The Cartographers Diary

by C. Mahood

  Bill Ironforn

  June 18th

  The I.D.B is no more. The gates destroyed. I can only thank whatever God or Gods there may or may not be, that my forward signal was received. I send word forth to the flight deck and dock captain once I heard what Captain Hearty’s orders were. The flight decks were clear and the shops and businesses were shut when the newly named “Todd’s revenge” arrived. We were ordered to open fire at will. There were no set targets other than the gates. Once they had been destroyed, we were to simply destroy the boarder beyond repair. An order we fulfilled and more. During the panic and bedlam, we met little resistance, just from the Ironworkers militia, a secret set and private army sworn to the grey men. At least that is what Captain Hartley tells us. I did notice one ship come and go during the fighting however. I could tell the zeppelin sails and lower extended rudders that it was Captain Jones’ ship. She must have brought Mr Thomas on his voyage.

  We are in Cogburn now. The port reserved for Captain Todd. Hartley sent a letter of parlay to Sir Bleakly the minister and owner if the I.D.L.S.S.W. From what I believe the letter was very clear. He has told Bleakly that his Son is a prisoner, he will be ransomed if the Grey men council meets to discuss a full withdraw from Sub-York. Now I know this is a charade, once the council meets, Hartley will kill Sir bleakly at the first given opportunity. Then go on to kill the rest of the council. He is consumed by rage. In the morning I shall disband the crew as ordered. We have simply one last mission to complete, under the instruction of our new Captain. Their contract ended long ago and the conditions state that on return to the city they would have owed funds transferred to their personal accounts. I have already seen to this and will encourage the men to not return, seek other forms of employment or better still, new lines of work. The life of a crewman is unrewarding, stressful and ages you considerably. Also, the great chance of loss in life, is a terrible kicker like a four of spades when awaiting a royal flush.

  Captain Maria Jones

  June 28th

  It has been a week before I have been able to put pen to paper. The events that transpired have shocked me to the core. I will try to explain to the best of my ability, For the sake of George Thomas.

  The morning had arrived and we docked in the Cogburn launch pads. The crew were sent to restock and resupply. Our priority’s as a crew were to get essential supplies and equipment for the build of Sub-York, but my personal mission was to follow George Thomas. I truly feared for the future of this city, if he were to follow through with his plan.

  I followed in close proximity, never letting him out of my sight as we pushed through the busy streets, moving from block to block, through narrow alleys to large open and bustling streets. Past the districts of commerce and trade, through the slum quarter, via the tram station. I shared a tram cart with him as we travelled the Victoria line through to the 6th stop at the business district. Never getting close enough to be noticed but not far enough to ever lose sight. We climbed the steps to the I.D.L.S.S.W building and I waited by the revolving door as he made his way to the reception desk. At first I thought there must have been some trouble with security or appointment allocation but I later discovered that Sir Bleakly had been called to an emergency meeting with the council at the old courthouse. I followed again down the back streets to the old town, under the 2nd level bridges, that once separated living and working quarters of the poorest of working class, but now have been converted into the most luxurious apartments for the super-rich. Eventually we made our way to the Courthouse. The entire perimeter was guarded by Men in grey armour and grey cloaks. I hid behind the corner of an old workhouse staircase and watched George Thomas as he advanced on a guard with his back turned. With the quickest of flashes, he thrush his rapier into the guards back, through his chest and grabbed his mouth and he gently helped him to the ground. He wiped the blood on the corpse and pressed on. I too followed him. The old town was deep under the high buildings that towered over Cogburn. Everything else was built on top of something except the old town. It was kept as both a national treasure and a museum to the past. The early discovery of Cogburn as a front line in dimensional border crossings. The courthouse was a majestic building of brass and stone. The brass was burnished into a deep copper rust and the stonework was greening with lime scale and water damage. The overall look however was a building carved from brown stone to show emeralds underneath.

  George Thomas had made it to the outer perimeter. There were twenty men at least guarding the main staircase at the front. One stationed every 6 steps or so, all the way to the door. Patrolling guards walked the ground boundary and the first floor balcony edges that ran the entire circumference of the house. My Thomas disposed of several more men in the same manner. I was shocked at his efficiency and grace as he did so. Helping the bodies to rest in peace and without sound. He had vaulted to the first floor balcony with the greatest of ease and proceeded to slip into an open window.

  I sprinted after the next available interval past two patrolling guard and shadowed his every move in close pursuit. The inside of the courthouse was black as night. All I could see was the shadow of George Thomas at the corner of the corridor, edging slowly with pistol drawn towards the light ahead of him. I could hear voices booming in echo in the great stone halls but could not hear clearly what was being discussed. I tiptoed forward, all the way to the main room. The light was a collection of thousands of candles both from chandeliers and candle sticks in every corner of the room. Mirrors bordered the entire chamber, illuminating the multiplying the light even further. In the middle sat one round table. The table in which the city got its name I am told. Once giant God sat a metre high from the ground in the middle of the cog table was a glowing red metal grate, with burning red coals inside. Hench the name “Cogburn City.”

  I could see Mr Thomas now, he had one foot on the lip of the balcony and another on the ground, his weapon was drawn and he was taking aim at someone. I moved closer still to see who his intended target was, not that I had any illusions over who it may be. As I had suspected, it was Sir Bleakly. I saw his fingers tighten over the trigger and his head tilt to the side as he squinted his vision to aim. Before he fired however we heard a voice we did not expect.

  The voice of Captain Steven Hartley.

  George Thomas

  June 28th

  My old friend had made an appearance. He stood in the doorway of the hall, walking forward to the amazement of those watching. His hand held high holding a trigger to a switch, long coils spun round his hand and down to the floor, there they separated through the perimeter of the inside chamber. Sticking close to the edges of the wall and skirting, leading to stone statues. Only now were the bombs visible. Timers were placed on the exterior of dynamite compressed explosives. They were held on with copper wire and only at the statues placed by support pillars. Enough to bring down the building in its entirety.

  “Grey Men, your time has come.” He said holding the bomb trigger. He had not seen me at this point. “Bleakly, your reign and charade is up. The grey men and council had reached its conclusion and final chapter. I bring with me the death of you all. You killed many of my crew but worst yet, you killed my greatest friend and mentor. A man you disregarded, saw as a fossil from the wars, a washed up captain, but a true hero that fought for the privileges and rights that you all here now have.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and muttered a small prayer before opening his eyes. “Good b— “he began before I interrupted him.

  “STOP” I called to him, his head spun around to meet mine, a look of confusion and hurt flooded his expression. It was the pain and betrayed that I saw in his eyes though. That will haunt me forever.

  “I regret that you are here, you should not be. Alas however, you choose your time poorly.” He turned from me to face Sir Bleakly now. His hand beginning to press on the switch he held.

  I have no recollection of the next few seconds, call it instinct, adrenalin, heroics or fear, I honestly do not know. Th
e earlier moment I can recollect after he looked at me were of me kneeling on top of him. A smoking pistol in my right hand and my rapier embedded deep into Heartly’s chest. I was leaning over him, out of breath and my heart beating fast. I had wrestled the trigger from his grip and was holding him down flat on the ground. Watching the life leaving his body.

  It was awful, the man who saved my life so many times, now I was stealing his.

  His breaths were shallow, his voice low. I could not let him kill the entire council. They are leaders of industry, the men in charge of major corporations. They employ all of Cogburn and employ outsourced workers from all over our globe, and from worlds and dimensions not our own. Like it or not they are the ones who stop the known universe from plunging into times of darkness and apocalypse, like the world Noah and the other keepers reside on. The dead planet that consumed itself over religion and greed. These Grey men leaders were the ones that not just kept the wheels of industry turning but operate the mechanisms that do so. I know that Sir Bleakly has done wrong and deserves to be punished, I was ready to kill him myself but not like this. Not an opportunity for him to be mourned. He needed to be exposed.

  Heartly coughed the blood from his lungs and spat the blood from his mouth, he spoke one word to me, “Ironforn” Then slowly his head bowled hindmost and he left this plane of existence. At the time I had no idea why he had cited Bill’s name. I distinguished they had served together for a long time but where they just good friends? Brothers? Lovers?

  All these questions ran through my mind. The council scattered and the place was overrun with security and police officers in a very short manner of time. I was taken from the room and questioned by officials before I was released under the order of Sir Bleakly.

  Captain Maria was not seen that day. She must have escaped during the ruckus, the way we came in. I have not heard from her to this day.

  I was sent home to get some rest and then was ordered to present all of my findings and turn over all of my research on the winged man to Sir Blakely’s office first thing the following Monday, weeks beginning.

  In my time recovering I simply slept and ate. Indulging in the little comforts that I had missed. I sent words to my loved ones and families, explaining my absence.

  The following day however A knock came to my door. Before I had time to answer it was brutishly kicked in. Five men, all wearing Grey men garbs barged into my place of impermanent lodging. They grabbed me, in my casual attires, they gathered all paperwork I had and all log admittances I had collected and help on my person. They shepherded me down to a small three-man balloon and hurried me to the offices of The IDLSSW.

  The room was gloomy when I entered. I was made to pause in the hallway for well over an hour while Sir Bleakly looked through all of my discoveries with one or two advisors. One of whom came to me for a short period, he informed me that Sir Bleakly and his office would like to extend their upmost gratitude for my heroic acts in saving the life of Sir Bleakly. I was to be rewarded financially and given both a ministerial promotion but a promotion in class. Lifting me to the rank equal to some of the city’s exclusive elite. After they departed, I was called in unaided. I stood at the end of his table and watched him as he simply read and smoked. Every now and then he would smirk, leer, grin or cough out a laugh but still not saying a word to me. Finally, however, he did. Just a single word. “Clarify!”

  As I began to communicate, clearing my throat, fixing my garments and standing strait, a man dashed in from behind me. He pushed past me, knocking me off balance. I fell forward and seized hold of the table. There I could see the daily that was slammed down in front of Sir Bleakly. It was the Cogburn Chronicle. I recall beaming as I read the headline on the front. Four simple words that would send shockwaves through not just this bureau, but the entire metropolis of Cogburn.

  Bill Ironforn

  June 27th

  It is done, Our last mission, our last act of defiance in the face of Coburn’s Clandestine Grey man council. Better yet, a chance to spit in the face of the secret tyrant Sir Bleakly.

  Captain Heartly left us with strict instruction. He identified very well that we would be perused eventually by Captain Maria Jones and George Thomas. They would discover the information that Captain Todd believed all along. That the “Winged man” was a fraud. They would peruse us here and attempt to stop him. Our orders were to trace the homing signal that he had placed on Jones’ Ship. Once found we were to take the recordings that Mr Thomas found and return to our vessel. This was all simple enough. The crew were not on board when I arrived. A simple picklock and the crew entrance on the stern was opened. I found Mr Thomas’s bunk and cabin and sieved through the quantity of pages that he had etched and collected. Eventually I found one page. Written with a traumatised and shaken hand. Either a calligrapher with great distress in his heart or pure exhilaration. It was still very consistent with the writing of George Thomas, but very clearly not his words. I knew this is what we were looking for.

  The second part of our plan was to hijack the working day of the most prominent Media outlet in Cogburn. The Cogburn Chronicle.

  This was also an easy job. The workers were startled of course as armed men marched through the door but on explanation to editor and chief William Black staff, our weapons were holstered and not needed again. He was more than accommodating and even excited to be printing real truth. Sir Bleakly had a hand in his pocket for years now and nothing could be green lit without his approval. Therefore, real issues that would affect his businesses and dodgy dealings were never shown the light of day. He was more than happy to print what we gave him. I suspect however he was more pleased to have an exclusive over his rivals, “the gazette” or the entertainment sensationalist tabloid, “Cogs at night.”

  Once the run was completed we shifted the largest number of papers produced in a single day to every outlet, newsagents, market stall, even to the desks of tobacconists, arms wears, free copies were given to the slums in the outlining districts and even airdropped at the I.D.S.T.

  I wanted something that nobody could walk past without picking up a copy and reading. It simply read “The Winged Man Speaks!”

  Our mission was complete. With that we shook hands and made our way to the “Todd’s Vengeance” Where we collected all of our belongings. Checked our accounts, once again, in the on-board computer, to make sure we had been paid, then separated and went home. I however made my way to find my old Captain. There were still things left un said.

  On my Appearance, the scene was dreadful. What I had feared, had been realised. My Captain lay dead in the arms of George Thomas. How could he, Traitor! Before I could act I was tackled to the floor by none other than Captain Maria Jones. We have returned to her ship now. I await to be de-briefed by her and her crew, explaining how things may have unfolded, unbeknown to me. I write this as I wait. I will update after I have conversed with her aircrew. This diary is vital to the true telling of the captains of the Anabelle and the Todd’s Vengeance.

  George Thomas

  June 28th

  He was furious. Veins in his neck were popping out from his skin, like tight ropes holding a ship in harbour during a storm. His eyes burned and I was scolded by his glare. He seemed lost for words however. He started so many sentences but never finished one. Spluttering our undistinguishable questions of how? Why? What? Until eventually he calmed himself enough to simply ask me “what has happened?” I Smiled at him. I felt a slight sense of pity for him. His expression turning now to one of dread. The realisation dawning on him. The impact this would have on the illusion he had used as power. The fall of religion. All of which are impossible to turn around now. My moment approached. He fell back and sunk into his chair. Beads of sweat gathering around his forehead and beginning to drip from his nose. His eyes not leaving the page in front of him. We both knew, in that moment, that he was finished. The thought has crossed my mind, just for a moment to end his miserable life. I reconsidered however. What victory would ther
e be in killing a man while he was falling? There is more justice in watching him land with a crash. His business would fail; he would be extradited. His Family name striped of fame and fortune, shunned by his peers and forgotten by society. The telephones had already started to ring. I could hear uproar and commotion from the bureaus at the end of the hall. Doors were slamming and glass smashing. He was finished. I did not want to be in the building when the roof collapsed. Metaphorically of course, but I found out later that this literally happened.

  I was also aware, at that time, that my career was finished. I would not be entering my findings into the database. My life here in Cogburn was over. The George Thomas that once was, was now deceased. I was given a second chance. I feel changed due to my adventures with the Crew of the Anabelle, and the many people I have met afterwards. I Will publish my findings and the journal entries of all I have come across. This will be the only recorded truth of the exposure of the Grey men and the winged man. This collection of journals will in all purposes be a counterweight to the holy books people cling to. This is not to put an end to hope. Religion breeds false hope and a need to put your life, fate and future in the care of an invisible and unreal entity. By disregarding religion, people have freedom to take hold of their own destiny. This will act as an un-holy book of new beginnings. I have more to discover however, words unexplored. I am a cartographer at heart, first and foremost.

  This is not the end however. My parting words to Sir Bleakly are the words I leave in farewell to this particular diary.