The Specious Origins...
Being the first of several shortly to follow snippets from 'Professor Theopode Tyckle and the Electric Insect Detector Incident' where in our hero sets out on 'The Hunt for the Great Wildeworme"
Having rather underestimated the length of the drafts for this book and not wishing my work to outstay its welcome, I think making a series of related posts is perhaps the best solution.
Mindful of my promise to include a tastefully nude Lady Mayoress, I must offer my apologies for the delay. Rest assured, however, that this is not a lewd scene, but one of elegance and artistic charm.
Lady Mayor Marjorie Mountshafte, alone in the quiet seclusion of her grand home, had just stepped from her bedtime bath. Glancing through the tall French windows of her bathroom, she saw the midsummer moonlight spilling across her garden in a silver glow. The sight was irresistible.
With a playful, whimsical air, she stepped onto the balcony, draping herself decorously in the moonlight, indulging in a moment of impromptu ‘moon bathing.’
And as innocent and playful as this is and with seemingly so little apprehension that ‘anything could go wrong’, there were however dramatic consequences to follow.
Lest this playful little moment of indulgence on the part of Marjorie strain your suspension of disbelief - I simply say - who amongst us has never thus disported themselves in exactly this manner?
=
A matter of housekeeping -
There are six books in the series each of which will have limited room for ‘dedicating’ or including the ‘With thanks to…’ sections and naturally, I would be especially thankful to receive comments and feedback…
The Specious Origins
Rising from a sparkling blue-grey sea is a craggy, green-brown island. A mere speck of land, standing apart from the vast dark continent, set some thirty miles distant. Entirely its own, yet world enough for the peaceable folk who call it home. Given time and solitude, its many wonders have grown.
Far in the north, ancient castles loom from atop snow-capped granite mountains, their brooding shadows cast over the dark forests far below. Tumbling and churning, rivers wind down steep hillsides, soaking the landscape to marshland and bog. A land of lochs and stands of pinewoods, where purple heather smothers acres of upland moor, its colour softening the vast and wind-scoured land.
Scattered wooded dales, dotted sparsely with crofts and pastures, give way to barren treeless expanses of moorland, bright yellow with thorny gorse. The far north of the island is bounded by towering cliffs and headlands, where coves haunted by sea-eagles echo with the cries of seagulls, all sound muffled by the roaring swells and the heavy surf falling on lonely, sandy beaches. There are sea-caves sequestered far beneath thrift-edged clifftops.
To the south, the land grows gentler, with half-hidden valleys where willow-shaded streams flow through mist-covered water-meadows and grasslands. Villages of stone-built cottages settle contentedly amid pastures and oak woodlands with mossy depths. Chalk-downs slope toward wide shorelines of shingle and pebble, where the land yields at last to the sea.
There are peatlands, wetlands, and meadow-covered farmlands, where market towns have grown, merchants and craft guilds have prospered. Generations of harvests and abundance have built prosperity through the centuries. Well-fed and cosy-homed in winter, the inhabitants plant and sow in spring, gathering the gifts of the land in autumn.
In the heart of the south, college towns rise, where philosopher’s halls and libraries fill aspiring minds with wisdom and knowledge—the hearts of dreamers consoled by myth and legend, where the whispers of ancient tales drift through stone-clad halls and candlelit libraries.
Further south rises the great Capital, where a grand river winds onward to the widening estuary and into the Bay of Thyme. Ships of trade arrive, pushing against the current, bringing goods and people from all quarters.
From here, explorers first set sail to the ends of the earth, followed by vast naval power and goods of all fineries, reaching horizons both far and near.
This is a world shaped by its storied history and curious inhabitants. A land of contrasts, where the rugged beauty of the north meets the gentle prosperity of the south, and where history’s tides have shaped the lives of those who call it home.
It is a land both cherished and peaceable, as modest and content as the folk who call it home. Yet they are lion-hearted—swift, mighty, and steadfast in the protection of the weak and the freedoms bound within the majesty of the writ of law. Stalwart and mindful that justice abides as one with the qualities of mercy.
And so it was that, a little before tea-time on a bright summer’s day, in the heart of the island’s south, Mrs. Tyckle sat waiting for the Clapham omnibus to arrive.
After a pleasant lunch with a friend, she had attended her final check-up before the arrival of her first child now only a matter of weeks away. Months of diligent preparation, meticulous planning, and quiet anticipation had carried her to this moment. The warm afternoon air, the gentle murmur of a peaceful town, and the reassuring weight of a well-packed handbag displaced any lingering discomfort from her aching back, her stiff legs, or the rather too-large custard slice she had optimistically consumed for dessert.
Sighing—not for any particular reason but simply because it felt pleasant to do so—she gathered her bag and the book she had been reading, preparing to rise. A slight stirring in the waiting passengers signalled the approach of the omnibus.
As Mrs. Tyckle hoisted herself to her feet, three helpful young women and an older gentleman instinctively moved to assist, guiding her aboard with the unspoken choreography of practiced courtesy. Inside, fellow passengers shifted to allow her a choice of seats, and, like a stately galleon, she was gently maneuvered into place, soon comfortably settled.
The conductor chimed the bell twice, and the bus rumbled into motion.
Feeling pleasantly full, pleasantly tired, and pleasantly homeward-bound, she thought to read a page or two while completing the journey. She had paid her fare, accepted her ticket from the conductor’s whirring machine, and, basking in the glow of an altogether delightful day, was pondering how best to enjoy the remainder of her ride when—
In that very second, in that fleeting instant it was the best of times and the worst of times.
Mrs. Tyckle was not one to place undue faith in the fortuity of circumsances. A well-crafted passage through life, she believed, was best ensured by careful preparation. Somewhat of a family motto, Mr Tyckle was often heard extolling - 'Be Prepared'.
One does not, after all, win the lottery without purchasing a ticket, nor does one meet life's challenges without forethought and planning. Both she and Mr. Tyckle held firm to the belief that nothing inspires greater confidence than readiness.
And yet, despite all her meticulous foresight, Mrs. Tyckle was, in this moment, as unprepared as a person could possibly be.
Caught short—calamitously, irrevocably caught short—she let out an exclamation of pure, startled distress, her book and handbag tumbling to the floor. The shock was so great, so all-consuming, that for a single breathless moment, the very fabric of reality quivered.
Something had happened.
A profound and most marvellous change had swept across every passenger aboard the Clapham omnibus, through every village, every valley, every castle-topped mountain of this green-brown island, across every distant city, every great ocean, and all the lands beyond.
And yet, in the immediate confusion—amid the startled glances, the murmurs, the conductor’s sudden exclamation, clashing of gears, squeal of brakes, sounding of bells and general widespread kerfuffle —no one seemed to notice.
Even Mrs. Tyckle, though shaken, found herself too caught up in the moment to fully grasp the intensity of what had just transpired.
Indeed, no one aboard the Clapham omnimbus would have believed within the last few yards of travel, an intelligence greater than any of humankind's, was engaged in scrutinising matters most keenly.
There was now, beyond reasonable doubt— a being who, took note, cogitated upon, and fully understood exactly what had occurred. That somewhere in the vast expanses of the universe a being was ensuring it would Be Prepared.