Rochefort 2.0
My elaborate little bit of gear punk whimsey is based on the The Three Musketeers film of 2011. I claim no rights to anything of Dumas' or Mr Anderson's film - its just a bit of fun. I freely recognize the influence of Mary Gentle's fantastic novel "Sundial on a Grave" in this little story.
This is specially dedicated to Caranaraf – it's all for you dear heart!
Chapter The First
Of Angels and Airships
The fire had gone out again in her work room, and a storm was coming. Dagmar could feel it, could smell it, and could taste the coming storm. Brushing her long heavy braid of rich red hair over her shoulder she smiled absent mindedly and rearranged her simply linen apron with its many pockets full of containers of tiny gears, wires, cogs, delicate needle nosed plyers, and various unusual mechanical items. It was entirely eccentric yet completely normal for the beautiful Baroness to wear her rich hair in such a curiously unfashionable way and don a plain linen apron over her elegant brilliantly colored blue silk gown embroidered with gold and sable threads. Other ladies of her equal in birth and breeding might have been content to wander - vapid as peacocks - throughout Paris – but Dagmar was not likely to join them. Then again what other ladies could really compare in either birth or breeding with the Baroness Dagmar of Hohenzollern-Ansbach Jagersdorf. She was charisma and eccentricity personified.
Without a doubt she was one of the wealthiest independent women in all Western Europe, yet ironically she cared almost nothing about the sort of things that so many other ladies valued – jewelry was of little import – clothes – furniture – china… Others insisted on separate plates and cutlery for every course at a meal, while Dagmar often ate an apple or a peach from her hand as she read a book, reviewed a schematic or nibbled at a fresh carrot as she examined exotic texts. Other ladies loved musical instruments, but Dagmar got as much pleasure from examining the wires, hammers, pumps and pistons within her piano forte, clavichord and harpsichord as she got from playing them. Other ladies wore exotic jewelry, collars and crowns of diamonds and emeralds- yet Dagmar would often be found with the most exotic marvelous crown of all, a collection of magnifying lenses on delicate bendable wires about her head. Flashing and sparkling about her head, she might sit for hours examining and manipulating clockwork gears and cogs, while lenses made her warm browns eyes appear huge and luminous. She'd created some of the most charming magical mechanical items imaginable; such as a perfect dragonfly of the most delicate silver wire; that with the touch of a key, could fly hover and float about her chambers. Delicate mechanical items prepared and poured tea and coffee at a word or a gesture. Heavy windows could be opened and closed in various rooms with the slightest motion. Mechanica - clockwork objects made to look like dolls or children playing with cards or dancing- toys that might amuse other ladies, yet Dagmar would happily tinker with such things adapting and changing them; creating creatures with amazing skills and abilities rather than simple toys.
She was a true iconoclast and she seemed drawn to other eccentrics. Even her servants, or assistants as she preferred to call them, were as unusual as Dagmar. She encouraged their interests and they adored her for it and her personal friends were exotics, bohemians or even scoundrels. Listening to the distant thunder, Dagmar thought about two of her special friends - all of her friends had nicknames as she felt these far better reflected their true natures.
There was The Empress of Scotland, Hibernia- a woman of remarkable wit and charm. With her blue black hair, pale skin, flashing eyes and dramatic features she was a woman of mystery and excitement, an intriguer, perhaps a spy? She, even more than Dagmar loved motion, she danced and raced from place to place so swiftly it seemed as if colors flashed behind her gestures, as if she was too fluid even for the very colors of her clothes to keep up with her.
And then there was the sky witch - Demelza. Dagmar had red hair; radiant and long, Hibernia's hair was blue-black and glossy but the sky witch had hair like platinum or silver, clipped short. Hibernia was swift - quicksilver swift - but the witch was silent - still as any statue – sometimes it seemed that she was so still that she could disappear. She radiated a force of 'quiet' - a profound stillness – in the same manner that many claimed Dagmar radiated a pulsing energy and the Empress exuded speed. The sky witch possessed at least one airship, and might have been an air pirate but Dagmar never questioned her about it – that would be rude. She always smelled like a storm. One day they had all three declared themselves spontaneously to be 'the sun the moon and the radiant comet' and in that serendipitous moment Dagmar had known these two ladies to be her kindred spirits.
As Dagmar considered whether or not to relight the fire the sky darkened suddenly and there was a brilliant flash of light. Dagmar turned expecting the sudden presence of Demelza at her side - it had happened before, but the only person Dagmar noticed was one of her assistants looking stunned. "Meridoc? What is it?" she answered, shocked at the dread on the young man's face. "Baroness - there are airships trapped on the Cathedral. " He stuttered, aghast.
While others might have trembled, Dagmar was delighted…"Oh how wonderful!" she cried as she rushed out to see. The Baroness had taken a private residence very close to Notre Dame - it was a central spot in the city and she liked the view from outside her windows. Glancing out of the windows she saw two elaborately painted airships, brilliant and beautiful even when partially burned and tattered suspended over the Notre Dame. The were reminiscent of exotic birds or flying fishes with their huge balloons and gilded frames. One of the ships was impaled on the structure of the church itself. Dagmar twisted one of her lenses to her eye to get a better view and saw clearly two men fighting - fencing - on the roof of the Cathedral!
"Amazing!" she smiled focusing on the two men. One was a beardless boy, but the other was a man. Vital elegant and fluid as any tiger, he moved with the clean sublime perfection of a true athlete. The boy was no real match for him; Dagmar seemed to know by some instinct. "Oh he is perfect… err this is perfect…" she called out "Aldamar, Meridoc - I need to get as close to the Cathedral as possible NOW!" She raced outside into her courtyard and stumbled across a large cart drawn by two grey draft horses; it had just been emptied of various household supplies, eggs, fruit, wine, butter, candles, wheat, cheese and other foodstuffs. All that was left was some straw and packing supplies. "Hurry comrades…hurry!" She ran to the nearly empty cart and within a few moments all three of them were racing, pell-mell through the strangely quiet streets towards Notre Dame. The storm filled Dagmar with a nervous energy - or was it the erotic power of the battle on the Cathedral rooftop? Erotic - well she might not have said that to Meridoc or Aldemar but the potent vibrancy of the mature fighter seemed to scream of Erotic energy - life force itself and it drew her like a magnet.
Even the storm was drawn to this conflict the clouds swirled black and purple in the story sky and if it were possible even the lightning and thunder seemed to bend their chthonic forces in this surreal battle on the roof of the Cathedral. What was all this about – why were these men fighting, or as Dagmar was actually thinking to herself "why is that silly little boy bothering that magnificent man and wasting his precious time?"
Soon the three in their rustic cart had reached the cathedral grounds. The battle raged on almost directly over their heads. Dagmar leaped from the cart and raced about to try to find a better view of both the punctured airships and of the battle. She was surprised to see that canons and heavy armaments seem to have been scattered about the gardens directly adjoining the church – she surmised that they must have been thrown or fallen from one of the airships. This was all part of some battle, some great conflict and now something wonderfully ancient and primal called to Dagmar to participate in this experience. As she caught her breath she heard a terrible crashing sound and Aldemar cried out in horror. Looking up at the balloon like structures she considered if Aldemar had been struck by something falling from such a height – she raced back to the cart only to see that both Aldemar and Meridoc was unhurt but dreadfully frightened - and as she saw what had landed in the cart somehow the Baroness knew that everything in her life was about to change.
A man had fallen from the roof of the cathedral directly into the packed straw of the cart. Meridoc became a sudden champion of the obvious and stated "He fell from the sky! It's raining men!"
"Hallelujah!" Dagmar heard someone cry out, and only later did she realize that the breathy voice was her own. In an instant she was in the cart examining this man – he was breathing very shallowly and she could see he'd been stabbed but the fall seemed to have done him little damage although she doubted he was conscious. After such a titanic struggle even a demigod might need rest...
"Hurry comrades we must take him to my laboratory…"
"He fell from heaven…" Meridoc once again revealed his mastery of the obvious.
"An angel…" Dagmar whispered
"Lucifer fell!"
"Aldemar are you some sort of priest? We are taking him back to my laboratory NOW."
Aldemar and Meridoc ware soon calmed and comfortable after Dagmar instructed the cook to offer them 'something special' to fortify themselves with, after they'd unloaded the invalid in Dagmar's laboratory. She insisted that they speak to no one of this business, and she knew that once these two good hearted but rather superstitious men had calmed down they would stop all this nonsense about demons thrown from the sky by the power of the church. And a dram of opiate in the wine would soon still their irrational chattering for the moment. Dagmar didn't like the thought of drugging her servants but this was important and she felt that soon they would agree.
Alone in the quiet laboratory she'd done her best to get the stranger comfortable. Now she examined him carefully - always aware of his labored breathing. He wore an eye patch from some old wound no doubt, now quite healed and Dagmar imagined what the color of his eye might be. Still she needed to dress his recent wounds and make sure that no bones were broken.
She cut away his elegant leather doublet and breaches, admiring not only his body but his subtle sense of good taste. Some tailors could enhance a man's physique with padding in -err - certain places - but this man required no such artifice. Dagmar had been quite correct about him in her first comments upon seeing him he was perfect… However he'd also been stabbed and had fallen from a great height. She bandaged him as best she could and her next worry was shock – the trauma of battle might be too much ever for such a magnificent creature as this. She had to keep him warm and monitor him - his heart rate and his pulse.
Dagmar was an eccentric but she was also pragmatic and rational. This man needed heat and care and she was going to provide it – she removed her apron and her magnifying lens headpiece – this caused her hair to come undone, and she did her best to shed her gown, corset, underskirt, petticoat, stockings and shoes as quickly as possible. "I must keep you warm." Dagmar said gently, although she doubted that the man was conscious of her - but it felt important to express out loud. Her healthy and curvaceous body quickly wrapped around his and she bound them with warm thick blankets. She needed to keep him warm and safe. Tucked up in this masterful little cocoon she carefully rhythmically ran her hands over his body, caressing him - it was important to keep the blood flowing.
All for science!
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