Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 11

We were favored with clear skies and fair winds that swiftly sped the Saltire to the Canadian border. The crew was performing admirably. Their airborne rendition of Schubert’s Trout Quintet over Montpelier was a thing of transcendent beauty.
Soon we saw the great city Montreal’ on the horizon. As we neared this city I decided to make a quick tour of the airship and congratulate the crew for their most excellent work. I made my way from station to station offering handshakes and pats on the back to the musicians who made up our crew. Eventually, I came across David amidships at the bombardier controls. The elegant Englishman was staring intently into the bombsights and seemed to be making some calculations. He murmured softly to himself “ …drop set for 3000 kilometers with prevailing winds to the North at twenty kilometers an hour. No need to set the timer, impact detonation will do just fine…” Somewhat alarmed I asked, “David what in blazes are you doing?”

Without looking up he said evilly “well with any luck, causing an international incident”.

Fortunately the bomb racks required a safety key to be inserted and engaged to operate. I quickly hastened to them and removed both keys. It was only after I had tucked them safely in my sporran that I returned to yell at David.

”Have you lost your mind! We aren’t here to invade Canada! This isn’t the first step in some insane scheme to conquer the world! Good Lord man! Think of the innocent people! Think of the children! Think of Colin!”

“I did think of Colin! Why do you think I was going to start bombing his country? Frankly I think you are really being rather judgemental and derogatory, not all schemes to conquer the world are “insane”. That’s just showing prejudice on your part.“

“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BOMB CANADA! WE ARE NOT GOING TO INVADE CANADA! WE ARE NOT GOING TO CONQUER THE WORLD! PERIOD!” I shouted.

"Well what about MY needs?” David lashed back.

“What on Earth are you talking about?“ said I completely taken aback.

David said angrily, “Todd is the Helmsman. He gets to be involved in all manner of ship’s operations. You are always giving him things to do. It’s always: “Starboard Todd.“ “Port Todd.” ” Take us up Todd.” “Stop speaking German Todd!” “Down Todd.“ “Increase speed Todd.” “What did you say Todd?” “Decrease speed Todd.” “I told you I don’t understand German Todd!“ “Full power Todd“ “Stand by to land Todd” And of course “Take the bridge Todd as I have a headache again”. It’s just simply not fair. He gets to do all sorts of things!” David looked at me most indignantly and took a deep breath before continuing his tirade.

“He gets to feel like a contributing member of the crew. Todd has job satisfaction. It may be a Germanic job satisfaction, but it’s still job satisfaction. But what about me! I’m the bombardier. Where is my sense of validation? What about my need to contribute and feel like a participating member of this crew. It’s never “Open bomb bay doors David”, “David lock on target” , “David stand by to drop bombs”, or even just a friendly “David what say we go blow something up!” Todd gets to say “Ja Mein Kaptain” everyday. I have never gotten to say “Bombs away” ,not once. I find that that you are showing complete favoritism for the bridge staff and the engine crews and absolutely ignoring the potential of the bombardiers!” He glared accusingly at me.

I stood dumbfounded and unable to begin to formulate an adequate response to David‘s rant. Eventually I simply said “I’m going to hold on to the bomb rack keys. If I ever feel the great desire or need to blow something up, rest assured, you will be the very first to know”.

I spun on my heels and retreated to the relative sanity of the command gondola.

David shouted after me “I’ll report you to the Labor Board!”


Though David sulked, the rest of our journey across Canada was a relatively calm one. We glided across Canada's majestic forests with stately grace. The Saltire and her crew performed admirably during this long trip. Our ascent and crossing of the Canadian Rockies was accomplished with little effort and we all marveled at the awesome sight of the magnificent mountain range from our lofty vantage point. During this time I sought to avoid David as well as our kilted reporter Jake. The latter’s constant patter of imagining our expedition’s eminent doom had began to wear on my nerves. His insistence on continually describing various ways that I, as Captain, would personally meet my nasty and lingering end was of particular irritation. I asked him once if perhaps he could focus on some other member of the crew’s possible future misfortune. Innocently I suggested that he might direct his writing efforts on our bombardier. Jake peered over his glasses at me and I was informed that “the general public isn’t nearly as interested in the gruesome death of bombardiers as it was of airship Captains.” He then began speaking into his recording device with thoughts of me being pecked to death by rabid penguins on an ice flow. When I noted to him that penguins are native to the Antarctic not the Artic, he responded that “the general public isn’t interested in accuracy. The general public wants expedition leaders pecked to death by rabid penguins. That is what sells. Actually if you were to be set on fire before being pecked to death…” At this point I left him to his musings.


We did need to stop for a day in Winnipeg for supplies as we had a crucial shortage of A strings among the Cellists and two members of the trumpet section had developed valve problems. During shore leave David was able to kick a few kittens and puppies which put him in a much better humor. Soon we were again aloft and in a matter of days we were soaring above British Columbia. We sailed gracefully over the golden statue Captain George Vancouver atop the Parliament Buildings and from our high vantage point took in the beauty of Victoria. It was impossible to land the zeppelin in the quaint neighborhood where the ancient kilt maker known as “The Wizard of British Columbia” had set up his shop. Todd rejected my suggestion that we moor the zeppelin to the spire of the church across the street with a simple utterance "Balloon, Pin, POP!". After a small amount of searching Todd chose the athletic field of a nearby High School just southwest of the neighborhood to land.

Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender insisted that they accompany David, Todd, and myself in our Landing Party.

“We have heard that this Wizard is old,” Mr. Splash had said.

“Crotchety,” said Mr. BEEDEE.

“Mean” said Mr. Mender.

“Senile” added Mr. Splash.

“Cantankerous” continued Mr. BEEDEE

“Irritable” offered Mr. Mender

“and an engineer!” finished Mr. Splash.


Our security detail looked at we three Moderators with great concern. I nodded my head, “You’d better come with us. Engineers can be difficult folk to deal with.” With this we set forth on foot and headed to meet with the notorious Wizard of B.C.



To Be Continued…

[starbkjrus]

Hmmm. Well we all knew David is a bit of a loose cannon so to speak. If he gets too bad then you can contact a particular person in Hythe (UK). I'm willing to bet SHE can get him under control.

As far as the Curmudgeon of BC er....Wizzard of BC I'm looking forward to seeing just what comes about here.

Keep on writing.

:food-smiley-002:

[Une]

Hmmm. Well we all knew David is a bit of a loose cannon so to speak. If he gets too bad then you can contact a particular person in Hythe (UK). I'm willing to bet SHE can get him under control.

As far as the Curmudgeon of BC er....Wizzard of BC I'm looking forward to seeing just what comes about here.

Keep on writing.

:food-smiley-002:

MY BROTHER CAUSE AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT are you picking on him Jamie lt's ok he would have got Colin & family out first, l can see l will have to go on a trip to Norway in the very near future & have a few words.
Be afraid David, be very afraid, remember the tree Well l thought it was funny

[Splash_4]

Just don't look behind the curtain, there is nothing to see there.

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 12

The six of us walked through the quiet neighborhood. It was a lovely spring day and the sun shown brightly through the canopy of the large established street trees. Our security team seemed most delighted and excited for the opportunity to act as bodyguards. Mr. Mender had taken point and I was flanked by Mr. Splash and Mr. BEEDEE. The only misadventure we experienced on our short trip was when a passing motorcar backfired.

“GUN!” shouted Mr. Splash pushing me suddenly to the ground and throwing himself atop my person to shield me with his body.

“GUN!” shouted Mr. BEEDEE as he threw himself atop Mr. Splash for my additonal security.

“GUN” shouted Mr. Mender as he leaped atop Mr. BEEDEE thus insuring that I was well protected from incoming bullets or oxygen.

I should note our security ensigns share many characteristics. Each of the three are strong, brave, alert, and loyal. It should also be said that these gentlemen share a robust physique. I attribute this particular shared characteristic to the cracking sounds that emanated from my spine and my quick lapse into unconsciousness.

Apparently I blacked out only for a moment and awoke to find Todd loosening my tie and collar. He helped me to my feet. David stood nearby usefully laughing himself into tears.
Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender stood watch.

“It was just a car…” started Mr. Splash.

“…backfiring…” continued Mr. BEEDEE.

“…nothing to worry about.“ finished Mr. Mender.

“I see” I gasped when my lungs started functioning again. David eventually was able to control his laughter and wiped away the tears from his face and we continued down the street. I asked David if he thought that perhaps our security team was a bit too zealous in their duties. David returned his pocket square to his breast pocket. He smiled happily and remarked “I think their performance is simply marvelous”. I sighed.

We came to a charming white two story building with a small sign declaring it the “Freedom Kilts Celtic Center”. A large number of Garden Gnomes were carefully positioned in the small front yard. They were notable for both their large number and the disconcerting way they pivoted to follow you as you walked past them. Traversing up to the door to knock and we found it ajar and the interior dimly lit. We entered the shop and Todd moved to draw the curtains and provide us all a bit of light. A quavering angry voice yelled out “Leave them curtains alone and shut that door! These old eyes don’t see well in the bright light!” As our eyes adjusted to the darkened room we perceived a bent and gnarled figure leaning against the showroom’s counter. He wore a grey kilt of modern design and a full sleeved white shirt. The man had long white hair and a short trimmed white beard. His face was deeply lined and a pair of wire rimmed spectacles were perched on his nose. His manner was most unpleasant.

“You are the kilt maker known as the Wizard of B.C. ?” I inquired.

“That’s me alright, but who in tarnation are you? What are you doing in my shop? Why do you keep me up all night with your loud music? You call that noise music? I’ve told you kids to keep off my lawn or I’ll turn the sprinklers on the whole durn lot of you!” the old man shouted. Luckily Todd, David and myself as members of the League of the Moderators had to deal on a daily basis with an older member of the League named Mike at the Great Golden Hall of X Marks the Scot. Therefore we were both used to and inured against such crotchety and cantankerous behavior.

“I had ordered some 90 odd cold weather kilts under the name of Panache. I am here to both receive this order and to ask for some additional information regarding the Greater Acryli-Beast. We had corresponded about this.” I calmly spoke.

“Well why didn’t ye say so in the first place ya young punk! I got your kilts for ye. Now as I recall you had writ that you had found some information on this here Greater Acryli-Beast yourself. Let’s see it then!” he demanded.

Todd produced a copy of the information I had gleaned from our library. The Wizard snatched it from his hands with surprising speed. He read it quickly. He muttered to himself, “the Aurora Borealis is the key eh?” He then folded the paper up and put it in one of his pockets. He stood up straight “Well let me tell you something Sunny Jim! This is poppycock! The Greater Acryli-Beast has been extinct for at least 75 years. You go up North looking for one you and you are gonna find a big lot of nuthing! I can direct you on how to hunt the Lesser Acryla-Beast. They make pretty good sporrans. But this dream of yours was doomed from the start.”

I was crestfallen. David, Todd, and the three ensigns looked at me in disbelief. It seemed so wrong to have come to this point, with the expedition ready to plunge forward into the frozen North, only to be told our quest was in vain. A silence fell over us as we six shared a moment of shattered dreams and disillusionment. I searched for something to say but my heart was too heavy for words. I wondered what could possibly be said that could somehow make things right and break the dreadful stillness.

As it was I needn’t have bothered. The front door was suddenly kicked in and a short, slim and well dressed kilted man leaped into the store’s showroom. The man had dark hair, a neat beard, and flashing brown eyes. He pointed accusingly at the Wizard of B.C. “That man is an IMPOSTER! ”

With the light streaming in from the open door we could see the lines on the Kilt maker’s face were but greasepaint, his white hair a wig and his beard a false one. Todd grabbed these last two and with a tug they came off. Underneath was a much younger face and a thick head of blonde hair.

“McMurdo!” spat the imposter.

“Grant!” challenged the newcomer.

“Grant?” questioned Todd

“Grant!” pointed the newcomer at the imposter.

"McMurdo?” asked David.

"McMurdo” said McMurdo pointing to himself.

“Panache?” McMurdo asked pointing at me.

“Panache” I responded nodding..

“ROCKY?” said Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender in unison.

“Ugg!” said Rocky Roeger from the door. He continued, “look, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to say "hi" to Steve but it looks like I’m interrupting, so you guys just carry on and I’ll come back later.” With this Rocky turned directly about and left both the shop and this narrative.

I walked up to Grant, “What’s your game?”

He looked defiantly at me. “If anyone is going to have an Acryli-Beast sporran, it is going to be ME! ME! ME! Now I know where to look! You fools! You gave me exactly what I needed to know. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha….” Now long acquaintance with David had given me a great appreciation for the diabolical laugh. In comparison to his, Grant’s cackling lacked the deep undercurrent of hostility that made David’s so menacing. Feeling that Grant had outstayed his welcome at the Freedom Kilts Celtic Center I decided it was time for him to depart. I looked to my three red shirted security officers.


“Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender may I have your assistance please?“ I called.

“Yes!” the three snapped to attention.

“The word “defenestrate” is seldom used in everyday conversation, which is indeed a pity as I feel it is a most wondrous and dynamic word. Such a word should not die out because of obsolescence. It must be burnished with use. ” said I

“Perhaps we can be of assistance…” said Mr. Splash pulling the drapes of the nearest window open.

“A terrible shame to let a word like that become obsolete” declared Mr. BEEDEE opening the window.

“For the sake of other lovers of the rich lexicon of the English language we must endeavor to do our best to insure a continuance in common usage” said Mr. Mender reaching out and grabbing a surprised Grant.

“Mr. Mender I didn’t know you participated in Highland Athletics?” I queried.

Mr. Mender explained, “I haven’t had that pleasure, but have been fortunate in being able to observe the caber toss on several occasions and feel that I have come to understand the basic principles” and having said this he took three steps toward the window before hurling Grant ahead of him.

There was a rather nasty thumping sound. I noted that Grant was still among us and there was a rather large cracked spot in the wall next to the open window.

“ A little to the left I think”, I observed.

“Allow us to assist Mr. Mender” said Mr. Splash

“It would be our pleasure” said Mr. BEEDEE

“By all means” responded Mr. Mender.

With this Mr. Splash and Mr. BEEDEE picked up the semi conscious figure of Grant and heaved him out the window. ” By my gorgeous, flowing, golden locks and firm round buttocks I will have my VENGEANCE….Arrrrrrggggghhhhh…” Grant screamed as he sailed straight and true through the portal and right into the fairly large maple tree just outside the window. There was a dull THUD and then silence.

We all walked over to McMurdo. “Are you with the Police?” I asked him.

“No, I just like messing up Grant‘s plans. It has become sort of a hobby” admitted McMurdo with a grin.

Then there was a thunderous explosion from within the showroom! I was unable to see where the source of this came from as I was instantly crushed under the weight of my security detail again. I wiggled out from under the pile of their heavy protection to see a gentleman with long white hair, a short beard and glasses clad in a grey dress kilt and lab coat carrying a smoking antique rifle in his hands.

“WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING IN MY SHOP?” he demanded.




To Be Continued…

[BEEDEE]

Panache - you perhaps forgot to mention that we were trained by the Presidential Security Detail at the US Secret Service James J. Rowley Training Center which officially comprises around 500 acres of land, six miles of roadway and 31 buildings. Unofficially, it also has an obstacle course, simulated airport, firing range, and several outdoor training and tactical response areas.

The not-very-secret Secret Service website says the facility provides an environment:

that promotes critical thinking and innovation in the areas of physical, site and event security, threat assessments, antiterrorist intelligence techniques, emergency preparedness, criminal investigations, protection of critical financial infrastructure, and management development.

We stand ready to protect you from all evils on this mission.

Brian

[McMurdo]

Well I didn't see that coming. Looking forward to more installments.

[cessna152towser]

Well done McMurdo on spotting the imposter. Makes a change for Grant to be an imposter rather than a poster. But if he'd managed to carry off the imposition what would that have done for Steve's street cred?

[Wompet]

The cast increases, I see. Who's next?
(I'll be last, if at all - when they pass through Customs, all Acryli-Beast products and by-products will be seized by Agriculture and the Fish and Wildlife Service.
Trafficking in endangered species and all that, you know.
Wait, what do mean, you weren't going to pass through Customs?!)

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 14

“Good morning. Please don't shoot us. I’m Jamie. I had placed an order under the name Panache for some heavyweight winter kilts. These are my associates from the League of the Moderators David and Todd.” I spoke very clearly and rapidly. Todd and David both nodded politely toward the white haired man. “These three gentlemen are members of my crew, Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender”, here my security team each offered a short bow. “This gentleman to whom I have been most recently introduced is Mr. McMurdo.” I finished. McMurdo nodded politely.

The Wizard asked “what about the fellow you threw out the window?“

“Apparently his name was Grant. He was pretending to be you to get information from us about the Acryli-Beast“ I admitted.

“Was he a blond thin sort of fellow?’

“Yes”

“Kind of strange?”

“Indeed”

“Did he talk a lot about his pert behind in a rather disturbing way?”

“That description would seem to match the person”

“Hmmmm…I’ve caught that guy rooting around in my trashcan and reading my old mail” declared the Wizard setting down his rifle on a counter in the showroom. “Apparently you are not the only ones looking to get themselves an Acryli-Beast sporran.

Mr. Splash looked out the window “he’s gone!”

The man known as the Wizard of B.C. shook his head. “You had all better come down to the workshop”. The seven of us followed the old yet stately fellow through the showroom to a narrow spiral staircase made of black iron. We descended it to a strange basement laboratory. Tesla coils of unimaginable power lit up the lab with a harsh white light. Van De Graf generators capable of millions of ergs of energy output took up most of the back wall. There were flickering green screens with constantly scrolling readouts of strings of numbers and symbols and enough dials and gauges to shame the entire American Space Program. Large work tables were arranged in the center of the room with strange specialized kilts in various stages of assembly. Including one that appeared to be some strange hybrid between the traditional garb of a clansman and a deep sea diving suit. “For the Cousteau Society” said the Wizard noting my interest. There were ancient and weird looking stones and crystals set on the shelves no doubt used for some arcane purpose. The main feature of the labratory was a huge chrome vat that dominated the left corner of the room. Puffs of steam rose from it and a vast network of small pipes radiated from it. These pipes traversed the entire room to end in small spigots with a red rubber push button. Todd asked the purpose of this contraption from the white haired elder.

The Wizard beamed with pride. “This is one of my greatest creations. Over 500 gallons of coffee is maintained at piping hot temperatures inside that chamber without burning the brew. It is distributed throughout my laboratory by this system of pipes.”

“Why so many?” asked David

The Wizard explained “When holding a coffee mug, my extended arm has a reach of exactly 25 inches or 63 ½ centimeters. These spigots are carefully laid out so that no matter wherever I am working in the Lab I can always reach out and refill my cup with rich hot coffee.”

“Wouldn’t it be far simpler just to get up and walk a couple of steps and fill your cup from a standard coffee pot?” Todd wondered aloud with a raised eyebrow.

“You are obviously not an engineer!” declared the Wizard grumpily.

We finally reached an empty work table. The Wizard paused long enough to fill his chipped white mug with a draught of fresh coffee before he unrolled a map of Northern Canada and polar region. Weighing down the corners of the map with a few odd pieces of scientific equipment he said “As I recall you had mentioned you had additional information.”

I told the Wizard about the mention of the lights of the Aurora Borealis and the creature.

“Hmmmmm The odd thing is that in the last few decades or so the lights of the Aurora Borealis have diminished substantially. What was once the shimmering wonder of the North is now but a pale flickering in the night sky. Gone are the bright colors. Science has advanced a few theories- pollutants in the atmosphere or some shift in global temperature. No one knows for sure. I wouldn’t try to use them as a guide though for your hunting expedition.” the Wizard said thoughtfully stroking his beard.

“What do you suggest?” I asked.

The Wizard tapped the map. “I have gone through my records and found a Inuit reference to a fog shrouded mountain of ice here. This is supposedly the territory of the beasts.” He pointed at a spot very near the North Pole with a long thin finger.

“A Mountain! There is no mention of a mountain in the great Polar plains by Peary, Amundsen, or any of the other explorers” I said incredulously.

“Has it occurred to you that they had a good reason not to? he replied ominously.

“This map is in English units measurements” complained David just to be difficult.

The Wizard pulled another rolled map from underneath the table and handed it to him. “Here’s a second one in Metric. A good engineer is always prepared” the Wizard said smugly.

He looked at me with his pale blue eyes “I have your heavy winter kilts ready. The only thing I can offer you in addition to this is a letter of introduction to a Inuit chief of my acquaintance. His tribe is known far and wide as being gruff and unfriendly. They are curmudgeonly people, a bad tempered people, an easily annoyed people. Oddly enough I got along with them quite well when I happened to met with them in my long long ago youth. Chief Agulicuactx McTundra might have further information that could help you. It would mean a detour East on your way to the Pole, for they reside on Ellsemere Island, but it might be worth it. Do you have anyone on your expedition who speaks Inuit?”

"Err no" I admitted.

"I speak Inuit" offered McMurdo brightly.

Before I could say anything Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender all clapped him on the back and said "Welcome to the team!"

With that detail attended to I thanked the Wizard for the maps and inquired further that if in his research he had found anything else about the exact nature of the Greater Acryli-Beast. The old man shook his head, “just a few obscure remarks about the beast swooping down on unsuccessful hunters and ripping them limb from limb”.

“Swooping?” asked I.

“I found at least two mentions of the word. Apparently they like to leap down on their prey. No idea what exact type of creature they are though. The Lesser AcrlyaBeast is actually a type of rodent distantly related to the South American Nauga”. One could extrapolate from this that the Greater Acryli-beast is also a rodent though much fiercer than it’s lesser brethren. I can offer you no further aid than this. Heed my advice though, this is a most dangerous venture at best. It is frought with peril. If ye be sensible you will give this up. Somethings in life are best left alone, and the Acryli-Beast is one of them!” the Wizard of B.C. gravely said.

The curse of youth is a deaf ear to the wisdom of age. I shook my head and thanked the Wizard for his help. With this David, Todd, and myself bid him farewell. Mr. Splash, Mr. BEEDEE, and Mr. Mender we left to arrange the transport of the heavy winter kilts to the zeppelin. Mr. McMurdo ran off to gather a few things before reporting to the Saltire for duty.

David noted that it was nearing tea time and I remembered that Colin, our Canadian member of the League of the Moderators, had highly recommended an establishment for high tea in Victoria. I mentioned this to David and Todd but sadly added that Colin had spoken that the Empress Hotel was often booked months in advance. David smiled “reservations, like locks are something to detain other people”. With this he started briskly walking downtown.

To Be Continued…