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The Sinister Seat: Chapter 13

“But maybe I can help you,” said Marie,” if you’d let me.

Marie looked at the wall. It seemed that the wallpaper was fading a little. Was that damp patch there before?

“I am beyond help,” said Lady Arlington sadly. “Beyond redemption maybe…”

Marie looked confused again. The carpet seemed thinner than before.

“Redemption for what, are the troubles not caused by your husband?” said Marie, looking straight at Lady Arlington. “Mon Dieu, what’s happening to you?”

Lady Arlington appeared to be becoming transparent in front of Marie’s eyes. There was a sound on the edge of hearing too, a whirring and clacking.

“Ah,” said Lady Arlington. “I suspected he’d underestimated your husband, but even I’m impressed at this. It seems we shan’t be having much more time together.”

“He has solved it?” said Marie. “But I have not solved my puzzle. I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Lady Arlington,” said the other woman, looking more insubstantial by the minute. Her voice seemed deeper, too, although it was hard to tell over the machine noise in Marie’s ear.

“There is no Lady Arlington,” said Marie. “Lord Arlington did not marry.”

“Oh… you clever girl,” said Lady Arlington, her voice an octave lower. “Have you been playing with me all this time? I must admit I hadn’t guessed acting as a talent of yours.”

“And so?” said Marie, fully composed and arching an eyebrow.

“Well after all this time knowing you both second hand, I thought it would be nice to meet face to face,” said the woman who now sounded entirely like a man standing in a factory. “I mean after Manchester, London, Paris.”

Marie went white.

“Ah, now that I think is a genuine reaction,” said the barely visible voice. “It’s been so nice to meet you at last, and I do hope to see you again.”

All that was visible was a sardonic, crooked smile until that too faded, taking with it the clank and whirr of machinery.

“Here you are!” said Sir John walking in. “My word, what a decrepit room, worse even than the kitchen. Are you alright? You look white as a sheet.”

“Mon cher,” said Marie, “the imaginary Lady Arlington… was the Spinner.”

It was Sir John’s turn to go a little white.

“Are you sure?” he said, “I mean we’ve all been rather under the influence. Maybe it was just a figment of your imagination.”

“No,” said Marie, “it makes sense. She was trying to knock me off balance, ask questions about me and make me want to leave England.”

“Good Lord…” said Sir John and sat in a chair. “Has this whole thing been a ruse to get us here? Is this a trap?”

“She said someone had underestimated you and that she was impressed,” said Marie. “I don’t think it was a trap, I think it was a test, maybe.”

“Did we pass?” said Sir John.

“I think so,” said Marie. “At least we solved two of the three mysteries.”

“Indeed,” said Sir John. “What say we go back down, and I can tell you about the first. Then maybe we can solve the third.”

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The Sinister Seat: Chapter 10

“There, have a good cry,” said Lady Arlington as Marie dabbed a tear from her eye. “It must be difficult being here all alone, and you with all your special skills.”

“What do you mean?” said Marie.

“Well, speaking many languages, obviously, and whatever you do to accompany your husband. Those bags look rather heavy to carry,” said Lady Arlington.

“I do a bit more than that,” said Marie.

“Do you?” said Lady Arlington. “Gosh you must tell me about all your adventures. I have so little company now and, well, never company of such talents.”

“Well, we have investigated, you know, many things,” said Marie. “Ghosts and werewolves and… things I don’t even have names for.”

“Gosh, that must be exciting watching Sir John solve all those mysteries,” said Lady Arlington. “He must appreciate your er… well whatever it is.”

“I… he needs my… he needs me,” started Marie, stumbling over her words.

“Of course he does,” said Lady Arlington. “A man of those talents… I bet he gets distracted easily… you bring him back to earth I expect.”

“No I mean… ah … c’est impossible” said Marie and threw up her hands then looked down at her lap.

Lady Arlington looked on at her with a warm smile on her face.

“Maybe you have some secret you aren’t telling me?” she said and winked. “Never mind, it is yours to keep. All ladies must have some secrets.”

“Do you have secrets?” said Marie. 

Unseen by Marie, Lady Arlington winced.

“Only the terrible burden of this house and my husband’s poor state of mind,” she said. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“How long have you been here?” said Marie, quietly.

“Oh I don’t know…” started Lady Arlington.

“Since you were married?” said Marie.

“Yes naturally,” said Lady Arlington.

“What year was that?” said Marie.

“Does it matter?” said Lady Arlington. “It’s you that matters, and what we’re going to do about you.”

“How do you mean?” said Marie looking up.

“Well I mean, in this cold country, following this man around, carrying his bags, no friends, no family… need I go on,” said Lady Arlington.

“I… I’m very happy,” said Marie. “I’m not a problem to solve.”

“Of course not,” said Lady Arlington, “I just mean, well, things could be easier for you.”

“And for you n’est-ce pas,” said Marie. “It’s kind of you to be so considerate given all that has befallen you. Surprisingly generous in fact.”

Lady Arlington winced again.

“Well that’s me, always trying to help,” she said.

“Help who?” said Marie.

“Sorry?” said Lady Arlington.

“You said you have no real family, and friends aren’t to be trusted. Who are you helping?” said Marie.

“Well you my dear,” laughed Lady Arlington. “You’re the person here, asking for answers, aren’t you. I’m helping you.”

She smiled at Marie who looked confused.

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The Sinister Seat: Chapter 9

“Have you heard the latest gossip?” said Lady Mitherington. “Miss Smyth has taken delivery this very morning of a euphonium.”

She fluttered her fan in an excitable manner. Sir John looked a little bored.

“I fail to see why that would set the village tongues wagging?” said Sir John.

“My dear Sir John,” said Lady Mitherington, “there was no return address.”

Sir John raised his eyebrows in arch surprise. Miss Milner caught the look and tittered behind her fan.

“Pray, won’t you dance with me?” she asked Sir John. “If I may drag you away from all this gossip.”

“Most heartily,” whispered Sir John, and the two joined the dancing throng.

“You may have saved me from a rather ghastly conversation,” said Sir John. “I fear Lady Mitherington had quite a tale to tell.”

“That was indeed my intention,” said Miss Milner, “and in return I would like something more than just a dance.”

“Oh?” said Sir John, raising his eyebrows again.

“I have a question about a mutual friend,” said Miss Milner.

“Lord Arlington?” said Sir John, suddenly looking puzzled.

“Indeed not,” said Miss Milner, looking momentarily panicked. “I refer to our mutual friend Corporal Wickleby. I was curious if you knew when he might return to Merybury.”

“Sadly then, you will have a poor bargain as I don’t know when the infantry will return to the barracks,” said Sir John. “But I can give you information of a different sort. If you have, shall we say, set your cap at the Corporal, I feel obliged to offer a word of caution. In private conversation he gives the impression of being less than respectful of the ladies. There is even a rumour of a lady friend in the north.”

Miss Milner let out a gasp and staggered to one side, as if to faint. Sir John grabbed her arm and took her away from the dancing. He noticed the eyes of onlookers.

“She is a little overheated,” he said. And then to Miss Milner, “Perhaps we should get some air outside.”

“No!” said Miss Milner sharply, then added, “I just need a little water.”

The pair made their way to a drinks table where Miss Milner had a healthy swig of punch.

“Sir John, can you keep a secret?” she whispered.

“Of course,” said Sir John. “You need not fear on that score.”

“Corporal Wickleby and I have been secretly engaged these past six months,” said Miss Milner.

“Good God,” said Sir John.

“Is everything all right?” said the bumptious Major House, approaching the two.

“Miss Milner is a little overcome by the heat,” said Sir John. “She just needs to rest.”

“Fanny, are you alright?” said Miss Violet Milner, Miss Milners sister.

“I think you should take her home,” said Sir John. “The heat has rather overcome her.”

“I will be alright soon,” said Miss Milner, looking panicked again.

“I rather think you should rest,” said Sir John.

Miss Milner looked confused at her sister, and there was a pause before they both left.

“I think I need to speak to Lord Arlington,” said Sir John. “I’m not sure why exactly…”

“Nonsense!” said Major House. “No need to speak to that chap. He’s not in his right mind anyway, bit of bad luck on the gee-gees I heard. Should be dancing, find yourself a wife.”

Sir John looked confused at Major House.

“But… I’m the one that’s married” he said. “I really do have to speak to Lord Arlington.”

“Have some punch man!” said Major House, holding Sir John’s arm and fishing out a glass.

Sir John pulled away sharply and walked across the crowded dance floor to where he could just make out Lord Arlington.

“Sir John, a dance… one more drink… wait til you here this…” he heard as people flocked around him.

“Excuse me, please, I need to speak to Lord Arlington,” said Sir John.

He pushed through the crowd until at last he was in front of the confused and dishevelled aristocrat.

“Quick,” said Sir John, “to the kitchen.”

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The Sinister Seat: Chapter 2

The man opened the door and let Sir John and Marie into the entrance hall of Deer Abbey in Headbourne Smithy. He was dishevelled with unkempt hair, unironed clothes and a wild manic stare from his red beady eyes.

“You, you came,” he exclaimed, tears in his eyes.  “My god, you came. It is you isn’t it, not some fiendish trick?”

“Er…yes,” said Sir John. “I’m Sir John Jennings and this is my wife Marie. Is Lord Arlington in?”

“Is he in? Is he in?” chuckled the man. “He’s always in. Always.”

“I see,” said Sir John. “May we… meet him perchance?”

At that the man’s chuckles erupted into hysterical laughter.

“Seem I that strange to you?” he said. “I must, I must. It is me, I am him. I am Lord Arlington!”

“Oh,” said Sir John. “My apologies, pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, all mine, Sir John, Mrs Jennings,” said Lord Arlington. “Please call me Edward.”

“Enchante,” said Marie. She kept a little distance from the deranged man.

“Well this is indeed a magnificent house,” said Sir John. He cast his eyes around the hall, the wide stairs and the gallery above.

“No!” shouted Lord Arlington, making Sir John jump. “No… it is… it is… you will see. You will see. Come, come.”

Lord Arlington took Sir John’s sleeve and tried to drag him into the room to the right.

“If I may… just unpack some of my tools,” said Sir John, looking alarmed. “To help?”

“Of course, of course,” said Lord Arlington. “Forgive my haste, I just need you…need someone to see it.”

“He’s quite mad you know,” said a female voice from above.

Sir John and Marie looked up to see a woman dressed in white. She stood in the gallery, and was looking down with a wry expression on her face.

“Lady Arlington,” said the woman by way of explanation. “I fear your journey here may be in vain, if you hope to find something supernatural. I’m afraid my husband is merely… overwrought.”

“Hurry, hurry,” hissed Lord Arlington, ignoring the woman.

“You don’t think anything is amiss?” said Marie while Sir John unpacked a suitcase he had been carrying.

“Oh something is very much amiss,” said Lady Arlington. “You see, my husband was rather unlucky in some business dealings. We had to let the staff go, sell off a few things. It quite unhinged him. I’ve tried, God knows, to keep him calm. The doctor won’t let him out of the house, but that doesn’t stop him writing letters.”

“Quickly!” said Lord Arlington.

Sir John was by now wearing a hat with metallic arms protruding from it and a jacket bulging with mechanical devices.

“Perhaps I’d better…,” said Sir John to Marie  and was promptly dragged into the room next door.

“Behold the study!” said Lord Arlington from the room.

Lady Arlington sighed.

“Still, this may yet do some good,” she said. “If Sir John tells him the truth of the situation, that there is nothing even slightly unearthly to see, he may come to his senses. Or at least realise they have deserted him.”

“I had better join them,” said Marie.

“Oh really, don’t bother yourself,” said Lady Arlington. “There is nothing to see but a perfectly ordinary mansion, absent a few pieces here and there. Rather, come up here with me. We’ll have a lovely cup of tea and I can explain what’s really going on.”

Marie glanced into the study and saw her husband and Lord Arlington. The latter was pointing here and there wildly and Sir John just looked puzzled.
“Alors,” said Marie. “I shall come up and join you.”

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The Sinister Seat: Chapter 1

Dear Sir John,

First, I must apologise for the unsteady formation of my words on this page. In truth, my hand is ever gripped with trembles and shakes and it is a struggle to write my letters well. This is not, though, the result of some terrible disease such as those that ravage the muscles. No sir, this is the result of events that have instead ravaged my nerves.

But I get ahead of myself. Let me first make introductions. My name is Viscount Arlington and I have my seat in the small village of Headbourne Smithy in Hampshire. It is, it was, a most handsome house with fertile farmlands and a vista across the finest of England’s landscape. In truth, even now it retains these traits and yet…

Again I run too fast, too quickly. I fear you will not understand and if you do not understand you may not come to my aid. You may regard these words as the ranting of a lunatic and dismiss them. And indeed, sir, you would not be entirely wrong. There is a grain of truth in this, for whilst I am not completely insane yet, my mind is unravelling more and more as the terrible events unfold. I beseech you not to turn away at this stage, but hold fast as I explain.

If indeed, I can explain. What is there to explain? What is there I can commit to paper that would not in turn have me committed to Bedlam? Oh Lord, how hard it is. I can only hope that you, with the experience of the paranormal, the bizarre, may know what I hint at without using words. That you may understand what can happen when a man’s house and home is invaded by the uncanny.

There, I have said it, and I will not take it back. This is the truth of it. Were I less possessed of pride or a sense of history, I would simply flee the house. Indeed, every hour the thought comes to my mind. But I know that for the sake of my family and my history, I must stay and see this thing through to the end.

I have tried, Lord knows I have tried, these past two months to defend my home on my own. But every night has been worse and now, now, the most terrible change. Now the day itself is no longer sacred. Now even the sunlight is not enough to banish them. Sir John, I am so much in need of assistance in these matters from one such as yourself. One with experience, one with knowledge and one with the moral strength to see these terrible… things… down.

I have money, much money, and so on that score you need not be concerned. I beg you, beseech you to at least do the honour of coming for a visitation, so that I may explain and, maybe even show, to you what I confront in my own home.

Yours in hope,

Viscount Edward Arlington

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Now That’s Showbusiness!

Gentle Reader

It cannot have escaped your attention that our recent and rather prolonged story has come to a satisfactory conclusion. “Another job well done, Mr Michael,” we hear you cry. Please, please, no need for such words. Your perpetual adoration is reward enough for him.

“What next then,” we hear your further cry. “What of the new tale?”

What indeed! Well, Dear Reader, we are delighted to announce that Mr Michael’s latest stellar, stormy and salubrious story – The Sinister Seat – will begin serialising from next weekend. We hope you can contain your excitement!

“Hurrah!” you cry, “and here’s to many more!”

Ah…whilst we salute your insatiable appetite for our tales of the Jennings, there we may have to disappoint you. We suggest that you are seated and have a stiff brandy in your hand because…

THIS WILL BE THE FINAL STORY SERIALISED IN THE BENTHIC TIMES!

“No!” you exclaim, “that cannot be so. Surely a man as young, handsome and vital as Mr Michael has a veritable library of tales in him.”

Well yes, perhaps he does, and at risk of sending you once more on a rollecoaster of emotions, there will be more writing. But not much more on the Jennings. You see, his intention was to create 8 stories and 2 novels in this great saga. That second novel will be a slowly evolving, multi-facted, grand-guignol magnum opus. And Mr Michael feels that this should be developed carefully, slowly, in the dark. Rather like a bad hangover.

But do not fear, Dear Reader, the intention is to share this novel, once completed, with you all via the means of some book publishing platform. Indeed, given that we have fished our original stories out from the mighty Amazon, it has been our intention to republish all our collection of wondrous tales in such a manner. In fact, Gentle Reader, if you can recommend such a place, where one may publish “e-books” (as we believe they are called) and offer them to the public for little or no charge, please feel free to let us know.

Well, Dear Reader, we hope that our little announcements haven’t put you in ill-sorts but rather that you are excited for our new tale.

Yours etc

The good people of the Benthic Times

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 16

Sir John and Marie were sitting in the drawing room of their Southampton Row house. Marie was busy with her crochet and Sir John was simultaneously reading the newspaper and eating biscuits. A series of grumbling sounds and appreciative mutterings were issuing from him, depending on the activity.

“Well I’m glad that all got resolved,” he said, putting down the paper.

“What did?” said Marie.

“That whole business,” he said, waving a hand vaguely at the paper. 

There was a knock at the front door. They could hear conversation and what sounded like giggling before Miss Henderson entered with Detective Symonds.

“Detective Symonds,” she announced. “I shall fetch some tea. Oh, and some more biscuits.”

“Sit down Detective,” said Sir John. “How are things, is the swine behind bars where he belongs.”

Detective Symomds sighed.

“Sadly not,” he said. “It rather seems that the Viscount had a cosy relationship with the police up there. They were… reluctant to press charges. In fact, they seemed more than a little keen to press charges against yourself and your… entourage.”

“What!” said Sir John.

“Don’t worry,” said Detective Symonds. “I disabused them of that notion.”

“How on earth did you manage that,” said Sir John. 

“I issued vague threats of unleashing an army of ninja maids and vampires on their patch,” said Detective Symonds. “Not to mention pointing out they had failed to protect the Viscount from assault by a circus troupe. They backed down in the end. But, I wouldn’t rush up there in a while.”

“So the swine walks free?” said Sir John.

“Well as I said, there was little we could have charged him with,” said Detective Symonds. “You may have to reconcile yourself with having rescued the puppets and thwarted his plan.”

“Hmm…” said SIr John. “On that score I received a letter from the Conjuror. He was most delighted to be reunited with his troupe, and says he’ll be forever in our debt.”

“I suspect he’s forever in a few people’s debt,” said Marie.

There was a knock at the door again, and after a pause Phlebotomous came in.

“Miss Henderson says there will be some tea and biscuits coming soon as long as,” he screwed up his face trying to remember, “no one else turns up unexpectedly when she’s supposed to be doing the bloody ironing.”

“She said that to you?” said Sir John.

“No, she was several feet away but I have excellent hearing,” said Phlebotomous.

“We were just talking about the Conjuror,” said Marie.

Phlebotomous scoffed. 

“That fraud,” he said and rolled his eyes. It had the effect of looking like he was about to pass out and Sir John instinctively reached forward.

Miss Henderson arrived then with an enormous plate of biscuits and a vast pot of tea.

“Just in case,” she said as she laid it out.

“Will you take a cup with us?” said Sir John. “You did save our bacon, again.”

“I should be delighted to, Sir John, but I am presently engaged in domestic matters. I would be grateful if Mr Bosch might come down later to look at some of the machinery. I feel if it were working properly I might be better domesticated.”

“Finally!” said Phlebotomous, “something interesting to do!”

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 15

Viscount Vernal opened his eyes.

“I don’t think that worked, mister,” said the lead puppet. “We’re all still here.”

“What the…?” said the Viscount.

“I don’t think it was quite enough power,” said Phlebotomous. “Maybe it was only 1.2 gigawatts.”

Viscount Vernal looked peeved. 

“I can wait,” he said. “I have all the time in the world.”

There was a commotion from the door.

“I thought I said…” started Viscount Vernal before his jaw dropped. His security staff were running, shouting and apparently fighting…

“Clowns?” said the lead puppet.

“Not just clowns,” said Sir John. “These are the conjuror’s friends, a whole circus of them.”

“There’s too many of them!” shouted one of the servants, covered in flour. “We couldn’t stop them.”

A lion walked into the room, followed by a man with a chair. Another woman entered, doing back flips and kicking people in the head as she went.

“Use the electric sticks,” shouted Viscount Vernal. “Repel them at once!”

Some of the servants grabbed sticks attached to the walls and pointed them at the circus crew. Sparks shot out the end viciously and the circus members backed away.

“You are no match for the power of Viscount Victor Vernal!” shouted the Viscount. “Kill them all!”

One of the maids who had been cleaning up turned around.

“ARRETER!” she shouted, and everyone froze.

“Well, well, well,” said the Viscount, “another magical creature for my machine. How fortunate I will be indeed to consume the power of the famous Marie Jennings.”

Marie looked puzzled.

“This is shielded you see,” he said. “I am perfectly safe from harm here and… oh what’s that?”

There was a blinding flash and a terrible crack as 1.21 Gigawatts of electricity struck the spire. Like a snake it began coiling down the machinery on the walls, heading toward Viscount’s throne. The viscount began to laugh.

“When that surge reaches this throne,” said the Viscount, “I will be powerful beyond belief.”

“Mon dieu, mon dieu,” said Marie, watching the slow progress of the electricity. She grabbed the inert forms of Sir John and Phlebotomous. 

“Réveiller!” she said to them.”Quick, we have to stop this machine.”

The two were briefly flustered before looking around as Marie went to wake the others.

“We could re-route the main core power into the ground,” said Sir John.

“No that won’t work,” said Phlebotomous, “the recalibration device would reflect it back up again. What if we boost the upper dampener? Might that hold it for a while?”

“That could work,” said Sir John, “but there’s a risk the flow diodes might not hold it. Maybe we can use the time to boost them with some shielding for the differentiator.”

There was the sound of blood thirsty screaming and the two turned to see a maid rushing toward them with a katana. They dived out the way as she sliced through the wiring just above the throne.

“You can’t do that!” shouted Viscount Vernal. “How dare you!”

“Consider this my resignation,” said Miss Henderson.

“How did you know to do that?’ said Sir John.

“Oh these so-called geniuses can’t help but explain how their toys work. I was at the talk earlier when he explained it. I worked out I just needed to cut the wire.”

“Good work Miss Henderson,” he said. “We’ve got you now Vernal.”

“Oh I didn’t explain everything,” said the Viscount. 

He pressed a button on the chair and it began to rise majestically on a pulley system.

“He’s getting away!” cried Sir John.

One of the acrobats from the circus grabbed a descending wire and climbed rapidly hand over hand. When he got to the Viscounts chair, he grabbed the Viscount and pulled him out. The movement caused a swaying and the pair descended in a spiral. As they landed at the bottom, a clown rushed forward and threw a custard pie into the Viscount’s face.

“Ta-da!” said the puppets in unison.

“Now that’s show business,” said Miss Henderson and punched the Viscount very hard in the face. He fell to the ground.

The Clockwork Conjuror rushed into the room.

“Where are they? Where are they?” he said. “Oh there they are, safe and sound, my little guys.”

“Are we glad to see you boss!” said Danny.

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 14

“…And for that reason I will ask all of you not to disturb me this evening,” said Viscount Vernal. His lips pulled back into something resembling a smile, if one had heard a description but never seen one. The group of servants faking listening attentively turned away and changed their looks of polite interest into utter incomprehension as they filed out of the room. Two maids stayed behind to tidy up.

Lord Vernal looked around the room, first up at the vaulted ceiling with its spire in the centre then down at the circle of chairs arranged on the floor with wires snaking around them. In the chairs sat 23 puppets. Then he looked up again to see lightning arcing across the sky and whispered, “soon”.

He began to don a strange looking hat when there was a commotion at the door. A man came into the room.

“My lord…” started the man.

“I thought I said no interruptions Smith,” said the Viscount. “Was that somehow confusing?”

“No my lord, but we thought you would want to know about this. We found these two snooping.”

Mr Smith indicated to the doorway and a couple of rough looking fellows came in carrying sacks on their shoulders.

“Ugh!” said the Viscount. “What foul men are these?”

“These are your employees my lord,” said Mr Smith. “The snoopers are in the sacks.”

The two men undid the sacks to reveal Phlebotomous Bosch and Sir John.

“Well, well, well,” said the Viscount. “What do we have here?”

“I think it’s two men, sir,” said one of the thugs, which earned him a sharp glance. He shrank back, or as much as man can when he is six foot five, and also quite tall.

“And what men indeed,” said the Viscount. “It’s my old friend, the vegetarian vampire, who was so very helpful before. And… wait… I recognise you from the church.”

“Sir John Jennings,” said Sir John determinedly. “Paranormal investigator.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place,” said Lord Vernal. “Look, here are 23 little supernatural creatures. Although soon there will only be two magical creatures here, when my fully operational device will extract their magic into me. In fact, I think I may make that one by having your vampire friend for dessert.”

“You can’t do that!” cried Phlebotomous, glancing wildly around the machinery lining the walls of the room. “Oh, my mistake, it looks like you can.”

There was an ominous rumble of thunder above.

“Then let us begin,” said Load Vernal.

He walked over to an ornate looking throne with wires connecting it to the spire. He sat in the throne, donned the strange helmet. He looked around him one time and glanced up as the lightning played around the spire.

“Soon,” he said, his voice rising from a whisper to a roar, “I will be more than a man. Soon, I will be powerful beyond belief. Soon… I will be immortal!”

Viscount Vernal closed his eyes and smiled. There was a flash high above in the spire as lightning struck.

Posted on by paulmichael

Arts and Crafts

Dear Readers

First we would like to apologise for the recent slow progress of posts on this illustrious organ. All we can do to explain is to quote one of the world’s greatest philosophers, and say that, “life is what happens when you make other plans.”

We do now hope to resume something like a more regular and indeed more frequent publishing schedule. Readers can be re-assured that not only is the Clockwork Conjuror complete, there is a new story that Mr Michael has commenced. More on that topic later in the year.

We have also uncovered recently a most amusing device called DALL-E. This contraption is, amazingly, able to produce “art” to demand based on a literary prompt. I use art in the loosest possible sense here, for reasons that will shortly become clear. We are also aware we are a little “behind the times” on this topic, but then being behind the times is perhaps half of what we do here.

So, intrigued by the proposition of an autocreating art machine, we gave it a cursory description of Mr Michael and Ms Pichette to see how it would cope. This is the result.

The resemblance is uncanny, in that it doesn’t resemble us at all but rather something uncanny. We then asked the device to create an image for Miss Henderson, with this result.

We are reminded here a little of Francis Bacon’s Screaming Pope – not least because the image caused us to cry out a religious oath at some volume. Lastly we asked the device to re-imagine our famous “clocktopus” logo.

We’re not quite sure what the time is on that clock, or what the curious debris at the base of the picture is, but this does at least have something. With any luck, it won’t pass it on to anyone else.

So, our little survey led us to conclude that whilst this device was not terribly suitable for producing art of great note, it could produce “visual material” that is at once unsettling and hilarious. Since that is almost our metier, we thought we might, if you would indulge us, use a few examples for the next few episodes of our story. Ms Pichette will of course effect the magic she does to make the automated “artwork”seem more visually appealing. Or possibly, given the source material, visually appalling.

We look forward to entertaining you on a more regular basis forthwith …

The gentlefolk of the Benthic Times