A Dodge, a Twist and a Tobacconist: A Steampunk Literary Tribute Adventure
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Florizel repairs pipes and runs the Bohemian Club until his adventuring past hurtles headlong into his dull, respectable present. A gypsy beauty with a bizarre request and a disappearing conveyance convinces him to leave retirement and join an extraordinary group of adventurers atop a mystical clockwork mountain of a hotel.
Steam beneath the Thames in a Clockwork Catfish. Hang on, if you can, to a stealth glider on a desperate flight to London. Some will flee in terror from an Indian jungle nightmare. Others will keep up the pursuit of a shadowy denizen of London's underbelly bent on raising a slave army to overthrow the social order.
Beware the Algerian mummy at Fagan's final rest. According to Spring-heeled Jack, it may unwrap the identity of a deadly enemy, or it may just be another Dodge.
"I'm sorry, but my time is very short just now. I have tried for months to locate you, and have only just today succeeded. The other members of the group I propose to create are en route or are already here. Everyone else has been made aware of my plan. I truly wish to explain things more clearly to you, and then if you agree, to invite you to attend our first meeting as a formal association tomorrow. Can I count on you to come, please, and will you hear my plan?" the woman pleaded. "This is the most important thing I've ever done, and I pray God I have chosen the right people. I also pray that the right people will choose to pledge their help."
If ever a woman who had no reason to be desperate still managed to communicate desperation, it was this woman.
"Very well," I nodded. "But the hotel is not so far from here and the weather has been very pleasant. I shall walk. What time do you desire me to appear?"
"No, no, you cannot walk about London so late. Please. This mail coach will arrive at ten o'clock. Do not be frightened by it, please. It is perfectly safe."
"Frightened by a mail coach?" I was once again hesitant. "Why would I be -- ?"
Steam beneath the Thames in a Clockwork Catfish. Hang on, if you can, to a stealth glider on a desperate flight to London. Some will flee in terror from an Indian jungle nightmare. Others will keep up the pursuit of a shadowy denizen of London's underbelly bent on raising a slave army to overthrow the social order.
Beware the Algerian mummy at Fagan's final rest. According to Spring-heeled Jack, it may unwrap the identity of a deadly enemy, or it may just be another Dodge.
"I'm sorry, but my time is very short just now. I have tried for months to locate you, and have only just today succeeded. The other members of the group I propose to create are en route or are already here. Everyone else has been made aware of my plan. I truly wish to explain things more clearly to you, and then if you agree, to invite you to attend our first meeting as a formal association tomorrow. Can I count on you to come, please, and will you hear my plan?" the woman pleaded. "This is the most important thing I've ever done, and I pray God I have chosen the right people. I also pray that the right people will choose to pledge their help."
If ever a woman who had no reason to be desperate still managed to communicate desperation, it was this woman.
"Very well," I nodded. "But the hotel is not so far from here and the weather has been very pleasant. I shall walk. What time do you desire me to appear?"
"No, no, you cannot walk about London so late. Please. This mail coach will arrive at ten o'clock. Do not be frightened by it, please. It is perfectly safe."
"Frightened by a mail coach?" I was once again hesitant. "Why would I be -- ?"
