IC Day One, 1 January 1857

[Lammomedes]

"Depend upon it, Calcutta is the finest place in the world. I know there are towns with far larger and grander buildings; but then they are not half so clean, and new, and beautiful, as this bride-like city. I have been standing on the roof of the house the last half-hour for air, and, as it was midnight, had an opportunity of seeing all the gay company - returning from an entertainment at the government-house; and I assure you I never witnessed any thing that could compare with the splendour exhibited." Miss Emily Eden, 1836

The weather is already warm in Calcutta, nearly 77 degrees (25C) at mid morning, in the largest city in India. Calcutta is also at the center of British imperial control in India. The city is located on the eastern banks of the Hooghly River, while on the opposite side is the emerging city of Howrah. The remnants of mist still dot the banks of the river. Defending the city itself is the military garrison at Ft. William, surrounded by a massive public park known as the Maidan (and commonly referred to as the "lungs of Calcutta"). The docks along the Hooghly River are filled with ships from all over the empire and the wider world. Recently arrived ocean going passenger ships and freighters are tied up at the various piers and quays, while two large military naval vessels flying the East India Company flags lay anchored in the harbor. Steam powered riverboats are just further upstream, waiting to carry passengers into the interior and to other cities in India. The City of Palaces, as it is known, is constantly hustling, with large textile mills and jute processing factories seen along the river banks. On the opposite bank of the river is the Howrah train station, where coal from the distant fields and mines is shipped to the residents of Calcutta. A train's steam whistle can be heard howling in the distance.

Everything is a bustle and jumble of colors and smells, especially for those only recently arrived in India. The city, your guidebooks inform you, is split into two parts: Chowringhee (unofficially known as White Town) at the center of the city is where the majority of British and European residents live, and the northern sections (unofficially known as Black Town) where the population is almost entirely Indian. Plans are afoot to install gas lighting sometime this year, and the guidebooks proudly state that at least a few of the streets have been macadamized for almost 20 years. Hawkers sell copies of the Calcutta Star, the local English language newspaper. Native women can be seen wearing colorful muslin or silk Saris, the material depending on their status, while more prosperous men are wearing the local dhoti (pancha elsewhere in India) and kurta. The roads and byways of Calcutta are crowded, and despite the best attempts to keep them moving, are filled with wandering animals, horse drawn wagons and carriages, and endless throngs of people, seemingly the entire 140,000 or so residents crowded onto the streets at once.

For recent arrivals, the most luxurious hotel in the city is the Auckland Hotel, though inexplicably locals call it the Wilson' Hotel. It is considered the finest hotel in India. There are less grand sources of accommodations, including the Empire Hotel, Mrs. Monte's Boarding House and the Dearborn House Lodgings. For gentleman of some status, lodgings can be secured at the Bengal Club, the oldest club in eastern India.

Each of you, whether you are recently arrived within the last few days on a ship from England or if you have been resident in India for some time, find yourself in possession of two documents. The first is an engraved invitation to come to a New Year's ball, formal attire requested, hosted by His Excellency The Viscount Canning, Governor-General of India, at his official residence in Calcutta, the Government House. The festivities begin promptly at 8pm this evening. The second document may come in different forms according to your status: a private letter, a telegram, a set of military orders, but regardless of the form it takes it is a request to appear at the office of Sir Richard Talbot, private-secretary to the Governor-General, at 2 pm on 2 January 1857. His offices are also in Government House, located close to Ft. William. Your correspondence indicates that Sir Richard will provide you with instructions to your next posting (or your final destination) likely in the recently conquered and pacified Oudh region of northern India.

The church bells ring out across the city, especially from St. John's Church and from St. Paul's Cathedral, and from the Catholic St. Thomas' Church, indicating that it is 10 am.

(OOC: Time for IC introductions and as Sherlock Holmes' said, ""Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!")

[ghill]

Strachan was eating breakfast when the young bell hop approached him holding out a silver tray upon which lay two envelopes, one of which looked like an invitation the other a letter. Without acknowledging the boy Strachan took the two letters and dropped a shiny rupee onto the tray. Opening the smaller envelope he carefully drew out the thick, heavily embossed invitation to the Governor-General's New Years ball. Strachan flicked the invitation onto the table. The Ball was full dress, which might well be a problem, his mess kit was still in its trunk and would need to be cleaned and ironed, he was also going to have to consider the expense of obtaining a carriage for the night.

Strachan pondered the logistics of getting everything arranged for the evening while he opened the second letter. The letter was from Major Parry Adjutant of the 1st Bombay Light Cavalry it instructed him to report to the offices of Sir Richard Talbot at Government House, by 2pm tomorrow. Major Parry apologised but it was likely Strachan would be on detached service likely in the recently conquered and pacified Oudh region.

Strachan tossed the second piece of paper onto the table, picking up toast and knife he slathered on butter and jam and stuffed the lot in his mouth today was going to busy. But a man couldn't expect to go running around without breakfast.

[Mr. Handy]

Julia Kaye awakens refreshed in her room at Mrs. Monte's Boarding House. She has only been in India a few days, and the wonder has not worn off. A new year, she thinks. A new world. A new life. A new beginning. She bathes and dresses, then heads downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. She looks forward to the New Year's ball this evening. Today she plans to go out and buy a new dress for the occasion. She would doubtless be doing a lot of dancing there, but she feels full of energy and excitement. Perhaps she could move beyond the tragedy of the past. Then, on the following day, she would get down to business, starting with her appointment with Sir Richard Talbot.

[Gaffer]

Arthur Dodgson

Out and about early to avoid the heat of the day, Dodgson strides along the dusty street back to his lodgings at Mrs. Monte's Boarding House. He is smartly turned out in his tropical fig, touching his riding whip to the brim of his solar topee whenever he encounters a white woman or one of the half caste wenches.

He's quite pleased to have found a howdah pistol in good condition, left at the gunsmith to have a clip attached to the stock. He'll be able to attach it to the carbine sling he also purchased. He'll have to see about finding someone who can reliably produce another dozen rounds for it.

Even more pleasing is the letter in his pocket from Sir Richard Talbot for an appointment tomorrow afternoon. That betokens a berth with the Sirkar or at least John Company. A splendid start for this venture, as it will provide pay and benefits while he sniffs out the chance that will make his fortune.

Less appealing is the summons to the Governor-General's New Year's ball tonight, nestled in the same pocket. Engraved invitation and 'formal attire requested', no less. Well, they'll have to take him in his best suit, bigod. Still, hob-nobbing with the grandees, not too shabby for former lance-corporal Dodgson of the Corps of Royal Sappers and Miners, eh? Calls for a drink, be damned that it's just ten o'clock.

[markh]

Thomas Wakeham

Thomas had awoken feeling anxious, and neither breakfast or checking on his horse had calmed him much. He was staying in quarters for economies sake, not to mention avoiding having to climb into his regimentals. When he had ridden into the barracks a few days previously, in his accustomed riding clothes, a sergeant had called to him in broken Hindi, asking him his business. Thomas supposed that, with his tanned skin and convenient native dress, it was an allowable supposition. The man had coloured up quickly enough when Thomas replied in English.
Following that, he had found his long absence from the Regiment, on assignment to the Frontier Police in Oudh, meant few of the officers recognised him. The ones who did seemed surprised to see him, and he hadn't lingered long in the Mess.

However, none of this was the root cause of his anxiety. Ever since Oudh had been formally annexed, the future of the Frontier Police had been in doubt. Some said they were to be disbanded, others that they would be folded into a larger Military Police unit. He was desperate to gain some assignment that would keep him in the Oudh; his attachment to his life and the people there was strong. He had orders to report to Sir Richard Talbot tomorrow afternoon, possibly for news of a assignment, but he feared some censorious attitudes towards his conduct. Too many people in Calcutta seemed determined to treat the native population as a heathen horde in need of saving, rather than the complex and ancient civilisation he had come to admire.

Thomas shook off his brooding, and determined to take a ride to clear his head, perhaps up to the northern end of the city. Later he would have to climb into his dress uniform for this ball. He couldn't remember how long it was since he'd been in full fig, and he feared it wouldn't be in the best condition. He certainly couldn't afford a new set any time soon. though.

[Philulhu]

Granville Michaels

Ensign Granville Michaels had been awake at cock’s crow. The night had been warm, far warmer than on-board ship and he had slept poorly. The buzzing of insects had been particularly distracting as well and he hoped that wasn’t a foretaste of things to come.

Yawning so hard he thought his jaw might break, Granville climbed out of bed and looked out of the window of the Dearborn House Lodgings. The sun was already rising and the sounds – and the smells – of the city were already starting to grow. He rubbed his palm on his stubbled chin and glanced at the jug and bowl on the rattan table next to the small cot-bed. Though just a youngster, the hair on his face grew thick and strong and a daily shave was essential. His pack was propped against the wall next to the door and he dug out his shaving brush, soap and razor, sighing when he realised that the room was not equipped with a mirror and he would have to make do with the well-polished blade of his sword – never the easiest of tasks!

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped from his room and made his way down to the dining room. A sleepy looking native lad was sat in a chair but sprang up when he saw Granville. Quickly seating the young ensign at a table with a view over the modest garden, he rushed off to sort breakfast, leaving Granville to read through the contents of two letters that had been left for him the night before. The first was a request for him to attend the New Year’s Ball and he made a mental note to check his dress uniform. The second was a set of orders, commanding him to attend to the Private Secretary two days hence. Feeling apprehensive, but pleased, Granville tucked into his breakfast. He was here – in India at last – and couldn’t wait to find out where he would be sent.

[Seon]

Hermann Lovell

Hermann Lovell had been awake all night, going through the notes of various Hindi culture. They were a fascinating people, in his own opinion.

"Sir?" the indian servant tapped on his shoulders. "You are going to be late for the meeting with Mr. Talbot..."

"Right," Lovell muttered as he closed the book.He hadn't realized how old he was becoming. It would kill him one day, traveling like this, Hermann Lovell thought. It would really kill him. "Tell the driver that I'll just be right over," Hermann said. He quickly cleared the desk and picked up a few books up his own interests. Finally, he dug out an aged revolver from his desk and hid it within his pockets.

"Better be safe than sorry...in the Oudh...why am I talking to myself?" Lovell said.

[ghill]

Strachan stuffed the last of the toast in his mouth and then pushed himself out of his seat. One of the staff came over with his coat while another came forward to brush it down, he took the coat then waved them both away, before walking out to reception. The reception area was a bustle with guests and staff, there seemed to be more staff here than any hotel he'd ever stayed in. The staff were all locals of course, but they had enough english to understand Strachan, which was a good thing as Starachan didn't speak a word of their language.

Talking to the staff at reception, Strachan arranged to get his mess kit pressed and his boots polished; it was a reasonable price considering his location, but still an unwanted if necessary expense. With the issue of what to wear to the ball out of the way Strachan set out to arrange transport. Stopping in the shade by the hotel entrance he braced himself against the heat. It was only mid morning but it was already as stiffling hot as a June afteroon back home in London; his frock coat, de rigeur back home was going to be completely superfluous in Calcutta. Strachan took the frock coat off and handed it to a passing bellhop along with some change and instructions to which room to put it.

Taking a moment to get directions to the nearest livery from the imposing doorman Strachan walked out into the street.

OOC: Keeper,Strachan is dressed in his tropical suit with hat, but is unarmed appart from a gentlemans walking cane

[Mr. Handy]

As Julia steps outside, she encounters a somewhat older gentleman on his way back to the boarding house. She has seen him there before, and she believes his name is Dodgson. "Good morning, sir," she says, greeting him with a smile.

[Gaffer]

Dodgson smiles at the young woman, doffing his hat, "Miss Kaye, is it not? Allow me to introduce myself. Arthur Dodgson, former Lance-Corporal of the Corps of Royal Sappers and Miners. How might I be of service to you this morning?"

[Mr. Handy]

"Yes, that's right, Mr. Dodgson," says Julia. "I'm Miss Julia Kaye. Charmed." She extends her hand. "I was just on my way out to buy a new dress for the New Year's Ball tonight. Are you going as well?"

[Gaffer]

Arthur Dodgson

Dodgson considers as he remarks on how warm and sultry the day is becoming. He had been thinking of a relaxing brandy in his room and pounding his ear until luncheon. But the young woman shouldn't be left on her own in the city. Why, she hasn't even a bearer or a maid along to carry her parcells. Quite the young griffinette, eh? He recalled the landlady saying something about Miss Kaye's 'tragic bereavement.'

"I would be honoured to accompany you, Miss Kaye, and be of any service in my capacity."

If you're going to be taken for quality, Dodger, you got to act like quality.

[Philulhu]

Granville finished his breakfast, carefully tucked the letters back inside their envelopes and headed back to his room. He was already feeling uncomfortably warm and it wasn't even the hottest part of the day.

In his room he unpacked his dress uniform and hung it on the back of the door, trying to brush away some of the creases that it had accumulated on the outward journey. He sighed as he realised that it was going to take more than a quick brush to get it looking its best. He peered critically at his dress shirt, noting that the cuffs were starting to look a little frayed as well.

He closed his travel trunk, opened the door and headed down the stairs to the reception. "Excuse me," he said to the young man waiting there, "I need my uniform attending to, and I need to know where I might purchase a new shirt."

[Mr. Handy]

"Why, thank you," says Julia. "I was actually only asking if you were attending the ball this evening, but I would appreciate the company. Most men would find accompanying a woman as she shops for clothes dreadfully dull."

[Gaffer]

"I have been invited to attend the Governor-General's festivities this evening. As for accompanying you, well, I was brought up with sisters," he smiles.

""It's really not prudent for a woman to be out on her own in Calcutta," Dodgson continues. Or anywhere else, he thinks, "If you'll pardon my saying so, Miss Kaye. Have you any family in the town?"

[Mr. Handy]

"No, I don't," says Julia. "My family is back in Portsmouth. I've only just arrived in Calcutta and I don't really know anyone yet. Well, except for you, that is. Thank you for acting as my escort."

[Lammomedes]

Thomas Wakeham
Thomas shook off his brooding, and determined to take a ride before his appointment, perhaps up to the northern end of the city. Later he would have to climb into his dress uniform for this ball. He couldn't remember how long it was since he'd been in full fig, and he feared it wouldn't be in the best condition. He certainly couldn't afford a new set any time soon. though.

The morning's ride is uneventful, though quite dusty and more than a little bleak. Beyond the northern suburbs, there was only flat terrain, and the further away from the Hooghly River you traveled, the dryer and poorer the surrounding countryside and native communities. You know that if you continue about 15 miles north of Calcutta, you will eventually reach the military cantonment of Barrackpore and the summer residence of the Governor-General/Viceroy. You know currently that the main regiment barracked there is the 34th Bengal Native Infantry. They have only recently returned to Barrackpore, having been stationed for more than two years in Lucknow to deal with the remaining outbreaks of trouble in the recently pacified Oudh region. They are soon to be joined by the 19th Bengal Native Infantry, who should complete their move from Lucknow to Barrackpore by the end of the month.

You also have heard that the Her Majesty's 32nd (The Cornwall) Regiment of Foot is stationed in Lucknow, along with a company of artillery. You have yet to get the full list of Native troops stationed in Lucknow, but you know there are significantly more than the single regiment of British regulars stationed there.

After a few miles, as the heat begins to build, its probably wise to turn back to Calcutta...

[Lammomedes]

Granville Michaels
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped from his room and made his way down to the dining room. A sleepy looking native lad was sat in a chair but sprang up when he saw Granville. Quickly seating the young ensign at a table with a view over the modest garden, he rushed off to sort breakfast, leaving Granville to read through the contents of two letters that had been left for him the night before. The first was a request for him to attend the New Year’s Ball and he made a mental note to check his dress uniform. The second was a set of orders, commanding him to attend to the Private Secretary two days hence. Feeling apprehensive, but pleased, Granville tucked into his breakfast. He was here – in India at last – and couldn’t wait to find out where he would be sent.

The puka-wallah in the corner of the dining room is moving three large ceiling fans in the dining room, stirring the morning air with a faint cool breeze. Two additional Indian servants besides the young lad move about the dining room, bringing breakfast to the dozen or so patrons still seated in the room. Granville notices at least one English family: father, mother, and three children, seated close to the same veranda and looking over the gardens behind the Dearborn House Lodgings. The youngest boy, probably about 10 years old, nods his head politely at the young Ensign. At another table are three other Europeans speaking a language other than English, but also seemingly quite fluent in the native language when they are asked about their food choices. Tea is provided, which somehow tastes better here in India than it does in England, and they have provided him an assortment of not only European breakfast items, but also what was assured to him was the traditional Bengali breakfast: Luchi ar Alur Dom. Luchi was a deep fried white flat bread, puffed up in cooking, along with spicy fried balls of potato made with onion, tomato, red chili powder, and cumin. Some fresh sliced mango dipped in sugar also accompanies the fried items.

[Lammomedes]

Hermann Lovell

Hermann Lovell had been awake all night, going through the notes of various Hindi culture. They were a fascinating people, in his own opinion.

"Sir?" the indian servant tapped on his shoulders. "You are going to be late for the meeting with Mr. Talbot..."

"Right," Lovell muttered as he closed the book.He hadn't realized how old he was becoming. It would kill him one day, traveling like this, Hermann Lovell thought. It would really kill him. "Tell the driver that I'll just be right over," Hermann said. He quickly cleared the desk and picked up a few books up his own interests. Finally, he dug out an aged revolver from his desk and hid it within his pockets.

"Better be safe than sorry...in the Oudh...why am I talking to myself?" Lovell said.

As Lovell hurried off to Mr. Talbot's office, he arrived at Government House, where a British soldier was standing guard. He came to attention as the man approached the house. "How can I help you sir?"
When he was informed that Lovell was looking for Talbot, the soldier relaxed his guard and scratched his chin. "Guv'nor, Mr. Talbot is away for the day. He will resume his appointments tomorrow, January 2nd. Perhaps your secretary confused the dates?"

[Lammomedes]

Strachan Stopping in the shade by the hotel entrance he braced himself against the heat. It was only mid morning but it was already as stiffling hot as a June afteroon back home in London; his frock coat, de rigeur back home was going to be completely superfluous in Calcutta. Strachan took the frock coat off and handed it to a passing bellhop along with some change and instructions to which room to put it.

Taking a moment to get directions to the nearest livery from the imposing doorman Strachan walked out into the street.

When Strachan inquires of the doorman, a tall Indian dressed in European clothing called Rajet, he nods his head. "Sahib, there are two choices for such a conveyance. One is Mister Carruthers, who runs the stables and livery about four blocks a way. He is a very fair man to work with, though I might be so bold as to state that his fees are rather expensive for a short term rental. However, if Sahib would not mind a chance to save some rupees, perhaps he would be so inclined as to seek out Mr. Kunwar Singh, on Chowree Road, just a short distance away from Mr. Carruthers. Mr. Singh is known to be quite fair with his prices and has some of the most adbhuta carriages and coaches for hire. He is a quite pukka gentleman."