The events that spanned our delightful reunion at Lady Quixtactictle’s mansion, and the remarkably less delightful environs of the local Constabulary are not worthy of report. Instead, allow me to explain what happened just before myself and Mr. Porist were released on our own recognizance, as they are far more pertinent to this particular poem. Once again, my dear Captain Sir Venriki de’Laisey was eager to reacquaint himself with my company.

Due to a brief jaunt to Ohio to view the Eclipse, there will be no post on Monday. Instead, there will be a double-post on Wednesday! Thank you for your patience, and I’ll see you then!

November 24, 2026 The FDA officially declares IANs safe enough for over-the-counter use. Competing protests shut down Boston. The news reports from inside the city explain some protesters are demanding cheaper access to Nanocules for the lower classes, while others demand more regulation and research into this new and potentially dangerous technology. November 25, 2026 Over the counter ‘IANdigestion’ pills are made available for sale, marketed to prevent indigestion, heart burn, gas, and constipation for a full day if taken in the morning.

I must take the opportunity to applaud Lady Quixtactictle’s taste in servants, as not a one behaved anything less than perfectly properly. Indeed, it is difficult to answer the door when it has been blown off its hinges, but the tall butler managed, with her firm back and graceful limbs, to provide some measure of propriety to the sudden and violent assault on our host’s mansion. The assailants, unfortunately, were not nearly as respectful of her efforts as we were.

Mr Porist and I then followed Lady Quixtactictle to her mansion — a term of endearment in this case, as the Grand Junction was simply not large enough to contain a residence of the size people of Lady Quixtactictle’s status are accustomed to. As such, Lady Quixtactictle’s domicile on the third level of the Grand Junction was merely fifteen rooms large, and somewhat humble in terms of decoration and extravagance.

Oh, how suitably named is the Grand Junction; a place of a thousand wonders and delights. From all across the Myriad Worlds come travelers seeking new lands on which to place their feet, free from the confines of their old lands and cultures. They mix freely with each other like masters of their own destinies. Exotic Foods are exchanged along with foreign coin. Soft steel is traded for hard silk. Songs are sung, and even if the words are all wrong and the tune is not right, the song is clearly the same.

7:46 am, October 3, 2055 The door opened to Erin’s office. She entered, followed by Jack shaking the last few drops of rain water off his coat as he wiped his eyes, and looked carefully around the darkened room. A split second later the heat/motion sensor near the door flicked the lights on, bathing the room in a soft white sheen, and turning on the picture-wall to reveal Erin’s collection of photos.

“Oh?” Mr. Porist turned to look at his own shoulder as best he could. “And what manner is that?” At Mr. Porist’s request, the Twist did leap up into the air, and perform a most magnificent spin before landing once more on the wooden deck of the barge. Darting about like a nervous frog, the Twist did tug at ropes and push at wheels, performing no end of complex navigation that was quite beyond my understanding.

I awoke to the sight of a childish face staring down at me. The face was small, kind, and unashamed. Wound about with colored cloth, the skin was covered with slanted parallel lines, a strange scar or tattoo I had never seen before. I sat up, most uncomfortably, as my various limbs had chosen to become quite stiff and sore. The face moved backwards, and in motion were the scars made clear: they were no tattoos but breaks in the papery skin, shifting back and forth as the little thing danced away, half like a child and half like a dancing ribbon tied the end of a stick.

The rest of the evening passed without notable event. Sir Juhrooz was, in fact, a rather dull dinner companion, of a kind with Mr. Porist. He ate very little, and spent most of his conversation speaking most shamefully about various bloody battles and bristling confrontations with any number of villainous and bestial foes. It might have indeed been a most interesting and delightful conversation, had I not heard similar from half of all the soldiers I had ever met.