The Pipe and The New Yorker

subrosa infinity


4th of October 1866
To Professor Thomas R. Castille,

Perhaps it is now that I should begin to address you as Advisor, that is after-all your new title and the principle reason for this letter.  I can only employ my imagination as to what you must be feeling or even more curiously, what you must be thinking.  You were informed that the leadership of a great organization as well as the control of several magazines and newspapers has become yours.  The transition will be slow, allowing time for you to acclimate to your new posting.  With time, the architects will begin to seek your advise on certain sensitive issues, and as the Advisor, you will council them to whichever course you see fit.  You are the third to advise the Sheathe, and like your predecessors, you will further the goals and help craft the ambitions of a transcendent organization.

You have an advantage that the Advisors of past did without.  You have me, the Curator.  My duty is to be your guide and your confidant.  Anything spoken or written between us will never be revealed unless you desire it.  The architects saw it necessary to appoint me to this role in order to gather journals, correspondence, and anything left behind by past members of the Sheathe to preserve and when necessary, parlay to you pertinent information.  

You see Advisor, the Sheathe consists of many tendrils that often operate in utter secrecy even in ignorance to one another.  You are the light that beacons those tendrils towards a coherent agenda, and I am the calm that steadies your hand.  As the Curator, I will lead you where the first four Advisors have been so that you will see their mistakes or emulate their successes.

At times I will send you journal entries of those that have proved vitally important, other times I’ll narrate key events in the Sheathe’s history from the collective writings and accounts of multiple people If I believe it will further your understanding of a pivotal moment.

Isn’t it so important?  History that is.  Knowledge of one’s past is infinitely useful as a tool to shape the future, it is as the pen that creates a story’s destiny, that you will imbue your intellect upon the Sheathe’s fate.  Tomorrow and all the days thereafter are far too important to leave to lesser individuals or random chance.

Allow me to share with you a letter that was curated from the first to hold your position.  I hope you can find your place more easily as you sit at the desk that he did, so many years ago.  I take you back 31 years Advisor, to the fall of 1835.

-James E. K., Curator


The Pipe and The New Yorker

1st of November 1835
Dear James,
 
I had thrice read the letter the morning I had received it in the post over 30 years before this day.  A dear friend of mine, Mr. Dustran Grandfort, had long been pressing me to join him in a venture to release a newspaper in the New City.  Quite a business leap to leave one's home and vocation to chance one's fortunes on a nation fresh out of war.  Passion is all that it was,  it is all I can say even as I write to you from the middle of the Atlantic. Interested parties encouraged Mr. Grandfort to go over to the Americas where a new magazine was experiencing quit a stir amongst the burgeoning people of New York.   His political views, commentary and especially the odd number of gentlemen he spent his time with, gave him quite the cultured reputation amongst others.

There seems to have been a turn of fortunes though, it seems.  I hadn't heard from Mr. Grandfort for over 3 months.  I've written the newspaper where he is an editor, and also sent word to a few of his known acquaintances.  All to no avail.  Not but 5 days ago I finally received a response from New York,  a chap named Reilly Artsain claimed to work for the New York Herald.  He was awfully vague and his writing crudely awkward.     A request for me to fill Mr. Grandfort position temporarily as he recovered from a long bout of some untold illness was made.  It was expressed that Mr. Grandfort was in jeopardy of losing his editorship to someone else. 

If that all sounds imprecise and terribly verbose, then you already know as much as I do about the whole ordeal.  You see, Mr. Grandfort is an absurdly private man with a broad range of interests and investments that may coincide with one another or not.  His name is brought up frequently  in a variety of social circles, yet not much is discussed of his goings-on.  Don't concern yourself however, I'm on my way there presently to deal with all of this,  I wouldn't wish it that he lost his posting.   I need to apprise myself of the matters at hand.

I first met Mr. Grandfort some 10 or 12 odd years ago.  I was finishing my term as the liaison ambassador for Great Britain.  I grew quite fond of New York, and before I was recalled back to my country, I made many timeless contacts and acquaintances. 

The Algonquin Round Table, in particular, had my heart a-race.  It was a gathering of gentlemen, even by England’s standards, that engaged daily at the Algonquin hotel to indulge in witty repertoire, politics, literature, and especially the evocation of fine modern art.  My ambassadorial term had led me to that hotel in Manhattan many a day and bred a special love for the good pipe-smokers that roared in laughter and emptied decanters of scotch each time we met.  

“Are you ready, Mr. Ingram?” I remembered so clearly the question posed by Mr. Grandfort, simple yet knowing.

“I have adopted this new Nation, these States, you see.” Mr. Grandfort continued, sipping carefully on whatever might have been in his cup. “I want you to help me change the world.”

Respectfully,
-Charles Ingram

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