Grasping for the Wind

The Week in Tweets 2009-11-07

John Ottinger III — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:15:00 +0000

The Week in Tweets 2009-10-31 #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/2vSx6V #
@JohnAnealio @delrey finished death troopers and was mostly pleased with the result – review to come in reply to JohnAnealio #
New Print Magazine “Survival by Storytelling” Launches #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/nZlqW #
Currently reading on mental_floss: The Mathematical Pi Song http://tinyurl.com/yevbadk #
Movie: Assassin’s Creed Lineage Part 1 #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/cWJoe #
@MentatJack thats my next read, is it good? in reply to MentatJack #
Joel Shepherd on the Political System in Sasha #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/3XQlZE #
why did I wake up at 4:30 AM on a Sunday? I even have an extra hour from DST and still I woke early? Weird. #
Currently reading on mental_floss: How Superman Defeated the Ku Klux Klan http://tinyurl.com/y8cepmz #
RT @Kate_Baker: New @Clarkesworld Magazine November issue! http://trunc.it/2yai7 featuring @catrambo & Jason K. Chapman & more. #
2009 World Fantasy Award Winners #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/4Dlbo2 #
Book Review: Don’t Panic: Douglas Adams & The Hitchhiker’s Guide the Galaxy by Neil Gaiman #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/2YxA6r #
"Minimalists don't make good collectors" ( http://bit.ly/3hPlVN ) #
Excerpt: Triumff: Her Majesty’s Hero by Dan Abnett (1) #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/J3Asy #
XKCD: Movie Narrative Charts #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/1KuKLr #
Free Fiction: Laurell K. Hamilton, Elizabeth Moon, Robert E. Howard #sf #fantasy http://bit.ly/NMbt8 #
Inside the Blogosphere: Best Book Endings in the Genre – http://shar.es/axM9o #
Expendibility: http://bit.ly/3sQd8Q #
@dsawyer effect an escape in reply to dsawyer #
Currently watching on mental_floss: Mini HoverDrone http://tinyurl.com/yc8lwn3 #
@SFSignal: 77 Free Speculative Fiction Stories by 38 Authors" ( http://bit.ly/2s8WeL ) #
RT @harrymarkov: RT @mattstaggs Use Finch icon today (http://is.gd/4M49l) & reply to @mattstaggs = chance to win signed copy of FINCH! #
anybody remember in which book Rand attempted to raise the dead? #
thenx 4 the RTs! @DayaPillai @JohnAnealio @daj42 @Twaverse @TArkenberg @charlesatan @markchitty @fabiofernandes @harrymarkov @J_Oliver #
thanx for the RTs! @nextread @DayaPillai @layersofthought @nethspace @shaunduke @LizDanforth @atfmb @IROSF @jesshartley #
anyone remember in which book Rand al'Thor attempted to raise the dead? #wheeloftime @dragonmount #
@aworkingtitle thx in reply to aworkingtitle #
@mikecane not all are famous, but most are. in reply to mikecane #
@dragonmount Faster pace, superb characterization and action-packed, emotional climaxes make for powerful read.#TGS in reply to dragonmount #
@dragonmount thnx. in reply to dragonmount #
RT @johnottinger Interviews – Grasping for the Wind http://bit.ly/1vmSOf #
I just found out that my dog (only 2 years old) has to have surgery. I'm an emotional wreck and we can't afford it. Life BITES. #
@Pyris not really. I'm borrowing some cash from my parents to pay for the surgery. I just hope she comes through ok in reply to Pyris #
thanx for the RTs @torbooks @BookobsessedGrl @books_express @42SFF @susiebj #
Darra (my dog) just went into surgery. I should hear how she is doing in a couple of hours. #
no word yet on how the puppy is doing – but I did hear about a potential job coming my way, so at least today wasn't a total bummer #
@shaunduke thanx, no rush. in reply to shaunduke #
Darra has come through the surgery okay – won't know how she is doing neurologically till tomorrow, but the prognosis is good. #
RT @dragonmount: It's on, @BrandonSandrson … http://bit.ly/NgMMD #
RT @sfsignal: RT @tordotcom: The Duel, part 1: Help Jason Denzel Defeat Brandon Sanderson at Magic: The Gathering http://cli.gs/TPpru #
@Paulskemp sorry to hear that about yours. Thanks for the commiserations, and you have mine. in reply to Paulskemp #
RT @charlesatan: DIY: A Portable Digital Map for Tabletop Role Playing http://bit.ly/4AmXmP #
Darra (my dog) is doing well. The vet says she is probably going to walk today. I get to pick her up tomorrow most likely. #
@Riesetheseries My review of "Hunt" http://bit.ly/5Ncsj #
@shaunduke I'm in! in reply to shaunduke #
Interested in finding someone who would like to do regular link list posts at Grasping for the Wind. #
RT @WilliamShatner: If you missed me last night on the Tonight show catch me on the show again TONIGHT. Check local listings. My best, Bill #
My prayers are with the families at of the victims as Ft. Hood. #
@shaunduke: that is the beauty of it! #
@shaunduke joking. I have no talent for fiction, sadly. in reply to shaunduke #
"The Wertzone: Belfast Report 02" ( http://bit.ly/3423P1 ) #
@mikecane vet said she was doing well and could likely come home tomorrow afternoon in reply to mikecane #
job interview by telephone tomorrow. I hope all goes well. It is a teaching job for science. #
just went and saw Surrogates in the movie theater. Was not impressed. #
what determines where authors appear when on tour? #
Airship Greets a Time-Traveling Mayflower in New York Harbor [Alternate History] http://ff.im/b4YjY #
Wanna Buy Gareth Powell's 'The Last Reef'? Name Your Price! http://ff.im/b5045 #
Lego http://ff.im/b50GW #
RT @arrroberts: I have a Neil Armstrong front door. One small step. #
alien smiley ::-) #
RT @Pyr_Books: 2moro is National Bookstore Day! Support ur local indie bookstore! Full list of stores here: http://tinyurl.com/yl2vpqe #
RT @johnottinger Advertise – Grasping for the Wind http://bit.ly/2t7evU #
Darra is home! She looks terrible (pics to follow on the blog) and walks like she is drunk, but at least she is home! #
Book Review: Diving into the Wreck by Kristine Kathryn Rusch http://bit.ly/3HGrMZ #
@Pyris thanx in reply to Pyris #
"Day in the Life of an Author" ( http://bit.ly/250iil ) This is hilarious – and so like my days during unemployment. #
"The finances of freelancing: some gritty systems details for the geeky at Tobias Buckell Online" ( http://bit.ly/rx4mE ) #
Check out this SlideShare Presentation : Publishing 2.0. What Would Apple Do? http://slidesha.re/2WCdYV #
#ff @martyhalpern @Pyris @BlueTyson @katiebabs @Nnedi @monstersyfyshow @charlesatan @FantasyDreamer @ComicBookdotcom @NghtstndReviews #
@J_Oliver it isn't rubbish, but this years awards show a defnitive bent. The books that won are awesome, but they do reflect a preference in reply to J_Oliver #
@J_Oliver no I agree with you, thre is not epic that should have won this year, but I don't like ther being only one type winning in reply to J_Oliver #
@J_Oliver world fantasy should reflect the "world" part more I think. I want to read all the books that won. they sound great, but aren' in reply to J_Oliver #
@J_Oliver aren't braod. Still good fiction is good fiction in my world, so if these are considered the best, then so be it. in reply to J_Oliver #
@J_Oliver i like gaiman, but you are probablty right. it won becasue he now wins everything – he is goldenboy in reply to J_Oliver #
@J_Oliver sad. will still read most likely. in reply to J_Oliver #
@J_Oliver in reply to J_Oliver #

Darra Returns!

John Ottinger III — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 19:43:47 +0000

So my puppy is home. She looks terrible and walks like she is drunk, but the doctor is very positive and as long as Darra takes her meds, she should be okay. She won’t be fully up to snuff for three months, but she is already much happier.

Images below the fold. FYI: They are not pretty so weak stomachs should stop reading here (my wife can’t look at her either). For those, here is a cute picture of her, telling you she only puts up with you for the food.

Here she is all shaved.

This is what her back looks like. She will get the stitches out in two weeks. (No bath till then. Ewwww.)

We are just so glad she is home.

Book Review: Diving into the Wreck by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

John Ottinger III — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 17:23:34 +0000

# Genre: Science Fiction, Adventure
# Paperback: 375 pages
# Publisher: Pyr
# Publication Date: November 24, 2009
# ISBN-10: 1591027861
# ISBN-13: 978-1591027867
# Author Website: Kristine Kathryn Rusch

The adventure-filled story of Diving into the Wreck was first introduced to readers with a novella (of the same name) in the August 2005 issue of Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine. That original novella (expanded and updated) serves as the first of the three part story of Boss, a female historian and diver who uses her ship Nobody’s Business to find and explore wrecked spaceships five thousand years into humanity’s future.

The novel is, in essence, a science fiction version of the tales of the scientists and divers who explore the world’s oceans, looking not for treasure only, but also a better sense of history. But as with our modern day explorers, the discoveries can lead in unexpected directions.

In the first part of the novel, (which is primarily the original novella) Boss discovers an ancient ship from Old Earth that by all science should not be in her sector of space, it being too far for these old military vessels to travel in the days before faster-than-light. Yet, somehow, this vessel is there and it exists. Assembling a team of divers, Boss leads them to dive the wreck, where they discover an ancient and lethal technology from Old Earth. As the section closes, Boss has learned a painful lesson about herself, and has given up wreck-diving completely.

The latter two sections of this novel conclude the open-ended (in terms of characterization) story from the original novella. Though Boss had left wreck-diving, she is soon embroiled in it again when she is asked to enter The Room of Lost Souls, a mysterious room aboard and abandoned space station where people have disappeared over many years. The Room serves as a Bermuda Triangle of that sector of space. Boss takes up the challenge, but finds herself pitted against the power and might of the space empire that rules her sector of space. Even so, she wrestles with her own demons, having once encountered the Room before as a young girl, and barely surviving the experience.

Author Kristine Kathryn Rusch has been publishing and editing for years. She has won many awards, including two Hugo’s and a World Fantasy Award. She is a skilled writer who draws the reader in with seemingly no effort. Diving into the Wreck is a flawless adventure, being both extremely exciting in plot and populated with interesting characters. At its center lies Boss, through whose perspective the entire story is told. The use if first person keeps the story intimate for the reader and also allows Rusch to keep her writing tight and clean, with no superfluous flourishes.

When the opportunity arises to create a love story between Boss and another diver, Rusch chooses not to, but yet still forges an intimate connection between them that provides another, powerful layer of motivation for Boss’s actions. Rusch sees humans as more than sexual beings, and does not have to resort to including sex to create a vibrant tale of danger and suspense. By doing this, Rusch connects readers with Boss at a much deeper level than mere physicality, ultimately creating a much more intense and powerful understanding of the character.

Like the protagonist, the novel is no-nonsense, eventful, occasionally mysterious narrative that contains all the best dialogue of a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode, the adventure of an Indiana Jones movie, and the philosophical and scientific chops of Issac Asimov himself. In many ways, the story is a throwback to when space fiction had the sense of wonder about the future that was so prevalent during the Space Race. This is missing in many new novels today, and Rusch’s tale of Boss and her company of wreck divers is a breath of fresh air in a world of writing that is increasingly more cynical and depressed. Diving into the Wreck is highly recommended reading for anyone who enjoys space adventure stories, superb characterization, and tight plotting. Rusch is one of the premier writers in the genre today, and her facility with writing is something all others should aspire to.

Excerpt: Triumff: Her Majesty’s Hero by Dan Abnett (5)

John Ottinger III — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 14:53:42 +0000

Over a five day period,thanks to Angry Robot Books, I will be excerpting portions of Triumff: Her Majesty’s Hero by Dan Abnett.

Part One is here.
Part Two is here.
Part Three is here.
Part Four is here.

ABOUT THE BOOK:
Sir Rupert Triumff. Adventurer. Fighter. Drinker. Saviour? Pratchett goes swashbuckling in the hotly anticipated original fiction debut of the multi-million selling Warhammer star. Triumff is a ribald historical fantasy set in a warped clockwork-powered version of our present day ! a new Elizabethan age, not of Elizabeth II but in the style of the original Virgin Queen. Throughout its rollicking pages, Sir Rupert Triumff drinks, dines and duels his way into a new Brass Age of Exploration and Adventure.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Dan made his name in the tie-in SF and Fantasy fiction field, selling more than 1.2 million copies in English language of his Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 novels for Games Workshop’s Black Library imprint. They’ve also been translated into ten other languages. He’s also recently made the UK fiction charts with original Torchwood and Doctor Who novels. His comicbook scripts, for major publishers such as Marvel, DC Comics and the UK’s 2000 AD, have attracted critical plaudits and strong sales on both sides of the Atlantic.

The three novels for Angry Robot will allow Abnett to play to all his strengths as a writer. His penchant for wildly imaginative world-building and lovable characters comes to the fore in TRIUMFF, a ribald historical fantasy set in a warped clockwork-powered version of our present day … a new Elizabethan age, not of Elizabeth II but in the style of the original Virgin Queen. This will be published, in both the UK and US, in October 2009.

Next year will see two novels set in the same stunning future-war setting. EMBEDDED sends a journalist into the frontline of a distant planetary war… chipped inside the head of a combat veteran. When the soldier is killed, the journo must use all his resourcefulness to get safely home again, reporting on a live feed all the way. No one writes future war as well as Dan Abnett, and fans of tie-in series such as “Gaunt’s Ghosts” and his “Horus Heresy” novels will be blown away by this bold new move into original science fiction.

Dan’s website • Dan’s blog

Video Interview with Dan on YouTube – From Ghostbusters to Triumff (May 2009)
Video Interview with Dan, talking writing and favourite reading (August 2009)

A Fourth Chapter

“Oh bollocks,” said Triumff, and resumed his thrashing attempt at escape. Water churned from his milling limbs. The swordsman ploughed after him.

Almost at once, Triumff realised things weren’t getting any better. A second line of bubbles was arcing around in front to cut off his flight. A moment later, another submarine assassin rose from the depths.

“Give gim gis gay! Gile gop gis gloogy ged goff!” the second attacker instructed his partner.

“Garden?” asked the first.

Triumff stopped and looked back.

“He said…” he began, but then he paused. “Why the bastard am I bothering to explain it to you?”

He set off again, breasting the flood, churning up sheets of spray, breaking off perpendicular to the pincer manoeuvre of the snorkel-blowing killers.

Five yards from the pool-side, he pursed his lips and whistled the first two bars of the song about the Guinea Coast.

Something flat, hard and fundamentally aerodynamic choppered out of the colonnade shadows like a startled grouse. It struck the second assassin square in the visor with a painful, metallic clang. The assassin crashed backwards into the water as if he’d ridden a steeplechaser full-pelt into an overhanging branch.
The flat, hard, aerodynamic thing whirled around, back the way it had come, still making the sound of someone thrumming their lips with their finger whilst they exhaled hard. It landed neatly in Uptil’s outstretched hand. It was Uptil’s “come-back”, a traditional hunting weapon of the Beach folk. It was essentially a flat stick with an elbow, but in the hands of a trained caster it could not only do serious hurt, but also reload itself into its owner’s hand for another go.

Triumff reached the edge of the pool, grabbed his towel and shook the Couteau Suisse out of its folds. He pressed the trigger and got to the rapier by way of only a pencil sharpener and an egg spoon. He flourished the long blade twice to enjoy the bee-buzz it made as it cut the air, and then raised the hilt to eye-level in a salute.

“Vivat Regina,” he hissed, and threw himself at the remaining assassin.

The assassin had never, in all his long days as a paid cut-throat and hit-man, been attacked by a naked man with a rapier before. Come to that, he had never been asked to take on a contract wearing swimming trunks and part of a brass band on his head. The hooded man who’d hired him and his mate in a Cheapside tavern had paid well, in advance, and so he hadn’t really questioned the details at the time.

Now his mate was floating face-down in the municipal baths with blood clouding the water around his crumpled visor-work after a collision with what appeared to be a flying shelf bracket, and he had his hands full with what was known in the trade as a “contrary client”.

There was only one thing he could do, and thankfully (for his sake) it was something he was very, very good at.

He would have to fight him and kill him.

The rapiers flashed against each other in a series of blinding strokes, the cutlery percussion of the blows ringing around the gloomy hall. Almost from the first riposte, Triumff knew he was up against a professional swordsman. He just hoped that the odd venue (four feet of warm water) would be on his side.

It was an ungainly fight. Their upper bodies flew and twisted above the waterline, their hips and legs paddled like spoons in syrup to keep up. It was remarkably easy to outrun your lower body, and therefore fall over, and therefore die. Triumff did his very best not to do any of those three things.

It might be noted at this point that when either sober or desperate, Sir Rupert Triumff was a considerable swordsman in his own right. Currently, he was both. It was even money, whichever way you looked at it.

Uptil looked on, aghast, from the vantage of the bath-side. He yelled encouragement, advice, and a few of the ruder words in his considerable vocabulary, unable to do anything else of use, since the fighters were too close for him to risk another cast of his come-back.

Something caught Uptil’s eye. Something was moving in the shadows further down the colonnade. Fearing a third assassin, he tore himself away from the blistering duel and moved in to investigate. He raised his come-back, catching a glimpse of a robed figure scurrying away towards the bath-house exit, too far away to get a clean cast. Uptil ran after it.

Uptil didn’t like leaving Rupert at such a crucial juncture, but something forced him to give chase, something like a lingering impression that the robed figure had possessed the head of a cat.

Uptil didn’t know much about cats, since they didn’t have them in Beach. He was pretty sure, though, that cats weren’t generally six feet high, and wearing a silk doublet and a cape.

There was no sign of a robed figure in the entrance hall, feline or otherwise. The front doors were bolted shut, and the three bath attendants were bound, gagged and unconscious on the floor of the ticket office. Uptil checked along both sides of the hall, his come-back poised for launch. There was no sign of an intruder.

Someone started hammering at the bolted doors. Uptil walked forward, and drew back the bolts. As the doors swung open, he nearly exclaimed loudly. At the last moment he remembered the Ploy, and settled for a hasty yelp of inarticulate fear.

In the pool, Triumff parried low against the assassin’s backhand, and then struck in, slicing the end off his assailant’s snorkel. The man made a noise like an un-bled radiator, and rained several more blows at Triumff, who backed and parried again deftly.

“You in the water! Stop fighting! At once!”

The words rang out in booming echoes across the Bath House. Out of the corner of his otherwise intently occupied eye, Triumff saw Lord Gull, standing at the head of a detachment of the City Militia at the pool edge. The soldiers were all big, armoured dreadnoughts from a SHAT unit (Special Halberds And Tactics), one of the Militia’s Anti-Affray Departments. Gull looked more furious than usual. If they wanted the fight stopped, Triumff knew that they would be able to do it with just two or three strokes of a skilled pike-arm.

“You want me to stop the fight?” bellowed Triumff, side-slicing with his darting sword, “You want me to stop it? No sooner said…”

He punched up, driving his basket-guard into the assassin’s visored face, and then raked downwards, the length of the man’s torso, with a slick blow that was almost surgical. The assassin collapsed messily into the water, which changed colour rapidly.

“…than done,” Triumff finished, slooshing away from his dead foe, waist-deep in the water. “That’ll teach him to call me a gastard. Afternoon, Callum. How’s the ear?”

A long row of pike-heads pointed down off the pool-side at him, each one ready to thrust. Gull stepped forward between the hafts, and glanced disdainfully down at the carnage in the water. Triumff, smiling up at his captors, could see Uptil, crouching nervously at the back of the colonnade under the watchful eye of a SHAT team member.

“I’m not going to allow our personal differences to get in the way, Triumff, you piece of worthless offal,” said Gull. “As Captain of the Guard, I’ve a job to do, and that involves arresting you for Causing An Affray In A Public Place and Participating In A Breach Of The Peace. Not to mention what looks like a double charge of manslaughter.”

“They were knifemen. Look at them. Paid to do me in. You know that damn well, Gull.”

“Perhaps,” said Gull, with what was almost a smile. “We’ll ascertain that after the Coroner’s been in and Forensic Physic have poked about. Until then, Rupert Triumff, you’re coming with me to The Yard for questioning. You men, haul him out.”

Huge, mailed hands reached down. With a resigned curse, Triumff allowed himself to leave the water.

Movie Trailer: Prince of Persia

John Ottinger III — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 03:07:45 +0000

This looks good, even if it stars Jake Gyllenhaal (blech). It sure is heavy on cinematic effects, but I’m cool with that, since the plot has to be fairly simple if it stays to true to the videogames.

Video: R2D2 and C3PO on Sesame Street

John Ottinger III — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 18:39:42 +0000

In honor of Sesame Street’s 40th anniversary here is the guest appearance by R2D2 and C3PO in 1980.

[Via Mental_Floss]

Book Trailer: Burn Me Deadly by Alex Bledsoe

John Ottinger III — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 18:05:38 +0000

This has some awesome music. I really, really need to read these two books!

ABOUT THE BOOK:
Alex Bledsoes first novel,The Sword-Edged Blonde, drew rave reviews for its ingenious blend of fantasy and hard-boiled detective fiction. Now Bledsoe returns with an all-new tale of mean streets and medieval intrigue.

Above Angelinas Tavern in down-and-dirty Neceda youll find the office of Eddie LaCrosse, a freelance sword jockey who, for twenty-five gold pieces a day, will take on any task short of murder for hire. Eddies on his way back from a routine investigation when his horse almost runs down a half-naked blonde in serious trouble. Against his better judgment, he promises to protect the frightened young woman, only to find himself waylaid by unknown assailants and left for dead beside her mutilated body.

Eddie isnt the kind of guy to just let something like this pass. But who killed Laura Lesperitt? Eddies quest for payback leads him to a tangled mystery involving a notorious crime lord, a backwoods dragon cult, royal scandals, and a duplicitous femme fatale who has trouble keeping her clothes on. As bodies pile up, attracting the unwelcome attention of the kings guards, Eddie must use all his wits if he hopes to survive…

TV Review: Riese the Series “Hunt”

John Ottinger III — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 16:53:24 +0000

In this first episode of the steampunk fantasy series Riese, the titular character is seen to run through the woods, fights off several pursuers, have a flashback, and arrive at a small town.

The first episode is rather short, being about 7 minutes in length (the remaining two are for the credits), but nonetheless establishes that Riese is an intriguing character. There is very little dialogue in this episode, so it is hard to say where the story is going, but the director and cast do a good job of leaving the watcher with more questions than answers, ensuring that the viewer will want to tune back in when episode two goes live.

Christine Chatelain plays the Riese character well, putting a lot of emotion into her characters face to make up for the lack of dialogue. The three pursuing characters, though only glimpsed, showcase the fact that this is neither a traditional fantasy, nor simply a Victorian steampunk tale.

The setting is well-chosen, showing a big open forest of older trees and the few panoramic shots give the viewer a real sense that Riese is alone in the wilderness.

Though the director relies heavily in the “shaky-cam” to depict the fight scene, there is still enough ability to see and understand what is going on, and all in all the scene well-directed. The cuts and moves between scenes are good, though there is perhaps a bit too much running. We have established that Riese is on the run, and I would have preferred less depiction of the actual action once the sense of it was made plain.

All in all, I’m looking forward to more episodes (preferably with more dialogue) of this unusual web series.

Official Website

Excerpt: Triumff: Her Majesty’s Hero by Dan Abnett (4)

John Ottinger III — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 16:00:44 +0000

Over a five day period,thanks to Angry Robot Books, I will be excerpting portions of Triumff: Her Majesty’s Hero by Dan Abnett.

Part One is here.
Part Two is here.
Part Three is here.

Dan’s website • Dan’s blog

Video Interview with Dan on YouTube – From Ghostbusters to Triumff (May 2009)
Video Interview with Dan, talking writing and favourite reading (August 2009)

The Third Chapter

which doth contain a most engaging
discourse upon modern issues
of discovery, and also
a visit to the bath-house

Almost every day, a ship of the Royal Unified Navy leaves one of Britain’s harbours bearing Letters of Passage that grant it the majestic right to discover, explore and, frankly, pillage less fortunate or well-known parts of the globe. On that St Dunstan’s Day alone, Sir Walter de File sailed out of Portsmouth on the Peacespite to see if there was anything of merit between Florida and Argentina, Lord Archimboldo cast off from Southampton aboard the Golden Shot in search of the South Indies, and Thomas Pickering, mariner, sailed his cog the Batty Crease into Toamasina and discovered Madagascar* (and stayed there, which is why Madagascar didn’t appear on charts until 2046. But that really is another story). Letters of Passage, granted by the Queen, were potent tools that gave the seafarer virtual copyright over anything he discovered in the name of the Unity. They were sweeping powers, but necessary. Without such an incentive, it was doubtful anyone would voluntarily spend two or three years in a badly caulked, leaking, unhygienic, overgrown barrel, adrift on the stormiest oceans of the world, braving corsairs, sea-serpents, kraken, bull whales, foreign powers, Scurvy, Rickets, Dutch Wart, hostile native peoples, famine, thirst, drowning, marooning, becalming, casting-away, mutinying, keelhauling, slipping off a topgallant in icy conditions and braining yourself on the taffrail, acting as a human lightning conductor whilst on watch in the crow’s-nest during a freak electrical storm, choking on a ship’s biscuit, scalding to death in the ship’s kettle, being operated on by the surgeon’s mate after grog-rations, smoking in the Orlop next to the Powder Room, going back to check on a lit 32-pounder, happening to mention out loud that you fancied some albatross soup, or, of course, falling off the edge of the world**.

Voyages of Discovery were a dirty, dangerous and complicated business and no mistake***.

The procedures surrounding a victorious return however, were simple. The explorer, bearing his Letters of Passage, was given a respectable length of time to rest, recuperate and get his land-legs back, before he was required to present a report of his discoveries to the Queen. The explorer would be celebrated, paid a considerable sum known as “a Regarde” to acknowledge his achievement, and would probably have the discovered place officially named after him. In return, he would formally hand the Letters of Passage over to the Queen, and, in so doing, bequeath the territory to the Unity.

Only then could further expeditions be arranged. This second wave of voyages would hurtle off along the trail blazed by the original explorer, and, using his notes, maps and gathered intelligence, thoroughly plunder, despoil and exploit the new-found corner of the world. It was the way things were done.

However, until the explorer had made his report and handed back the all-important Letters of Passage, none of that could take place. There was huge money in new discoveries, not to mention honour, prestige, fame, governships and nubile local women, and the Unity’s huge Exploitation Industry therefore waited with eager anticipation for the green light on a new Continent, as did the Church, which was hungrier for fresh sources of Cantriptic power than they cared to admit.

All of this explained the mounting frustration felt at Court over Rupert Triumff. He’d been away. He’d come back, flushed with success, explaining that he had discovered new lands in the Southern Oceans. He’d brought with him many astonishing finds and trinkets, including four hundred and six new species of plant, a lot of non-placental fauna, and a noble, dark-skinned autochthon as an ambassador of the Meridional Climes. Then, months had passed, months in which he showed no signs of making his report, months in which the Letters of Passage idled in his desk under lock and key, long, slow months, which the Unity’s reavers, exploiters and churchmen suffered with increasing impatience, hives, palpitations and stress-induced migraines.

No one had ever taken so long to deliver his report, not even Captain Jacob Tavistock, of the Blue Beagle, who came back from discovering Bermuda with amnesia, and had to have his memory gently nursed back by a team of specially trained Spanish inquisitors.

No one knew what to do about it. There just wasn’t provision in the statutes to deal with a holder of valuable Letters of Passage who was backward in coming forward. They were usually all so anxious to get their hands on their Regarde, buy a big place in Oxenfordshire, and marry a girl who was either a minor Royal or blonde or, best of all, both.

When a full six months had elapsed with no sign of Triumff, the Privy Council began to look into the matter, scouring the many volumes of regulations for a loophole. They consulted the Navy, the Church and the various lords that might know. Solutions there were none. The ball, it appeared, was firmly in Triumff’s court. It was up to him to take the initiative, and up to the rest of the government and other interested parties to lump it.

However, the interlude was now long enough for even a busy Queen to start noticing it, and that, as the Privy Council soon found out, was the one thing they hadn’t thought of. The simple way to get around the legal thicket protecting Triumff was to erase the laws, and the one person who could do that was the Queen.

The only thing that ever weighed heavily on Her Majesty was about half-a-ton of lace, silk, gauze, kapok, sequins and pearls. Nothing else troubled her or slowed her down much, particularly not minor foibles like statutes or civil laws. It was the matter of a moment, and the work of a scratching quill, to ascribe new Letters of Passage to another explorer and expunge the life, property, rights and memory of Rupert Triumff from the land.

Triumff might have been the only person who had actually been expecting as much for a while. He knew it was just a matter of time. He’d stalled for as long as he could, hoping the Court would swallow his ploy, but now he needed something else, some more active course to follow. He needed a new ploy.

That was exactly what he’d been afraid of, because, unfortunately, if there was one thing he really didn’t shine at, it was ploys.

Considerations of the possible size, shape, colour and cost of a potential new ploy, as well as how he might recognise it, filled Triumff’s mind as he paid a shilling to the doorman and entered the warm, damp embrace of the Dolphin Bath House at twenty past four. There was the best part of another hour before they shut for the night, and late-afternoon bathers, seeking a restorative for agued limbs made rheumy by a week of heavy rain, jostled about the place. Their pallid, portly shapes could be glimpsed in the steamy atmosphere, lurking under the green-shadowed colonnades, slapping across the tiled walks, or sliding walrus-like into the pools.

The warm, wet air smelled of soaked stonework, body odour, antiseptic and wrinkled skin.

A meaty attendant with arms like hams and a tight blue bathing cap came over and handed Triumff a clean towel.

“Changing over there,” he said, pointing to the doorways in the shadows of the western colonnade, marked variously “Miladies” and “Migents”, as well as three marked “Sauna”, “Jacuzzi & Cold Plunge” and “’Assail”. The attendant turned his moon-face back to Triumff. “No carousing, no splashing, no bombing and no pissing in ye pool. We close at six.”

“Thank you so much, I know the rules,” Triumff said, glaring. The attendant shook his rubber-capped head at Triumff and wandered away. The cap was so tight, he looked like a bald man with a frost-bitten scalp.

The Migents changing area was vacant, except for hooks full of unlaced doublets, capes, canions and wrinkled hose. Triumff stripped off swiftly, and then, with his towel knotted around his waist, crossed to the frosted window in the west wall. It was high up. He had to climb up on a bench to reach it, and in doing so knocked somebody’s slashed applique pansid slops and heavily bombasted codpiece into the puddles on the floor.

Steam had swelled the window’s frame into wedged plumpness, but three smart blows with the ball of his hand finally knocked it out. Cold, evening air rushed in and stung his flushed face.

“Uptil!” he hissed into the dark of the alley beyond. “Uptil!”

“Give us a hand up, mate,” muttered Uptil from outside. Triumff obliged by heaving the large man up and in through the window. It wasn’t easy, and it took a good few moments. Triumff prickled with agitation as he strained to counterbalance Uptil’s weight, expecting an interruption at any second.

Finally, he was in. Uptil was shrouded in a hooded serge cloak. He produced Triumff’s scabbarded rapier from beneath its folds, asking, “Want this?”

“Right, where am I going to conceal that?”

Uptil winked, and said, “Exactly. That’s why I fished this out of the garbage.”

He held out the Couteau Suisse.

“Okay, that’s actually quite a good idea,” Triumff admitted. “Now, stay out of sight, keep your eyes peeled, and if you hear me whistle, move like the clappers.”

Uptil nodded.

“And,” he added, “if anyone does see you, remember the Ploy.”

Uptil nodded again.

“The Ploy. Right,” he said, making his “lamps on, nobody home” face.

Triumff wandered out into the Bath Hall. No one seemed to spare him a second glance. Already, many of the bathers, sensing the approaching end of the day, were climbing from the pools and heading for the shower stalls. Triumff dropped his towel, wrapped the Couteau Suisse in it, and left it on the edge of the pool. Then he waded down the steps into the warm waters of the main bath. There was a stone seat against the side, beneath the water level, which one could sit on to bask in the relaxing heat. Triumff sat, wiped his face with a palm-scoop of water, and leant back, surveying the place with apparent disinterest.

Minutes passed. Triumff’s hawkish vigil relaxed somewhat as the gently lapping, tepid environment lulled and soothed away his aches and cares. He breathed deeply and shook his head, fighting away the drowsy weight that seemed to have suffused his brain.

When he next opened his eyes, he was alone.

Triumff stiffened with a start. The steady drip of water resounded from somewhere, but nothing else: no voices, no sign of life. He wondered how long he had been asleep. Surely the attendants would have woken him if it had passed closing time? That implied that it was still before six o’clock. Yet where were the attendants?

Triumff tried to whistle, but his lips refused. He was up to his chest in many thousands of gallons of water, and his mouth was dry.

Then he saw the line of bubbles. They were crossing the centre of the pool and heading his way. He caught his breath.

Plip plip plip plip plip, they went.

They were ten yards away, coming straight for him. The steps out of the pool were ten yards to his right. He fancied the idea of clambering out of the pool where he was, using the seat as a leg up, but his limbs felt dull and heavy, and didn’t seem strong enough to support him.

Plip plip plip plip plip, came the line of bubbles.

He became aware of how fast he was breathing.

“This is silly,” he whispered out loud. “I can’t just sit here, waiting to be harried by a line of bubbles.”

Five yards away from him, with a last, ominous plip, the bubbles vanished.

Triumff opened his mouth and then closed it again. He considered submerging to take a look-see. By the time he had decided not to, it was academic anyway.

The swordsman exploded out of the water in front of him like a breaching whale. He was heavily muscled, and dressed in a greased breastplate and leather shorts. His face was hidden by a fierce, full-visored helmet that had been reworked to incorporate a trombone-pipe snorkel and leaded glass eye-holes. A rapier glinted in his hand, and the space between Triumff’s naked body and the razor edge of the sword was diminishing alarmingly.

“Gniumpff!” raspberried the assassin tinnily through his snorkel, “Gie! Gie, goo girty gastard!”

Triumff threw his body to the left, thrashing against the slowness of the water. The stinging blade described a glittering arc, and rebounded loudly off the lip of the pool, against which Triumff had just been leaning.
“Gile get goo!” gurgled the assassin, turning after Triumff.

“Pardon?” yelped Triumff, heading out into mid-pool in a mix of headlong flight and doggy paddle.

“Gile get goo, goo girty gastard! Gore gonna gie gorrigly!”

The assassin’s snorkel tube sucked and farted out the words. Water jetted out of the top of the air-pipe.

“What?” asked Triumff desperately.

The assassin ground to a halt some yards from the fleeing Triumff and waved his arms in frustration.

“Gook! Gook!” he snorted. “Gie…” he tapped himself on the breastplate.

Triumff looked uncertain. “You?”

The assassin nodded eagerly. “Gess! Gie gam gonna gurder…” he pointed to his rapier and then to Triumff “…goo.”

“M-me?”

“Gess!” bubbled the assassin, clapping his hands. “Gorrigly,” he added.

* And stayed there too, which is why Madagascar didn’t appear on charts until 2046. But that really is another story.

** No one still believed that the Earth was flat, but there were still many adherents to the notion that it might be unfinished in remoter areas (presumably areas where the hills and valleys still had some scaffolding up, the rivers had yet to be plumbed-in, and cherubic workmen lounged about smoking rollies out of sight of the Foreman). There were also quite a few reluctant ex-flat-Earthers around, who couldn’t quite go the whole hog and conceive of an Earth that was spherical, and therefore favoured the recherché “conical” theory.

*** Lord Marmaduke Latimer, Privy Seal to Elizabeth XVIII, was famous for drawing up his “Compendium Of The Relative Dangerf Of Sum Profeffionef”. “Nautical Exploration” came third, between “Being An Heretic” and “Being Out Of Favoure”, and “Generale Seafaring” came seventh over all, behind “Fightinge In An Foreigne War On The Lofing Side” and “Contractinge Ye Buboef”. Top of the list, of course, was “Being An Potentate Of The Southern Americaf”.

Astonishing X-Men Motion Comic

John Ottinger III — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 13:48:17 +0000

If you look up Neal Adams on the Internet, you’ll find that he’s worked with the who’s-who of the comic book world. He’s credited with helping to create some of the modern imagery for DC Comics superheroes like Superman and Batman; he also worked on Marvel’s Avengers, Conan the Barbarian and the X-Men, among others. More recently, he’s been championing motion comics — videos based on illustrations you see in comic books, word-for-word and drawing-for-drawing — as a way for the comic book industry to reach a broader audience and take over the world. Today, Marvel’s motion comic Astonishing X-Men, produced by Adams’ Continuity Studios, made its debut on Hulu.

Read the Interview of Neal AdamsHERE.

Watch Astonishing X-Men.

WARNING: THIS IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES