Meet Inspector Barlow

Kanda is the most extraordinary city in all the Universe, and rightly called the 1st Wonder of the Worlds. Half of it is suspended above the clouds and factory smoke by great Aether Balloons, the Cosmoliners docking and departing every hour, on the hour. Great ships bringing Lumawood and Soma Ore back to the Old World, passenger ships disgorging beautiful maidens and surly miners alike. A great, glass dome protected by Gyrofighters covers the entirety of the city as the alien world Rajah-4 sits below.

However, for all its glory, the lower, planet-bound portion of the city with its network of autolifts is a grim reminder of the costs of civilization. It lacks the Hindu flavor that makes the colony unique. Rather, it is foggy with Aethersmoke, its streets made from rough cobblestone rather than the luminous ores that New Thames and Rajakesh supposedly boast, and it is industry, not culture, that drives the heart of it.

It was here on the docks that I saw just why the steward was so alarmed. A lovely woman was sobbing, her husband's coat thrown over her shoulders. It was clear she was nude beneath. Another, and another; all from the upper deck. Seems the rich and powerful are just as **** in the Fold as the rest of us. When they brought the supposed assailant out, he was terrifying to behold. He was on the portly side, his hands filthy with grime. He had a long, disheveled beard and wild lion's mane of matted hair. He was also stark raving mad.

"I didn't do it, dammit! I didn't! He has to still be here! I'm telling you I'm innocent!" he said. One gentleman squeezed his wife's shoulders, and started walking toward the man, who was bound with ropes and being led toward a constable's autowagon. He drew a sword from his umbrella, and charged. I gasped, my hand to my mouth, as bystanders tackled him before he could gut the criminal. He spat, and cursed, struggling against them as the man was loaded into the wagon, the crank horn blaring as it sped down Kanda's streets.

"Ms Duchamp." I heard a deep voice say. I turned to see a brutishly large Sikh with the most impressively curled mustache I've ever seen. He was dressed as a gentleman and carried with him an aura of dignity, but the curved sword on his hip and and deep maroon turban left no doubt as to how well he could handle himself in a fight. I nodded, wondering if this was my employer. He took my bags, frowned when he saw my slippers, and put them in a Velocicarriage. "This way, please."
He said, opening the door. Not having any other option, I slid in.

The man inside was many years my senior with salt and pepper hair and a graying beard and mustache. He wore a bowler hat and a very well tailored overcoat. Beside him sat a notebook. His piercing blue eyes almost white. It was as if I were being surveyed by a timber wolf.

"Ms Duchamp. It is my pleasure to finally meet you. I see your father did not exaggerate your beauty." he said, leaning over to take my hand. I didn't know what else to say, so I smiled.

"Charmed. And my I ask to whom I am speaking?" He nodded, and leaned back in his seat. From his inner pocket he produced a pipe, which he puffed on as he talked.

"I am Inspector Alvin Barlow, special investigator for Scotland Yard, and I've been eagerly awaiting your arrival." He said. I was surprised, to say the least. I had thought I was to be unloading crates or working an autoriveter. I never imagined I'd be working with a detective.

"And how am I to help you?" I asked, curious as to why I was chosen.

"We've got a murderer loose, and I intend for you to aid me in my investigation." he said, puffing his aromatic tobacco. "Your father's advertisement for you indicated you have a clever mind and are of a skeptical disposition, modest with your affections and discrete with affairs of the heart. That, coupled with your lovely face and willingness to engage in sexual endeavors will greatly enhance our chances of catching this monster." My father never told me what information he shared about me. Seems he tried to "sweeten the pot" with a little white lie, as it were.

Mr Barlow, I am very happy to help you, but you are mistaken. I am still a virgin." I said, looking down at my gloved hands. He sighed.

"Well, that complicates things."