quoting
naddr1qv…kwwuFar to the east lies a vast jungle carpet, scarred with sharp mountain ridges and dotted with pillars and plateaus - silent witnesses of either less geologically stable times or clashes of magic-wielding (and now long-forgotten) armies.
Then came prospectors from the ever-expanding northern realms, and the isolation of the local populace ended. First adventurers, scientists, and - to be fair - also frontier men who no longer wanted or could enjoy the pinnacle achievements of civilization. Not long after, commerce started. And with commerce comes money; with money, tax collectors; and with that, a whole local bureaucracy for "effectiveness" and a garrison for "peace." With the loss of isolation went innocence, freedom, and any fleeting sense of sovereignty.
To connect remote locations across the wild nature and unwelcoming topology, cable cars established themselves as the prime method. Sure, building them wasn't cheapest, but the capacity and relatively wider weather tolerance beat airships any time. They needed less ground footprint than railway - only strong columns and the occasional additional tower boosting the line on a steep pitch or abrupt ridge.
They had to be manned, of course, for all the oiling, coal shovelling, and message passing via semaphores. It wasn't often that it would be economical to make a platform there - why? No one but keepers would have anything to do there, so no one would pay for a ticket there. The only way to get there would be by stopping the car at the right spot, and then putting a wooden bridge across the void to reach the main column. That was if you were lucky; sometimes it was only rappelling with rope that got you to your spot. Or supplies got dropped. The watchmen were like lighthouse keepers of a sort. Maybe in an even less enviable situation. Over their heads, people (and cargo) would travel just out of reach, yet they would be unable to have any interaction with anyone besides the next tower, and even then only with flags or lanterns at night.
That gets us to the centre of this exposition. A young man works one of such towers. Local by birth, foreign by look - perhaps the fruit of a passionate night when higher aristocracy had some fun at the many local brothels. There, many young girls dream of having some wealthy man fall in love with them and take them out of the poverty that brought them in in the first place; or just easy money; or because they had no other option. Sadly, most often the first kind turned into the last kind after the first party, second at best. Underpaid and alone, one day he discovers a body at the tower base. Did he try to get into the tower by foot and get mauled by some hungry cat, or had he fallen? Ways outside are barricaded, so as not to let keepers get lost in the jungle - for their safety, the company says. But when you are a keeper in places like here, boredom will have you find a way, just to keep your sanity.
The body belongs to a fellow not much older than he is, fallen to his death, with a suitcase (sturdy one, having survived the fall enclosed) filled with nice clothes, toiletries, maid outfit... and money and jewels in an amount that didn't match his appearance. He brings the body inside. Who was he? Did he get pushed? Did he fall? Why wasn't anyone looking for him? For days he is troubled and with no solution. Unable to send a message that wouldn't frame him with leaving the tower, he reaches a decision.
On a moonless night, he takes fresh clothes from the suitcase, all the valuables in a sack. Puts the body in his oily excuse of a wardrobe, pours over the moonshine he had contrabanded, and lets it look like it's him who fell into the furnace loading the charcoal. Everyone knows keepers tend to drink to chase away whatever is troubling them. Falling into the furnace isn't the prettiest death, but also not unheard of. Plus no one would be able to identify him... not that there would be many people interested in that anyway. Then it's only waiting for the cargo car passing before becoming a stowaway.
Who had been the unknown benefactor of his new fortune? Maybe a smuggler getting someone a package. Maybe a wedding fraudster, successfully recently widowed, on the move with his latest catch. The companion of a wealthy girl having her adventurous spirit indulged by her soft-hearted father and sent to feel freedom before she has to marry for the benefit of the family. And how did he die? Misstepped? Killed by someone he trusted? Stayed in the way of someone powerful, or was it all just an accident? Not just academic musings, mind you - the answer to this largely shapes how in danger our archetype of Jean Valjean actually is.
Subema on Nostr: Look ma, finally a longnote as an article! #soproud #somuchwork ...
Look ma, finally a longnote as an article! #soproud #somuchwork