By Madame vonHedwig on Friday, December 11th, 2009
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which our hero is prepared for a romantic emergency.
.
.
Not much farther along, the tunnel reached the extreme point of its width, and drew narrower again. It continued, however, to lead the travelers down. After another mile or so, they could no longer walk abreast, so Herr vonHedwig took the lead, lantern tucked into his belt.
“It’s a tight squeeze ahead, my dear,” he whispered behind him. “If this is a trap, it’s an excellent one. I think we’d better move by feel and sound, at this point, just in case.
He darkened the lantern, and they crept silently into the darkness. They moved forward guided by feel and sound, but it was the smell that stopped them. A musky, hairy, animal stench stopped them in their tracks. They stood absolutely still, listening. When quite some time passed without any sound but their own breathing, Herr vonHedwig whispered the question on both their minds.
“What big hairy thing lives here and what does it eat?”
Continue Reading…
By Madame vonHedwig on Friday, November 13th, 2009
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» 
Bettina vs the sweeper
In which permission is asked, but not given.
-
“So,” Father said, “your hypothesis is that the mythological yeti is an actual creature residing in this region. Your evidence is personal observation by Adolphus, Mirabelle, Annabelle, and Bettina.” He glanced down at his youngest, momentarily distracted by her battle with his sweeping machine.
“I saw it too, just now,” Gerhardt asserted.
“Very well,” Mother said, “what are the next steps you wish to take in your research?”
Adolphus and the twins put their heads together. Gerhardt tried to push his way into their huddle. Claire tried to look aloof, sketching the folded rock formation. Bettina finished eating marshmallows from the floor and turned around to extract her shoelaces from the sweeper.
Adolphus stepped forward. “We would like to mount a more focused aerial search, using your launch, with the possibility of ground re –…” He looked back at the twins, who hissed at him in unison. “Possibility of ground reconnaissance. You know, have a look round for tracks, and um, scat, I suppose.”
“That’s the idea!” said Gerhardt. “And while we have the launch, we can go sledding!”
He was momentarily suppressed by Annabelle and Mirabelle, but recovered quickly. “I mean to say, I concur.”
Continue Reading…
By Madame vonHedwig on Thursday, November 12th, 2009
Ulrik in the lab
Ulrik is P. Phinneas vonHedwig’s current laboratory assistant. Ulrik had nearly finished his studies at the Academy, when his academic career was cut short with a bang. Herr vonHedwig heard about the bang, and found the cause of the explosion so creative and promising, that he took on its author as his apprentice. Though of a taciturn nature, Ulrik gets on well with the other inhabitants of the Schöneluft. In his more reflective moments, he wanders the envelope catwalks playing his violin. He and Philomena used to play duets together, before she left for the Academy, and remain great friends. Ulrik’s only unusual trait is that his hair is particularly sensitive to chemicals and energy waves, and frequently changes color due to his time in the laboratory.
By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, November 11th, 2009
It is a vonHedwig family tradition to picnic in a graveyard every autumn. As winter gains strength, frost kills, and wind rattles the leaves off the limbs, Death whispers in your ear. I AM HERE.
Of course, the Cold Man is always here, but he’s easier to ignore while the bee is on the flower. Since it is very much a vonHedwig tradition to face what threatens, we dress in our mourning finest and meet him where he lives. Or rather, doesn’t.
This year we accepted the gracious invitation of other like-minded souls, and joined Those Who Mourn at the lovely Rock Creek Cemetery for a picnic. The weather was unseasonably but enjoyably warm, and we explored, and made friends, and toasted those who have gone before.
Preparations, of course, included new hats. The twins, Annabelle and Mirabelle, trimmed their own.
Alice band
+ hot glue
+ ribbons
+ feathers
+ little black beads
over veil
= appropriate and elegant new headgear
P. Phinneas, usually resplendent in a brown topper, had to find headgear to match his grandfather’s black frock coat. He settled on a grey wool slouch, fitted with an emergency tool stash. The Fearless Fabricator is never without the means of production!
My own topper only needed a bit of trimming to include a veil, and a Día de los Muertos touch.
The cemetery has been in use some 300 years, and has much to delight the senses. We picnicked by the lotus pond, whose brown stems and rattling seed pods reminded us – as I am now, so shall you be.
Chef had prepared a cold collation, which we presented buffet style on a suitably elegant tomb. Then, with apple cider and schloss, we toasted the dead.
We met many fascinating people, some again and some for the first, but I hope not the last, time. More photos can be found on the von Hedwig Flickr photostream.
By Madame vonHedwig on Sunday, September 13th, 2009
I apologize for failing to post last week. It is the end of summer, where the great airship is moored, and there was music, and music, and water, and water, all of which had to be enjoyed. After all, we must have time off from posting, so that we may have more adventures to post about! I shall try to make it up to you with an extra post, the first in a series of character introductions. Allow me to make known to you my estimable and most cherished husband…
The Fearless Fabricator
P. Phinneas vonHedwig
Scion of an ancient Prussian family, the Fearless Fabricator followed ancestral tradition and attended the prestigious Academy, where for centuries, scientists have gone to hone their mad skills. His academic career proved memorable; he was asked to leave mid-way through his senior year, escorted from the smoking ruins of the Moreau Genetics Wing by grim-faced faculty and cheering students.
Mystery clouds his post-Academy adventures, but he soared back to international prominence with his invention of the Veritiscope, a revolutionary moving picture device, which he used to document the hurly-burly, risque world of Parisian burlesque and circus performers.
He shocked his family by marrying a “showy nobody” (in his mother’s words) and taking to the skies in his airship, the Schoneluft, rather than taking over the family estates on his father’s death.
He travels the world with his remarkable family, inventing and agitating, saving the world, one questionable decision at a time.
This entry is part of a series, Philomena Flies» 
Philomena vonHedwig smiles
“I must beg your pardon, Fraulein von Hedwig.” He sounded very serious now, and kept his eyes on the floor. “I had not considered my actions might be perceived in this way. I never meant to cause you distress. I apologize.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting the badge I brought you, then.”
I sighed. I felt quite ridiculous now, for I was behaving like a spoiled child. And even worse, I realized I would love to have one of those badges. There loomed an impassable gulf between my outburst and touchy pride, and his good intentions and impeccably wavy hair. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. The vulture was asleep, and no help at all.
“Is this your work here? What is… oh I say, they’re wings! My gears and garters! You never jumped off the roof – you flew!”
“Plummeted, actually. I don’t need your flock of jumpers to make my invention frivolous. It’s useless.”
He walked about the wreckage studiously.
“I don’t know, the concept seems sound enough. It’s a bit heavy, perhaps. Clever, though.”
“It would be if it worked.”
“So you’re not just a dashing adventuress, but an inventor, too. Or is it inventress? Inventrix?”
“Invented words should illuminate or amuse.” That was one of Father’s.
“Well said! It’s a family trait, then, inventing? You’re famous for it! Especially your father – The Fearless Fabricator. I’ve heard some outlandish stories about his school days!”
Oh dear.
“Did he really –“
“Yes. No! I don’t really know what happened. Let’s just say they are unlikely to name a new wing after him.”
“Not after they had to rebuild the old one,” he said thoughtfully. “Is it true that your mother was once a circus performer?”
I hesitated before answering, to let the ice crystallize in my voice. “You cannot suppose I would have the impertinence ask her that,” I said.
“Oh dear,” he said glumly, “I must apologize again. I beg your pardon, both for my impertinence and for making my conversation dull and repetitive through constant apologies.”
“Oh,” I said, “you’re not dull.”
“Thank you. Perhaps instead of this pin, which I am now afraid to give you in case you stick it in me, I can offer you some of my impertinence – I have it to spare.”
“I see.”
“And if you consent to be seen in public again, I’m reasonably certain I can keep the other Fliers from crowding around you and asking for autographs.”
“That would be nice.”
“If I give you the pin, are you going to stick me with it?”
I pretended to consider, then held out my hand. “No.”
He dropped the pin in my outstretched hand, with a dazzling smile.
“You are quite a fascinating girl.”
“Oh dear,” I said, “dashing and fascinating! No one will ever take me seriously.”
“I will,” Nick said, “but only if you don’t expect me to be so. I’m a ridiculous fellow – quite a slave to merriment.”
“I never would have guessed.”
“You scoff, but it’s true. I am excessively frivolous. So much so,” he laid is hand over his heart, looking grave, “that I have learned to play the piano accordion. It is dreadful of me, I know, but there it is.”
I adore the accordion. Love it.
“Really?” I gasped. “We… we’re not very musical, in my family. We sing a bit, I suppose. And Ulrik plays the violin. He practices in the envelope scaffolding, and it echoes. Very haunting, sometimes.”
“How romantic. Who is this Ulrik, one of your brothers?”
“No, he’s Father’s assistant.”
“I dislike him already.”
“No, why?”
“For playing the violin romantically near young women. The fellow’s clearly a menace.”
“Aren’t you a menace for playing the accordion?”
“Absolutely! But I never play around young women. It drives them off.”
“Do you play badly?”
“No, I play tolerably well, but it is the accordion. Most people don’t like it.”
“Most people don’t jump off castles into ravines.”
I smiled up at him, and he smiled back, and I have no idea how long that went on, but it was very pleasant. Then the vulture woke, squawking. Nick jumped.
“Listen, I’m sure I’ve been enough of a nuisance for the moment, but I was wondering – my mother is a sort of amateur folklorist, and she’s taken an interest in the vampire lore of Eastern Europe.”
“How fascinating.”
“Do you think so?”
“Why yes. I’ve always enjoyed comparative anthropology.”
“Well, good. The mater’s haring off to Transylvania when term ends, and wants Pelly and me to go with her. Father can’t get away from the Foundry, apparently. I don’t suppose you might want to come too?”
I felt a bit dizzy, and didn’t answer right away. Of all the improper, impertinent, wonderful invitations to receive under a screaming vulture at three in the morning!
“I shouldn’t ask, I know. If blood-sucking fiends don’t drain you, you’ll have to put up with my impertinent accordion playing. After a few days you’ll undoubtedly be breaking open crypts to find a fiend to put you out of your misery.”
I laughed. He smiled again, and raised his eyebrows in question.
“If your mother asks me to accompany her, and my family can spare me, I believe I might enjoy a trip to Transylvania.”
“Jolly good!”
“And now, I’m off to bed. If you wouldn’t mind letting the vulture out?”
“What?”
And I sailed out of the Fabrication Hall, no – floated out of the hall, flying at last.
This story began here.
In which a bit of moss indicates unpleasantness to come.
