Après presque une journée de voyage, le HMS Fluke est déposé dans l'Unterzee. Le canal descendit, à travers des écluses et des portes et des virages ombragés, de la lumière du soleil de la surface aux eaux froides du zee, et dès que le petit paquebot touchait les eaux vertes-noires, l'air se déplaçait, se transformant en un sentiment d'anticipation et de délicieuse nouveauté. Les passagers avaient été expédiés sous les ponts pendant la descente, les marées sauvages du canal trop faim pour les hommes et les femmes sans zee-legs pour être à sa portée, mais avec le bateau déposé dans les docks Albertine, les planchers de bois franc laqué du pont avant étaient ouverts à la visite.
La vue de la Neath est complètement étrangère aux habitants de la surface. Il y avait des étoiles, des milliers d'entre elles, et si vous regardiez de près l'une d'elles se déplaçait, rapide ou lente en lignes droites ou en courbes excentriques. Il n'y a pas de soleil ou de lune, et la seule lumière vient des lumières du bateau, et les illuminations des quais, soit des projecteurs aveuglants ou des lampes de rue dim guidant les résidents et les travailleurs trop et sur ses rues lointaines. Le zee lui-même est étrange, peut-être plus extraterrestre que toute autre chose encore. Plus tôt dans le voyage, les zailors pouvaient être entendus rire des réactions de l'habitant de surface au zee. Parmi les résultats portés, des mots comme "madeness" "terror" et "squeal comme un faber" ont fait leurs apparitions, et il est clair pourquoi. Les eaux ne sont pas de couleur présentes à la surface, et le voir pour la première fois provoque une sensation d'expansion inconfortable dans les coins agités de votre psyché. 'Pelegin', vous lisez. 'Le Noir des Underzee', une teinte torride et profonde d'ombre fougueuse, laissant entendre à des profondeurs littéralement insondables. Il trouble même les surfaces les plus robustes, et plus d'un passager perd le contenu de son estomac aux vagues, les déchets putrides se mélangent avec et disparaissent rapidement dans les chapeaux d'ondes passants, la noirceur uniforme revenant.
Le voyage de l'Albertine Docks à Londres est relativement inégal. Les docks eux-mêmes sont d'impressionnantes fortifications de pierre et de béton, manifestement construites pour résister aux attaques de la nature, mais aussi aux attaques. Il y a peu de trafic sur les vagues légères, et heureusement pour tous impliqués pas de zee-beasts arrière ce qu'ils ont au lieu de la tête. Quelques petits navires marchands sont passés, mis en évidence seulement par leurs lumières, et près de la moitié du trajet une frégate de la Royal Navy se rapproche beaucoup plus, les contours de sa coque visible de la lumière réfléchie de ses lampes de faisceaux. Finalement, les canots légers de Londres peuvent être vus, et le bijou du halo lumineux des Underzee entre en vue, la ville façonnée par sa propre luminescence.
Le Fluke tire dans les docks de Wolfstack, les dock-urchins scurrying liant toutes sortes de cordes à n'importe quel aspect robuste, tirant le bateau à coque épaisse à portée de marche. Les docks sont une cacophonie de son et de couleur, en contraste évident avec le zee. L'endroit est rempli du bruit de la ville: parler, voitures, commérages, chant, moteurs, cris et rires ont tous leur place dans la foule. A Trinket Hawker essaie de convaincre les passants que ses articles sont directement de la Maison des Miroirs, où que ce soit. Un poète besotted récite près du gantry, un verset tabou dont le sujet est probablement inconnu même du poète lui-même. La contre-mélange inconfortable au buzz excité des quais est ce qui vient de dessous. Des gémissements et des lamentations de Drownies, anciens citoyens de la Neath, leurs esprits faibles et leur chair marqués et décolorés pour ressembler à des aubergines pourries plus que la peau humaine. Leur basse douce et pitoyable s'accompagne de mélodies hantantes, de belles chansons tristes qui éveillent un léger désir, mais visible, de les rejoindre parmi les vagues.
Les sites sont plus incroyables. Londres est vraiment le joyau de la Neath, son skyline plus vaste et magnifique que n'importe quelle autre ville sur ou sous le monde, sûrement, la cavalcade des bâtiments couronnés par les flèches massives du Bazar, s'accrochant vers le plafond presque de manière limpide. Les hommes et les femmes le long des quais sont une foule variée; il ya des gens de qualité, leurs couleurs fines et les costumes à la mode accrochent et merveilleux. Les Urchins courent avec charme dans leur motley et drab, tandis que le citoyen de tous les jours trouve son chemin homogénéisé à travers la foule nombreuse. Malheureusement, ces agrafes charmantes ne sont pas les principaux occupants du quai : la plupart des plates-formes de bois épaisses sont des zailors. Hommes et femmes durs, avec des regards durs et durs, parlant de temps durs et fougueux dans l'horreur noire de la Neath. Autour d'eux existe une zone morte, où les meilleurs gens n'osent pas marcher, et c'est ces canaux qui finiront par vous conduire à votre destination, écrite en encre rouge vif sur une note dans votre poche mammaire.
"Le chant de Mandrake"
Name: Spencer Cole
Age: 55
Physical Description: Exquisitely dressed in grey pin striped 3 piece suit, a perfectly tailored Egyptian cotton shirt and a Jaxon English bowler perched on his head, he is the epitome of style. Turning to fat in older age is a dominant gene in Spencer's family and combat this, he keeps a strict regime of running to giving him a taut sleek form which he moves with smooth purpose. Boots made of soft, velvet like leather clad his feet, a long chain leading to an elegant pocket watch mark and the mole skin briefcase mark him as a man of distinction.
Its often said that people dress to hide their flaws or accentuate their more desirable attributes and Spencer was no exception to this rule. He was by no means a hansom man, dour in expression, weak chin and a nose that was almost, but not entirely the wrong size for his face. Still, he was not without some positive physical attributes, he had been involved with several high profile women in his life, one of whom was a well know actress, none of them had ever lasted more then a year or more. They could never offer him what he really wanted.
Personality: Petty, ruthless and uncompromising, are some of the nicer adjectives used to describe Spencer. Most who have worked with him describe him as narcissistic, manipulative and abhorrent. Spencer's better personality traits were never encouraged to come out. A ruthless attitude were cultivated as a child and a cool intellect was nurtured. This upbringing has left Spencer some what distant and disinterested in others, that is unless he considers you of value. Accustomed to being deferred to he makes a difficult travelling companion and a formidably enemy.
Given his affluent family circumstances Spencer has never been require to do manual labour and Tabour, his equerry has always dealt with the more physical side of Spencer's business, not that there is a vast amount of that kind of work with the lifestyle he leads.
Ethics/Beliefs: Morality was never much of an issue for Spencer, in as much as he had never really had it instilled in him. Ruthlessness was an attribute that was nurtured, developed and grown , this ruthlessness which, today, Spencer wields like a weapon. At a very early age all of the Spencer children were encouraged to cheat, to be manipulative, to win at all costs. Winning, of course to most people, is a subjective matter, to Spencer it was his life force. Anything could be 'Won', people, property, favours, money, import rights, conversations. Wining is what drives him and the only unfair game that you ever play in life, is the game you lose....
Occupation/Talents: 30 years with the British Diplomatic Service has left Spencer jaded, frustrated and angry. He had been, what many would call lucky in his postings. Lucky in the first instance that his father purchased his commission with the Diplomatic Service and in the second instance that all his postings had given him unrestricted access to business leaders, politicians and affluent people who could ensure the ships from British Tobacco Ltd were not subjected to any formal inspections. Of course the fact that the Spencer family were the majority share holders in British Tobacco Ltd and subsidiaries were purely coincidental. Spencer always wanted to be more hands on with his family’s businesses but destroyed all chance of that after the accident.
His real talents lay with people, he could manipulate them and bend them to his will, subtly of course, none of this crass violence that people seem to revile in these days. Far from disliking people who resisted him, he respected them for it, he even liked some of them. Not that it would stop him trying to use them to his advantage in one way or another.
Heart's Desire: A child. A male heir to carry on his work and his genes to the next generation. There really isn't much more to it, he does not need anything material, he has no need of a wife or friends, nothing more than a son.
History: Spencer is the eldest of 3 brothers, and there fore, as is right, the next in line to take up a position on the board of directors for the family’s business, except that to be a board member you first must have provided a male heir to the family, which for Spencer was an impossibility.
Growing up on the family estate as the eldest brother should have been relatively easy for Spencer, he had a full 16 months on his twin brothers and he exploited this age gap for many years. The twins grew fast and being twins, did everything together. It was a cause for concern with the family heads when Spencer's mother produced twins, the family had experienced problems in the past with twins, they had found it difficult to sever that unseen bond twins have. The Family heads decided on a different course of action with Twain and Evans, their tutors encouraged this bond and strengthened it over the years.
On the Twins 12th birthday the day was to be celebrated with a shoot. The preparations had taken weeks and the twins had each been presented with a brace of identical smooth bore shot guns. Shooting was a part of life at the family’s estate and by this age each of the children were proficient in handling guns.
Nobody knew how Twain managed to get separated from the group, and neither Spencer or Twain could remember exact details of the incident. Even today, when he thinks back on the weeks that followed a dull pain builds between his legs. When the doctor had made it clear that nothing could be done to rebuild the parts that were destroyed, Spencer was moved from the family estate into the town house. He was kept separate from the rest of the children and purchased a Commission in the Diplomatic Service.