays, but I was curious if you were of any relation to a man I met whilst shopping for a gilded timepiece in Brussels. The impression he left was acute, as he was a distinguishable gentlemen of liberal girth who carried with him quite a "l'air du temps"... Odiferous? Just curious.
Saint Marie of the Declining Odor <strengthofstrings@sbcglobal.net>
Shabby Abbey, IL USA - Saturday, September 18, 2004 at 03:34:47 (EDT)
Pardon me, but I think the proper addage is "Encore!"
May peace be with you and your ambiguous quips.
Saint Marie
Saint Marie of the Declining Order <strengthofstrings@sbcglobal.net>
Shabby Abbey, IL USA - Saturday, September 18, 2004 at 02:15:37 (EDT)
Hmmm...
Such interesting things I have read here. First of all, I do not boil people (or anything else) for the purposes of eating them. I can only assume the reference was to a Sumerian. I am glad that Buck has departed from my home though I do have to ask if he would like me to store the items he left behind or if he would prefer that I just disposed of them. Either option is suitable. I apologize if Quandry seemed so difficult but I happen to find it comfortable. I promise those that can successfully make the journey to the manse...the effort is well worth it. It seems that I will be leaving shortly myself...I believe I'll be seeing Buck in Florida. It appears I have been hired to take care of someone causing some trouble in a swamp there.
May the Shadows bow down.
Raihyven
Raihyven
Isle of Quandry, Somewhere in the Lands of Fog and Night - Tuesday, September 14, 2004 at 23:23:02 (EDT)
My parents didnt know how to spell Hieronymous. So Im Anonymous.
Anyway.
Um I dont know Toctoc personally, but I have heard of a woman in italy who just gave birth to twins whos faces were ringed with numbers... these may be relatives of his.