Once again we are beholden to the current executors of the Knolly estate for letting us publish this, the second package of the great man's journals and memoirs.

Leaving the pair of them to work on a solution to the external noise problem, I extracted myself from underneath the canopy. I immediately became aware of how warm that layer of canvas had made things; it was certainly getting chilly and now the light was starting to fade. I checked the time and then called down to the Chief who was pointing and ordering his men about.

'How long until the express passes this way?'

'Oh, a good few hours yet,' he looked up and replied.

'Plenty of time to get things squared away, provided that we can get that pair of amateur engineers out of the way sometime soon?'

He replied, looking in the direction of Bertie and Hobbes.

Taking the large hint dropped by the Chief, I nodded and turned back to my colleagues. Getting them away from the vehicle was indeed a major effort, and I had to call on all of my skills of debate, reasoning and persuasion. Eventually they saw sense, especially when the driver of the cart chipped–in (in rather unsubtle terms) with demands for additional payment for his time. However, I believe that the clincher was when I suggested that we could retire to a local hostelry to sup some ales once the vehicle was secured to Meeds' satisfaction. And so my car – if indeed it could still be called 'mine' – was abandoned by Bertie and Hobbes, and was rolled from the cart. I hadn't noticed that Meeds' team had unhinged the screens to the carriage so that – from our vantage point – the rearmost section looked like a normal flat–bed car, but from the other side it was, to all intents and purposes, a run–of–the–mill 2nd class carriage in full livery.

Bertie was very impressed and I, being the current expert on such matters, pointed out to him that what he saw here was only the 'half of it'. This was all in earshot of Chief Meeds who seemed to visibly puff up with pride, whilst chivvying his chaps along to manhandle the vehicle up a set of ramps. Bertie (rather unwisely, I thought) asked why they didn't just drive the vehicle up–and–in. He got a rather curt reply from Meeds, the gist of which was all to do with having 'already made enough bloody noise to wake the dead.'

Before Bertie and I had the chance to move a muscle, I looked round to find that Hobbes was scampering away. Clearly, the promise of beer – combined with his twin desires to test the onboard communications links and to play with his portable Tool – meant that there was added spring in his step. It did not matter. I was happy that he could amuse himself 'mongst his technical gadgetry, whilst I gave Bertie a relatively leisurely tour of the facilities. I was also keen to introduce him to Stanley, for we could then better discuss my ideas for the future of this young rating whilst on the long journey north.

Judging by his reaction once we were aboard the carriages, I was sure that Bertie's flabber had never been so ghasted. I first showed Bertie around the Gymnasium. Initially, he just shrugged. For a few seconds, I considered firing up the mad martial mannequin to see how impressed he would be at fending off the attacks of a fearless and relentless opponent. I was just about to pull what I thought were the appropriate levers, when I saw a small scrap of paper attached to the operating mechanism. On it was written in bold letters:

I WOULDN'T IF I WERE YOU. LEAVE IT ALONE. OR ELSE!

And then I thought better of subjecting my chum to a simulated attack, knowing that I would be subjected to a very real attack from Meeds – if he found out that I'd been meddling with the equipment prior to it being formally handed over. It was probably for the best. Had Bertie sustained any injuries, then the whole mission would have been in jeopardy. Had the mannequin been injured, then Meeds would have made sure that the child being carried by Elspeth was our solitary progeny. So instead, I drew Bertie's attention to the entire training device, told him my impression of how it worked and then related my experience of the tussle.

'Can't wait to have a go myself.'

He hefted a stick and struck a dramatic pose, which would have worked better had he realised that the floor had additional flexibility and bounce.

'Plenty of time for that, old chum.'

I said, as I steadied him. Took the stick from his hand and placed it carefully back in its allotted space.

'Padded floor, as well as walls then?'

I grinned and nodded...

'Should save on some bruising, I hope?'

Luckily Meeds had not relocked the heavy door and so I opened up the armoury.

'Good grief! That's more like it!'

He exclaimed as he took in the rifles and stacked ammunition boxes.

'Rather a lot isn't it?' He asked in a thoughtful manner.

'We don't have to use it all, do we?'

'I certainly hope not.'

I replied as I ushered him around the room, and back out into the Gymnasium, and then on in the direction of Annie.

'... and here is one of the heads, hot water seems to be an issue, and this door here is the gall... Oh, Bertie! This is Stanley. Rating... umm.'

At that point I realised I didn't know the poor fellows last name, despite having spent near enough a whole day with him.

Stanley stepped smartly forward and saluted.

'Oh, don't need to salute me, I'm purely civilian. What's that I smell?' Bertie looked past him and into the galley.

'Crumpets, wonderful!'

Stanley turned to me;

'I thought tea and something to munch on would be of order, sir.'

'It certainly is, we'll leave you to it. I'm just giving a quick tour.'

The timely appearance of Stanley and his toasted crumpets had meant that Bertie had not noticed the rolled hammock; however, I feared that would only delay discussion around the sleeping arrangements for a short while.

We crossed from Clarabelle and into Annie and we entered the office–come–communications area.

'Well, this is a bit smaller than the last time I saw it, but that allows for better beds I would surmise?'

I coughed and noticed Hobbes was playing with his Tool, that he had set up on the large desk. He cast a quick glance in our direction and then continued with his tinkering.

'How are you getting home, Hobbes?'

I asked, once more avoiding the sleeping arrangements, and conscious of the fact that the transporter cart was yet to be dismissed, though by the sound of things outside everything was nearly off and onboard.

'Well, after your kind offer of beer, I thought I'd stay around. That aside, we have much to talk about regarding your uncle's diary. You still have the staff, yes?'

I must admit, what with the excitement of travelling in 'the Train' and the emotion of being reunited with my car, I'd quite forgotten about the business of interpreting my uncle's strange outpourings. I leant under the desk for my bag and placed my staff next to Hobbes' Tool.

'Splendid!' said Bertie.

'Beer does have a liberating effect on thinking, doesn't it? Frees the mind from the shackles of logic!'

Hobbes, carefully holding the artefact chipped in...

'Indeed it does. And it contains plenty of protein and carbohydrate, so we'll have just the right inputs we need for solving a puzzle.'

Wishing to kindly disabuse my grinning colleagues of the notion that we should turn the evening into a three–man beer festival, I suggested that we ought to dine whilst we discussed and supped, by reminding them of the importance of our discussions and of the imminence of our mission. I thus tried to say something sensible, but all that tripped from my lips was the rather strange...

'We will ill afford to be all ill on ale.'

Hobbes sniggered.

'Sounds like you've been drinking already, eh?' Joked Bertie.

Fortunately for him, Bertie volunteered to sort out the carter and his payment and so left the carriage smartly, thus avoiding a well aimed boot up the backside! And once more I was saved from telling him where he would be sleeping.

This left Hobbes to continue with his tests. Thankfully for him, there was plenty of electrical charge accumulated whilst the train was in motion, so there was no need for any tiresome pedalling to power the telegraphic devices.

'It all seems in good working order.' He said.

I congratulated him on his technological efforts.

'Oh, this is just the start!" He said.

'I have ideas for improvements that make this lot look very Neolithic!'

I looked at him.

'Sorry, Neo what?

'Latin was never your strong point, was it?'

'Well I know neo is new...'

He waved a hand clearly annoyed and snapped...

Stone age! Lubbock!'

I don't recall ever having been called a Lubbock before but I let it pass. He then began to explain how he intended to further develop the Tool, such that it would be powered by portable electrical cells, instead of clockwork. He then moved on to his desire to incorporate scanning photo–telegraphics into his communication system, so that vast amounts of information might be transmitted and received in short periods. He spoke of the possibility of this information being displayed temporarily on screens such that printed material was an option. I asked how the poor operators of these devices might be expected to remember all of the information received, if it were not in printed form?

Dear boy, dear boy.'

He chuckled as he shook his head. He explained a system that was similar (although not identical) to the manner in which wax cylinders are used to record and play back sound. The information would be etched onto cylinders made of oxides of iron and then might be retrieved when required, the Tool being just the engine to effect all of this magic.

Hobbes spoke passionately. I listened, wondering.... Wondering if he had been at the hip flask already, or some other more noxious mind lubricant he had concocted. A rattling of a door handle shook me from this musing and I pulled down the window to see Bertie below.

'Knolly, this door seems to be stuck. I can't get in, and we need to get this luggage stowed away.'

He pointed to the bags at his feet.

Hobbes chuckled in the background.

'Bertie, you are on the wrong side of the carriage, remember on this side the door are purely for show. You'll either have to come round, or climb aboard the flat car and use the connecting doors between the carriages.'

'Of course. What a fool! Right you are then, the bedrooms are in this carriage then?'

'Yes, they are but...'

'Excellent! Come along you chaps, this way then.'

I watched Bertie, bags in hand and elephant gun over his shoulder, lead two heavily laden engineers towards the rear of carriage. I closed the window sat down and waited for the inevitable...

The Great Knolly Archive

The Shepherd and
huzzah4knolly

16.04.09 Front Page

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