Day Five

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Day five.

Marker here. Don't give the error message a second's notice. Try as I might, I could not get rid of it.

Now, I am not up to anything shady, I assure you. This simply has nothing to do with Moulder & Primbol. Since they operate exclusively on Private Servers, they won't be able to see this post, while you lovely little charmers on Public Servers, should. It is all the better for them of course, as they do not want to concern themselves with the worries of the World.

My apartment and neighbourhood were in lockdown, yesterday. I was not able to enter after inspecting Madison Trench, and needed to spend the night in an inn. The reason for this was a violent insurgence which began in the apartment across from my own. The Clockwork Dragons have struck again.

Most of you have probably heard of the Clockwork Dragons, one of the many reasons you would not want to venture too deep into the slums of London. A brutal street gang, who's dirty dealings often get them involved with undesirable people.

A man on this street, one Mr. Iggins, had gotten the Clockwork Dragons angry with him. Exactly what he did has not been specified, but apparently, when the Dragons came to call, he started shooting a military-grade machine gun from his hallway, killing the gangsters in the immediate line of fire, and injuring several bystanders.

Dragons started swarming the neighbourhood, returning fire with guns of their own. Residents of the surrounding apartments were evacuated, while the police began shooting at any gangsters they saw.

It was a complete bloodbath. When it ended, four Clockwork Dragons, one policeman, and the Dragons' target, were dead.

When I returned from the inspection, I found that the entire street had been closed off. It didn't take long to find out what had happened, and I rented a room at the Bardelbee Inn. When I returned to my apartment this morning, I found that a bullet had went through my window and struck the incandescant bulb on the ceiling!

And there you have it. I have decided not write a description of Madison Trench. It was painfully dull, and M&P will not want to buy it.

❦J.T. Marker

Day Four

Day four.

It has been a while, has it not? 

Anyhow, allow me to enlighten you on the days passed. Various legal issues have arisen. M&P are trying to resolve them as we speak. It has come to my attention that the manager of Emerson Wall has died. Murdered, actually. It seems the young woman I spoke to when I first entered had a psychotic streak, and shot him with a pawned revolver as he slept.

A ghastly business on its own, but now there is a question of who can actually sell the building. With the manager (his name was Arnold Brilbee) gone at a relatively young age, he never wrote a will. Therefore, Emerson Wall should legally belong to the Emerson family, as they sold it to Mr. Brilbee in the first place. But they are all long dead.

Dreadful. What a tragic end for such a lovely fellow. 

I was sent to inspect Smith Castle, yesterday. I have no doubt that M&P would sooner tear it down than put any of their machines in it. At the time, I thought Mr. Pultham was the most vulgar man I had and ever would meet. At least he attempted to be Polite and seemed to genuinely like me. Mr. Berring gave me no such courtesy. I could tell he loathed me for no other reason than I was dressed well. This gave him the wrong impression that I was from an aristocratic life, and the excuse to treat me frightfully.

I am not ashamed to admit that his workhouse was by far the worst I have seen in my career. The entire building smelled of mould, rot, and various human by-products. The floors were made exclusively of rotting wood. This might have been bearable if it were not for the horrendously poor ventilation, heating the place to uncomfortable levels.

I left, saying to Mr. Berring, "We'll let you know." Which is a fancy way of saying, "We are not interested in your Hell Hole. Good day to to you, sir."

To my relief, the man in black has not returned to the pub. Taking the opportunity to find out about him, I approached the man I witnessed him talking to. Though, as I have said, I have never spoken to him, I am an observant fellow. I noticed that he was enjoying a stronger drink than usual.

"Good evening," I said, extending my hand. "I'm Marker. And, would it be to much trouble if I were to ask you a question?"

The man looked up at me. I could tell he was drunk. Slightly, but still drunk.

"No, not at all," he said, looking back down. He extended his hand to shake mine. "Yates is the name. I pray you won't ask me anything too queer, though."

"Thank you," I said. "I won't ask you anything strange, at least I hope. Would it be indecent of me to ask who that man was last night?"

He took a swig of his drink and laughed. "And why would you want to know that?"

"I had a run in with him," I said, deciding to tell him the whole story. "He knocked me over, and never helped me up, like a gentleman should. I should like to know who he is."

"Not very gentlemanly of you to be holding a grudge." he said, laughing again.

"I'm aware," I said. "But I also do not think bad deeds should go unpunished. And on the off-chance that it was merely and accident, and he somehow did not notice me, maybe we could become the best of friends, if only we could be acquainted." The man raised an eyebrow. "I was only joshing about that, of course." I added.

The man laughed once more, coughing up some of his drink. "You know why he didn't act like a gentleman? Because he's no gentleman."

"Pardon me?" I said.

"And I've already said too much. Do yourself a favour, and forget you ever saw him. Otherwise, he might come after you next, and "question" you." He raised two fingers, forming air quotations.

"But-" I began.

"I've said too much!" he said, getting up from the table and walking out the door, slamming it behind him.

In conclusion, I do not know what to make of all this. Maybe it would be better to just forget about the incident. After all, I was not hurt. I have, however, drawn the scene. Maybe this will give some of you a laugh. At the time it was quite frustrating, but now I find it to be rather silly.

❦J.T. Marker

Day Three

Day three.

Thank heaven above! The rain who's sound plagued my sleep all through the night ceased before I set out this morning. For good measure, though, I brought my umbrella with me.

I stopped by Ms. Granite's Bakery again. She claimed the rats were becoming bolder, now they were no longer in her roof, but in her attic. While I doubted there was much I could do to quell the matter, I had a peek into the attic to see if I could find any of the beastly creatures. All I could find were sacks of flower and grain, no rat droppings or nests in sight.

One curious thing which stood out to me, however, were scratch marks on the walls. Upon closer inspection, I saw that they were each about half an inch deep. Curious...

"My dear lady, are you quite sure it is rats who are causing such a din?" I asked her.

"Indeed I am, Mr. Marker. I have had experience with the little devils," she replied. "Quite loud, they are."

"Well," I said. "I looked and found no sign of vermin of any kind. I did, however, find what I believe to be the claw marks of a large bear."

I had a guilty laugh at her shocked reaction before I calmed her, saying: "Fear not, my dear lady. If anything, they are scratch marks left from crates being jostled about. If, however, one night you should hear a growl, I would suggest you leave immediately, and go to the hunting club. I am confident that someone there will be more than happy to take care of the problem."

Today's workhouse was Illidge House. By far the most glorious of the ones I have so far seen, this one looked like a mansion from the outside. The inside was like a mansion as well. A very dirty mansion. While the entrance hall had wooden floors, the work areas' were made of solid stone. The ventilation left a bit to be desired, but It might be a worthy investment to improve it, considering how wonderful the rest is.

While the manager was not able to see me on account of a bad cold, the head governess took me around the premises, giving me the history of the building. What I heard was so hopelessly dull that I will not even begin to describe it.

For the first time, I saw where the children live. Quite cozy indeed. A little boy, not older than ten, came up to me. He seemed to want to say something to me.

"Yes, lad?" I said.

"Sorry sir. Are you going to close us down?" he said.

"No, no, lad," I shook my head. "But hopefully, I'll be able to get you some more work and better living conditions."

I have submitted my report to M&P. Yesterday's did not seem to go over so well with them, so I hope this one will suit their fancy more.

Oh, one last thing. I saw that tall gentleman again today. He was talking to a man I recognised outside the pub I usually go to. This particular man, I have never spoken to, though I know he is a tall man, certainly taller than myself. The man in black, however, was about a head taller than he! How curious indeed.

Call me a coward, but I did not go to the pub tonight. That man made me too nervous. I will go tomorrow night, when, hopefully, he will not be there. 

❦J.T. Marker

Day Two

Day two.

A most peculiar thing it is to see a day so very rainy, yet certain gentlemen in this town seem to find it practical or enjoyable to not use an umbrella! I set out this morning with a spring in my step, in spite the weather. I was in a good mood, my digestion working its natural routine with the pastries I collected from Ms. Granite yesterday.

I was walking down my usual route to the square, when I noticed a tall gentleman standing with his back to the wall of Mr. Stortchy's Funeral Parlour. Ordinarily, I would have paid him no mind. He was hardly close enough to get a good look at, and his face was obscured by the umbrella of a young lady he was speaking to. What caught my attention was the fact that he carried an umbrella, yet he was not using it. Baffling!

The rain this morning was quite heavy. I myself own a large orange umbrella, most likely made for the use of two individuals, and would never dream of leaving my home without it in weather such as this.

I passed without a word. The man seemed familiar to me somehow. It was only when I was several blocks passed when I realised the man I had seen was the man who had knocked me over as I left the pub the previous night. The glimpse I caught of him matched that of the man I had just seen. I neglected to give description of the man I saw, as I did not think it was important. But now my interest is piqued. 

He wore a long black coat, reaching to below his knees, grey trousers with black vertical pinstripes, and a top hat. Now, such a description is hardly uncommon, but his image, however rushed the glimpse or low the light, was burned into my mind. Both times, I hardly got a look at his face. He obviously has one though, as a lack would make it impossible to have the conversation, which he seemed to be having with that woman. 

I could hardly turn back and confront him about it now, of course. I continued on my way. The one thing that kept my mind occupied for the rest of the walk was: "Why wasn't he using his umbrella?" A silly question, maybe, but I swear to God, I will ponder it to my dying day.

I inspected Mr. Pultham's Home For Those In Need Of Work. Such a name sounds charitable enough, of course, but names are a marketing tool.

Mr. Pultham was a large, vulgar man. He smelled of a hundred foul things I daren't name. While it was obvious he attempted to be pleasant, the fact that he seemed incapable of going more two sentences without using a certain rude word which will be left unsaid, made it impossible for me to consider ever giving him a ring for a social gathering.

"And this is where all the youngins eat their meals, Mr. Marker Sir." He said, addressing me as if I were a man of power.

"Splendid," I said, not really paying attention. "Now, what are these floors made of?"

"Wood, stone, or somethin' of the sort," He said. "It changes from room to room. What does your company do, Mr. Marker Sir?"

"Automata," I said for the third time. "And it isn't my company. You are aware of Moulder & Primbol, are you not?"

I explained to him the importance of stone floors and good ventilation. I know some of it must have gotten through to him, as he stated that the windows in the work area are quite big. I saw for myself that they were quite large indeed, more than capable of suiting the needs of M&P. However, the floors in that particular work room were made of wood, filled with cracks and crevices, and eaten by termites. It was a crying shame, seeing as the rest of the workhouse was in relatively good condition.

Oh well. I submitted the report to M&P. The previous workhouse was approved, but I doubt the same will be said for this one. No matter, there are still many more. I am confident that the wins will out weigh the losses.

❦J.T. Marker

Day One

Day one.

It is a five kilometre walk from my apartment to Emerson Wall. On the way, I took the time to stop at a bakery to reserve some pastries for tomorrow's breakfast, and catch up with Emily Granite, who owns the place. A motherly woman with a big heart whom I have known for many years. We spoke of the usual things; weather, politics, how each other's lives are playing out. She complained of animals scurrying about on her roof.

"I was thinking they were rats," she said to me. "But they sounded quite large. Of course some breeds do grow to be unusual sizes."

"It is little wonder you have attracted the monstrous little creatures," I said to her. "The smell of your baking is hardly a scent to be ignored. If this continues, I will see if I can't get someone on top of it."

I bid her goodbye and continued my walk. Though the day had started with the threat of rain, the sun eventually prevailed.

When I first entered the gates of Emerson Wall, a young woman asked me of my business. I told her that I was an agent from Moulder & Primbol Industries and wished to speak with the manager. The manager, a portly man sporting a Coal War era British Army jacket and a flamboyant hat, greeted me like an old friend, asking me how my wife was. When I informed him that I had no wife, he gave apologies so sincere that to the un-initiated, it would seem that he was offering his condolences for the loss of a loved one.

Entering the work area, I immediately noticed massive skylights, sunlight pouring through to illuminate the room. The ground beneath my boots was made of stone, closer inspection revealing it to be smooth from the decades of people walking on it. I asked the manager what this workhouse has been used for in times passed. He told of the history of the building, most of which was of no interest to me, but gave me the needed information. 

As luck would have it, this building has been used for smelting before. During the second World War, the War of the Philippines and the Coal War, this factory churned out guns, swords and armour. 

I informed the manager that he would be allowed to keep his current position, the only difference being his employment to M&P. The manager seemed to be content with this, and wished me well.

After submitting a detailed report to my employers, I retired to a pub I frequent. It was most relaxing after all that walking, to sit down in front of a drink and a warm meal. I finished my meal, payed for it, and walked through the door to the street. The next thing I knew, I was on my hand and knees, my hat rolling into a gutter and my glasses nearly falling off of my face.

I looked up to see a tall gentleman (I use that term lightly) hurriedly making his way into the pub. I shouted: "I say, help a man up!" but he payed me no mind. Philistine...

Besides that little spill, I would say it was a most productive day. I am now awaiting a response from M&P. I am confident that they will want to use this space.

❦J.T. Marker

Something I Should Have Addressed Earlier

Let me introduce myself. My name is birth name Jasper Tyson Marker. I have 44 years to my name, which will soon amount to 45, and my favourite colour is bronze. I was born in London, have lived in London my whole life, and will most likely die in London. Really, anything else besides that is best left to the imagination. 

I am unsure of your opinion on me based on this information, but I can assure you that no matter how dull, interesting, charming, or - God forbid - abominable you find me, I am all of these things and more based on the wide variety of opinions possessed by this world's large population.

I shall begin my job tomorrow, ironic, as there is no work on Sunday. Workhouses can be found all over London, but M&P were very specific as to which ones they wanted me to visit. The first one is Emerson Wall. Just the name brings to mind an impenetrable wall of industry. Hopefully, this will suit M&P's uses. 

The building materials are a major deciding factor, since these workhouses are to become factories for the construction of automata, the floors must be able to withstand and not warp from molten metal. M&P is trying to do this as cheaply as possible. Not to say that they are a cheap company, but it would be convenient for their needs. The money they have would be much better put to the development of new machines than it would be to replace floors.

Reasonable ventilation is also a must. Not only do we want to avoid damaging equipment through excessive steam, but we simply cannot have workers fainting or suffering from heatstroke. Keep in mind, many workers will be under the age of sixteen and will be less able than a full grown man or woman.

❦J.T. Marker

Introduction and Explanation

This is a rather surreal experience. Here I am, an ordinary real-estate inspector being hired by the economic powerhouse, Moulder & Primbol Industries. What did I do to deserve such an honour? My eternal gratefulness to whomever decided I was the man for the job. 

The job in question, you ask? As a real-estate inspector, I know the ins and outs of what makes an effective place to work and generally live. Moulder & Primbol are looking buy workhouses in London area, and I intend to seek out the most suitable ones for their needs and purposes, which, being the construction of automata, are rather specific.

The purpose of this journal is to document my progress. Naturally, I will send detailed reports of these places to the executives at M&P, but I intend to share this information with the general populace of this planet as well. Rest assured, this is completely authorised by M&P, so I will not get in any kind of trouble.

God bless you, Moulder & Primbol. With this job, I may finally be able to buy a new model of VAPR. This one is outdated by eight years at least, and the keys are nearly unreadable.

Oh, one last note. I may not be the most gifted of artists, but I will try to add illustrations to compliment certain future posts.

❦ J.T. Marker