- P-QN3 ; P-K4
- QB-QN2 ; P-Q4
- P-K3 ; QN-QB3
- KN-KB3 ; QB-KN5
- P-Q4 ; BxN
- QxB ; P-KB3
- KB-QN5 ; Q-Q2
- PxP ; PxP
- QN-QB3 ; O-O-O
- N-K4 ; Q-Q4
- P-QB4 ; B-Q5 ch
- K-KB1 ; Q-Q6 ch
- K-KN1 ; Q-QB7
- QR-Q1 ; RxR ch
- QxR ; QxQ mate
Art of London
by Edward Five
A photographic collage of the Masters of the Bazaar, captured by various parties.
Responsible photographers (in alphabetical order):
Djane (the Insane)
News of Art, Art of News
Scams, Fraud, Cons – Artistry From Behind The Bars Of New Newgate
The widely spread ‘profession’ of a con artist is one we find sullies the names of all artists, and perhaps the word artist itself. Nevertheless, who can in earnest say they have never been intrigued by the world of ‘gentlemanly’ crime? A spy for the enemy, a crook with a silver smile, wealthy above all else. For this reason we have conducted a visit to New Newgate, interviewing several such frauds. Today we bring you a look into the life and mind of a criminal artist.
It must be said that they are a joyfully varied bunch. Apart from conpeople there sit forgers, Bazaar-embezzlers, decoys with their partnered pickpockets, and puppeteers. They are, however, split into two clearly defined groups – those that came to the Neath for they thought crime would be easy, and those who came there to profit off of the mistakes of the former.
Crime, as any citizen would know, is a dangerous place full of opportunities as well as opportunism, a land where those with the largest teeth win. One conwoman, preferring to remain unnamed, retells a story of her first Neathy cons. Long ago, she sold ‘poison’ to up-and-coming poisoners. Merely a concoction of stewed and mashed mushrooms and a few drops of prisoner’s honey, diluted with what she referred to only as ‘the special sauce’ – enough to elicit a long yet pleasant false-death to the poisoned, and a sense of self-satisfaction to the poisoner.
Although our woman claims to no longer distribute the substance, the recipe appears to still be in circulation, either as sleep medicine or as a convenient way to fake one’s death, depending on your source.
The Silver-Tongued Merchant recalls selling fraudulent permits from the Bazaar for various criminal activities. To this day it is not uncommon to catch a cutthroat carrying a murder license with no legal binding, several faux theft cards, or other such falsified goods. The Merchant also retold an anecdote of selling the entire Bazaar to an enterprising soul believing them to be its owner. When asked whether this led to their eventual imprisonment, they offered no further comments.
The Dreaming Misanthrope was less talkative, although still a quite fascinating criminal to talk to. He had a long and illustrious career in dealing with dreams. Starting on the surface, he simply fulfilled his client’s desires – a man who could accomplish anything, given enough time. The job took on a much more literal meaning once he had arrived to the Neath. The orchestration of events, whether they are or Not, is a skill many yearn to master. However, poking around within people’s dreams seems to have left the Misanthrope, well, deserving of his epithet. At the very least, prison has made him welcome half an hour of conversation.
Having spent an amount of time amongst the caught criminals, it is easy to once again see the charm of their profession. Those aforementioned, preying on other lowlifes rather than the common citizenry, have a certain glint in their eyes. A spark of knowledge, a sense of pride, steel-strong certainty in their abilities. It must be said, their abilities are truly to behold.
Other prisoners, be as it may that they have been swindled by them, still look up to these conpeople as teachers and inspiration. They are masters of their craft, after all – perhaps even deserving of the title of an artist.
There is, after all, a semblance of art to their work. However, perhaps it is best to leave this judgement up to the reader.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
The pressure of responsibility never ceases to amaze in its simplicity and absolute unavoidableness.
‘Tis an endless cycle we dread to revisit; not out of worry, simply out of boredom and repetition.