Portrait. Lot #995
Ladies and gentlemen, from the estate of the late Miss Irma Scott, we have Lot #995: A Portrait of Two Sisters.
As you can see here, it is a tintype photograph carefully preserved in a gilded frame. No cheap paper carnival mat here. This photograph is a carefully rendered piece of art.
The sisters depicted are believed to be Miss Scott's young nieces, who tragically passed away only this last spring. I assure you, the third figure depicted behind them is no mistake of the photographic process, but a deliberate machination in the style that has gained popularity of late: that of "spirit photography." The two young women have done a fine job of imitating expressions of fear, their hands clasped together as if seeking comfort, their eyes wide in imagined fright. The so-called "spirit" behind them is most likely their mother, or perhaps Miss Irma Scott herself, participating in the ruse.
I can personally assure you that all rumor that this image is "cursed" is complete and utter balderdash. Shall we start the bidding?
Vanish. Classifieds.
Are you the young woman in a red dress who encountered a pair of gentlemen last night just outside the Queen of Coins tavern? You wore a gold locket and a jade bracelet. My chum tried his best to charm you, but you wouldn't say a word. I must say, I do love a woman who can hold her tongue. I know you vanished off into the mist with my pal, but I haven't seen him since, and you're the last one I know who's seen him. If you know where he's gone off to, leave your details with the print shop in Midtown.
Abandoned. Found.
One carriage, black, discovered on Summerskill Lane, Midtown. Looks like a nice landau. No crest. Carriages traces snapped, no horses, door open. No driver. No passengers. Velvet interior. Seats covered in slash marks. Smells like a wet dog that rolled in bay water. Looks like it was a you-know-what. Better not let this one hit the broasheets, Bill. Might make the nobs nervous to shop this week-end.
Enchant. Advertisement.
Come one, come all, to see the exotic beauty landed on our red shores, just arrived in from Savagar, the brutal lands of the undead. Witness the marvels of foreign magery at their finest as the lovely Sonya, Mistress of the Seven Swords, enchants and delights all comers to the Music Hall and Variety Theatre in Fishtown. Shows start at sundown. Don't let a few silly rumors rob you of the experience of a lifetime! Two coppers a ticket.
Misfortune. Scandal.
To the curr who had the audacity to claim that I cheated in our game of chess at the gentleman's club: how dare you impugn me, sir! It was you, yourself who are a cheat and a scoundrel and I intend to expose you to all of Churchwall! You have cost me my impeccable reputation, and that I cannot abide. I challenge you to meet me at dawn tomorrow in the Tower Square, where our blades shall prove before all of the Sky District who is in the right!
Howl. A Disturbance in the Night.
My dear gentle readers, if you, like I, were awoken in the middle of the night by a loud and quite inexplicable racket in the very midst of Midtown, I can assure you that you are not dispossessed of your faculties. It is hardly reasonable to believe the excuse presented by Churchwall's local patrol, that such a sound came from a mere lovesick pup. Why, to my ears it sounded like a very wolf pack from the frozen northlands had come down to invade our quiet streets. Quite clearly it must be the work of drunken hooligans from the Crims, intending mischief. I entreat you to sign my petition demanding more vigilant patrols to curb this nonsense before it grows further out of hand.
Mirror. Curiouser and curiouser.
My dear friend, I find I must entreat your advice on a strange matter. I cannot say when the phenomenon began, on account of all of the mirrors in our household having been covered until only just lately, as we've been in mourning for dear mama. Indeed, it took me several days to realize what I was seeing. Or rather, I suppose, what I have not been seeing.
You see (or, I suppose you don't), my reflection seems to have disappeared.
You know very well that I'm hardly a vain creature. I wouldn't have thought to seek out my own likeness save that we have that large silver mirror in the front hall, and I must pass by it to leave the house (which I must admit to being averse to of late; I seem to have become quite sensitive to the summer sun during our time enswathed in such thick veiling). It is such a confusion to look into it and see nothing but the wallpaper.
Have you ever heard of such a thing?
Yours truly,
Rosemary
Slime. Whoops.
The court would like to address the matter of Mr. Archibald Henry Nicholas Oliver Vs. Mr. Reginald Fudge, Alchemist. Mr. Oliver alleges that he commissioned Mr. Fudge to brew a custom potion of private nature, and instead was delivered an unpalatable sludge that, if I may be allowed to quote, “resembles raw bay water converted into an aspic which was then fed to a dog and subsequently vomited into a glass.” Mr. Oliver would like to sue.
Mist.
Mages advise there will be a thick mist on Monday night. Take all usual precautions if going out and about, especially after dark. Avoid all streets nearest to the waterfronts and be sure to hang cold iron above your doors and windows. Expect extremely poor visibility well into Tuesday morning. Shops are advised to remain closed. All ships are advised to leave the harbor before the next tide.
Unquiet. Unhappy.
Notification to any who intended to attend Wednesday services at the Wright Avenue Church of the Sunlit Ascension: all activities are suspended, pending the funeral of Mrs. James Dunwiddy. The departed is understandably displeased that she has preceded her husband in passing on to her next phase of life, and is reluctant to remain in her casket. Therefore, the sanctuary doors will be temporarily barred to ensure the safety of her remaining family. Thank you for your understanding in this trying time of grieving.
Curse. Obviously.
Addressed with All Due Respect to Professor Catherine Gale:
I absolutely disagree with your assessment. I think it highly improbable that a book could be a cursed object. A book’s contents might be utilized to lay a curse, but one could hardly curse the mere pack of paper pulp and leather that comprises a book. The misfortune that befell the Hobbes and St. James Bookshop could hardly be attributed to the presence of this particular book. It was hardly there a full day before that fluke accident with the cat and the candlestick. Nor should the Widow Blackwell’s untimely demise be attributed to her subsequent acquisition of the tome; odd relations are wont to sudden madness on frequent occasion, after all.
In short, I have decided to disregard your advice not to purchase the item in question from the estate sale, and I intend to thumb my nose at you when I prove that it is utterly impo
To the lady intended for this letter: pardon the blood, miss, but I thought this should be passed on to you. Included is one leather bound volume, slightly stained. Good luck.
Hunt. Wanted.
Wanted: new shop boy. Must be strong of leg and back to make quick deliveries carrying heavy loads. Must be familiar with the streets of the Crims. Must know how to run while carrying delicate objects. Too much china broken. Wages will be paid at end of day, on account of too many "disappearances." Wages negotiable. Apply at Devlin's butcher shop on By-the-Water, Crims.
Drown. Police Ledger.
Body of a young woman found on the Fishtown shoals at low tide. Brown hair, 5'6", age estimated early twenties. One shoe. Red stains on hands and clay beneath fingernails indicate she's a digger from the Crims. Multiple wounds; likely caused by fish. Cause of death declared drowning. No investigation necessary.
Body can be viewed for identification at the St. Edith Chapel on Riverside. If no identification is made, body will be remanded to the sea.
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