It was a Dark and Stormy night. Slowly the Polar Explorer pulled out of the harbour, lights gleaming like... [insert authorial pause in which she tries to think of a Really Bad Analogy]... little cats' eyes peering out of her sides. On board her vast deck, Aparna Sanjiv Aiyar stood at the port railing, looking at the dark coast of Greenland slip slowly away. In the Captain's cabin, John was tossing and turning and trying to get to sleep. He had cabin fever--and they had only just pulled out of the port.

In the Engine Room, Ted was manning the... [authorial note: suggestions welcome] Engine.

[Kelly's authorial note: Aps has objected to her lead role in the story. The heroine's name shall therefore be changed to... *drumroll*...

the Marquess Alexandra Jacqueline de Pompey Fructidor!]

Right. So the Marquess Alexandra Jacqueline de Pompey Fructidor was strolling on the port deck, watching the dark coast of Greenland slip slowly into the night's oblivion. Deep in the Engine Room, Ted was coaxing the engine to its maximum speed of fifteen knots, for they were scheduled to arrive at the Pole by morning. Despite the inordinate amount of concentration it took to get wheezing engine's speed up, he found time to wonder at the Polar Explorer's motley cast of passengers and crew.

There was Captain John, for example, in his ruffles and breeches, who had locked the door to his cabin, preventing Little Willy his cabin boy from doing any tidying there. He had winked at Ted and said, "'Tis a top secret research experedition [sic], m'boy! Can't have Little Willies peeping and prying, can we now?" Then he had given a hearty laugh and strolled off, leaving Ted feeling extremely bemused.

And then there was the the Marquess Alexandra Jacqueline de Pompey Fructidor, of whom nothing was known. Except, of course, that she was the heiress to a fortune in telephone cords. [authorial note: Kinky!] Ted had heard it whispered among the ranks of cabin boys that she was present on the Polar Explorer in connection with a Journey of Forgetting. Whatever that was.

One of the steam boilers began to hiss, black smoke billowing out in dark clouds. Ted spat, wiped his mouth, and forgot about the Marquess.

*

But what of our heroine, strolling along the port deck beneath the heavy storm clouds?

The Marquess A.J. de P.F, as she was more commonly known, was, like the weather, particularly downcast that night. I am in tune with nature, she thought to herself, sighing deeply. O, how I do miss the sunny clime of my dear, dear chateau on the outskirts of Marseilles! And the wine, and the ivy round the castle walls, and the sculpted gardens! And welcoming my mother's distant cousin, the Princess of the Caribbean Islands! O, there did I sing and dance all day, watching TimTom my pet monkey and dusting the portraits of my revered ancestor, King Jigme Singye Wangchuck of Bhutan! [authorial note: that is a Really Bad Anachronism. Jigme Singye Wangchuck is the present King of Bhutan.]

For indeed the Marquess was descended from a long line of royalty. Bhutanese royalty, to be sure, but blue blood was blue; that could not be denied. She raised her right arm in the moonlight and examined the vein, just to be certain.

And ma chere Elise, with her glorious stories of Egyptian headdresses, and of course, of course, mon cher Andre! Oh, how I long for him, even now that he and I are long parted, and perhaps forever! The Marquess Alexandra paused in her reflections to withdraw from her bosom a wooden box, on which was carved in exquisite lettering,

"A Jacqueline, mon amour. Toujours, Andre."
[Authorial Note: It was either a very big bosom, or a very small box. Our research in this field is inadequate. Suggestions welcome.]

The Viscomte Sheikh Andre Ricardo de Bologne de Bahrain had been her longtime lover, and her presence on the Polar Explorer was due, she felt, entirely to the enmity that had existed between him and her father, the Marquis Alexander.


*****TO BE CONTINUED*****