The sad, strange tale of Josiah Nuptin

**The sad, strange tale of Josiah Nuptin** - a work of Salacious
Bawdy-Fiction Composed on the Type-Writing Device with Erotic
Daguerrotypes by Mr. David Baumgart.

## Tale

Ah, yes. New Smugbuffer, the latest frontier in the ever-increasing
expansion of the Empire. Out on the edges of the world, the air was
thinner and the gentle coruscations of mysterious dust from space
burning up in the atmosphere could be observed by the aid of the
Number Three Telescope; underneath this aethereal glow, and watched
only by forces not meant to be studied by man, New Smugbuffer was the
epitome of peace and tranquility.

Well, perhaps this is a bit of a lie. New Smugbuffer was, at least, as
peaceful as any town on the rim of the world can be; that far away
from Civilization, the wilds run untamed and the influx of moon-fungus
can prove to be a baleful one. Not many people came to New Smugbuffer,
save for desperate citizens eager to make a new life for themselves
far away from their criminal records, and the odd Noyvrus trader
seeking a new market for their goods. As Noyvrus trade these days
mainly consists of a) tattered fur hats, and b) wax cylinder
recordings of depressing Noyvrus Male Choral Music, the constant
badgering of New Smugbuffer by seas of trade boats and the constant
sound of extremely depressing chanting playing from enormous
gramaphone horns was seen by many in the Empire as a clear sign of
weakness in the Noyvrus economy.

When Josiah Nutpin stepped off of Her Majesty’s Official Colonization
Zeppelin, he knew that New Smugbuffer was exactly what he was looking
for in a colony. Here, at long last, he could find the inspiration he
so desperately needed – for Josiah was afflicted by poetry, and had
come seeking fertile ground for his fevered brain to plant the seeds
of creativity in. Poetry was his life. Poetry was his cause celebre.
Poetry was what caused his father to kick him out of the family house,
with nothing more than a speech questioning his very existence (also
touching on a) why a man would idle his life away, and b) that there
was always good money running the family Tesla Coil, an honourable
trade, and c) not something that his wretched poet son would know
anything about.)

Josiah had abandoned it all in pursuit of his life’s dream. Soon, he
would produce his masterwork, like a butterfly shedding its cocoon.
Then, he would meet a grisly death, and instantly become famous
throughout the land. Josiah knew full well that a poet’s life was one
of inspiration, dependencies on various chemical substances, and a
somewhat ghastly demise – but it was all in the service of art, and so
it was worth it. One day, he would die, and on that day his poetry
would be famous. There was nothing more beloved in the Clockwork
Empires than a dead poet, and nothing less wanted than a live one. In
the mean time, he needed inspiration for his works, and inspiration
was what he would find in New Smugbuffer.

Why, simply look at the place, he said to himself. The bracing snow!
The giant, towering fungoids with their enormous balloons full of Fun!
The sea – so cold, bracing, and strangely inviting and comforting. The
strange, quaint locals with their disquieting headgear. The ramshackle
buildings and disquieting tenement housing! Here were things to write
about.

Three weeks later, having secured the cheapest housing he could find
(a bed at the Zebulon Cogspring Memorial Boarding House), Josiah was
starting to wonder if he was cut out for this poetry thing after all.
There were no decent couches for him to faint on, he was running
desperately low on gin, there wasn’t a drop of laudanum to be found
anywhere, and top scientists in the colony were still trying to unlock
the secrets of Modern Brutalism. Sighing, he got up from his chair and
went outside to try, yet again, to find sufficient inspiration. Then,
his eyes fell on Elsie Moonwidget and all was lost.

Slender and pale, Elsie Moonwidget was a mysterious entity in New
Smugbuffer. She flitted from place to place, concerning herself with
tasks whose purpose was known only to herself. It was impossible not
to be struck by her pale skin, delicate features, and menacingly
fashionable hat. She had other admirers, and Josiah scowled at them on
his daily walks.

That disreputable scientist Runcible Ironscrew, recently arrived from
Old Mushroomhood in disgrace and unusual headgear, had inscribed a
number of papers to the Royal Society in her honour; furthermore, he
was planning on naming his new experimental cure for Glowing Bones in
aurochs to her as a sign of his love. There was August Brasstack, a
former Overseer from the town of Greater Ponysparkle, who refused to
comment on the latest article in the Empire Times to claim that the
town of Greater Ponysparkle was not, in fact, on fire, and that any
reports saying otherwise were likely caused by indigestion. Lambert
von Cogsworth, a recently arrived member of the aristocracy whose two
interests in life were the acquisition of dangerous curios and
frittering away all of his reputation at the pigeon races, had been
seen calling on her and occasionally taking a walk with her under the
light of the inhuman, ghastly moon-dust. Even Jonathan Whelkbuffer,
humble fisherman as he was, always saved her the best catch of the
day. Still, Josiah knew, as a poet his case was the most romantic.
Provided that she was of sufficient Romantic Inclination, Elsie might
be more amenable to his suit. It was, in fact, his only hope.

Fervently, he dashed off a poem about Elsie. It was not one of his
best works, but perhaps when he died it would bring some fame to the
colony of New Smugbuffer.

Josiah’s first opportunity to present his suit came at a party thrown
by Lambert von Cogsworth, to celebrate his discovery of a new piece of
bric-a-brac from the ruins near the colony. The party was by the
perfectly safe and exceedingly normal statue that Lambert had found at
the ruins some time earlier, and had made an enormous fuss about until
it was installed by the colony’s bureaucrat in the center of the
colony. In general, people had two opinions about the statue. Most
people in New Smugbuffer believed that the statue, in the form of an
enormous obelisk with one eye carved into the rock, was perfectly safe
and exceedingly normal; therefore, it was totally unnecessary to spend
any more time in its rather upsetting presence than absolutely
necessary. A certain other kind of person felt that the area around
the statue was a natural place for meetings of a clandestine nature,
especially when seeking to trade certain goods or discuss certain
topics that might, otherwise, be considered unsuitable for public
forums.

Somebody had named the statue Quaggaroth, and nobody was entirely sure why.

It was in the shadow of Quaggaroth that Josiah found Elsie Moonwidget,
sitting by its base and clutching a parasol. It was under the
unblinking eye of Quaggaroth that he pressed his suit and made his
intentions known. Elsie, upon hearing the poet’s pleas, smiled.
“Well,” she said, “As you know I have many suitors, and clearly the
one who bestows upon me the best gift should win my favour.”

“What sort of a gift?” asked Josiah, his heart sinking. “Poetry, perhaps?”

Unfortunately for Josiah, Elsie Moonwidget only had one thing that she
liked: mysterious artifacts. Her father had been an avid collector,
and Elsie continued the family trait of having a Strange Interest in
unusual things. Surely, she explained, she would be more likely
(although not totally likely, for there is never a totality in matters
of love) to pledge her troth to a man who could… indulge her little
hobby. Sighing, Josiah said that he would do his best. In the
distance, he could see Lambert von Cogsworth mincing about the town
with glee upon his moustached features and a pigeon in his hand.

The next few days, for Josiah Nutpin, were spent sitting by the ocean,
looking at the sea with a hitherto-unknown longing. Perhaps it was
being smitten by love, or perhaps it was simply the comforting nature
of the waves. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the ocean seemed to
whisper to him, making him long to cast off all his clothing on the
shore and descend into its watery depths, preferably when nobody was
looking. Still, he said to himself, he would resist the urges to end
it all, or something else.

Perhaps, he said to himself, the sea would be his deliverance. Yes,
whispered the sea, it would help him.

It was not, in fact, the sea that presented him with his first
opportunity to find a gift for Elsie Moonwidget. It was another new
colonist, who descended from the Colonization Zeppelin carrying a
mysterious little packet with a furtive look. Josiah, always searching
for new sources of inspiration and being Naturally Friendly, went up
to the stranger and inquired what he was in the little packet.

“Oh rather,” said the stranger, one Graham Woodlathe by name. “Cigars
wrapped in human skin, what? Been in my family for generations. Had to
take them with me to the colony, wot? Never smoke the damn things,
myself. Never smoke the cigars. Ever.”

Upon seeing the little package of cigars, Josiah knew that he must
have them, at any cost. It was simple enough to plot an ambush; he
simply waited until nightfall, when Graham Woodlathe was walking to
the local middle-class pub and the colony bureaucrat wasn’t looking,
to bash his head in with an Improvised Weapon (in this case, a handy
croquet mallet.) The cigars were his.

Eight hours later, at daybreak, Josiah could be found staring at the
sea again. He’d just killed a man. It must be something in the air, or
the water supply, or perhaps simply the unblinking eye of Quaggaroth,
but it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. And he had a present for
Elsie! A wonderful present! Just the thing.

Perhaps they were too good for her? Perhaps he should just keep them
himself? Yes, he thought, that might be better. Besides which, the sea
had promised to provide something, and he trusted the sea. It loved
him. It was full of delicious things, his friends calling out to him,
and kelp. And so, he sat by the sea and gazed at it, and clutched his
little package of Human Skin Cigars.

He could never smoke the cigars. Ever.

It was then that something floated to the shore, as the water released
its precious bounty. Josiah stepped to the shoreline, being careful
not to go into the water just yet, and gently collected a small,
bronze egg. He wasn’t sure what it was, being a poet and not a
scientist, but he immediately felt inspired by his discovery and
cranked out another poem, “Ode to a Small, Unknown Bronze Egg Found At
The Ocean Front by Josiah Nutpin.” He thought it was rather good.

The Colony Bureaucrat indicated that the egg must be identified, and
Josiah Nutpin reluctantly handed it over to Runcible Ironscrew for
analysis (while making it very clear that it was still his egg, and he
wanted it back.) Runcible Ironscrew, a man with some interest in the
collection of strange artifacts, considered the egg thoughtfully.

“It is,” he proclaimed after some thought, “the Columbic Egg,
previously thought to have been lost. It is, at present, inert, and it
would probably make a nice paperweight. Its properties are unknown. It
is, perhaps, mildly maddening.” He added that he, personally, thought
it was a very nice egg, and that Josiah was invited to the next little
meeting of some like-minded people who might be interested in such
things.

The Colony Bureaucrat read the report and noted that it was, in fact,
completely useless. He resolved to complain to somebody, perhaps in
the form of a scathing letter, about unclear descriptions of items and
how he was supposed to run a colony when nobody would tell him how to
do anything and without clear documentation and tutorials.

News of the discovery soon reached the Empire Times, and elevated both
Josiah’s reputation and the prestige of the colony of New Smugbuffer.
Perhaps, he thought to himself, fame would be his without dying. He
felt happy, and excited, and his skin itched and flaked with
anticipation of the day when he would finally cast off his worldly
cares and step into the sea, with Elsie as his blushing bride. How
beautiful her eyes were, and how radiant her gills would be under the
water. Josiah decided not to pursue this line of thought at this time,
and instead sought out his paramour.

He found Elsie Moonwidget beneath the Statue of Quaggaroth. It was a
beautiful day; the air was crisp, the investigators hadn’t figured out
who had killed Graham Woodlathe, and a small orphan was selling
matches beneath its Baleful Eye. “For you,” Josiah Nutpin said, and
offered up a wedding dowry consisting of one (1) Columbic Egg and one
(1) carton of Human Skin Cigars, obtained through murder. “Elsie
Moonwidget, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! In the name of
the Holy Cog, Josiah Nutpin, you have made me the happiest woman in
the Empire.”

Well, thought Josiah Nutpin, this is the life. The love of a good
woman, a menacing and mysterious egg, and a carton of the world’s
finest and most terrifying cigars. Poetry spewed forth from his soul,
and his heart sang. For a moment, he even forgot about the ocean.

Perhaps it was the presence of the Human Skin Cigars. Perhaps it was
the somewhat unsettled mental state of Josiah Nutpin, which could have
been managed better had the Colony Bureaucrat devoted sufficient
trading resources to the acquisition of alcohol or laudanum. Perhaps
it was the Columbic Egg, menacing in its ovoidness, that was not as
inert as certain disreputable scientists may have previously thought.
Perhaps it was a combination of all of these things, but it was at
this moment that tragedy struck.

A low rumbling came from the Statue of Quaggaroth, and its eye slowly
opened. “AREA 35-712 DESIGNATED FOR CONSTRUCTION PROJECT 9-71X,” it
intoned. “NOW PROCEEDING WITH CONSTRUCTION SITE MANAGEMENT.” Josiah
Nutpin turned to look at the Eye of Quaggaroth, and the Eye of
Quaggaroth turned to look at him.

“BUILDING MATERIAL ACQUIRED,” intoned the statue. With a flash of
light, Josiah Nutpin suddenly found himself converted into one (1)
Pallet of Human Flesh Bricks (not to be used for the manufacturing of
cigars.)

Elsie Moonwidget felt her heart sink. Her joy turned to despair. She
ignored the Statue of Quaggaroth rising from its plinth, ignored the
frantic panicking of the Colony Bureaucrat, and ignored everything
other than her own desire to get into the sea as soon as inhumanly
possible. There was nothing here for her any more. Blowing a kiss at
the pile of bricks that was her former love, she fled for the ocean,
abandoning the Columbic Egg and the Package of Human Skin Cigars.
Pausing only to discard her parasol, she surrendered to the call of
the sea and flung herself into the water, never to return – or, at
least, not in her current state.

A somewhat frazzled Colony Bureaucrat noted in passing that Elsie
Moonwidget had walked into the sea, never to return. Runcible
Ironscrew was apparently distraught, and threatening to build some
kind of machine. Furthermore, Josiah Nutpin had disappeared under
mysterious circumstances; last but not least, the colony’s stock of
building materials had increased by a small, disturbing quantity.
Josiah Nutpin’s ten poetic works were suddenly famous, and had brought
sufficient enough prestige to the colony to arrange for the rapid
deployment of a Steam-Powered Heavy Weapons Unit and a number of
Voltaic Defense Coils. Perhaps, he thought, it might yet be possible
to avoid bringing this unfortunate matter to the attention of Her
Majesty’s Anti-Paranormal Investigators after all.

(It wasn’t, as it turned out. But that is another story.)

## References

1. ↑ The sad, strange tale of Josiah Nuptin