Standing in the hallway was a man enveloped in steam. I say man, but honestly, that was up for debate. His leather coat seemed normal enough, but the cloak draped over his shoulders was studded with small steam pipes puffing away at regular intervals. WAS THIS GUY STEAM-POWERED? In one hand he gripped a brass-topped cane, in the other, a clipboard covered with gears. Perched on his head was a top hat mounted with aviator goggles. A monocle—a monocle!—adorned his left eye. He must have had a good twenty pounds of brass gadgets strapped to him. And I couldn’t have told you what a single one of them did. “Good day, young miss.” He bowed, lifting his hat and revealing a glass porthole in the center of his forehead, through which I could see his brains—HIS BRAINS!—illuminated by a ghastly green light and bathed in tiny rising bubbles. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Vander Graaff Farsical the twenty-fourth, but you’re welcome to call me the Wondrous Professor Farsical.”