New Toulouse

Mr. Jack Mondieu suggested that I explain the visit of Dr. Augustus Boffin and his crates, and address the unfounded and foolish concerns of some of our more gullible citizens.

Dr. Boffin is a well-known purveyor of scientific supplies to the collector and educational communities. His microscopes and slide sets and mineral samples can be found in nearly every school in the country.

Dr. Boffin contacted me some time ago, and I have invited him to visit our fair lands and collect new samples to his heart’s delight. His “mysterious” boxes contain parts to fix the ice plant, except for the empty ones intended to help him transport his collected samples back to his laboratories—certainly not to deliver parts for any nefarious machinery in the upstairs back room of the New Toulouse City Hall That Has Always Been There.

If you should see Dr. Boffin about town, please extend to him the courtesy for which our fair city is known. If he asks to collect samples from your homes and farms, please allow him to do so. And if you have any scientific curiosities, show them to him—he may be interested in purchasing them!

Henri Godenot
Mayor
City of New Toulouse

Being connected directly to the pulsing heart of New Toulouse by virtue of my many contacts, of various states of learnedness, at the myriad delightful watering-holes throughout our fair city (where there is never so much as a slight overcast to the sky, and where beautiful birds untainted by feather-rot warble sweetly from every branch), there have come to me wild rumors, gossip, and outright fabrications of the most upsetting sort.

Dr. Augustus Boffin, recently arrived in this town, is a current subject of such spurious speculation. Some say he is the mayor’s “mind man,” here to assist City Hall in its efforts to keep the locals happy and uninformed. That is, of course, pure poppycock. Dr. Boffin is the Boffin of Boffin Scientific Inc. (BSI), a perfectly benign concern mainly involved in outfitting the amateur science enthusiast. Any bright eight-year-old with a healthy interest in beetle collection or wireless technology knows this.

But some local scandalmongers have even been painting poor Boffin as a sort of mad-scientist figure out of the fevered imagination of H. G. Wells, darkly muttering about the shipment of crates from BSI to City Hall, as though they held parts for some evil mind-control device and not the insect vivaria and radio parts they probably contain in actuality.

Clearly these whisperers and ranters could use a dose of cold, hard reality with a side order of common sense. To this end, I call upon the mayor to stand up and tell the people of New Toulouse why exactly he has been conferring with Dr. Boffin. Mr. Mayor, please find the time to speak and allay our concerns! I will be waiting, pencil in hand, ready to record for the Tattler the substance of your address.

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Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, exhibits a love of chemistry. His favorite molecule is CH₃CH₂OH.

New Toulouse’s very own Eugenie Theriot has discovered something strange about the bayou radio station. While testing her crystal set, Miss Theriot found that the station had changed its broadcast.

“I don’t ever listen to our station anymore,” Miss Theriot said. “It’s just the same old sequence of numbers, repeating endlessly. Always exactly the same, except when it is not. You see, it’s changed.”

The station broadcasts a series of numbers, which Miss Theriot wrote down last year, “after the first fifty-seven times I heard it,” she said. “Because how many times do you really want to hear ‘Forty, fifty, fifty, four … zero, eleven, ninety-one, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, zero, eleven, forty, thirty, five … one, sixty-one, twenty, fifty, eleven, ninety, five … zero, eighty, fifty-one, twenty-one, six’? That’s all it ever played, repeated endlessly.”

Hearing the broadcast over the crystal set she built, she had written down the numbers. “I thought the man reciting those numbers might be counting something, or that it had something to do with the weather report, or the strange lights in the bayou, but they never changed. And he always sounded so worried.”

Miss Theriot showed me her notes. She had printed the sequence of numbers in a fine, clear hand. Then she connected the battery terminals to her little radio, and the rich sound of a woman’s voice filled the air: “Zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five.” It was a woman’s voice, very calm, very deliberate.

“See, that’s the long pause, the end of the sequence. Now it will restart!” said Miss Theriot.

Over the radio, the woman’s voice continued: “Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five. Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five. Zero, twelve, two, zero, fifty-one, thirty-one, sixty-two, zero … one, forty-one, five … one, twenty, eleven, forty, forty, ninety-one, forty, seven … zero, eighty, fifty-one, eighty, five.”

Miss Theriot played it a few times and then turned it off. “Nobody knows what this is all about, or why New Toulouse even has a radio station. And that thing has really high power, too. Why? Who is going to listen to it for more than a couple minutes? Who built that thing? Have you ever even seen anyone in the station?”

She handed me a copy of her notes and pointed to her suitcase. “I’m taking the next boat out,” she said, “I’ll see you next year. If you’re still here.”

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Gigi Lapin lives in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.

The old Montgolfier Building has seen its share of history in our fair city, but soon it will host what some consider a beacon of hope. It shall soon host the Avalon Clinic to tend to the ill. The founder is Dr. Guenivere D’Avalon. Some just call her “Doc Avalon.” The doctor is a graduate of the prestigious Miskatonic University, and she previously worked at Innsmouth Hospital in New England.

“I saw this city when visiting some relatives, and I fell in love,” said Dr. Avalon. “I knew that there was a need I could address.” The clinic plans to offer a variety of treatments, from surgery to tonics for health. There is a hint of controversy, as Dr. Avalon supposedly left Innsmouth after practicing “advanced experiments.” When asked about this, she replied, “I have always believed in the advancement of science, both for human good and for its own sake. There are always those that fail to understand what needs to be done, and Innsmouth’s loss will be New Toulouse’s benefit!”

Apparently Dr. Avalon is doing well, as she has already hired a local to be her nurse. She plans to hire medical staff and lab assistants, and soon she will be seeing patients. “We do hope to be open by Mardi Gras. After all, this city will have a great need for proper medicine once the tourists start getting drunk and rowdy.”

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Avis Picayune is a tough old bird that perches on the porches of the city. Wet her beak with a little liquor, and she may sing out some interesting tidbits.

Miss Maggie Hawksby strongly cautions residents to heed the warning on their toulousite meteorite specimens.

Miss Hawksby, of New Toulouse, watered her display specimen of toulousite.

The specimen came from a chunk of the main mass of the meteorite that Miss Liza Veliz found on October 26. Miss Veliz was doing her civic duty, energetically searching for the new weird glowing mushrooms, when she literally tripped over the huge meteorite. She sent it to the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry and collected a cash reward. The BSI is convinced that the meteorite is the one reported here in early October. The BSI has been giving trophy specimens of the meteorite as a bounty for collecting the glowing mushrooms that have been popping up all over Bayou. Each specimen has an attractive little plaque saying, “Toulousite: A Nickel-Iron Meteorite, whose fall was observed in the Community of New Toulouse. A thank-you gift from the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry (Keep this sample dry).”

Miss Hawksby, being of a curious mind, undertook her own science experiment. She wanted to answer that ageless question that has plagued mankind since rocks first fell from the sky: “I wonder what what would happen if I watered my meteorite?”

Miss Hawksby knew she had a problem when the mushroom that began growing burst through the ceiling of Mr. Elwood Dowd’s home in New Toulouse Bayou, where she conducted her experiment. She tried cutting it down, but it grew faster than she could cut it back. As it grew, she says, it became strangely warm, even hot. When it began to break through the walls and roof, she called for help.

“Frankly, and I hope he doesn’t read this, but the mayor does not have much of a sense of humor,” Miss Hawksby said. “He yelled at me, kind of rudely, ‘Oh, no, not again! I am not going to fix the house, Miss Hawksby! This is not my problem!’ Fortunately, he also yelled for Mr. Pestana.”

Miss Hawksby thought it would be a good idea to summon the kraken, but Mayor Godenot reportedly said, “You want my sea monster, capable of tossing an entire ship, to eat your radioactive and possibly hallucinogenic fungus? No way. Besides, krakens don’t exist.”

But Pazzo Pestana, said Miss Hawksby, was “cool as a cucumber,” suggesting that zombies could take care of the situation. “So I sprinkled that mushroom with graveyard dust, and Pazzo lured a zombie in. Henri wanted to smear the mushroom with brains, but that was dumb. Where would you get that many human brains at short notice?”

According to Miss Hawksby, the graveyard dust attracted numerous zombies, who ate away at the huge mushroom. “Big chunks were falling off and sprouting new mushrooms, and the zombies were swarming over those, too.” The mushroom, she says, continued warming up until it caught fire. Fortunately the house was too damp to attract the blaze.

Today there is no evidence of this incident. The roof of Mr. Dowd’s house appears to have been patched recently, and Mr. Dowd is away on business. Mayor Godenot reportedly contacted the Bureau of Scientific Inquiry, advising them to varnish all future meteorite samples to keep them dry, but this reporter was unable to confirm this.

“Chalk one up for science,” said Miss Hawksby. “At least we know why you shouldn’t water the meteorites. But those glowing mushrooms were pretty neat. I wonder why the mushroom collection instructions said not to put more than twenty of them in a bucket.”

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Gigi Lapin resides in New Toulouse Bayou with her pet crawfish, Jimbo.