My dearest Tinny,

  I am sorry I did not write you earlier, and would be sorrier but for the fact that no letters can be passed to you unless we meet another vessel over these stormy seas and can somehow trade mail packets, (which has not yet happened) or until we land on the coast and find anothe Aerobus headed back to the sunny homelands.  My adventurous spirit held up rather valiantly for the first three days, after which I contracted a violent air sickness and spent the better part of six days being dangled over the railing by my suspenders, held firmly by Margit.  Margit is dour as ever, and her visions of gloom less amusing in the wind and cold and rain. Brave spirits, however, shall prevail!  I am working on a contraption modeled after the butterly's structure, which I hope to patent as a new sort of mail delivery system which can traverse the ocean.  Thus far, all six prototypes have made it about an equal distance before failure; that being, the few hundred yards to the ocean below.  So much, Margit says, for innovation.

But lest I bore you, I shall turn my mind now to more interesting matters, and reminisce over our last visions of each other - I shall never forget how  very idiotic  you looked in that graduating cap, nor cease to be grateful I have never yet beheld a portrait of myself next to you wearing my own version.  And how heavy they were!  When Stinky fell asleep three rows back (nearer you than me, I believe) how I did jump has his hat fell to the ground.  But we were not so conscious of our less-than-perfect appearance when we all threw our hats into the sky at the end and watched them soar away, to land on some distant mountain top and confuse a poor bewildered goat or two.  I believe that Craighton's School of Mechanics has never had a more fine tradition than the releasing of fly-caps at the graduation ceremony.

I wish you could have decided to take an overseas job, like me. However, I fully understand why you chose to apply for that job with the Professor in the desert.  I could nearly trade places with you at the moment, it's so incredibly dank and dreary here.  But I melt in the heat, as you well know, and you are much better suited to a nomadic lifestyle. 

Margit is demanding that I take some sustenance - she is quite firm on these matters, and although I am sure and certain that it will merely end up as fish food in some two-odd hours, I try to humor her whenever possible.  After all, fingers of titanium-copper alloy are quite difficult to dislodge from your wrist.

Yours as ever,
Clarion Bastincle

Oh, Tinny, I nearly laughed my head off at the thought of you, on a goat and sidesaddle! I, I must say, have bowed to fashion and purchased myself a set of wide pantaloons. They make it much easier to keep the cold out, and once I'm bundled in the proper layers of wool, coat, and scarf, it's not like anyone could readily tell my gender, anyways.

 

The huge building in which we are staying is three stories tall, and all build very solidly of some sort of brick, with absolutely no decorative value on the outside whatsoever. It quite pains me to look at it. All the numbers and letters on the streets everywhere are in a type of Cyrillic cuneiform, and although Margit is at some pains to teach them to me, I really must admit my diligence has been sorely lacking these few days. I will improve, very soon. I would trace a note for you here, but unfortunately my writer is the cheaper model, which only takes text. It is fairly sturdy, though; I have dropped it no less than seven or eight times thus far, and it still takes notes proficiently. It would do you no good, anyways, were I to get a newer model, for yours will not be able to read or display non-text characters until you, also, find a way to purchase, build, or invent something compatible.

We have spent many of the hours since my arrival in unpacking. My room is stone (or brick, I really can't tell!) on all four walls, ceiling, and floor, and it is much like being in an icebox all the time. Margit is purchasing rugs and blankets and hangings to cover the walls and floor with, so as to keep as much heat as possible inside the room. I do have a rather large fireplace, for which I am quite thankful, except when the wind howls down the chiminey during the dark of the morning when all sane people are abed.

I presented myself to the gentleman who stands as a sort of Mayor in this town yesterday. He received my letters of introduction and commission from Professor Clives, and he welcomed me (through Margit) in his native language. Margit tells me they are very proud to have me here, doing my research in their town, and I have asked her to look around for some possible assistants who might have a smattering of a language I can already speak. It would be very helpful.

The Mayor did request, as a sort of favor, I suppose, to have me teach a bit to a few young people around the town.I am anticipating some sort of apprenticeship set up, as I can only imagine that very few of these children can have had much in the way of a practical engineering education. I shall teach them to help me build my observatory, and once that is complete, then a full astronomical curriculum to follow, when we can really see what's going on up there. The cold air and empty terrain are so incredibly perfect for looking at the stars – even just standing outside at night, I can see distances that were never possible in my experience!

I am so very glad I took the last two summers for private tutoring - once I have completed my degree, my professional credibility will be hundredfold of what it is now. As it is, I only got this commission through Professor Clives. But after cramming so much work into so little time, I would like some of the glory!

When you are dangling hundreds of feet from the bottom of chasms, relying on sandy machinery and your fellow explorers to keep you up, just remember, it could be worse: you could have frostbite!

I don't envy you your experiences with a human servant, I have heard such tales of laziness and how demanding they are. Margit never stops, and can work forever. She is dour, to be sure, but that's just her model's personality. Really though, your new Rue will have her hands full keeping your skirts well done.You will be so hot in your city clothes; I shan't be at all surprised when you write me next time to hear you are dressing like the native Amerigons, all in deerskin and woven blankets. Our classmates would never believe it, but I have seen your dangerous side! Dear me, I sense a note of jealousy in myself ... best to quench that, I knew exactly what temperature I was getting into!

My degree depends on my thesis, which depends on my commission, which, as you know, depends on my progress here; so without any further ado, I am

Your loving friend,

Clarion Bastincle
Master of Astrophysics, minoring in Engineering with an Emphasis on Helio-dependent Structures – Craighton University

(I know, I know, the 'Master' bit depends on my thesis, which is dependent on my work here, etc., etc. - but it looks nice, don't you think?)

Dear Titania -- for although I do not use your given name so often as I might, I still find it charming --  again, Dear Titania,

Was your reply belated?  I admit, time and dates escape me for the most part in my work here.  We have finally got a semblance of a blueprint for the structure of my observatory completed and work is to begin tomorrow!  Verily, I do believe that the building of it will take less time than the planning.  No sooner had I picked one location, than it was sacred to some native spirits or other, I can't quite remember, perhaps it was a graveyard; the next site blocked the Mayor's wife's view of the mountains, and he had to ask me in a most embarrassed manner to move it again.  After these various mishaps and then all the trouble with design, we are finally on the point of starting!  Quite frustrating at times, I assure you, is the selection of materials and trying to achieve the proper layout and temperature control necessary for my work and comfort, only to find obstacle after obstacle. 

One good thing has come about - as soon as the observatory is built, I shall move into a small apartment which is being included in the structure, and leave this cold cave behind.  It looks like the Arabian Twilight stories, all rugs and tapestries and whatnot hung along the walls and floor and cushions to block every draft.  If I didn't know better, I'd think Margit was entertaining fantasies of installing an incense burner and some veiled dancers to entertain me!  But I haven't the time for such fripperies.  If I ever get the yearning for veiled dancers (unlikely, very unlikely) I shall consider your dark eyes peering from behind a heavy veil in the sun-struck rock desert, with your rose-colored afternoon dress and yellow petticoat on the remainder of you, and be struck dumb with hilarity.  Quite all the entertainment I need. 

I don't pretend to know much about cartography and the laying of clocks, but I am rather interested to hear a little more of what the actual work entails.  You know how I always crave detail.  I daresay you will be as brown and fit as an Amerigon when next I see you.  Rue does sound like an interesting companion, and I quite take your point about having another female in the group with you.  Also, it is true that Margit is rather predictable; however, social interaction was never my pursuit, and I am quite content to have things as they are; simple, and continuous.

I am quickly absorbing the local language, and the Mayor has set up a sort of scholarship contest from which I may expect 5 or 6 of the brightest students to join my in my work as soon as they triumph.  

My lenses are due to arrive any day now, and I tremble for fear one of them may be cracked.  It is a tremendous expense to have them fabricated and shipped to me, and I am not sure the commission money will stretch very far in the way of replacements.  Once I get up and running, there is the possibility of some small income from teaching fees and from various discoveries and inventions (you would not believe the level of technology I have to deal with on a day to day basis!!) but for the nonce I must conserve funds.  I hear potatoes are quite nourishing, even in vast quantities.

Ares will be in view soon, and I have high hopes of completing the observatory in time to catch some quite astonishing views.  I will write soon with updates on the progress.  Now I'm off to supervise the breaking of ground on the work site, for apparently nothing can be done without my presence ...

Adieu and fare thee well,

Clarion Darcy Bastincle

 

P.S.  My letters to my father seem to have gone astray; if you get this, could you try to send the enclosed by whatever post is available to you?  Perhaps one or the other will eventually get through.  Thank you!  C.D.B.

///////
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Dear Sir or Mesdame,

It is our regret to inform you that this missive has not yet been delivered, due to a forwarding error. It will be held at this office until called for or for 63 days, whichever time is shortest.

Thank you for utilizing the Trans-Pacific Analytical Missive Delivery System! Have a nice day.

TPAMDS Siberian Station
9875q Csarovitch
Desk of the Direction Deputy.
3577edvhrsdg44
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Dear S.B.

Please do not feel that you missed any news of import in my last letter. Indeed, I was grateful to your for your inquiries, for short of answering them I had nothing to say then. But this has changed and I earnestly hope that I do not crash your new writer with the length of this message.

We arrived three days ago at the location where the professor lyed the 2nd lay 6th clock last summer and where we expected the 2nd lay 5th clock to be. This could also be referred to as the location where the 2nd lay 5th clock most certainly was not. Though there was nothing in the data from the previous clocks on the 2nd lay to indicate the clock might have had to shut down due to weather, the professor thought it best to check back along the route between 5th clock ly and 6th clock ly. So on went our boots and up went Jorgenson and I, as we are the smallest members of the party (excepting Rue, who has next to no notion of what to do with a clocker's strand-wire) and the easiest to keep aloft for longer periods of time.

Even with the additional support of my boot quills, traipsing around the side of a cliff all day is no easy work, but I managed to find some thrill in the clock hunt the first day at least. Backtracking is much slower than the flat march and Jorgenson and I had to search every crack and cranny along the canyon wall as we went. We cover the same vertical stretch of cliff at once, in different horizontal positions, again, with myself the higher up. There is an occasional bout of vertigo, but only if I forget myself and look down.

I am losing track of my story, though. To resume. The first day of hunting was rather enjoyable. It is the first time I have been up so long at a time, as we switch strand-wires as we go, to save the wear of climbing. When we convened in the clocker's tent, incredibly dusty, the professor was somewhat preoccupied. Apparently, while he had to do some searching last summer, he had found all the first lay clocks within a day's searching of the desired location. I was not quite sure what to think of that, but the next morning, once again dangling above everyone's heads, I found myself moving at the pace of a Russian Woolbear in mid-summer, for I was constantly mistrusting myself, searching cracks three times that were obviously not large enough for half a clock and wondering if I had somehow missed the clock the previous day. My arms were screaming at me before the day's work was half done and I could barely snap my tether to the batten when the professor called a halt due to the heat. Even now, though I was not up for long this morning, I have to support my arms against the table to enter this letter into my tablet.

This morning, though, is the important part of this story. Again, at the end of the second day, we had not found anything. The professor moved past preoccupied into worried. We doubled and tripled checked readings, mappings, and such like from the first four clocks we had recovered on this second lay all afternoon, before catching some sleep. When morning came, I was surprised I even had the strength to make it up the wall, but I did. I suppose all those hours listening to Oberon and Papa have done something for me. Well, once up on the wall, I had hardly begun to search when I came to a spot, thin enough to be called a fissure, but still deep and fairly wide, in the cliff wall. I could not see the back of it, so I used my shillelagh to poke into it cautiously, and then extended my arm deeper into the fissure, to gain greater depth for my shilly. I could still feel no back wall. At this point, Clarion, you will be glad to hear that I reacted in a mature and responsible way, drew out of the crack and signaled to Jorgenson, who climbed up to me. He performed the same exact exercises I had just been through with my shilly with his own and then shook his head.

"Can't feel a back to it."

I nodded. "But there's a bottom, at least."

"Is there?" He looked down and saw what I had noticed while he was making his way up to me. The fissure was tall, extending up the cliff above me for several feet, but it narrowed out and soon disappeared in that direction. One could see the same phenomenon to the base of the crack, for it vanished before stretching to the area of cliff Jorgenson had been going over.

"Better talk to the professor," Jorgenson counseled. Feeling as I did that my arms might rise in mutiny at any moment and slay anyone within reach, I agreed to this and we descended.

The professor inquired what was amiss and we explained the matter to him, at which point he inquired as to the exact measurements of the fissure. Jorgenson had apparently taken the time to measure width of the mouth, though he could do no more than estimate the height. Then, the professor had us climb up once more. Since we had left our strand-wire pinned out, it was more work for the rest of the men than us and we regained the crack in good time. Per our instructions, Jorgenson stepped into the crack, leaving his strand wire in my hands. If he encountered any trouble, I was to yank him out. Fortunately he is not much larger than me, or the task could have been unpleasant. And I can hear you interrupting me and inquiring why his crew did not simply perform the task, as they were the ones supporting him anyway. But at that height, the wind can play havoc with the wires and they provide no reasonable way to communicate distress that cannot be imitated by a breeze. I need not have worried about my ability to yank him back, though, for he soon reappeared. The fissure had grown too narrow for him to inch along any further, but he had still not felt an edge.

“My shilly still had plenty of leg-room a reach past,” he told me, which was my cue to see how much deeper I could manage to squirm. I took a deep breath and swung myself into the crack.

It was much cooler suddenly, and a bit dank, but the smell was pleasant and I relaxed somewhat as I pulled myself along. It was easier work inside the crack, as I could make much better use of my legs. I reached the point in the wall where Jorgenson’s markers tapered off and managed to squeeze myself further down the passage. I had gone perhaps four yards further when the passage became too narrow for me as well. I pulled my shilly out and used it to feel for a wall. It hit something solid, then there was a bit of a clang and an echo. I thought I had perhaps found the missing clock, for the passage had become quite narrow and in attempt to turn itself, it could conceivably have either run out of power or become lodged in place. I belted my shilly back down and reached a hand in. I felt something soft and warm, then, having used up my responsible and mature responses earlier in the day, began shrieking wildly and tugging on my strand-wire, as the thing, whatever it was, suddenly began to move. Jorgenson reacted instantly, pulling back on my rope, but there was enough delay that the thing had dashed up my arm before I knew it. I could feel it, sitting heavily on my back, between my shoulder-blades, but my continuing shrieks and bats at it with my non-guiding hand did not seem to perturb it. When I was out in the open again, Jorgenson looked at me in confusion, for I had come out facing him and though I was still whimpering, he could see nothing amiss. Carefully keeping my finger holds and placing my boots, I turned so my back was to him. He whistled, which did nothing for my feelings, as you can imagine, then snapped our tethers both to his batten, grabbed hold of me with one arm, then let go with the other to grab hold of me with both. We descended rather quickly, as the crew had not been expecting both our weights on the single line, but we made it to the ground safely. By the time we had got there, I had calmed somewhat, as the thing did not seem to be doing anything more than clinging to me.

“Fascinating,” the professor said, peering at it, as I tried to explain what had happened. “You said you heard a clang?”

I nodded, wiping away my tears of fright. I was somewhat embarrassed about the incident, as the creature did not appear to be dangerous, but still not entirely convinced that it was harmless either. After all, the thing was still out of sight, the warmth of it penetrating my scarf, firmly attached to my back.

“You mind, sir?” One of the men, Blakeslee, inquired. He held up his shilly.

The professor indicated his endorsement of the plan, which I had still not grasped and Blakeslee prodded the creature with his shilly. There was another clang, but no reaction from the animal. Blakeslee then extended a hand and touched it, but quickly drew back with a loud exclamation. My expression must have been somewhat horrified, for his thumb was split open and blood was dripping into the sand. A surprisingly cat-like hiss had issued from behind my back in conjunction with his exclamation and I was feeling quite unsafe once more.

The professor sternly cautioned me not to move, which I had already been sternly cautioning myself about, and circled me for a few moments. I was afraid to even speak, as I knew that at the very least, my chest would vibrate and at the worst, I would start crying, which would make me shake all over. I breathed very silently and wished with all my heart that someone would at least tell me what the thing looked like. Just as I was about to give in and say something, Jorgenson began speaking.

“It isn’t very big, maybe... a foot and a half by a foot? Looks like a pussy cat you might find in your grandmother’s rocking chair. Striped grey and brown, looks like the canyon wall, really. I couldn’t say where whatever got Blakeslee came from, he looks fairly peaceful, curled up on your back. Has he got any claws in you, Miss Quennel?

I moved my head negatively a fraction of an inch. Even though I was standing straight up, I could feel no reason why the cat-thing should not have slid off my back long ago.

“I believe,” the professor finally announced, “that that creature has swallowed the clock. Well done fetching it down, Titania.”

I managed a weak smile and there were excited bursts from the men gathered around me.

“How’d it swallow a clock?”

“I’m not going fishing down that thing’s gullet.”

“Hey, Blakeslee, you’d better do it, maybe you’d get that missing bit of your thumb back.”

The professor hushed them all.

“First, let us persuade the creature to remove itself from Miss Quennel’s back, without antagonizing it.”

Well, Clara, they offered it tuna fish, green beans, ostrich feathers, someone’s beret, boot blacking, and innumerable other things and it moved not one fraction of an inch away from my back. Then, they decided they would have to pick it up. They feared that whacking it with a shilly would only make it dig itself into me, so one of the men put on a welder’s glove and tried to pick it up. It slit the glove open with three quick wriggles, at least, that is how it felt to me, and hissed again. After that, no-one would come near it or me. The professor continued to study it at a distance. He suggested that perhaps it liked females, as it had not scratched me, so Rue bravely put on the other welder’s glove, but fared no better than anyone else.

It was growing cool by the time the professor gave up. I had been standing up practically all day, though I had managed to carefully get a few drinks of water and something to eat. Moving my arms did not appear to distress the animal. The professor advised me to walk to my tent, moving slowly, and try to get some rest on my stomach. No sooner was I inside my tent, than the weight lifted. I stood stock still again, trying to discover where it had gone. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, then the creature strolled across the sand in front of me. It did look remarkably like a cat, maybe shaped slightly differently. Then, there was an odd wavering along its back. I blinked, but then it blurred again, just along the back. Suddenly, wings popped up. Carefully, thinking that whatever else it did, I did not want it climbing on my back again, I lay down on the bed. There was a whirring, then a clang, then an angry hiss and with a shredding sound, the creature appeared by my nose. I believe that it attempted to fly, fell, and then climbed the bed-clothes. After it saw me again, it gave a yowl, then curled up next to my stomach.

I waited a few moments, made sure its eyes were closed, then cautiously got up and left the tent. The buttercat/catterfly/saber-toothed-tiger-thing remained where it was. The professor was still in the clocking tent and listened to my story with interest. Now that it had left my back, he was interested in getting a closer look at it, but afraid of antagonizing it. He informed me that it appeared to have adopted me and I had better return to it, for who knew what kind of damage it could wreak on the camp attempting to find me. I am still not entirely convinced that it is safe, but sitting in here at my desk, observing the creature, it does look quite cuddly and harmless. Hah! I am not sure I will be able to sleep tonight, but at least I had something of interest to write you about.

With love,
Your terrified godsister,
Titania Quennel, honorary buttercat