No. 2
The Secret Society of the Blimpmen
The Secret Society of the Blimpmen
Monday
Salutations, all. This is Reginald speaking. I am but a humble manservant. My master has asked me to relay this message to you, verbatim:
Reggie,
As you know, I am away on a solo blimping adventure. What I did not tell you is that I am actually at a secret meeting of the Secret Society of the Blimpmen. Please forgive my deception to both you and my wife, but it was a necessity. I need you to log into my social media account and share this message with all, word for word, exactly as I am dictating it to you now. The login is my Hotmail email and you can find the password etched into the side of the walrus tusks mounted above the fireplace. What I am about to tell you may get me into some trouble with the Society, for I know I am bound to share some of our most ancient and long-kept secrets, but I fear that this is the best course of action for me to take. I do this because I am obligated to uncover the truth behind a horrible crime, and this is the only way I know how.
You see, it all started when I received the invitation to the Society's annual Saturnalia celebration aboard the Olympia. The Olympia is a massive blimp owned by billionaire blimpman and philanthropist, Herschel Wolfenkranz, always floating in an undisclosed location over the Atlantic. As I pulled the Eurydice toward it, I was amazed by the Olympia's sheer size - more of a floating city than a blimp! In fact, a half-dozen other blimps were docked by its side, but they barely obscured any surface of the Olympia's gargantuan hold. As I approached, I admired this almost mythical blimp for the flying castle that she is.
Once I got docked and boarded the vessel, I was embarrassed to see that I was one of the final guests to arrive. In the main galley, the others were already commencing with the festivities. I immediately recognized a few of the more famous blimpmen: Cooper Custer, the American "cowboy" blimpman; Professor Giorgio Dirigibili from the Italian chapter; Scott Shazbot, the young blimpman entrepreneur; and Walt Disney's Zombie. Everyone was having a grand time, but for some reason, our host Herschel Wolfenkranz was nowhere to be seen.
I was immensely eager to meet this reclusive leader of the Society. Ever since he cut himself off from the public eye nearly 20 years ago, not a single soul aside from his butler, Wendell, had seen him since. As I settled in, I did a dramatic spit-take when I saw someone else in the room: it was Mandelbaum! I couldn't believe my eyes - my old friend was here? At a secret meeting of the Society? I quickly ended my dreadful conversation with Walt Disney's Zombie (completely unintelligible by the way, what with all the moaning), and rushed over to Mandelbaum's location across the room.
He explained to me that he was tasked with security detail on the Olympia for this evening. Before I could even ask why an SVRC agent would need to be on hand, the answer was clear: a squirrel entered the room. And not just any squirrel - the king of squirrels. King Chipchomp III was the most royal-looking rodent imaginable, decked out in wood-carved jewelry and a necklace of gilded autumnal leaves. Mandelbaum explained to me that King Chipchomp had been invited as an honored guest.
Following the epic sky battle with the squirrels earlier this year, of which Mandelbaum and I famously took part, King Chipchomp dramatically changed his stance on the anti-human sentiments of his kingdom. While previously he was very vocal about destroying all humans and world domination, he now claimed that evil squirrels like Keith were the ones manipulating him from behind the scenes, forcing him to say these horrible things. He was really a "lover of humans". (Yeah right, like I'm really buying that. Everyone knows he just changed his stance after he lost the war to save his own squirrelly butt.) Anyway, despite the invite, apparently Wolfenkranz didn't fully trust a squirrel being on his blimp, so he hired Mandelbaum for security. Excellent choice, if I say so myself.
As I caught up more with Mandelbaum, a gasp filled the room. At the entrance of the galley was... a woman. She was stunning in appearance, truly sophisticated. However, she didn't seem dressed for the occasion - with her sun-tanned skin, hair tied back in a very functional bun, and orange piloting outfit - but such apparel could not conceal the class and beauty that lay underneath.
All eyes were on her, but not simply because of her looks. You see, it has been a longstanding tradition with the Society that only men can be blimpmen (thus the name). I know, I know, it's not the most honorable tradition, and frankly it's something I never really favored myself. In fact, some of the most skilled blimp pilots I know are women, what with their deft rope-pulling fingers and natural talent for sniffing out the most favorable jetstreams. But for some reason, the Society never modernized enough to include women in their ranks.
So to see this woman here this evening was quite shocking. She explained that her name was Sylvia and that she too, like King Chipchomp, was an honored guest. Cooper Custer furrowed his thick mustache and tried to inspect her invitation to find some signs of forgery, but the gold-plated tablet was legit. We were all surprised by this guest and hoped an explanation would come soon. Sure enough, it did, as the rear French doors of the galley opened wide.
From the shadow behind the door came a creaking sound and an eerie mist. Ever so slowly, a steam-powered wheelchair rolled out into the light, holding the most fragile and sickly looking old man I've ever seen. His skin was practically hanging off his bones. Above his gaunt, withering face, there were barely any wisps of white hair left on his balding head, and a long white beard trailed down into his lap. Through thick spectacles, the old man stared down into his lap, as I'm sure his fragile little bird bones could barely keep his neck aloft.
The old man muttered in a slow and crackly voice, "Welcome, fellow blimpmen. My name is Herschel Wolfenkranz, and I hope the hospitality of the Olympia has suited you well. We gather today to celebrate the ancient pagan festival of Saturnalia."
(And then for the next twelve and a half minutes, we repeated the Blimpman's Oath, which I shall not reveal here. Afterwards, he continued:) "Let us raise a toast to our honored guests this evening. First, King Chipchomp III of Squercia; may his long health be devoted to bringing unity between man and tree-dwellers." We toasted, though some of us did so half-heartedly. Herschel continued, "And second, to my daughter, Sylvia Wolfenkranz."
At this moment, there was a long silence as everyone in the room glanced awkwardly at each other and at her.
"I regret that I have not seen her in nearly 20 years. She is the best hot air balloonist in the skies, and we congratulate her on winning a race around the world. As you know, since I am Commandant of the Blimping Corps and the de facto leader of this secret society, it is my right as leader to institute one executive change to the bylaws of our organization."
We all looked at each other again, wondering what change to our society's rules could possibly warrant Wolfenkranz to evoke such an ancient rite.
Then he continued, "In these most modern of times, it is not right for us to exclude the fairer sex from our ranks. Therefore, the Blimping Corps will now be open to women and men alike."
I abruptly burst into a cheer, and a few of the more progressive members joined me, but there was certainly a bit of grumbling in the room as well (and not just because one of us was a zombie). Cooper Custer, the most "old school" of the group, was visibly fuming. His face was red with rage, but he did his very best to hold his tongue. Respectfully, he removed his cowboy hat and reached for a tray of absinthe, and held a glass up high.
"I sure as heck wasn't expectin' to fly all the way here from the Grand Canyon to hear this kinda news," he said, "but I reckon anyone with the name Wolfenkranz is fine by me when it comes to the title of blimpman. To Sylvia."
We each grabbed a glass and drained the contents, to the prosperity of all. The party resumed. For a while, everything seemed to be going splendidly as the drunken ribaldry was in full effect and we welcomed the newest blimp-woman. But then a sudden clamor startled everyone in the room. Wolfenkranz's wheelchair spun around the room, and the old man seemed to be clutching at his heart. We all stood in utter shock as the unthinkable happened, and he fell to the floor, sprawled prone on wooden planks of the galley like a piece of meat.
Sylvia rushed to his side, feeling for a pulse. She shook her head and we all knew what that meant: "Dead." She began bawling uncontrollably.
Meanwhile, the Italian blimpman, Professor Giorgio Dirigibili, was busy inspecting the glass of absinthe that Herschel was drinking from, its contents spilled on the floor. He explained to us in Italian (with subtitles) that there were clear signs of conium maculatum, or hemlock poison. Everyone looked toward Custer, the one who served us all the drinks.
"Well how in damn hell did he get that?!" he shouted. "It wasn't from me!"
Sylvia and several of the other blimpmen were about to unleash a fit of rage on the man, but suddenly Mandelbaum sprung into action. He leapt across the room and snatched the squirrel king, Chipchomp, off from the ground. Squawking in vehement protest, the king was shouting threats at Mandelbaum for his insolence, but Mandelbaum - being the wizened, hunky soldier that he is - was having none of it. He pried open Chipchomp's buck-toothed mouth with one of his beefy fingers and dug around in the poor creature's gullet, clearly on the hunt for some unknown object. A few seconds later he retrieved something covered in saliva and displayed it for the group: hemlock seeds. Mandelbaum explained that Chipchomp must have smuggled in the seeds in his cheeks and onto the Olympia, where he poisoned Herschel during the festivities. King Chipchomp persisted that he was innocent of this particular crime.
"Yes, it is true I smuggled in the seeds with the intention of murder," he confessed, "but Wolfenkranz was not my intended victim. YOU were!" And he pointed at the two of us - Mandelbaum and me. "You killed thousands of my best squirrels, you effing B-holes!"
I gave Mandelbaum the signal and he quickly threw the creature into an empty absinthe crate nearby. The king continued squeaking angrily from inside.
For the next several minutes, there was an intense argument amongst the guests, accusations thrown over who was the real culprit of the crime. Many seemed to suspect Custer, angry about the news that the Society would be accepting women. I, however, could only think of Sylvia, devastated and heartbroken over her father's death. I promptly gave the order for the old man's body to be hauled out of the room so Sylvia would not have to suffer at the horrendous sight any longer.
This seemed to calm the room a bit, and logic began to surface. The group agreed that someone needed to be appointed with the task of finding out the truth of who really murdered Herschel. Dirigibili reminded us that there is an ancient tradition amongst blimpmen when one of us dies: an Inquisitor must be appointed to unravel the truth and clear the air of any wrongdoings. When asked who this Inquisitor should be, the group unanimously pointed to me.
Me? Why me? They explained that I, a newer member of the Society, could be trusted. I harbored no ill will toward Wolfenkranz, and my honor was beyond reproach. Citing my part in the sky battle against the squirrels, they felt I could be trusted. I was confused, but I accepted the daunting task with all the dignity I could muster.
And so it is that I am now tasked with finding the murderer of Herschel Wolfenkranz. I do not know how long this task will take me or when I will be able to return home, but I have vowed to stay aboard the Olympia for as long as it may take. My first order of business was to halt all travel to and from the blimp. No one leaves until the killer is found.
My second task as Inquisitor was to make a list of everyone who is on board the Olympia tonight. (Reggie, compile this separate list I'm sending you in the comments below. Then, as I send more carrier pigeons to you, relay those messages to the public as well.) Please know that I will stop at nothing to find the truth, and until I do, everyone is a suspect.
End of message.
#blimpmen #MURDER #thetruthisoutthere #feminism
#SSotB #blimptales
The Victim:
Herschel Wolfenkranz (Level 33 blimpman, the Olympia): the world's foremost blimpman and most recent Commandant of the Blimping Corps; had affiliations with other secret societies including the Freemasons, Illuminati, Orphic Occult, Bohemian Club, Skull & Bones, Thuggee, and the Three 6 Mafia; renowned for his discovery of the lost Library of Wiqi, in Egypt, whose compendium of lost knowledge later became available to the general public after the development of Wikipedia; current status: murdered
The Players (aka The Suspects):
1. Cooper T. Custer (blimpman, the Angelina Eberly): a multi-billionaire blimpman from the Western United States with business ventures in everything from oil to fluoride mining to buffalo farms; currently the world's largest producer of oily, buffalo-flavored toothpastes; a known chauvinist and anti-feminist; current status: highly suspected
2. King Chipchomp III (honored guest): current reigning monarch of the squirrel kingdom of Squercia; other titles include the High Chickwit of Squearle, Premiere of Piddleplip, and the First Snartsnatch of the Squercian Armed Forces; current status: in custody
3. Sylvia Wolfenkranz (honored guest; hot air balloon, the Nephthys): estranged daughter of Herschel Wolfenkranz and also a renowned Egyptologist like her father; a celebrated balloonist and world traveler; current status: female
4. Giorgio "Il Professore" Dirigibili (blimpman, the Vitruvia): a direct descendant of the original blimpman, Leonardo da Vinci; somewhat of a Renaissance man himself, he has connections to art, medicine, and inventing; also a professor emeritus of blimp studies
5. Walt Disney's Zombie (blimpman, the Steamboat Willy): there are many myths surrounding this famed animation and amusement park tycoon, including the idea that he was designing an advanced, technology-driven "world of tomorrow" in the 1960s known as EPCOT, and another rumor that he was cryogenically frozen at the time of his death; but in fact, his resurrected zombie is actually the result of a dark and deep fascination with hoodoo magic and a blood oath to the Loa of death known as Baron Samedi
6. Mr. Meilong (blimpman, the Zàng Huā): a representative of the Asian Blimping Corps; breeds and trains Chinese dragons (although the term "dragon" is a bit lost in translation because we simply know them as "salamanders" - they do breathe fire though); owns a flying junk-style blimp
7. Scott Shazbot (blimpman, the Millennial Petticoat): youngest member of the blimpmen; owns a start-up in a new online streaming service which teleports movie- and TV-carrying nanobots directly into viewers' frontal cortices; thinks "steampunk" is cool and owns a remodeled 19th-century steam-powered blimp
8. Wendell (butler): Herschel Wolfenkranz's manservant; employed nearly 20 years; was the only person not in the room at the time of Herschel's death as he was neither blimpman nor on security detail nor honored guest
9. The Count (blimpman, the Curieux): real name is Oleg Czernobog; an acclaimed magician and illusionist from Romania who performs under the moniker of "The Count"; has a penchant for beautiful models and top hats; oh, and he's also a vampire
10. Mandelbaum: obviously not a suspect, but I felt he should be included in the list for the sake of thoroughness; SVRC agent; loyal and handsome friend
Tuesday
Reginald here. I received another message via carrier pigeon from my master:
Day two aboard the Olympia, and I can tell you that my job of finding the killer of Herschel Wolfenkranz has been as unfilled as it was yesterday. I was not expecting such twists and turns in the investigation. You see, after he was poisoned at our Saturnalia blimp party last night, I was expecting that the identity of his killer would be easily uncovered. There are not too many of us aboard the vessel after all, and some certainly have more motive than others.
Take Cooper T. Custer, for example. He was an early suspect in the case. When Herschel mentioned that women would now be allowed in our ranks, Custer was the first to show any displeasure in the idea. He's been clinging to his outdated, chauvinistic principles for decades, and he often stirs up debates on Twitter regarding women's voting rights. To quote Custer, he says, "Women have it hard enough; let's end their suffrage!"
At my first interview with him over a breakfast of boiled echidna eggs and Rocky Mountain oysters, he was quick to point out that women can't handle the stress of blimp piloting.
"They just don't have the cajones to own the skies like we do. In fact, they don't even know the difference between a rigid and semi-rigid airship."
At that very moment, Sylvia Wolfenkranz (Hershel's daughter), entered the room and zinged, "You know all about being semi-rigid, don't you, Cooper?"I smirked at the pun, and Cooper was so angry that he accidentally squeezed out a squeaky little fart. Simultaneously embarrassed and enraged, he fled from the room.
Left alone with Sylvia, I took the opportunity to inquire more about her estranged relationship with her father. She explained to me that Herschel was an ever-supportive father who always wished the best for her, but he could be quite demanding in his desire for perfection from her. He never approved of any lover she took. He always wanted for her to find a decent blimpman to marry and settle down with a husband, neglecting her dangerous and exciting life of Egyptology and tomb-raiding. Sylvia, however, couldn't give in to his demands and continued to travel the globe in ever-increasingly more dangerous expeditions. When he said no to blimps; she got a hot air balloon instead. When he wanted grandchildren, she went to the Burning Man Festival and came back with a group of twenty-somethings in diapers.
Despite the long hostility between father and daughter, it doesn't seem like she has much of a motive to kill her father, especially considering that moments before his death he granted her a wish she had always wanted (to be a blimpman). But there is certainly something that this mysterious woman is hiding. Of that, I am convinced.
I spent the rest of the day following Sylvia around the Olympia, hoping that she would give away some clue of guilt on her part, but she never did. This evening, she did disappear into the butler's quarters in the lower levels of the blimp, but who knows what that was all about.
I think I am focusing on the wrong suspect. Mandelbaum continues to keep King Chipchomp locked away in his crate, so I can hold off on questioning that terrible squirrel for now.
Wait a minute-- something strange is happening.
...
Just moments ago, Walt Disney's Zombie came mumbling something to me, but I couldn't understand a word. Scott Shazbot, the young fellow on board, translated for me: "Walt Zombney says that something crazy has happened. Herschel Wolfenkranz's body has gone missing!"
I swiftly ran into the stern of the blimp where we were storing the decaying old corpse, and sure enough, the tale was true. Where has Herschel's body gone???
#missing #breakfastwithcuster #innuendo
#butlersquarters #theinvestigationcontinues
Wednesday
Reginald again. I do hope everything is going alright with my master. He worryingly writes:
My duties as Inquisitor are beginning to wear on me. The more I investigate into the murder of Herschel Wolfenkranz, the more suspicious everyone around me seems to be. I can trust no one. Even the most innocent-appearing among us, like Sylvia and the butler Wendell, are hiding something. Except for Mandelbaum; he's the only one I can really trust, that noble hero. I've tried to confide in him and toss around my working theory of who I believe the killer is, but he's been so busy guarding the captive King Chipchomp until we decide what to do about him that we've barely had time to talk.
I don't believe the squirrel king is the killer. (Why admit you were planning to kill someone and then deny the actual murder in the room?) But we will keep him in custody as a precaution. (This is setting back squirrel-human relations, no doubt.)
As for the missing body of Herschel Wolfenkranz, the only possibility is that the killer snuck into the cellar where we were storing the body, drug it onto the deck of the Olympia, and threw it overboard into the ocean, possibly to destroy incriminating evidence. It seems strange, however, that with the busyness around the blimp at all hours, no one saw anything. Scott Shazbot, who was on guard duty, said no one but him ever came out onto the outer deck. I don't possess much reason to suspect that he was lying or up to foul play, but I will be sure to keep that information readily open to a secondary glimpse at a later time.
I had an awkward lunch with Mr. Meilong and The Count. The pale-skinned Count didn't eat a bite, but he seemed to be salivating each time I raised a piece of braised beaver meat into my mouth. His silent staring was really getting on my nerves. Meanwhile, Meilong's fire-breathing salamanders were scurrying across the table, which was very unappetizing for me, especially when one of them burped on my meal, toasting everything on my plate. I politely excused myself. When I stood up, I was a bit lightheaded. Perhaps a bit of vertigo from being on a blimp too long; or maybe it was a sign that the stress of being Inquisitor is beginning to affect my health.
I went onto the main deck to get some fresh air, and that's when I noticed something surprising. The blimp Vitruvia was starting to pull away from the Olympia. But wait a minute - no one was allowed to leave until the culprit has been caught! I shouted that Giorgio Dirigibili (aka "The Professor") was fleeing, but no one was around to help. I quickly leapt over the railing, freefalling dangerously, and just barely caught myself onto the edge of the Vitruvia.
Pulling myself up and regaining my footing, I caught sight of the Professor scrambling intensely to get his blimp up and running before anyone could see. I tackled the rascally old Italian and he put up a good fight, but he was no match for me since I am trained in the dancing martial art of capoeira. I ordered him to turn the blimp around, and he begrudgingly complied.
When I asked him why he was trying to escape, he explained in thickly accented English, "I too have been conducting my own investigation into the death of Wolfenkranz. In fact, I am one step ahead of you. Because of this, I realized that I must flee because it was only a matter of time before you reached the same conclusion that I have: that I am the most likely suspect."
I was confused, because until this point, I had not actually suspected Professor Dirigibili very highly on my list.
"You see," he continued, "upon Wolfenkranz's death, I am most likely to take over his position as Commandant of the Blimping Corps; thus I have motive for him to die. And also likely, since I have the most medical knowledge, it is only a matter of time before the others blame me again, when they realize that you have been poisoned."
POISONED?! This was news to me! But it suddenly all made sense. I began to feel more and more wobbly. The blimp was spinning, and the sky was turning into a swirling pink cauldron. Everything began to shine in a vivid display of neon hallucinations. My natural synaesthesia was out of control; the future was clear to me, and I became an omnipotent deity with nine hands. But suddenly my power vanished. The real world morphed into globules of strange images: first I imagined Celtic druids kissing me all over my body, tickling me until I laughed hysterically. Then toads were crawling out of each pore of my skin, causing a severe itch. Then fire-breathing squirrels attacked me vengefully. I screamed in fear, but nothing came out of my mouth except a goose honk--
--And then I awoke to Mandelbaum, his massive arms wrapped around me from behind, heaving my body in a most violent manoeuvre of the Heimlich persuasion. I projectile vomited all over the deck of the Olympia. ("How did I end up back here?" I thought.) He spilled my flaccid body onto the deck, and I noticed everyone had gathered in a circle around me - even the Professor who had previously tried to flee.
I was too weak to speak, but the Professor assured me that he was not the one who harmed me. Why else would he bring me back aboard the Olympia if not to save my life and to assert his own innocence? He even stooped down to inspect my vomit. He scooped up a little bit onto the tip of his long fingernail, used a monocle to examine it closely, and tasted it with his tongue.
"Clearly," he said, "you had a bit of braised beaver for lunch. And clearly you all know how such a meal must always be served?"
We all replied in unison that it must be served with gravy.
"Mushroom gravy, to be precise," said the Professor. "And this particular mushroom gravy was laced with psilocybe semilanceata, a potent strain of the magic mushroom. I saw its effects on you immediately. When you began to hallucinate, I was convinced."
The others were shocked that someone would stoop so low as to poison the Inquisitor's meal. But me, I'm not surprised at all. I saw an assassination attempt coming the minute I was appointed Inquisitor; thus, I relay these messages to my manservant back home so that in the event of my death, the investigation does not halt. It's only a matter of time before the killer attacks me again, but I welcome the attempt. For when he (or she) does, he (or she) comes one step closer to revealing his (or her) identity to me.
#trippin #ineedanap #missinghome
#heimlichedbymandelbaum #inquisitorduties
Thursday
Rather than waiting for my attacker to strike again, I have decided to be proactive in my investigation. I feel I am driving closer to the truth, but I am still missing several key clues. First of all, I wanted to look into who may have had the cause - or ability - to make Herschel Wolfenkranz's body disappear without a trace. My thoughts led me to our most mysterious passenger: The Count.
I've learned he is a most skilled magician, having an otherworldly talent at sleight of hand illusions. Perhaps this skill allowed him the ability to commit a cunning crime. I crept aboard his tethered blimp, the Curieux, and before I could even knock on the captain's door, the door opened by itself. Inside, there were only a few candles lit, just barely illuminating the room. The interior was painted black and was sporadically decorated with occult artifacts covered in mysterious runes and crystals. As for The Count, he was entirely nude, his pale white buttocks being the brightest source of light in the room. He had his back to me and was painting an image of an equally nude Taylor Swift lounging on a bed of skulls. Most disturbingly, the red-hued paint itself seemed to be nothing short of a mixture of blood.
I cringed and asked him to please cover himself. Rather, he turned around so that I was forced to view his full visage, clean-shaven thorax, and other bald unmentionables. Finding myself staring, I asked him to please refrain from using any hypnosis on me, and he complied. He snapped his fingers, the candles flickered for a moment, and when the light returned, a black coat had impressively appeared wrapped around his body as if it had been there the whole time. Cool.
"How may I assist our most seductive grand Inquisitor?" he asked in his thick Transylvanian accent.
I explained coyly that I was curious as to how one might make a body disappear in a crowd, as surely an illusionist such as himself might find it to be an easy feat.
He concurred, saying that the best plan is usually to have no body at all, but to feast upon its flesh until nothing is left. I gagged. Then he moved toward me, gliding as if he were hovering a few inches above the ground. He got uncomfortably close to me, so close that I could feel his ice-cold breath against my neck.
He took a big sniff. "Your pheromones reveal that you are nervous, perhaps lying about why you are really here."
I confessed that I did have a secondary motive for visiting him.
"It wasn't hard for me to put one piece of the puzzle together," I said. "When the Italian said that I had been poisoned with psilocybe semilanceata, I remembered that those particular mushrooms are quite common in Romania. And who would have the easiest access to such a drug?"
The Count smiled and licked the tip of my nose. Weird.
"I apologize for drugging you, my friend. But your death was not my motive."
I explained that I had deduced as much, for if he wanted me dead, then an illusionist such as himself could have gone about it in a much more efficient and untraceable manner. When I asked why he did it, he explained that he wanted to put me on a path of spiritual awakening. The drugs were meant to open my mind to greater possibilities than ever before, for he feared my focus in the investigation was too narrow.
Our chat went on for several more minutes, and we continued out onto the deck of his blimp, where we could see the Olympia tethered next door. By now, it was almost midnight, the stars were shining bright, and the moonlight was illuminating our faces. He continued to explain to me that he wished the culprit would be caught, for he was an old friend of Herschel. In fact, out of all the blimpmen on board, he was the only one to have ever met Herschel face to face prior to this week.
Nearly 20 years ago, The Count had met him at a fossil auction. Both men were interested in purchasing the same item - an occult artifact that had once belonged to Emperor Nero: his own skeleton. The Count recalled being impressed with Herschel, who was not only a fellow blimpman, but whose charm and charisma and his vast knowledge of bone curses had bordered on the mystical. The old and withering man who appeared before us a few nights ago, however, showed no resemblance to the Herschel he once knew.
"The Wolfenkranz I knew was not a cripple, but a strong and sturdy fellow. He had a delicious smell about him, and his muscles flowed with vibrant sanguine. How he physically changed so much in two decades, I cannot explain. Then again, the dark spell of aging has always been a mystery to me."
I made a note of these clues and continued pressing The Count for any further information that may be valuable. He shook his head in a condescending way, criticizing me for being so close-minded.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He replied, "You've allowed your emotions to factor into your investigation. There is still one of us you haven't suspected. The one closest to you. The one who has disguised the truth this whole time."
He gestured over to the Olympia's deck, where there stood a single, solitary figure. It was Mandelbaum, taking a smoke break from his watch over the captive squirrel king.
Mandelbaum? I stared at his shadowy figure, thinking about what The Count was insinuating, and suddenly - like a bolt of lightning striking the main mast of a blimp - it all dawned on me.
I KNOW WHO THE KILLER IS! I am ready to make my verdict...
#itallmakessense #butwhyyy #myinterviewwiththevampire #dundunDUNNN
Friday
Reginald again. My master's final carrier pigeon just arrived. I hope I served my master well in his absence this week by relaying his messages to you exactly as they were written. While I have your attention, please be sure to check out my band's page on YouTube. We're named "Mr. Tambourine Manservant" and we could really use the likes. Anyway, I'm off topic. Back to the message. This one reads:
This morning I woke everyone up at the crack of dawn, allowing no opportunities for the true culprit of this crime to get the jump on me. I had been up all night, poring over the clues and finalizing my investigation, and now I was ready to deliver the truth about the death of Herschel Wolfenkranz.
I summoned everyone onto the deck of the Olympia. Mandelbaum dragged out the crate containing King Chipchomp, and The Count was concealing himself from the sun with a large black parasol.
"What's all this ralamazoo about?" huffed the cowboy, Custer, groggily rubbing his eyes.
As all the others filtered in, I took my place in the center of the circle. I hesitated for a moment as I took in the sight of this prestigious group, knowing all the secrets and lies that existed amongst them. My eyes lingered the longest on Mandelbaum. I took a deep breath and finally rallied my courage.
"First order of business, Mandelbaum, you can release the squirrel king now."
The others were not sure, but Mandelbaum complied. Immediately, King Chipchomp darted forth from the box in a tiny brown blur and latched his squirrely teeth onto Custer's genitals. The cowboy screamed as the others tenderly pulled the growling squirrel away. I shouted for calm and the squirrel finally subdued his berserker rage.
"Your Highness," I said, "please forgive us humans for keeping you captive for so many days. I regret our most distasteful treatment of someone of your stature. Please forgive our grave error."
King Chipchomp spat back with a mouthful of blood. "No apology necessary. It is not humans I despise any longer. Rather, it is only the blimpmen who are deserving of my wrath! May squirrels forever have a grudge against you!"
With that, he turned and stormed away. He walked to the edge of the blimp's deck, hopped up onto the rail, and my heart jumped a beat as he performed what appeared to be a suicidal swan dive over the edge. When we raced to see what had become of the tiny king, we were surprised to see him soaring away into the clouds, gliding by his own volition. So he was a breed of flying squirrel - didn't see that coming. As his tiny body disappeared into the clouds, I told the others to forget about him, for he was not the killer.
I proceeded to explain the facts to my colleagues. You see, The Count was the only blimpman to ever meet Herschel Wolfenkranz face to face, and he commented at how much the old man's appearance had changed in the last 20 years. Rather unbeknownst to even him, The Count had actually stumbled upon the reality of the situation: this old man we met was not actually Herschel, but an imposter!
Everyone gasped. Then I explained that we must remember that The Count was not the only one to have seen Herschel in his prime, so why was his change of appearance a shock only to him? Then Walt Disney's Zombie muttered something sloppily as his jaw suddenly detached and dangled from his face.
I replied, "Yes, that's right, Walt Zombney. Surely, Herschel's daughter Sylvia would have been equally startled by his dramatic change as well!"
Everyone stared at her, mouths agape.
"That's ridiculous," she said. "Why would I kill my own father?"
I agreed. It was ridiculous. But kill? No, there was no killing on her part. I said to the group, "What you all fail to see, is that there was never even a murder at all."
There was a long silence until it was finally broken by The Count thrusting an accusatory finger at my Mandelbaum.
"But your friend there. He killed Wolfenkranz!"
I rolled my eyes. "Of course he didn't kill anyone, you idiot. He's Mandelbaum. And anyone who suspected that he'd actually be the killer is obviously as stupid as you are. Gosh, you're stupid. I mean seriously. Just... ugh... come on. That wouldn't even make sense. Get your life together."
I regained my composure and continued: "Like I was saying, there has been an imposter among our ranks."
I revealed how The Count's words last night gave me the epiphany that I needed to finally unravel the truth. He said that the killer had "disguised" the truth. My intuition led me to the lower levels of the blimp where, sure enough, my suspicions were justified. Tucked away in a discarded crate were dozens of latex masks, wispy white bald caps, fake beards, spectacles, and other costuming apparel. Clearly someone was playing the part of a decrepit Herschel Wolfenkranz... but who?
"Everyone who was on board the Olympia that night for the Saturnalia celebration was in the same room. Everyone except for-- HIM!"
And then I pointed with this awesome and dramatic brandish of my arm. It was Wendell, the butler. (It's always the butler.) I clarified that he was the only one who could have played the part, as he was kicked out of the room at the time of the ceremony, and moments later - having changed into costume - the Herschel character came rolling in. Naturally, being so slender and lanky, he couldn't pull off the look of Herschel in his prime, so he had to resort to this sickly fictionalized version. Wendell hung his head low in guilt.
On top of their detailed performance of lacing Wendell's drink with poison, thereby faking his death and turning the blame on the squirrel king to make it all believable, I had suspected early on that Wendell and Sylvia Wolfenkranz were lovers, sneaking into each other's quarters in the middle of the night. It all made sense that they would be working together and be in on some sort of plot.
But what could that plot actually be? It must have been related to the one thing that Sylvia always wanted: to be a blimpman. It would have to be the goal of this elaborate con, to earn her the status of blimpman.
"Hah!" laughed Custer, still lying on the floor, holding his bleeding crotch. "Then her membership to the Society is null and void! Women can't be blimpmen after all!"
Sylvia protested tearfully, "No! That's not true at all. You see, my father and I were not even estranged. He reached out to me just a few years ago because he was dying of a rare case of Vietnamese perineum mold. On his deathbed, he explained to me that he was sorry for always intervening in my life, for disapproving of my relationship with Wendell, and for driving me away. He even said it was his dying wish for me - and all women - to be allowed the chance to join the Blimping Corps. I even have his last will and testament here to prove it!"
She reached into her breast pocket and fished out a document held closely to her bosoms. Professor Dirigibili pored over it closely with his monocle.
"She's right. It's legit. But unfortunately this document is not enough for us to change our bylaws."
Sylvia explained that she knew as much, and that's why she came up with this whole scheme. She knew the traditions would not change unless we heard the declaration straight from the Commandant's mouth.
She broke down into tears, and I regretted that there was nothing more I could do. I ordered Mandelbaum to help her and Wendell to begin preparing for their departure via hot air balloon. Nothing has been so utterly unsatisfying as this, delivering the truth and causing pain to others. I wish I had never been given this horrible task.
Afterwards, the Secret Society of the Blimpmen reconvened in the main galley of the Olympia. We agreed that a new Commandant needed to be elected. To my surprise, the group unanimously elected me, due to my thoroughness and success as Inquisitor. Then, for the next six hours, the group performed the secret ceremony for the election of the new leader. I will not reveal what that ceremony entails, but I will hint that it involves the consumption of precious gemstones, body paint, hidden tattoos using invisible ink, and so much mayonnaise.
When the ceremony was over and we'd all washed up, I gathered the group before me. I declared, "My first task as your new Commandant..." (dramatic pause for effect) "...is to open our ranks to any woman who is deserving of the title of blimp-person."
Custer rolled his eyes. The doors opened and Mandelbaum escorted Sylvia back into the room. She entered with dignity and grace, smiling at me with her eyes.
"My second task," I said, "is to relinquish my position as Commandant."
The others gasped at my decision to step down so soon. At no time in my life would another position of such prestige and power be available to me, and I knew this. But I also know I am not ready for this kind of responsibility. Leave others to rule; I simply want to take my place aboard my blimp in the skies. And then I ordered Mandelbaum to prepare the Eurydice, for it was now time to return home.
#theend #blimpPERSON #allisrevealed #mrtambourinemanservant
#homesweethome #happysaturnalia
Salutations, all. This is Reginald speaking. I am but a humble manservant. My master has asked me to relay this message to you, verbatim:
Reggie,
As you know, I am away on a solo blimping adventure. What I did not tell you is that I am actually at a secret meeting of the Secret Society of the Blimpmen. Please forgive my deception to both you and my wife, but it was a necessity. I need you to log into my social media account and share this message with all, word for word, exactly as I am dictating it to you now. The login is my Hotmail email and you can find the password etched into the side of the walrus tusks mounted above the fireplace. What I am about to tell you may get me into some trouble with the Society, for I know I am bound to share some of our most ancient and long-kept secrets, but I fear that this is the best course of action for me to take. I do this because I am obligated to uncover the truth behind a horrible crime, and this is the only way I know how.
You see, it all started when I received the invitation to the Society's annual Saturnalia celebration aboard the Olympia. The Olympia is a massive blimp owned by billionaire blimpman and philanthropist, Herschel Wolfenkranz, always floating in an undisclosed location over the Atlantic. As I pulled the Eurydice toward it, I was amazed by the Olympia's sheer size - more of a floating city than a blimp! In fact, a half-dozen other blimps were docked by its side, but they barely obscured any surface of the Olympia's gargantuan hold. As I approached, I admired this almost mythical blimp for the flying castle that she is.
Once I got docked and boarded the vessel, I was embarrassed to see that I was one of the final guests to arrive. In the main galley, the others were already commencing with the festivities. I immediately recognized a few of the more famous blimpmen: Cooper Custer, the American "cowboy" blimpman; Professor Giorgio Dirigibili from the Italian chapter; Scott Shazbot, the young blimpman entrepreneur; and Walt Disney's Zombie. Everyone was having a grand time, but for some reason, our host Herschel Wolfenkranz was nowhere to be seen.
I was immensely eager to meet this reclusive leader of the Society. Ever since he cut himself off from the public eye nearly 20 years ago, not a single soul aside from his butler, Wendell, had seen him since. As I settled in, I did a dramatic spit-take when I saw someone else in the room: it was Mandelbaum! I couldn't believe my eyes - my old friend was here? At a secret meeting of the Society? I quickly ended my dreadful conversation with Walt Disney's Zombie (completely unintelligible by the way, what with all the moaning), and rushed over to Mandelbaum's location across the room.
He explained to me that he was tasked with security detail on the Olympia for this evening. Before I could even ask why an SVRC agent would need to be on hand, the answer was clear: a squirrel entered the room. And not just any squirrel - the king of squirrels. King Chipchomp III was the most royal-looking rodent imaginable, decked out in wood-carved jewelry and a necklace of gilded autumnal leaves. Mandelbaum explained to me that King Chipchomp had been invited as an honored guest.
Following the epic sky battle with the squirrels earlier this year, of which Mandelbaum and I famously took part, King Chipchomp dramatically changed his stance on the anti-human sentiments of his kingdom. While previously he was very vocal about destroying all humans and world domination, he now claimed that evil squirrels like Keith were the ones manipulating him from behind the scenes, forcing him to say these horrible things. He was really a "lover of humans". (Yeah right, like I'm really buying that. Everyone knows he just changed his stance after he lost the war to save his own squirrelly butt.) Anyway, despite the invite, apparently Wolfenkranz didn't fully trust a squirrel being on his blimp, so he hired Mandelbaum for security. Excellent choice, if I say so myself.
As I caught up more with Mandelbaum, a gasp filled the room. At the entrance of the galley was... a woman. She was stunning in appearance, truly sophisticated. However, she didn't seem dressed for the occasion - with her sun-tanned skin, hair tied back in a very functional bun, and orange piloting outfit - but such apparel could not conceal the class and beauty that lay underneath.
All eyes were on her, but not simply because of her looks. You see, it has been a longstanding tradition with the Society that only men can be blimpmen (thus the name). I know, I know, it's not the most honorable tradition, and frankly it's something I never really favored myself. In fact, some of the most skilled blimp pilots I know are women, what with their deft rope-pulling fingers and natural talent for sniffing out the most favorable jetstreams. But for some reason, the Society never modernized enough to include women in their ranks.
So to see this woman here this evening was quite shocking. She explained that her name was Sylvia and that she too, like King Chipchomp, was an honored guest. Cooper Custer furrowed his thick mustache and tried to inspect her invitation to find some signs of forgery, but the gold-plated tablet was legit. We were all surprised by this guest and hoped an explanation would come soon. Sure enough, it did, as the rear French doors of the galley opened wide.
From the shadow behind the door came a creaking sound and an eerie mist. Ever so slowly, a steam-powered wheelchair rolled out into the light, holding the most fragile and sickly looking old man I've ever seen. His skin was practically hanging off his bones. Above his gaunt, withering face, there were barely any wisps of white hair left on his balding head, and a long white beard trailed down into his lap. Through thick spectacles, the old man stared down into his lap, as I'm sure his fragile little bird bones could barely keep his neck aloft.
The old man muttered in a slow and crackly voice, "Welcome, fellow blimpmen. My name is Herschel Wolfenkranz, and I hope the hospitality of the Olympia has suited you well. We gather today to celebrate the ancient pagan festival of Saturnalia."
(And then for the next twelve and a half minutes, we repeated the Blimpman's Oath, which I shall not reveal here. Afterwards, he continued:) "Let us raise a toast to our honored guests this evening. First, King Chipchomp III of Squercia; may his long health be devoted to bringing unity between man and tree-dwellers." We toasted, though some of us did so half-heartedly. Herschel continued, "And second, to my daughter, Sylvia Wolfenkranz."
At this moment, there was a long silence as everyone in the room glanced awkwardly at each other and at her.
"I regret that I have not seen her in nearly 20 years. She is the best hot air balloonist in the skies, and we congratulate her on winning a race around the world. As you know, since I am Commandant of the Blimping Corps and the de facto leader of this secret society, it is my right as leader to institute one executive change to the bylaws of our organization."
We all looked at each other again, wondering what change to our society's rules could possibly warrant Wolfenkranz to evoke such an ancient rite.
Then he continued, "In these most modern of times, it is not right for us to exclude the fairer sex from our ranks. Therefore, the Blimping Corps will now be open to women and men alike."
I abruptly burst into a cheer, and a few of the more progressive members joined me, but there was certainly a bit of grumbling in the room as well (and not just because one of us was a zombie). Cooper Custer, the most "old school" of the group, was visibly fuming. His face was red with rage, but he did his very best to hold his tongue. Respectfully, he removed his cowboy hat and reached for a tray of absinthe, and held a glass up high.
"I sure as heck wasn't expectin' to fly all the way here from the Grand Canyon to hear this kinda news," he said, "but I reckon anyone with the name Wolfenkranz is fine by me when it comes to the title of blimpman. To Sylvia."
We each grabbed a glass and drained the contents, to the prosperity of all. The party resumed. For a while, everything seemed to be going splendidly as the drunken ribaldry was in full effect and we welcomed the newest blimp-woman. But then a sudden clamor startled everyone in the room. Wolfenkranz's wheelchair spun around the room, and the old man seemed to be clutching at his heart. We all stood in utter shock as the unthinkable happened, and he fell to the floor, sprawled prone on wooden planks of the galley like a piece of meat.
Sylvia rushed to his side, feeling for a pulse. She shook her head and we all knew what that meant: "Dead." She began bawling uncontrollably.
Meanwhile, the Italian blimpman, Professor Giorgio Dirigibili, was busy inspecting the glass of absinthe that Herschel was drinking from, its contents spilled on the floor. He explained to us in Italian (with subtitles) that there were clear signs of conium maculatum, or hemlock poison. Everyone looked toward Custer, the one who served us all the drinks.
"Well how in damn hell did he get that?!" he shouted. "It wasn't from me!"
Sylvia and several of the other blimpmen were about to unleash a fit of rage on the man, but suddenly Mandelbaum sprung into action. He leapt across the room and snatched the squirrel king, Chipchomp, off from the ground. Squawking in vehement protest, the king was shouting threats at Mandelbaum for his insolence, but Mandelbaum - being the wizened, hunky soldier that he is - was having none of it. He pried open Chipchomp's buck-toothed mouth with one of his beefy fingers and dug around in the poor creature's gullet, clearly on the hunt for some unknown object. A few seconds later he retrieved something covered in saliva and displayed it for the group: hemlock seeds. Mandelbaum explained that Chipchomp must have smuggled in the seeds in his cheeks and onto the Olympia, where he poisoned Herschel during the festivities. King Chipchomp persisted that he was innocent of this particular crime.
"Yes, it is true I smuggled in the seeds with the intention of murder," he confessed, "but Wolfenkranz was not my intended victim. YOU were!" And he pointed at the two of us - Mandelbaum and me. "You killed thousands of my best squirrels, you effing B-holes!"
I gave Mandelbaum the signal and he quickly threw the creature into an empty absinthe crate nearby. The king continued squeaking angrily from inside.
For the next several minutes, there was an intense argument amongst the guests, accusations thrown over who was the real culprit of the crime. Many seemed to suspect Custer, angry about the news that the Society would be accepting women. I, however, could only think of Sylvia, devastated and heartbroken over her father's death. I promptly gave the order for the old man's body to be hauled out of the room so Sylvia would not have to suffer at the horrendous sight any longer.
This seemed to calm the room a bit, and logic began to surface. The group agreed that someone needed to be appointed with the task of finding out the truth of who really murdered Herschel. Dirigibili reminded us that there is an ancient tradition amongst blimpmen when one of us dies: an Inquisitor must be appointed to unravel the truth and clear the air of any wrongdoings. When asked who this Inquisitor should be, the group unanimously pointed to me.
Me? Why me? They explained that I, a newer member of the Society, could be trusted. I harbored no ill will toward Wolfenkranz, and my honor was beyond reproach. Citing my part in the sky battle against the squirrels, they felt I could be trusted. I was confused, but I accepted the daunting task with all the dignity I could muster.
And so it is that I am now tasked with finding the murderer of Herschel Wolfenkranz. I do not know how long this task will take me or when I will be able to return home, but I have vowed to stay aboard the Olympia for as long as it may take. My first order of business was to halt all travel to and from the blimp. No one leaves until the killer is found.
My second task as Inquisitor was to make a list of everyone who is on board the Olympia tonight. (Reggie, compile this separate list I'm sending you in the comments below. Then, as I send more carrier pigeons to you, relay those messages to the public as well.) Please know that I will stop at nothing to find the truth, and until I do, everyone is a suspect.
End of message.
#blimpmen #MURDER #thetruthisoutthere #feminism
#SSotB #blimptales
The Victim:
Herschel Wolfenkranz (Level 33 blimpman, the Olympia): the world's foremost blimpman and most recent Commandant of the Blimping Corps; had affiliations with other secret societies including the Freemasons, Illuminati, Orphic Occult, Bohemian Club, Skull & Bones, Thuggee, and the Three 6 Mafia; renowned for his discovery of the lost Library of Wiqi, in Egypt, whose compendium of lost knowledge later became available to the general public after the development of Wikipedia; current status: murdered
The Players (aka The Suspects):
1. Cooper T. Custer (blimpman, the Angelina Eberly): a multi-billionaire blimpman from the Western United States with business ventures in everything from oil to fluoride mining to buffalo farms; currently the world's largest producer of oily, buffalo-flavored toothpastes; a known chauvinist and anti-feminist; current status: highly suspected
2. King Chipchomp III (honored guest): current reigning monarch of the squirrel kingdom of Squercia; other titles include the High Chickwit of Squearle, Premiere of Piddleplip, and the First Snartsnatch of the Squercian Armed Forces; current status: in custody
3. Sylvia Wolfenkranz (honored guest; hot air balloon, the Nephthys): estranged daughter of Herschel Wolfenkranz and also a renowned Egyptologist like her father; a celebrated balloonist and world traveler; current status: female
4. Giorgio "Il Professore" Dirigibili (blimpman, the Vitruvia): a direct descendant of the original blimpman, Leonardo da Vinci; somewhat of a Renaissance man himself, he has connections to art, medicine, and inventing; also a professor emeritus of blimp studies
5. Walt Disney's Zombie (blimpman, the Steamboat Willy): there are many myths surrounding this famed animation and amusement park tycoon, including the idea that he was designing an advanced, technology-driven "world of tomorrow" in the 1960s known as EPCOT, and another rumor that he was cryogenically frozen at the time of his death; but in fact, his resurrected zombie is actually the result of a dark and deep fascination with hoodoo magic and a blood oath to the Loa of death known as Baron Samedi
6. Mr. Meilong (blimpman, the Zàng Huā): a representative of the Asian Blimping Corps; breeds and trains Chinese dragons (although the term "dragon" is a bit lost in translation because we simply know them as "salamanders" - they do breathe fire though); owns a flying junk-style blimp
7. Scott Shazbot (blimpman, the Millennial Petticoat): youngest member of the blimpmen; owns a start-up in a new online streaming service which teleports movie- and TV-carrying nanobots directly into viewers' frontal cortices; thinks "steampunk" is cool and owns a remodeled 19th-century steam-powered blimp
8. Wendell (butler): Herschel Wolfenkranz's manservant; employed nearly 20 years; was the only person not in the room at the time of Herschel's death as he was neither blimpman nor on security detail nor honored guest
9. The Count (blimpman, the Curieux): real name is Oleg Czernobog; an acclaimed magician and illusionist from Romania who performs under the moniker of "The Count"; has a penchant for beautiful models and top hats; oh, and he's also a vampire
10. Mandelbaum: obviously not a suspect, but I felt he should be included in the list for the sake of thoroughness; SVRC agent; loyal and handsome friend
Tuesday
Reginald here. I received another message via carrier pigeon from my master:
Day two aboard the Olympia, and I can tell you that my job of finding the killer of Herschel Wolfenkranz has been as unfilled as it was yesterday. I was not expecting such twists and turns in the investigation. You see, after he was poisoned at our Saturnalia blimp party last night, I was expecting that the identity of his killer would be easily uncovered. There are not too many of us aboard the vessel after all, and some certainly have more motive than others.
Take Cooper T. Custer, for example. He was an early suspect in the case. When Herschel mentioned that women would now be allowed in our ranks, Custer was the first to show any displeasure in the idea. He's been clinging to his outdated, chauvinistic principles for decades, and he often stirs up debates on Twitter regarding women's voting rights. To quote Custer, he says, "Women have it hard enough; let's end their suffrage!"
At my first interview with him over a breakfast of boiled echidna eggs and Rocky Mountain oysters, he was quick to point out that women can't handle the stress of blimp piloting.
"They just don't have the cajones to own the skies like we do. In fact, they don't even know the difference between a rigid and semi-rigid airship."
At that very moment, Sylvia Wolfenkranz (Hershel's daughter), entered the room and zinged, "You know all about being semi-rigid, don't you, Cooper?"I smirked at the pun, and Cooper was so angry that he accidentally squeezed out a squeaky little fart. Simultaneously embarrassed and enraged, he fled from the room.
Left alone with Sylvia, I took the opportunity to inquire more about her estranged relationship with her father. She explained to me that Herschel was an ever-supportive father who always wished the best for her, but he could be quite demanding in his desire for perfection from her. He never approved of any lover she took. He always wanted for her to find a decent blimpman to marry and settle down with a husband, neglecting her dangerous and exciting life of Egyptology and tomb-raiding. Sylvia, however, couldn't give in to his demands and continued to travel the globe in ever-increasingly more dangerous expeditions. When he said no to blimps; she got a hot air balloon instead. When he wanted grandchildren, she went to the Burning Man Festival and came back with a group of twenty-somethings in diapers.
Despite the long hostility between father and daughter, it doesn't seem like she has much of a motive to kill her father, especially considering that moments before his death he granted her a wish she had always wanted (to be a blimpman). But there is certainly something that this mysterious woman is hiding. Of that, I am convinced.
I spent the rest of the day following Sylvia around the Olympia, hoping that she would give away some clue of guilt on her part, but she never did. This evening, she did disappear into the butler's quarters in the lower levels of the blimp, but who knows what that was all about.
I think I am focusing on the wrong suspect. Mandelbaum continues to keep King Chipchomp locked away in his crate, so I can hold off on questioning that terrible squirrel for now.
Wait a minute-- something strange is happening.
...
Just moments ago, Walt Disney's Zombie came mumbling something to me, but I couldn't understand a word. Scott Shazbot, the young fellow on board, translated for me: "Walt Zombney says that something crazy has happened. Herschel Wolfenkranz's body has gone missing!"
I swiftly ran into the stern of the blimp where we were storing the decaying old corpse, and sure enough, the tale was true. Where has Herschel's body gone???
#missing #breakfastwithcuster #innuendo
#butlersquarters #theinvestigationcontinues
Wednesday
Reginald again. I do hope everything is going alright with my master. He worryingly writes:
My duties as Inquisitor are beginning to wear on me. The more I investigate into the murder of Herschel Wolfenkranz, the more suspicious everyone around me seems to be. I can trust no one. Even the most innocent-appearing among us, like Sylvia and the butler Wendell, are hiding something. Except for Mandelbaum; he's the only one I can really trust, that noble hero. I've tried to confide in him and toss around my working theory of who I believe the killer is, but he's been so busy guarding the captive King Chipchomp until we decide what to do about him that we've barely had time to talk.
I don't believe the squirrel king is the killer. (Why admit you were planning to kill someone and then deny the actual murder in the room?) But we will keep him in custody as a precaution. (This is setting back squirrel-human relations, no doubt.)
As for the missing body of Herschel Wolfenkranz, the only possibility is that the killer snuck into the cellar where we were storing the body, drug it onto the deck of the Olympia, and threw it overboard into the ocean, possibly to destroy incriminating evidence. It seems strange, however, that with the busyness around the blimp at all hours, no one saw anything. Scott Shazbot, who was on guard duty, said no one but him ever came out onto the outer deck. I don't possess much reason to suspect that he was lying or up to foul play, but I will be sure to keep that information readily open to a secondary glimpse at a later time.
I had an awkward lunch with Mr. Meilong and The Count. The pale-skinned Count didn't eat a bite, but he seemed to be salivating each time I raised a piece of braised beaver meat into my mouth. His silent staring was really getting on my nerves. Meanwhile, Meilong's fire-breathing salamanders were scurrying across the table, which was very unappetizing for me, especially when one of them burped on my meal, toasting everything on my plate. I politely excused myself. When I stood up, I was a bit lightheaded. Perhaps a bit of vertigo from being on a blimp too long; or maybe it was a sign that the stress of being Inquisitor is beginning to affect my health.
I went onto the main deck to get some fresh air, and that's when I noticed something surprising. The blimp Vitruvia was starting to pull away from the Olympia. But wait a minute - no one was allowed to leave until the culprit has been caught! I shouted that Giorgio Dirigibili (aka "The Professor") was fleeing, but no one was around to help. I quickly leapt over the railing, freefalling dangerously, and just barely caught myself onto the edge of the Vitruvia.
Pulling myself up and regaining my footing, I caught sight of the Professor scrambling intensely to get his blimp up and running before anyone could see. I tackled the rascally old Italian and he put up a good fight, but he was no match for me since I am trained in the dancing martial art of capoeira. I ordered him to turn the blimp around, and he begrudgingly complied.
When I asked him why he was trying to escape, he explained in thickly accented English, "I too have been conducting my own investigation into the death of Wolfenkranz. In fact, I am one step ahead of you. Because of this, I realized that I must flee because it was only a matter of time before you reached the same conclusion that I have: that I am the most likely suspect."
I was confused, because until this point, I had not actually suspected Professor Dirigibili very highly on my list.
"You see," he continued, "upon Wolfenkranz's death, I am most likely to take over his position as Commandant of the Blimping Corps; thus I have motive for him to die. And also likely, since I have the most medical knowledge, it is only a matter of time before the others blame me again, when they realize that you have been poisoned."
POISONED?! This was news to me! But it suddenly all made sense. I began to feel more and more wobbly. The blimp was spinning, and the sky was turning into a swirling pink cauldron. Everything began to shine in a vivid display of neon hallucinations. My natural synaesthesia was out of control; the future was clear to me, and I became an omnipotent deity with nine hands. But suddenly my power vanished. The real world morphed into globules of strange images: first I imagined Celtic druids kissing me all over my body, tickling me until I laughed hysterically. Then toads were crawling out of each pore of my skin, causing a severe itch. Then fire-breathing squirrels attacked me vengefully. I screamed in fear, but nothing came out of my mouth except a goose honk--
--And then I awoke to Mandelbaum, his massive arms wrapped around me from behind, heaving my body in a most violent manoeuvre of the Heimlich persuasion. I projectile vomited all over the deck of the Olympia. ("How did I end up back here?" I thought.) He spilled my flaccid body onto the deck, and I noticed everyone had gathered in a circle around me - even the Professor who had previously tried to flee.
I was too weak to speak, but the Professor assured me that he was not the one who harmed me. Why else would he bring me back aboard the Olympia if not to save my life and to assert his own innocence? He even stooped down to inspect my vomit. He scooped up a little bit onto the tip of his long fingernail, used a monocle to examine it closely, and tasted it with his tongue.
"Clearly," he said, "you had a bit of braised beaver for lunch. And clearly you all know how such a meal must always be served?"
We all replied in unison that it must be served with gravy.
"Mushroom gravy, to be precise," said the Professor. "And this particular mushroom gravy was laced with psilocybe semilanceata, a potent strain of the magic mushroom. I saw its effects on you immediately. When you began to hallucinate, I was convinced."
The others were shocked that someone would stoop so low as to poison the Inquisitor's meal. But me, I'm not surprised at all. I saw an assassination attempt coming the minute I was appointed Inquisitor; thus, I relay these messages to my manservant back home so that in the event of my death, the investigation does not halt. It's only a matter of time before the killer attacks me again, but I welcome the attempt. For when he (or she) does, he (or she) comes one step closer to revealing his (or her) identity to me.
#trippin #ineedanap #missinghome
#heimlichedbymandelbaum #inquisitorduties
Thursday
Rather than waiting for my attacker to strike again, I have decided to be proactive in my investigation. I feel I am driving closer to the truth, but I am still missing several key clues. First of all, I wanted to look into who may have had the cause - or ability - to make Herschel Wolfenkranz's body disappear without a trace. My thoughts led me to our most mysterious passenger: The Count.
I've learned he is a most skilled magician, having an otherworldly talent at sleight of hand illusions. Perhaps this skill allowed him the ability to commit a cunning crime. I crept aboard his tethered blimp, the Curieux, and before I could even knock on the captain's door, the door opened by itself. Inside, there were only a few candles lit, just barely illuminating the room. The interior was painted black and was sporadically decorated with occult artifacts covered in mysterious runes and crystals. As for The Count, he was entirely nude, his pale white buttocks being the brightest source of light in the room. He had his back to me and was painting an image of an equally nude Taylor Swift lounging on a bed of skulls. Most disturbingly, the red-hued paint itself seemed to be nothing short of a mixture of blood.
I cringed and asked him to please cover himself. Rather, he turned around so that I was forced to view his full visage, clean-shaven thorax, and other bald unmentionables. Finding myself staring, I asked him to please refrain from using any hypnosis on me, and he complied. He snapped his fingers, the candles flickered for a moment, and when the light returned, a black coat had impressively appeared wrapped around his body as if it had been there the whole time. Cool.
"How may I assist our most seductive grand Inquisitor?" he asked in his thick Transylvanian accent.
I explained coyly that I was curious as to how one might make a body disappear in a crowd, as surely an illusionist such as himself might find it to be an easy feat.
He concurred, saying that the best plan is usually to have no body at all, but to feast upon its flesh until nothing is left. I gagged. Then he moved toward me, gliding as if he were hovering a few inches above the ground. He got uncomfortably close to me, so close that I could feel his ice-cold breath against my neck.
He took a big sniff. "Your pheromones reveal that you are nervous, perhaps lying about why you are really here."
I confessed that I did have a secondary motive for visiting him.
"It wasn't hard for me to put one piece of the puzzle together," I said. "When the Italian said that I had been poisoned with psilocybe semilanceata, I remembered that those particular mushrooms are quite common in Romania. And who would have the easiest access to such a drug?"
The Count smiled and licked the tip of my nose. Weird.
"I apologize for drugging you, my friend. But your death was not my motive."
I explained that I had deduced as much, for if he wanted me dead, then an illusionist such as himself could have gone about it in a much more efficient and untraceable manner. When I asked why he did it, he explained that he wanted to put me on a path of spiritual awakening. The drugs were meant to open my mind to greater possibilities than ever before, for he feared my focus in the investigation was too narrow.
Our chat went on for several more minutes, and we continued out onto the deck of his blimp, where we could see the Olympia tethered next door. By now, it was almost midnight, the stars were shining bright, and the moonlight was illuminating our faces. He continued to explain to me that he wished the culprit would be caught, for he was an old friend of Herschel. In fact, out of all the blimpmen on board, he was the only one to have ever met Herschel face to face prior to this week.
Nearly 20 years ago, The Count had met him at a fossil auction. Both men were interested in purchasing the same item - an occult artifact that had once belonged to Emperor Nero: his own skeleton. The Count recalled being impressed with Herschel, who was not only a fellow blimpman, but whose charm and charisma and his vast knowledge of bone curses had bordered on the mystical. The old and withering man who appeared before us a few nights ago, however, showed no resemblance to the Herschel he once knew.
"The Wolfenkranz I knew was not a cripple, but a strong and sturdy fellow. He had a delicious smell about him, and his muscles flowed with vibrant sanguine. How he physically changed so much in two decades, I cannot explain. Then again, the dark spell of aging has always been a mystery to me."
I made a note of these clues and continued pressing The Count for any further information that may be valuable. He shook his head in a condescending way, criticizing me for being so close-minded.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He replied, "You've allowed your emotions to factor into your investigation. There is still one of us you haven't suspected. The one closest to you. The one who has disguised the truth this whole time."
He gestured over to the Olympia's deck, where there stood a single, solitary figure. It was Mandelbaum, taking a smoke break from his watch over the captive squirrel king.
Mandelbaum? I stared at his shadowy figure, thinking about what The Count was insinuating, and suddenly - like a bolt of lightning striking the main mast of a blimp - it all dawned on me.
I KNOW WHO THE KILLER IS! I am ready to make my verdict...
#itallmakessense #butwhyyy #myinterviewwiththevampire #dundunDUNNN
Friday
Reginald again. My master's final carrier pigeon just arrived. I hope I served my master well in his absence this week by relaying his messages to you exactly as they were written. While I have your attention, please be sure to check out my band's page on YouTube. We're named "Mr. Tambourine Manservant" and we could really use the likes. Anyway, I'm off topic. Back to the message. This one reads:
This morning I woke everyone up at the crack of dawn, allowing no opportunities for the true culprit of this crime to get the jump on me. I had been up all night, poring over the clues and finalizing my investigation, and now I was ready to deliver the truth about the death of Herschel Wolfenkranz.
I summoned everyone onto the deck of the Olympia. Mandelbaum dragged out the crate containing King Chipchomp, and The Count was concealing himself from the sun with a large black parasol.
"What's all this ralamazoo about?" huffed the cowboy, Custer, groggily rubbing his eyes.
As all the others filtered in, I took my place in the center of the circle. I hesitated for a moment as I took in the sight of this prestigious group, knowing all the secrets and lies that existed amongst them. My eyes lingered the longest on Mandelbaum. I took a deep breath and finally rallied my courage.
"First order of business, Mandelbaum, you can release the squirrel king now."
The others were not sure, but Mandelbaum complied. Immediately, King Chipchomp darted forth from the box in a tiny brown blur and latched his squirrely teeth onto Custer's genitals. The cowboy screamed as the others tenderly pulled the growling squirrel away. I shouted for calm and the squirrel finally subdued his berserker rage.
"Your Highness," I said, "please forgive us humans for keeping you captive for so many days. I regret our most distasteful treatment of someone of your stature. Please forgive our grave error."
King Chipchomp spat back with a mouthful of blood. "No apology necessary. It is not humans I despise any longer. Rather, it is only the blimpmen who are deserving of my wrath! May squirrels forever have a grudge against you!"
With that, he turned and stormed away. He walked to the edge of the blimp's deck, hopped up onto the rail, and my heart jumped a beat as he performed what appeared to be a suicidal swan dive over the edge. When we raced to see what had become of the tiny king, we were surprised to see him soaring away into the clouds, gliding by his own volition. So he was a breed of flying squirrel - didn't see that coming. As his tiny body disappeared into the clouds, I told the others to forget about him, for he was not the killer.
I proceeded to explain the facts to my colleagues. You see, The Count was the only blimpman to ever meet Herschel Wolfenkranz face to face, and he commented at how much the old man's appearance had changed in the last 20 years. Rather unbeknownst to even him, The Count had actually stumbled upon the reality of the situation: this old man we met was not actually Herschel, but an imposter!
Everyone gasped. Then I explained that we must remember that The Count was not the only one to have seen Herschel in his prime, so why was his change of appearance a shock only to him? Then Walt Disney's Zombie muttered something sloppily as his jaw suddenly detached and dangled from his face.
I replied, "Yes, that's right, Walt Zombney. Surely, Herschel's daughter Sylvia would have been equally startled by his dramatic change as well!"
Everyone stared at her, mouths agape.
"That's ridiculous," she said. "Why would I kill my own father?"
I agreed. It was ridiculous. But kill? No, there was no killing on her part. I said to the group, "What you all fail to see, is that there was never even a murder at all."
There was a long silence until it was finally broken by The Count thrusting an accusatory finger at my Mandelbaum.
"But your friend there. He killed Wolfenkranz!"
I rolled my eyes. "Of course he didn't kill anyone, you idiot. He's Mandelbaum. And anyone who suspected that he'd actually be the killer is obviously as stupid as you are. Gosh, you're stupid. I mean seriously. Just... ugh... come on. That wouldn't even make sense. Get your life together."
I regained my composure and continued: "Like I was saying, there has been an imposter among our ranks."
I revealed how The Count's words last night gave me the epiphany that I needed to finally unravel the truth. He said that the killer had "disguised" the truth. My intuition led me to the lower levels of the blimp where, sure enough, my suspicions were justified. Tucked away in a discarded crate were dozens of latex masks, wispy white bald caps, fake beards, spectacles, and other costuming apparel. Clearly someone was playing the part of a decrepit Herschel Wolfenkranz... but who?
"Everyone who was on board the Olympia that night for the Saturnalia celebration was in the same room. Everyone except for-- HIM!"
And then I pointed with this awesome and dramatic brandish of my arm. It was Wendell, the butler. (It's always the butler.) I clarified that he was the only one who could have played the part, as he was kicked out of the room at the time of the ceremony, and moments later - having changed into costume - the Herschel character came rolling in. Naturally, being so slender and lanky, he couldn't pull off the look of Herschel in his prime, so he had to resort to this sickly fictionalized version. Wendell hung his head low in guilt.
On top of their detailed performance of lacing Wendell's drink with poison, thereby faking his death and turning the blame on the squirrel king to make it all believable, I had suspected early on that Wendell and Sylvia Wolfenkranz were lovers, sneaking into each other's quarters in the middle of the night. It all made sense that they would be working together and be in on some sort of plot.
But what could that plot actually be? It must have been related to the one thing that Sylvia always wanted: to be a blimpman. It would have to be the goal of this elaborate con, to earn her the status of blimpman.
"Hah!" laughed Custer, still lying on the floor, holding his bleeding crotch. "Then her membership to the Society is null and void! Women can't be blimpmen after all!"
Sylvia protested tearfully, "No! That's not true at all. You see, my father and I were not even estranged. He reached out to me just a few years ago because he was dying of a rare case of Vietnamese perineum mold. On his deathbed, he explained to me that he was sorry for always intervening in my life, for disapproving of my relationship with Wendell, and for driving me away. He even said it was his dying wish for me - and all women - to be allowed the chance to join the Blimping Corps. I even have his last will and testament here to prove it!"
She reached into her breast pocket and fished out a document held closely to her bosoms. Professor Dirigibili pored over it closely with his monocle.
"She's right. It's legit. But unfortunately this document is not enough for us to change our bylaws."
Sylvia explained that she knew as much, and that's why she came up with this whole scheme. She knew the traditions would not change unless we heard the declaration straight from the Commandant's mouth.
She broke down into tears, and I regretted that there was nothing more I could do. I ordered Mandelbaum to help her and Wendell to begin preparing for their departure via hot air balloon. Nothing has been so utterly unsatisfying as this, delivering the truth and causing pain to others. I wish I had never been given this horrible task.
Afterwards, the Secret Society of the Blimpmen reconvened in the main galley of the Olympia. We agreed that a new Commandant needed to be elected. To my surprise, the group unanimously elected me, due to my thoroughness and success as Inquisitor. Then, for the next six hours, the group performed the secret ceremony for the election of the new leader. I will not reveal what that ceremony entails, but I will hint that it involves the consumption of precious gemstones, body paint, hidden tattoos using invisible ink, and so much mayonnaise.
When the ceremony was over and we'd all washed up, I gathered the group before me. I declared, "My first task as your new Commandant..." (dramatic pause for effect) "...is to open our ranks to any woman who is deserving of the title of blimp-person."
Custer rolled his eyes. The doors opened and Mandelbaum escorted Sylvia back into the room. She entered with dignity and grace, smiling at me with her eyes.
"My second task," I said, "is to relinquish my position as Commandant."
The others gasped at my decision to step down so soon. At no time in my life would another position of such prestige and power be available to me, and I knew this. But I also know I am not ready for this kind of responsibility. Leave others to rule; I simply want to take my place aboard my blimp in the skies. And then I ordered Mandelbaum to prepare the Eurydice, for it was now time to return home.
#theend #blimpPERSON #allisrevealed #mrtambourinemanservant
#homesweethome #happysaturnalia
© C. Blake McIntire and Blimp Tales, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to C. Blake McIntire and BlimpTales.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
