The Gravity Escapement (TWS)

There really wasn't any question about this one. You shake hands with McCloud, looking firmly into his eyes, as if to say: "I am an author. I've dreamed fantasies more frightful than anything you can dream up under Gloriana." He smiles warmly back, the first time one has seemed genuine on his face. But something haunted in his eyes seems out of place...

You agree to meet again the following day, to plan and provision the expedition. It will by no means be an easy task, though he assures you much of the initial work is already in place, and the planning is mostly for your benefit. You nod - it's fairly boilerplate procedure as expedition goes, as far as your own limited experience tells you, anyway.

You steal another glance at the pendulum as he packs it back into its secret book. The carvings seem to call to you in a frighteningly familiar way. You've seen them before, you're fairly sure of it, in an old book or something. The memory floats hazily and tantalizingly out of reach.

---

The chill wind is surprisingly biting as you step from the gigantic Hall. A quick glance at your pocket thermometer shows an anomalous temperature of 9º centigrade; unusual for the Pole Isle. You've read treatises about the Elysian Field, a phenomenon extending from Gloriana that ensures perfect autumn weather... but today it seems to have the day off; a light rain peppers the road down into town, churning the frigid air into a windchill-flavored mess.

"Ach, it's right awful today. The Glass Gear's been on the fritz, as they say." You look around for the voice, and hear the sound of a pipe sparking up. The glow pierces out from the shadow under one of the giant ionic columns, where an engineer-looking type puffs the tobacco to life before replacing the pouch in one pocket of his canvas coat.

"Rachel Hsobel." You stick out a hand and walk over to the column; he offers you a smoke but you shake your head. It's not your thing.

"Lleu, m'lass. Lleu Edwards. I keep the spinnen world spinnen, if you catch my drift." He shakes your hand. "We don't see many of your like about here, do we? Authors. Bigheads up in there like to write their own work."

You nod. "I'm here at the behest of Daniel McCloud, to handle some matters."

"Ach, the Gravity Escapement?" He quips with a wry grin.

He must have seen your face freeze, because he bursts out laughing heartily. "Don't you worry, lass! I'm your technical boy for the expedition. Strange times, eh?"

"Strange times indeed. Do you know what's happened to the weather?"

"Mmm." He becomes introspective. "Glass Gear's probably gone and shat itself again."

"The Glass Gear?"

Nod. "Aye, right up high on the mainshaft. We think it's responsible for the Elysian Field, turns the air or focuses the sunlight or somethen of the suchlike. It stops turnen or gets dirty, we get weather like we're meant to have here up in Sinterklaas' workshop, hah."

You shiver. "Hopefully it gets fixed soon."

"Easy fix." He waves nonchalantly, then something occurs to him. "You aren't tryen to go to town, are you, lass? You won't be able to walk."

"I managed when I walked here. It's not that far..." You put an experimental hand out to catch the rain, and pull it back quickly: the droplets are freezing cold. "This came on so suddenly."

"Where did you grow up, lass? Down south?"

"Verobraccia."

He winces. "Ach."

"With my family it was walking or nothing."

The two of you stare into the rain for a bit. Then finally, he speaks up.

"Worked your way up from nothen, eh, lass?"

You shrug. "Could still say I'm a nothing. A few books, nothing brilliant."

"You sell yourself short, lass. You made it all the way from down there to up here, I'd say that's a sign of some damn hard work, excuse my language." He reaches into another pocket and pulls out a watch - beautifully machined, but honestly at this point it almost seems ordinary. "Hmm... should be wound by now..." he mutters.

"Your autocar?"

"Aye. Latest Karin model, fresh from the factory. I did a little design work for the Karins last year, helped put together their machinen line. Mass production is the future, I told 'em. And now look where they are!" He pauses and considers something for a moment. "Would you care for a ride into town, lass?"

You look out at the falling rain.

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in the pastfuture i continue to be bad at mixing up welsh, irish and scottish things but i will defend myself with uhhhh imperial interference. that'll do