Ravings of a Textual Deviant

In which Our Heroes leave behind one source of annoyance and create another.

Other than a brief, late-night stop at some anonymous Chilean seaport, the remainder of Our Heroes’ latest sea voyage was uneventful. They disembarked at Arica, Chile, as planned, along with Prince Lvov and Yevgeny, and the inimitable Lord Percy. His Lordship immediately commandeered all the available porters to unload the immense quantity of baggage necessary for an extended Andean expedition with all the comforts of home, leaving Team TransAmerica very grateful for the (now-uncursed) stone porters they’d hauled most of the way ‘round South America.

Mrs. Anderson was kind enough to assist Lord Percy with his rail travel arrangements, ensuring that the her party would have at least a week’s head start and therefore would be less likely to encounter him in the future. He repaid her with an intentional slur on her virtue (“She’s wearing trousers, after all!”) and an unintentional three-figure translator’s fee. Team TransAmerica found itself with just enough time for a meal and a trip to the newsstand before their train departed for the Bolivian border. Miss Kingston employed her charm to secure first-class accommodations at bargain rates, and Our Heroes were soon on their way, reading newspaper articles about the arrival of a certain exiled Alaskan prince’s alleged arrival in Arica (On that very same day!), and a very disturbing mystery involving mutilation of livestock.

It didn’t take long for Team TransAmerica to discover that one of their fellow-travelers was a Bolivian reporter, one Miss Garcia y Navarro. She readily admitted that her presence was no accident; after all, if one wishes to report, one goes where the story is. She allowed as how she had previously interviewed the members of the Turtle Island team, Republique, and part of Brasilia Imperial. In a disturbing turn of events, Princess Imperial Isabelle has decided that death is no excuse for failure, and brought her afflicted team members back to something resembling their previous existence, and sent them across the whole of eastern Brazil to La Paz to await their less metabolically-challenged companheiros. It was not, the reporter asserted, a good interview. Fortunately, Prince Lvov is prepared for any eventuality and drew upon his ingenuity to both distract and divert the lovely young journalist—he assigned the task to Yevgeny.

With Miss Garcia y Navarro presumably out of the way, Team TransAmerica turned its attention to business, speculating about various ways to delay the other teams. His Highness’s suggestion of a very temporary disabling of a small section of rail quickly escalated into an indiscreet discussion, led by Mr. Laughton, of causing landslides or blowing up sections of the track. The discussion was temporarily interrupted by an exchange of loud booms, during which the train accelerated to tooth-rattling speed in an effort to escape the area.

Upon their train’s arrival at the Bolivian border, Team TransAmerica found itself detained, and no way to contact His Highness and Yevgeny, with Mr. Laughton and Dr. Hu led off separately for questioning. Both gentlemen engaged in extended discussions with various individuals, and as we close this episode, we leave them contemplating the wisdom of discussing sabotage in public.

Quote of the Game
Dr. Hu: (upon being asked to blow up a section of the railroad) No!
Mr. Laughton: Why?
Dr. Hu: Crime!

In which the charming Alyeskan prince has an uncomfortable conversation, a disturbing bit of foreshadowing occurs, and the wildlife looks to its own conservation.

The day dawned fresh and bright, and such members of Team TransAmerica as were inclined began their morning with a turn about the deck of the Altes Zuverlässiges Helga. Mrs. Anderson and Prince Lvov found themselves admiring the view, notched fin notwithstanding, when Mrs. Atwood noticed several lights moving under the water. Much to everyone’s amazement, Mrs. Anderson and the prince were each hit with four enchanted bolts, much to the detriment of their persons and wardrobes. Fortunately, no lasting damage was done, but it was decided that perhaps the safety of belowdecks trumped the pleasure of the open air.

Finding themselves with little privacy and less to do, Our Heroes continued their seemingly-endless games of cards, Chinese language lessons, and prying conversations with fellow passengers. Prince Lvov was grilled mercilessly by Mrs. Atwood, Mrs. Anderson, and Dr. Hu (Mr. Lawton being subject to a self-inflicted mal de terre, and Mr. Karl and Miss Kingston were still recovering from their Penguin Ordeal).

Mercifully, the interrogation was interrupted by a very orderly and thorough lifeboat drill, which Lord Longsworth-Brunfondle declined to attend. Alas, it was only a brief respite for the Alyeskan. It was eventually revealed that he had been abroad for some time, and had become quite a fan of the Ellipse. Indeed, he had been doing extensive research on the the various team members, and was following their exploits closely in the newspapers, particularly the one for which his very good friend, Miss Penelope Fletcher-Finch, reported. Furthermore, he had been trying to catch up with Team TransAmerica in order to offer his assistance. It was also revealed that he had been abroad for very personal reasons, having been at the center of a juicy scandal at Her Majesty’s court in Sitka, which annoyed his mother sufficiently for her to send him abroad with the directive not to return until he had “learnt to behave properly.” Accordingly, the Alyeskans had been touring the world for the last two and a half years, and Evgeny had not seen his beloved wife since at least one daughter ago.

Nevertheless, both the prince and his long-suffering valet were deemed to have sufficient useful skills for Our Heroes to consider accepting the roundabout offer of help. Perhaps Mrs. Anderson summed up the group’s opinion best, when she said, “I don’t trust the prince any further than I can throw him, but I’d like to help Evgeny get home.”

Quote of the Game: “Stay on land, mate.”—Frederick the Mage-Engineer, answering Dr. Hu’s question as to how best to avoid the shark.

In which Our Heroes fear they are about to be approached by yet another consortium of businessmen, and make the acquaintance of the most annoying Peer of the Realm.

Following the Battle of the Penguins, it was deemed prudent to board the Altes Zuverlässiges Helga promptly, in order to avoid any further avian mishaps. Upon boarding, Mr. Karl and Miss Kingston retired to their respective bunks, in order to recover from their shock and injuries, where they remained for the next few days.

The rest of the team was greeted enthusiastically by one Mikhail Dmitrovich, an Alyeskan of Russian extraction*, who, having recently lost his drinking partner to unconsciousness, invited Team TransAmerica to enjoy several glasses of vodka with him. Dr. Hu, Mr. Laughton, and Mrs. Anderson obliged him, while Mrs. Atwood bundled Miss Carlyle belowdecks and into a serviceable and warm bunk of her own. Nephew Wu, in an attempt to make up for his former behavior, applied himself most industriously to the oversight and care of his Honorable Uncle’s position, including returning the ferret’s collection of shiny objects to their rightful owners.

Due the lateness of the hour, the drinking party adjourned in fairly short order, so that Our Heroes retire for what remained of the night. This turns out to have been a good decision, as they were awakened at about half-past seven o’clock in the morning by a bloodcurdling scream, and the dulcet tones of a cello playing. Weapons drawn, Dr. Hu, Mrs. Atwood, Mrs. Anderson, and Mr. Laughton stepped into the corridor and knocked on the door which appeared to be the source of the disturbance. Said door was opened by a gentleman(?) in an extreme state of undress, and sporting a French flag painted across his chest. A brief and irritating conversation revealed that the gentleman(?) in question was one Percival Cecil Longsworth-Brunfondle, the 4^th Earl of Wickhamthorpe, and he might be addressed as “Milord.” He refused offers of assistance, slammed the door, and went about business that is not to speculated about in a Family Game.

That left Our Heroes plenty of time and opportunity—as there was little else to do—to engage in extended conversations with Mr. Dmitrovich and with the engineering staff of the Altes Zuverlässiges Helga. Mr. Laughton found himself enamored with the workings of the steam engine, Dr. Hu with the magical forcefield that contained the works, and Mrs. Anderson with the charmingly unforthcoming, but exceptionally well-informed, Alyeskan. It seems that Mr. Dmitrovich had been following the escapades of various Ellipse teams—and one Philadelphian lady reporter—with great interest. Naturally, Team TransAmerica became increasingly convinced that they were about to be on the receiving end of yet another offer that would be unwise but necessary to refuse. Fortunately, Mr. Dmitrovich’s valet, Evgeny, took pity on his fellow-travelers and revealed that Mr. Dmitrovich was more properly known as His Highness, Captain Lvov, of Her Majesty’s Royal Rangers. This revelation did not exactly reassure Our Heroes, and Evgeny’s helpfulness earned him the task of tattooing a French flag on the nether parts of an inebriated English peer, a task that he accepted with a great deal of sarcasm. 

The sighting of a notched fin traveling alongside the ship was almost a relief in comparison. A few shots were fired at the nefarious fish, but none came close enough to matter.

And so, we leave our merry band aboard a very orderly German freighter, with a mad Englishman, an insatiably curious and exceptionally suave Alyeskan prince, and a notorious man-eating shark for companionship on their two-week journey. We shall see who ends up being the best company, in the end.

Quote of the Game: “He makes me want to throw tea in a harbor.”—Mrs. Atwood, referring to Lord Percival Cecil Longworth-Brunfondle, 4th Earl of Wickhamthorpe

*In the world of the American Ellipse, through a series of entertaining but unlikely events, Alaska, (or rather,  Alyeska, as it is known) became an independent Grand Duchy ruled by the descendants of a minor Romanov Grand Duke, rather than being sold to the United States.

In which Our Heroes receive another offer they ought not to refuse on their way to Punta Arenas, and the First (and probably Last) Annual Penguin Festival goes horribly, horribly, wrong.

When last we left Our Heroes, they were recovering from a bovine onslaught as they continued their rail journey to the southern end of the earth…or at least, the End Sands*. The nice old man whom they’d met invited them to join him at supper once again, on their last night before arriving. After a lovely meal that included suspiciously fresh roast beef, Mr. Meyer offered Team TransAmerica a considerable sum of money if they would consent not to finish first. He, too, represented a consortium of businessmen with an interest in the real-world aspects of probability. He even offered to route the money to an account that would not incur inconvenient tax penalties in the various nations in North America. Alas, Our Heroes felt obliged to turn down his generous offer, in light of several other unrefusable offers having been accepted already. Mr. Meyer took their answer in stride, and he and his large, well-armed grandsons bid the team a polite farewell.

Upon arriving at Punta Arenas, the team procured magically warded warehouse space for their expedition gear, and set off for the (former) United States consulate. Upon arrival, they discovered that the Consul had departed for the islands near Antarctica, in the hopes of bagging a walrus. They did meet the Consul’s agéd mother, who apologized for his absence, but allowed that she “didn’t have the heart to disappoint him,” when it came to big-game hunting. Fortunately, the grande dame was more than equal to the task of summoning her son’s secretary, who promptly got their paperwork in order. Team TransAmerica accepted her kind invitation to stay at the Consulate, and went off in search of transport and a newspaper.

Transport was promptly secured aboard a German vessel (conveniently a neutral flag in the Great Southern War) departing two days hence. Whilst at the waterfront, Dr. Hu found himself in the midst of another amazing coincidence; he met his long-lost Nephew Wu, who was a sailor on a Chinese trading vessel that had been caught in a typhoon and ended up in the Japan Current. (A navigational disaster is no excuse for not making money, and the ship was trading and resupplying for a trip up the Atlantic coast of South America.) Estimating that his odds of getting back to China were better if he headed west, Nephew Wu threw his lot in with his Venerable Uncle’s compatriots.

Having attended to business, Our Heroes went about their shopping, and inquired after the First Annual Punta Arenas Penguin Festival, an event honoring the work of two Argentine ornithologists recently returned from their fieldwork. (Any excuse for a festival…) The entire staff of the Consulate would be in attendance, and Our Heroes had no polite way to refuse, particularly when Titania claimed to have an interest in the penguin piñata (a charming Mexican entertainment imported specially for the occasion) touted by the local paper.

Team TransAmerica passed a quiet night, and got themselves up bright and early for the Penguin Festival. A carnival atmosphere prevailed, with a variety of exotic street-food vendors and performers, carnival games, pony rides, colorful decorations, a display of live specimens of several species of penguin, and even one of those new-fangled Ferris Wheels. Titania promptly took her place in line, paid her fee, and took her turn at the piñata. She swung…and missed, then swung again…missed again. The entire adult contingent of Team TransAmerica held its collective breath as she swung for the third and final time, connecting solidly with the piñata and smashing it wide open. The sight of the top half of a papier-mâché penguin hemorrhaging sweets and vulture-like horde of children attending its doom was a sufficient distraction to keep anyone from noticing that an alarming number of six-to-seven-foot-tall penguins with glowing red eyes had emerged from the Southern Ocean and were heading directly towards the festivities…until Mrs. Atwood pointed and shouted.

Naturally, a panic ensued. And not just amongst the crowd.

Nephew Wu was the first to flee the scene, rushing past his Venerable Uncle and calling on their mutual ancestors to save him. Mr. Laughton and Dr. Hu engaged in a brief conversation, the end result of which was that Mr. Laughton was informed rather forcefully that the good doctor did not, in fact, “carry his explosives around in [his] pants,” causing Mr. Laughton to depart at speed, overtaking Nephew Wu in his haste to retrieve the doctor’s little black bag from the Consulate. We shall read more of this later.

The rest of the team attempted to stage a fighting retreat as the possessed penguins closed in on Miss Kingston. Mrs. Atwood promptly got herself and Titania to a safe distance, whilst Mr. Karl bravely interposed himself between Miss Kingston and the agitated avians. Dr. Hu got caught up in the crowd, and found himself being trampled, and therefore entirely unable to provide assistance for a few moments. Most of the penguins headed directly for Miss Kingston, although a small contingent headed directly into the festival grounds, freeing their imprisoned brethren and gently herding them back towards the water.

One is tempted at this point to state that chaos then ensued, but the fact of the matter is that chaos already been in the process of ensuing, and merely became more enthusiastic about its job as the battle progressed.

Fortunately, the doctor was able to extricate himself and managed to fire off a few spells in the general direction of the penguin swarm. Six-foot penguins dropped all about Miss Kingston, stunned or wounded; Titania also contributed such magical attacks as she could muster. In her own defense, Miss Kingston emptied her pistol, taking down no less than three penguins in less than a minute. Unfortunately, Mr. Karl experienced difficulties with his balance amongst the fray and confusion, and quickly found himself underneath some four hundred pounds of deceased giant bird. By dint of sheer numbers, the penguins were able to overwhelm Miss Kingston, rendering her unconscious and beginning to roll her down the beach like an exceptionally unwieldy egg. Mrs. Atwood, lacking any other options, pulled her Peacemaker from her reticule and wounded one of the penguins attempting to kidnap Miss Kingston. Unfortunately, her second shot hit Dr. Hu squarely in the back, a tragic accident she later blamed on an unseen militiaman, taking advantage of the lack of witnesses.

Meanwhile, Mr. Laughton had run back to the Consulate at considerable speed, only to discover that both the front and rear doors were locked. He spotted a high window that might provide a entrance, and raced to the garden shed, where he discovered yet another locked door. Venting his frustration, Mr. Laughton attempted to kick the door in, but succeeded only in breaking his toe on the sturdy portal. Switching tactics, he proceeded to shoot out the lock of the garden shed, and burn his hand in the process of opening the door. Spotting a ladder, he dragged it to the window, only to discover that its maximum extent would leave him two feet short of his goal. The result was a fit of language not to be repeated to Polite Company such as Our Readers, and a decision to limp back to the beach in his own good time.

And so, things looked very bad indeed, what with the penguins nudging Miss Kingston across the gravelly beach towards the freezing water, Mr. Karl trapped in an increasingly smelly situation from which he persistently failed to free himself, and Mrs. Atwood attempting to repair the damage done to Dr. Hu. Fortunately, whatever entity had been possessing the penguins lost its grip, and the confused and honking horde made its way to whence it came, leaving Our Heroes collectively with yet another weird tale to tell ’round future campfires, and Mr. Karl specifically with lingering lower-back pain.

Quotes of the game: “There are fates worse than death that we fear more than taxes.” —Mrs. Atwood

“Guns really do kill people.” —Mr. Laughton’s player

*English for “Punta Arenas”

In which the hapless and negligent Chronicler attempts to catch up the Reading Public on recent (and not so recent) events. Players are encouraged to add their commentary in, appropriately enough, the Comments section.

Mr. Laughton and Mr. Carl, still reeling from the dinosaur attack of the previous night, made mere cameo appearances for the rest of the trip up the Rio de la Plata. The more resilient members of the group enjoyed the fresh air and the sight of said tyrannosaur trailing the ferry as it moved deeper into the Uruguayan jungle. Many curious fauna were sighted, including giant armadillos, giant anteaters, and yet more river dolphins. At a stop on the non-dinosaur side of the river, the group went exploring, and Dr. Hu encountered a very curious specimen of avian life. It squawked at him loudly, as did its offspring. Mrs. Anderson, ever ready to react to a distress call, rushed into the jungle in order to rescue the doctor from unknown perils. Instead, she nearly ran him over as he was slowly backing away from the large, irate bird. The two then decided to attend the flora instead, as it seemed considerably safer. Still, the journey was relatively uneventful in comparison to prior waterborne excursions.

Eventually, the steam launch crossed the border into Brazil. Upon arriving in Brasilia, they proceeded directly to the American Embassy in order to pick up their next destination. Unfortunately, they discovered that, as the country no longer exists, the Ambassador was not at home to visitors. Furthermore, their travel papers were no longer valid. And to add insult to injury, the Ambassador was nowhere to be found. Naturally, the first task was to get everyone’s papers in order, as the Princess Imperial likes a nice, orderly country. Dr. Hu solved his problem handily by asserting his Chinese nationality, at the same time bribing coaxing the location of the former American Ambassador out of the clerk. The rest of the team proceeded on to the Canadian Consulate, where they proceeded to visit Ambassador James. A nice, civilized luncheon was arranged, and the entire team made the acquaintance of Mrs. James and young Mr. James. Young Mr. James was particularly taken with Miss Kingston, which disturbed her greatly. The Ambassador was also able to issue provisional USNA papers to most of the group, although he was unable to assist Mrs. Atwood (now from the DRA) and Miss Carlyle (now from the Texcali Republic). Undaunted, Mrs. Atwood took advantage of her connexions in Montevideo to obtain provisional Uruguayan papers for the two of them.

And so, travel documents in order, Team TransAmerica set out bravely and with great determination, staunchly standing in queues that might cause less stouthearted adventurers to weep in frustration. First, they waited in a queue in order to get a number to wait in another queue, three days hence. Then, they waited in the second queue, only to be given another number at the end of the day. A less optimistic party might wonder if the Brazilian bureaucracy was deliberately slowing up the queue, simply because Brasilia Imperial had yet to report in.

In the mean time, Miss Carlyle managed to get herself kidnapped by some of Mr. Finnegan’s more southerly business associates. A frantic but fruitless chase ensued, until finally, Our Heroes were forced to take desperate measures. They contacted their European sponsors, and sure enough, Miss Alexia appeared directly. However, as Miss Carlyle was not considered integral to the team, she and her partners were unwilling to undertake any sort of recovery effort without additional compensation. The team thanked her for her time, but decided to call upon more earthly resources first. A telegram to Mr. Cavatelli in New York provided them with contact information for some of his own more southerly business associates, who were more than happy to modify their imminent plans to include a rescue attempt.

Alas, after a tense night of waiting, Miss Carlyle did not magically reappear on their doorstep. Miss Alexia was once again contacted, and she agreed that, for an option to purchase an extra ten percent of the land should they win, she would see Miss Carlyle returned. Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Mr. Laughton also asked that a “message” be sent to the Bostonian consortium of “businessmen.” Mere moments later, Miss Carlyle knocked on the door, spinning a tale of terror, bad manners, and her unlikely escape after an attack on the house where she was being held, ending in a trek across the whole of Brasilia.

To add insult to injury, they subsequently encountered the intrepid and ornate Miss Penelope Fletcher-Finch in the hotel lobby. Mr. Laughton, succumbing to the inevitable, took it upon himself to invite her to dine at a charming little restaurant near their hotel. His erstwhile companions crowded into a table at the front window of a restaurant directly across the street, and observed the proceedings with great interest—particularly as Mr. Laughton gave the very convincing appearance of a gentleman enjoying himself. Miss Fletcher-Finch departed the next morning, as she’d had no difficulties with her own paperwork. One can only imagine it must have been the benefit of her press credentials.

Relieved that they could now direct their full attention to dealing with Brazilian bureaucracy, Our Heroes betook themselves to the foreign Ministry to queue up like true champions. Eventually, after a few more obstacles were cleared, they were allowed into the hallowed halls in order to procure their papers. They ran into a slight bit of difficulty, which resulted in Dr. Hu paying a fee to practice medicine in Brazil in order to sign a certificate or two, but left with their heads high and their papers stamped.

Naturally, the next order of business for them—and a great many other visiting foreigners—was to hire transport out of Brasilia and onward. The river was crowded with riverine transport of all kinds, from steam-powered paddle-wheelers to tiny rafts. An unknown party took advantage of the chaos to fire an incendiary device in the general direction of Team TransAmerica’s boat. Fortunately, it missed them, but it did hit the steamship directly behind them, which turned out to be carrying Great Britain’s Team Mercury. Another water rescue ensued (sans river dolphin audience, this time), with Mrs. Atwood again going overboard. Fortunately, rather more attention was paid to the small details of tying off ropes and attaching them to life preservers, and Mrs. Atwood and the entirety of Team Mercury were plucked from the river dripping but unharmed. Dr. Hu was left to save himself from, making a spectacular leap (presaging those seen in what would become Hong Kong action films) from a burning vessel. It will not surprise Our Readers, therefore, to learn that everyone was quite relieved to arrive at the portage and the next boat, where Teams Mercury and TransAmerica parted on very polite terms, after exchanging a bit of information.

Our Heroes happily clambered aboard the vessel that would convey them out of the Empire of Brazil. Unfortunately, said vessel’s engine was an experimental Italian design, and it developed some mechanical difficulties shortly thereafter. Said difficulties became the subject of exuberant and presumably obscene discussion in Italian, with much frantic gesturing and waving about of large, heavy tools. The team’s offer of assistance was declined, and there was no way to tell how long it would take to fix the bothersome thing. Undaunted as always, Team TransAmerica opted to take a shore excursion, packing a picnic and following an ancient stone road to an even more ancient stone pyramid, carved all about with curious pictographs. A large monolith stood atop the flattened top of the monument, and though the climb was steep, our would-be picnickers were persistent. The top of the pyramid afforded a lovely view, at least until one walked ‘round the other side of the monolith, where the body was.

The deceased turned out to be that of Aníbal Carmona, Dr. Hu’s passing acquaintance on the Brasilia Imperial Ellipse team. The unfortunate Senhor Carmona’s heart had been removed, most likely through the large incision just under his ribcage. Further investigation revealed the bodies of two of Carmona’s compatriots, Senhors Alfonso Tomas and Miguel Barroso, in a similar condition at the base of the pyramid, opposite the side that the group had climbed. As the sound of native percussion began wending its way through the jungle, Our Heroes opted for the bettor part of valor, and quickly decamped back to the boat. Miraculously, the engine had been reassembled, with only a few allegedly unnecessary parts left over. The little vessel once more took off downriver, not even pausing for the flurry of poisoned darts that flew at it as it pulled away from the riverbank. One unfortunate sailor was struck by three darts and expired shortly thereafter; Mr. Laughton was struck by a single dart, leaving him paralyzed and comatose for much of the remaining trip back to Montevideo. Luck was with him, however, as well as with Dr. Hu, and Mr. Laughton eventually recovered both control of his faculties and such sense as he is known to possess.

Mrs. Atwood and the rest of Team TransAmerica were welcomed back to Montevideo—all too briefly—by Dom Mendoza, who was happy to provide accommodations for the night and arrangements for the ferry to Buenos Aires. The day-and-a-half trip proved more eventful than one would expect, mostly on account of the visit paid by a two-hundred-foot-long sea serpent bearing a message to Dr. Hu, from the Palace of the Emperor of the Middle Kingdom. The message was brief and to the point; and the good doctor was happy to convey it to Mr. Laughton, at whom it was directed. “You will stop referring to me as the Emperor’s…anything,” he informed Mr. Laughton in the very sternest of tones. (And to give the gentleman credit, Mr.; Laughton’s inflation of the good doctor’s curriculum vitae has been toned down remarkably since then.)

Upon arrival in Buenos Aires, the team’s first stop was the United States Embassy…which turned out to be the Embassy of the Texcali Republic, as they discovered on arrival. The Ambassador, a former Texas Ranger, was happy to provide bona fide travel papers to Miss Carlyle, provisional papers to Mrs. Atwood, Miss Kingston, and Mr. Laughton, and something that looked good for USNA citizens Mr. Karl and Mrs. Anderson. He also advised them of the difficulty of making contact with the former U. S. Consul in Punta Arenas, as he had a passion for hunting, and was frequently out of the office on account of it.

Semi-legitimate travel papers procured, Our Heroes hied themselves to the train station in order to make travel and shipping arrangements to Puntas Arenas. Happily enough for them, no border crossing would be required, as that part of Chile had been acquired by Argentina in the Great Southern War a couple of years ago. Team TransAmerica was assured that most of the fighting was much further north, and there was nothing to worry about on that count…never mind the reports in the newspaper of disruption of rail service by Paraguayan guerillas in Brazil. They procured some space in a secured warehouse, and leaving Mr. Karl and Mrs. Anderson behind to guard the baggage, went on to enjoy a genuine Argentine supper. After returning to the warehouse with food for their compatriots, Mr. Laughton, Dr. Hu, Mrs. Atwood, Miss Kingston and Miss Carlyle settled in for night’s rest at the Sanitary Hotel.

The night’s rest was broken only by a couple of gunshots, which Mr. Laughton, Dr. Hu, and an improperly-attired Mrs. Atwood went out to investigate. Fortunately, there appeared to be very little in the way of an incident; the guard at the warehouse had shot at a prowler. After checking on their companions—who were safe as houses—the trio returned to their well-scrubbed accommodations until morning.

Several expensive train tickets later, the group found itself in a spare but comfortable second-class compartment on a train heading nearly as far south as one can go, and still remain on dry land. Time was spent on pleasant pastimes such as whist, Chinese lessons, and admiration of scenery. Miss Carlyle produced a pair of knitting needles, and under Miss Kingston’s direction, began work upon a pair of woolly pink socks, an activity that Mr. Laughton and Dr. Hu found unnecessarily disconcerting. “She could make a Scarf of Strangling,” he suggested. “As gifts for people one doesn’t care for.” Mrs. Atwood (making a hash of her own embroidery) observed dryly that the difficulty, of course, is working the piano wire in. It was about this time that Mr. Karl discovered that his wallet was missing…along with his travel papers of varying legitimacy. It was determined that the wallet had likely been stolen at the train station in Buenos Aires, and there was nothing to be done for it but telegraph ahead at the earliest opportunity.

That evening, they had the pleasure of dining with an antique Jewish gentleman from Buenos Aires, one Leo Meyer, and his very large and well dressed grandsons, David and Shimon. Mr. Meyer confessed to being an avid fan of the Ellipse, and had seemingly-endless questions about the team’s experience so far. He then engaged Mr. Laughton on an extended conversation about the difficulties of transporting bananas over long distances, and the possibilities of utilizing the refrigeration technology invented by that nice gentleman in New Orleans. Of course, New Orleans presented its own sort of difficulty, but presumably, there are heirs, Mr. Laughton pointed out, who might be inclined to sell the patent rights. As night came on, the many and varied passengers betook themselves to their various sleeping cars. Alas, their night’s rest was not to be undisturbed. Our Heroes awoke to the sound of thunder…odd, that, on a clear moonlit night, especially what with the lack of lightning. Upon becoming rather more lucid, Mr. Karl recognized the sound as that of an immense cattle stampede. In fairly short order, the train was surrounded by a few thousand head of cattle…with glowing red eyes. The cattle blocked the tracks both fore and aft, and began bumping up against the train in unison, in a patently un-bovine-like attempt to topple the cars.

Much screaming and scurrying about ensued, exacerbated by the appearance of an enormous bull right outside Mrs. Atwood’s window. It looked about in a manner far more intelligent than that of the average herd bull, and began snorting and slavering with great excitement upon spying Miss Kingston. Mrs. Atwood retrieved her firearm, gathered her teammates about her, and stormed into the gentlemen’s second-class sleeping compartment, all a-twitter as she attempted to explain the situation. It did not take long for the determined bull to once again find his target, and David and Shimon calmly opened the window against which the bull had pressed itself and emptied their .45-calibre revolvers into its tossing head. Almost immediately, the train began to lurch forward, making rather excessive use of the whistle and suffering an occasional bit of impact damage. Eventually, the train was able to work back up to its usual traveling speed, and if the next day’s meals contained rather a lot of very fresh beef, what of it?

Quote(s) of the Game(s): “Those dice are in a time out.” —Mrs. Atwood’s player, in reference to recent misadventures.

“If you want me to do the thinking and the talking, you’ll have to teach me Chinese.” —Mr. Laughton, to Dr. Hu

“We must get them on another nationality’s soil and bribe them there.”—Mr. Laughton
“I knew there was a reason I hated politics.”—Miss Kingston

“We who are about to dine salute you.”—Miss Carlyle

“If the Princess Imperial asks for a display, you’d better be able to produce.” —Mr. Laughton, to Dr. Hu

“So long as he keeps coming across with diamonds…”—Mrs. Atwood, coyly
“How quickly we forget our tea set.”—GM

“Did he [Mr. Cavatelli] give you a name…address…violin case?”—Miss Kingston

“Do Catholics believe in karma?”—Mr. Laughton
“I think that what matters is whether the vampires believe in karma.”—GM

“How far are we behind everyone else?”—Mr. Laughton’s player
“As far as we know, we have no idea.”—Dr. Hu’s player

“Actually, all we need is a goat. And some twine.”—Mr. Laughton

“I wasn’t planning on using my feminine charms, my good sir. I was planning on using cash.”—Mrs. Atwood

“I’m just going to sit here and blink for a few minutes.”—Mrs. Atwood’s player

“This is Italian, not Chinese.”—Dr. Hu, upon being asked to read a diagram for a boat engine
“Chinese is harder.”—Mr. Laughton

“Can I squat and take a 20?”—Mr. Laughton’s player

“There was a bull…it looked sort of possessed…and it wanted a redhead. That’s what I’ve got out of this so far.” —Dr. Hu

Mrs. Atwood’s Player: I just wanted to confirm that we are playing the Ellipse this Sunday evening.
Me: We are indeed, from 7-10PM, or thereabouts. Get ready to say “Bom dia, Brasilia.”
Mrs. Anderson’s Player: Bomb Brasilia? Isn’t that a trifle excessive?
Mrs. Atwood’s Player: Given our record, we’ll be lucky if that’s all that happens. As I recall, the last time we visited a nation’s capitol, we ran into a revolution!

In which Mr. Carl encounters an old acquaintance of Mrs. Anderson’s, Team TransAmerica departs for Brasilia, a rumor proves true, and Miss Kingston observes a remarkably incompetent aquatic rescue.

When last we left Our Heroes, they had arrived at Dom Mendoza’s urban palace townhouse in the smarter end of Montevideo, less Mr. Carl, who had made his way to the docks. Mr. Carl acquired working passage aboard a freighter that was leaving for Havana that evening, and then stepped into the Rusty Nail (a convenient waterfront drinking establishment) to pass the thirteen or so hours until he could board his ship. Mr. Carl slid onto a barstool near a whiskey-sodden man wearing what would have appeared to be the tattered remains of a Wild West Show costume, had Mr. Carl been aware of his surroundings, which he was not. Instead, Mr. Carl’s attention was focused on the half-full bottle and smeared glass that the man in question passed to him before he could even order.

“Bill Carl,” the man said, pointing a remarkably steady finger.

Obviously too confused for a flight-or-fight response, Mr. Carl carefully acknowledged that he was indeed the individual in question. A few moments’ conversation served to renew his acquaintance with Nevada Jack; they had last met somewhere in the vicinity of Kansas City, before the mysterious disappearance of Nevada Jack’s Wild West Show. Mr. Carl established both quickly and clearly that he was not interested in the details of the performers’ subsequent doings, and Nevada Jack enquired after their mutual acquaintance, Mrs. Anderson. He was delighted to discover that Mrs. Anderson was not only safe but in that selfsame city. Latching onto Mr. Carl’s shoulder with surprising strength, Jack grabbed his whiskey and forced Mr. Carl to lead him to the Western Union office, from which he was able to track Mrs. Anderson to Dom Mendoza’s abode.

Meanwhile, the rest of Team TransAmerica had been ushered into their suites by a veritable army of footmen. The Dom’s townhouse was sufficiently large and opulent as to make the best New York homes and hotels look like backwoods cabins. (”Biltmore,” Mr. Laughton commented. Miss Carlyle nodded, and added “Biltmost.”) Dr. Hu’s ferret was absolutely delighted at the quantity and variety of shiny objects, and immediately began rushing about, collecting them and stashing them safely under a sofa. Mrs. Atwood’s suite was sufficiently large and full of flowers that she entirely lost track of Miss Carlyle, and contemplated organizing a formal search party. The team’s explorations of their vast suites were interrupted by a thundering herd of footmen rushing past and down the stairs to the front hall, where they discovered a disreputable-smelling individual gripping a whiskey bottle in one hand and Mr. Carl in the other. Housemaids cowered in corners as Mrs. Anderson uttered a very unladylike exclamation upon seeing her former employer. After obtaining a promise from Mr. Carl to stay put, Mrs. Anderson engaged in a brief private conversation with Nevada Jack, whilst her teammates debated the relative merits of remaining upstairs versus taking advantage of the opportunity to question Mr. Carl about his motives and mental state.

As Mrs. Anderson became acquainted with the details that Mr. Carl had declined to learn, she disclosed information about Mr. Carl’s cursed emerald. Nevada Jack, it seems, had committed certain unforgivable acts whilst trapped by a blizzard in a mountain pass in the Sierra Nevada mountains the previous winter. Looking for atonement, he volunteered to return the emerald to its original owners in Mexico, observing that he stood at least as good a chance of success as Mr. Carl; perhaps better given Mr. Carl’s tendencies toward impetuous decision-making. Then, he strolled off to take a bath, leaving a squadron of housemaids to deal with cleaning the antique sofa upon which he’d taken his ease. While Jack went to scrub off the last of the Sierra Nevadas (and less reputable points south), Mrs. Anderson managed to convince Mr. Carl to turn over his cursed stone to her old friend. In return, she promised that if Mr. Carl was claimed by the stone’s curse, she would ensure he did not return for a post-mortem attempt. Jack returned clean, jovial, and fortified by a full bottle. He accepted the emerald and strolled off into the Montevideo night, in the general direction of ol’ Mexico.

Shortly thereafter, supper was announced. Team TransAmerica was ushered into the dining room, where they were met by Dom Mendoza and the errant Miss Carlyle, who was carrying a book written in a script that was only vaguely familiar to Dr. Hu (”one of those squiggly ones,” Miss Kingston commented.) Miss Carlyle’s bibliophilic instincts had led her directly to the deeper recesses of the Dom’s library, and as the Dom was unable to read the book in question (or even remember how he’d come to own it in the first place) he was happy to see it in the possession of someone who would get some use out of it. Displaying uncharacteristic impatience, Miss Carlyle managed to get herself excused early, and vanished into Mrs. Atwood’s suite, book in hand. Her elders lingered over dinner, although as soon as they could politely excuse themselves, each came to an individual decision to check on Mrs. Atwood’s ward as soon as possible, resulting in a comic and slightly awkward moment at Mrs. Atwood’s door. A search of the suite revealed that Miss Carlyle had fallen asleep on a chaise, book in hand. Dr. Hu gave in to his curiosity, and used one of his useful translation spells to examine the book, which turned out to be a Tibetan/Mongolian dictionary and grammar written in an obscure script. No one wished to speculate as to why Miss Carlyle was so very keen on the subject; some questions are better left unasked.

And so, it was a relieved and reunited team that boarded the river ferry to Brasilia the following morning (27 April, for those keeping score). As the steam launch slowly cruised up the Rio de la Plata, the wide bay and order of the city gave way to thick jungle and winding river. With little else to do aboard the cramped ferry, other than read disturbing news from home, Our Heroes contented themselves with seats on deck that provided a view of the lush vegetation and curious aquatic animals, including a small pod of river dolphins and some rather more toothy specimens. After a while, Mrs. Atwood noticed a large disturbance apparently pacing the ferry on the eastern bank of the river. Unfortunately, neither she nor her traveling companions were able to gather more than the impression of something exceptionally large and probably scaly. Mrs. Anderson asked a sailor about the local wildlife, and he spun her a yarn about unlikely fauna such as giant anteaters, giant armadillos, and giant lizards, all of which he dismissed as rumors and utter rubbish. Of course, he hadn’t seen such animals personally, as people who wander into the Uruguayan wilds have a tendency not to return. He then enquired as to Mrs. Anderson’s whiskey preferences and free time.

“Hold out for a tea set,” Mrs. Atwood suggested, arching an eyebrow.

And so the day passed. As evening approached, the ferry docked at a small village in a large clearing. The crew began exchanging cargo, primarily basic food supplies for coffee beans. The ferry would remain overnight, and continue upriver in the morning. Late that night, whilst everyone was sleeping soundly, swathed in mosquito netting (either belowdecks or on deck), Mrs. Atwood became aware of an exceptionally loud roaring noise. As she rolled over in her bunk, she saw Miss Carlyle scrambling up the ladder to the deck, and followed, stopping only long enough to grab the handbag with her pistol in it. They were momentarily stopped by the sight of a truly enormous, tailed, two-legged, nonhuman figure charging about the village. Poor illumination prevented anyone from ascertaining details immediately, but the large jaws full of long, curved teeth were nearly impossible to miss as they snapped up hapless villagers. Quickly waking their companions both belowdecks and above, they all assembled up on deck to gawk at the sight and/or take up defensive positions…except for Mr. Carl. In his haste to get above, he somehow managed to trip over his own feet and bang his head against the bunk, nearly rendering himself unconscious.

Mrs. Anderson hastily disentangled herself from her mosquito netting, and noted that the crew were attempting to disengage from the pier. With the best of intentions, she drew her trusty Bowie knife and sliced through one of the mooring cables. This caused the boat to swing around in the current, which sent Mrs. Atwood overboard and swept nearly everyone else, including the unprepared crew, off-balance. It also attracted the attention of the very large, lizardlike thing, which strode out onto the pier in order to inspect the large moving object. Thus began an unfortunate yet comical series of events [which The Management sincerely hopes to convey accurately---Ed.]. Mrs. Atwood let go her handbag and remembered almost immediately that she was not a strong swimmer as she became entangled in her voluminous nightgown. Someone managed to land a life preserver in within a few yards of her; however, it was floating and she very definitely was not. After a few tries, she did manage to escape being trapped either against or beneath the pier, and ended up moving in the general direction of the life preserver. A desperate attempt on her part proved sufficient to bring her to the surface long enough to grab the flotation device, whereupon she discovered that her would-be rescuer had forgotten to tie a rope to the ring.

Mr. Laughton teetered on the edge of the deck, finally grabbing onto Mr. Carl and nearly sending both of them into the water as well. Upon regaining his balance, Mr. Carl, intending to go to Mrs. Atwood’s rescue, wrapped a rope around the same arm that Nevada Jack gripped so solidly earlier, and jumped overboard. Unfortunately, he hit the water badly, got tangled up a bit, and dislocated his shoulder as he slammed into the side of the boat. At least Mr. Laughton had been holding onto the rope at the time. Dr. Hu arrived on deck, and immediately tried to throw a rope to Mrs. Atwood, missing entirely. A bright, white light burst into existence, momentarily distracting the lizard from waterborne hors d’oeuvres and fully illuminating its prehistoric majesty. (Not to mention its exceptionally outsized claws and teeth.)

Chaos and confusion multiplied rapidly, as Mr. Laughton—well aware of his complete lack of skill at such things—tried to tie off Mr. Carl’s rope, jerking the unfortunate photographer around by his injured shoulder in the process. More futile attempts at rope-tossing in Mrs. Atwood’s direction ensued, as Dr. Hu cast a spell that sent sparkling, moving lights directly at the lizard’s face, distracting and irritating it most successfully. Mrs. Atwood’s floundering attempts at swimming and/or grabbing at ropes entirely failed to propel her in a useful direction, and nearly resulted in the loss of her life preserver…more than once. Finally, throwing caution and outer garments to the wind, Mrs. Anderson convinced Mr. Laughton to tie a rope around her, and jumped into the water (stopping to check the knot, which seemed to hold well enough). Mr. Laughton then tied the other end of Mrs. Anderson’s rope to a sturdy object on deck. Or rather, he thought he had, but only realized his error as he saw the other end of Mrs. Anderson’s rope slide into the water.

A few river dolphins, attracted (amused?) by the commotion, paused to observe the scene from their unique perspective, and bumped into Mrs. Atwood. Fortunately, this served to move her just close enough to Mrs. Anderson for them to clasp hands. Miss Kingston, alert to the possibility of other, toothier river denizens, drew her derringer and maintained such watch as she could on the surface of the river. Meanwhile, Mr. Carl’s shoulder was wrenched even further out of joint as the boat swung around in the current yet again, and he was caught by an undertow. Mrs. Atwood, attempting to assist in her own rescue, nearly dragged Mrs. Anderson down instead. Mrs. Anderson subsequently lost both her grip on Mrs. Atwood and her temper as she saw the end of her rope drift by.

At least everyone had managed to float well out of the lizard’s reach at this point.

Eventually, one of the crew members managed to get control of the boat, and Miss Kingston mobilized another pair of sailors to haul Mr. Carl aboard (as he had managed to get his good arm around the rope). Mrs. Anderson managed to get herself aboard without either assistance or her would-be rescue-ee. At last, Mrs. Atwood’s nightgown snagged on some submerged debris, arresting her downstream progress. After several more botched rolls unsuccessful attempts at both throwing and grabbing ropes, Mrs. Atwood was finally hauled aboard.

And so, we leave our soaked but undaunted band of adventurers with six or so more days of river travel until they reach Brasilia.

Quote of the Game: “Stop helping!!” —everyone, to Mrs. Atwood, at some point during the most incompetent rescue attempt that this GM has ever seen or heard of.

In which Mrs. Atwood makes a decision, Team TransAmerica receives disturbing news from a Transylvanian of antique vintage, a geography lesson is warranted, Dr. Hu’s secret is revealed, and Mr. Carl takes matters into his own hands without warning.

As this episode opened, Mrs. Atwood’s suitors had once more upped their respective antes; she was informed (via notes with the elaborate floral arrangements that arrived that morning) the Baron had christened his newly-renovated castle “Villa Lilliana,” whilst Dom Mendoza had renamed a small island that had recently come into his possession “Lillian Cay.” “If only the castle were on the island,” Mr. Laughton said, when he was informed by an exceptionally jovial Miss Kingston (who was very much enthused by the fact that the situation was happening to anyone but herself). With the voyage drawing to a close, and Mr. Laughton’s continual prodding looming large, Mrs. Atwood found herself in a position to bring the balancing act to a close and make a Decision. To that end, she spent the remaining time carefully yet subtly interviewing both gentlemen as to their intentions, attitudes, &c.

Mr. Laughton took the earliest opportunity to inform, at least in part, the rest of his team of their new sponsors. Miss Kingston in particular was quite put out by the fact that a deal had been made with the undead. (see “Quote of the game,” below) Mr. Laughton, being somewhat more cosmopolitan in his attitudes, was pleased to have made a deal with a better class of undead.

As a result, it was almost a relief when the promised seven-foot-tall Transylvanian arrived, introducing himself only as “Vlad.” Vlad examined the stone porters, and pronounced them cursed; the general consensus amongst the team members was that Lisboa was probably responsible. Vlad also pronounced Mr. Carl’s mysterious emerald cursed, which rather put a damper on further questioning. (The nature of the emerald’s curse was to progressively weaken the victim, and the way to break it was to return the item to its rightful owners which were “probably somewhere in Mexico.”) Vlad assured the team that the two curses were not related, and that he could remove the one on their animate porters.

On the final full day of travel, Mrs. Atwood received a sterling coffee set from one suitor and the hoped-for tea service from the other. Composing herself, Mrs. Atwood finally expressed her feelings to the Baron (whom she politely dissuaded from further courting) and Dom Mendoza (whom she regretfully had to put off until her current charge was satisfied, but did leave the door open for future opportunities). She also accepted Dom Mendoza’s offer to lodge Team TransAmerica in his Montevideo townhouse during their brief layover. The Baron was gracious in defeat, and the Dom in victory. The following morning, Mrs. Atwood received a single, large bouquet of red roses and a very impressive tiara.

Meanwhile, Miss Kingston went down to the cargo hold to examine the expeditionary equipment and was confronted by a truly enormous rodent that hissed and chittered at her in a most menacing fashion. At the same time, Dr. Hu got a very bad feeling about something and urged Mr. Laughton to accompany him to the cargo area forthwith and at speed. The gentlemen arrived to see Miss Kingston aiming her derringer at what turned out to be the good doctor’s (previously unrevealed) ferret, which had been left on guard duty.

Upon disembarking, Our Heroes were met by a large wagon for their luggage and an even larger carriage to convey them to the Dom’s townhouse. They opted for a few stops along the way, namely the telegraph office, the Wells Fargo office, and a newsstand. Mr. Laughton received an apologetic telegram and a token sum from his family; apparently recent events made it difficult to access funds in newly foreign banks. Miss Kingston received a reply to her telegram to the (former) American Ambassador in Brasilia, inviting the team to lunch upon their arrival. Strangely, Mr. Guggenheim did not even reply to the most recent request for funds. However, that curiosity was lost in the shock of the larger news, as Our Heroes were forced to familiarize themselves with some new political realities resulting from the Second American Civil War. Somewhere along the way, Mr. Carl managed to slip away, leaving behind a note stating that he was heading to “ol’ Mexico” to return the emerald, and to please keep him apprised of future Ellipse checkpoints via telegrams sent to Mexico City.

And so we leave team TransAmerica in front of Dom Mendoza’s urban palace townhouse in the smarter end of Montevideo, trying to determine their current nationalities and wondering what the bloody blazes Mr. Carl thinks he’s doing.

Quote of the game: I don’t like where you’re from! —Miss Kingston, to Mr. Laughton, in response to his observation that where he’s from, they’ve been dealing with the undead for some time.

The newspapers from the American Ellipse are now available! All dubious translations are courtesy of Babel Fish.

In which Mr. Laughton oversteps his bounds and upsets Mrs. Atwood’s balancing act, a deal is made with dark powers, and no one commits any felonies.

When last we left Team TransAmerica, they were contemplating the heavens, and that which they might have fallen upon. Several members of the team were apparently quite distressed, and chose to spend the next few days in solitary contemplation [i.e., several players were not present---Ed.]. Mrs. Atwood’s suitors, however, missed not a single cue, escalating to Major Jewelry in their attempts to win her over.

This turn of events began to concern Mr. Laughton, who took it upon himself to discourage the Baron and inquire into Dom Mendoza’s ultimate intentions regarding Mrs. Atwood. Citing concern for the lady’s future happiness, Mr. Laughton made quite a nuisance of himself, though naturally both of the other gentlemen remained rigorously polite. One pities American women if this is the best specimen their nation can produce; it’s no wonder they often choose to search abroad for intelligent male companionship.

Whilst all this drama was taking place in the foreground, a back-room deal (well, fantail-deck deal, to be precise) presented itself. A mysterious woman known only as “Alexia” claimed to represent a consortium of individuals who were willing to co-sponsor the Americans. Mr. Laughton, Dr. Hu, Mrs. Atwood, and Miss Carlyle were the only ones present for the discussion, and ultimately accepted the additional funding in return for giving Alexia’s consortium the option to purchase up to half the land that would be granted to the winning team members. This long-debated decision was partly, though not entirely, provoked by some ominous hints and references to the current state of affairs in America. Alexia also promised to send one of her business partners to assist with the ongoing breakage problem with the equipment, and to examine Mr. Carl’s pet rock. “How will we recognize him?” Mr. Laughton enquired. “He’ll be the only seven-foot-tall Transylvanian on board the ship,” Alexia told him as she disappeared into the dark in a most disconcerting fashion.

“If it gets us to Brasilia, you’d better take it.” —Mr. Laughton to Mrs. Atwood.