Stirring Adventures and Mad Mods! Saving the world one questionable decision at a time.
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» I which, I am sorry to say, there is squabbling.
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There was no more line left, so they untied coils and coils of it from the still sleeping yeti and secured Gerhardt with that. He scrambled up again, let a little gas out of each balloon, and fastened the net closer to the ship.
They sank closer to the river’s rushing water, and were on their way for a while. But before another ten leagues had passed, they were stuck again.
“What else can we pitch?” Claire asked, thinking aloud.
They looked around them. They had thrown all the rugs and blankets out the windows for Ulrik and the boiler crew back on the surface. They had tossed out all the furniture when they’d run aground in the tunnel.
“Water!” Annabelle seized a small barrel. “There’s plenty of water now, let’s dump it. There’s another one over there.”
The second barrel proved not to be water, but a sharp-smelling, eye-watering alcohol.
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This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» Which contains a bit of fishing, a bit of cartography, and a bit of trouble.
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Image rjstyles' flickr photostream
Every time the tunnel branched the children stopped the ship and got out to examine their choices. They looked, listened, and smelled, straining for a hint of the Earth’s surface. For the most part, they just picked a random way. Whenever they made a choice, Gerhardt marked the tunnel.
He was out of marshmallows, but now that they could disembark he marked the wall with paint or chalk or whatever else the little ship could spare, signing GvH, so his parents knew where to find them, and so their path of discovery was marked for posterity.
“Perhaps we shall go down again,” Gerhardt said, “and find the center of the earth like Professor Lidenbrok.”
They were not going down, but up, ever so slightly, for the rest of the night and into the third day, when the smooth walls of their volcanic tunnel opened into a natural cave. The cave branched off their tunnel to left and right, but they could not get out and examine the cave to decide which way to go. The floor of the cave was covered with water!
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By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, April 17th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which the children run aground.
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They fell for two days according to Adolphus’ pocket watch, which was miraculously unharmed in all the excitement. They were tense, tired, grubby, irritable, and out of cookies.
Adolphus was once again at the controls, Mirabelle watching the tunnel with him.
“We’re not going straight down,” she said.
“No, the tunnel’s curving. I’ve swung the aft engine pods straight back to keep us away from the wall.” He fumbled at the controls. “There, I’ve got the lights on back there. Would you go watch that wall?”
“Of course. How shall I signal you? I don’t want to shout or whistle, Claire’s just fallen asleep.”
“Is there a light back there? If you flash a light I’ll see the reflection in the window here.”
Mirabelle walked around her twin and moved aft. Annabelle was once again applying her tweezers to the yeti and strange moss that grew into its skin. Concentrating on the yeti helped her forget her motion sickness, so she had made sketches, measurements, and taken extensive notes on the creature. She had even opened the cupboard and questioned Count Montesanto on the moss, but found him most unhelpful on that topic, although perfectly willing to expand her vocabulary of Italian obscenities. (She took extensive notes on this topic as well.) At this point, she had most of the moss removed, but the yeti still did not wake.
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By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, April 10th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which the children fall and the Count is ingrateful.
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The children fell and fell. It was exciting at first, until it was not. Then Claire tried to make it interesting, shouting out a five second geolologic commentary as they fell through successive layers of rock. Other than the fabled treacle layer (“Ooh, Sir Pratchett was right!”) the others were not amused, and the budding geologist had enough difficulty controlling their fall without analyzing strata.
Then she realized, after the first hour of their descent, that they were burning through the little ship’s fuel supply far too quickly. If they ran out of fuel, they would crash against the tunnel wall or floor, if it had a floor. To preserve fuel, they had to let themselves free fall, engaging the engines in short bursts only to slow their descent and avoid the walls of the tunnel.
Then it became a dreadful trip. The ship dropped like a stone, then slowed with a jerk as Claire brought the engine pods to bear. Even Mirabelle, who enjoyed the sensation of falling (being greatly addicted to carnival rides), was miserable after the first hour. The others felt worse, and poor Annabelle felt quite sick. After four hours, Claire realized something else.
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This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which we find out how Herr von Hedwig came to be dancing with La Belle Capitaine.
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An hour before, in the office of the Commander…
“Oui, oui, Monsieur von Hedwig, she is a remarkable flier. And I must admit, a natural-born leader. Men would follow her into hell itself.”
The Commander of the Armée Aeronautique in Saigon stared at his brocade curtains as though they might tell his story for him.
“I would follow her into hell,” he muttered.
Behind him, Herr vonHedwig silently riffled through the papers on the Commander’s desk. He didn’t have time for reminiscing.
“Why then did you not promote her? Because she is a woman?”
“That is a complication, but not the reason, though that is most likely what she thinks. No, Monsieur, it is because she is American. She has served most loyally, yes, but how can I give a foreigner authority over so many French?”
Herr vonHedwig sighed, running a hand through his hair. His fingers got caught. The hot Saigon night was curling his already thorny hair into brambles. He extracted them, and captured his wild mop under his hat.
“Where is her racer berthed?”
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By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, March 20th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which broken hearts meet.
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Madame vonHedwig found the sad man in the back corner of the airmen’s bar. The gas lamps were low throughout, but all the lamps close to his table were out. He sat in the dark, rolling an empty wine bottle with one hand, steadily drinking its twin with the other.
She stood across from him, even cleared her throat, but he would not look up.
“Why so dejected, my friend?” she said.
“Go away.”
Madame pulled over a chair from another table.
“No and no, Mademoiselle! There is only one woman, and you are not she. Go away.”
“Ah,” Madame said, “La Belle Capitaine has broken your heart.”
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By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, March 10th, 2010
The Schöneluft boiler crew have (apparently) unionized. Why? Who knows! (None of us can speak their language, after all.) Nevertheless, a shipment of their Official Union shirts was waiting for us when we docked in Copenhagen last week. They’re rather charming, and if you would like to order one for yourself, you may do so at the Steampunk Family Zazzle Store!
By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, February 27th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which our distraught parents race for help, and Madame and Chef reach an understanding.
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Only the Schöneluft had the fuel stores and engine power for a run from the Himalyas across southeast Asia to the French capital of Vietnam. She could fly nearly 80 miles an hour under the right conditions, but those conditions had not been met in years. The more children they acquired, the more comforts the von Hedwigs had deemed desirable, and the slower the great airship had become.
With their children’s lives at stake, the von Hedwig parents took no chances. An hour’s work here, in the shadow of the mountain that had swallowed their offspring, could save them hours in flight. Ulrik was securing the Schmetterling inside the tunnel’s mouth to keep it safe from storm and avalanche in their absence. Herr von Hedwig plotted their course to Saigon, and Madame was in the Galley, negotiating with Chef.
They spoke in French, a language Madame spoke fluently, although despite rumors she had carefully started, it was not her native tongue.
“Monsieur, we leave within the hour, and the galley stays here. We need sufficient food supplies for two days brought into the ship in the next twenty minutes. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”
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By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, February 20th, 2010
This entry is part of a series, Voyage to Antafrica» In which, although the circumstances are dark indeed, a beacon of hope shines from afar.
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Madame took off the moment her husband was on board. Although she was agitated, her flying was steady, and they soon arrived at the mouth of the tunnel that had swallowed their children. There was no place to land. They anchored, to a stalactite above them and a stalagmite below. Herr von Hedwig rappelled down to the site, bathed in the Schmetterling’s searchlight.
Madame paced between the hatch and the controls, wringing her hands. A dozen times an anxious question leapt to her lips; a dozen times she quelled it. Her husband examined the cave mouth, called for more line, and then went deeper, out of her view. She stayed at the line, alert for any signal from him. At length, one came – again, more line! He was descending. She focused the spotlight down into the blackness. Although her beloved was lost from her sight, she hoped the light would be of use to him. He carried the lantern as well.
At last, the signal to wind in the line. At last he returned.
“The ship was here; they went into the tunnel. There are scratch marks along the floor.”
“Why did they go in there?” Madame’s voice strained with the effort of control.
“The blackguard must have forced them. He must have a yeti or two with him. The children would have overpowered him otherwise.”
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