s expected, the tiny form of Mr. Leng the peculiar barber stood quietly waiting in Hubbard's shop as we came back from the greenhouse. The blind old man did not move a muscle as we approached and simply stood silently as if waiting for something. Olivia had remained behind and was still watching the underwater wildlife, most likely nose pressed against the glass and talking to the funny little eels. One of these days she would surely fall into the stream in an attempt to get even closer to all those amazing animals. Helen stood behind me and when no immediate action was forthcoming she retreated upstairs. I patiently stood at the base of the spiral staircase, slightly leaning on the metal railing. Leng still did not move and we must have been standing there for minutes. I asked no questions. The old man had a reputation of being very patient and always with good reason. One could not provoke or hasten him, which left me standing rather awkwardly and after a while: painfully. After a few minutes I moved over to the counter and sat down on one of the bar stools we keep behind the sales counter. "Yes I can hear it now", said Mr. Leng suddenly, "It is your back isn't it, it hurts?"

Continue reading "At Leng's Plateau" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:13 AM | Permalink

ar from what I thought my surroundings would be like after having traveled for so long, I found myself sitting on the side of my old bed staring out through the small window over the greenhouse and the other backyards with a feeling of separation. Time may heal all wounds, but it also erases experiences faster than we can find ways to commit them to permanent memory. Even in those first few seconds of being back in Fleet Street, I felt myself slipping into the old thought patterns, the familiar small habits and rituals that makes a home a home. My traveling clothes were still on me and on the floor beside me was the leather hat, purchased in Venice not weeks before. Helen must have heard me move around and came knocking on the door. "Jeremy, are you awake?" Helen was not one of the most personable maids and she kept herself to her duties most of the time. Except when Olivia visited, then our maid would turn into a doting mother. "Jeremy, are you up?" Helen asked again. "You can come in if you want to", I said, having not taken off any item of clothing. The door opened and Helen stood in the doorway, shuffling from one foot to another. "Are you quite alright? We were worried about you", she said. "Worried, why on earth would you be worried?" I asked, now paying our maid my fullest attention. "You've been asleep for two days straight. We did not try to wake you but if you had not awoken today we would have called for Doctor Roberts", Helen said.

Continue reading "An Awkward Awakening" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:08 PM | Permalink

more miserable welcome could not have been possible. Rain was coming down in sheets against the carriage windows, further strengthening the barrier between myself and the outside world. This was no carriage it was a cocoon, a sealed universe from which I would have to emerge into the place I left almost two months ago. Even though my physical self felt being pushed against the fabric of the carriage seats, my mind and soul were still miles away. Nervously I was fumbling with a pair of exotic 20 sided dice in my pocket, a souvenir acquired in Venice not a week ago. In my right hand I clasped a metal cylinder, the objective of my sojourn and the key which would release me from my task. Did I want to be released? My mind wondered back through the streets of the many cities visited during my voyage, some more fantastical than any story found in Hubbard's library and all real. Florence is not a corporal city, it is a dream built on ideas and fancies. Bruneschelli's dome surely is not suspended by ingenious engineering and artful craftsmanship, but instead must be held high by thousands of angels. Here I was back home, a wide leather hat drawn over my head, keeping out the street lights. Desperately my mind reached out to capture the events and sensations of the previous weeks. The strolling crowds in the streets of Paris, the stately symphony in Vienna. Elegant houses still rushing by the window of countless carriages in my mind, palaces, exuberant nightlights and window dressings all blurred together into one vision. One more minute on the road, one more minute of not knowing what the next marvel will be. It was still raining hard. Even with the coach standing still, the water made enough racket that if I closed my eyes I could still imagine running along the Pointe Vecchio.

Continue reading "A Late Arrival" »

Posted by Jeremy at 04:15 AM | Permalink

orking for a man who has a great many connections around the globe can sometimes mean that one has to pack one's meager belongings and be sent to a remote location on vague business. I am currently on one such venture as directed by Mr. Hubbard, and this explains why none has heard from me in some time. Writing circumstances are limited and communication means by way of telegram back to England are even more restricted. Not that I am allowed to convey much of what has happened sofar and I fear this little paragraph is already far out of confidential bounds. Not that I am disturbed by any potential consquences. My philosophy on the matter is that by the time these words reach anyone of consequence, the relevance and their meaning will have long lost their importance. This particular piece of text came together in a small tea and coffee house (Thee & Koffie Huis) one parallel alleyway removed from ''the Kleiweg'' road in the city of Gouda, the Netherlands. Currently I am waiting for a Dutch merchant by the name of Nicolaas Romburg, who is my next contact in this maddening adventure. I've been sent here to obtain a document that will guide me to my final destination. All I have been told, is that I am to provide safe passage for a gentleman in Italy, whom has finally agreed to have something, which belongs to him and his family, safely stored within the underground vaults we call Bibliotheca Echida. No specific information was given to me and I do not know what exactly this gentleman will bring with him.

Posted by Jeremy at 09:20 AM | Permalink

This is just the most awful poppycock I have ever read", said Mr. Meyers, the bookstore owner two doors down from Mr. Hubbard's watch and clock repair shop. "You should see some of the manuscripts people send me for publication Jeremy, thank God some of them use a nom de plume because their closest relatives would disown them if they knew what has appeared on paper", Meyers continued. Mr. Meyers has upgraded his printing activities from flyers and pamphlets to producing small booklets. Mostly short stories and poetry appears in the marginally bound stacks of paper. A solicitation was put in some of the local newspapers, as well as in his own pamphlets, asking the English writing public to consider him as a source of high-quality printing for their as of yet unsung victories. Solicitations he received and did so by the hundreds. "Who would have thought there would be this many souls seeking literary recognition?" he told me shortly after he opened the first parcels of manuscripts. 

Continue reading "Other Voices" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:00 AM | Permalink

his morning our breakfast was disrupted by a shouting Helen who came down the stairs yelling something in Russian. The cause of all this commotion was the passing of our last remaining Triops. Having outlived and more importantly outgrown the other creatures in the tank, the remaining animal was set on shedding its skin every two days as if it were still a mere larva. For weeks now the one we called Metusaleh laid eggs ever day, ate more carrots than we could grow and ransacked the aquarium in search for either entertainment or yet more food. Our ever mesmerizing and growing animal grew until it was about the size of your index finger. Having reached these alarming dimensions (they should not grow this big) we wondered if we had inadvertently stumbled on some mutating stimulant with our experiments in diet changes.

Continue reading "For whom the bell jar tolls" »

Posted by Jeremy at 08:40 PM | Permalink

f you had asked me what the most bizarre experience was that had ever occurred to me in the small community off of Fleet Street, then I would have to say it was the time when Mr. Leng entertained us with something he named: touch-juggling. A description of what this exactly is will have to wait for another article, but I can tell you that the vision of this little man manipulating crystal spheres around his body as if they were disobeying the laws of gravity was a mysterious sensation. Less mysterious, but more bizarre has been the midnight activities of Mr. Meyers the bookseller and his assistance Leonard. Some weeks ago they had gotten wind of an ongoing effort by a man called Murray who has gotten it in his mind to write a book or set of books that defines the English language with all its words, expressions and incarnations. It was the manner in which these books are to be composed that was of interest to our neighbours.

Continue reading "A Choice of Words" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:17 AM | Permalink

ave you ever entered a museum of natural history and wondered why no one asks where the tombstones are? Walking through the endless rows of dark wood, hand-blown glass windows and shadow boxes, it is surprising that small children run around here and laugh at all. Standing in front of a stuffed owl permanently locked into a staring gaze, one wonders why watching this long deceased animal is such a hoot. Being prone to mild depression, I tend to not wander into the natural mausoleum of history. The problem is that Hubbard often drags me there to further my education. He calls this museum my "Linneage", an obscure joke to the boring achievements of Swedish scientist Carolus Linnaeus. The very man who decided that nature needed a rigorous system of classification to separate the tortoise from the porpoise. Wondering what dear Linnaeus would have thought of Triops usually puts a faint smile on my face. Triops were indeed the reason we were now perambulating this evening around the insect and invertebrate halls in the museum of the dead. 

Continue reading "And then there was one" »

Posted by Jeremy at 10:18 PM | Permalink

I don't like dishonest folk and I pride myself in that I can spot them a mile away. Leonard is such a creature, a man with a sly face and shifty manners. Meyers the book seller has contracted this man's services as of a week ago. The old man has it in his head to be his own book publisher now. Perhaps his obsession for books is not fulfilled unless he himself produces books and manuscripts. It must be said that he went about it in a rather intelligent manner. Several months ago he bought himself a small printing press and started making pamphlets and flyers. Just small stuff to learn the trade. Hubbard, with his connections in the police organization of our great city, helped him get some valuable contacts. Wanted posters started streaming out of the book store within weeks and very slowly he has started to add the production of opera programs, again with Hubbard's assistance. "It's all about books though", he told me one day as I was having lunch. "Books is where it is, they are our purest form of experience, not to mention the ultimate storage of knowledge and wisdom", he added.

Continue reading "Leonard the Forger" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:01 PM | Permalink

Centered right in the middle of our square is a small circular stone covered area surrounded by tall branching elm trees. There used to be a tiny garden but that did not last with all the urchins playing in trees, bushes and undergrowth. Instead we only have the elms left that now surround a ravaged dirt and stone area. About a month ago one very late evening I noticed my mentor, Mr. Hubbard stand just outside the now partially paved, circular center, staring intently at the ground. He must have done this for more than ten minutes because I remember him walking out of the store just after 10 and it was now quarter past. One is always aware of time when master watchmaker Hubbard is around. From my position in the store I could see the bent shape of the watchmaker slowly walk around the trees, examining the roots and stomping his feet on the stones. At various points he nodded to himself and pulled out a notebook to scribble observations. When the good man finally entered the store again he looked at me and said: "Jeremy, I need you to speak with someone in city hall tomorrow. We are going to construct us a large city clock again!" "May I ask what exactly your intentions are? Do we not already have enough clocks in this house? If people needed a street clock they could simply listen or look at Big Ben, which you helped design if I'm not mistaken", I asked.

Continue reading "Street Time - Part 1" »

Posted by Jeremy at 07:13 AM | Permalink

It always happens at the most unfortunate times. I am not one of the muscularly gifted ones and despite my lock picking skills I can easily drop the most expensive vase, or your grandfather's clock. One such unfortunate event occurred when I was assisting Mrs. Rackham with her ancient mantle clock we had just repaired. The old hag appears to fancy me and keeps bringing random pieces from her mansion in for repair. As I was handing over the marble and metal monstrosity to Mrs. Rackham’s valet, Helen walked into the store and nearly ran me over, all the while beaming as if she had just found out she is the new heir to the Russian throne. For a brief moment the clock hovered in mid air but then quickly tried to seek refuge on the ground, which received it warmly and scattered it all over the ground. Completely ignoring the customer and the mess, she immediately goes into a stream of consciousness directed at my poor ears. “That French floozy has had it!” she yelled. “Off to jail, off to the gallows!” “Helen, could you please wait until I’m done with her ladyship please? I will come see you upstairs in a while”, I said, trying out what Hubbard would have said. Mrs. Rackham gave Helen a rather insolent cold stare. Not that this made any difference. Helen briskly walked up the stairs and started singing some old Russian hymn, or at least it sounded like a hymn, but then again anything sung in Russian sounds religious to me.

Continue reading "Caught" »

Posted by Jeremy at 07:49 PM | Permalink

I have to relate a rather humorous event to you that occurred to me earlier this afternoon. In an unlikely situation where Mr. Hubbard was not observing the abnormal creatures known as Triops, I was myself watching their maddening behavior. These small shrimp like animals appear to go through constant spasms. One second they will be on one end of the tank and the other they will be digging into the soil to lay their eggs. In between they are mostly occupied with eating and eating is something they do without preference or taste. Quite literally anything placed within the confines of the tank will be tried. Combine this with the fact that their eyes are on top of their heads and their mouths are on the opposite side and you can imagine that they can get quite a surprise every now and then. One of the larger Triops managed to bite down on a small stone and being unable to see and unable to taste the silly thing assumed it was just a harder form of plant and continued to chew. After about a minute it finally realized that it had made a culinary faux pas and started to spasm even more than we had previously observed. Perhaps it was ready to shed its skin? The small piece of stone had managed to get stuck and no maneuver of the animal would dislodge it. Besides the unfortunate design of their eye vs. mouth location they have the misfortune that their dozens of legs can not reach their mouths. You can imagine that by now the creature was not in a good mood. In an inspired moment of a Hubbard impersonation I decided that I could use one of the old man's long tweezers to remove the crustacean from the tank, put it on its back and remove the pebble. Apparently the little animal had figured this best laid plan out and became so frightened with the idea that it spit out the pebble and hid on the far side of the tank.

Posted by Jeremy at 04:22 AM | Permalink

What we feared has indeed occurred, one of the Triops has passed away, leaving six rather healthy looking ones. I will spare the reader with details of its untimely departure, even though I could, having received many notes from my mentor Mr. Hubbard. For hours and hours, notebook in hand, did the old man sit beside the aquarium observing the fading creature. "He went through a number of spasms that gradually became less intense", he said this morning during breakfast, “This definitely supports the theory that he could not get out of his skin and was effectively trapped.” “Sir, please, not at the breakfast table”, said Helen. Not that this would make any difference. “But why not, my dear? It is simply the discussion of a normal aspect of life”, Hubbard said to his bacon. “Right now I have to go to the toilet, which is also a normal aspect of life, but I don’t tell you about it”, replied Helen, her face going bright red after she realized what she had said. “I mean, it is just disgusting.” “Very well, I get your point. From now on I will abstain from discussing the animal life in our abode during any of our meals, including the new baby Discus fish that were born yesterday”, he said, looking at his eggs now. “Oh but that’s not what I meant!” said Helen. “I know I know, I was being facetious, I apologize, I will attempt to be more serious”, Hubbard said with a smile. “There are new baby Discus fish?” Helen asked. “Yes, there is a whole cloud of them in the far right corner below the Victoria Amazonicas”, answered Hubbard. Helen hurriedly excused herself and made for the stairwell when she turned around and rushed towards the bathroom instead.

Posted by Jeremy at 04:15 PM | Permalink

Helen came rushing down the stairs from the attic. "Jeremy, have you seen Hubbard?" She asked. "I think he is downstairs in his workshop", I said. "Without another word she ran down to find the watchmaker in his familiar environment. There came the faint sound of a chair falling over and fast shuffling across the floorboards of an old man trying to run. As fast as the old man could, he made his way up along the spiral staircase that connects the downstairs shop with the upstairs living quarters. "He wasn't moving much and he looked kind of strange", Helen said to Hubbard who wasn't listening at all but was trying to make his way up to the attic. Getting a bit curious as to what Helen described I decided to follow them and see for myself. Hubbard and Helen were peering at the Triops tank and pointing at one specific corner. “He is moving but not much and he is twitching a bit as if he can’t control his muscles”, the horologist said. When I got closer I noticed one of the crabs lying on it’s back slowly waving its legs back and forth, completely different than the fast moving action otherwise observed from these monster shrimp. “Perhaps he’s having trouble getting out of his skin?” I asked. “That would explain why he appears stiff and rigid. The old skin is toughening up and is restricting his movements”, Hubbard nodded. It looked like the dying creature would take quite a while to expire and I did not want to stick around to witness that. For now there is still life in the animal and there is hope he might still break his useless skin and free himself from death by self-captivation. As usual dear reader I will keep you posted on these miniature dramatics.

Posted by Jeremy at 06:34 PM | Permalink

We've entered the third week of Triops rearing and there are seven adults in the aquarium now. As they get older and bigger they seem to repulse more and more. Olivia has already announced that she no longer finds them of any interest and they should be eaten by the Discus fish. After this declamation she moved on to watch the little Amazon fish we've been breeding (They are also a lot easier to name since you can actually tell them apart). For Hubbard the shrimp-like crabs seem to hold an ever growing fascination and he spends a favorable amount of time observing and logging their activities. "Did you know that they have started to lay eggs already?" He asked us over dinner. "Mr. Hubbard please, we're eating", said Helen. The old watchmaker did not understand comments like this. When he was absorbed in a subject matter, the rest of the world only made sense from the perspective of the latest obsession. In this case the old man saw the world through the three eyes of his latest fascination: Triops Cancriformis. "I'm going to see if I can harvest some of their eggs. Who knows, they may provide us with a sustainable food supply without having to buy more", he mumbled, no longer addressing us directly. "Perhaps they produce good caviar?" I asked. This disturbed both Hubbard and Helen. "I've seen those creatures and if you think I'm going to serve their eggs then you're quite mistaken", she threw in my face. "I agree with Helen, they hardly contain any nutritional value at all and they are too small anyway", added Hubbard, who did not completely grasp the nature of Helen's outburst.

Posted by Jeremy at 05:23 PM | Permalink

For days now, Harold Meyers has not opened his book store and has not even been seen outside. Considered by most a recluse, and by some a bit more, his recent behavior  was a bit much and Mrs. Chanderloin, the butcher's wife, asked me to investigate when she started imagining all sorts of spectacular deaths and disasters. "He's not well I tell you", she said, leaning over the counter as I made the day's meat purchases. "Now he's never been exactly well if you know what I mean, but this is really not well", she added. "Maybe he's having one of those brain fevers you read about in the papers all the time." Mrs. Chanderloin could produce the most incredible conjectures from overheard rumors and vague descriptions of events in the media. "Did you hear they've had to take the prime minister off his rack?" she would ask, forgetting that she sold prime rib and was governed by a prime minister. "He's all bent over, and they had to take him of his rack", she repeated. "You mean they had to take him off his back?" I asked. "Yes that's it, off his back. Anyway, what I was saying was that Mr. Meyers hasn't been seen in a while. You know how he is, always inside reading his old books and keeping to himself. It's amazing the man sells anything at all. Well a couple of days ago he closed the blinds of the  windows in the back and upstairs, something he never does. That's odd I thought, but did not think anything of it, the man is strange you see. Well that's now three days ago and he hasn't come out since. Makes you wonder if he's still alive in there. Do you think we should smell something by now? I mean that would be bad for business if it did. Poor Mr. Harold, lying there all dead and nobody knowing it."

Continue reading "Head Affairs" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:27 AM | Permalink

Posted by Jeremy at 05:07 AM | Permalink

Perhaps it is superfluous to mention that my mentor is an extreme opponent for details. .Attention to details are pursued in cleaning, cooking, repairing clocks and watches and even simply walking around outside for his evening stroll. In most of what he does he pays minute attention as to how the activity is performed and to what tools are used. I've come to suspect that he sees everything as a watch mechanism. All parts of life have to fit perfectly and work in unison. If one part is not aligned the whole is useless. There is however one facet of his life to which he paid not much attention until recently. Money had never been anything of great concern. Not that the man was wealthy and could afford financial neglect, not in the least. He had what he needed and a little bit more to fund his exotic hobbies. Sometimes outsiders even funded his elaborate projects, which quite honestly made the endeavors possible in the first place. To Hubbard, money was something stored in a large stone chamber in a pyramid somewhere far away, when bullion was needed the banker would roll the entrance stone away and take out the requested amounts. The watchmaker's money was held by the Bank of England, a fine and old institution, which perfectly matched Hubbard's concept of a large stone vault in the depths of a pyramid.

Continue reading "Empty" »

Posted by Jeremy at 07:15 AM | Permalink

"Jeremy! Could you come over here please?", yelled inspector Davies from the opposite side of the underground living room. Still in complete awe I slowly made my way back towards the base of the stairwell that brought me here. More and more details stuck themselves on my retina. Various instruments lined the walls, some of which I had never seen before, not even amongst the vast collection my mentor kept. Only some smaller items such as a hydrometer, a sextant in poor condition or just very old, a microscope with a long copper cylinder as it's focal mechanism, various Chinese wooden puzzles I had seen before but in far less complicated configurations, some objects that appeared to resemble surgical tools and numerous sand timers. "Quite the sight isn't it Jeremy?", asked the old watchmaker from one of the lounging areas, where he had been having a conversation with inspector Davies. "Very much so. What exactly is it's purpose if I may ask?" Davies laughed and said: "Hubbard you may want to answer this one, you have a way of clearly describing the otherwise complex nature in a very small amount of words." "Very well. This place and its contents are here to be permanent", said Hubbard.

Continue reading "Bibliotheca Echida - Part 2" »

Posted by Jeremy at 04:51 AM | Permalink

As of today there are dozens of tiny specs bobbing around in the tank we had designated the Triops Triangle, so named for the Bermuda Triangle effect around the aforementioned aquarium. Sooner or later visitors and caretakers will disappear into the attic for extended periods to see the development of the shrimp from when the dinosaurs roamed the earth. At present they can only be observed as tiny white dots zooming around the water in search of food. The zooming part will turn into a vast array of underwater acrobats and the search for food will continue until they say farewell again. Baby Triops are some of the fastest growing offspring ever seen. It is normal for them to double their size within a day and do this in a spectacular fashion by jumping out of their skin once or twice in the course of 24 hours. Hubbard is experimenting with barley stalks. According to his research having a small amount of barley in the water over longer periods of time will prevent algae from growing. To me this seems more alchemical in nature but he is convinced it will work. Olivia counted about 20 Triops, but it might as well be more than a hundred, we can’t tell.

Posted by Jeremy at 06:05 PM | Permalink

Many distractions prevent me from relating the important events for which this forum was originally designed. I now owe you both the adventures of the exploring urchins and the second part of my discovery of Bilbiotheca Echidna. Before all this is related in the appropriate time and manner, I would like to pick up on what I feel is an unfinished saga. As you may recall, we had some uninvited creatures appearing in one of our food tanks in the attic. These animals have fascinated all of us so much that it was decided that further investigation was need. Indeed tomorrow there will be the initiation of another experiment into the life of those we call Triops. There were eggs spotted in the detritus of the siphoned fish tank and according to the research done by Hubbard they should hatch when water is added again. We will see since I am highly skeptical, but if this actually occurrs we will be watching the life of these half crabs closely. Every now and then you might see reports of their anything but normal life pass these pages.

Posted by Jeremy at 06:41 AM | Permalink

You may have wondered what has happened in the past few weeks. Indeed there has been no news and an important story was halted right where things were getting exciting. Dear reader, I do apologize. Something curious has occurred the day after part one of Bibliotheca Echidna was written. In fact the events had already been set in motion before but were not apparent until that day. As you know Hubbard keeps a miniature zoo in a greenhouse-like construction behind the watch workshop. In this enclosure he keeps many a strange creature, some of which have already passed these pages and some which will surely follow. This tale is about one such extremity of nature. Hubbard's ambition has never been to re-create the typical Natural History Museum exhibit, where you walk past rows and rows fish tanks and bleak skeletons. No instead his goal was and is to replicate a small portion of rainforest inside an artificial glass enclosure. A bubble of sorts we now call the backyard vivarium. For this ever evolving project he needs not only plants and animals but food as well, large quantities of food. Ironically it is the food which is stored and arranged much like the displays of the typical Victorian museum.

Continue reading "Triops Cancriformis" »

Posted by Jeremy at 04:53 AM | Permalink

Amongst the alcove dwellers we have quite a diverse and eccentric set of London denizens, my mentor Mr. Hubbard being the quintessential curious inhabitant. There is however one other local figure, who could be regarded as a human being of a rather different sort. I am speaking here of Mr. Leng, who lives in the attic above Ms. Grub's store. If I were to write words like colorful and peculiar then I would not do Mr. Leng's person justice. Not that the man is in any way dangerous or harmful, on the contrary the man is the very model of politeness and kindness. Perhaps his mother or father worked at an Asian court, because Leng's ability to talk your problems back to you wrapped in a soothing balm of silk is an experience you will not quite easily forget. Especially since once your encounter has passed you will most likely not remember what the man had actually told you.

Continue reading "Mr. Leng" »

Posted by Jeremy at 06:26 AM | Permalink

In the watchmaker's workshop, or should I say before you get into the workshop, under an old faded carpet there is a rather large door. These trap doors are not unusual in buildings around Fleet Street and most of them are used to bring in supplies from the streets behind us directly into the basements. Our neighbor Welder has a similar trap door, but his cellar has the stairs taken out and instead contains a wooden ramp construction designed to let barrels be rolled down. You may wonder why I make such a fuss over a door that leads to the basement. Perhaps I should not inform you where the door leads or why it is constructed in such an unusual way. Hubbard explicitly forbade me to mention anything about this to anyone. I do trust you my dear reader, but please do not publish or otherwise make known what can be found underneath the humble house that is the watchmaker's abode.

Continue reading "Bibliotheca Echidna - Part 1" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:21 AM | Permalink

At this point I lost sight of the trio who rushed outside towards Basso's carriage. "Interesting don't you think", came the calm voice of Hubbard behind me. "What do you make of all of this?", he asked. "What do you mean sir? The poor man must have had a heart attack of sorts", I replied. "One would think so indeed", murmured my mentor now completely lost in thought. The rest of the evening I could not get an answer out of the old man. He did not seem to concentrate on the opera at all and I myself found it difficult to focus on the stage, none in the least since the most spectacular vision of the evening was not in the building anymore.

Continue reading "The Fatal Tenor - Part 2" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:05 AM | Permalink

"Get dressed, we have to be there in an hour!", shouted Hubbard from the upper storey. "I was not aware we were going somewhere", I replied. "Heard about it not too long ago. Count Fosca has two spare tickets to Die Fledermaus and gave them both to me. The opera starts at 7 and it's just after 6, now hurry up and get dressed", Hubbard said with even more urgency. "But what should I wear, what does one wear for such an occasion?", I asked. "I forgot, we have not fitted you for the appropriate attire, but there is still time!". Hubbard disappeared into the back of the house and came down a few minutes later in full black and white regalia. "We have not a moment to loose!". Hubbard did his best to shuffle as fast as he could out the door and through the square towards Fleet Street. Following him was quite entertaining and I could do so in a leisurely fashion. He made it to the next corner when I was able to convince him to get into a cab. "Where are we going first", I enquired. "Tredwell & Nailor my dear boy, the finest and more importantly fastest tailors in all of London and probably the whole of India as well".

Continue reading "The Fatal Tenor - Part 1" »

Posted by Jeremy at 05:26 AM | Permalink

For the last few weeks now, Hubbard has disappeared every evening into his workshop. During each of these nightly sessions he would place a Japanese paper screen in the corner of the back of the room to hide whatever it was he was doing there. Sometimes I could hear his watch making tools, but most of the time it was very quiet. Two nights ago he brought something upstairs and placed it on the mantle piece in the library. The fireplace is very large indeed but this object, covered with a large cloth, now occupies most of the mantle piece and in order to fit other ornaments had to be cleared off, lest two candles he meticulously maneuvered into spots to either side of the ship. Yesterday evening I could no longer contain my curiosity and asked my old mentor what in the world he had been constructing.

Continue reading "A Story Device" »

Posted by Jeremy at 04:07 AM | Permalink

On a large green leaf, almost undetectable if you are not familiar with its peculiar appearance, rests a leafy stick insect. The creature marches slowly up the leaf and onto a vine to find a more suitable resting place. Perhaps calling it a stick insect is accurate from an entomological perspective but the Phyllium giganteum is really just a bunch of fleshy leafs on legs. Although it is native to Malaysia it does very well in an otherwise South American tropical rain forest enclosure. I can sit here all day and watch the alien life forms crawl, flutter and dribble by. Mind you, I had to get used to the heat and humidity. Tropical animals and plants do not survive in the cold harsh world that is Victorian London. Here within Mr. Hubbard's vivarium there exists a different world, a transplanted world from the hearts of Southern America and South East Asia. This life bubble was carefully designed and constructed to expel the sights, sounds and smells from the dilapidated streets and surrounding houses that are London. Once inside you find yourself in an exotic paradise where it is not possible to move fast, think fast or expend any more energy than is needed to enjoy nature in its purest form. England is pale and boring in comparison to what lives on the other side of the world. Plants and animals alike display an abundance of color and plants produce the most exalting fragrances.

Continue reading "The Origin of Species" »

Posted by Jeremy at 12:49 AM | Permalink