Below are a few selections from the most highly rated newspaper of the times.
More to follow as this collection of memories from our past expands:
Sherlock Holmes – Tomb Breaker! Exclusive!
Greetings and Salutations, My Literate Darlings!
Penelope Dreadfulle here with breaking news from the wilds of Jackson, California! This reporter used her Through Time Traveler’s Coat to attend a lovely tea with members of the Sacramento Steampunk Society and, of course, the League of Proper Villains at the Victorian Square adjacent to 221B Baker Street. Yes, THAT 221B Baker Street.
We arrived at Baker Street West in Jackson to be greeted by the true gem of Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson, housekeeper extraordinaire, and one of my personal idols, the infamous Irene Adler. Honestly, either of them could outfox Holmes with both hands and a pinky toe tied behind their backs.
Scintillating conversation followed, along with the most amazing scones and Devonshire cream with three, yes three, types of jam, well, two and lemon curd…I’m never sure whether that qualifies as a jam or not. In any case it was a tie with the homemade curd of my good friends AJ and BJ Sikes…the curd that got me to actually view lemon curd as a food group.
After the tea, Ms. Adler and Ms. Hudson provided a tour of Baker Street West. Excellent shopping area! Honey from South Downs Apiary found its way into my bags, along with a homemade and quite dapper panda (I’ve named him Buttons). Mrs. Adler also has a shop with high steampunk fashions (including hats…one must have a good hat). And Mrs. Hudson’s Tea Shoppe has the most phenomenal teas. I highly recommend the Monk’s Blend, a slightly floral black tea…exquisite!
221B was, frankly, a hurricane of clutter. I’m astonished that Mrs. Hudson doesn’t simply throw up her hands in frustration having her pristine cleanliness trashed within fifteen minutes of Holmes walking into the room. Look at the state of the desk. Chaos!That said, it was on the tour of his rooms, that I uncovered a scandal worth staying up and reading under the covers! I direct your attention to the top of Mr. Holmes bookcase. Yes. That is, in fact, bas relief of Tutankhamun’s death mask.
I innocently asked Irene where Mr. Holmes had gotten such a thing. “Why, during his hiatus after the incident at Reichenbach Falls.” She told me.
Ha! Scandal! The hiatus happened in the early 1890’s. But Howard Carter did not discover and open Tutankhamun’s tomb until 1922. How could Sherlock have come by the bas relief of the death mask unless he had actually seen it? And how can he have seen it without breaking into the tomb? One knows how he feels about the hardworking detectives of Scotland Yard; perhaps he feels the same about the Ministry of Antiquities in the Valley of the Kings. Well Played, Mr. Holmes. Well Played.
This episode brought to you by the Blackfriars Courant, promoting literacy one sensational story at a time, and by Blackheart Industries, bringing you the heart of the future today.
If you’d like to visit 221B, you can find all the information you need on the Baker Street West website, or visit the Baker Street West Facebook Page. Trust me, you won’t regret it!
Blood on Velvet – From the archives of the Blackfriars Courant
By Penelope Dreadfulle
It was a dark and stormy night, and the rain was pouring down from the boiling grey thunderheads faster than cheap beer at a $1.00 Happy Hour. But that was in Rancho Cordova. Where I leaned casually against the railing in front of the Other Office on 2nd Street in Old Town, the sun was shining and the streets relatively empty. I’d gotten a tip from an acquaintance of mine, one Dr. Passwell, that I could sniff out a story here tonight…a story of blood and vengeance, my favorite kind. Passwell hadn’t stiffed me so far in our working relationship. I’d done a fairly decent write-up of his acquittal in the Longstocking murder trial a few years back, and since then, he’d toss the occasional tidbit my way in exchange for some good press. And you know me, Darling, I always do good press.
Everyone in town had heard the explosions and the sirens near the abandoned warehouse the week before. Rumor had it that a hit had failed, a hit on the one and only Anton Macabre, Illustrious Leader of the League of Proper Villains. Already word was on the street that the League was on the hunt. I wanted to be there when they found the organization that put out the hit… Mayhem sells copy, Darling. So when Passwell passed me the tip about a League Meeting to ferret out the guilty party, I made sure I was there early.
I took a quick walk around the block before staking my claim on the railing. The shady characters in top hats and spats in front of the Wells Fargo office, and the Lolita perusing the goggle selection in Evangeline’s told me Passwell’s record for pointing me toward mayhem remained unblemished, so I made my way surreptitiously back to the bar and waited out front for my contact.
It didn’t take long. She was sharp, a world traveler by the pith helmet and dig tools on her belt, and with pointed canines that told me she might have an iron deficiency. She pegged me right away.
“Are you Dreadfulle?”
“All the time, Darling.” She laughed, stroking the arctic fox pelt draped over her shoulder. “What a beautiful stole…” I reached out, and for a split second, I could swear the thing looked straight at me and gave a soft growl. Best to ignore it, and never pet another girl’s stole. “You must be Judy. The doctor has told me so much about you.” I shook her hand. Firm grip…a good sign. I handed her my card.
“Well, Miss Dreadfulle…”
“No need for formality… Call me Penelope, or Penny if you like.”
“Penny then. The doctor said you might need introductions…and maybe with your help we can dissuade others from, well, I suppose we could call it assisted suicide, since anyone foolish enough to make a move on the Admiral must not want to keep breathing…” She looked down at the ivory square I’d handed her. “Hagiographer? Old term, that…”
“Oh you’re good…quite old indeed-the monks that detailed the lives of the Saints…but I find saints are ever so boring, don’t you agree? I live to chronicle the adventures of Luminaries like yourself… and villains are where the action is. My readers live for blood and carnage. And if my pen can help your Illustrious Organization to supply me with blood-curdling tales of dark adventure…” I let the offer dangle.
“Let’s see what you can do then…this should prove to be interesting.” We slipped unobtrusively into the bar and ordered. Mere moments passed before, in unassuming groups of ones and twos, other League members made their way into the building.
I had heard the Admiral had the ability to rip time and what I saw made me believe the rumor. Women in Victorian gowns and slinky chanteuses torch singer dresses, men in dusters, greatcoats, smoking jackets and military uniforms…a veritable treasure trove of timeless classics. Judy led me downstairs and I took up a seat in the shadows of the Overtime Lounge, observing the talent that followed us down. Some faces I recognized from the scream sheets in the Post Office. Could that really be Maleficent Blameworthy? Much taller than I thought she’d be from her picture…not to mention the notorious Baron and Mrs. Von Toten, very impressive…
I knew we’d have a bestseller when I spotted the infamous Alexander Michael Knight glide down the stairs, the tassel of his fez not quite hiding the embroidered cephalopod on the front. Why, the last time I had written about his exploits, he had used the Necronomicon to call forth a Deep One from the middle of the Folsom Lake only to have it wreak havoc on Sutter Street… That little summoning sold out the Courant within hours of it hitting the streets…quite entertaining, except for slipping and sliding in the ectoplasmic slime on the cobbles for nearly a week afterward.
I began to wonder about the meeting’s purpose. Legend has it that the decks of pirate ships were painted red to keep the blood from showing and scaring the potentially mutinous crews. That thought came to mind as I sat in the dark shadows observing the lounge. Every chair, every sofa and each and every pillow were bedecked in red velvet. Was this to be more than a meeting perhaps? Did Admiral Macabre suspect one of his own? Food for thought…
Conversation died a quick and ugly death as HE walked down the stairs. The Admiral was every inch what I pictured from the police reports and witnessing the aftermath of his schemes. He was flanked by his chief henchman Johan von Kripplor, who fingered the oaken hammer stuck in his belt with a steely gaze. Now here was power…the Mind that had caused the police more headaches and grief with his left pinky than Moriarty had with his whole organization and 100 years head start. He gave a silent approving nod to Johan, who stepped forward, pulled the hammer from his belt and slammed it on the bar for attention.
“You all know about attempt on the Admiral’s life. As you can see, perpetrators did not succeed and Admiral is alive!” Scattered applause followed his motioning toward the Admiral, who acknowledged their homage with a regal tilt of the head. “However, we must be vile and send message that this is unacceptable!” This he punctuated by slamming the hammer a second time on the bar. “We shall kill any and all that had hand in this…so tonight we train! You will have targets. You will eliminate targets. We will be victorious!”
Conversation started up softly and then grew in volume as Johan distributed weapons and targets to all and sundry. Not two minutes had passed before a distinguished gentleman in an elegant pinstripe suit and homburg sat beside me and smiled. “Judy mentioned you’re a writer.”
“I am…Penelope Dreadfulle at your service, Sir.”
“Dr. Blackheart. I’m afraid I’m dead at the moment.”
“Really! So quickly?” I asked incredulously, furiously scribbling, while trying to remember which deeds on which wanted poster matched his face. “How did it happen?”
“I’m not sure exactly…it happened so fast. One minute I was getting my target, the next, Von Kripplor was announcing my untimely demise. I suppose it comes of not really being a villain per se. I’m a scientist, not a field man.”
“A scientist… Do tell, Darling.”
“I create things for the people that fund my research.”
“Fascinating…you wouldn’t happen to be able to shed some light on the ghostly handcar stories I’ve been hearing would you? You know the handcar that’s been seen on the tracks along the river during the dark of the moon…the one with the very large cannon?”
“No of course not…I know absolutely nothing about that.” He smiled conspiratorially and winked. “One of my finer inventions really…it will be quite the toast of the town once the firing mechanism is perfected.”
“I take it the Admiral must fund your research well considering the price tag on such a device…”
“Oh yes, he’s quite generous, and he even provides me with vict… erm… test subjects for the research.”
“I see. I’m assuming we’re not talking about hamsters…”
“Oh no, they’re much too small for my purposes…” He smiled enigmatically. “It looks like you have another visitor. It’s been a pleasure.” He stood and I shook his hand as he walked off and merged into the milling crowd.
“Hello. Are you Penelope?”
“I am, Darling. What a gorgeous hat…and those shoes…simply fabulous!” I patted the seat beside me. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…”
“Angela… I’ve been assassinated…” She blushed and looked down. “I haven’t been a villain long, and I don’t really know everybody…”
“I quite understand… After all, if you don’t know who’s who, how can you defend yourself?”
“It just happened so quickly…I was perfectly fine and then, the next thing I knew I’d been stabbed and poisoned. Do you really like my shoes?”
“I never kid about shoes, Darling. I’m surprised you weren’t assassinated by one of the molls just so she could rip them off your feet. I’d keep them close if I were you.”
“My turn, Angela Dear…” The woman who sat down on my other side was wearing an elaborate set of ebony glasses studded with enough rhinestones to be worthy of Mae West. Her headpiece was a delicate twist of netting and wire. On anyone else, the combination would have been garish, but for this mysterious lady, it worked a treat. Angela smiled as she stood.
“You see, everybody knows who I am, but I only remember a few names.”
“We do have an unfair advantage…there’s only one of you for us to remember. Don’t worry. You’ll do better next time.” The woman grinned encouragingly as Angela left for the bar upstairs. “Judy sent me to describe my kills for your article. I have three so far…”
“Three! That’s amazing. To what do you attribute your success?”
“Speed and deception… I got my first one within the minute mark. After all, nobody ever expects a poisoned hatpin….”
“Novel! I would never have thought of that. What a perfectly ingenious method!”
“It is working rather well… Now that I think about it, I’d better get it replenished with the training dye. Oh, my name is Karey by the way…Karey Bat…” She breezed away toward the restroom, leaving her cocktail unguarded on the bar.
All it all it was a quite fascinating group of people, and as the death toll mounted, more and more of them sat in the lounge for conversation, including one gentleman who fell asleep propped on some cushions in the corner of one of the longer sofas. And so I observed and introduced myself to those who passed within range and lost myself in following three or four different nearby conversations. Thus, when Johan banged his hammer on the bar, I nearly jumped out of my skin…
“Training is over! Winner will have four or more targets eliminated. Who has four targets?”
“That would be me, Dear!” Karey smiled predatorily and waved her hand from the back of the room. “My last one tried to poison my drink, but he confessed before I picked it up…a hat pin in the back will do that to you.” Snickers sounded from various places about the room.
“Most excellent! Admiral has gift for winner!”
The Admiral stepped forward and handed Karey a gold medallion, worth more than I make in a year… She beamed.
“Now as always we leave in ones and twos to avoid attracting attention. Next meeting to be announced on super secret Facebook page. Stay Vile, Comrades!”
A rousing chorus of “Stay Vile” followed and the meeting began to break up. It was then I noticed the sleeping gentleman had not awakened, even at the pounding of the hammer. To be polite, I walked over, intending to wake him, only to see the ornate black dagger sticking out of his back. I was right; the copious amounts of blood did not show on the velvet.
I left the body and climbed the stairs in search of the Admiral or Johan and found the latter first.
“Pardon, Mr. Von Kripplor, May I have a word?”
“Ah…the writer.”
“Why yes, Penelope Dreadfulle for the Blackfriars Courant.”
“What is question?”
“Would you care to shed some light on the body downstairs, the one with the dagger in his back?”
“Ah yes, you wonder if is really training exercise, Comrade. I expound for you…his name is Redacted and he was The following text has been redacted by Henchman’s Union Local 941 as it is classified information on a need to know basis. And you do not need to know. Stay Vile, Comrades! You understand now?”
“I believe I do. Thank you for your time.”
It may have still been a dark and stormy night in Rancho Cordova, but I made my way home from Old Town with a story to write and a paper to publish… Note to the wise. If it’s bloody murder you plan, make sure the seats are red velvet.