Shorthanded

Traditional wisdom says there is a point, on the balance between too little help and too much help where adding manpower only makes things more complicated. I disagree. However, I do not overly rely on manpower to get things done.

I knew we were going to have visitors come to Caer Firnas with the intent of testing our genteel manners as we often do. Between our Lady Lucien moonlighting as a popular musical entertainer, my dear Lady's work at Oxbridge, my assistant's insistent calls for revolt among mechanical workers, and my own research and business pursuits, we are never at a lack of short-sighted guests with ill-advised plans. Had I more time, I could have prepared some entertaining diversions for them.

Alas, on the morning of November 27th, the great Tesla Tower had been dismantled by unknown persons.

I confess there was part of me, the young man of yesteryear, who was a bit angry and embarrassed. Such a heist, and from under my own nose? Oh the indignity. I should have come out of this ahead!

As a man, you never escape the brash and prideful youth you were.

I examined the site in the light of false dawn. It was clear my visitors had come by train. The tracks took the long way around, and approached the tower from the south. Clearly, they had intended to move the pieces through the woods to a landing where small runabout would have ferried the various bits to a waiting steamship.

Oddly enough, it seems they only loaded a fraction of their haul. Something obviously panicked the steamer, stranding our visitors. The footsteps in the snow suggested our industrious fellows ran for the water, looking back on occasion. One fell and obviously backpedaled from something coming at him, but I cannot tell what.

I do not know what happened to our interlopers. I doubt anyone does. Sadly, the tower is no longer a resource to draw upon, and other power sources will need to be devised. I have shipped what pieces remained on the beach (still nicely stacked and crated for their former voyage) back to the Duke Glamorgan, ambient Kukulcan. Perhaps he can sort out if what remains is usable or if they made of with the most key parts.

Meanwhile, I think I may begin work on a rectifier of my own design. Surely I can piece together something that can be hardened against the advances of the torch-and-pitchfork crowd...