I'm tryin this machine wot tran... it writes down wot I'm sayin! Praps it's got better penny ships an ye can read it stead o me scribbles.
Fingsve been all right, not as many monsters about these days. The grown ups are gonna crawl from pub ta pub this weekend, so I may get some more sneaks o alky haul.
It had been a few weeks since the Maestro’s run-in with Sir Sir Emerson. Urgent Ministry business had pulled him away from New Babbage, but he was back with some new leads on where the painting might be hidden. He walked into the Gangplank, expecting to find Emerson behind the bar. Instead, he walked into an empty bar. “Hello?” he called out. “Hello, is anyone there?”
‘That was a most foul experience." said Petharic, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the putrid puddle pooling about his feet, lamenting the toll the Clockhaven sewers had taken on his shoes and finely tailored trousers. "But I appreciate your guidance nevertheless. How fortuitous Emerson Lighthouse never saw fit to shore up this means of access to his establishment.