This year, so far, has been remarkably quiet in the city. It's as if Fate has decided to give us all time to recover from the Dark Aether horror of late last year. The weather was snowy, but not terribly so, and not as cold as last winter. The Militia has not been needed for anything. Really, the worst that's happened is the double loss of Miss Elleon's properties. Granted, Mariah told me recently about the strange disappearance of Captain Static of Armada, but I don't imagine that that will impact us much.

So what have I been doing? Not a great deal, really. I've continued with my photographic work for Mrs. Breezy's balls, and for the Aether Salons, and assisted Baron Wulfenbach in coordinating those Salons since he began overseeing them. I made my delayed visit to my parents--giving them a much edited version of what happened last year. (I'm not sure how much they read between the lines, though.) And I've simply...rested.

Even the impending Oiling Festival hadn't been enough to stir me much. It is, after all, one thing to create a crude snow sculpture, and quite another to create something for the Festival. I didn't imagine that there'd be much to make me busy, beyond more photography, and judging in the category the Consulate is sponsoring.

Ahh, but there is that charitable fundraising in which we participate every year. Mrs. Breezy has been wonderful in overseeing the fundraising side the past few years, but it is time for her to rest from such labors. Clockwinder Tenk asked for volunteers at the Town Hall meeting. I didn't say anything at the time, but waited a few days to see what would happen.

No one stepped forward. And so, I have.

What have I done?

I would guess that what I imagine I'm getting myself into isn't half of what I actually *will* be getting into. I just hope I can find people to give me support, as Mrs. Breezy had over the years. Otherwise, this could get very difficult, very fast.

Well. No sense borrowing trouble. Time to face this squarely, do what needs to be done now, and think of and solicit ideas for the near future.

Last weekend was the third Wulfenbach Consulate Game Day, and it was a great deal of fun! Overall, attendance was quite good, though some events were more well-attended than others. I wish, though, that more people would view this event as it's intended--a deliberate attempt to bring Steamlanders out of the insularity of their chosen abodes and bring them together in fun and friendly competition.

I was unable to make the planning sessions this time, so I instead attended and photographed as much as I could.

The "Day" started with the Opening Ball in a gorgeous setting that combined fire and ice. Attendees skated or danced to music provided by Mr. Otenth Paderborn. After the ball was the polar-bear riding--like bull riding, but with a more appropriate wintry animal. Most of us (and yes, I attempted it myself--three times) were thrown off in short order, but Mr. Hono Berada bested us all by managing to stay on for an amazing two-and-a-half minutes!

Sunday's first event, which I was unable to attend, was the individual En Garde tournament. It was won by Admiral Wildstar Beaumont, who bested Miss Mary Nuyasaka. Tepic Harlequin came in third--I do wish I could have been there to cheer him on--and Miss Nika Thought-werk was fourth.

Later that afternoon was the aerial dogfight competition. I made an attempt at this myself...which only proved that I really should stay on the ground. One Mr. Bobby Troughton trounced us all, scoring twice as many points as the second-place finisher, New Babbage-newcomer Grollvurk. Miss MegAmp placed third.

Several of us cooled off afterwards with a snowball fight in Caledon. Miss Nyree Rain won the first round, and I was most thoroughly pelted. I changed my tactics in the second round, and so managed to win! My prize...was an Ornithopter from Jimmy Branagh. Given my lack of flying prowess, that probably wasn't the best thing to give me. *chuckle*

After that was another change of venue, this time to New Toulouse for the Team Zombie Hunt. There were teams from Caledon and Armada, as well as one fielded by the staff of the Steampunk Tintype & Telegraph publication, and one comprised of miscellaneous Steamlanders. Team Armada won the event and bragging rights, scoring an astonishing 88 kills in 10 minutes! (Could New Babbage have bested them? Well, we'll never know *now*, will we? *thppt*)

The evening ended with the Closing Ball in Steelhead, with music provided by Mrs. Magda Haiku. It was an enjoyable ending in a beautiful setting, and a wonderful way to broaden one's horizons.

With the distraction of this over, though, I must admit that I'm worried about Gadget. I've not seen or heard from him since he came to me last month with his worries about the Van Creed's battle clanks. I do hope he's all right. I wonder if he'd have more information in his laboratory...

For that matter, I wonder where his laboratory is now...

Bookworm was down in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Sawyer when they heard a knock at the back door. She opened it, and saw Gadget standing there, fidgeting as always. "Hello, Gadget," she said, motioning behind her back for Mrs. Sawyer to leave them. "Do come in."

"Good day, Miss," Gadget replied, stepping into the warm kitchen. Bookworm was about to offer him something to drink, but he burst out right away with, "I bring news of matters of concern."

Bookworm almost brought her hand up to her face for a nosepinch, but restrained the impulse. 'I should have known,' she thought wryly.

"You got my note about Moriarty?" When Bookworm nodded, Gadget continued, "Well, 'e is out of the picture, but I think we 'ave something else to worry about, something wot 'as been keeping me awake at night."

"Keeping *you* awake?" Bookworm interjected. "I don't like the sound of that..."

"Thankfully a lot of folk seem to 'ave forgotten about something wot 'Opkins said in that warehouse. It's probably for the best, 'cus if they realized the significance there might be a panic."

Bookworm reined in her impatience as she waited for him to get to the point.

"'E mentioned that the 'new clanks wern't delivered yet.'"

Bookworm nodded. "Yes, Arnold mentioned that at the time."

"It is my belief that those clanks pose a very grave threat, perhaps more so than even the monsters of the aether. They do not eat, they do not rest, they are....ruthless and relentless. And they will stop at nothing until the town is razed should they be given such an order"

Bookworm shuddered a bit. "Do you think the Van Creed would actually do that?"

"It is my belief that the VC are in disarray after wot 'appened," Gadget said portentiously. "But... I 'ave been making some discreet enquiries. I 'ave an... agent... in the field on behalf of us, the UDWR." At Bookworm's look, he explained, "My department of the Below 13 Club, urchins sworn to protect ourselves and the city through science. My department is the Urchin Defense and Weapons Research department."

Bookworm nodded, her lips twitching a bit as she hid a smile at that.

"My agent has uncovered evidence that the VC may have used somebody else to provide them with the Clanks. That person may now be acting independently. And Miss Book, if I am right, this person is a very serious and credible threat to this city. his capabilities are... not to be underestimated."

Bookworm sighed and frowned, thinking furiously. "Do you know where this person, or the clanks, are now?"

"Alas, no," Gadget replied. "My agent is working to uncover that information as we speak."

Bookworm nodded. "Please let me know if you hear anything more. I'll see if any of my contacts can learn anything, too."

"It is a difficult task, though; the VC have covered their tracks well." Gadget frowned. "I feel it would be prudent to plan a defense, and to that end I am planning to seek volunteers. But I am anxious not to cause widespread panic."

Bookworm nodded. "I'll certainly want to help."

"Might the militia take an interest in this operation?"

She pondered that for a moment. "If the threat to the city is certain, I'm sure they will," she finally said.

" I think secrecy would be for the best, we would not want to pre-empt any plans the enemy might have by alerting them to our preparations before time. I am producing a leaflet for distribution on a person-to-person basis, requesting volunteers. Might I pass it to you for distribution through your own channels discreetly?"

"Please." Bookworm took the leaflet Gadget passed her, doing her best to keep a solemn countenance at the somewhat childish scrawl.

"I shall be doing the same throughout the Urchins," Gadget continued. Then he headed for the door, saying, "Ok, Miss, I shall keep you informed of any progress."

"Thank you," Bookworm replied, letting him out as he touched his hat to her. Bookworm watched him go, and sighed. And yet, it wasn't really that much of a surprise. The quiet that had descended on the city for the holidays was too good to last.

It was Sunday afternoon. Bookworm had set aside, for the moment, the news Gadget had brought her of his work on battle clanks, and had disappeared into her studio to work on developing pictures. On a trip into the kitchen for a break and a snack, she heard the front door open. She hurried to the front of the house, and there saw Mariah, just closing the door. Mariah turned around, hearing her, and looked at her with an expression Bookworm had never seen on her face before--a mixture of embarrassment and hesitation.

"Mariah!" Bookworm exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, around and about," Mariah replied, gesturing vaguely. She looked at Bookworm soberly. "So. We survived."

"We did." Bookworm gestured toward the living room, and they settled on the couch in front of the fireplace, taking a more-than-usual comfort in its warmth. Mariah started first, explaining what had happened since she'd stormed out of their house. It didn't take long, actually--she'd apparently spent most of the time in one bar or another, wondering if every day would be her last. At Bookworm's urging, she explained about her past and the superstition she'd had for so long about what would happen if she returned to New Babbage.

Bookworm said solemnly, "The Dark Aether certainly found a fertile field with that, unfortunately."

Mariah nodded, looking sheepish. "I was actually watching the Van Creed building on Friday, waiting for Armageddon to start. And it... didn't."

Bookworm shook her head and filled Mariah in on the frantic events from her point of view--the creation and round-up of the Cloud Angels and their use on the canisters, their gathering at City Hall, and the confrontation with Mr. Hopkins of the Van Creed, and his murder of Sebastian.

Mariah looked startled at that. "He did that? Damn. I saw him lighting out of the building when it started collapsing like his tail was on fire. If I'd known, I would have collared him for you."

"The militia sent out an alert, but he made himself scarce. I'm sure the Van Creed have their own ways in and out of the city." Bookworm continued her account with the retrieval of the last Cloud Angel by Jimmy, their frantic race to the Van Creed building, and its use just in time.

"We had already changed the path, though," Bookworm said. "The clanks that would have killed me weren't even there."

"Interesting," Mariah mused.

"Oh! Where are Mrs. Sawyer and Mrs. Pritchard?" Bookworm asked.

"I told them to stay in Caledon. No need for them to meet their fate so soon." Mariah smiled wryly.

Bookworm chuckled. "Will they be willing to come back?"

"Oh, I'm sure they will. I already telegraphed them that we're still standing--I'm just waiting for their reply."

Bookworm nodded, then stared into the fire for several minutes. "As I see it," she finally said, "we have three hanging threads. First is the matter of the Van Creed and their clanks. From what I understand, Mr. Hopkins didn't say that they weren't ready, just that they hadn't been shipped here. The question is, what will they do with them now? And where are they, for that matter?"

"A good question indeed. I'll see what my contacts abroad can discover."

"Thank you. The next loose end is Dr. Martel's missing notebook. Who took it originally, how did it get to Gadget, and where is it now? Though even if it was destroyed in the warehouse, I'm sure the Van Creed had plenty of time to copy it." Bookworm sighed as Mariah nodded in agreement.

"And finally, there's Moriarty." Bookworm rubbed her head. "I need to talk to Commodore Dagger and Gadget about him--but not until after the holidays."

"What do you need to discuss with them?"

"I want to ask Miss Jed if he should be charged with anything. I can certainly think of plenty, but she may not agree. And if he should, the next question is, can he answer to those charges in his current condition?"

Mariah shrugged. "That's definitely beyond my reckoning."

Bookworm chuckled. "Well, as I said, that's for later. For now, I'm just looking forward to a nice, quiet Christmas."

((This is very rough, but I wanted to get it down and posted while it was still somewhat clear in my mind. I'm sure other will write their perspectives to add to this basic picture.))

Bookworm sat at the bar in Brunel Hall, sipping a glass of wine. It was evening, Friday evening, and she was still alive. And so were the inhabitants of New Babbage. Against all odds, they'd prevailed.

It had started early in the afternoon at the Clockhaven Power Station. She and several other New Babbagers had gathered there at the behest of Miss Falcon. There, they saw a strange symbol inscribed in the snow of the small walkway. After some time, the Malkuth knight, Sebastian, had finally arrived, demanding candles...and insisting that they needed people to be ready to fly. Bookworm had rolled her eyes, wondering why he hadn't mentioned such details before, and helped the others to scrounge enough candles for their purpose. That done, the arcane ritual started with Sebastian placing a small box in the center. Chanting and exhortations to a goddess followed, making Bookworm feel rather uncomfortable.

But there was no denying that something happened. The box mysteriously opened by itself, and a bolt of electricity shot out. After a moment, Sebastian pronounced the ritual a success. He finally explained that his goddess and the spirit of New Babbage had worked together to call Cloud Angels to the skies above them. Now it was time for those with airships to go and find them.

Bookworm had never piloted an airship before, so she stayed on the ground, waiting for the others to find what they needed. She met Miss Falcon, Mr. Melnik, Commodore Dagger, and Loki Eliot at the Imperial Theater. They had one of the Cloud Angels, so they went inside to test it on the canister there. While the others ran interference with the crab creatures, Mr. Melnik approached the canister and set down the cloud angel.

With a shower of sparks and smoke, and a truly hideous sound, the canister exploded, leaving behind only the pile of rubble that showed where it had pushed through. Cheered by their success, the hunters made sure the other canisters around town met the same fate. Bookworm especially saw to the one by her own home, watching its destruction with Nat, Arnold, Miss Hermit, and Gadget.

That done, they met back at City Hall, finding Sebastian there. Before they could learn, or decide, what their next step would be, that choice was taken from them. Mr. Hopkins of the Van Creed arrived, livid at what they had done. Sebastian confronted him, and, to the horror of those assembled, Hopkins pulled out a gun and shot Sebastian!

Some of the group, including Commodore Dagger, Miss Falcon, and Arnold, ran after Mr. Hopkins, who was heading toward the Van Creed building. Bookworm, though, stayed by Sebastian, hoping to somehow help Dr. Sonnerstein save him. He was wounded too badly, though. With his dying breaths, he told them that one last Cloud Angel was in the Malkuth crypt, one that Jimmy would have to get himself. And then he told them that at least one good thing had come from this--they were no longer on the Writer's path.

With that small consolation, Bookworm and the others, escorted Jimmy to the crypt, making sure no Van Creed members were around. Inside, Jimmy found the bag containing the Cloud Angel on one of the tombs, which he snatched up immediately. Upon their exit from the crypt, they found Arnold, panting from his run from the Van Creed building. He told them Moriarty was there, and had convinced Hopkins to start up their machinery immediately. He was also keeping the New Babbagers at bay.

That sent Bookworm, Jimmy, and their group scurrying for the Van Creed building as quickly as possible. They dashed inside and down the hall. Bookworm was in the lead, and told them to wait, as she peered around the corner. She could hear the machinery humming, and Moriarty boasting. Suddenly, a terrifying figure faded into view before them, towering to the ceiling, with tentacles and a terrible eye fixed upon those below.

"Now, Jimmy!" Bookworm yelled, dashing inside to keep him covered. Jimmy ran in and pulled the Cloud Angel out of the bag, releasing it against the horror before them. Its release had an effect Bookworm hadn't anticipated, as she heard Moriarty yell, "What have you done to my powers?! What is happening?"

"We're spoiling your story!" Bookworm couldn't resist yelling, as she watched the monster before them disintegrate. Unfortunately, the building also began disintegrating, prompting Bookworm and Commodore Dagger to try to herd everyone out. Emphasis on try, as Gadget and Miss Falcon were trapped on the upper level with Moriarty. Both Nat and Dr. Sonnerstein went in after them--with Nat even expressing a desire to rescue Moriarty, who was lying senseless. Bookworm yelled at him to leave Moriarty there, but he wouldn't listen, and Bookworm had to fall back, driven out by smoke and falling debris.

Outside, she had to carefully pick her way around pieces of the building that had fallen. It took several minutes before she got clear and joined the ones who had finally heeded their warnings, and several more before she was able to cough her lungs clear. She turned to look back at what was left of the Van Creed building, but thankfully, before she could start to worry too much, she saw the missing members of their party emerging from the wreckage. Her thankfulness, though, diminished when she saw what Gadget was dragging--a stretcher with the body of Moriarty on it.

Commodore Dagger caught her attention then, though, asking if she knew the fate of Mr. Hopkins. Bookworm had asked the others that same question, and learned that he'd run out of the building as quickly as possible, and disappeared. Ms. Dagger told her to alert the transportation hubs, and make sure nothing left without being sure Mr. Hopkins was on it. Bookworm left to carry out those orders, though she was sure he probably had his own ways of arriving and departing.

And after that, Bookworm took a little time to clean up and change, and go to Brunel Hall for the party--the party that could now proceed in safety.

Bookworm sipped at her wine again, thinking of her own actions and motives throughout the day. She wasn't at all happy that they hadn't been able to stop the murder of Sebastian; surely she could have stepped in sooner. And when she thought of how she'd urged those inside the Van Creed building to leave Moriarty there...well, she flushed with shame at her lack of compassion. And leaving them inside hadn't been very heroic, even if Commodore Dagger had been ordering her out along with everyone else.

She shook her head as she finished her wine. 'I still have a lot to learn,' she thought.

"In there?" Arnold asked, nodded at the Van Creed building. "Not much chance of convincing anyone of anything in there."

"We'll provide aerial cover, Miss," Gadget said. "Be careful."

Bookworm nodded at Gadget, marched boldly up to the door, and knocked. "Is anyone there?" she called. "This is Ms. Hienrichs of the New Babbage Militia. I wish to have a word with the person in charge." She waited a few moments, hearing Arnold conversing with a newly-arrived Dr. Sonnerstein. Finally, the door opened, and a man with the Van Creed symbol pinned on his shirt stepped out. "Please leave," he said shortly.

"Are you, perchance, Mr. Hopkins?" Bookworm asked.

"Please. This is private property," he said.

"All I wish is a few moments of your time, sir, to talk."

"Hmmm." Mr. Hopkins looked at her keenly, but she waited patiently, keeping her expression pleasantly neutral.

"I will grant you a moment, but you must tell your flying companions to stop circling this building, or we shall shoot them down."

Bookworm glanced back at Arnold and Dr. Sonnerstein, in time to see the latter grimace. "Call them down, will you please?" Dr. Sonnerstein nodded, and she mouthed silently at them, "And stay here."

"Please be quick," Mr. Hopkins added. "The cannons are already following their movements."

"Gadget, come down here, please!" shouted Dr. Sonnerstein.

Without waiting to see if the call was successful, Mr. Hopkins gestured toward the door. "Please follow me, Miss Hienrichs."

She followed him down the hall and into the main room. Her eyes widened at the sight of the built Aether Pump, and she nearly checked her stride, but Mr. Hopkins continued on to one of the staircases, and she had to hurry to follow him. Upstairs, the rebuilt Porta Terrarum sat waiting. Mr. Hopkins hurried past it, and opened the door to one of the offices. Bookworm followed him inside.

"Right. How can I help you?" he asked curtly.

"There are several things I would like to understand--"

"Can I first mention," he interrupted, "that it is rare for anyone to be allowed in on Van Creed activity, so do not be surprised if I refuse to answer any of your questions."

Bookworm smiled wryly. "I would have been more surprised if you hadn't, frankly." She took a breath and asked, "Would you be willing to discuss your organization's current relationship with Mr. Jason Moriarty?"

"No."

'Figures,' she thought. 'But I notice he doesn't deny there *is* one...'

"Well, then," she said aloud. "Are you aware of the existence of a writing automaton that came to the city two months ago?"

"Yes, we are aware of that," he replied, "and we are aware of the town's rather irrational response to it."

"You do not believe that what it is writing could happen, then?"

"Madam, it is an automaton. Entertainers and magicians have been constructing such things for a while now, and their job is to amaze and cause illusions of disbelief."

"Yet it has accurately described the machines that appeared throughout town--the large machines, and the crab machines that come from them. How do you account for that?"

"We do not believe the two are connected," Mr. Hopkins replied grandly. "Someone in this town is playing to the town's fear, and writing the book as things unfold. In the meantime, the Machines have a different origin."

"Which is what?"

"We believe they are merely spyglasses from the other Aether world."

"Rather...violent spyglasses," Bookworm said wryly. "And for whom, or what, would they be spying?"

"As we peer into the Aether, they on the other side peer back at our world, perhaps for the same reason we are looking into the Aether."

Bookworm leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. Could this be her chance to convince them that, even if their view was right, there was still danger? "All right, then," she said. "Assume that you are right, and we are wrong."

"Yes, you are wrong," he interjected.

"These "spyglasses" are violent. They *do* attack people."

"You speak of the crab-like creatures. From what we can tell, they are a parasitic life form from the Aether that hitch a ride on the canisters." He shook his head impatiently. "Look, you have to put this in perspective. We are at a moment in time comparable with the discoveries of new continents, with new possibilities, new materials, new frontiers--the expansion of progress. The City that gets there first will have the biggest part to play in the future of mankind."

"But what you are risking is comparable to Columbus bringing back an unkillable creature that proceeds to wipe out Spain. Rather self-defeating, that."

"Standing back and taking no risks is not how progress achieves greatness, my dear. There is risk in all things."

"There are acceptable risks, and there are unacceptable risks," Bookworm said as intently as she could, trying to somehow break through his stubborn front.

Again, you must tune your perspective, young woman," Mr. Hopkins said archly. "The industrial age sees many put at risk for the prize of leading innovation and progress. Children in the cotton mills die each year by the machines they use. Miners die by hundreds as they dig for the materials needed to motivate the machinery."

"But innovation and progress do no good if there is no one left alive to benefit by them."

"You have been reading too many automaton books," Mr. Hopkins said dismissively. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like you to leave. I have answered enough of your questions."

Bookworm sighed. "I am sorry to find you so resolute. I will just say this: Moriarty plans to kill us. And you will not be immune to it."

"We are aware of Moriarty's mental attitude," he replied. "But I have already stated we will not discuss the man." He gestured firmly toward the door, and Bookworm followed him out and down the stairs. She paused a moment at the bottom, looking at the machine, then glanced back at Mr. Hopkins.

"She's a magnificent machine, yes?" he said proudly.

"In a way," Bookworm replied. Then she muttered under her breath, "As the tiger is magnificent even as it tears out your throat."

"She will become the symbol of Babbage's new dominance in industry, once we start her up in a month's time."

Bookworm's ears pricked up at that, but she said nothing as she followed Mr. Hopkins to the door. He followed her out, glancing at the others waiting below. "We would prefer it if you told the urchins not to play around here. It is dangerous." Bookworm nodded noncommittally. "I bid you good evening," he said, going back inside and shutting the door firmly.

"Didn't work, then," Arnold said.

"No," Bookworm replied. She walked a bit further away from the entrance.

"It's not like you could expect anything else," Arnold continued, following her. "Moriarty's master that he keeps talking about is right there, practically. There was no way you'd be able to sway him in there."

She sighed, knowing the truth of his words, and paused, leaning against the wall.

"Are you feeling well, though, Miss Hienrichs?" he asked.

"I was starting to worry..." Dr. Sonnerstein added.

Bookworm nodded. "I...had something of my own breakthrough a few days ago." She smiled as Dr. Sonnerstein tilted his head, a questioning look on his face. "Nothing much, but enough that keeping it in mind keeps the Dark Aether more at bay."

Gadget and Nat had landed by this time. Bookworm looked around. "Should we...go someplace to talk? Someplace warmer?"

The two urchins said they had their own work to do, but Dr. Sonnerstein and Arnold followed her to the Bucket. As she'd said, it was unlikely that anyone would look for her there, and she wanted to be sure they weren't interrupted.

They found the bar was nearly empty, which gave them plenty of choices for seats out of earshot. "We already knew he wasn't going to change his mind," Arnold said as they sat down around a table. "I do have to ask what justifications he tried to give. That's the only thing I don't know... his excuses."

"They don't believe the writer automaton, and they don't believe the crab creatures are a danger," Bookworm said bluntly.

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"They think someone is using the automaton to scare us," she continued, "and that the canister machines are spyglasses from whatever is in the Dark Aether side of existence, spying on us as they are spying over there. He wouldn't discuss the Van Creed's relationship with Moriarty, though he didn't deny there was one. And he said they were aware of Moriarty's 'mental state.'"

Arnold nodded, and Dr. Sonnerstein sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "And he probably thinks their course of action and belief is perfectly rational..."

Bookworm nodded. "They're too focused on their progress and innovation to see the risk involved."

"Well, when you stop to think about it, their assumption is rather logical. We're all the ones on the insane path, but that doesn't mean it's the wrong one."

"So," Arnold said. "We have had three meetings with three different people today who weren't willing to listen to us, Miss Hienrichs. Wonderful."

"Three?" asked Dr. Sonnerstein. "What was the third?"

Arnold told Dr. Sonnerstein about their earlier conversation with Mr. Canergak, and his plans to destroy New Babbage if they lost to the Dark Aether. Dr. Sonnerstein gritted his teeth as Arnold finished. "If we fail to stop the Dark Aether from invading the city, it isn't necessarily the end."

Bookworm suddenly interrupted, realizing there was one thing from her last conversation that she hadn't mentioned to them yet. "There is one thing Mr. Hopkins let fall, though, that was very interesting. He said they plan to start the machine in a *month.*"

Arnold said, "Time has changed; it might be as ready as it would have been before. But more likely we set off an explosion there during the attack, which made a giant hole and breech with their machinery."

"Or does Moriarty do something?" Bookworm said firmly.

"Or else something from the other side decides to make its move," Dr. Sonnerstein suggested.

Arnold shrugged. "I find it more likely we originally doomed ourselves during that attack on them. It's the Babbage way."

Bookworm coughed, trying to hide the unpleasant surprise that idea was. And yet, was it really that much of a surprise, considering how quickly her mind had turned to self-fulfilling oracles when the Writer automaton had first appeared?

"Plus, using the confusion of a battle to make us meet our own deaths... very appropriate," Arnold continued. "It's probably laughing at us for that."

"I dearly wish I could have reasoned with Moriarty, though," Dr. Sonnerstein mused. "It didn't have to turn out this way for him."

"Yes, it did," Arnold said grimly, "the minute he stopped fighting it. It was beyond reproach or doubt for him, even when I told him of my own choice. For him, me choosing to exist was me making a mistake."

Dr. Sonnerstein's ears flicked back. "You know damn well what I mean, Arnold. He's lost, but it didn't have to be like that. He still could turn back if he just chose to--"

"Ahh, but there is no choice in life, is there?" Bookworm rolled her eyes, her voice replete with sarcasm.

Dr. Sonnerstein smirked. "There's always a choice, even if you don't see it." Bookworm nodded her agreement.

"Well," Bookworm said after a moment's silence. "There's much to think on, and not much time to do it." She stood up. "Good night."

She left them in quiet conversation, and walked slowly toward home, thinking over the three fruitless conversations. Suddenly, she realized something, something that brought her up short for a moment--she'd seen no signs of any battle clanks inside the Van Creed building. Certainly a few could have been hidden, based on what she knew of the building, but the book seemed to indicate there would be many more than that. So where were they?

'Either they are there, and it's easier to hide them than I thought,' she mused, 'or they're bringing them in between now and tomorrow afternoon. Or they won't be there at all.' But which possibility was the right one? She hated to consider that the Van Creed would be bringing them now, because that would indicate...

'That would indicate,' she thought grimly, 'that my visit precipitated that action. Even though I was as diplomatic and non-threatening as I could possibly be.'

Worry sped her steps home, where she found a message from Miss Falcon, asking that she come, if she could, to the Clockhaven Power station at 1:00 tomorrow. 'She must have something in mind,' Bookworm thought. 'But what?' She set the note aside and went upstairs to her bedroom, wondering if it was worth even trying to go to sleep.

Bookworm and Arnold were still conversing when they both heard, from the direction of the Van Creed building, the sound of a door opening. Faster than she thought possible, they saw a figure stride past them and head for the nearby tunnel.

"Well, that was him," Arnold said.

"Sir!" Bookworm called, running to the tunnel entrance, hearing Arnold following her. The figure stopped at the other end, and turned to look at her. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Are you Jason Moriarty?"

"I am."

Bookworm advanced closer, looking at him with curiosity. He'd seemed so ordinary at first, but a closer look seemed to show something indefinably wrong with him. "I suppose it's no use to ask you to stop all this?" she said abruptly.

Moriarty laughed. "Straight to the point, then."

She shrugged. "Most things that can be said have already been said, I think."

"And yet again, you think I'm the mastermind behind all of this?"

"If not you, then who?"

"You people need to start opening your eyes beyond your pitiful small bubble," he said with disgust.

"Perhaps we see things here that you don't."

"Or you don't see things at all."

"I have a good eye," Bookworm immediately riposted. "I can see a church by daylight."

Moriarty, however, didn't seem to recognize the quote. "I'll afford you perhaps a bit of explanation, though I doubt you small-minded women of Babbage would even be capable of such a concept."

Bookworm raised an eyebrow at that, but kept her peace. She'd taken that sort of talk from Mr. Steamweaver; she could take it from Moriarty.

"Think of life as one of those phantasmographic pictures," he said, his voice falling into a hypnotic cadence.

'Plato's caves?' Bookworm thought. 'Couldn't he be more original?'

"The flickering screen...those wonderful fantasy visions of magical tales..."

'Ahh. Not Plato's caves, then.' She brought her attention back to what Moriarty was saying.

"Now imagine, if you will, that you are but a small character in the picture, placed there by the creators, playing the role you were destine to play by the creators' design. You have no say in what you are doing; you simply exist to play out your role in the story."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bookworm saw Arnold nodded his head along with Moriarty's description. She also saw, over Moriarty's shoulder, a small airship descending, and the figures of Gadget and Nat inside. It was not the quietest of airships, and Moriarty turned a little. "I see our meeting now has its own audience."

"Yes," Bookworm said. "And I'm sure they'll be less patient than I."

"Oh, good grief," Moriarty said impatiently. "As if I would be troubled at this point by the patience of a few children." As he turned around completely, Bookworm made shooing gestures that she hoped Gadget and Nat would see. But then she stiffened at the sight of the play of electricity around Moriarty's hands. A bolt shot out, but the airship had already started ascending again, and just barely managed to avoid it.

Moriarty turned back to Bookworm and Arnold, and picked up where he'd left off, as if there'd been no interruption. "So imagine, if you will, that as a player in the picture, you suddenly are aware of your place and role, and that you are helpless to do anything but perform that role. "If you can imagine that, then you are halfway to knowing who I am."

Arnold nodded. "A man with a destiny, who could no more argue than Jonah could lest he was swallowed by a whale and forced to do it anyways."

"So what is your goal?" Bookworm asked. "What do you hope to accomplish with all of this?"

"Goal?" Moriarty barked, as if showing impatience with a slow student. "Are we seriously not learning a thing yet? You people are supposed to be such great thinkers... makes me wonder if all this town's achievements have simply been accidents."

Bookworm frowned, trying to rein in her temper. "Perhaps, then, I worded my question poorly," she said carefully. "What is your *role*?"

"Now that's more like it." Moriarty smiled, a smile that Bookworm did not find at all reassuring. "My role in this picture--the part that I play, that I have been destined to play since I was born to my father, the founder of the Van Creed, whose role in this picture was to bring me into this world--the role set down by the Sinner Salador, for which I have been groomed with great care and attention over hundreds of years by the creator of this story, is the role that shall release us all."

"Release?" Bookworm made a mental note of the name he'd said, wondering if she'd be able to find anything about it in the archives.

"From the lies that bind you to this existence."

"Ahh," Bookworm said. "Your 'truth' again."

"I'm not going to tell you what my role is," Moriarty said gleefully. "I am not the sort to spoil a good yarn."

"And if we spoil yours? What happens to your 'truth' then?"

"I hardly think any of you have the ability to spoil anything. I mean, look at you all, running around like... well, like street urchins scared of Angry Jenkins. And your Mayor, refusing to believe in anything inexplicable. All you people do is party and pat each other on the back when cutting out brains in the name of progress.

"That's hardly all we do," Bookworm replied. "And hardly all of us do that. Many of us *create.* We bring things into the world that did not exist. That alone should be an indication of free will."

Moriarty waved a dismissive hand. "Mere entertainment to enhance your belief that you mean something in this world. You are but children in a sandpit left to entertain yourselves and imagine yourselves as meaningful beings."

"We do mean something. And I am sorry that you have lost sight of that."

"If I have lost anything, my dear woman, it is ignorance. Something you people seem to fight to retain. Even when it's futile, you stand her before me discussing choice. There has never been choice; your choices are just illusions."

Bookworm looked at him and shook her head, pity showing in her expression. "No. You've lost more... so much more."

Moriarty moved closer, stopping directly in front of her. Bookworm kept herself still. "If I say that I choose not to kill you right now, it's meaningless," he hissed. "Because you are already dead."

"We shall see," Bookworm said as calmly as she could manage.

Moriarty stepped back. "Again, I am tired by these insipid talks. You all come to me, trying to change my mind, as if I have any choice in the role I play. Wake up, my dear woman--you are already dead!"

Bookworm smiled to herself. "I am dead and alive," she murmured, even as Arnold stepped forward, catching Moriarty's attention. "Then can I have a word with you?" he asked. "I won't argue for a meaningful existence."

"Make it short," Moriarty said. "My patience is thin."

"I'm not here to argue that you could change your destiny; in order to do that you'd have to figure out how to stand up and punch in the face the creator of the lightshow that has directed your entire life for centuries. Obviously you've given up that fight so there's no point talking about it. To be honest, you are right. I saw that video you left behind; you must have wanted us to see it. About how when you view the truth of your existence and that it's all been a lie, some people choose to end themselves. I know because I made that choice in September, before you, or the Dark Aether had any say. I nearly let my existence itself come to an end..."

Arnold looked up at Moriarty. "There's just one thing I learned during that time and that experience. It's miserable, and being here is preferable, no matter how detestable and stupid these people are." Bookworm bit back a comment as Arnold concluded, "I just felt like saying that."

"Being here? Preferable?" Moriarty said incredulously.

"I didn't believe it either, until it happened," Arnold replied.

Moriarty shook his head. "It is regrettable that when it came to the choice, you chose to bury your head back into the lies that hold you in captivity. But fear not, for you shall soon be freed."

He turned to leave, but Bookworm held up a forestalling hand. "Just one last question, Moriarty."

"You do realize these questions are pointless?"

She plowed ahead anyway. "What happens to *you* when your role ends?"

"True freedom." What that, he was gone. Bookworm sighed.

She and Arnold then proceeded to muse aloud, each seemingly caught up in their own trains of thought, and not listening to the other.

"That went well," Arnold said sarcastically. "But I already knew he wasn't going to listen."

Bookworm shook her head. "I pity him, and fear him, and feel impatient with him, all at the same time."

"At least I had a chance to tell him that what lies beyond isn't so great as he imagines."

"It's a temper tantrum of the highest order, frankly."

"Though once you stop existing you really wouldn't be capable of caring."

"Life hasn't treated him well, so now he wants to die, and take as many people with him as he can."

At that, Arnold looked up at Bookworm. "If he wanted to kill you, I think here would have been fine. He believes what he's saying."

"He does... only because it justifies his actions. And killing me here wouldn't be a grand-enough gesture."

At that point, they both heard the sound of Gadget's airship landing near the entrance to the alleyway, and they hurried out to meet them. "You two all right?" Bookworm asked.

Nat said, "Bit singed."

"We tried to tail 'im but 'e fired some weird stuff at us," said Gadget.

"Sounded like thunder and lightning," added Nat.

Bookworm looked down the alleyway at the Van Creed building. "Well, I've tried one end of the problem. Shall I go for the other?"

((To be continued...))

The long winter evening was beginning to descend as Bookworm Hienrichs hurried north through the streets of New Babbage. There wasn't much time left for her to try the diplomatic way out, so she'd decided to simply present herself at the entrance to the Van Creed building, and see if anyone would talk. As she made her way through a dark tunnel, though, she heard steps behind her. She quickly exited the tunnel, dashed across the alleyway, and whirled around, hand near her revolver...

In time to see Arnold emerging from the darkness. She sighed with relief, relaxing a little. "Hello, Arnold," she said as he spied her and approached.

"Great," he said. "Here, of all places?"

Bookworm nodded. "Someone has to keep an eye on it."

But Arnold evidently had other matters on his mind. "I think someone brought a bomb in today at the asylum," he said abruptly.

Bookworm started. "Why there?"

"The owner, Canergak, brought it in on purpose, for whatever reason he had. I doubt he intends to blow the place up."

"Huh," Bookworm replied, taking the news in stride. "That would seem counterproductive."

"Yes. Yes, it would. There are a lot of other funny things happening around town. But the Christmas Party at Brunel Hall seems to be the kick off to the end now. So I'm sending Maddox away to Abu Dah-I mean Mondrago."

Bookworm cracked a small smile. "Good idea."

"Stormy keeps threatening to send people to that other one. I keep slipping," Arnold said wryly. Then he looked down the alleyway at the Van Creed building, discomfort clear on his face. "It's watching us..."

"I don't doubt it," Bookworm replied soberly.

"Do you have any wishes or last thoughts you want shared with the world? I gave Avariel a last recorded message sometime long before I fell...well there. I need to update it, though. It had been that I hate this city."

"I've already arranged a message to my family, to be delivered if things go wrong."

"By someone outside Babbage, I would hope?"

Bookworm nodded. She'd sent it to the owners of the lodge she and Mariah had made use of several times, with a note asking them to send it on to her family if they should hear of the fall of New Babbage.

They stood in silence for some time, each lost in their own grim thoughts. They were both startled out of their contemplations by the approach of an elderly man, one bowed down by the equipment and strange-looking weapon he carried. "Good evening," he said. "Miss Hienrichs, I presume?"

Bookworm nodded. "Good evening, sir."

She heard Arnold hiss at the man. Eyeing Arnold, he said, "Has that thing there led you here? I would suggest leaving as soon as possible."

Based on that, Bookworm guessed the man to be Mr. Canergak. "I'm keeping an eye on things," she replied, trying to keep her tone equable. "Someone has to."

"Indeed, someone has to," he said. "And I have since my return. Sadly, there is but one thing I could do, and I apologize in advance should it become necessary."

Bookworm raised an eyebrow. "Then you know of the Van Creed's return?" She really wished someone had told *her* the moment it was suspected.

"I care little for them," Canergak said. "They are pawns who will find a welcome place within my facility, should it be determined they are of unfit mind--which they must have been to do what they've done with no safe guards, no devices to keep in check that which they have delved."

Bookworm nodded, finding herself rather in agreement with that assessment.

"Unfortunately, the true matter of what they have delved into is a danger to the entire world, perhaps," he continued. "And for that, the needs of the world outweigh the needs of this city."

Arnold looked at him sharply. "I don't like where you are going with that reasoning."

"Neither do I," Bookworm added, frowning.

"The city can't be allowed to endanger the world. If at the end of it all this turns wrong, the city must be destroyed."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Bookworm asked, trying to hide how aghast she felt. "And, more importantly, when?"

"Not when, I simply will do it should things go wrong, if the city loses the fight which the Writer tells of tomorrow. Rest assured, I have no intention of doing so otherwise."

"But who determines the timing of that? I'd hate for you to set things off while we still are fighting."

"Ahh, now I would not tell you that lest it be prevented by our enemies." Bookworm frowned at that, but Canergak continued, "But rest assured that it would be handled only after there is no hope, there is someone trustworthy holding the button--an urchin who has lived in this city for some time. From what I hear, your city has some respect for these children."

"How did you get one of them to agree to this?" Arnold asked. Canergak ignored him, though, looking at Bookworm. "Do you find my plan that repulsive, Miss Hienrichs?" he asked. She nodded.

"It is of no matter. If you are already dead, your authority will have ended, will it not? When it is activated, there would be no one around to care."

"Perhaps. But having one private citizen decide on such a course of action is...rather less than helpful."

"The last remaining citizen of any place is its last defender, Miss Hienrichs." Canergak sighed. "In truth, I should not have even told you what I intended. It is an action, taken in desperation, when no one could possibly be there to tell them no, because everyone else is dead."

"I don't argue that," Bookworm said, trying to keep her patience. "But setting this action up on your own initiative is what I object to." It was all part-and-parcel of what Ms. December had said--everyone was following their own reactions to events, with no communication or coordination between anyone.

"Are you here on Militia orders?" Canergak asked. Bookworm looked at him sharply, wondering if that was a shrewd riposte. But then he continued, "I had simply assumed the cat was dragging you somewhere dangerous."

"I followed her here," Arnold said indignantly.

Bookworm nodded. "I'm still looking for a non-violent way to stop this."

"Then I wish you the best Miss Hienrichs, because that would be much simpler and cause less death and destruction, which no one needs."

"Thank you," she replied wryly. But then Canergak coughed and gripped himself as he went to one knee. She took a step forward. "Are you well, sir?" she asked with concern.

He stood back up. "Unfortunately, the weather is not agreeing with me." He looked around. "Good day. I must seek a fire."

Bookworm nodded, and watched him walk away slowly.

"Wonderful," Arnold said sarcastically. "That's just...lovely." Bookworm nodded, feeling an incipient headache.

"There's a deadly thing staring at us wanting us all to give up and die; there're crab creatures that want to tear us apart, more creatures on the way, a hole being dug, men banded together digging a hole, and at least four different scientists finding new ways to kill us all," he continued. "Oh, and let's not forget that Lord Smashington is probably still done." He paused. "Oh, and a child is sitting on a doomsday button. We're going to all die." He paused again. "Actually, there're probably several children in this city with doomsday buttons."

"Somehow, I wouldn't be surprised," Bookworm said wryly. 'New Babbage finds more ways of bringing itself to the brink than I thought possible,' she thought. 'Maybe it would be better to let it go over the edge.' Then she shook her head violently, trying to dispel that thought. 'No. No, no, no. None of that.'

"So you're going to stand here all evening?" Arnold asked.

"Possibly."

"What are you waiting for--someone from the Van Creed to talk to?"

She nodded. It did seem a bit silly now, though, standing around in the cold and snow, hoping for someone she wanted to talk to simply to appear. 'Then again, what else is there to do?' she thought, stamping her feet to try to bring some feeling back to them. 'Sit at home and worry? Sit at Militia headquarters and worry?' It was a last-ditch effort, and doomed to failure, but she still had to try.

((To be continued...))

Bookworm Hienrichs stepped into the Records room of City Hall, and immediately made for the Writer. The automaton had been repaired, as mysteriously as it had been attacked, and had thankfully begun producing pages again, pages that she read again and again, looking for clues, for direction, for hope. She flipped the pages over.

'Three new pages...' She immediately began reading, frowning at its style of writing. It definitely seemed as if they were nearing the beginning...

And then there it was, on the second page.

They were such joyous people, full of hope and love, and had been looking forward to attending the Brunel Hall Christmas gathering earlier that day.

"Tomorrow?" she said softly in dismay. "It's tomorrow?" She read through the rest of the new material quickly, then sat down at the small desk, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. 'How do we stop this?' she thought desperately. 'How do we stop this?'

The Van Creed building was obviously the center of it all. Indeed, hadn't she just started hearing whispers that it was occupied again? Suddenly, she took her hands from her head, staring straight ahead. The Van Creed people didn't know her--she'd had no dealings with them, positive or, more importantly, negative. If she went there, and presented herself to them in a calm, neutral manner, would they be willing to talk with her? Could she possibly convince them to stop what they were doing?

'Heh. And if I calmly, neutrally stuck my head into a lion's mouth, would I then be able to convince it not to bite down?' she thought wryly. Still, it seemed worth considering the attempt...

'But I'd also better check on obtaining those Church blunderbusses,' she thought as she stood up and left the Writer to its thankless job.

((Private journal entry, but feel free to comment!))

I talked to Gadget again while I could still find him in the hospital. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember anything of what happened to him in the hands of the Van Creed, so there's no knowing how much information they got from him about his automata.

I knew we should have kept questioning him him the night we rescued him. Elliptical his answer were, but we still might have been able to learn something.

In the course of our conversation, he mentioned a notebook he'd had. One that belonged to Dr. Ambrose Martel. *That* certainly caught my attention--I'd thought we had removed all of his notebooks from his laboratory after his death. I did check later, and nothing that we'd taken charge of was missing. Does this mean Gadget was working with him? There was no mention of him in any of the other notebooks. Does he perhaps know something about the man's death?

But those are questions to pursue later...assuming we have a later.

Had you asked me yesterday if I thought we have a later, I couldn't have replied with any certainty. Ever since I looked into that hole in the Van Creed building, and more especially ever since I returned from my involuntary trip, the temptation to give in to the constant, unconscious notion that nothing matters has been very strong. I have to fight it every moment of every day. Nighttime is the worst--my dreams have been horrifying. I've taken to keeping a notebook filled with favorite Bible verses and uplifting sayings by my bed, for immediate perusal after waking from those dreams.

Yesterday evening, though, I wandered east from Militia headquarters to the courtyard in Clockhaven, and looked at all the snow sculptures there, created for the contest. Now, except for photography, the visual arts have never been my forte. But after a little while, I found myself kneeling in the snow, scraping some together. I found a couple of straight sticks for arms, some blue marbles for eyes, and a broken, discarded piece of pottery that would do for a make-shift mouth. After about an hour of packing and poking and prodding--and mild cursing--I had created something. And when I stood up, and took in my finished work--

I burst out laughing. It was just...so...*terrible.* And yet, I left it there, instead of kicking and stomping it into oblivion. I left it, and kept laughing every time I looked at it. Even on my walk home, the mere thought of it kept me amused. And last night, I slept better than I have in weeks.

And that made me think. Why *did* I leave the snowman there? Because, terrible as it is, it is something *I* created, the end result of my brain's attempt to work with my fingers. And that, I think, is the key.

*This* is how this city, and its citizens, express hope--through the act of creation. We bring something into this world--something that did not exist before. It doesn't matter what the end result is; soaring building, cunningly-crafted machine, photograph or story or feeble-looking snowman, it is the act of creation that matters. We create not only to make our lives easier, but for the sheer joy of creation, to bring beauty or wonder or awe into the world.

And that absolutely matters. So long as we keep creating, there is still hope for this city.

I think I should go and see Miss Kimika's newest creation soon. It sounds very exciting indeed!