The "Belter" as it is known (perhaps not fondly) to all who ride in it, or the All Terrain Traction Iron Carriage as Isabella Blenkinsop would rather it was known, is one of Professor Blenkinsop's few distractions from her babbage calculation work. Often an unsuspecting victim is offered to be "taken for a spin" when the mood takes her, and despite the splutters of Dwarven coffee drinkers who know better through regretted experience, the naive victim accepts Blenkinsop's offer of a lift to their destination of choice. What follows is universally agreed upon as the closest one can experience to hell without the lifetime of sin, the death and the eternal damnation (although the lifetime tends to flash before the passengers eyes, the death is never far away and the oaths, blasphemies and curses that pour from their lips as the ride progresses are certainly constant if not eternal). Miss Blenkinsop is oblivious to this as much as she is oblivious to all but the speed and the manuevers that she can extract from the carriage. The "Devil's Own Coachman", as she is sometimes referred to by the cabbies of London sits at the twin levered controls of the Belter with driving goggles down and a grin rarely seen outside of nightmares as she tears around the London streets.

The Belter is far more suited to a countryside terrain of rocks and mud, rather than the urban terrain of cobbles, indeed the segmented iron traction belts on either side of the carriage that provide its motive power do countless hundreds of pounds worth of damage to the streets of London every year as they grind the cobbles and the carriage could never be used for purposes of stealth as it leaves a trail of devastation so deep that scientists from the next geological era could examine them. The carriage itself is an iron wedgenosed box, wide enough to occupy half a street (and scrape the walls in the slum tennaments) capable of carrying six passengers in the rear (with the engine choking out fumes in the middle of them) and a driver and navigator in the front cabin. There is little aesthetic work done to its exterior to make it resemble anything other than bolted plates of thick cast-iron, but this does not stop Isabella commenting on its beauty (something only she must see) and spending spare moments polishing its surface. There are no weapon mounts (an enterprising gunner could use the array of viewing slits to fire out from) but the thickness of the plating is enough to prevent anything except artillery fire from being a worry (similarly the iron segmented traction belts are equally durable) and its speed can match those of a fast horse. The vehicle is suprising manueverable, with the controls being able to manipulate each traction belt independantly meaning that Isabella could turn on a penny (although the penny wouldn't be viable currency after encountering the tractor treads) and certainly negotiate street corners at a reasonable pace.

Perhaps if the Carriage were to travel at a stately pace, the engine not constantly roaring its throaty battlecry of speed and the driver less confident that she would be the victor coming out of any collision, the Blenkinsop's Belter might have a better reputation and be thought of fondly as an eccentric indulgence. Alas, this is never to be.