Tidings fair and foul

Dear Wilbur,

I greet you with tidings both fair and foul.

My soul soars to tell you that at last our cousin has reopened his eyes to the world. The sisters arrived some two days ago. I know not from whence they came, or how they came to be here. However on rising from a restless repose the morning before last, I was greeted by three of their darkly cloaked and veiled forms gathered about Watford's bed. It was one of my more disconcerting experiences, for though I have heard much of the sisters' rare abilities and ethereal mien, I was ill prepared for the reality.

I woke to a mortiferous silence. The air itself felt dense and as I rose from my bed and made my way towards our cousin's room, it was as if I walked through pockets of glacial cold. The room, the Club, indeed all of the island it seemed, was enveloped in a shroud of silence, with nothing to be heard but the sisters' sibilant whispers, which seemed to reverberate and echo through my very being. Disconcerting to say the least old man, even to one with so wide an experience of aetheric machinations as I.

I may not - and indeed cannot! - say what occurred, but after two days of their careful ministrations, our cousin stirred and blinked, and although weak and in some delirium, there was indeed a spark of undoubted Watfordness behind those small sunken eyes.

The sisters have now departed, saying there is naught to do but wait while he regains his strength, and that patience and generousity of spirit is required. As you can imagine, I am fair chomping at the bit to be shot of this place. It seems a lifetime ago that we arrived here with so clear a purpose, but it is as if this place does not wish us to leave! It is only recently that Sir Terry has told me similar stories of the area's effect on visitors who tarry a while – the way they are drawn in and over and again find themselves unable to depart. It is utter drivel of course, but I find myself so irked and impeded that these days my mind will entertain any manner of claptrap to keep itself occupied.

And now for the tidings foul, dear coz. Since Court-Knotley's departure two weeks ago, I have sat and waited and watched, first for the sisters to arrive, and now as Watford slouches hour upon hour before the window and stares it seems at nothing, speaking only here and there, and then in the most confounding terms... During this time, preparations have been afoot for the departure of your friend Captain Sir Risticus Geppering-Barclay. Stuck with nothing to do but work on my diaries and progress my Aphrodite, (coming along rather nicely out of a superb piece of pink marble thrombatted over by strawberry-sweet Rosie Reedwarbler), I took the time to look into the habits of the Maunchmaunch islanders.

The prospect that your friend will have much of a future beyond his apotheosis is frankly unlikely. The islanders are not known for their hospitality and according to a report from our colleague Bernard 'Peggy' Blanditt, they will sooner eat you for dinner than have you to dinner. Now with regards your friend Geppering-Barclay, this is frankly of little moment. The man has shown himself to be unreceptive to both subtle allusions to the fate of that Cook fellow and more direct quotations from Peggy's hair-raising memoirs. My short acquaintance with the man shows him to be odious in the extreme, and I can only imagine that your friendship has been forged out of some inscrutable culinary concord that I am not privy to, for the man is both humourless and doltish.

What does concern me, however, is the fate of the clod's cousin, the incomparable Lady Felicity Smattering-Barclay, recently arrived in our midst. Oh what a delightful morsel has appeared in the form of Lady Felicity – sweet as an Egyptian lily, soft as a summer pudding, her alabaster skin and gentle-spoken way, her hesitant smile and hands that flutter like small trapped birds when she speaks, she is dear England shown in her most delicate light. And that cretin intends for her to accompany him to his new abode! I cannot allow it, coz – for such a rare jewel to be sacrificed at the altar of Geppering-Barclay's fatuousness. Mark my words, Wilbur, I will not countenance it.

Yours,
Cedric

Of orchids and earrings

Yes, yes I do recall you may have dropped it in the hothouse - that orchid is recovering magnificently I'm sure you'd want to know... Am quite sure it wasn't the lab as Eldritch was there that night. Could have been the larder - you know we ate all the potted hare, too! Since it's a family piece I shall ask the char if she didn't mistake it for an earring and put it in the wallsafe.

I've quite the appetite for potted hare again, you know? Let me know if you require a hand with the cylinder cleaning...

R

Marvellous!

Much obliged, Rosie, you delicious little minx,

Have passed on comments to Sir Terry, who is currently knee deep in some kind of viscous fluid.

By the way, did you ever manage to track down that cufflink I misplaced the last time we met? Bit of a bother, those sapphires been in the family for generations...

C

Advice?

Cedric darling,

Terence belled me about this last month and mentioned he had procured something new for it from The Gardstrum Brothers. I believe your aetheric fallout may be resulting from the translocutional hinge agitating against the radial flange - try tightening the flange and slackening off the hinge. If that doesn't work, attempting a full refit of the steam-driven oscillators.

Be careful!

With affection,
Rosie

Crackling combobulators and missives from the mists

*** crackle grind gruddle snick clank pew clunk ***

Merry - blurp – cedric here – blurp - attempting use of new contraption Sir Terry has been working on – blurp – apologies for any alarm caused by bedside combobulator suddenly beginning to broadcast – blurp – your letter and translations received with thanks – blurp – am filled with melancholy sentiment at your missive – blurp – watford in desperate straits, all my fault, I can barely express my grief - blurp – doubtful that we will be ready to travel for Yule – blurp - dreaming of england and the simplicity of our youth, dear snitty snitkins – blurp – following by thrombat additional rubbings taken from fragment of petroglyph stumbled over outside club – blurp – suspect highly significant! - blurp – we are here into the new year, until watford regains semblance of humanity – blurp – wishing... what? Ack – what? Damnation... - blurp -

*** sizzle clunk snerp snickle griddle crunk ***

Of gods and charlatans, but little progress

Dear Wilbur,

It has been three long months since I first wrote you about Watford's sad predicament, and oh how I have longed for your company during this time. We remain on Rapa Nui, and I am seldom these days found beyond the close confines of the Club. Sir Terry has been a great stalwart over this time, and has helped keep my spirits aloft with his tales of his travels in Southern Sawachuanaland during the Mahokihoki uprising of 1874-75.

Your friend, Captain Sir Risticus Geppering-Barclay returned last month, so gold and gem encrusted that I was surprised he did not sink the ship he arrived on. Apparently he has been exploring the seas to the south of here, and has had the, you might say, honour of being deified by the nearby Maunchmaunch islanders. He is to return there in six moons to participate in the ceremony that officially apotheosizes him, and at that point he will apparently be ensconced in the mausoleum like structure that was built for the purpose some centuries ago.

I mentioned that it sounded a rather uncomfortable arrangement, and that I could scarce imagine spending the rest of my days in so unwelcoming a structure as a mausoleum. However the good Captain assures me that the building is well ventilated with many rooms, and that he has requested that his cousin, Lady Felicity Smattering-Barclay, a lady with refined aesthetic sensibilities, make her way here posthaste with a selection soft furnishings.

Now regarding Watty... The metaphysician and psychobabulist arrived within days of each other in late September. While the metaphysician, one Clinton Court-Knotley, clearly knows his stuff and is a most capital fellow, the German psychobabulist proved to be something of a charlatan, speaking all kinds of tarradiddle about the conscious and unconscious mind and 'dream-states', and the likelihood that Watty is trapped within some kind of inner world.

Court-Knotley quickly set him straight and explained that clearly Watty was trapped in some kind of other world, experiencing who knows what kinds of horror or bliss while his poor body has been left behind to waste away before our eyes. We sent Doktor Guttenhausenschtein on his way by the next dirigible, and while dear Court-Knotley was sadly unable to affect any change upon Watty's person, I have convinced him to remain a time, as he is simply such blasted good company!

We now anxiously await the arrival of Les Soeurs Dépaysées, and I thank you heartily for your assistance in contacting these talented although elusive ladies.

With ever fond regards, in darkness and in light,

Cedric

Salacious suppositions notwithstanding...

Roderick Duskford-Robbins Esq said...

Gosh - intrigue! PFHH is indeed Peke-like in the extreme! Saw Lovegoode (albeit alone at the time) at Ascot , but smelt distinctly of that frangipane scent, of which old Nelly is fond... methinks PFHH had spotted me making my way through the crowds, holding aloft the Canard-Duchêne '37 and had absquatulated before yours truly arrived.

Also, will you be at the Motts Finchley Symposium next Thurs?

My dear cousin thrice removed, Roderick,

As always, your delight in calumny is most salacious. I was only last night visiting with your sister Ephigenia, who told me the diabolical tale of your and Gilpy's altercation with the entourage of the Sultan of Quimp after you spread the story of his dalliance with Her Majesty's cattle! Honestly I cannot imagine how you escaped with your head yet on your shoulders (I can only imagine it was, as usual, Gilpy's quick wit that extracted you from this well deserved fate).

As usual, hearing from you fills me with loathing and disgust, (and with it, a strong sense of nostalgia for our childhood). On principle, I shall disregard your comments as spurious until such time as I hear otherwise from a more reliable source.

I shall indeed be at the Motts Finchley Symposium, where I am giving a talk on my latest findings regarding the mating behaviour of the Nymphalis Antiopa I have been studying. I shall entertain you and Gilpmed in my suite at the Dorchester thereafter, where I shall introduce you to my new companion, Hung, a charming and erudite fellow with whom I became well acquainted during my travels in Western Zananialand at the beginning of the year. Kindly ensure that you wear nothing of the colour purple about your persons, as Hung finds the colour disturbing in the extreme and is often thrown into fits of uncontrollable rage when in its proximity.

I trust that you will avoid calamity between now and our next meeting. All my best to Gilpmed, and do tell him that if he can bring himself to wear some kind of ceremonial garb when we meet, I shall be enchanted.

Yours,
Meredith

Gosh - intrigue!

PFHH is indeed Peke-like in the extreme! Saw Lovegoode (albeit alone at the time) at Ascot , but smelt distinctly of that frangipane scent, of which old Nelly is fond... methinks PFHH had spotted me making my way through the crowds, holding aloft the Canard-Duchêne '37 and had absquatulated before your truly arrived.

Also, will you be at the Motts Finchley Symposium next Thurs?

From the desk of Meredith Finkley Snit-Bottomly

My darlings,

I trust this finds you both well in the extreme. I am forwarding this to you care of Sir Terry at the Lo Horongo Gorongo and hope it will find you wherever it is that you have most recently wandered.

Enclosed are what I have managed to decipher from the rubbings received from Watford, though I had a deuced difficult time with the third line, smeared as it was with some viscous liquid that obscured an already obscure script!

Terribly intrigued by the implications of the stone... rather tempted to catch up with you at some point to discuss in person. Any chance of an appearance at the Chapter's Yule celebration? Much hilarity is promised with Sudsy revealing her most recent findings regarding the mating habits of Ursidae Helarctos malayanus, while Clarinda Finch-Newtley has promised to share her most recent etchings recounting her time among the algerines!

I am coincidentally in London at the time (blasted British Museum is insisting that I spend some time there 'earning my keep' – by which they mean rubbing shoulders with halitosis-prone geriatrics and flashing bosom at the large bank accounts while regaling them with anecdotes about my latest adventures among the bones). It would be smashing to see you and compare notes on recent findings and acquisitions.

Watford, I enclose a pressing of a delightful Nymphalis antiopa recently encountered during my tour across American north. You will notice that the customary blue markings along the wing tips are instead the most astonishing shade of puce! I would be most appreciative of any thoughts you may have in this area – an anomaly or an entirely new sub-species??

I trust that you will convey my fondest regards to your dashing cousin Wilbur and when next you speak do let him know that I am utterly exfluncticated on hearing of his repeated dalliance last year with that atrocious Prunella Fitz-Hump-Humphrey. Honestly, the woman looks like a Pekinese!

Trusting that our paths will cross afore too long.

In darkness and in light,
your friend Merry

A grim return

Dear cousin,

What a time this has been! Heartfelt apologies for causing any perturbation.

As I so briefly mentioned via short missive, Watford and I had taken an extremely promising rubbing from one of the island's multitudinous petroglyths, this one most fortuitously found a short stroll up the west coast from Orongo (pleasing Watty no end – he had only just begun to grumble when we stumbled upon it). As you can imagine, I was near stupefied when, true to our coz's memory, the stone indeed depicted my device, and displayed in astonishing detail each of its component parts – a veritable blueprint! We of course proceeded to spent the better part of the day meticulously capturing our find and returned to the Club in exceptionally high spirits.

Later that night we were enjoying a light repast and sipping on our daily ration of Lumi (Oh woe the Lumi!) when a fierce commotion on the veranda drew our attention. Watford had been regaling me with a rather risqué tale of his summer some years ago in Dubrovnik, and it was thus some time before the noise penetrated our merriment and caused us to wander over to see what the excitement was about.

Standing on the veranda were a group of natives clothed in traditional garb. The central one – the one causing the commotion – was clothed in bright yellow and wore a headdress representing an impressive cross section of the local bird life. He was throwing his arms about and warbling in a most bewildering fashion, to the great entertainment of we onlookers. One of his compatriots was making effort to translate these carryings on to Sir Terrance MacWitnitney, the rather conniption-prone proprietor of the Lo Horongo Gorongo. Sir Terry was shaking his head firmly in the negative when the yellow clad savage looked up from his squawking and espied Watty and I standing in the doorway clutching our glasses of Lumi. Upon which he let out an almighty yodel and signaled his fellows, who paused not for a heartbeat before striding up to me, politely removing the glass from my hand and placing it in Watford's (oh if only I could go back to that moment...) and removing me bodily from the veranda and the environs of the Club.

You can be sure that I made the most clamorous commotion I could. However with the only colonials on the island still standing aghast and apparently paralysed on the veranda, there was nobody to heed my cries. The savage who had spoken with Sir Terry made quick to assure me that naught was amiss and that all would soon be explained, which indeed it was.

It appears that the savage in yellow was some kind of prophet – my guide called the fellow Ivi-Attuas, though whether that is his name or title is still something of a mystery. It appears that I had popped into this fellow's head in a one of his dreams, in the unlikely role as a participant in their annual Tangata manu ritual. I was of course sincerely honoured, and happily allowed myself to be ensconced with my fellow contestants in the most charming of temporary habitations. My translator, Tongorongo (capital fellow, splendid card sharp to boot!), explained that on the following morning I would proceed with my fellow contestants to the line up of the strongest young village lads, and there I would select my Hopu, who would then proceed to swim to the nearby islet of Motu Nui to collect the first manu tara egg of the season (sooty tern to us, old man). With egg secured, he is then to swim back and climb up that vertiginous cliff all the way up to Orongo! Should I receive my egg first and intact, I would be crowned Tangata manu – the year's Bird Man, and have glories heaped upon me, and my clan would win sole rights to collect the season's eggs and fledglings from Motu Nui. (they had decided that since the Club fell within Ohaurongo territory, they would claim me for the duration of this tourney).

The day began bright and early with me selecting a vigorous-looking chap named Strongo, over six feet of fine muscle with strong arms for swimming and long toes for climbing. I sent him off with some heartfelt words of encouragement, and took a moment to share reminiscences of swimming the triathlon at Oxford during our student days before sending him on his way. We watched as our Hopu's swam into the distance before retiring to our tent for breakfast, where we were entertained by a group of the most delightfully nubile young ladies I have yet to clap eyes on. Where had they been hiding, eh?! Thusly fortified and feeling particularly exhilarated, we retired outwith to the sun to await word of how our lads were faring.

Sad tidings saw portly Hungaronga out of the race almost immediately with his Hopu not expeditious enough to outswim the sharks teeming between the islands. All was not lost however, as I saw old Hunga being led into a tent by one of the young beauties, and realised that even the losers in this race do in fact receive some small reward. My joviality did not last long as grim stories began to reach our ears, and I realised exactly how trepidatious this contest was. Of the 12 who swam out, only 4 returned, and of the 4, only 2 were fully limbed. It was a grim tale of a desperate battle against sea and shark and precipitous cliff, of violent eddies and treacherous tides, of teeth and blood and bone and stone. In the end, Strongo was the first to reach Orongo, his brother Folongo coming a close second only because he was tied to Strongo's back, a leg shorter but alive.

Strongo strode up to where I stood among my remaining companions and presented the egg to me and as you can imagine great rejoicing then ensued. I was clothed all in feathers and spent the evening drinking and dining with the island's chiefs and notables. I was highly titillated to discover not one but all the nubiles in my tent upon my return, and it was some days before I could bring myself to leave. And leave the tent I did, but I confess I did not go far. Ah cousin, too many years had I spent with the sensible girls of our acquaintance, who while certainly partial to the odd dalliance, do not exude for me the raw vitality, the unadulterated earthy ebullience displayed by these 12 young sirens. It is true that several times I thought of leaving, and even went so far as to don my breeches on a number of occasions, but always there was more delightful food, drink and spirited companionship.

This I confess to my deep regret and shame, for while I enjoyed myself exploring the pleasures of sweet young flesh, one who is dear to us both was suffering, and it is upon hearing word of this that I was finally able to sever my intoxicating attachment to my nymphs.

Oh cousin – the Lumi! The shame I feel on remembering the native placing the glass of Lumi in Watford's hand. I see him even now, his small puzzled eyes watching me being carried away, and then shifting, refocussing on the two glasses of Lumi in his hands. I see him smiling, bemused as he lifted my glass to his lips. But I remembered too late! Oh cousin, the most egregious addiction has befallen our dear Watford, and by the time I returned the Lumi was gone – quite gone! Now I know not what to do. He is quite wasted away – you would not know him. He barely acknowledges anyone – only lies in his bed and murmurs Lumi Lumi all his waking hours. I can only but pray that your experience with the substance will assist us with combating its dastardly effects! In the meantime I have sent to our nearest Chapter House for a metaphysician and psychobabulist, but know not if they will be able to help. Cousin, you may be our only hope!

Yours in grim melancholy,
Cedric

Anxious Askance

Dear Boy,

I have become increasingly concerned for your welfare - those megalithic sites abound with esurient, sibylline entities and your silence is most unlike your usual dicacity and more akin to Sotty Wilkins, poor aglossal chap. Continuing, as you are, to be incommunicado for a surely morological duration, I have been considering alerting Les Soeurs Dépaysées, for only those canny ladies might contact you where others cannot go.

I am investing more then the usual fare to the Thrombatist so this message may travel by ultra-retrometer in all good haste.

I remain in a kedogenous attitude, until your response,
Wilbur

Wagers and Warnings

My Dear Cedric,

Please forgive my rather unusual silence, for as you should know, given as I am to fits of solitary sojourns, I found myself somewhat absquatulated in the darkest of reaches where even the greater thrombat’s long arms do not extend. Therefore you will be most heartened to know that I have succeeded in procuring a fine specimen from the Harticaria Bicephalus Furgulens phenotype. I am all come over with the delightful notion that I may be the first among the Brethren of the Splendid Chalice to return to our blessed isle with such a beast! I attach a hurried sketch:

Indeed, I shall anticipate an most excellently prepared repast from Rodder’s own hand (though I expect if shall be wretched Gilpy’s) when I encounter the scoundrels again. It is not before time that those two miscreants bow to others’ abilities and pay a contrite apology to those (and they are many) they have thoughlessly offended for their own amusement.

How glad I am to hear that dear Watty is with you! To own the truth, I was becoming fearful that the chap was more chirkful when he was dining that when he was engaged in scientiferous contrafabulations. Yet your words have quickened my cheer, for it seems our dear cousin has provided you with useful experience and knowledge instead of his more common appetite for one’s larder. Perhaps he may draw you towards the properties of the device with a heavy handed touch, yet his mind is agile and his wit rapier-like. I should listen closely to his advisements, for it is likely he may know more than he himself believes. I advise no more than half a decanter of Lumi for our dear gentleman before he engages again with your fragile device, for it has been brought to my attention that more then a quart’s consumption of the liquid may render one as a cocked hat!

Thankfully I have not succumbed to any such dire complaint as the Zanaian Blue Spluerg, as having seen an unfortunate savage that shewed the noxious affliction, I should imagine it unlikley that I should be able to continue my travels with my stomach turned outside in, and mine eyes receding into the confines of my skull only to erupt through my auditory canals with the loudest of popping sounds whereupon that individual was entirely exfluncticated. Quite ghastly.

I am most sorry to see that you write of your departure from the effervescent Mistress Wolport, however I am most gratified that you have elicited passage on that fine dirigible out of Liverpool in time to meet with my gift to you – how fortuitous that timing, wot? If I am not mistaken, Watty is correct (as usual) about the Rongorongo tablet, for he mentioned something of similar dealings to myself when we gave the lecture on Quirmic Idylls of the Rapa Nui-Vango Lui Peninsulae some five years past at the Academy. Be sure to enquire of him as to the Borogolola Isles’ savages’ histories, for I am sure (again) he shall have some excellent tidbits of information regarding Orongonese linguistics, which may have for the mean time slipped his busy and, not unlike his laboratories at the Club, rather crowded mind. I therefore urge you to seek out a Captain Risticus Geppering-Barclay, on arrival at the embarcation point and advise him you require board and lodgings at the Gentlemans’ Club, ‘Lo Horongo Gorongo’. It is of middling appointment though clean, but the man is more than capable of finding yourself and Watty a local guide at a good price and delay you with none of the bunkum with which the savages would otherwise advise you. They are a bunch of border ruffians, the Orongonese, and I advise you to be on your guard in a boodle, they have designs about your possessions – I lost a rather fetching pocket watch there once.

I am just now seated under canvas at the edge of the Barmaloogi ravine complex, near where Ferkin Bletchley-Middens encountered the Netrificus Dolden no more than a year ago – one sighting of this profoundly evasive critter will cap the climax, let me inform you! If I must return to our sceptered isle without a viewing of this creature, I shall be catawamptiously chewed up. I fear the scritching of my quill is a deafening sound in this quiet locale, thus I shall end here. I do, however, in parting, draw you attention to a most amusing typo on page 4590 of Simpleton’s Guide to Rongorongo, which gave me good cause to loosen my cravat and no mistake.

With affection, as ever,
Wilbur.

Sad partings and new horizons

Wilbur,

It is with great concern that I note that you have not yet responded to my most recent missive. I do hope that nothing untoward has befallen you, particularly as I have so often heard of the virulent Bacteriuria that proliferate so prodigiously in deepest Zananialand.

This is but a brief note to let you know that I have moved on from Claptrap and although it is of no moment, in light of the thrombat's most extraordinary ability to divine one's presence wheresoever one finds oneself, I knew you would be in eagerness to know where my travels have most recently taken me. On Watty's arrival in Claptrap some three weeks ago, he was quick to inform me that the reason for the device's fallible (I daresay non-existent!) performance is that it is in a state of dishabille, and would need to be deconstructed and reconstructed. This he promptly did, fuelled by claret and Mrs Wolport's most sturdy broth, however on full dismemberment he came to discover that there is in fact an (of course essential) part missing!

This led us to bid a rather tearful farewell to Mrs Wolport - tearful because the sweet lady had become quite dear to me over my time in the village, and because Watty so very quickly became devoted to her cooking - and to leave the fair environs of Claptrap to catch the fast airship out of Liverpool to Rapa Nui. (I am gratified to say that we most serendipitously were passing through Liverpool when the greater thrombat arrived with your package! But more about that next missive...) Watnot assures me that he some ten years ago saw a Rongorongo tablet there upon which was pictured the very part we seek! (As you know, I am not the one to laugh in the face of coincidence, since it has so often led me true)

Soon we will be alighting at Orongo, where I will dispatch this missive. In the meantime I had best get back to my Simpleton's Guide to Rongorongo, which Watty tells me will give me all I need to understand this intriguing language and with hope further our investigations.

I do hope that this finds you in good health and spirits.

Yours as ever, in darkness and in light,
Cedric

Watford and walks in the wood

My dear Wilbur,

How delightful to hear from you so soon, particularly since I see that your travels have taken you to darkest Zananialand! I had to laugh on reading of you catching sight of Rangociferous Blerisinia, as I remember how Rodders and his little paki sidekick - Gilpmed, was it? - used to tease you as to its very existence. I have hastily sketched a verisimilitude and thrombatted it to the two old letchers, where they have taken residence at Tiddlesbury-Under-Compton (aye indeed, the place of the recent Nadwort sighting! - so you can imagine what those two sceptics are about there, eh?!) I reminded them on your behalf that they now owe you a fine roast comprising Rodders' right buttock cheek in a redcurrant flambe, a gold-plated cleat for our uncle's clipper, and a woodland thrush in a mangrove tree for Mother's aviary.

I was also gratified to hear that your prodigious appetite has returned after your malaise last year, and await receipt of the Lumi with barely contained excitement. You more than anyone knows how my palate delights at adventures among the rare and unlikely! Speaking of which, I took you up on your suggestion to visit the Olde Lyme Inn, where they do indeed serve a fine claret with, I dare say, some rather unusual properties. On first partaking of the beverage, I was overcome by an extremely favourable frame of mind, where all and sundry with whom I conversed seemed to be the most excellent of fellows, full of wit and tales of rare adventure. This is of course is not unusual in the consuming of fine wines, which serve to sharpen the perceptions in a most pleasurable way and lend favour to even the dullest of discourse. What was unusual was that on waking the following morning I came to the realisation that it was damned unusual for there to be so many souls coming and going from such a quiet country establishment - and that indeed I do not even know if there are so many inhabitants in the whole of Claptrap as I had encountered the night before! And moreover on further contemplation, it occurred to me that not a one of those faces held any familiarity to me, though I have resided here for some three months now.

Intriguing to say the least, what, old chap?

I have many times since then wished that you were here so that I had somebody with whom, so to speak, to compare notes. However as you are regrettably so far distant at this time, I have instead sent for our cousin Watford, who though rather inclined toward flatulence has a voracious appetite for the unsual. (I have in self defense put him up in the Faire Maiden a short walk across the village - yes, I can hear your guffaw from here!) I do look forward to seeing old Watnot, and shall of course give him your best - ah to remember the high jinks we got up to as boys, in and out of our fort in the hedge at the bottom of Snitty Flintbottom's garden! Ah cousin, what days, what days!

But ha! I have methinks tormented you for long enough, what? I am sure you are in all eagerness to hear of my recent experimentations. As you may have surmised by dint of our long acquaintance, I heartily pray that, based on my delicate enquiries within the darkened halls of Number 5 Alder Crescent the contraption furnished by the mysterious Mr Burlap is one which will indeed aid us in our endeavours to visually perceive that which we have so long sought. My experimentations with the item are at their early stages, (I suspect old Watnot with his skill for tinkering will be of significant assistance) and at this point I cannot report any significant success. I did however have a blasted strange experience this Sunday past, which may or may not have had to do with the item. It was an extraordinarily fine day and I decided to take the contraption out with me on a Sunday meander. Close outwith the village is an extremely pleasant wood, where the trees let through the sunlight in a most restorative fashion, and within the wood is a glade that dips toward a fortifying natural spring. It was here that I stopped to take repast and examine our contraption, for reasons that you are no doubt aware. I have in some small ways found my way about the item, however I must confess it largely confounds me. In any matter, I had partaken of the extremely fine repast habitually provided by one Mrs Wolport, the fine cook who runs the establishment some few steps from my rooms, and found myself drifting pleasantly into slumber in the early afternoon sunlight. It seemed but moments that I drifted thus between sleeping and wakefulness, when I know not what startled my eyes open. Imagine my surprise then when my startled eyes revealed that dusk had fallen, the sun was gone, and I was quite quite cold! I got up hastily and gathered up my belongings and turned to head back to my lodgings - only to discover that I knew not where I was! I took considerable stumbling and a rather nasty fall to discover that I had somehow ended up on the very opposite side of the glade to where I had begun! Of course there can be no other explanation than the one that is in both our minds cousin! A most intriguing and exhilirating turn of events as I am sure you can imagine.

Ah, I believe I perceive the fine scents of my supper drifting to me up the stair and expect Mrs Wolport's firm yet feminine tap on the door posthaste.

And thus I leave you, ever fondly and with every wish for your continuing robust good health and success in your undertakings.

As ever your friend and confidante,
Cedric

Bestiaria Mysteria and Lashings of Lumi

Dear Cedric,

How felicitous I am to have received you letter! I was in ernest to hear of your intriguing interlude with the elusive Mr Burlap of Alder Cresent and may surmise that you are currently engaged in a most deep study of aforesaid mechanicle. I am on tenterhooks to be enlightened in due course. I have heard it said of Widdershanks that there is a most excellent establishment where a gentleman may enjoy a well stored claret which shews most exquisite colour and palate. I heartily persuade you, upon breaking from your investigations, to frequent this place and report as to their qualities.

As to my ‘recent adventures’, oh indeed! Would that I could acquire some mechanical contraption to capture the essence of the locales! How vast the landscapes! How bright the skies! How effervescent the waters! You may note that mine hand also suffers the tremens when I recall the sights and sounds, dear cousin.

Upon arriving at the first encampment we were met from our arduous initial pathfinding by a most welcome repast of cooked meats in the local style and a fortifying beverage, which I must admit I was to become increasingly fond of during my stay. The local savages refer to it as Lumi and though I was assured there were little or no addictive properties, I fear the taste did suit my palate efficiently so as to make it my first and last thought of the day. I have procured several cases of the stuff, which I am transporting via Liverpool and which I hope shall arrive before our next encounter. I expect you shall find it as pleasant as I!

You will now admit how fortuitous indeed it was that upon waking I was rewarded with the sight of the rare Rangociferous Blerisinia (Mr Derwent, in his Bestiaria Mysteria, counts them as one of the three most evanescent of the sub-Capricornian winged species) almost immediately upon rising to break my fast, which comprised several fruits (which I discovered growing upon the boughs of trees surrounding our encampment) and a strange sort of bread, which the savages call broch. In my haste to draw this specimen I quite forgot my appetite, (which you will note is most unlike your cousin) though the splendid hues of his (for I am most convinced it was the male by the prominent trio of horns upon his brow) feather and scales were lacking from my watercolours and thus I was forced to sketch a poor comparison in ink, which I have attached. You will be heartened to hear, though, that I made expedient provision of the fleet footed local and sent poste-haste for a new selection of coloris magia, which better allowed me to record these wondrous beasts.

It may becoming apparent that I pen this missive in the hour before Mrs Blenkinsop servs luncheon and that my stomach is most persistent in my memories of the Perandian forests! Thus I shall draw to a close and leave you with my sincerest good wishes for a prosperous examination of your recent acquisition.

With fond regards, in darkness and in light
Wilbur

Fair tidings old friend

Dear Wilbur,

How long it has been since we last communicated! And how much has transpired since that happy day! I find myself in urgent need to put pen to paper as I sit here awaiting my train to Abshot via Rustrum, and as you see, my hand is fair shaking with excitement! I have come most recently from the chambers of one Mr Burlap, to which I have long sought access, for there have been murmurs and whispers around the university that the rather unremarkable door to Number 5 Alder Crescent conceals myriad wonders for the esoterically inclined. I cannot at this juncture share with you what transpired within, and I suspect this is something that needs must occur on one of the rare occasions of our meeting face to face. However I can tell you that on leaving Number 5 Alder Crescent, I was furnished with the most intriguing of contraptions and told not to return. I am now making my way home to the rooms I have taken in Claptrap, a small village on the darkling side of Widdershanks, to ascertain in private and seclusion what this strange item might reveal.

I will leave this missive with the station thrombat to be delivered to you posthaste, wherever the tides have taken you on this day my dear old friend. I shall report back on my findings, as much as is possible via missive, and hope that it will not be long before we meet again. I hope to hear from you soon, and still await news of your most recent adventures, if I may call them that.

Yours as ever, in darkness and in light,
Cedric