Just behind a narrow strait containing two lofty and luminous waters were the principle streets and pavements of the early 19th century London city of Bloomsbuggah.

The streets were always beautiful and bustling-brilliantly refined and well-lit-but never too imposing or garish. The deliciously cool and crystalline opaque waters were always a fine sight to see for the travelers and adventurers coming in from courageous expeditions on their horses and carriages, gently trit-trotting along the pavements and bridges seeking to exchange goods with merchants and engage in the fine luxuries of trade and business.

One such traveler was a young man dressed in a dark black suitcoat with designs at the bottom that almost would make you confuse him for a pirate.

This young lad was named Edmund Chapman. He was a nutmeg salesman by trade and had been scouring the lands in search of rare spices and goods-usually

coming up short. Struggling to make ends meet he would enter all assortments of contests and competitions such as target shooting, submitting architectural design plans, and even cheese crafting. He dismounted his horse and went to 1852 Petunia Street to give his annual report of sales that had been made that year. But there was something peculiar about the goth old gargoyle statue laden building that was unkempt and dilapidated. Peculiar in that the building was entirely empty today.

Edmund slowly opened the door and found himself nearly slipping in some distasteful brackish liquid that had been left there. He slowly navigated his way through

the dark corridors and circular stairways downwards with his trusty lantern-taking care not to make too much noise in case some horrible kidnapping or arrest

had been in process. When Edmund finally made his way to the bottom floor he saw an old man whom he had never seen before.

"Ah, have a seat. You look malnourished. Have some refreshing Chamomile tea and buttered biscuits-finest in all of Bloomsbuggah" said the old man.

Edmund simply shrugged.

"That's all well and bloody good-but who the hell are you?" asked Edmund.

"That is no concern of yours," replied the old man in an oddly embarrassed tone. Edmund looked even more confused.

"Where's Mr. Baker?" asked Edmund.

"OH, Mr. Baker. Haha, yes old chap. Mr. Baker how could I forget the man? He took the day off to help his daughter get that job at the pet shop he did. Forgive my manners. My name is Typhoon. Monty Typhoon-not my real last name obviously. There's reasons for that I'd rather not go into at this time" said Monty disengaging

his neck from its current position-stretching forward like a turtle coming out of its shell. Edmund laughed.

"You have to understand where I'm coming from. There was nothing posted-no closed signs-absolutely nothing. Yet I'm supposed to come down

here into this sodding place. I mean quite honestly it looks like a scene from Edgar Allan Poe," protested Edmund.

"You wouldn't be wrong in making that assumption. People have died down here looking for a portal" replied Monty.

"Forgive me-but-you speak of a portal?" asked Edmund.

"Yes, it's sealed off now most don't realize it. A portal to an alleged land known as Lambooshka, I don't really believe in it. I think it's nothing more than

a good news story" said Monty.

"Oh really? How about the fact that I lost my father to wild geese this week? They ruthlessly butchered him" said Edmund. Monty laughed.

"Haha, no they didn't, silly lad! Geese don't kill people!" said Monty.

"But-but in this case they did. You have to realize something when geese are highly disturbed they are dangerous" said Edmund.

"You're dangerous yourself-a dangerous wit" said Monty.

"Well, I guess I'll be off then," said Edmund, snatching up some bread marked "FREE BREAD"

"Give my regards to Victoria, the daughter of your employer. She is a very important young woman. Come back here!" shouted Monty.

Edmund was about to run for his life when he saw the gate leading upstairs suddenly shut. Edmund looked back at the old man horrified.

"How-how did you do that?" asked Edmund.

"Magic-some say. You need to deliver this note to Victoria Baker immediately. She lives on 1482 Sluggish Road and she will be very happy to

receive this news. It was given to me by someone else due to a delay of sorts" said Monty.

"Alright, I'll-I'll do it" said Edmund.

"She's very beautiful," said Monty.

"Right," said Edmund, turning back and smiling. The gates opened and Edmund hurried up the stairs and when he reached the top floor he instantly

ran for the exist, slamming the front door shut and leaning against it-panting heavily and anxiously-and yet thankful just to be alive. He looked back

at the door behind him and saw letters that appeared to write in handwriting as red as blood itself:


With confusion in his mind, assuming he imagined these things Edmund hurried away.

Hours later...

Edmund arrived at the old wooden home. There- sitting in the dark and writing a note with a quill pen was Victoria, a petite twenty-five year old with long blond hair and green shimmering eyes.

"It's not finished yet! Oh, it's-it's you. That person I was expecting. Your reputation precedes you!" said Victoria.

"Relax, I'm not here to try to impress you. Far from it. I'm a nutmeg salesman" explained Edmund.

"What are those incredible oblong-egg shaped plants? What are they? They have such a distinct smell, they're so lovely" said Victoria.

"Nutmeg," replied Edmund.

"You-a blooming nutmeg salesman? You seem too posh! Far too posh!" said Victoria.

"Nutmeg is the most sought after spice in Europe, don't you know?" asked Edmund.

"Nutmeg? I thought it was buttered oregano" said Victoria.

"We can't all be buttered oregano salesmen. Buttered oregano, didn't know there was such a thing? Oh yes, that's right, next to the Holy Grail and Mouse Mace it's

at least second place for the most highest demand thing!" said Edmund sarcastically.

"Yes, so why are you merely selling those measly platypus eggs? That's what they are isn't it? Nutmeg? That's what my field guide to herbs and spices says! So why sell those when you seem so much above such a dreadful thing?" asked Victoria.

"Yes, well the cut of your jib doesn't always reflect what you've been cut out for apparently" replied Edmund.

"Apparently not, and that includes my goose. What was good for the gander was not good for him, contrary to popular beliefs" said Victoria, brushing some dust

off of her 1920's flapper.

"So, where are you taking those spices? Am I going with them?" asked Victoria, flouncing her hair..

"Brimhathithia, one of many fine cities in Sri Lanka, quite similar to Galle in appearance. It has replaced Galle as the supreme capital city of Sri Lanka. Nice seaport, beautiful building for the municipal council to meet!" explained Edmund.

"Am I to presume I'm going with you? Can you escort me there? I have some...unfinished business there and I need to find a cure for Rutabaga, my goose" said Victoria.

"You have a goose-named Rutabaga? And you thought nutmeg were platypus eggs?" asked Edmund.

"I was first in my class in everything, I won't have you questioning my credentials" replied Victoria.

"Oh, no, I wasn't doing that. I wouldn't dream of doing that. You have credentials that keep astounding me to be honest" said Edmund.

"Oh, do I? Did you notice my lipstick? It's the same kind Mary Pickford wears. She's an American actress. Do I look like her?" asked Victoria.

"Yes, quite. Please keep your goose away from me, I am geesephobic, I have a mental allergy to geese" replied Edmund.

"Oh, I have deduced that there's certainly no reason to afflict your concerns in any manner of such undainty things. He's in a golden shoebox" said Victoria.

"Gold has healing properties you know" said Edmund.

"Didn't know that, but my father agrees" replied Victoria.

"So," said Edmund as he adjusted his cufflinks. He took a heavy sigh and continued speaking, "We need to discuss the contents of this note," he said as he deposited an envelope on the desk. It was addressed to Victoria Baker.

"Ah, a note," said Victoria, opening it up. She read the note, ignoring the fact it sparkled in a silvery blue fashion:

This is your father David.

You should know that this item is known as Plopendawax. It is a most unusual thing.

It is said to be able to cure any ill, ailment, or injury. When reduced to its raw form it looks rather like oregano oil mixed with butter.

Be warned-it can only be used once.

I was thinking of your goose. I have more in my supply so feel free to use it on his wing.

I am unaware as to where Plopendawax came from-but some say it comes from a remote island near Greece known as Lambooshka.

Don't go around town wearing lipstick like all your friends. You are not related to Sydney Fairbrother-your mother was lying to make you cute like a cupcake.

Love you Victoria,


PS: There have been several incidents recently involving spice traders being attacked. Please try not to get yourself

involved with them-again. It is ever so dangeous to be wandering about town with spice traders.

Victoria hesitantly turned her long flowing blonde hair to face her newfound friend Edmund.

"Ahem, so apparently I've been given the elixer of life! I can save Rutabaga!" shouted Victoria.

"Yes, yes, go on," said Edmund, not paying attention.

"I CAN SAVE RUTABAGA!" shouted Victoria.

"Oh, right," replied Edmund.

"Are you even bloody listening, fellow?" asked Victoria.

"I'm reading the paper" replied Edmund.

"There's been several attacks on spice traders. Do be careful, and don't get yourself involved with me-at least not too much!" said Victoria.

"There's been some violent wrongdoings on spice traders. We have misgivings on the identities of those involved" said Edmund.

"That's partially what I just said! That's why you cannot bring me with you under any circumstances" said Victoria, turning her back to Edmund and folding her

arms with a solumn sorrowful look.

"What did you say? OH MY GOD!" said Edmund.

"What? WHat's going on?" asked Victoria, running to Edmund's side and cowering in fear.

"Look up at the ceiling! A goose! I'll get my revolver" said Edmund.

"NO! No need. Don't shoot it, it's my pet, don't you remember?" asked Victoria.

"What a dreadful existence it must have in that shoebox!" said Edmund.

"No no, it's bettah now. Look, we must speak with my father. He doesn't want me involved with you but I think we would make a great pair. You are very reserved but

you speak with your sleeves and that's a good thing" said Victoria.

"I speak with my sleeves? Remind me of your credentials again?" said Edmund.

"I'm a licensed practitioner," replied Victoria.

"Licensed practitioner. Of what?" asked Edmund.

"Medicine," said Victoria, looking up at Edmund with innocent adorable green eyes, her hips swaying back and forth.

"Right, well, your father and I have already spoken many times. He's my boss" explained Edmund.

"Yes, I suppose I don't need to join you to go to Cypress or wherever it was you were going" replied Victoria.

"I was going to Brimhathithia, captial city of Sri Lanka. I shant be long," said Edmund, grabbing a top hat and cane

and heading out the door, but not before kissing Victoria's hand and tipping his hat to her.

"Such a gentleman," said Victoria, sighing. She then remembered something. She had wanted to go to an orchestra that evening, so she gathered up an Annie Oakely

that had been generously given to her and she went about her ways, whilst the goose wandered off to church, hoping to feel the warmth of Christ, which quite possibly would have been a better choice for Victoria in the long run?