The Odyssey of Jonah H Parallax Chapter 1

The Odyssey of Jonah H Parallax

Chapter 1

I am a man of order who lives with a philosophy of no nonsense. In this growing world of technological advances, hooliganism is on the rise and I feel myself growing ever more distant from society. Whereas people are flying around on airships, I prefer to travel by steamship. I can swim, but I most certainly cannot fly.

Currently I am on a voyage to a world that is unfamiliar to me, a world that is very far away from my own. By some strange tide of events I ended up on a steamship heading to the country of Terra Libertatis, the Land of Liberty. I am a traveling scholar who goes where he is asked and someone in this new world has asked for me.

There is an ocean between my home and Terra Libertatis. To most traveling on an airship would be the most convenient form of travel, but as I have said before I do not travel on airships. After traveling as long as I have on this steamship I’ve somewhat questioned my ideas about airship travel, somewhat. My quarters are small and hot. There is the smell of salt and brine that lingers in the air. There is a bed in one corner of my cabin and a pile of luggage in another.

Sometimes I would sit on the bed for hours and ask myself why I had agreed to come to Terra Libertatis. Maybe it was because the pay seemed extraordinary or maybe because I wanted to see something new. Quite possibly it is because of the mystery surrounding the occurrence of the event that led to my calling. Someone broke into a very prestigious museum, but that wasn’t mysterious part. As far as anyone could tell nothing had been stolen from the museum. The mystery surrounded strange symbols that had been written on the walls of the museum, symbols no one at the museum seems able to decipher.

A gentleman by the name of Mr. Rhinehart seemed to think that I would be able to decipher the symbols. I met Mr. Rhinehart once after a seminar I gave a few months ago. He is a rather interesting fellow, spent forty years in the military before retiring and becoming a museum benefactor and interestingly enough, an airship captain.

In all honestly I’m still wondering why I agreed to go on this venture. There is nothing orderly about the basis of this journey. Maybe the next step of my mental evolution is to slowly leave the protective shell of rules that I have set up for myself. I have spent too much time in solace during this voyage. I think I’m starting to think nonsense. Or am I being sensible? Am I growing tired of more of the same?

Life was not exactly entertaining where I live. Well sometimes life could be entertaining, I suppose but overall life was dreary, only consisting of my studies. All work and no pleasure was my daily schedule.

Am I unhappy? You could argue that I am, but I’m safe. So far going out of my comfort zone has resulted with me being trapped in dingy room for a time just shy of a month. I suppose I cannot complain too much considering all my expenses are being paid for by Mr. Rhinehart. In our letters of correspondence, he seemed rather frustrated at my refusal to travel by airship. He even went as far as to call me a ‘yellow no nonsense pansy’ which took me aback somewhat, but in the end Mr. Rhinehart reluctantly agreed to buy a ticket for an international steamship. By the look of my surroundings I can wholeheartedly believe that he bought me the cheapest cabin possible, for my refusal of airship travel.

I suppose the trip wouldn’t have been so bad if I had a traveling companion. To me it was not surprising that no one else from my home was traveling. No one in Buckshire travels around that often. We live in small communities in which we do not venture out of very often. Back home, there is a lack of hustle and bustle that one may find practically anywhere else in the world. Someone may say that Buckshire is out of sync with the world, and whoever says that would be absolutely right. Maybe living in Buckshire for my entire life has kept me from seeing and experiencing the world from another perspective other than one from the pages of a book.

From my journey on the steamship I have determined that Terra Libertatis is the exact opposite of Buckshire. Where the people of Buckshire are rural and quiet; the people of Terra Libertatis are urbanized and too excessively loud. I have decided to stay in my quarters only to come out for meals, to use the restroom, and to get a bit of fresh air. On each outing, much to my displeasure, I have experienced superficial conversations and rudeness from my fellow travelers.

…

A loud bell had just ringed three times in a row signaling that I have finally arrived in Terra Libertatis. I’m half expecting to see a place that resembles my dunghill of a cabin. By the smell of the air it seems that my predictions maybe correct. Lovely. I hurry over to my bags which consist of a suitcase and a knapsack, a relatively light load if I do say myself, and I walk out into a dimly lit hallway and start off for the gangplank. Soon after walking into the hallway it filled with people who oozed a sense of wealth that I was not fully accustomed to.

There are men with top hats and monocles and women with silk dresses and bright bonnets. Even the children are dressed to match their parents. I feel like an ant among giants, small and insignificant in the schemes of all these people. Also I feel an uncomfortable sense of unease. I imagine eyes perusing over me like I am some sort of alien commodity. As I walk along I realize that I am some sort of alien commodity. I look around to see that the other men have short hair and clean cut beards and wear suits of black, brown, or grey. I wonder how strange I look to everyone else with my shaved face, long curly shoulder length hair that has grayed before my prime, and my dark blue suit with a white design that goes down my back.

I am definitely not in Buckshire anymore. I look down at the floor felling a twinge of self loathing. Strange, my self loathing is almost instantly erased by a peculiar sense of wonder as I look at the carpeting of the ship. There were designs of faraway places woven into the fabric. I can make out jungles, deserts, grasslands, and tundras, impressive representations of places that this ship has been.

As I navigate my way through the ship, in this crowd of people I continue to look down at the carpet infatuated with the elaborate designs and masterfully sewed seams. I don’t know where I was going. The only thing that matters to me is the carpet; it mesmerizes me in some way that I cannot for the life of me explain.

How could have I missed this work of art? Was it because I was so damned preoccupied with hating the journey? I look around I saw that the entire interior of the ship is a work of art. The walls of the hallway are dark shade of blue with red crown molding that went down the walls and bordered the floor. I am to beginning to think maybe Terra Libertatis won’t be a dunghill after all.

After five minutes the crowd moves closer to the exit. Luckily the stench of the sea and the city is covered up by the strong odor of perfume and cologne. Finally, I step out into the sunlight. I felt my jaw drop as I truly see Terra Libertatis for the first time.

There are mountains that surround the seaport and its home city. Wait a moment, the mountains just don’t surround the city. Throughout the length of mountains there are several terraces that have been carved into the faces of the mountains and on each terrace is a cluster of buildings and at the base of each mountain are even more buildings.

I look up at the sky and see that flying above me are airships. There are several of them, from what I can tell from their design, they a type of airship called a zeppelin. Zeppelins are rather new. Airships used to be made of wood and used to steam to rise, but zeppelins are much larger and made of metal, they use a wide assortment gases for their ascension. In an extremely short amount of time zeppelins quickly began to outsell their wooden steam powered cousins.

As I looked at the sky to watch the airships it seems that I have stopped walking, a very plump woman wearing very a bright pink dress that had the effect of making her look like a pig shoved passed me and muttered, ‘stupid foreigner’.

“Right, must keep walking.” I muttered to myself. Surely there will be time to fully take in my new surroundings during my stay in Terra Libertatis, however short it may be. I am to meet a man named James Buxton, at a place called the Whaler’s Inn. There is a slight problem, in my letters to Mr. Rhinehart it seems that I may have forgotten to ask where exactly the inn is at.

I walk out of the entrance of the port and onto a crowded sidewalk that lines a cobblestone street which is absolutely filled with people in automobiles and horse drawn carriages. I hope that somewhere up ahead there is someone I can ask for directions. To my great relief there is constable standing in the shade of a tree that is planted next to the sidewalk.

“Excuse me!” I yell out as try to push my way through the crowd of people, “excuse me.” I said as I reached the constable.

“How can I help you?” the constable asked.

“I was wondering if you could tell me where the Whaler’s Inn is at,” I answer.

“Turn around and walk straight for about three blocks, turn right at Waterman Street and it’s the first building on your right.” He is making hand gestures as if he trying to show me where to go on some invisible map.

“Thank you,” I say and then I turn around and begin my treacherous walk through the seemingly never ending crowd of people. I keep on making mental notes to be mindful of pickpockets. I read a travel book about Terra Libertatis before departing Buckshire and in the book it was mentioned that pickpockets are rampant in city streets and they particularly like to target foreigners. Unfortunately, I appear very foreign.

If someone tried to pick my pocket I probably wouldn’t notice. I’d be too distracted trying to take in my surroundings. Tall buildings, restaurants, and shops line every part of the street. In Buckshire there was only one restaurant, two shops, and no tall buildings. As I made comparisons in my mind of this city and Buckshire, I almost miss the street sign that says Waterman Street. I hastily turn onto Waterman Street and just like the constable said the Whaler’s Inn is the first building on my right.