The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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"Mein Gott," Katherine hissed when she realized what she was looking at. "This... wow. Gammell must have a hell of a pair of eyes on him. No mere monocle can bring up enough detail to exact this." And there were obviously no electron microscopes in the room, either. "We must be doubly careful now, if there's even the smallest chance of Erasmus being on to us," she went on, thinking of the pistol under her coat but resisting the urge to reach for it.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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"He's a nutjob," deduced Three. "Even if he's not actually onto us, I'm pretty sure he thinks he's onto somebody. It could be us, or Archie, or Ciaran and Bucky. Maybe Tam, too."

He looked down on the tooth. "There's a wild hunch: we go back to Central Station and get the first tooth we found, to see if there's any matching indentations we missed. I don't see how anyone could carve a mechanism and just leave it sitting there. There has to be a key someplace."

Drake then took his attention back to Ciaran. "So you've got a supplier for ritualistically kinky shit and we've got a forced perpetrator trying to tell us how to stop those people who are using him for their own ends. What was in Tam's warning, again? The Gate is the Key, something like that?"

He sighed. "We should give this place another once-over. We still haven't found where these folks gather for the cult-related stuff. This is just a convenient workplace; there has to be some sort of connecting element..."

***

Ernest nodded as carefully took his selected fabric pieces away, measurements noted. "I'm hoping you will," he said. "I hate to see my brother in pain like this."

***

Archie's car was stopped a ways away from the park, with the Clank choosing to make the last stretch of the journey a tiny bit of a stroll. The weather was nice and the skies were still clement and to be fair, he did enjoy the occasional parading of his antiquated self before the privileged masses who'd never seen a wind-up armature before, having grown up on motor-propelled models and electronic augmentation modules. You could still find the occasional Victorian fellow around town, but nobody quite rocked the gibus and pocket watch the way Archibald Aloysius Holden still did... He enjoyed looking at the surprised faces of some of the kids, sometimes popping out one of his eyes by a small measure by using a small amount of zoom on a single visual array. The end result felt like he was wearing a monocle of sorts, and tended to complete his whimsically and phlegmatically embraced tableau.

If he'd been a man of the times, he'd have noticed how his little attentions caught eyes and glances. He'd have noticed how the slightly frigid and distinguished take on pedestrian politeness he'd chosen to exude made a few female heads turn... As he hadn't, his trek towards the heart of the Centennial Park was largely uneventful. He hummed It's a Long Way to Tipperary and random snippets from The Pirates of Penzance as he moved, allowing himself all the leisure to take in the park's bird life and the sounds of that nearby pond, the conversation coming from this park bench - or the happy barks of a dog playing fetch with its owners.

He slipped into the heart of the park unbeknownst of the guards - force of habit, he hadn't even noticed how quiet he'd been the closer he'd become to the Tree - and found himself absently paying attention to his core mechanism's revolutions and the way his feet crunched on a thin carpet of dried and dead leaves. There, at the core, the summer's heat felt like a pleasantly distant suggestion, with the air's high moisture and the Tree's high canopy creating a large shaded area that almost never directly received the sun's rays.

Sophia's home was close to her element of choice and would have given Frodo Baggins architectural envy. It was bigger, however, and clearly designed for someone of human size. Somewhere off in the distance, he could guess at the glint of solar panels and could only guess that back-up generators waited elsewhere. Connecting Sophia to the power grid had been tricky, but it had finally worked, and without damaging her house or the Tree.

Using the pommel of his cane, Archie gave Sophia's door three little knocks.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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"You guys do that. I think I'll check in with Neasa and Percy. They were investigating leads with that dead gruff after all. Maybe they found something," Ciaran answered.

Aislinn nodded at the human. "Got it." She leaned in closer to Three's phone. "You and Bucky watch your backs, Ciaran. Take care." She ventured off to investigate other parts of the building.

***

Neasa nodded. "I understand. Even when a family member is in trouble, you still care about them." She made a mental note to have Benson get a patrol car keep an eye on the shop, just in case Erasmus decided to pay his brother another visit. Who knew how desperate the lunatic might get?

***

Archie would hear the heavy, round door creak open as though someone was literally opening a part of the tree. That seemed to suggest that when closed the door would assimilate with tree. That probably made it difficult for someone to simply ram their way through without damaging the tree itself. A multi-horned head peeked out around the door to see who it was. "Good afternoon, Lord Holden. What brings you here?" Sophia greeted, stepping out. Her green eyes glittered slightly from the sunlight that managed to reach through the thick foliage of her tree. Today, she happened to be wearing a floral sundress with spaghetti straps. The cotton fabric lightly hugged her curvy frame and ended just at her knees.
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Karl the Mad
 

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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Katherine nodded. "Good luck," she said for Ciaran's benefit, turning to check the room more closely. If there wasn't anything here she'd search the rest of the area, but she felt there was more in here.

----------------------

Jimmy and his men drove up behind Archie's car in time, and the elder gangster climbed out of the limo, taking a deep breath of the fresh parkland air. "Damn construction," he muttered, grabbing the bottle and glasses in hand. "Come along then, lads." He wandered through the park, heading for the towering tree; this wasn't the first time he and Sophie had met, but he always maintained a professional coolness around the dryad that was as much respectful caution as it was concern for his own well-being.

He came around the bend, seeing Archie and Sophie standing in the door. "Just in time, I see," he said with a smile, Brody and Rocco having dispersed elsewhere in the park but presumably within earshot. "I bring the required refreshment, of course." When he came closer he gave the dryad a bow, mindful as always of his manners.
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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It'd be a while before those who were actively sleuthing would stumble upon something of import. In the meantime, a living tree had one of its hand-shaped branches delicately grasped between mechanical fingers, a bronzed panel of wood brushing against her knuckles as Archie carried out a rather classic and obviously gentlemanly bow.

"I would like to assume that my presence here is no cause for alarm, old friend," he said, raising his spine and head back into a straight position. "Can't an old man pay a quick visit to old friends?"

In the sort of rare and exclusive displays few people ever got to see, Archie's face lightened. He beamed for but an instant - just long enough to wrap his arms around Sophia's chest with the firmness and the gentle hands of friendship. He didn't squeeze too long or too hard, his Victorian sensibilities almost making him squeeze not enough, compared to the modern day's standards for friendly hugs. Still, what would have been cold coming from anyone else was a badge of honest joy coming from the Clank.

One hand held his cane pinched between two fingers, the rest of it rested on one of her shoulders, as he held her at arm's length to take a look at her. "Dearest Sophia," he said, his tone understandably fond, considering what they'd been through together over the last few centuries; "how are you on this fine day?"

He then gave Winters a vaguely amused glance - not so much out of annoyance or disdain, but because it didn't feel too natural for him to keep grinning. His poise was something he had a hard time convincing himself to break when outside of any given character or infiltration-required persona... "Jim," he said, soberly nodding his head, "as dependable as always, I see. Thank you for managing this trip on such a short notice."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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"I'm well, Archie," Sophia answered, smiling. "The day's been quiet, which is generally a good thing."

She looked over at the arriving Irishman. "Good afternoon, Mr. Winters. I trust your visit synchronizing with Archie's is not merely coincidental, am I right?" she asked, knowing how he preferred to keep to keep their working relationship strictly business. "So, what brings you gentlemen here?"
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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"The splendid weather, the need to hear of your birdsong and to taste of your tea - as well as the need to go over the city's history of exclusive societies with two other antediluvians such as myself," he explained. "I am well aware of how well the Tree's branches muffle sound to a degree, but I honestly would rather we discussed the premise of this meeting inside. I find myself in a bit of a cult-related pickle, and my recently acquired youngsters are carrying part of the load."

His features had set in a concerned frown, by then. "While these matters are not as parlous as those that saw Mab's forces attack you a few weeks ago and that led to my being reawakened; this still does stand as a worryingly serious proposition for such a band of newcomers. I am no native, as you well know, so I find myself lacking a few reams in the book of this city's history."

The automaton looked to Jimmy. "Hence this reunion. You have been an American for longer than I, and Sophia beats us both by a wide margin."

In true spy fashion, he found himself trying to return to something approaching his casually dignified poise, but he couldn't quite shake some tension away from his back and shoulders. He'd long since developed an instinctive knowledge of when he ought to expect someone to be shadowing him.

***

At the onset, there wasn't much more to the office than what they'd already seen. The hardware was antiquated, the papers and sketches didn't make much sense, and the toymaker's cell felt like the only place where relevance could be found. One of the hardest things to do for virtually anyone, from Three to Bucky to Archie or Spector, would involve the task of thinking like Gammell. There were entire reams and levels to this case that they simply couldn't reach, being unable to exist in and perceive the world in the same way he did.

What was needed was a little push.

Aislinn would be the one to notice the smudges at first, and Katherine would piece them together. It started as a series of black permanent marker streaks left along the edges of some cubicles and walls, in what looked like a random fashion. Someone was apparently in the habit of testing a black alcohol marker on various surfaces, or had the weird habit of placing marks down randomly... Katherine might notice them and realize how Gammell's peculiar mental imprint was placed on each and every mark, but what could he expect to do with a bunch of random squiggles?

It'd happen just as, finally frustrated, Three opted to head out. Stepping outside, Starr would find herself giving one last glance at the office from just the right angle...

Through the simple beauty of parallax effects and planar juxtaposition, the squiggles came together, near and far, into the shape of words and the crude drawing of a molar.

You have my keys. Find the gate. Naughton.
- G


It was so simple that it wouldn't be any wonder to imagine how the cultists could have skipped it. They'd been embroiled in mechanical minutiae the likes of which no seasoned clanksman would have ever seen; it wasn't that much of a stretch to figure out that they wouldn't have noticed their captured and forcefully hired head draughtsman and supervisor leaving ink smudges here and there.

***

Bucky put his own cell phone down, the object being comically small in his large hands. "It's done," he said, "I called in some cops so our friend the sleazebag can sleep easy tonight." His disapproval of Flynt was fairly obvious but he didn't comment further on it.

"This is just plain odd," he said. "The only deathy type we have is old Zeb Buck, and Neasa's still teaching me the finer points o' the city's new subcultures. Even those Goth fellas won't stoop so low, and they leave pretty obvious traces online. Our perp's lucid enough to stay off the grid, judging by the people I talked to. There ain't no manifestos, no obvious supply chains..."

He clicked his tongue. "This cult's a secular one, for sure. The other team's checking out some smoking clubs, from what I gathered. We got anything odd that'd fit the bill? Anything esoteric?"

Ciaran wouldn't be able to reply in the affirmative, as the days of Victorian spook fanatics wearing their badge with pride was long gone.

***

Her order prepared, Neasa was free to pay the tailoring fees and wait. She hadn't even spoken aloud to Spector or Benson, upon leaving, that the White King handed her a cheque for a few thousand dollars between two reedy fingers. "There," he said, "that should cover any unforeseen expenses," he said, his tone light.

Once back in the car, however, his featureless mien managed to look troubled. "Empathy is one of these human feelings that always catches me off-guard, when it rears its head. I can expect professional concern and I work with that fairly well but - pity? Personal concern?"

As Benson drove them off, the Wisp gave Neasa a look in the rear-view mirror. "I know this pang of sorts you get here is part of the package deal," he explained, a hand pinching at his sternum, "but I've always equated worry with anxiety. Worrying for this younger Ramos fellow is making me uncomfortable."

Neasa might've been tempted to reply with a roll of her eyes and the explanation that concern is supposed to make you feel bad, but it wouldn't have helped Spector. So much of basic empathy still felt somewhat alien to him, even though he experienced it all.

"We have a name for our culprit, however," he added. "This is worth all the peals of chest-clenching in the world, I'd say. Eric Ramos."

A hand went up to the wired earpiece that was firmly wedged in the lobeless earhole his right side displayed. "Let's see if my colleagues can't pick up anything... Who were you exactly, Eric Ramos?"

Even if his question was contemplative and mostly metaphorical, a carefully muted chorus of chittering and screeching voices could briefly coming from Spector's head. He nodded his head once at one point and produced a noncommittal '"Hmph". Then did he look back to Neasa.

"The brood tells me it'll have something - if it can find anything on Ramos - within the hour or so."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Jimmy noted the tension in Archie's form, and smiled a bit. "Fret not, Brody and Rocco are on alert," he said reassuringly. "Let us drink, and talk about the woes of the modern man." He turned his smile on the dryad. "Madame Sophia, if you would show us your table? It is bad form to drink while standing, after all."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Starting to follow the man, Aislinn looked back at Katherine, noticing her gaze on something. "What is it?" she called back.

***

Sophia let the two men by, so they could have a seat. The table in the dryad's condo extended forth from the wall, only needing two legs to support a side. It bore all the rich, brown and gray shades the Tree's bark. On either side of the squarish table were some chairs, composed of the same material as the table. These were movable, as she pulled out two of them for Jimmy and Arthur to sit on. "I don't usually drink much alcohol, but it'd be in poor form not to share it with you."

She then seated herself on one of the chairs and looked to both of them. "What sort of cult is it that you need information on?" she inquired.

***

"Good. Glad to hear your...associates might be able to dig something up," Neasa answered, leaning back against her seat.

***

Ciaran shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Just talked with Neasa, though. The guy with the death-y tattoos and brass prosthetics? He has a brother that's a tailor down near Mertown. This brother informed Neasa about his history before he got all obsessed with clank tech and porn. His mundane name's Eric Ramos. He and his brother had a falling out after his brother didn't agree with what he had turned into."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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At first, Katherine gave the random squiggles a passing glance, although as it became clear the room was vacant of further insights she was resigned to investigating the black marks. "The hell," she muttered, hovering a finger above one such marking. Now that she was focusing on them, really seeing them, she couldn't not notice them; they were everywhere, on seemingly random surfaces, and she couldn't make sense of the angles either. "Gottverdammt," she swore, electing to give up when Aidan suggested doing so.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that the black smudges were somehow relevant; they just reeked of Gammell's inherent mental signature. She found herself looking back, not really focused on anything, just staring blankly...

And there it was.

"..Naughton," the lawyer muttered, still staring in mild consternation. "We need to go to Naughton." She turned and looked at her comrades. "Tell me one of you knows how to reach Jimmy Winters? That's his neighborhood, and we should at least do the polite thing."

-----------------------

"Well, it's all to do with clanks," Jimmy summarized as he sat down and began pouring out the scotch, "so we should concentrate on the technological cults. There's the Toymakers' Guild, and the Brotherhood of the Metal Storm, although that one's thankfully defunct." Glasses poured, he extended one to each of the others, and raised his own. "To swift justice and just desserts?"
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