It's Tuesday, which seems like a good night for a serialized mystery. My story is new, though some of the characters are well past the age of copyright protection.
Here's a short excerpt to whet the adventurous appetite or to warn the wary and scandalize the scolds. The game's afoot below the squiggly thingamabob.
One of the great treasures derived from our English countryside is the cheese. While other countries do have their distinctive varieties, with the sceptered isle herself having a wide range, there is no cheese I find quite as agreeable as a good English Cheddar. Perhaps some of that appreciation comes from seeing the process at Lord Marlington's.Here's a previous post about this project and below I'll put a poll. I'm leaning toward 8 PM Tuesdays as a regular time so please let me know if you're interested in reading, "Sherlock Holmes in Space -- Episode 1, The Knower" at that particular time.
Why do I bring this up at this point? You may well ask. It was the cutting of the curd that especially caught my attention. What was a liquid and would soon enough be a dense solid encountered a rather brutish treatment along the way, being inelegantly chopped into one inch cubes. "Holmes," I said whilst looking around, "I feel as if I were a wheel of cheddar cheese before being pressed, yet other than that, I don't think anything has changed one single bit."
"Watson, I suggest you move from that spot rather quickly, lest you do indeed get pressed," I stepped aside and Sherlock Holmes continued, "Our new client, Cody, or rather, Cody the representative of our new clients, should be along shortly to explain in great detail how very much things have changed."
"But Holmes, this is our flat at 221B Baker Street. And the only explanation that makes any sense to me is that the young scallywag somehow managed to drug us or something and then ran off."
"Ah Watson, observe the document on the side table. Typewritten, you will probably say."
I picked up the sheet of paper and looked it over closely. "Consider that the topic of this paper is our so-called 'visit' and meeting scheduled with you and I, our new client Cody, an Admiral, and the Knower, whatever that is. Since it would be an awfully expensive subterfuge to typeset one page simply for the purpose of propagating some sort of strange hoax, then of course it was prepared on a typewriter."
"Wrong, Watson. Look at the back of the paper."
"There's nothing there. So?"
"Precisely. Feel the surface. It's smooth. A typewritten document would indent the front side as each letter was typed. And the back would bear convex witness to that indention. Even a press run would leave some evidence of three-dimensionality on the obverse side. Now, rub your shoes a few times on the axminster and then touch any large metallic object within reach."
I did as he suggested, touching the large samovar that the Czar had sent 'in appreciation for discreet services,' looked at Holmes and said, "Nothing happened."
"Precisely my dear Watson. On a crisp, dry day such as this in London, a wool carpet should easily generate a spark of static electricity. And note the climate itself. Then listen. Watson we are far from our London, I am certain of that."