HELLSMOOR' (1).jpg

Chapter 1 Scene 1


The MechinaTower Gardenial, at dim’night, on a timber’d chair in front of The Chenkin Gasket Con’foundry.

The elden’genfar, Mr. Downlar Malariak wasn’t spoken to often. Wasn’t spoken to at all without invitation.
This eve he approved af’ an appointment.

The tall’n’coated genfar approached from the shadows, materialising like ghostly fanta’gia abruptus’.
He spoke with a confidence as he stood at the genfar’s side,
‘Downlar. S’is been a time. Thank you for seeing me.’

The elden’ looked the way af’ the Con’foundry as he spoke,
‘Einslow Barbierre. Indeed it has, some time, some time ... time runs like a brindling river, you know.’ He grimaced, ‘what brings you to this juris’?’

‘The Briesling’. You know of it don’t you?’ Einslow kept his tone measured.

Mr Downlar nodded slowly. ‘From the Engineer Officiandry. S’is well guarded. A Terminal engine I hear.’

‘So you can confirm its existence.’

‘I can. A quantum’unwindery engine.’

Satisfied, Einslow Barbierre turned and walked.


Chapter 1 Scene 2


She stood under the aura’d gas’flicker
af’the Sir Cavling Botanical Bypass. A burning ember from her ‘Fiddlers-Trumpitt’ cigar churling’ the ground.
Her figuriture’ rendered like a silhouetted brush stroke af’deep reds’n’blackened’browns.

Eliza Motif, a Vaxon af’ extraordairre, af’ beauty, af’ brutalle’ ...
and Einslow Barbierre’s newly betrothed.

‘Barbierre. You have kept me waiting high’fal!’ Have smoked myself hoarse, my genfar.’

‘I have no sympathies for you,Motif. Your ‘coughin’burners’ are decrepitus’ for you ...’ Einslow half jested.

She took him under the arm. ‘Stop with this borish’ Einslow, you tiresome’trobbler. What did you find out?’

He led his Vaxon up the botaniclaste’ walk. ‘We have an engine, we have a journey ahead. The planning shall start at number 1’onth’ Mechaniclast Hill.’

‘Yours? Wonderful.’ Eliza raised her eyes and grinned, ‘will you bed me, Einslow?’

‘Undoubtedly, Eliza.’



Chapter 1 Scene 3


Chapter 1 Scene 4


In the upper abode, in number 1’onth Mechaniclast Hill ... an e’strained melody,

‘Unce there was a broken’n’lonely dove, who won thun’ heart uth’ a covely’un’,
‘Fa’ she was his ocean, n’ he ‘er sun, the call af’the worlds lovely waves ...’

Einslow Barbierre woke to’n’unexpected song from Eliza Motif. The Vaxon’s tone af’voice smoky, a little pitchy, tho’ pleasing.

‘Einslow ... my long’n’dead genfarther’ taught me it. Was it tuneful?’

He moved in close to her nakedness. His Vaxon, his betrothed. ‘Hmm. Motif, s’was quite the whimsical charm’ent ... rare for you.’
She nodded, ‘I sing when content. When it’s safe, Barbierre ...’ She reached for a cigar. ‘Tell me af’ this engine. What makes the Briesling’ a Terminal engine?’

Einslow lay with his cheek just above her breast. He made her feel safe? He made a Vaxon feel safe enough to sing? A gantling’weight fell upon his chest.
Smoke filled the room as Eliza took a spoft af’ ‘Fiddlers-Trumpitt’. It strangled his nostrils as always. He wished she wouldn’t.

‘Ahem. It is said the Briesling Engine can move a craft to the outerrage’ - to the uppermost millienth af’ existence.’

‘That sounds grand Einslow! It also sounds like a load af’ uppermost trop’.’ She giggled. ‘O’ my genfar! Are you saying this engine is so powerful it could send us to the elsewhere? Out af’ Hellsmoor’?’

Einslow got up on an elbow.
She had ruffled him.
He gave her his most curt af’ looks, ‘Motif!’

Eliza sat up and looked down her nose, took another drag, ‘O’ you are serious about this bosh,Einslow.’


The Vaxon was a hard sell.



Chapter 2 Scene 1


Mere minutes out af’ ‘Slow’KirkWitchen’Wood’ a rain change af’ the contestable’ turned the driving to a bout’ af’ deft’hand’d kill’taker.

Einslow Barbierre’s 12’ cylindered Limford’Hydron Auto, pierced the teeming precipitance, brilling’ white’n’golden, thru’ the streets af’ Ecliption City.

‘Dalliant Buckit’. He is the genfar we need, Motif. Tho’ calling him genfar is a stretch ... bit af’ a drebbler’!’

The Vaxon sat cross’d legged in hi’steck boots af’leathure’red huehide’, mostly a match for the Limford’s own front’bench’leathure’.
Her black’laced’orror’ skirts hitched hi at her upper leg - a smint’af’skin and lust’net’stocking for her genfar ... she had eyed him eyeing s’well.

‘Hm. The fly’en type bore me stick’rigid as a rule, Barbierre. Will we be long at Geigers’? What do we need from this goggler’?’

Einslow threw a corner un’sideways, dump’d gears and head’d in a straight line on The Pillion’Gower Arionway. Air traffic in the open east - clearing sky’s’ af’ clarrion - signalled Geigers’Airfield closing.

‘A texenhegonal keyman’map, my wymfar.’

Eliza Motif stared blankly through her sole’shaped window. ‘Will you know how to read such a map, Barbierre?’

‘No, Motif. I really will not ... things will unravel tho’.




Doctorre’ Odious Quall worked in the quietude. A lone figure af’ application ‘n’ concentration.

Laboratory 51’th af’ ‘The

Engineer Officiandry’.

The Petro’Sorcerers had departed pleased. The Brokering’Calcularidge’ came then disappeared, summing away.

The greedy Continualisters’ had finally stopped asking, ‘When will this be done? When! When! When!’

The Briesling Terminal Engine.

A Hellsmoor’ secret not so well kept. Information leaking by the day.

Quall knew this - devastating for The Engineer Officiandry - to say the least.

S’was no concern to he tho.’

The work. The work; all that mattered.

A Terminal Engine af’the Unwindery Spedfasting’-a motor slowing time’s Continualism’?

S’was not a process to be rushed. Quall had lost track af’ time, days, nights ...

He rubbed his grout’d teeth with his index pointer, cough’d’n’continued.

The work.


Chapter 1 Scene 5


Some, those loftierre’ in Hellsmoor’, considered it a proper socratial’ haemorrhage. Others, the Devil’god-‘Conclavity’s’ very armpit.


The tin’chin town af’ ‘Slow’KirkWitchen’Wood.’

Master Einslow Barbierre’s property, number 1’onth Mechaniclast Hill, laud’d over it from hi’fal.

After a breakfast af’ caffenite’ and creegenberry’ muffins, Einslow and Eliza headed downhill into town for a wander’ance’ ...

and a spirit’d ofting’ was being had, between a skeptical wymfar and her inspired’n’propired genfar, warming to a challenge.

The topic af’ course - ‘The Briesling’.

‘How much do you know af’ engines, Barbierre?’ Eliza Motif quizzed.

‘Not a’fleck, wymfar! Why does it matter? The Briesling is a thing af’ the unordinate’!’

‘So you keep saying Barbierre!’ She choffed. ‘You had me aboard when I thought it was af’ new n’ hi’sped’ful technological motorage’. I am not a dim wymfar, Einslow. I know the lure af’ possible new acceleratory’ gains n’ Hellsmoor ... but this Briesling Engine moving a craft to the outerrage, sounds so intangible!

This side af’ The Vaxon, Einslow found a strain at times. ‘Motif!’ He exclaimed with mouth’n’hands,

‘If one is never driven toward the unbeknownst’n’mysteriumly’unreal’, how does the wild and wondersome’ ever come about? How?’

‘Hm.’ Eliza stopped, checked a sidewalk viewing bench for bird’shet, then sat down.

‘Sit with me, genfar ...’

He did.

‘As usual, you sell a story well.’ She raised her eyes and softened. She leant in, pressed her cheek on his, rubbed skin’un’skin until their lips met in a long kiss that finished with a smile from both, ‘Hmm ... she mewed. ‘You have convinced me.’

‘Good!’ He end’d the exchange abruptly and stood up.

‘Whoa!’ The Vaxon startled.

Einslow took her hand n’ stormed them both toward home.

‘We drive, wymfar! To Geigers’Airfield!’



Chapter 2 Scene 2

Chapter 2 Scene 3


The Swaung Arm.
The Gallico’ Screen’n.
The Stemple’Penchauster Factorium itself.
All new developments at The
Engineers Officiandry’.

Doctorre’ Odious Quall tested tinsion’d elements af’ The Briesling Terminal Engine, unce’ n’ then 1’undredth times.
Moving from the 51th Laboratory t’ the ‘Factorium, a foregone necessity as pre’ordmintation af’ 2933’th flammotory gasket housing’s and the adjoining turbinated hydron configulated energy lines beckoned.
S’was gargiant’ work. Requiring space. The Stemple’Penchauster Factorium had more than was amp’el.
Odious turned as he sensed another’s presence ...

‘Odious Quall,’ take pause will you!’

Chantelliar’ Del’tar - Hi’Doctoresse’en’chief af’ Continualisters walk’d the metallic’ glandenway’ in tap’d heel - caramelt’hair coiffed hi’, bloodent’d lips pursed in whyte skin, hi’chin chisseled to a point.

‘Chantellier ...’ Quall uttered. He turned back t’ the Gallico’ Screen’n.

‘Patience is thinning Odius’. S’is all taking too long.’ She stepped to the side rail’sidling and watched what she didn’t quite comprehend. ‘Rumour has it that dark’markettes are coming for our tech. We do not even know what we have in The Briesling? What are we protecting?’

‘An engine af’ the most positive outer uxtremitives,’ Quall said as he contempered The Swaung Arm once again.
‘Gather your hi’d guards, Chantellier. If they die, The Briesling Engine is worth every death.


Chapter 2 Scene 4



Af’ dust-whirled. Af’ aged n’ rusted metalia’. Af’ mighty dubious n’ often drunken sky ploughers.
Not a flyte port for joy’d travelers at all - a place only for Hellsmoors’ wyndfreighters and pirated cargo’d balloons.
The Controllorists’ sitting hi’fal in the uppers af’ the Antennaetower, dealt both in smuggle n’ schedule - one as much as the other.

Einslow Barbierre parked the Linford in the shadow af’ Geigers’ clumsy hi’fal’.


The Vaxon, Eliza Motif, stood with hands on hips and peered up with drawn expression,
‘Is all quite decrepitus, Barbierre. Are we sure the whole bleeding plot af’ box’n’ladders wont fall down on us?’

“S’is built with an inner’twinned piling compillion rising up through its core, Motif. Deceptively strong,’ he turned as he shoved the tin panelled door. ‘Motif, did I ever tell you my grandgenfar, Sir Bliar Barbierre, worked for the 1th ever ‘Ensignatry Engineerium Imporialum’?’

‘Really?’ Eliza said as they mounted the first well’af’stairs. ‘I have no interest, Barbierre...’

Einslow grinned at his Vaxon’s vaxing.

At the top af’ the 6th flight’d stairwell, the two were greeted by a station full af’ finklers, noxxious barlows and devilish’mustachiasts - radio airhounds aplenty.

‘Psssttt! Dalliant Buckit,’ Einslow hissed.

The Vaxon recoiled as Dalliant rose bombly’ from a heavily punished sprucken’ chair and waddled toward them.
He was greased and saliant’wet with a curly and pubiously twine’d moustache.

‘Uh! I really do have a prize in you, Barbierre ... quite the copious drebbler isn’t he,’ said Eliza bracing Einslow’s upper arm.

Dalliant spoke both thru the nose’n’mouth like a gromulated frog, every word a windy belch,
‘Another day, Einslow, n’ I was about to send it back in t’ market.’

Einslow pulled out n’ inch af’ bills from his jacket and spoke under tongue, ‘Fourteenth’n’half thou’... not a cent more.’

The exchange was made.

Einslow took what was
scroll’d in Dalliant’s doughish’ hands.

The Texenhegonal Keyman’map to the innermost unders af’ The Engineers Officiandry’ - home to
The Briesling Terminal Engine.



The spitz’n’steam af’ the Balefaring Parlour room af’ number 1’onth Mechanachlist Hill smelt well’n’genfarly’.
‘Fritzen’ brand’d piping, puffed selected Oaken’Wood and Be’Heathened musk’d scents, cropped from Hellsmoors’ lowly herbesters in the Forrests af’ El Kirk.

Einslow Barbierre favoured the room for clear thought.

Eliza Motif blighted the room with cigar smoke tobacco’n... af’ which helped her with clear thought.

‘So, my genfar. This Texen-mawatchakafuggling’ Map looks to be drawn up by the hand af’ a feckling’ loon!’ Eliza said and walked to the bar n’ tumbled up a syrupy ‘scotch’un’ice.

‘The Texenhegonal Keyman’map,’ Einslow corrected The Vaxon as he walked to the incaliagraphy’ table.
He studied the befuddling screbbling, ‘You know, this is quite elden’, Motif. The genfar behind it was disinconfigured by The
Engineers Officiandry’. This map is af’ archivial’ singularity, Eliza. S’is rare anyone gets a look at the inner workings af’ such ‘n’ establishe’.’

‘Ah, yes my genfar, but ...’ Eliza held her glass hi’fal n’ studied the consistency,
‘... but can you decipher such mono-screbbule’? S’is hardly a map for us to follow ...’

Einslow rubbed his chin,
‘Yes, s’is all lines n’ fleck to me as well ...’

‘I did think as much, my magnificent genfar ... much as I love thee,’ Eliza smiled as she sipped her scotch.

Einslow roll’d up the Texenhegonal Map, ‘You may not like this, Motif, but
I think we shall have to revisit the service af’ Mr. Downlar Malariak.’


Chapter 3 Scene 1


A day off from the hunt for The Briesling Terminal Engine.

After a,
highly invigoured ‘morning af’ sex’n’ rell’ ...

Then a breakfast, af’ blackbrew’d tea n’ toast n’ red peppered kipp’fish ...

Master Einslow Barbierre n’ his betrothed, Eliza Motif finally board’d the brutish locomotionner’, the ‘367 McCallion Ironrodd’ at
‘Slow’KirkWitchen’Wood’ Station.

Running express thru’ station’s - Back’Stappin’Rue’, Pt.Devillian and Annannon on’Hi - the mighty engine stopped at Non’Notion Station, Ecliption City.
The two didn’t budge tho’.

‘Where’n you taking this Vaxon af’ yours Barbierre?’ Eliza grinned n’ fluttered’eye.

‘Drinks at The Kylyle’Beach’n Sip’n’Gin. We shall hire a ‘lectric car from Kintestershire’ Station on the Anumbulant Street side.’

‘Ludicrous naming a street aft’ an insect,’ Eliza muttered n’ looked thru’ her carriage window, ‘a Bickens gin with a fat’ bottom end will go down nicely tho’, Barbierre.’

‘Yes, drinks and a bowl af’ Sauced’Murder’ - the ‘Sip’n’Gin’ do that dish some justice ...’
Then Einslow darkened momentarily, ‘Motif, let us live this day well.’

The Vaxon turn’d t’ her genfar n’ gave him her fullest.

‘Tomorrow we will have a map that will definitely pickle’th’broth in our quest for The Briesling Engine. A game plan will have t’ be screbbled’ based un’ what the new map shows us.’

Eliza’s eyes lit up, ‘Are you saying weaponry will be involved? Gadgetry?’

Einslow nodded, ‘and others. We will need others, wymfar.’

‘Wo! Who do we’ trust in Hellsmoor’!’

‘Not a soul. Not a single one.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Motif, this is our stop.’


Chapter 3 Scene 3


From the damplen’ shore t’ the streets af’ Skirtingrow South ...

Einslow Barbierre n’ Eliza Motif cut rare silhouettes af’ hi’dress n’ tantfair among the drull af’ Skirtingrows’ Conniver Road.

‘Ms. Ivvny Chevner, is the wymfar’s name, Motif. S’is apparent she has a heavy thumb un’ all the hobbling lamplighters’ af’ age.’

‘Child scathe’ trade, Einslow?’ queried The Vaxon. ‘How many hobblers’ will your taint’d penny buy, Barbierre?’

Einslow felt a chill, he rubbed his arm, as he canvassed the street’s umberance’.
‘Motif, s’is not a purchase af’ scathes. The hobbling lamplighters work, as you know, all thru’ un over Hellsmoor’.’

Einslow felt a chill, rubbed his arm, as he canvassed Conniver Road’s umberance’.
Impoverished dim glowen from globen’ candle,petered seance-liken’ light in blackened windows.
In the hills beyond, whiner’barkin’ from Ferril’Devill’Hounds chiseled the night aire.

The Vaxon lit a ‘Fiddlers Trumpitt’ as they continued un’
‘So, this Ivvny Chevner, how do you know af’ her, genfar? Not a scon’ af’ that name n’ Ecliption City.’

‘We are not in Ecliption City, Motif.’

Doors threw wide. Shiften’ scud’boots shuffled out t’ mid road. Gaslights n’ hand, they stood with amber’en faces.
The hobbling children parted n’ made way ...
Ms. Ivvny Chevner arrived.

‘O’ she is unexpected, Einslow!’ The Vaxon said with a flick af’ her cigar, ‘this will not come cheaply will it!’

Einslow could only stare.

Ms. Ivvny really was unexpected.


Chapter 3 Scene 5


Next day in light,


‘The OuttSkirter Trundler’, cross’d the skies, wirring’ over the flatlands af’ Crestal’Dalliant’Rue,

enroute t’ the Flentcester Sky’Yard. A less than grande’ despatch from Skirtingrow South n’ drop off - book’d with Einslow Barbierre and Eliza Motif.

The Vaxon sat cross’d legged, derrière un’ hessian postal sack, spupping’on cigar,

‘I just wonder, Barbierre. Had I not af’ threatfellen’ Ms. Ivvny with a sudden blade t’ the nave’ - would you have bed’d the witch’n’hounder?’

She blew a twell af’cursive smoke. ‘I have t’ say - you were well spun’up in her ‘Orror. She wanted you.’

A grimly Einslow stood leaning ons’t ferrier wall, arms fold’d. Truthfully mortified af’ the night past.


‘O’? How would you af’ stopped yourself, my genfar?’ Eliza chagrinned.

‘Well it was a bloodingly good thing you were with me wasn’t it, Motif!’

Einslow threw his arms, caught knee un’ another mail sack n’ dump’d down un’ his ass’en.

‘Shet! Hellin’eiffel Eliza Motif! Can we just move un’ from this now?’

‘Ha,ha!’ Her betrothed’s caddish flop delighting The Vaxon.

‘Af’ course Barbierre. I had t’ have some jest with it tho’!’

Einslow swept his fringe from brow. ‘Good, most gladden’d for you ... now that is quite enough.’

‘Swept ascay’ completely, Einslow,’ she grinned.

‘We did get our 6 lamplighters - s’was what mattered really.’

The Vaxon moved un,

‘So, we will be dropped at Flentcester - do we Hanson’ back t’ Ecliption City straight away?’

‘We have t’ meet up with a genfar first, Tomias .T. Panik - a bit af’ a biler - tho’ he has implementools’ we will surely need if we are t’ go undergroun’en unnoticed.’

Eliza Motif joined Einslow un’ his mail bag n’ nuzzled unto his neck. She yawn’d, ‘Am in dire need af’ caffenite’, Barbierre. You will buy me a bitchingly hi’mug’n when we drop, yes?’ She kissed his cheek n’ settled.

‘Indeed, Motif.’

The OuttSkirter Trundler, trundled un.


Chapter 4 Scene 2


Flentcester - 8:436 in th’ twih’.

Dirty twinkelage splent’ the stairwell af’ Glibshaw’Rhychen Flats,
as Einslow Barbierre n’ Eliza Motif stood the doorway af’ Tomias .T. Panik’s shodden dwelling.

The Vaxon, well sated aft’ mid arvening meal af’ fryen’ Kopper’trout n’ Soulted’Peaded medallions - wash’d down with thr3’ thick’n’sour glasses af’ Turflen Brew. She now smoked her ‘Fiddlers Trumpitt’ cigar,
‘Barbierre’ I am still a smillent’ drunk, I must say. Shouts’ volumous’ applause for you that you haven’t whisk’d your Vaxon into a shuddery slum’shack n’ had your way with her.’

‘Hm,’ Einslow knock’d un’ the door with back knuckles, ‘we are betrothed, Motif. I will only bed you fashionately.’ He then grinned, ‘behave wymfar ...’

The door opened.

‘Einslow Barbierre, is it?’ said the stont’n’short genfar, his tone hushed n’ all’ whesperance.

‘Tomias, ist’ yours?’ Einslow said offering his hand. They greeted.
Einslow introduced Eliza with a flourish’d hand. ‘This is my betrothed, Eliza Motif.’

‘A Vaxon, I see ...’ Tomias nodded.

‘You do see,’ said Eliza with an eleffectual’ eye. ‘Un’ ist’ that kind for you - or unenchantlable?’

Tomias led them thru his living squant af’ demp light n’ ryhll smell. Einslow fought a need t’ put sleeve t’ nose.

The small genfar fueled a gin lamp; he peered up at Eliza n’ answered her question,
‘S’is what it is, wymfar. We see none af’ yours n’ Flentcester.’

The Vaxon smoked n’ scanned the dwelling with curiose. ‘Hm ... you wouldn’t.’ She put hands un’ her hips,
‘Tomias. T. Panik, where do you sit? I see no couch for your assen’? Is it because the wee’n’widdly short like you, need not sit?’

Tomias just stared unaffected.

‘It must be ...’ she muttered.

‘Motif, please!’ Einslow shook his head. He moved things along.
‘Tomias, your selection af’ Impementools. Please show us n’ we will purchase. Can you deliver t’ Slow’KirkWitchen’Wood, genfar?’

‘I can send gruftmenn’ n’ a lorry,’ he said as he pushed on a matte’metal door.
A danken’ stepwell led down t’ basement.
Gassen’ jet lamps came t’ life, revealing a sprawl af’ metal gestadgementary n’ hi’matierals.

‘O!’ The Vaxon wowed.
‘S’is quite the arcmetallier you have here, Tomias.’

‘S’is,’ Einslow agreed.

Tomias clasped his small, albeit, crafty hands.
‘What do you need, Einslow Barbierre? Where do you need t’ intervene? I have the implements. Where are you going?’

‘Underground’, said Einslow.
The Vaxon lit another cigar.


Chapter 4 Scene 4


‘Henry,’ Einslow coughed. ‘S’been awhile.’

Henry Rueinworth,

1one’ af’ Ecliption City’s many af’ the Adreft ... Lone’brads ... Austerricals;

smelt af’ elden’bird, Jedd’weed n’ tobacco.

‘Get him un’ here,’ said Henry looking The Vaxon in the eyes.

Eliza helped Einslow in t’ the darken’d dinnage on his good arm.

‘How n’ hellium are you awoken at this hour, eld’codge ?’ Eliza gave a curiose leer. ‘N’ who are you t’ my betrothed?’


She eased Einslow t’ an uncomfortablist looking chair covered un’ fallen feathers.

Henry finished his cigarette n’ dropped it un a stubtray. He gave The Vaxon a one eyed glarrish.

‘His betrothed...?’

He dropped down under a counter; retrieved a ft’ long kit af’ brown ornate, n’ a hi’bottle af’ clear pess’ coloured spirit.

Einslow sat bare chested. Henry splushed the spirit on the gougening.

‘O’ feckin hetch my feckin wagon un a betchin! That hurts, Henry!’ Einslow flung sideways. The Vaxon stopped him with her knee.

‘I know.’ Henry said n’ grabbed arm wuth cloth in hand. ‘Sit still! It’s upta’ hurt more than thet before I’m thru!’

He plunged needle.

‘When w’ you tellin’ your last bloodenliner’ you were gun betrothed? - sit still!’

Eliza piped, ‘What? Barbierre?’

‘O, Eliza Motif, meet my wildly ineffluent n’final Uncle Henry.’ He grimaced as Henry Rueinworth threaded quick tho bruffly. ‘Ouch!’

Eliza was genuinely blunded,

‘Einslow Barbierre. You lent the image af’ a lone’blood!’

She then turned t’ Henry,

‘N’ you elden? I am reckoning I have scandered you bummoning around on Distortion Road!’

‘Probable,’ said Henry cutting stutch thread.

‘More than likely,’ said Einslow.

‘O ...’ Eliza Motif felt numb.

Did she know Einslow Barbierre at all?


Chapter 4 Scene 6


The Engineers Officiandry.

A sardonicanistic vaulte’ af’ scientific helliantry.
In the rather tempestuously lawless society af’ Hellsmoor’, the ‘Officiandry’ was a law unto itself.

Scientific minds were af’ many un’ Ecliption City - Engineerialum’ taught un’ earliest grade - a soughten’profession.

Only a barely trusted few work’d alongside Doctorre Odius Quall tho’. His single eyed bekerk’, his passion n’ moteric’investion af’ his venture - had him riding a berling wave on his way up n’ thru the ranks af’ the Officiandry.

The Briesling Terminal Engine ...
finally ready for an initial trialle’ af’
cross’colony rumblerance.

The meagre gathering af’ scientists lined the metallier rafters at junctures. An open padrition on sectioned roof adoft them.
The Briesling gleamed darken’red chromulune un top af’ central iron transformer.

‘Froster’Keith! Prepare t’ activate the Briesling’s Invenitte Cyro!’ Quall hollered. Then he reconsidered. ‘No. Not you ... the ‘Peurke Machinian’. We need t’ avoid Clinket skin touching The Briesling where we can.’

Froster’Keith, was t’ run the ‘Peurke Machinian’ - the Officiandry’s smart’nonbot, under the splinted n’ watchful lens af Doctorre Odius.

With a whist’ af’ oil’stemen n’ sixlegged’ musculartronics; the ‘Peurke’ juttstepp’d unto the platform. From its supren’ supposed’ head, a triangulared opened n’ a baulted actagonal flyte shifter protruded like a sailen’ mast.

‘Easy ... s-slow! Slow, Froster!Down’t you jolt the connection!’ Odius Quall flenched, fit t’ swallow his own tongue.

The Peurke’ Machinian made the contact with a wisted ‘click’. A unified, n’ pained sigh af’ fouren’ engineers.

Quall paused. Then almost whispered, ‘turn on the Invenitte Cyro.’

He did.

The Peurke’ Machinian was back’d adroft, as just the 1one singulist chamber af’ The Briesling Engine’s 8eight chambers stemm’d t’ life.
A crionically excited, ‘WHOAH!’ sound’d yet wast drowned out unequivocally by a super’ceclic’bremming’ no scientist af’ The Engineers Officiandry had ever heard.
A calculated atmosteric force af’ silvery’whiten ferocity wast sent roofward, bursting thru’ the open padrition it shot uff east ...

11eleventh’hundred’n’7seventh miles away from The Engineers Officiandry ...

... In the east af’ Hellsmoor, on an axis outte’post, on hilltop, un the city af’ Kifflington Opal Offla Mia, a payed silente’ confidante -a genfar dressed inconspicuouse’, sat on a kebbler chairen, n’waited for the signal.

At first it wast but a blenk.

Then a silvery’whiten’light. Brilliante’. It wailed clean as it closen’d. Pure spedden transit.
It shot over the confidantes head. He fell backward uff his chair. Stun’d.

The Briesling Terminal Engine’s 1st test was complete.



Chapter 5 Scene 2


Ambrellered under an encaffeinated sky, the manorre’ at

Number 1’onth Mechaniclast Hill stood in all af’ its monothyllismic grandeur. Built by Sir Blynton Barbierre circa-18th36th’n’1th,

its canderstone walls as theck’ n’ as heavy as cratered earthen.

Aft’ a day before af’ none t’ savour in Hellsmoor’s deeply hoaven’ south ...

... an injection af’ Barbierre, hi’manorre plushe, wast most called for.

A bathed n’ naked Vaxon.

A bathed n’ naked Einslow Barbierre.


An ensu’ af’ intrepidesse n’ sexualeste’ parlour games unfelded with great rigeurre.

On completion,

both lay sated in recovery on snowen’bearskin rug.

‘O’, Barbierre, s’was almost af’ beast in its nature - wouldn’t you say?’ said Eliza Motif. ‘We do make such delicious companions on skin.’

‘In every enth’ wymfar,’ Einslow agreed rubbing her bare hip. He peered up at the parlour clock. ‘A change af’ track, Motif ... Downlar Malariak has sent missive. The map af’ The Officiandry’s undergroun’en is ready.’

‘O, Chrust on his fecking cross! Really? That feckling Briesling Engine!’ Eliza explented. ‘How in brown’hellier have we not spent a single morning blowing bowshun in the airen about that bledden clack af’ a thing.’ She shook her head n’ got t’ her feet.


She turned as she slung a Nyting’Lighter’floralinne’ negligee over her bare form, ‘Barbierre, you are not t’ go this day’n. You mark me, genfar? Not now.’

‘You need a break?’

‘Yes. A day,’ she said n’ added absently, ‘... where ist’ my smoke?’

Einslow knew her cherished, ‘Fiddlers Trumpitt’ box was still in the bathing quarte’ where their heated horne’ play had elevated. He rose up first n’ reached for her hand. She gave it.

‘Are you still entwhiled unto our cause, wymfar?’ He added un’low tone, ‘Tell me. I have t’ know that you are.’

She shut her eyes n’ breathed.

Einslow took pause.


At times, The Vaxon’s beauty astonished him splentlessly.

‘You are?’ He asked af’ her again, enched’n’bended on both knees, still holding her hand.

‘I am, Barbierre,’ she said wuth measure.

‘Tho’ you killed my completion un’ immediate back there. On’skin with you is a lot t’ come down from, Einslow - n’ it is my joy.’ She flettered eye then continued on’woe,

‘I just wanted this one day without The Briesling Engine.’ She knelt down with him, at eye level. ‘Please look at what is coming for your betrothed, my genfar: the company af’ that herribly ugly, Sedney. The corralling af’ six or so little snup’nosed lamplighter children. A coming storme’ af’ upmanamous proportionat’in an unknown Briesling engine hefting. Not t’ even touch on the combatance’ we are t’ face en’guard af’ such a famous machinen.’

‘The Briesling is gaining its notious worth, I will admit ...’ Einslow agreed.

‘I just want this day,’ Eliza said.

Einslow nodded, ‘very well. Point made, my wymfar.’

Eliza stood, ‘Now I want my smoke.’ She then turned playfully in a toe’tipped pirouette.

She gazed down at him n’ raised brow,

‘Then I would like you t’have your Vaxon on’skin at least twence more before dinner.’

Einslow Barbierre shut his eyes n’ smiled.


Chapter 5 Scene 3


Deep night,

strangeste’ cycliclic whirrings n’ intermittent spot fyres filtered thru’ Hellsmoor’s Ecliption City in aftermath.

From the ‘Misteurre

Mallieu Strappe’ Home for Estranged Babes n’ Abandoned Young’ in the cities east - all the way laung over in the westnor’s,

t’ the ‘DarkenTowers af’ The Abeled’Colden’Cultists.

S’was late night, yet the weirdnesse’ af’ it caused stirring from all.

Abruption n’ confusion.

Left s’was an acidic sick’ning in the airen. Invading the nostrils like the burnnin’ledden from the typpe’setters at the pryntworks af’ that clapp’d newsrag’, THE HELLSMOOR DIALLECTUAL.

Tho’ it wasn’t that.

S’was something else entirely.

Af’ awed power inextremitus.

Four cardiaclist heart pelsions were had - elden’s dropping, holding left baulst.

All gastion clocks stopped, until the cities’ regenerationallgenerators kicked in.

Sirens finally woke, undecidedly whilling t’ life, as if the Fire’farren at the wheels were undecided ... they were.

For it wast’ all strange.

A slyent aetherworld’ bomb’blaste’ had taken unst af’ Ecliption City.

Courtesy af’ The Engineer Officiandry.

For a 2th n’ 3th more chambers af’ The Briesling Engine had just cryactivated.

Test’d by the hand af’ Doctorre Odius Quall.

‘More than adequate,’ said a glowing Odius as he shut The Briesling down.


His creation glimmered its

darken’red chromulune.


Chapter 5 Scene 5


A cold’ myst’d midday ...

Ecliption City’s ‘Death’Knell’Kilnnen’
Carriage’, drawn by twence eivell’bredden chime’horse, was not a common sight.

Einslow Barbierre did not expect t’ see it at this time, n’ not at this address -
frontice af’ Downlar Malariak’s small quarters af’ The Chenkin Gasket Con’foundry.

He noticed an elden’, swaddled in hooded vesticoat come out thru’ front door.

He approached,
‘Why the Killnenn Carriage, genfar? N’ who are you t’ Downlar?’

‘Downlar’s brothren ... Staniard Malariak,’ said the glum elden.
‘I’m the lowly kin. Ne’er did have a nogglin like Downlar’s t’ trade with. I work at the Tafflon’ Moors.’

He gave Einslow the one eyed look af’ a mistrustful crow. ‘You know he died last night.’

‘What? Downlar dead?’ Einslow had t’ steady himself.

Staniard nodded, ‘ A’yeh’ -heart pelsion got him. 8eight days out from his 101’onth birthday s’well ... figure it wast the commotion from that Briesling Engine blowshun from last eve’n.’
He rubbed his eyes, ‘He wasn’t on his onliest there. Others dropped as’well.’

‘I know-I know, er ...’ Einslow stalled. ‘Staniard, genfar. My condolences n’ aetherences t’ you n’ the Malariak’s ...’ he gazed at the still hot killnenn carriage. The thought af’ Downlar’s ashes in its cylindrical’chromen made him feel both awry n’ sad.

‘Wast’ only me n’ im’ left,’ said Staniard turn’mouthed, ‘we had a sister, Marnia. She died whenst her lungs closed on her. Played in an orchestra-line on the ‘petenfeddler’. She we’ren bad neither. Af’ course they only paid her dove’coin. Poor as a shet’shoveler when she past ...’

Einslow hadn’t pagged Staniard for the elaboralarialiste’ as he wast turning out t’ be.

His Vaxon was awaiting his return t’ Mechaniclast Hill.

T’ business.
Einslow expelled a sharp breath.
‘Genfar, I have come on call for a Texenhegonal Keyman’map redrawn. Ah ... I wast sent missive from Downlar. Have you seen it?’

Downlar’s brothren thumbed t’ door, ‘Go in. Migh’as well.’

Einslow left the street.

Inside, showed a small n’ quiet end t’ a life af’ length.

The beddin’ dwelling was dark n’ simple lodgings af’ heavian’coil chair, desk n’ gastion clock. A ‘Poinostrumus Manitoblumus Map af’ the Hell’Galaxy’ hung on the wall above.

Einslow wanted only his

He pulled open the desk drawer.
In a leatheren tied roll he spotted it.
An initialled tag hung - ‘E.B’
Taking it out eagerly, he hid it in his deepest coat pocket.

He left.

He left the dead behind.


Chapter 6 Scene 2


Dubbed ‘The Psy’Chrontic’Syren’ -
The Engineer Officiandry’s militist genfarren.

Juised hi’fal with unilatriliste’ transmissions n’ wide awareness;
armed t’ their foyled’incisors n’ ready t’ protect The Briesling Engine at every avenue.

Professor Heidel InkFrederickson used The Wett Infusioner, charging left brainen’matter with skews af’ lectric impulsiveness.
The ‘Psy’Chrontic’Syren’ genfar walked with jitter n’ choppy stagger. T’ an onlooker they would appear a smedgen doubtful - tho’ that was the plan - just another af’ Officiandry genious. Displaying all af’ appless’ malfunctionist’wonk - then t’ strike t’ deadly attention - like a snaren’trap.

Security would need t’ be at its quintesse ...

... as Doctorre Odius Quall’s latest trial af’ The Briesling resulted in’ truest actual clinket propulsion.

A dozenth pay’d wymfar n’ genfar - from Ecliption City’s loew slub’lanes - were brought in t’ the Officiandry’.
An ultered copperen two’pentent coin wast taped t’ the fore’ead - the citizens were then sent back out t’ the streets.

Odius opened The Officiandrys roof. He activated the 4fourth n’ 5fifth chambers af’ The Briesling.


Invidualist’n’specialist copperen’magnetry from the open chambers pounded the coined fore’eads n’ sent all dozenth skyward, unto the millienths, like shot piston’cavlar’cannons.

S’was the day before when it happened - not a skerric af’ the dozenth seen since. Innocent wymfar n’ genfar.

THE HELLSMOOR DIALLECTUAL ran with the headline -


And a subheading -

‘What is it? Ecliption City Demands Answers!’

Doctorre Odius Quall’s invention af’ the extraordinairre was causing unrupture.

‘Unrupture’ invoked a slewin’ af’ emotion that would no doubt develop into action.
Quall knew this. Had known it all along. The Briesling had already shown its power.

Ecliption City would come.
Come t’ scream, t’ thieve’, t’ destroy - kicking out with Stromppen Boots.

The Officiandry’s engineers did not use weapons as a rulen’ - they created them n’ theorised n’ instructed.

They would instruct ‘The Psy’Chrontic’Syren’.


Chapter 6 Scene 4


A stainful’ landmark af’ laung disregard, Ecliption City’s,
Shed’. Established Hellsmoor’ yr. 13’487th.

A dirty brurr n’ the light af’ daye; af’ crematoric’ghostial’Orror’, in the coldness af’ twigh’night.

Laying a block away from The Engineers Officiandry’s Patarliamentary Avenue, snuckn’ behind on Hovenchener Street, the padlock’n’deskeletary key for the wire gate was un’ secret hire from a genfar af’ well t’ do ... n’ a lot t’ do - Einslow Barbierre.

Ugly’ Sedney Junter, on a spot af’ leave from his post as the loew’ender, af’ loew’caboose, af’ the unremarkable steamin’engine, the ‘AcidSludPlougher’ - was quite used t’ the gloomen n’ denk the eld slaughter shed provided.

He grinned at Einslow, all broken un’rattle’teeth, a voice af’ twausted carburation that crecked the cold airen,
‘My fee might have t’ double, E’Barbierre. Thes Briesling Engine is unveried in what et’s serving t’ Ecliption City. Thes idea af’ yours might be more far flung than you think. Even wuth these contraptuals ... as impressive as they are.’

Einslow gazed at the implementools delivered the prior day by one Tomias .T. Panik - most af’ which he had not a scunce af’ how t’ use:

Pettelitary guns af’ lyte weight for the lamplighters smaul hands - the only explanatory items.

The rest were quite bamboozling - Wynchen’leverage mounters,
Per’suctionner hand grips,
Sniff’triggered fleshen’seeking’ratatattler’ grenades, Wall’WalkingBreckBoots for himself, Eliza n’ Sedney, Stumption lectrically charged hammer’drells n’ a set af’ precision excalatary millimetric lockpickers.

N’ there wast more expense afforded by Einslow - af’ the getaway transportational variety-
a zippy, 7even gasketed,rotary powered Roadsterr Irron’Burde.
He grinned t’himself. At least he knew how t’ drive that bitchener af’ a thing.

‘O’ I am not sure you are right, Sedney. The Officiandry is causing its own rauck at present,’ Einslow rubbed his chin n’ stared the lowe’caboosener in the wheatened’whites af’ his eyes.

‘Ecliption City shows hi’resent like none other in Hellsmoor. One more amplified ‘shell’pelling’ from The Briesling Engine, n’ Doctorre Odius Quall will no doubt have a Gyfax’ styled’revolt on his Crussian’breckened’

Hands un pockets, Sedney nodded.
‘Fair enough, E’Barbierre ... tho’ I want more money.’
He smiled wide n’ greedily n’ as ugly as a chipboard’winerack.

Eyes suddenly wild, Einslow bristled, tho kept his tone loew,
‘Stop talking about your fecking money, n’ start what you came here t’ do! You will be paid!’

With a sharp pull on lapels, Einslow turned n’ left ugly Sedney Junter. He slammed the door on the Decapita’Carven’Slaughter’
Shed n’
paced into the dark twi’.


Chapter 7 Scene 1


The Haught’Crow sat on the eld’ skull af’ Chintley McAdamley - exen’soot’sweeper - deceased, Hellsmoor’, circa year 9’435th.
The laung’forgotten rest af’ Chintley’s corpse, wast mostly covered by drooping branches af’ rooven’hi willow tree grown next t’ the ‘Misteurre
Mallieu Strappe’ Home for Estranged Babes n’ Abandoned Young’.

Other than the disturbing, preoccupassionate guarding af’ eld’ Chintley, the Haught’Crow had another purpose - it sensed things.

Particularly anger.

It sensed the anger af’ an Ecliption City on edge.

It sensed The Briesling Engine as well, tho’ not its anger ... its power.

There was an’ Orror in the airen thes predawn morning.
The Haught’Crow could feel the turbulence, the thrumbrance, all the way from its ghouled post in East Ecliption City ...

At the Engineers Officiandry;
a boastful n’ unscrepulant, Doctorre Odius Quall, stood like a geggle’d drunk on his own upperance.

He spoke t’ the room - the full Officiandry had gathered - splentit’ excellence af’ Engineer genfar n’ wymfar. A more auspicious an occasion none could remember.

Hellsmoor’ be damned!

The Briesling Engine was next’
engenerealismial’science af’ the outermost!

Odius Quall played up the dramatics,
‘O’ how I have slaved dearen’ Officiandry’botheren n’ overenti!
N’ your appreciation af’ my timely brilliance is noted. I will endeavour t’ embrace you all in my rise!’

He sly eyed Chantelliar’ Del’tar, (caramelt’ coloured haired most lovely) doctoresse’en’chief af’ the Continualisters - wast even
tempted t’ wink - then thought better af’ it.

There was a show t’ do, a show af’ imperiled danger n’ the unknown - n’ he, Odius Quall, was its star.

He gestured t’ the glowing reddened mechaniche’ af’ The Briesling Engine, mounted hi’ on ‘Bruce Von Sickle’ branded ‘Heft’Draulic’Lifter.’

Fist held hi’fal, Odius verbally blasted like a fool‘cannon,

‘Be proud af’ your Briesling Engine as I open
chambers 6sixth to’ 8eighth! Let us all bow t’ its elementual gasketry godness! Let us all bare witness t’ this new era af’ terminal machination!’

The chambers were activated.
The explosion was wide and af’ steel’silver’blue.

The Officiandry’s unified ‘HURRAH!’ drowned by the ultimate din.

Power n’ anger.

The Haught’Crow cawed its siren.

Ecliption City woke.

Ecliption City roared.


Chapter 7 Scene 3


Af’ wyliest’ n’ troublest af’ the Lamplighters was youthan’, Flent Scouthing.

Tho’ he could still follow enstruction, wha’ever they said about im’.

En’ actuality he quite liked Einslow Barbierre. For a city’ steff - he had’ his dapperance, tho’ he had’ a smat’ af’ the street’scathe in his nouse s’well.
Flent could tell, so could the rest af’ the lamplighters.

That Vaxon he found 10ten thou’ scarier then his kept’maiden, Ms Ivvny Chevner, tho.’
Ivvny had the ‘Orror, sure.
Tho’ that Vaxon’s look af’ the hi’devillia’ was af’ the un’sprecken danger.

Thru’ the gloomen’ Flent ran the brickened undergroun’en af’ tunnel 6six.

He carried his Pettelitary gun in his mitt.

He had t’ be ready.
The Leftten’bifecular lens ugly Sedney had handed t’ each af’ lamplighter helped light his way.

So far he hadn’no’en trouble.

Only eard’ his own steps, only kept his own company n’ thoughts.

He hadn’ saw no way up into The Engineers Officiandry tho’, not neither.
Hadn’ seen no metal hatch wetha’ latch.

Hatch wetha’ latch,
hatch wetha’ latch, hatch wetha’ latch.


He’d been saying et’ over n’ over so he wouldn’t forget.

Master Barbierre told im’ - told em all - t’ look for a hatch n’ that the tunnels would all meet another’s - s’ not’ t’ worry.

Flent wasn’t worried, not too much. He was from Hellsmoor’s Southerne’ - wasn’t much mucken he hadn’t seen.

Breathing as thin es’ a stick af’pipen’twezzler, he took another corner, n’ saw nothing ...

Tho now he heard more foot’fell than jus’ his own.

He pressed on a twi.’

He spotted yellow light; as’ pale as’ pess.

Heard zapp’ning’ af lectrical somethings.

The foot’fell got louder, n’ there were many af’ them. He thought 6six at least.

They got louder again.

Flent stopped where he stood, breath turning thinner n’ thinner,
‘Jaesus un’hes janglen chain ...’

He was only a hobbling fecking lamplighter from the south ...
tho’ he knew when something weren’ righ’.

These weren’ righ.’

Flent Scouthing flicked the light off on the Leftten’bifecular lens n’ made himself smaller. He felt for the trigger on his Pettelitary gun.

The Officiandry’s,
came stomping.


Chapter 7 Scene 5


Einslow Barbierre,
as per clinketry rule; preferred the pertinition af’ stern words, af’ quick hand’d trap, n’ one’s ability t’ distort happenstance, much more than all out weaponry fire n’ bludgeon’gore.

Tho’ sometimes it had t’ take place ...

Plenty af’ years ago.

S’was in the westernen’ Hellsmoor’ town af’ ‘Phantasmalen’Del’Marche’- on a soloiste’ expedition. A hunt n’ steal af’ raren, ‘Emeraldian’Brown’
Twenkle’diamonds’ required murderance with mortilletry gun n’ long dagger.

The bledden’ he shed was t’ save his very existence tho.
Wild n’ Hoathful gangs af’ Pigament Trollen guarded the raren’ jewels. The Pigament Trollen thought they were magical, Einslow knew they weren’t - he slaughtered his way thru’ on that twilit eve ...
that time ago.

S’was much like now.

Gunchen gun in hand, blade in belt, fleshen’seeking’ratatattler grenades under jacket lapel.
Tho’ this time, he had his Vaxon t’ accompany him as the undergroun’en squant af’ tunnel 6six presented.

An open hatch with ‘creted stairwell.

He saw the lithen, blond shaggen’headed form af’ Flent Scouthing, body laying on ground, against the wall.
Clomping boot stomps were nearby.
’Do you hear,Motif? We have our action,’ he whispered.

The stomps seemed t’ be on advance n’ retreat, in a state af’manic’en’confusional. Round corner, blue pinging light lit the gloomen.

The Vaxon prowled alongside in her pair af’ BreckBoots, her gait not af’ her stiletto-heeled normal, her height an’ inchen under Einslow’s.
‘I do. There will be slaughter it seems. Is thet Scouthing baben’ dead, Einslow?’

Einslow n’ Eliza neared Flent’s form. He was alive.

‘Shhh ... the ediots don’ know you’re here ef’ you don’ move!’ Flent said still facing the wall.
‘The hatch is here tho’,’ he pointed up with shaking right arm.

‘We know. Good work, Flent,’ Einslow whispered.

‘They’ll be coming on again,’ Flent said , ‘careful.’

‘Get on your feet youthan. You have a gun,’ said Eliza.

Flent did.

The three walked un toward the blue until they saw them.
The Engineer Officiandry’s militist’ genfar, The Psy’Chrontic’Syren, jitter’stepped n’ sauntered the tunnel awaiting movement.

‘What an abominant this is,’ wondered a bemused Einslow.

‘HEYAHHH!’ yelled Eliza Motif as she fired her Gunchen n’ ran in.

S’was a return af’ instant, yet, hopelessly erratic blowgun fire from the Psy’Chrontic’Syren.

Einslow’s aim was true as his bullets tore helmetted heads afly.

‘Hahaha!’ Flent geggled with the adrenaline as he ducked down n’ shot his miniature Pettelitary gun.

Body parts flew.

There was bludgeon’gore.


Chapter 7 Scene 6


Boastful arrogant bastions af’ the most hi’flung.

The powerdrunken, Doctorre Odius Quall n’ the sciencers af The Engineers Officiandry continued t’ work on as the citizens af’ Ecliption City broke thru’ the oaken entrance.
Bootstomps on the marble floor af’ the foyer; general rowdiness af’ the rawk n’untidy. They were getting closer. Soon t’ invade the test area.



A blowgun shot.


Possessed by the potential, n’ the rumbling thrumptioning roar af’ his Briesling Terminal Engine, Odius Quall went forth and called for the optimal ... t’ unleash the whole width’n’bredth af’ his creation. Fist held hi’ t’ the rafters he screamed,
‘All 8eight chambers! Now! Are we af’ the sciences or are we not?’
The sciencers scurried n’ bumped into each other in the haste as they prepared The Briesling’s junctioner ports for the ultimate, under Quall’s leering eye.
‘Faster! You hapless doltens!’

Straight from the slaughtering af’ the Psy’Chrontic’Syren, a bledden spattered Einslow Barbierre n’ Eliza Motif climbed the stairwell out af’ tunnel 6six, headed by the pale faced, tho excited lamplighter, Flent Scouthing.
The 3three stepped into the dim n’ enormous cold steel complexicon that was The Officiandry.

Thankfully the way forward was obvious - follow the erupitous din. Rawk n’ carry’on from what seemed a 100hundred voices melded with the gargantuante whirring from The Briesling

‘Calamity en’masse, Barbierre!’ Eliza said pacing alongside her betrothed along the canterstonen floor.
‘Would not have thought thes was part af’ the plan my genfar.’

Einslow grimaced unable t’ hide his unease,
‘looks like it might be quite a show.’

‘Jaesus un’ a chain! Thet’ feckin’ engine sounds huge!’ said Flent almost in a run as light flashed n’ kelled the atmosphere ahead.

‘O’ Motif! I never-!’
Einslow recoiled at the pure size af’ The Briesling Engine as they rounded the corner.

He stumbled back into his Vaxon, who shoved him off.

He turned.

The Vaxon stood with folded arms, eyes shut.

T’ the right af’ the room, the mob burst thru, screaming n’ shouting, raging un’ holler.

Einslow spotted the wave from Sedney. He had the 5five lamplighters in hiding, at standpoints across the room. He waited for a signal from Einslow.

Bedlam was about ensue.

Eliza did not care. She was far too exasperated.
She turned on her betrothed, eyes wild,
‘What Einslow? What? Why are you befuddled - annoying genfar? No one has even seen the fecking thing until now! N’ did you think you would stick it on your shoulder n’ walk it out af’ here? Please tell me there was more t’ your plan than that. Feck it all t’ far’hellion!’

A crestfallen Einslow could only watch on.
He spotted who had t’ be Doctorre Odius Quall, on a hi’Tovius platform - the mad director af’ chaos un’rowl.

He then saw white coated sciencers fall as the citizens af’ Ecliption raided the area.

‘No,’ he uttered.

Eliza lit a cigar.

Doctorre Odius Quall was envigilant.
The 8eight chambers were ready despite the fall af’ his hopeless sciencers.
Finger poised on the Invinette Cyro, he stood n’ bellowed indignant from his hi’vantage,


Below the room roared its anger - tho Odius Quall was far beyond caring. Thes was a ceremony after all, something t’ be cherished n’ remembered ...


He pressed the button.



Follow S.B.Norton 

Chapter 2 Scene 5


At the Chenkin Gasket Con’foundry.

The elden genfar, Mr. Downlar Malariak, had lived a long life. A life af’ ‘configuarlitary, af’ gasketry ‘n’ cog. Af’ analysis af’ blueprint n’ instructional’decipherage. A mind af’ width n’ purpose.
A quiet genius af’ sober thinking un’ contemplation.
He did not take appointment often.
Tho’ the genfar, Einslow Barbierre’s plight he found a’curios, an intric’quitte af’ technical n’ moral dilemma.

On Einslow’s insistence, Downlar had allowed The Vaxon to take part un’ the reading s’well.

‘Genfar Malariak, can I smoke?’ Eliza Motif said tapping the breast pocket af’ her fire’flamet’blazion.

The elden’ gave her a brown glare, ‘it would depend ... what is your brand?’

‘Fiddlers’Trumpitt.’ She raised one brow.

He nodded, ‘May I have one?’

‘You may ... wise genfar,’ she smiled and lit both.

‘Ahem ...’ Einslow broke the exchange - both were grinning like a pair of choffing’ Hyenas!
‘Can we please look at this map! Downlar Malariak, I know your time is en’cherished.’

‘Af’ course, Einslow ...
‘This map, is texenhagonal as we all know. The Engineers Officiandry is unobtainable for all un’ Hellsmoor’.’

‘... as we all know,’ Eliza said.

‘Yes,’ Malariak nodded to Eliza. ‘Thank you for your smoke n’ your candour, wymfar.’

He breathed deeply n’ eyed Einslow, ‘S’is written n’ long ago’coded’ math’scrit. I can see there are 10’ possible entries, all underground.’

‘10?’ Einslow said rubbing his mouth - s’was suddenly dry.

‘Your plight will not be n’ easy one,’ Downlar said. He took a lengthy yet relaxed drag af’ the cigar. ‘But if what I believe to be true af’The Briesling Engine - to be its possessor may just be worth the inextremity.’

‘Is the Briesling priceless?’ Einslow whispered.

‘I would think it is,’ he lifted the map hi n’ studied, ‘I will redraw this for you, Einslow Barbierre.’

The meeting was over.


Chapter 3 Scene 2


The crossing to Skirtingrow South ...
was aboard the Tinnin’Bullit’Boat, un’ rent from the Wynchen’N’Twyster Salmoner Co.
An under ‘n’ over Tinnin’.

The Vaxon had been well along with Einslow’s plans so far - tho’ she had never expected such torrid n’ fellid’ transport ...

‘O’ Just a woeful stank’feist this is, Einslow!’ said n’ exasperated Eliza Motif covering her nose as she wile’eyed the skel’shaped cabin.
‘Eld’ scales ‘n’ dried slop! Quite the crashing’down n’class. You know I despise scalen, my genfar!’

Einslow shook his head. ‘S’was alI I could sort, Motif. Skirtingrow South is lowanbrau’ for Hellsmoor’, with only staggard traffic to ‘n’ from.’

The Tinnin bounced n’jolt’d n’ Eliza look’d sickly uncomfortable, she breathed deep, n’ shut her eyes. She forced her words,
‘so r-refresh me ... the map, ugh! ... had 10 pathways.’
The Tinnin chopped across current n’ jumped.
‘This feckling fecker af’ a thing!’
Eliza went yellow.

Einslow yelled, ‘Man’O’Front! Slow it down! We are not far off. If my wymfar is sick, I will dock your pay!’
Einslow went on in dread’d hope there would be no gastriconious eruption.

‘Ah, yes, Motif, 10 paths - all n’ intricate marray. Most with dead-ends. The Engineers Officiandry’s undergroun’en is af’ complex ruination for us.’

He paused, Eliza looked in an ‘orrorific way! Was she going to keel? He continued talking, hoping it would deter, he grabbed for her hand and she pulled it back, with rigorous shaking af’ her head.

‘And as we trust not a genfar or wymfar in Hellsmoor’ - we shall pay children. Working children. The lamplighter hobblers af’ Skirtingrow’South! They are small, lithe n’ hungry.’ They can work the dank, the dark.’

Eliza’s breathing eased to short pefts, as the Tinnin’ slowed. She put a hand un’ her bosom n’ expelled,
‘O’ thank feck for Cristwell hanging un his glot covered cross -!’

The Tinnin’Bullit’Boat pulled slow to the brettlin’ docks af’ Skirtingrow.

The Vaxon shot Einslow a glare,
‘Unce we are done here, Barbierre, we fly back!’
She threw the vult’door open n’ left.


Chapter 3 Scene 4

Af’ damninion’. Af’ shade n’ dyre night. On the streets af’ Skirtingrow South ...
... a gathering.

The hobbling lamplighters. Ms. Ivvny Chevner.
N’ two from the steam n’ swaff af’ Ecliption City.

One af’ which was stunt’d.

Einslow Barbierre’s eyes stung like the slit’cut’. Tho’ he could not veer ... nor speak.
Ms. Ivvny Chevner was touch’d by the Orror’cat. Betwixed. Wearing a face bejeweled with twenkling, fyer’iris.
A rare product af’ a lost’n’elden’ Hellsmoor’.

She eyed Einslow hungrily,
‘The boatmen’ vysted’ t’ me that a genfar were t’ call,’ said Ms. Ivvny. Her words lingering with a backen’ throat’d pur’l. ‘O’ n’ one af’ much brillian’ I see.’
Einslow had no words ... n’ knew why - it was the ‘Orror.

Eliza Motif had a mouthful tho’,
‘Ms. Visny is’t that your badging? We are here for trade’n’harbet’. My Barbierre’ has come adrift with your ‘Orror. I shall’nt.’ She flip’d a splendid hand. ‘Pinotion’n’twyst will not stonch a Vaxon, you see.’ She eyed the grum’ faces af’ the children with a hi’eye.
She turned t’ Einslow. ‘How many, Barbierre?’

‘Six ...’ he uttered, not shying uf’ from Ms. Ivvny.

‘Hm. Ridiculous, genfar ...’ she shook her head and readdressed Ms. Ivvny,
‘We shall scont’ six af’ your best climbers, spedn’footers, barrel’rowlers ... n’ the like.’ She lit a cigar, ‘your fee?’

Ms. Ivvny rubbed Einslow’s shoulder up n’down, slowly.

The Vaxon riled. ‘Take that hand from him or it will be shot off.’

Miss Ivvny did n’ took a step toward Eliza. ‘My name is Ivvny. Your mistake Vaxon. My fee?’
Her eyes lit’n’hi’dynamique’. She back’d n’ rubbed Einslow un’ pectoralle’,
‘A night with this genfar ...’

‘Barbierre! Waken’n’ step left,’
The Vaxon pulled her blade.


Chapter 4 Scene 1


Fyre’flame n’ pressure un’ ‘The Slysein Wheel.’

The Slysein Wheel wast’ The Briesling Terminal Engine’s own extraordinary heart - the Wheel’s spheretual core was built af’ the purest cryon’metallium.

Doctorre’ Odius Quall, insisted un’ use af’ The Engineers Officiandry’s frigid ‘second’ basement for the vital testing af’ The Slysein Wheel’s tolerance under lectric’ n’ inextremitus’.

O’ there had been verminny aplenty whence he first arrived - t’ the point af’ rancur; tho’ most af’ the blygh’rats n’ squal’mice had burned t’ incinerate’ash

un start up af’ the


Odius stood in’ yellow fyre suit n’ bifecular goggle. His skin a’sop with sweat from the basement’s humidity. He watched as ‘The Slysein Wheel’ held up under the ‘Machinnen’kiln’s’ violente’ drive.

Doctorre Odius himself was un a certain decline af’ self induced, maddenous exhaustion.

His existence - all f’ The Briesling.’

S’was all that mattered. He seldom slept, he ate less - his body wasting t’ the sticklingly skeletal.

Tho’ what af’ food? What af’ bed rest?

The scapes af’ the outermost conceptular The Briesling Engine could potentially reach didn’t call for meagre rest!

All af’ Hellsmoors’ trivialles’ would shrivel into dire’pits af’ mundanity dwarfed in the shadow af’ The Briesling Terminal Engine!

This, his stoic, binding belief.

He wore n’ expression af’ the woelly crazed as he dialled the Machinnen’kiln hotter yet.

The Slysein Wheel’s golden glow smelt’d t’ boilest’ blinding white.


Chapter 4 Scene 3


Still n’ Flentcester...


In the hour af‘ ‘Deminion’Witchem’.

An hour when nothing well happens.

Einslow Barbierre n’ Eliza Motif’s dealings at ‘Glibshaw’Rhychen Flats’ grew into n’ unlikely metriculous beast, sprouting lengthy arms n’legs af’ al’ manner af’ possiblist’ scenarios n’ problems af’ the maximalist.

Despite the pelava’ af’ it all, The Vaxon wast’ in a mood af’ hi’dialect,

‘That Lynx’n - Madam Mary Twerler, ist’ playing in a new stagen’gala, don’t you know, Barbierre, ‘ she said n’ added,

‘A gunshot af’ a season at ‘The Templest af’ The Riled King’ - that theatrette un’ Distortion Road. When all af’ this ‘Briesling’ Engine’ schlance’ is over - we should pay the blonden’ thing our teppence - Mary Twerler is generally worth a shill.’

‘Hm,’ Einslow grunt’d - mind still n’ a whirr af’ all things The Engineers Officiandry n’ how best t’ get in it.

Eliza hooked his arm with her left n’ rubbed n’ squeezed his bicep en’masseussenly with her right.

‘Ahh yes. We came away with a few more twaust’d coils than straight arrows didn’t we, my genfar,’ she said reading his mauven demeanour,

‘And you know, s’was indeed hard t’ really know what t’ make af’ the squant, Tomias. T. Panik. Indeed he was a biler, yet a hi’end one. Such gizmotronitry!’

‘Gizmotrinetrics,’ Einslow corrected her.

‘That’s what I sai-’

The Vaxon paused n’ raised a brow.

‘Those two look gruntled Barbierre.’

The hour af’Deminion’Witchem had brought on Hellsmoor’s lowely.

A Hi’Hatted Erchin’Diaboliste’ stood a’stare as they approached. His token ‘Benny’af’Burl’n’Brawn’ paced the bricks with clench’d fists.

Einslow n’ Eliza closed in, only yards away. There was t’ be interaction.

‘O’ho now! We have us a late’Sinstresse n’ her no’doubt’d unworthy genfar! Out in the awrn af’ morning, Barret! Stop pacing dolten n’ look!’ said the Hi’Hatted Erchin - his tone arid n’ craicked n’ bemused.

The Benny’ stopped.

The Vaxon smiled - hungrily.


Einslow sighed,

‘Let me n’ my betrothed on’n thru! I am in no mood, assen!’

The Erchin laughed, ‘Aha! Not withou’ touch un that wymfar’s cope’d bosom! S’is far too raren a spectacle un’ Flentcester you see!’

‘O’ you dirten’swalleren af’ a lechen!’ The Vaxon fumed

... as a shining implement af’ 5ive knives suddenly appeared un’ his mit - n’ was flung just as suddenly.

‘Barbierre!’ Eliza cried as twince’ af’ the 5ive knives dug deep unst’ Einslow’s left shoulder.

‘Don’t flinch, dolten! Grab her!’ The Hatt’d deviant gasped.

The Benny lunged at The Vaxon.

‘Run, Motif!’ Einslow said knowing full well she wouldn’t. He stumbled wrenching the knives out af’ his shoulder.

The Vaxon, too lithe un’foot, pivoted n’ pulled her own 9th’bladen. ‘Dare anyone fecklin’ even try n’ grab mine-‘

She stabbed The Benny thru’ the mouth - tongue splut blood - she slit his throat un’ slung him aside.

A bleeding Einslow pinned the Erchin’Diaboliste against colden’wall. ‘Un our way to catch a cab, idiot! All we wanted! You could have just let us thru!’ Einslow pulled the hat off the Erchin’s head n’ moved t’ one side.

‘But you didn’t, n’ you rullied my Vaxon.’

‘Dirten’ feckler!’ Eliza Motif growled, charging in, stabbing n’ stabbing.

She left a Flentcester mess.


Chapter 4 Scene 5


Number 5thousandth’and1 Distortion Road was unquestionably a hovel.

Home n’ faring t’ the Austerrical, Henry Rueinworth.


Einslow Barbierre’s penny’poren relative.

Eliza Motif, quietly abbhorrored with it all.

‘I find this as odd as assen’ I shall say, Barbierre. How does this be, my genfar? You have an acquired, histocratic fortune! This ist’ slebinual n’ unreasonable.’

Einslow was stitched n’ mended, wounded arm stained red n’ yellow with dried blood n’ pessin’spirits. Courtesy af’ his warely uncle.

‘I am going t’ stenk ...’ he pinched his nose. He paused, thinking af’ what t’ say next.

Henry lit cigarette.

The Vaxon then lit Fiddlers Trumpitt n’ sat uncomfortablist on broken brown settee. Wearing an expectant leer at her betrothed, as she spupped n’ puffed smoke.

‘Hm. Motif, I haven’t spoke af’ Henry as we have not much t’ do with each other. I have offered him wealth,but the stubboneste’ doesn’t want it,’ he stared daggeurs at Henry Ruenworth, ‘Do you.’

‘No,’ he dragged long n’ cucked loud. ‘Smokes, spirits n’ un’hengement. All I want.’

‘O’, I can not accommodate such pish’, Henry - you look like rulled dry gobblin,’ Eliza said.

‘Ok. Fair.’ He agreed n’ looked over at his estranged nephew. ‘So how were you stabbed, Einslow? N’ why are you two out un’ the hours af’ Deminion’Witchem?’

‘A scrap. They got off far worse.’ Einslow answered.

‘They are both dead,’ Eliza said coolly n’ stubbed cigar.

‘You killed them didn’t you, Vaxon,’ Henry geed’d knowingly.

‘I did.’

Einslow wondered aloud,

‘tell me Henry. What is the word on the streets af’ Ecliption regarding The Briesling Terminal Engine? Is there any?’

‘Plenty,’ Henry stood n’ drifted t’ his grimy kitchen space. He ran grey water un’spout n’ filled a glass. He scowled at it.


‘Doctorre’ Odius Quall is the maker over at The Engineers Officiandry. Knew im’ when I was at The General’. A lowly at the Officiandry then. Smart n’ desperate t’ make a name - curdled mix if you ask me.’

‘Hold on eld’codge! You practised medicia’?’ Eliza said stunned.

‘An aeon ago, Eliza ... an aeon.’ He sipped the water slow n’ wiped his ratshettin’ beard.

‘S’is apparent the engine will be an awed machinen’ tho. Turn Hellsmoor on its assen’.’

Einslow announced unabashed,

‘We are going after it, Henry. Eliza n’ I.’


‘The Briesling. I want it.’

Henry Rueinworth just shut his eyes n’ shook his head.

‘What a load af shet ...

‘I need some sleep. See yourselves out.’


Chapter 5 Scene 1



Southern outhermost Hellsmoor.’
Where the airen’ stenched af’ farted bowel smoke from the soot’towers n’ rancow assen’ovens.

At Druughsdale Station,
No.19A8’AcidSludPlougher pulled t’ platform.

Einslow Barbierre n’ his Vaxon, Eliza Motif, stuck out as strangen’ types un such fetidous surrounds.

Eliza dress’d un’ waspen’fashionesque - smoken’greybullete coat fasten’d
t’ chinpoint; brunette’n’bledden red quaff inviciously flicked hi’fal.
Einslow Barbierre in Killop hat, signature tailor’d Moccono Coat n’ Stevvlin trouserre.’

As the steam hess’d n’ the archaically worn engine af’ the AcidSludPlougher’s gearing shuddered, Einslow took his betrothed’s hand n’ ran them past ’5ive carriagge t’ the end t’ward loew’caboose.

‘S’is the last piece’ un’ The Briesling Engine’s establishe’, Motif!’ Einslow said as he wrenched the caboose door open.

At first there wast’ just dark. Then a grisled smiling dial af’ broken spewn’hued teeth. Awfully ugly. A voice full af’ cun’n’badger greeted them.
‘E’ Barbierre! If I ever saw him again un this life!’

Eliza stood wuth scowl, repelled,
‘O’ what an aching hand you were dealt, genfar!’

The loew’ender continued t’ smile,
‘I know, lurvely - I was!’
He gestured t’ Einslow, ‘Come un’ in an what ave’ you, E’ Barbierre!’

Einslow intoduced his Vaxon, ‘Eliza Motif, meet Sire Sedney Junter. One af’ the most explent with implementools there ist’ un all af’ Hellsmoor’.’

‘Mind while I signal the man-o-front.’ Sedney hung out the door and gave holler’ -‘AFF!!!’
The decrepit eld’ engine pult away wuth a junt that made The Vaxon grab wall. ‘Feck!’

‘So what have you, E’Barbierre? You don’t never step t’ the southern reaches without a gamen’ un that quick nog af’ yours.’

The No.19A8’AcidSludPlougher gathered spedden’ n’ the track’clack was almost denting un’ the senses.

‘Sedney, The Briesling Engine. You know af’ it?’

‘A-ya. In town, at The Engineers Officiandry. That Quall character I hear. What af’ it?’

‘Eliza n’ I are going t’take it.’


‘What?’ said Einslow a mittin taken aback.

‘S’is quite the quiste, Barbierre,’ Eliza wisted. ‘Have I even asked you that I wonder?’

‘Resky. D’you know what it does? D’you know its size?’
Sedney queried n’ pick’d his nose.
He eyed The Vaxon’s scurge as he wiped finger on stovenpipe leg,
‘Lutta wett’particle’dustin un’ the south. Gutta clean your snoutten.’

‘O, I see,’ said a revolted Eliza Motif. She moved closer t’ Einslow.

‘Its size is a mystery, Sedney. As much as what it actually does ... if you know af’ it, you would know that,’ Einslow nodded slowly, ‘I would rather you did not question my motives. I have implementools that will need a driver, a demonstructioner. I can not promise you safety, Sire.’

Einslow paused n’ eyed his Eliza. He thought her a ravishment at this very moment. He felt his breath quicken ever so. S’was ell he could do not t’ pull her t’ him n’ lift her unto his torso ...
Gathering himself he swallowed n’ continued his line af’ offer t’ ugly Sedney Junter.
‘No, no safety. But a wildly sizeable payment from my fund. Are you swayed enough t’ step into the mystery af’ the taking af’ The Briesling Terminal Engine?’

Sedney licked his thin mouth.
Einslow felt his Vaxon shudder.

Einslow Barbierre grinned n’ pulled a wad af’ bills from his top pocket n’ handed them t’ ugly Sedney,
‘A down payment, sire. Am I speaking the language af’ the south t’ you?’

‘You are, E’Barbierre. Send me a missive whunce it’s time.’

The No.19A8’AcidSludPlougher pulled unto the station af’ ‘St.Blowshin’Flutter’Marr.’
The airen still stenking t’ hi’fal.

Einslow n’ Eliza stepped from loew’caboose.


Chapter 5 Scene 4


The Vaxon,

Eliza Motif.

A wymfar af’ specualitry’. Af’ feiste’ n’ errent contradicte’; an inherritor af’ passion n’ af’ violence’, af’ the white heated variety.

A rare classe’ in Hellsmoor’.

Born out af’ classisque’ hellistiocratic eld’stock, in the hi’North’Northen splentif’ af’ Rochestonberry Heights. The Motif’ bloodline ran thin n’ thine.

Cutnecked family dalliaisons’ af’ quarrell n’ hi’passions, led t’ ultimate gunplay, resulting n’ the very scything af’ the Motif breed n’ name.

She wast’ the very last Motif ... n’ 1one af’ only a few’ Vaxon’s af’ origine’ in Hellsmoor’.

With a favourable Kerklenshaw waltzin’ playing on Einslow’s ‘Steissehaussen’ brand’d ‘lectric laung’player, she took a tince’ af’ lone reflection time in Mechaniclist’s third floor Dialle’ room.

Humming along mindlessly t’ the Kerklenshaw piece - a hefty title, ‘Marry Mes’Darrier Merrier Before the Charriot Dawn’, she gazed into the mirror n’ thought on The Briesling Terminal Engine.

Einslow wast off at the elden’ Malariak’s, fetching the redrawn an newen’ Texenhegonal Keyman’map t’ The Officiandry’s underground.

She lit a fresh ‘Fiddlers Trumpitt’ n’ spupp’d it t’ burn. She watched her slew af’ cigar smoke in mirror glass.

The Briesling Engine’s clat n’ Orror in Ecliption City last eve gone was all over Hellsmoor’. The acidious in the airen had made it all the way t’ Slow’KirkWitchen’Wood n’ up Mechaniclast Hill t’ their doorstep.

Word had travelled fast.

The Briesling had killed?

She loved Einslow Barbierre with all af’ her Vaxon - body n’ mind n’ vehemence - n’ forever would she.

Support without a question .


Had her betrothed bitten more quest than he could chew?

She continued t’ smoke n’ stare ... n’ wonder.


Chapter 6 Scene 1



The Fenn’Henry’Docks in Hellsmoors’ hefting labour town af ‘Kintemplin.’

Einslow Barbierre n’ his Vaxon betrothed, Eliza Motif, stood in cold fenst n’ waited for first sight af’ the grubby tanballooned air trans af’ ‘The Jetter Georger Gusser.’

‘O, will this preg’ af’ a trumbler hurry itself along, Barbierre!’ Eliza clumbered inst’ her genfar’s woollen charion coat.

‘Ah, s’is nice t’ see ‘The Atlatatarian n’ dock tho.’

Einslow pointed t’ the airboat as it fired aurren’motors n’ prepared for its lift.

‘S’is all timed t’ thruence, Motif. Surely you know this af’ berth n’ docking. Once ‘The Atlatatarian’ is gone we shall soon see the ugly bargance af’ the Jetter Georger.’

Eliza pushed off him n’ gave an eyeroll’, ‘Do not hest’ me, genfar.This Ecliption City Vaxon has spent plenty af’ time un’sky! Docking is not burgeant science!’

She clumbered unst’ again into Einslow who pulled her in close,
‘I am frozen in every nether n’ just want t’ grab these little snet’nostralled fecklers n’ be on our way.’

exclaimed onlookers as
steam shot from cyllindren grilles, an bayen’water poured down hull as The Atlatatarian rose sagmanalistically hi’fal n’ soared t’ nor’nor’eastern sky.

‘O’ there we have it, Motif. Enth’d t’ perfection,’ said Einslow pointing t’ the cloudscape.

Lowering un approach af’ southwesternly; body shape af’ a brown seweren’workers boot, n’ sporting aforementioned grubby balloonen, The Jetter Georger Gusser, dropped n’ plomp’d in Kintemplin’s bay.

The Vaxon watched with a slyed n’ curious eye as The Jetter billered t’ward dock.

A silhouette’ af’ familarre stood dockside.
Ms. Ivvny Chevner af’ Skirtingrow South.

‘Ho! Barbierre. She has travelled with her chargers! Best have you shield your eyes my genfar.’ Eliza geeged. ‘Can’t have you slubbling n’ bumbling over her ‘Orror again!’

Einslow straightened t’ rigid, pulled down sharp on lapels. ‘That was 1once only, wymfar! Situation driven only!’

‘Hm. We shall test your rigidity,’ said The Vaxon walking toward The Jetter Georger Gusser. ‘Hello Ms. Ivvny!’

‘Vaxon,’ Ivvny stepped t’ the dock busily n’ flash’d a smile.
‘Have them back without Swoll’, without the Chivven or the Poxxly.’
She heaved her chest hi’ n’ tapped her walliking’stick on dock’wood.
‘I have business in the city af’ Ecliption. Good evening.’ She ploundered away glowing purple in purplage’bouffondress n’ quoilled fascinator.

Eliza watched the betwixed wymfar walk,
‘Hm... S’was unexpected Einslow, yes?’

She turned n’ had t’ stifle a laugh,
‘O’ Barbierre.’

Einslow stood pale, mopping brow, as his 6six Skirtingrow Lamplighter children hubbled onto the dock. They stood in a scruff’d n’ shaggy line n’ looked up at Einslow n’ waited.

He looked at his Vaxon.

‘Motif, they’re just staring!’


Chapter 6 Scene 3


Hellsmoor’s ever populated establishe’, The Gastion ClockTower’Festevian.

Einslow Barbierre n’ Eliza Motif vist’d at its trumphlage’ from afar.

The six hobbling lamplighter youthans’ un’rent t’ Einslow, twandered up n’ around its bridging n’ hi’ladderfal, marvelled’ at the Gastion demonstrata’ timeage n’ broken interscenia art forms.
A coupla’ had disappeared from view.
In truth, Einslow Barbierre wast happy t’ be shot af’ them for a spell.

‘Well I have t’ say, Barbierre, that I am glad t’ have this hellient’ collection out af’ our quarte for a moment,’ Eliza said at his ear.
She wrapped an arm round her betrothed - squeezing pectoral thru’ his ‘Wettensley’ town coat.
She sighed as she watched on,
‘That Kenthe’ is a lungful’ af’ his own assen’waft isn’t he?’

Einslow shook his head sloew,
‘Hm. Well, that youngen’ Ms. Minoothe’ took the trophy for me when she referred t’ yours’ truly as a ‘Noutthern City tussbowl thet shou’ mind he’s un’ feckin business!’

‘Ho!’ The Vaxon laughed hard n’ coughed. ‘The lettle bledden troll!’ She stepped back n’ lit cigar.
‘N’ you gave her a decent relliking for it I hope!’

‘Well no,’ he shrugged scratching his head, ‘I need them t’ work with us. We need their wiren’ n’ spedfastness ... tho bleddin enfants are indeed a mysterre’ t’ me, Motif. They have such a weirden’ eivelle, don’t they?’

‘I agree. As weirden as curb side ventriloquism ...’ she spupped n’ puffed her Fiddlers Trumpitt.

‘Changing topic, Einslow, I am curiose t’ your thoughts on all af’ the huppance surrounding this Briesling Engine.’ She gave him a look af’ aghanst.
‘I do say, skyward bodies that never return? Deaths on the street in Ecliption City?’

‘Hm. Yes. S’is causing a rauk’ af’ sorts isn’t it ...’ Einslow caff’d n’ point’d.
‘O, Motif! Did you see that? Flynt jus’ palmed Jesperence like a blockhammer on the forehead! Ha! Would have smarted like a betchin’.’

Eliza peculiared, ‘So, Barbierre, you have no fear for our quest at all?’

‘What do you mean, wymfar?’

‘Are you af’ sound mind? Is your head’room that dimly lit that its blighed in the shadows af’ The bleddin Briesling Engine!’
She gestured with open hands, ‘Barbierre! You have no fear af’ our demise? This isn’t a slabbin af’ Carrisbergen’Vintage we are trying t’ pinch.’

Einslow raised his brow n’ grinned un’playful’un’mischief,
‘I am aware, tho I think it will be fine, Motif. Tomorrow we meet with Sedney Junter at the eld Decapita’Carven’Slaughter’Shed. S’is empty.’

‘O’ the hedious Sedney ...’ The Vaxon shuddered. ‘... I had forgotten.’

‘Yes, well I have redirected the implementools t’ the shed. Sedney will not come t’ Mechaniclast - his station will be there. S’is only a cobblin’ throw from The Engineers Officiandry. Have set him makeshift quarters.’

‘None af’ that was explanatory’un’suffice, Einslow ...’ She sighed,
‘Anyway, these youthan? Will they continue on at Mechaniclast Hill?’

‘Sadly, yes,’ he reached for his Vaxon’s hand. He hollered tiredly t’ the children, ‘Come down now. We are leaving!’

The six lamplighters made way down toward their wary parent af’ employ.


Chapter 6 Scene 5


Eliza Motif’s parlour.


Built into Copple Bridge, in Ecliption City’s Ten Crowley’s District.

A nook af’ sorts.

A nook at best.


6six hobbling lamplighters, all sat whenced they were t’ sleep - on the Vaxon’s shag floor af’burgant’red.


With much deliberation the decision t’ be in Ecliption City, t’ be close t’ The Engineers Officiandry, close t’ The Briesling Terminal Engine - was not popular with The Vaxon - tho’ deemed af’ uppermost importance by her betrothed, Einslow Barbierre.


She wondered how far her bleddin’ truclant af’ a genfar was away.

Her mood was ticking.


‘One af’ you little shet’churner’assen’lighters stole a Fiddlers Trumpitt! I had 9ine!’


‘Dih not, Mes!’ said the wyley Flent.


‘O’ so it was you, Flent! First oth un’ slimy protester!’ Eliza bent down n’ sly’eyed the smallen’,

‘You know, I have scooped out n’ scalpel’cut a genfar’s eyeball for a lesser crime! Cough it up!’


The door t’parlour open’d n’ a harrier’d Einslow Barbierre entered.

‘What un’ in all af’ Hellsmoor are you all still wokened?’

He looked t’ Eliza, ‘Motif?’


Eliza bristled hi’fal.

‘Because the little betcheners will not sleep, for unt’ the need t’ steal one af’ your Vaxon’s smokes!’

She gave them all a stare af’ devillion.


Einslow sighed, ‘O.’ He gestured t’ all n’ shook his head.

‘Please try n’ not rile my Vaxon ...

‘I assure you, youthen’, this will all be over soon.’


‘We don’ sleep in’ lam’lighting hours,’ said Ms. Minoothe peering up surl faced, ‘I thought yeh’ would fecken known thet.’


Einslow did not bite, (tho’ he wast as inviled’a’mood as one af’ Perkitchener’s Bedeviled Ballistica’Hounds) instead he engaged his chargers.


From in his leather coat he produced the Texenhegonal Keyman’map. He took in the glum faces n’ spread it out on the shag.

‘I was going t’ wait til morning ... tho’ sence you are all up n’ irritating my betrothed, let us do something af’ use.’


‘Well it’s about time we gut’ to somethin’, Nouttherner,’ said Kenthe, setting un’ elbows n’ taking in the tech’ af’ the drawing.


‘... I will be in the bed unclothed, Barbierre. See t’ it you don’t spent all energy on these lettle shet’ sweepers,’ Eliza swished gown n’ shut her door.


Einslow raised his eyes, then continued,

‘Hm. Well.’

He cleared his throat. He had their attention.

He pointed, ‘we have 10ten inward points t’ the undergroun’en af’ The Engineers Officiandry. When it’s time t’ go - we concentrate on 6six only.’ He looked up at their faces. They were stuted at his every word.


Kenthe lit the stolen cigar, n’ Einslow grinned.

‘You know I’ll tell her,’ Einslow said n’ shook his head.


‘Don’ care,’ the lamplighter puffed then passed it around.


Einslow continued, ‘this entry is at the Southern end at Whetettley Station, I will need one af’ you here ...’


Master Einslow Barbierre - a sudden commander af’ the lamplighters af’ Skirtingrow South.



Chapter 7 Scene 2


‘Spontanei indamnitablei!’
Eld’ Hellsmoor’ dialect for ‘Splent chaos!’

Moments before dawn, Doctorre Odius Quall n’ The Engineers Officiandry opened the last 3three chambers af’ The Briesling Engine -
n’ 21onth’ seconds af’ ‘splent chaos’ indeed ensued.

Gaseous Ghostral shadows flew over the Officiandry’s rooven n’ swept Ecliption City - with all the power n’ speed af’ herricane wind.

Skewin calamity.

Glassen’shattered inst’ every window frame inst’ every establishe’ on Distortion Road.
Missive’Telecastron’poles toppled.

Strange, ripping decapitations af’ only the bald noggened - af’ which elden, Mr. Infley Surflux; long time HAlopecia suffering, Ms. Pertiffany Sansabout n’ Mr. Ridney Woeffler, fell victim af’.

Ecliption’s stray’d’animal population af’ Gnowl’Snouted’doggin’, Meuler’Tigren,
Cindell’Ratt were wopped , torn n’ blasted from lanes n’ alleys n’ thrown skyward like saumersaulting’n’
spenwheeling, ‘Helletiorites’.

A stenchen af’strucken match n’ rotten floral lingered.

On the passing af’ The Briesling’s 21onth’ seconds, Ecliption City was silent ...

then a small shiftment’ af’ time ...

then a shout af’ ‘YOU ‘N DIRTY FECKERS!’

Doors slammed.


Soon, more doors slammed, n’ more.
Anger het the streets af’ Ecliption City. Citizens were on’marche’, closing from adjointe’ roads n’ paths. A hi’ wide Clinket mob af’ ired wymfar n’ genfar ensued,stomping a ‘whepped up’ slathen’path’ t’ The Engineers Officiandry’s Patarliamentary Avenue.


‘Quickly Lamplighters! Out. Thes is it!’ Einslow Barbierre hissed as he held the door af’ Eliza Motif’s Parlour open for the youthan’.
All moved out spedfast at Einslow’s call.

‘Motif! Leave it!’

‘I will be taking the ‘Kennethine’ Higgler’ for warmth, Barbierre!’ said The Vaxon pacing t’ wardrobe, she fished it out with a huff.
‘It will be as chilled as a ‘steff witches nepple’ undergroun’en!’

Einslow riled, pitching hi’, ‘Bleddin hurry! Have you your betching cigars at least?’

Eliza winked as she passed him thru’ her doorway,
‘O’ you make your Vaxon geggle at times, Barbierre. As ef’ I would be without smoke!’

The party af’ eight climbed the steps with speed, n’ were moving bresk’scunce along Copple Bridge.

Einslow held his Vaxon’s hand n’ smiled despite his hoven’ nerves.
With free hand he pointed t’ the streets over way,
‘Do you hear thet roar, Motif? Ecliption is un’Hell.’

Eliza raised her eyes,
‘I do. Will bode well for us, yes?’

He watched his Lamplighters blazing on ahead, six bobbing, duster’hetted’heads,
dropping down the south stairwell like miliant scathen’ infantry -
working for him.


It had begun.


Chapter 7 Scene 4

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Af’ Above n’ Below.




Hellsmoor’s Ecliption City was a’thunderus with fiery n’ sharp’tongue’opinion’ af’ The Engineers Officiandry games af’ murderous experimentation, plightning t’ an all’city roar.


On the very doorstep af’ the engineers haven, stood the

rowdy mob, fefty clinket deep,





Gastion’Clock’Locked door was beat’n on by fists, n’ splattered with spit.

The mob made way as a bargenner pole was carried by 8eight’ burlen’ genfar n’ rammed into tinnin’plated oaken door.


‘YAAHH!’ Jeered the mob, arms in the airen.


The entry held.

It wouldn’t for long. Emotions ran hi’er, spewing Ecliption venom at The Officiandry as the bargenner pole bashed the door again.






A maze,

af’ Complexicon.

The Undergroun’en af’ The Engineer’s Officiandry.


The dank vestibule, ‘The Valhallian Colegial’, was marked on Einslow Barbierre’s ‘texenhegonal keyman’map’ as the adjoiner.


After perusal af’ each af’ the tunnels he; Eliza, ugly Sedney n’ his 6six lamplighters were t’ meet at the adjoiner. S’was the plan.


On return, none had seen a hatch up t’ The Officiandry.


Sedney wast’ the last t’ return from tunnel 8eight, shoulders draped in gizmatrametric implementools.

‘No hatch E.Barbierre, nothin. At thes’ rate, we bring on the hammer drills t’ get up.’


Einslow counted the lamplighters.


There was one missing.


‘Flent?’ said Einslow squenting en the dark.

‘Anyone seen the youthan?’


‘No. Trus’ him t’ be the one. Canna’ not rely on that lettle fecker,’ said Miss Minoothe.


Einslow gazed at the out af’ tunnel 6six, ‘I don’t like it.’


‘Probably fell in a senk’hole ... sort af’ thing e’ does,’ Jesperence said n’ added,

‘Lit his hair on fire once ...’


Eliza grinned as she tapped out a ‘Fiddlers Trumpitt n’ sparked it,

‘Well one af’ you had t’ cause us a pench’ in our side didn’t you.’ The Vaxon glarried.


‘I need t’ go find him,’ said Einslow. ‘I insist!’


‘We need t’ get up there!’ Sedney pointed as if he were shooting the roof.

‘We ‘ave our window now! It’ll close sharp. You can bet ya’ lefty un it! ... thet lettle feckling will show.’


Einslow sucked on bottom lip n’ contemplated his next move.

‘Okay Sedney, start the Stumption hammer’drells - here is as good as anywhere.’


‘Righto,’ said Sedney shrugging the copious tools off his shoulders,

‘All you lettle lamplighter dondlers come n’ grab a Stumption ...’


‘Motif,’ Einslow reached for his Vaxon’s hand.

‘Fancy a walk in t’ plightfully’ grave danger with your genfar?’


‘Always, Einslow,’ she raised brow.


‘E.Barbierre,’ Sedney called out as the two leaders walked back toward the tunnel.

Einslow n’ Eliza turned.


‘Thes is what these do ...’

Ugly Sedney Junter stood in the middle of the 5five lamplighters; each with Stumption drells pointed hi’, piston’motors steaming,

‘Hold em’ still - hold emmm’ ...’

Then with quick hands he activated catapult wire n’ the drells teeth dug en’ ‘The Valhallian Colegial’s’ ceiling.



The lamplighters looked up in awe, mouths agape as the hammers moved n’ tore away at crete’ on the end af’ their wires. Bits af’ graphit’ceiling showered down around them.


‘Messy n’ effective,’

Sedney geeged all teeth t’ Einslow.


The Vaxon scowled n’ pulled her betrothed round by the shoulder. ‘Hideous fecker is’n he ... c’mon Barbierre.’


They headed t’ tunnel 6six.



Chapter 8 Scene 1

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Af’ hellion’fueled’disintegration, in 4four destructive movements ...

From hi’ on his Tovius platform, Doctorre Odius Quall pushed the button af’ the Invinette Cyro - injecting all 8eight chambers af’ The Briesling.

The Briesling Terminal Engine;
Quall’s overance - his forehead persperance, his heartstroke, his infatuate af’ the all’encompasse.

His Hellsmoor existence.

As The Briesling spat t’ life the roar was af’ a sonic’seismic thrunt, it caught alight n’ produced n’ explosion af’ hi’terria.

The wave af’ extremitus lifted all in The Officiandry, throwing bodies, searing faces n’ limbs. Bones were broken. Burns.

Tho’ not a death.

Well, only 1one.

The red gaseous terria’ fanned its bustion in a searching upward thrust, disintegrating a screaming Doctorre Odius Quall t’ ash.

A death af’ the horribly impoetique for its master.

The bustion decimated the ceiling af’ The Engineers Officiandry n’ glass n’ rubble showered all.
The burning terria searched on an into the outers af’ Hellsmoors’upper’atmos’.

A light show af’ all a’flicker burst the sky over Ecliption City;
explosion aft’ explosion - fire confettying, lighting up the outher’ as if Ecliption City’s once yearly, ‘Sir Didier Dal’Ripple Crackerworks Parade’ was called early.
On Distortion road traffique pulled t’ a halt. All on foot looked n’ pointed at such a clasmic event.

After the show af’ terria light ariated t’ none; genfar n’ wymfar saw the daylight dirty up t’ an Orrid n’ surly sky. An acidic lectric’ lead permeated the nostrils, n’ would for days.

In The Officiandry, some whimpered, some cussed, some walked n’ some crawled ... tho all left the premises, every wounded n’ pessed’off citizen, each n’ every af’ the sciencers ... a slow bedraggled exodus en’masse.

A curious looking group held back. Tired n’ muckcovered faces on all.

The Briesling Engine’s body was intact, the innards roasted.

Standing on the central iron transformer, a skinny trousered assen’ poked out af’ the top af’ The Briesling’s brezzled shell.

Ugly Sedney Junter’s rough drawl echoed thru’ the exploded area,
‘E.Barbierre, all’s not lost - thes’ oughta be worth sometheng.’


Chapter 8 Scene 2


*** Final episode. ***

Some days on …

On leave from Ecliption City.

A Hellsmoor’ wet town, ‘Walker Catellione’.

The patio af’ hi’ restaurante, ‘Patalliasades’.

A coated Master Einslow Barbierre n’ his Vaxon, Eliza Motif, with rain hat n’ brella stood n’ took in the vista a’farrar. Af’ overcast smoke n’ damp, af’ cathedral n’ sloping walking stairway; the grande facade af’ hotel ‘Siguelle’.
A Chitting co. tram steamed along tracks towards the towns west flank.

‘What are those lectric’ spetlights over there, Barbierre?’ said Eliza Motif as she struck a match t’ light ‘Fiddlers Trumpitt’ cigar.

‘Not a fog af’ an idea,’ Einslow answered short, gazing long, n’ without mind.

‘S’is a drezzled place tho’ isn’t it … having trouble lighting my smoke my genfar,’ Eliza said, ‘give your betrothed a hand will you.’

Einslow sighed as he did.

Eliza spupp’d her burner t’ life n’ let out a slew,
‘You seem not yourself, Einslow. Quite the quiet mumbler thru dinner as well. It wasn’t the lack af’ pester’kick t’ the sauce was it? Roasted fowler needs it I find …’ she trailed off.

Einslow shook his head, n’ rubbed a hand down cheek, ‘No, wymfar. Have just been reflectant on what a load af’ fecking wasted time it all was.
‘The effort, the travel, the expense. I paid Sedney Jutter a small, top-pocket-fortune, by the way.’

‘Such n’ ugly clinket that one. N’ absolute skunks assen,’ Eliza shuddered.

‘Hm. Well, he had t’ be paid. He knows plenty af’ lowen’brau.’
Einslow placed both hands on the railing.
‘T’ come out af’ it with next t’ nothing is a wild disappointment tho’. The Briesling Engine was a thing af’ wonder, Motif.’
He sighed, ‘l would have loved it ... I do have a lot, I know.’

“You do love your things, my genfar,” she grinned.

‘This would have been more tho’. A something for the foraether! T’ have the bledden’ thing explode n’ burst like a bevvy’boiler was just a handslap.’

‘Well, you did get its Slysein Wheel. Whatever the merrybledden’ that is,’ she reminded him.

‘S’was its foundationary power apparently,’ he shrugged, ‘Much like fishing in a septic river n’ pulling out a dead red plankton. Not good for much without its operable engine is it.’

‘Well, no one under your employ got killed, that is always a plus, my genfar,’ she said n’ rubbed his shoulder. ‘You delivered the lamplighters back unscathed.’

‘Maybe I should just retire from the hunt, Eliza. Count my bledden fortune n’ be done with it all. We will live a comfortable life?’

‘A boring one, Einslow. This is not the speak af’ the genfar I betrothed,’ Eliza said n’ kissed his neck.
‘I think a sordid bedroom session is called for after this. Need t’ inspire your animal, Barbierre.’

The restaurante door opened behind,
‘Master Einslow Barbierre. This is missive for you. A messenger dropped it in just now.’
A wymfarren waiter from ‘Patalliasades’ came thru onto patio holding out a folded leaf af’ pale parch’.

Einslow gave her a look af’ curiose. ‘Thank you.’
He unfolded it n’ read the short scrall.

The Vaxon raised her brow. ‘What is it, Barbierre?’

“Well. S’is a request from the Frau af’ The Gastion Corporation. Ms. Embley .Z. Gastion. She would like t’ see me. She requests my services.’ He corrected, ‘Our services. Interesting.’

‘Yes, it is,’
The Vaxon smiled n’ dragged once again on cigar,
‘Barbierre. This is what you do, you shrode. You know this.’

Einslow gave her the hardened, charming look that he knew she loved,
‘Indeed, Motif. Indeed.’

The End