Creative Writing

Apr 02, 2010 23:12

For one of my classes, I had to write a short story. It was supposed to be 500 words and was required to incorporate 3 symbols assigned by the professor. My story is close to 7 pages long. The symbols I received are (1) a person riding a bicycle, (2) a person ice skating and (3) a sailboat.

I ended up writing a steampunk detective story. You can read it, if you want.

Sir Aiden Cogwright in the Case of the Missing Tarantulas

The wind nearly knocks off my top hat as I speed down the street, dodging carriages, bicycles and steam autos. My knee starts to cramp from sitting cross legged but this little hover car is the best way to get around. I check my watch for the third time this minute. ‘I am going to be late and she is not going to like that,’ I think as I weave between a bicycle and an old-fashioned horse drawn. A bug splatters on my goggles and I hope they are not all over my suit, seeing as it’s already quite wrinkled.

I hear the calls and check behind me, turning back just in time to dodge a barking dog. The B.I.K.E. messengers behind me are closing the gap between us, hollering at me to “Stop immediately!” I land my craft in the park near the palace, hoping to at least save a bit of time by walking while I am being reprimanded.

“Are you aware of the speeds at which you were flying, Sir?” The older, plumper messenger asks. I roll my eyes - these blokes from the Bureau of Inertia and Kinetic Energy are always getting their panties in a wad over my hover car. The brass, steam-powered, frictionless flier sits nearby, looking smug, as if I should have known not to take her today.

“Sir, I am sure that I was obeying legal limits for emergency vehicles,” I reply, hoping to catch him off guard.

The smaller messenger steps over to me and I realize he has pulled me over before. ‘Not getting out of this one,’ I think to myself, unhappily.

“You are not in an emergency vehicle, no matter what ‘important date’ you are rushing off to today.” He reaches into his leather satchel and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen.

“But the Queen-” I start, being swiftly cut off by the messenger.

“The Queen is not going anywhere and if I lock away your craft, neither are you.” He says snottily. “I am sure the Queen,” he emphasizes this word as if in disbelief that I would be going to visit our sovereign, “would not impose traffic restrictions if she wanted any common man to break them.” The ticket rips loudly off the pad as I am handed my traffic violation. I glance at the paper before shoving it in a compartment on my craft, “For violation of traffic speed levels and breaking the laws of physics” the ticket reads. They think they are so clever.

Not wanting to cause any further delay, I lock my craft, thank the men facetiously and scurry through the grass to the palace doors. The guards barely even notice my passing as I enter the grounds, smoothing over my suit and righting my top hat. I am greeted at the door by the Queen’s lovely assistant, Ms. Maxine Glass. A former pilot of lightweight aircrafts, Ms. Glass is perpetually interested in my little inventions. Though I am a detective by trade, I find myself enthralled by mechanics and spend my idle hours in a workshop, building machines of my own design and tinkering with others.

“Nice auto, Sir Cogwright,” Ms. Glass says in a voice dripping with awe. “Perhaps you could take me for a spin sometime,” she giggles. Though Maxine is evidently beautiful, I am content in my bachelorhood. I rarely have time to devote to pampering myself, let alone a woman. I barely even visit my mum, I’m ashamed to admit.

“Perhaps I could, Ms. Glass. Though I am not sure you could handle the speeds - those bloody B.I.K.E. messengers clearly couldn’t.” Maxine giggles again. I am certain she is about to make a comeback when the Queen sweeps into the room.

“Aiden,” she says, gliding over to me in what must be the largest and most magnificent dress I have ever seen. “Oh, We are in a terrible state!”

“I am aware, Your Majesty. I received your telegram and rushed here as quickly as I could.” We sit down on the couch as another assistant busies himself with preparing tea. Maxine Glass sits next to the Queen with a pile of handkerchiefs.

“Oh, Aiden, someone has stolen Our tarantulas! The poor dears…” The Queen shakes her head, sniffles and looks down solemnly.

Tarantula theft may seem odd, but these are not just any arachnids. The Queen’s tarantulas are bioengineered by the world’s greatest scientific minds. They eat only fruit and spin the finest silk you have ever seen. This silk is pure white, thicker than most and is used to create the hair in the Queen’s finest wigs. The Yearly Audit Committee for Hatched Tarantulas, Y.A.C.H.T., breeds these tarantulas and studies their silk in the first years to determine which spiders shall go to the Queen. The tarantulas are housed in several diamond-studded gold cases in the Queen’s room and are fed berries only from the Queen’s garden, to ensure they receive the best quality food.

As we sip our tea, the Queen explains how she discovered the tarantulas were missing. There was a party at the palace the previous night in celebration of the Queen’s birthday. Every year, the gathering is held, though Her Majesty does not reveal her age. Generally, the attendees include Lords, Dukes, Doctors and other important individuals - the usual crowd. The first suspect is the notable Dr. Christopher Lysander, president of I.C.E.S.K.A.T.E.S., the International Conglomerate for Employing Silk Knits Attained Through Extractions from Spiders. Though seemingly harmless in their business endeavors, the group has ties to previous tarantula thefts. Dr. Lysander is a strong proponent of using only the finest tarantula-spun silk in all textiles. However, he has also been adamant about the fair treatment of tarantulas as well as an advocate against altering the species. He has more than once spoken out against the Queen’s use of tarantula silk, especially from her biologically-altered pets.

We finish our tea and I prepare to depart. The Queen returns to her duties after my reassurances that the culprit will be brought to justice.

“We trust you, Aiden,” the Queen adds upon parting. “You have not failed Us yet and We are sure your success will continue. It was Us who asked for you, remember. Please bring them back safely.” I remove my top hat, bow and walk with Maxine back to my hover car.

As we walk across the lawn, I note that Ms. Glass seems perturbed. When I inquire about her distress she simply says, “I just do not understand the value of those wigs.” I expect she wonders why the Queen seems to find them necessary, considering that the wigs are pure white while she still has some brown color left in her natural hair. For my part, I always believed that the white allows her to appear more knowledgeable, worldlier, as well as provide an extravagant accessory to her magnificent gowns.

Ms. Glass switches from concern to awe as we arrive at my settled hover car. Promising to take her on a ride when the investigation is closed, I once again tip my hat, bow and bid Maxine a fond farewell. Climbing into my vehicle, I rise a bit into the air and ride off to visit Dr. Lysander.

I arrive at his lab shortly after tea. As I am introducing myself to his assistant, Mrs. Cuttle, and explaining my reason for the sudden visit, Dr. Lysander walks in. “Sir Aiden Cogwright is here to see you, Doctor. He says it is an important matter involving the Queen,” Mrs. Cuttle explains.

“Certainly,” Dr. Lysander replies. “Won’t you come with me, Sir Cogwright?” The door to his office is opened and he ushers me inside. The desk is full of medical equipment, files and notepads, which lie haphazardly in towering piles. He pushes a smaller pile off a chair and offers me a seat. As I lower myself into the chair and remove my hat, Dr. Lysander does the same for his own desk chair, adding to the mess on his desk. “What seems to be amiss at the palace?”

“It’s the tarantulas, doctor. They have gone missing. The Queen is, understandably, very shaken. I am aware of your affection for arachnids and of your protests regarding the Royal Tarantulas’ treatment and use.”

“Certainly I have been vocal about the dissatisfactory handling of the spiders, but I have not once made mention of stealing nor harming them in any manner. What makes me a suspect? Speaking against the Queen is not an indication of intent to take action. I simply do not appreciate the glorious animals being used in such a manner.”

“I am not accusing you of having taken them yourself, though you were present at the Queen’s birthday last night, were you not?”

“Indeed I was. I have not missed a year since I became a notable doctor and was graced with my first invitation.”

I stretch out my legs, beginning to relax in the uncomfortable chair. It is a welcome relief from the seat in the hover car. “If I may inquire, at what hour did you leave the party last night? Where did you go afterwards?”

“I left around 10:30 and returned to the office to take care of my own spiders. My secretary can confirm if you’d like to ask her. To clarify, I do not object to the use of tarantula silk, as it is evident that I would use it for clothing. I object to the way they are kept at the palace. Tarantulas are solitary creatures in nature and yet the Queen insists on keeping many of them together, against their nature. Her Majesty’s spiders eat only fruit, yet in the wild they are predators. Their natural tendencies have been stripped from them. I have never advocated her release of the animals to me, simply that they be better taken care of and allowed to follow their innate affinities as they would outside their cages. I only want them to be healthy, happy and safe, regardless of what their silk is used for, though I admit the wig-making is quite silly.”

Dr. Lysander seems sincere and I can nearly always catch a culprit in a lie. I tip my hat and leave the office, confirming the hour the Doctor returned to the laboratory the previous night. Ms. Cuttle confirms the story, admitting that his arrival was shortly after 10:30. As I am walking out the door, wracking my brain for clues, Dr. Lysander opens the door to his office. “Sir Cogwright,” he calls.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I do not wish to point fingers at anyone, but I thought you could use a clue. At the gathering last night, I saw Lord Tuft inspecting the tarantulas. When I inquired about his interest, he hurried away saying he had no interest in them at all. The whole proceeding seemed a bit off and I think he may know something. Have a pleasant afternoon, Sir.” With this, he returned to his office and shut the door. I take my leave and return to my craft.

When I arrived at Lord Herbert Tuft’s manor he was, as per usual, combing and styling his hair. Lord Tuft is known for having the most glorious hair in all of London, if not all of England. His glorious grey-white locks are always done up in the most tasteful fashions and he never hesitates to make a statement. “Good afternoon, Lord Tuft,” I say as I bow my greeting.

“Welcome, Sir Cogwright. It is quite lovely to see you again. Did you enjoy yourself at the Queen’s party?” Lord Tuft responds cordially. “What brings you here?”

“I had a lovely time, thank you for asking. I am here on a matter of great importance regarding Her Majesty’s tarantulas. Are you familiar with them?”

“I certainly am familiar. Their silk is used to make the Queen’s wigs. Quite honestly that’s the only way her hair styles could rival my own,” he says rather proudly, tucking another piece of hair into his slowly forming pompadour.

“The tarantulas have gone missing, Lord Tuft. Their cages were discovered to be empty early this morning. I was made aware that you spent an amount of time looking at the arachnids during the party last night. Can you tell me why you were so interested?”

Lord Tuft’s head droops near imperceptibly. His hair sways with every movement, giving away even the microscopic cranial inclinations. As he lifts his head back up and turns away from the mirror, his hair shifts again. The towering tresses seem as though they will fall over every time Lord Tuft moves. “I would rather not.”

“Lord Tuft, I think you underestimate the consequences you are facing. Stealing from the Queen is an offense punishable by death. If you cannot provide an adequate explanation or an alibi, I am afraid I will have to take you to the palace for judgment.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, pushing out his hands to indicate that I calm down. Lord Tuft takes a deep breath, looks around and begins his story in a voice just barely above a whisper. “I was looking at the Queen’s spiders because I am mourning the loss of my own.”

My shock is palpable. Lord Tuft barely looks up from his shoes in his embarrassment. The man with the best hair in the entire city has been using tarantula silk as wigs. This announcement unexpectedly shocks me to my core.

“You - you - you wear a wig, Lord?” I manage to stutter out. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “This means your tarantulas have passed?”

“They have not,” Lord Tuft lifts his head to look at me again. His expression is half sadness, half anger. “They were engineered to spin the finest silk but they have evolved again and now they no longer spin silk at all. I was looking at the Queen’s tarantulas, wondering why Her’s continue to spin such lovely silk and mine have abandoned me. It wasn’t always this way, I assure you. I had this beautiful hair and one day it just started to thin and fall out. I had to maintain appearances. The tarantulas were the only way I could do that properly. I never meant to deceive and now it is too late.”

“It’s alright, Lord Tuft,” I reassure him. “I won’t say anything to anyone, you have my word.”

“Thank you, Sir Cogwright. You are most kind.”

“What time did you leave the party, Lord Tuft?” I inquire. He seems shaken but it does not immediately preclude him from the theft.

“I left around 11 o’clock. I came back home and drank myself to sleep.”

“He did!” Lady Tuft calls from the other room. “Snores like a motorized auto when he does that. He kept me awake all night!”

Lord Tuft looks at me unhappily. “It is true. I do make a merciless sound.” We share a light chuckle. “When I arrived home, however, I did ring the doctor who originally supplied me with the tarantulas and we discussed engineering a new set. I can give you the telegram response he sent back. It is time-stamped for last night.”

He brings me the slip of paper. It was indeed marked with the hour of receipt: 12 o’clock midnight. By the tone in his voice, the telegram receipt and through the account of his wife, I am certain his alibi is valid.

“You have sufficiently convinced me that you were not involved in the theft so now I must ask another question. Did you happen to see anyone else around the spiders last night?”

“Now that you mention it, I did see the Queen’s assistant, Ms. Glass I believe, and her hairdresser Mr. Heaton. The two of them were commenting on the spiders, saying nasty things about them. I don’t believe they approve of the practice of using silk for wigs. They were tapping on the glass and making disgusted face. Similar to children at the zoo,” Lord Tuft admits.

I thank the Lord and Lady for speaking with me and clamber into my car once again. I pilot the craft back to the palace. Along my journey I remember the words Maxine Glass said to me earlier regarding the spiders. It is disconcerting to think she may be involved but I must follow the clues I have been given. Then, I begin to wonder what the hairdresser might have to do with the theft. What would the Queen’s stylist and assistant gain from the tarantulas being missing?

I land my craft in the same park and walk up to the palace doors. Ms. Glass once again greets me. “Have you found the culprit yet, Sir Cogwright?” Maxine seems both delighted and disappointed at my arrival.

“I’m afraid not. My investigation has led me back here. Would you happen to know where Mr. Ambrose Heaton is at this hour? I would like to speak with him.”

As Maxine walks away, I notice a glint on the bottom of her shoe. I wonder if it could be one of the diamonds from the tarantula habitats and make a note to inspect it further upon her return. I make my way to the sitting room and take a seat on the couch. A few short minutes later, Maxine returns with Mr. Heaton in tow. The two take seats on a couch opposite me.

“Good evening, Sir Cogwright,” Mr. Heaton greets me. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you aware that Her Highness’ tarantulas have gone missing?” Ambrose nods. “I have become privy to information that makes you a suspect in my investigation. Would you please tell me at what time you left the party and what you did afterwards?”

Mr. Heaton glances at Maxine and shifts uncomfortably. Ms. Glass does not look at him, but crosses her legs and begins to scratch idly at her right wrist. I look at the bottom of her shoe and see that there is indeed a diamond stuck to the bottom of it.

“I left the party just after 11 o’clock. I went back to the Queen’s salon to pack up my instruments before going home,” explains Mr. Heaton.

“Did anyone see you in the salon or at home?”

“No, Sir. The salon was empty, as everyone was at the party, and I live alone.”

“How do you feel about the Queen’s tarantulas?”

Mr. Heaton shifts uncomfortably again. He looks around nervously before answering. “I have no feelings toward them particularly, neither ill nor in favor.”

“I heard from Lord Tuft that you were tapping on the glass of their cages and making negative comments about them during the party.”

“Well, I may have said something,” Ambrose confesses. His face changes from uncomfortable to angry. “Those animals are just so…” he searches from the right word “ugly. Their hairy little bodies give me nightmares. That the Queen makes wigs out of them is just such a horrendous thought that I can barely stand to be her hairdresser anymore! I would not have taken them, though. I would never jeopardize my position as stylist.”

“I see.” My thoughts run over all that I know. Both Ms. Glass and Mr. Heaton were seen near the cages, making comments about the tarantulas. Mr. Heaton has an open disdain for the arachnids, yet Ms. Glass has the diamond on her shoe. I resolve to leave these two and go speak with the Queen before finalizing my investigation. I ask Maxine if she would ask Her Majesty if I may discuss this with her.

Ms. Glass looks slightly relieved as she gets up from the sofa, while Mr. Heaton still looks uncomfortable. As I watch him, I notice he continues to shift against the fabric and nervously rub his hands over his arms and legs.

Maxine returns and informs me that the Queen will see me in the sun room. I walk down the hall and around the corner into the room and greet the Queen.

“Your Highness,” I bow.

“Have you found the thief, Aiden?” the Queen inquires.

“I am very close. I just would like to ask you about Ms. Glass and Mr. Heaton. They are my two prime suspects, but I am not sure which is the culprit, as of yet.”

“My assistant, Ms. Glass? Why, she could not have done it! She always seemed so enthralled with the spiders. Maxine is such a wonderful assistant. Mr. Heaton, on the other hand, can be rather temperamental. Ambrose has been my hairdresser for many, many years. We did notice he seemed a bit put-off when We switched from Our real hair to the wigs, though We never really thought about it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I think I have all the information I need to finalize my inquiry.”

“That is all you needed?” Her Highness inquires.

“Indeed it is. I needed only confirmation of my thoughts, which you have just provided.”

The Queen summons both Ms. Glass and Mr. Heaton into the sun room. I begin my explanation. “The first likely suspect was Dr. Lysander. As head of I.C.E.S.K.A.T.E.S., the good Doctor has more than once spoken out against Your Majesty keeping the tarantulas. However, Dr. Lysander has a very reliable alibi by being at the lab with many other scientists at the time of the theft.

“Dr. Lysander pointed me in the direction of Lord Tuft, who was looking at the arachnids during the party last night. The Lord has an alibi as well, corroborated by Lady Tuft, that he was fast asleep in bed when the crime was committed.

“I was then directed back to the palace when I heard that both Ms. Glass and Mr. Heaton had spent some time with the spiders during the party. Both of you had made derogatory comments about the tarantulas and the use of their silk for wigs. Ms. Glass, you have a diamond stuck on the bottom of your shoe. It matches those on the tarantula cages. You have also been scratching at your wrist where there is evidence that you have been irritated by urticating hairs.”

Maxine rises indignantly from her chair. “Sir Cogwright, how could you-“

I cut her off by raising my hand. “I am not accusing you, Ms. Glass. I know you enjoy taking the spiders out of their cages and handling them.”

Ms. Glass returns to her chair. “Yes. I accidentally startled one the other day and that is where the itch came from.”

“I gathered. The culprit is Mr. Heaton. He stole the tarantulas after the party straight from their cages. Mr. Heaton despises the use of tarantula silk as wig material. As a hairdresser, he no doubt notices the difference in feeling between silk and hair. Ambrose also cannot appreciate that Your Majesty covers up her natural hair, which is quite gorgeous, with these unnecessary wigs. They offend him as a stylist and rather than denounce his position, he attempted to force Her Highness to stop using the wigs. Mr. Heaton hid the tarantulas in wire cages in his laundry, which is why he is so uncomfortable. Their urticating hairs ended up all over his clothes.”

“Mr. Heaton, what have you to say for yourself?” the Queen inquires, visibly upset.

“It’s true,” Ambrose begins. “I took them. I wanted to get rid of them. Your Majesty’s hair is so glorious, yet society has compelled Her Highness to cover it with those wretched wigs. I despise those hairy creatures. Their bio-engineered silk is causing Your Majesty’s natural beauty to go to waste. I cannot approve of it as your stylist. It is not my way. I did not mean to take them. When I went back to the salon after the party, I saw the wigs and was overwhelmed with dismay. I cannot allow it to continue. You must understand, Your Highness, it is for your own good. I promise this was with the best intentions.”

“Take him away,” the Queen declares. “We will deal with him later.”

I step in for a moment. “The tarantulas are at his house, Your Highness. I have already sent some of your men to get them.”

“Oh, thank you, Aiden!” the Queen gushes. “You never disappoint.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Your Majesty. I am always glad to assist.”

The Queen leaves the room and Maxine walks with me to the door. “How did you know that I like to play with the tarantulas?” she inquires.

“You told me once, a long while ago,” I explain. We walk through the garden and into the park. “Would you like that ride now?”

Ms. Glass’ eyes light up. “Absolutely!” she exclaims.

We both climb into the car, I start the engine and we adjust out goggles. “Hang on,” I tell her and speed away down the road.
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ETA: I don't know what happened with the font and format change. I copied and pasted this from Word and something funky happened. *shrug*

ucf, story, class

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