Memories of Past Conventions 2018 - Continued

Cosplayers of Aszurvael Armory, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

 

Professional Cosplayer Joanie Brosas with Sir Leo and the Red Hood, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

Professional Cosplayer Vamptress LeeAnna Vamp with the Red Hood and Sir Leo, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

 

 The Red Hood and a cosplaying member of the Sean Ward Show, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

 

Professional Cosplayer Ashley Du and Sir Leo, Fan Expo Toronto. 

 

 

Professional Cosplayer Ashley Du and my brother Adam as the Red Hood (or as he prefers to be know in keeping with his Victorian/steampunk background, Lord Hood), Fan Expo Toronto.

 

 

 Group Pic of Ashley, Adam and Myself, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

 

Professional Cosplayer Jessica Nigri with Red Hood, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

 

Professional Cosplayer Violet Love, with Red Hood, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

Second group pic of Sir Leo, Ashley Du and Red Hood, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

Professional Cosplayer Vera Bambi, Red Hood and Sir Leo, Fan Expo Toronto.

 

Professional Cosplayer Candy Cosplay and Sir Leo, Hamilton Comic Con.

 

 

Professional Cosplayer Candy Cosplay and Lord Hood, Hamilton Comic Con.

 

The Man in the Red Mask (Part V)

City of London, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, January 1889.

In the adjoining waiting room, the two guest waited for their audience with Lord Hood. Sixer stood stiff and absolutely still next to a couch decorated in woodwork and plush cloth, which held the only other occupant of the beautiful appointed and decorated room. Only the deep, steady amber glow of it's eyes within the deep, dark slot that was the only feature of what might be called it's face, and the soft click of gears and hiss of pistons revealed that the construct was active. The girl on the couch was about sixteen years of age, wore much patched and threadbare clothing which had clearly seen better days but the very fastidious care shown in keeping the garments in some state of respectability showed they were probably the best clothes she owned.

"Sixer... do you really think he will see us...?" The girl asked softly, her tone was a mixture of hope and creeping doubt. She clutched a battered, badly discoloured tin box, held fast by two sturdy leather buckle straps and a heavy if crude pad lock, in both her arms. It rattled and clinked when she moved as if jammed full of a great many loose objects.

The towering automata, he stood easily seven feet from his metal boot soles to the top of his head, turned his great bucket like head to look at her. One arm extended and came to rest on her  shoulder. The massive metallic fingers touched her now slumping shoulders with surprising gentleness.

"We have come this far, let us see how far our luck carries us."

"That Mister Cassidy, did not seem to pleased with us turning up, Sixer." The Girl said after a moment. Sixer shrugged his great metal shoulders as he responded.

"I suspect he regards us both of us as a nuisance and whatever errand we are on as being of no consequence. Then again it may just be because, Mister Cassidy, and I do not get along, never have. I am a construct and he is a Irishman and a Luddite."

"So, he hates you."

"Yes." Sixer said simply, although the truth of the matter was more complicated then that. The widespread usage of constructs during the late seventeen, the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century had created both widespread profits for corporations and equally widespread economic dislocation in various places not just with working jobs but in the communities that typically supported working folk but which constructs did not require. Things had begun to settled down in the last few decades and a balance of sorts had been established which worked to most peoples benefit. The Irish had been one of the traditional British labour pools hardest hit by the initial changes and upheavals, a great many of them lost either their situations or their long term job prospects to constructs and not unnaturally resented it. Many Irish as a result had joined anti-construct and anti-machine political groups and caused all sorts of trouble for constructs like Sixer.

"That's not fair, Sixer. You are nicer and a better person, to me and the gang, then a lot of humans I know."

"Life is seldom fair for any of us, machine or human, but thank you for the accolade, young lady."

The girl smiled at Sixer's last words, then looked down at the tin box in her arms, doubt crept back into her expression.

"Do you think, I -- the gang and I, can afford, Lord Hood's services. I heard he is expensive..."

Sixer considered the question for a moment. Quite frankly, a pack of street children, Street Arabs in popular parlance,  did not have the resources to pay for a private detective let alone a criminal mastermind. Still, Lord Hood could be engaged if one knew how to get his interest, Sixer felt that the prize in question would appeal to him. If they asked carefully enough, although Mister Cassidy would be a problem though, Sixer thought glumly.

The Man in the Red Mask (Part IV)

City of London, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, January 1889.

Lord Hood, leaned back in his chair at this bald statement as he considered Cassidy's response. He was all attention, as Sixer was not in the habit of just ambling over for an evening visit, even though he was a welcome visitor at any time as far as Lord Hood was concerned, certainly not at 3 am in the morning. It also explained Cassidy's vile expression and mood at the moment. Cassidy absolutely, positively loathed any and all constructs.

"Where is Sixer?"

"In the next room. He brought someone with him to see you, a girl."

Even more interesting. Lord Hood, thought absently to himself. In the past if Sixer came to see him, he always came alone. That he had brought someone with him was both out of character and extremely unusual.

"Did Sixer, say why?"

"No, the blasted oversized tin can, declined to discuss it with me, said it was a matter of business." Cassidy's rich tenor voice became tight with a mixture of both disgust and baffled frustration. His dark scowl deepened as he spoke.

Lord Hood was suddenly and inordinately pleased that he always wore a mask when dealing with people even his own underlings. The amused grin on his hidden face at that moment would have done absolutely nothing for Cassidy's mood.

Sixer was an industrial construct, a load lifter and general labour automaton who worked on the dockyards along the Thames, particularly those alongside the East End. Few people realized the old automaton was sentient, then again so few of his type of automata were, being of the oldest generation of such working machines. Few of them were even truly intelligent, let allow semi-sentient, but Sixer was and behind his dented, rusted and utterly non-descript exterior was a surprisingly keen mind.

Sixer's knowledge of the dockyards was invaluable to Lord Hood, he had after all been there for decades and knew all the movers and shakers within the riverside communities both legal and illegal of London. As everyone assumed Sixer was a dumb, mute piece of machinery, they often said a surprising amount of useful and confidential information in his hearing without them even realizing they were doing it. Information which, Sixer was prepared to sell for a price to those who might have a use for it and knew how to contact him.

Both men turned when a maid entered the room, through the study's main door.

"Yes, Arabella, what is it?" Lord Hood, asked as he swiveled his chair to look at the maid. His mask arched fractionally to one side in silent question. Cassidy he noticed looked away from the woman in barely disguised disgust, the fact that she was a servant had nothing to do with it. The fact that Arabella was a flesh construct did however.

"I have your guests, or perhaps clients would be more apt in the circumstances, comfortable and awaiting your convenience in the waiting lounge, My Lord. Are there any special instructions?"

Arabella Heterochromia had come into his service, pretty much on a whim, when he first established himself in London, some ten years ago. Lord Hood had never had the slightest reason to regret that decision, no matter the trouble it had caused him at the time. Arabella was a first rate domestic servant and an agreeable companion as well as a competent operative and a keen observer of people when needed, qualities Lord Hood rated very highly.

"Very good, Arabella." He paused a moment before continuing. "Neither are causing you any trouble, I trust?"

"Not at all, My Lord. Cora is keeping an eye on them, just in case. Though I do not think they are here to cause you problems, although I think it is very possible they are here to see if you can solve a particular problem for them."

"Interesting, I wonder what it is they could want? Sixer is not one to ask for favours, he does not like owning people anything if he can help it. The girl... do we know her?"

"I do not believe she is known to us, My Lord, at least I do not think she has ever asked for your services. Point of fact, I do not think she could even afford your normal fees, just by looking at her."

"In that case, I had better see them." Lord Hood said quietly after glancing at his watch, it was extremely late, and both Sixer and his young companion likely had business of their own to attend to.

"Your, not serious?!" Cassidy snapped, his disapprove and disbelief all too clearly written on his handsome features.

"I am not in the habit of turning down a potential client until after I hear what it is they want me to do for them, Liam - you should know that by now."

The Man in the Red Mask (Part III)

City of London, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, January 1889.

Most gentlemen would have reacted with scorn or anger at watching Hachett count the money he had just been given, considering it a slur upon their professional integrity or personal honour. Lord Hood, however took no umbrage at this practical action. Like Hachett, he had been on occasion in his career subjected to the all too frequent caprice of clients or partners. Hachett nodded his thanks, and quietly left the room. Lord Hood meanwhile picked up the packet again from the table and turned out the lamp, plunging the room into complete darkness. His business concluded for the evening, he left the derelict building as secretly as he had entered it and proceeded back to one of the many buildings spread throughout the East End of London, that served him as residences, storehouse, and archives.

Liam Cassidy one of his trusted lieutenants met him at the door, when he entered the old urban mansion that stood like a towering sentry above the sprawling walled park that surrounded it and isolated it from the rest of the city. One look at the handsome Irishman's scowling face told him something had come up, a something that he did not approve of.  Lord Hood, motioned silently for Cassidy to follow, and made his way to the spacious, luxuriously appointed room that served as his personal study and business office.

"What is it, Mister Cassidy?" He finally remarked when he had seated himself in the large, comfortably stuffed chair behind a huge desk that wrapped around it like a horseshoe. He arched his masked head and looked at his man with a hidden but obviously quizzical expression, as he steepled his hands together just below his jaw. "You, appear to you have swallowed something particularly sour this evening."

Cassidy, standing before the desk, grunted in acknowledgement of his employer's arch and bantering remark. The soot black haired and bearded, sparkling blue eyed and powerfully built Irishman mulled over how to voice the subject which was clearly on his mind. Then shrugged expressively and decided to express himself bluntly as was his usual custom.

"That rust bucket, Sixer, is here to see you."

The Man in the Red Mask (Part II)

City of London, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, January 1889.

This particular night in London, was nothing so grand a caper but never the less was something important as far as Lord Hood was concerned. In point of fact he had two commissions to concern himself with this evening, once professional and one personal. He stood alone in a darkened room, save for a single lamp, which stood alone on a table beside him. Lord Hood drew a valuable gold pocket watch from the right hand pocket of his red brocade vest and examined it critically for several moments after popping it's decorative lid. The man he was waiting for was late, not surprising considering the man, but most unfortunate for the man in question. His masked face turned abruptly towards the door. A doubt knock announced his visitor, as the automaton on the other side of the door opened it to admit his visitor.

A smallish, ruffled gentleman with a halted shuffle entered the nearly blackened room. Tom Hachett was his name and he was an informant for hire by trade. The man was not much to look at, eyes pale blue and red rimmed from too much opium smoke, his sandy blond hair, unkempt as was his short beard and mustache. His face was a pale, wasted oval marred further by a weak mouth and a great beak of a nose which was a bright mottled red from a life time of drinking too much cheap gin. He had a slouching carriage that spoke of a lazy disposition and his soiled, much patched clothes said much both about his standards of personal cleanliness and the alarming state of his finances. That said Hachett had a brain in his head and kept his ears and eyes open and knew quite a lot that was going on at street level in the city of London and the surrounding boroughs. In that regard he was most useful to Lord Hood, although not regarded as an altogether reliable or trustworthy agent come to that. Hackett had a number of vices, expensive vices, when one considered he often spent as much as five times his annul income on them. He was frequently broke as a result and would sell his carefully garnered information, street gossip and rumour to whomever paid his next bar tab as often as not.

Lord Hood looked wordlessly at Hachett, who practically cringing when he saw the red mask and red brocade waist coat seemingly floating in black darkness before him, picked out by the dim illumination of the lamp. The pocket watch lid clamping smartly shut made Hachett jump in barely suppressed alarm. The black, reflective and completely soulless eyes of the red mask gazed balefully at Hachett, who just managed to not swallow reflexively in fear. The gold pocket watch, slipped back into his vest pocket and Lord Hood's hands dropped behind his back as he gazed at Hachett for several long moments.

"You are late, Mister Hachett." Lord Hood's voice was a flat, distinctly mechanical and almost a perpetual sarcastic monotone. Hachett reflectively tugged at his tall shirt collar, and swallowed several times before responding.

"Yes, Your...um... Lordship. Me 'pologies for being behind my... appointment." Hachett stammered. He rummaged around in his coat for the packet he had for his employer. He placed it on the table, where Lord Hood could clearly see it in the lamp light. A black gloved hand picked the packet up, and broke the seal with a knife. For several moments he did nothing but read the various written reports contained in the packet. Lord Hood suddenly nodded to himself, carefully replaced the documents in the packet and placed it back down on the table.

"Very Good, Hachett, I commend your diligence." Lord Hood remarked before withdrawing a large envelope stuffed with British bank notes. He placed it at the edge of the table facing, Hachett. Hachett cautiously picked up the envelope, opened it and make a quick count of it's contents. Sighing softly when it tallied with his previously agreed fee. Lord Hood, watched Hachett's red rimmed eyes carefully saw the look of relief mixed with avarice.

"You may go, Hachett."

The Man in the Red Mask (Part I)

City of London, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, January 1889.

To know a man, you must know his background, his family, his vices and virtues. To destroy a man you need to know his name, his abode, his habits, his place of work or occupation. What does one do, when the man in question has none of these? All about him is wrapped in silence, shadows and secrecy. He volunteers nothing and nobody who knows anything will speak of him. In a certain section of London, there was one such man, a gentleman by his dress and manners and possessed of both means, educations and more then average intelligence. He had many accomplices, spies and informants spread throughout the great city, he heard all the whispers and goings on in the London Underworld and little that went on escaped his notice. This man operated and did business in the twilight between law abiding society and it's polar opposite the world of crimes and criminality.

He, if he was indeed such as no one had ever seen his face beneath the mask he habitually wore or heard his real voice, went by various names in that society of that twilight world.  The Red Mask or  the Red Hood were amoung the more popular and printable names given to him by other criminals. He was known as Lord Hood by his own preference to those who worked directly for or alongside him on a given commission.

Lord Hood was something unique in the criminal underworld, he was what was beginning to be called a 'mastermind'. His occupation, if one could call it that, was the planning of crimes, sometimes he involved himself directly in their execution at other times he stayed on the sidelines as an advisor or acted from the shadows in a supporting role as the need arose. He worked for a set commission of seven percent of the take, though he would sometimes demand a higher fee if he had to become involved directly or the degree of risk in the attempting the crime was higher then what he regarded as usual. Lord Hood as a matter of habit and professional interest frequently took jobs that other criminal gangs or individual masterminds would not touch, either through a perfectly natural but unspoken fear of failure or because they thought the said crime was beneath their notice or reputation to involve themselves in.

Another quirk of his, was that he would never work with the same individual, group or gang of criminals, more then three times in a given year. On reflection most of the professional criminals in London, saw the sense in it. Some of the jobs Lord Hood's name was attached to over the years had been both notorious or sensational in the extreme and an interval to let the 'official' heat to blow over was not a bad idea in their opinion.

Lord Hood had first appeared as far as the London Underworld was concerned in 1880, and it was whispered though no one could confirm it, that he had been an apprentice of an American mastermind of some notoriety, in some New England port city or other, called the Red Hood. Whatever the truth of the matter, Lord Hood had evidently learned his trade well and begun work in the city offering his services as a consulting criminal to the smaller gangs and criminal outfits. His first commission according to popular rumor had been planning the Great Cliffton & Downs Bullion Train robbery, some Fifty thousand pounds sterling had been stolen by the Stafford Reubens gang, a relatively minor not to say at the time insignificant criminal gang of robbers, muggers and occasional safe crackers. Lord Hood was paid some three thousand and five hundred pounds for the affair, while the members of the Reubens gang had each received nearly five thousand pounds a piece!

School Of Sharks (Part I)

Pearl Harbor, the Island of Oahu, the Kingdom of Hawai'i, January, 1889.

The golden red light of the rising sun was just beginning to drive away the darkness of night, tinting the horizon with colour. The freshing morning breeze swept out from the Pacific across the crystal waters of the Wai Momi. The palms scattered along the shores of the bay swayed gently as the sun brightened their slender leaves. People in the towns and villages dotting the bay shore began to wake up and go about their morning observances for the start of their respective work day and breakfeasts.

The warships of the Royal Hawaiian Navy stood lined up along the North Channel of the Moku'ume 'ume island, began to come alive as their respective crews themselves awoke and began their daily regime to the shrill blasts of boatswain whistles. Ten turret ships rested at anchor in two rows alongside each other. Four centre battery ironclads lay in a single row alongside the docking posts in the South Channel.  Each of these ships had the King's cypher at their stern and the royal crest of the kingdom at their bow in elaborate gold work. Their hulls were painted a stark white and their upper works and masts were painted in buff paint. Scattered around the various bays and channels of the harbour stood the station ships of some eleven foreign nations, Great Britain, France, Japan, Russia, Germany, Austria-Hungary, the United States of America, the Independent States of America, the Confederate States of America, Spain and Portugal, all of whom had a vested interest in Hawaii and in particular this bay.

The captain of the Austro-Hungarian station ship, the centre-battery ironclad SMS Kaiser watched the sunrise from his stern walk. He lifted the fine china cup balanced on it's saucer in his hand as he listened to the ironclad wake up and begin it's daily routine, governed by the needs of the service and strict maritime traditions. The first blast of the whistle roused the crew, both common sailors and officers alike, from their bunks and hammocks at 5:00 am, by 5:05 the hammocks in which the men slept were to be lashed up or bunks tided up and everything stowed away.  Between 5:10 and 5: 40 all the crew had to be washed and dressed, followed by cleaning the ship, this was a general tidy-up, which was carried out barefoot in summer or tropical conditions. Mess duty followed at 6:50, when the mess hands who had been detailed to mess duty for the day set up the tables and benches and fetched coffee from the galley. 7:00 until 7:40 would be occupied by the breakfast break, followed by clearing the deck and the colours parade at 8:00 exactly on the ship's upper deck.  At 8:10, cleaning the ship's guns began, at 8:45 cleaning of all the ship's small-arms commenced. At 9:00 preparation for inspection followed by the daily inspection, which served the same role as roll-call did for the army at 9:10. General drill took place between 9:30 and 11:30, at which time the signal "Clear the Decks" was blown on the whistle. The deck was then swept and tidied up. At 11:45 mess duty commenced again for those detailed and at 12:00 the crew was summoned by the call "All Hands to Lunch."

While in port tradesmen selling provisions and other requisites were allowed on board during the midday break, but had to disembark again at 13:45. Between 14:00 and 16:00 "Division Duty" commenced, this typically consisted of instruction, uniform inspection, rifle, bayonet and sword practice and so on. At 16:00 the signal "Clear the Decks" was sounded again and there was a short break, followed at 16:30 by another hour's duties. Then the final "Clear the Decks" was sounded at the end of the day's duties at 17:30 and the last "Mess-room Duty" was sounded at 17:50 and the evening meal was served at 18:00. During the ensuing free period food preparation for the next day was organized and carried out, the decks were also swept again at 20:50. At this point the signal "Pipes and Matches Out" in the lower living quarters, as at night smoking was allowed only on the deck. At 21:00, after the bandsman had beaten or blown the retreat, the whistle for "All Quiet in the Ship" was sounded.

The captain took a sip and frowned, he needed to ready his ship to go to sea before noon, a convoy was due into Pearl Harbour all the way from the Adriatic in Europe for the Hawaiian government. It would be escorted all the way by warships and auxiliaries of k.u.k. Kriegsmarine, a cable concerning it from the consulate in Manila, in the Spanish Philippines had reached him yesterday via the Austro-Hungarian Minister to the Royal Court of Kalākaua.

Notes: (1) Wai Momi (Waters of the Pearl) or Pu'uloa (the Long Hill) are the native Hawaiian names for the embayment (2) Moku'ume'ume (Island of Attraction) also sometimes called Poka 'Ailana in Hawaiian is Ford Island.