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mareastrorum · 11 months

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TF&TS Meta: Cree Deeproots's Character Sheet

Since I am posting another chapter later this week, no WIP Wednesday excerpt today! However, I usually throw out a meta post before each chapter to tide people over.

I will post a little late this week! Unfortunately, work has been crazy, and this week continued that trend. I am hoping to update by Sunday evening.

Edit: Unfortunately, I have had to bump my planned posting date for Chapter 8 back to 11/24 due to work going haywire. I am still writing, and I'll post another WIP for the next chapter this Wednesday, as well as another meta post the following Wednesday. I'll hopefully have some reprieve by then and intend to get back to a regular 2-week posting schedule after that.

This post discusses how I developed the character sheet for Cree.

See the directory for other meta posts.

The story itself will get into Cree’s backstory and characterization, so this is going to focus primarily on mechanics and items. Here is her character sheet.

As mentioned in a prior post, Cree was at least level 13 when the Nein first encountered her in Eiselcross because she used Firestorm against Gelidon in 123, then at least 15 in 133 because she used Earthquake. Her holy symbol was the gold/crystal pendant with Lucien’s blood that the Nein first saw in 117. She also had the Cape of the Mountebank, first spotted in the same episode and then used in 133.

Like the rest, Cree is starting at level 14. Unlike the others, I did not roll Cree’s stats. I tried to come up with what made sense narratively. Another wrinkle was that Wizards released an update to Tabaxi in 2022, but I opted to go with the racial features from Volo’s because that’s what Matt would have used at the time of the campaign.

Cree cast slow on the Nein as they escaped in 123, and Fjord successfully made a wisdom save with 19. The highest failure was 14, so spell save DC is 15-19. The DC is 8 plus proficiency bonus plus wisdom modifier, and at level 15, her PB would be +5, while it rises to +6 at level 17. So, assuming she was level 15, her wisdom modifier would need to be at least +2 and no more than +6. If she had been level 17, her modifier had to be at least +1 and no more than +5. Either way, that doesn’t tell us much about her wisdom score, especially if she had an item that could have factored in. Any reasonable cleric would pick wisdom for their highest stat, so unless she rolled shit and never took an ASI, I would expect her modifier to be at least +4. However, since she was an end game mini-boss, I thought +5 seemed reasonable. Thus, Cree’s wisdom score is 20 because it maxed out at some point, and considering that cleric is SAD compared to blood hunters, I think she would have prioritized it. Thus, assuming she got at least one good roll to assign to Wisdom, I chose 18 base, and one ASI was used to raise the 18 to a 20.

Logistically, Cree’s Con score only mattered as an antagonist for determining her Con saves because Matt usually needed to buff health pools against the large party. So, for all we knew, it was 6 and he gave her a ton of HP. However, if we were constructing her sheet as if she was a PC, her next highest priorities were constitution, then dexterity. Blood clerics have some BH-like abilities to sacrifice HP for benefits, so she needed a decent health pool. Considering her self-sacrificial behavior, I felt that a player would have strategized for that, and it made sense narratively if she managed to survive as an orphan in the Run and eat “muster” all the time while out adventuring. Since I gave her 18 for Wisdom, I chose 16 for Con.

Dex was next. Higher initiative and AC were also important. Cree’s AC in her final fight was 19. AC is usually armor mod + dex mod + shield(?) + enchantment/item mods, so that could be all sorts of combinations. Matt didn’t mention she had a shield, but we know her armor was enchanted because he mentioned all the Tombtakers’ armor glowed during a detect magic in 117. Clerics are proficient with Medium armor, but not Heavy armor, and while she could have taken a feat, Matt didn’t mention that she had anything more than heavy leathers and furs—no chain or plate. Medium armor also caps the dex mod at +2, and heavy armor doesn’t add dex mod at all. Thus, she probably had studded leather armor, which is 12 + dex mod + enchantments. If she had +3 armor (possible, but very expensive), then her dex mod had to be +4. If she had a shield (which Matt didn’t mention), then maybe she had +2 armor (reasonable for level 15) and +3 dex. Finally, in the last fight against the Nein, Matt mentioned that Cree rolled a super low initiative, but the lowest the Nein got was a 12. Initiative is normally just the roll plus dexterity modifier, so that doesn’t really tell us anything about her Dex score. Realistically, that meant Cree’s dex modifier was probably around 3-4 and she had items or enchantments to add another 3-4, totaling +7 to her AC. Probably not an additional cloak, a spell caster staff, or a shield because Matt didn’t mention her using them and the Nein only looted the necklace and the Cape of the Mountebank. (Or maybe her holy symbol gave AC?) Tabaxi get a +2 to Dex, so I opted to give Cree a 14 that was then raised to 16.

Strength could have really gone anywhere. There’s no D&D mechanic reason for her to have high/low Str according to what we saw in the stream. Her weapon was a war pick, not a finesse weapon, so it would have been her melee attack stat, and therefore it’s a safe assumption that the mod was at least 0 (not <10). However, she never actually used that weapon. So we just have ~vibes~. Because of how Matt played her (immediately firing off her biggest spells at Gelidon), I decided I would use this as a vanity stat rather than something meant to used regularly in combat. I got the impression that she leaves the melee combat to the rest of the Tombtakers and she stays the hell away from it. Considering her time in the Run meant she would be pretty athletic and I already have her +3 to Dex, I gave her 16 strength to match. That makes her excellent at climbing and jumping even without proficiency in the Athletics skill, which I felt was appropriate for the one tabaxi in the group.

Int and Cha are Cree’s dump stats. Strategically, neither is important for a cleric. Narratively, she’s an uneducated orphan, and Lucien no doubt did most of the talking. Based on how Cree spoke, I don’t expect she had much of a Cha stat, though I doubt it was a negative modifier. She was polite and courteous to the Nein until Lucien was back, and then she was rather jealous/envious. So, she can get along, if she wants to, but I figured her Cha wasn’t higher than Lucien’s. Thus, I gave Int 8 and Cha 9, which received a +1 to 10. The only reason I didn’t give her lower Int was that she would have received some education at the Orders. Most of the things she would have learned with the Nightback Clan were wisdom skills, and she’d have relied upon those in the Run as well, and whatever she didn’t know about the town itself, Lucien did, so there wasn’t much pressure to expand her specialty.

If you think I’m being overly generous about Cree’s stats, maybe take a look at Jester’s level 2 stats. That’s right. Level 2.

Cree’s background was relatively easy to choose, though I had considered Urchin. Her experience as an acolyte at the Claret Orders was far more relevant to her skills and character than her time as an orphan in Shadycreek Run. It also made sense that Religion was the one Int stat she’d be good at.

Feats were interesting. War Caster was an obvious choice for D&D strategy, and it made perfect sense for how she would have been trained at the Orders and her experiences with the Tombtakers. The Vital Sacrifice feat was not available at the time of C2, but the flavor fit her very well. Matt had also let her exceed the mileage limit of her Crimson Bond ability (10 miles), or characters flagrantly and repeatedly lied about her ability to track blood further than that and she used some other spell (Commune?) to hunt people down on the Gentleman's behalf considering Crimson Bond is limited to 2 uses per day. (I exceeded that in this chapter.) The narrative reason is she just has a knack for hemocraft, so she figured out how to tap her own vitality to fuck with people.

Items were a challenge. They had to be sensible for her level and not push her into high-level enemy territory. The most pertinent decision was whether she had anything she'd had in Aeor. The first times we saw Cree with her holy symbol necklace, the Cape of the Montebank, and a scroll of Control Weather were after the Nein caught up to the Tombtakers in Eiselcross. However, as a cleric, she wouldn’t have needed the scroll because she could do that at level 15 (which she also needed to be for Earthquake). And if Cree went so far as to criticize the Nein for being rich kids because of the tower, she wouldn’t have spent the coin on buying the scroll when she could just do it herself. Maybe the explanation was she hit level 15 after that, but then there’s the question of why was she so much lower than Lucien’s level and how did Matt expect Lucien (level 17) to be enough to balance the rest of the Tombtakers against a larger group. Maybe Matt gave her the scroll as a clue that the Tombtakers expected this to be a one way trip, but there were other ways of doing that.

Instead, what made sense to me was that Lucien looted the cape and scroll from DeRogna. Think about it. I don’t know if Cree would have just clung to a rare magic item for the 2 years that Lucien was dead, especially one that wasn’t useful and we had no indication it had sentimental value. Neither the cape nor the scroll made sense for that. But Matt also mentioned that DeRogna’s room had already been tossed and looted when the Nein found her body, so Lucien robbed her on top of taking his book back. What would he steal if his plan was a one way trip to the Astral Sea to become a god? Magic items! But the Tombtakers certainly would have already brought weapons and armor, and DeRogna wouldn’t have bothered, so it had to be other items—like a teleportation cape to avoid danger and a scroll to conserve spell slots. Like a rich person would stock for a trip where bodyguards handle all the monsters. Thus, Cree doesn’t have either of those in TF&TS.

There’s also the issue of Cree’s holy symbol. As I’ve mentioned before, it doesn’t make sense for her to currently have a necklace with Lucien’s blood for her to be a cleric of the Nonagon. He’s undead, and while she is tremendously faithful, it’s a whole extra step beyond worshipping a childhood friend to worship a dead one, and then another step to worship an undead one. I had to be able to reconcile it with the facts that she went to Zadash and never once checked on his grave, then let “Lucien” (Molly) go off by himself with strangers and not checking on his blood vial even once to see if he was okay. She believed the Nein the first time when they returned to Zadash and claimed Lucien had parted ways; if she suspected he was dead, she would not have been so calm or courteous. So she trusts him enough to do as he asks, but with him dying “twice” (though once was actually Molly), I don’t think she would have actually worshiped Lucien as a god by that point in time. There’s also the fact that Lucien’s body is in someone else’s control right now, so there’s a disconnect between undead Lucien and his blood. For the premise to make sense, his blood couldn’t be part of Cree’s holy symbol, and the timeline of events suggests that she didn’t start worshiping him as a god until after he came back to life.

The Raven Queen absolutely would not have worked as Cree’s goddess in this plot either. The Matron hates the undead, so even if Cree had remained faithful to her, that likely would have had perilous consequences for trying to cast any spells while Cree helped Lucien. Any attempt to bring him back as undead would have been an issue too. (Yes, I know that clerics have tons of necromancy spells, especially Blood Clerics, and there’s no mechanic prohibiting it, but this story has to have some logic to it.)

Thus, the Somnovem were Cree’s gods. I couldn’t think of a single reason why a gold/crystal necklace with someone’s blood would be suitable for the Somnovem, so I had to make up a holy symbol. That’s excellent for story purposes because the new one is packed with symbolism. It’s an eye carved into a silver coin with a ruby chip embedded as the iris. It’s obvious to anyone seeing it that Cree had to improvise, that she made it herself, and that she didn’t go overboard with making it especially pretty or ornate. Easy to carry, hide, and hold. Practical and without excess.

Then, where’s the gold/crystal necklace? And why was that one so fancy compared to the coin? Hmmm.

I figured she would keep her Raven Queen symbol, though it likely cracked due to her broken faith. She’s sentimental, and even if she stopped worshiping the Matron, that would have been a huge part of her life. It remains to be seen whether her background feature would still work.

I decided to make the coin a Guardian Emblem because Cree didn’t use her actions to defend/heal the Tombtakers in combat except for one Cure Wounds on Lucien. She plays offense like Jester does, but even more aggressively because she threw out her highest level spells as attacks in her first two turns against Gelidon, leaving her with fewer options when the Tombtakers absconded that night with the bag of holding. Thus, having a reaction to significantly reduce damage taken would be a good option for her so she can still focus on attacks.

Coming up with a second item was such a pain. What would she have kept for so long without adventuring? What would she have bought? Probably nothing, but surely she wouldn’t sell off everything she ever had when trying to hide from DeRogna. Eventually, I felt a Ring of Protection made sense because it’s something that would be useful in the event that anything ever went sour with the Gentleman, or if DeRogna tracked her down, and it would lean into the “stop dying so I can kill stuff” mentality. Plus that gives her some AC.

Cree doesn’t have armor, but she has a shield. Why would she have armor? She’d have sold that for sure, and finding something suitable for a tabaxi in the Empire probably isn’t easy. It would be easier to pick up a shield, or for any of the others to buy for her, on the way out of Zadash than find armor that would fit. Plus there’s the strategy of it: anyone starting a fight in the Evening Nip is going to focus on the bouncers and bodyguards in armor, not the blood lady in a robe and costume jewelry—until she blights them. (She needs to buy some armor.)

Cree had a war pick in Eiselcross, and it’s not the type of weapon someone would choose unless they really liked the feel of it. It has no benefits. There’s numerous other 1d8 weapons that are versatile, finesse, or have other special features that make them better options. No, that was a character choice. Listen, Cree is a blood cleric that formerly worshiped a death god and recently brought her best friend back as an undead because she had nightmares and a madness inducing vision about it. Gouging people with a glorified mining pick is probably the most normal thing about her.

Lastly, Cree has a lot of money. Have you never met a person who suddenly started making obscene amounts of money after growing up poor? If they didn’t start spending it like an idiot, they hoarded it for What-Ifs out of paranoia, at least until the shock of having money wore off. Considering Cree’s behavior, it takes her a good while to get over things, and she absolutely seems like the kind of person to hoard her savings. Thus she’s barely spent any coin other than what was necessary for reagents, like diamonds, diamond dust, silver dust, etc. (You want holy water? It costs how much? We have holy water at home.)

#TF&TS #TF&TS meta #cree deeproots

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 10 months

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Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXIV. DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be easily guessed. The signals made by the “Tankadere” had been seen by the captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at half-mast, had directed his course towards the little craft. Phileas Fogg, after paying the stipulated price of his passage to John Busby, and rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of five hundred and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with Aouda and Fix; and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November. Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the “Carnatic,” where he learned, to Aouda’s great delight—and perhaps to his own, though he betrayed no emotion—that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived on her the day before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay. Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and, after wandering through the streets a long time, began to despair of finding his missing servant. Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at last led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar’s theatre. He certainly would not have recognised Passepartout in the eccentric mountebank’s costume; but the latter, lying on his back, perceived his master in the gallery. He could not help starting, which so changed the position of his nose as to bring the “pyramid” pell-mell upon the stage.

All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him what had taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the “Tankadere,” in company with one Mr. Fix.

Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name. He thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what had taken place between the detective and himself; and, in the account he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself for having been overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more in harmony with his position. Within an hour the Frenchman had cut off his nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing about him which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.

The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the “General Grant.” She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of two thousand five hundred tons; well equipped and very fast. The massive walking-beam rose and fell above the deck; at one end a piston-rod worked up and down; and at the other was a connecting-rod which, in changing the rectilinear motion to a circular one, was directly connected with the shaft of the paddles. The “General Grant” was rigged with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails, and thus materially aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an hour, she would cross the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas Fogg was therefore justified in hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of December, New York by the 11th, and London on the 20th—thus gaining several hours on the fatal date of the 21st of December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English, many Americans, a large number of coolies on their way to California, and several East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in making the tour of the world. Nothing of moment happened on the voyage; the steamer, sustained on its large paddles, rolled but little, and the “Pacific” almost justified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and taciturn as ever. His young companion felt herself more and more attached to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous nature impressed her more than she thought; and it was almost unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seem to have the least effect upon her protector. Aouda took the keenest interest in his plans, and became impatient at any incident which seemed likely to retard his journey.

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive the state of the lady’s heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics, he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg’s honesty, generosity, and devotion. He took pains to calm Aouda’s doubts of a successful termination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part of it had passed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries of Japan and China, and were fairly on their way to civilised places again. A railway train from San Francisco to New York, and a transatlantic steamer from New York to Liverpool, would doubtless bring them to the end of this impossible journey round the world within the period agreed upon.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed exactly one half of the terrestrial globe. The “General Grant” passed, on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and was at the very antipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true, exhausted fifty-two of the eighty days in which he was to complete the tour, and there were only twenty-eight left. But, though he was only half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama. Could he have followed without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, the whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles; whereas he would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion, to traverse twenty-six thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November, accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred. And now the course was a straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put obstacles in their way!

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a joyful discovery. It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had insisted on keeping his famous family watch at London time, and on regarding that of the countries he had passed through as quite false and unreliable. Now, on this day, though he had not changed the hands, he found that his watch exactly agreed with the ship’s chronometers. His triumph was hilarious. He would have liked to know what Fix would say if he were aboard!

“The rogue told me a lot of stories,” repeated Passepartout, “about the meridians, the sun, and the moon! Moon, indeed! moonshine more likely! If one listened to that sort of people, a pretty sort of time one would keep! I was sure that the sun would some day regulate itself by my watch!”

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would have no reason for exultation; for the hands of his watch would then, instead of as now indicating nine o’clock in the morning, indicate nine o’clock in the evening, that is, the twenty-first hour after midnight precisely the difference between London time and that of the one hundred and eightieth meridian. But if Fix had been able to explain this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have admitted, even if he had comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective had been on board at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on a quite different subject, and in an entirely different manner.

Where was Fix at that moment?

He was actually on board the “General Grant.”

On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he expected to meet again during the day, had repaired at once to the English consulate, where he at last found the warrant of arrest. It had followed him from Bombay, and had come by the “Carnatic,” on which steamer he himself was supposed to be. Fix’s disappointment may be imagined when he reflected that the warrant was now useless. Mr. Fogg had left English ground, and it was now necessary to procure his extradition!

“Well,” thought Fix, after a moment of anger, “my warrant is not good here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently intends to return to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track. Good! I will follow him across the Atlantic. As for the money, heaven grant there may be some left! But the fellow has already spent in travelling, rewards, trials, bail, elephants, and all sorts of charges, more than five thousand pounds. Yet, after all, the Bank is rich!”

His course decided on, he went on board the “General Grant,” and was there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, he recognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly concealed himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and hoped—thanks to the number of passengers—to remain unperceived by Mr. Fogg’s servant.

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the forward deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans, who immediately began to bet on him, administered to the detective a perfect volley of blows, which proved the great superiority of French over English pugilistic skill.

When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and comforted. Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking at his adversary, coldly said, “Have you done?”

“For this time—yes.”

“Then let me have a word with you.”

“But I—”

“In your master’s interests.”

Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix’s coolness, for he quietly followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.

“You have given me a thrashing,” said Fix. “Good, I expected it. Now, listen to me. Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg’s adversary. I am now in his game.”

“Aha!” cried Passepartout; “you are convinced he is an honest man?”

“No,” replied Fix coldly, “I think him a rascal. Sh! don’t budge, and let me speak. As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground, it was for my interest to detain him there until my warrant of arrest arrived. I did everything I could to keep him back. I sent the Bombay priests after him, I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong, I separated you from him, and I made him miss the Yokohama steamer.”

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

“Now,” resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to England. Well, I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as much to keep obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in his path. I’ve changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for my interest to change it. Your interest is the same as mine; for it is only in England that you will ascertain whether you are in the service of a criminal or an honest man.”

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that he spoke with entire good faith.

“Are we friends?” asked the detective.

“Friends?—no,” replied Passepartout; “but allies, perhaps. At the least sign of treason, however, I’ll twist your neck for you.”

“Agreed,” said the detective quietly.

Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the “General Grant” entered the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.

Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.

CHAPTER XXV. IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO

It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to the floating quay upon which they disembarked. These quays, rising and falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading and unloading of vessels. Alongside them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of all nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks rising one above the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries. There were also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to Mexico, Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent, thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine style; but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them. Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus “set foot” upon the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened the innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily away.

Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o’clock p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital. Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda entered it, while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and they set out for the International Hotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses, the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the side-walks, not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians. Passepartout was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was no longer the legendary city of 1849—a city of banditti, assassins, and incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other: it was now a great commercial emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of the streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles, and in the midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares, while beyond appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported from the Celestial Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and red shirts and plumed Indians were rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats and black coats everywhere worn by a multitude of nervously active, gentlemanly-looking men. Some of the streets—especially Montgomery Street, which is to San Francisco what Regent Street is to London, the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris, and Broadway to New York—were lined with splendid and spacious stores, which exposed in their windows the products of the entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem to him as if he had left England at all.

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort of restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might partake of dried beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese, without taking out their purses. Payment was made only for the ale, porter, or sherry which was drunk. This seemed “very American” to Passepartout. The hotel refreshment-rooms were comfortable, and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing themselves at a table, were abundantly served on diminutive plates by negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the English consulate to have his passport visaed. As he was going out, he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well, before taking the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles and Colt’s revolvers. He had been listening to stories of attacks upon the trains by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr. Fogg thought it a useless precaution, but told him to do as he thought best, and went on to the consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, “by the greatest chance in the world,” he met Fix. The detective seemed wholly taken by surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed the Pacific together, and not met on the steamer! At least Fix felt honoured to behold once more the gentleman to whom he owed so much, and, as his business recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to continue the journey in such pleasant company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective—who was determined not to lose sight of him—begged permission to accompany them in their walk about San Francisco—a request which Mr. Fogg readily granted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd was collected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails, the shop-doors, the windows of the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people. Men were going about carrying large posters, and flags and streamers were floating in the wind; while loud cries were heard on every hand.

“Hurrah for Camerfield!”

“Hurrah for Mandiboy!”

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to Mr. Fogg, “Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may be danger in it.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Fogg; “and blows, even if they are political, are still blows.”

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street. Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been erected in the open air, towards which the current of the crowd seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to nominate some high official—a governor or member of Congress? It was not improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them.

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass. All the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed, seemed to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries—an energetic way, no doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters. The undulations of the human surge reached the steps, while all the heads floundered on the surface like a sea agitated by a squall. Many of the black hats disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to have diminished in height.

“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object must be an exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the ‘Alabama,’ despite the fact that that question is settled.”

“Perhaps,” replied Mr. Fogg, simply.

“At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy.”

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg’s arm, observed the tumultuous scene with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was. Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction. Thumps were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses which had been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoes went whirling through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of revolvers mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowed over the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been repulsed; but the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had gained the upper hand.

“It would be prudent for us to retire,” said Fix, who was anxious that Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got back to London. “If there is any question about England in all this, and we were recognised, I fear it would go hard with us.”

“An English subject—” began Mr. Fogg.

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose on the terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood, and there were frantic shouts of, “Hurrah for Mandiboy! Hip, hip, hurrah!”

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and taking the Camerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape. The torrent of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was irresistible. Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect their fair companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every Englishman’s arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a red beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his stead. An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance under the detective’s silk hat, which was completely smashed in.

“Yankee!” exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the ruffian.

“Englishman!” returned the other. “We will meet again!”

“When you please.”

“What is your name?”

“Phileas Fogg. And yours?”

“Colonel Stamp Proctor.”

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes. Happily, he was not seriously hurt. His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal parts, and his trousers resembled those of certain Indians, which fit less compactly than they are easy to put on. Aouda had escaped unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray in his black and blue bruise.

“Thanks,” said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out of the crowd.

“No thanks are necessary,” replied Fix; “but let us go.”

“Where?”

“To a tailor’s.”

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy. An hour after, they were once more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned to the International Hotel.

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen six-barrelled revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their adventure, his countenance resumed its placid expression. Fix evidently was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word.

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their luggage to the station drew up to the door. As he was getting in, Mr. Fogg said to Fix, “You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?”

“No.”

“I will come back to America to find him,” said Phileas Fogg calmly. “It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be treated in that way, without retaliating.”

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at home, fight abroad when their honour is attacked.

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and found the train ready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr. Fogg called a porter, and said to him: “My friend, was there not some trouble to-day in San Francisco?”

“It was a political meeting, sir,” replied the porter.

“But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the streets.”

“It was only a meeting assembled for an election.”

“The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“No, sir; of a justice of the peace.”

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.

#around the world in 80 days #jules verne

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