Alternate Endings
This part pf the docks were largely derelict, full of the sea swamp stench, that oozed up and drifted down in the backwater effluent dump of the downs. It was a perpetual eye saw for the surrounding residents, a necessary scar on the landscape, a breathing, secreting, absorbing amalgamation of waste that seemed to pour without end into the shallow waters of the Themes.
I had spent the evening atop a small rise, which gave me a vantage point down into the industrial fen, a small area of relative safety, where one could idol away the days and nights watching interesting going ons in the miscreant neighborhood of sighs and sins. You see this place was in close proximity to the toffee nose lords in their sleek stoned mansions, as well as the rising new industrialists full of new world money, this gave the place a privileged position between the above world and the underworld, a place where it could dine off the appetites of both as it became a nefarious rendezvous between the two. There was little that transcribed in these parts of London that was dubious that didn’t transpire here.
Deep within its old warehouses, built upon the banks of roman ruins, encroached upon by the sea at one end and a seething mass of domesticated greenery at the other the place hosted the cut throats, the industrial geniuses and the preposterous county lords that had sniffed their way through pounds of powder delivered to these very shores on a nightly basis, not to mention the shameful industries that built up alongside this one, axillary commerce where ill-gotten gains went to die. For this reason, my spy glass and I often scoped this spot.
It had been some time, and no event of significance had transpired, I was anticipating an early departure and an early night, but as night slowly transformed into the day, the first of the suns heat already rousing the stench from fetid piles or rotten refuge and the moon ushering in a shameful retreat in the sky above my sight caught the thin flutter of a black sail , an unassuming vessel at an assuming hour, and yet the uneasy breeze in which this vessel coasted sparked my intuitive curiosity.
At first, I believed no one aboard, as what small wind was in its sail was easily and even mysteriously able to bring its keel neatly against the sands of the fish death beach that’s shores oozed with an even more concentrated stench than could be found elsewhere.
The rail was motionless, the small cabin also, neither light, nor movement suggesting a presence. The sail that seemed full of some secretive wind now sat in its own silence as a further silence filled the scene. I could not guess what next would transpire, however even I was startled, something moved from the confines of the vessel, but did not leave it with the movement of a man, it was more a slither, a floating resemblance of bipedal sinuosity, a dim reminder of what humanity used to look like before it had evolved. It seemed to taste the air reptilian like, simian like, its gaze focused on the city ahead, the distant cosmopolis of London town in its sights and then suddenly towards me, so I nearly dropped my eye glass. Across this giant expanse of industrial country side, it seemed to know of me. and then it seemed to fold itself into humanity, and in that instance before it transformed, something dark opaque like the night itself bled blackness into existence for an instance and then in an instant all that supernatural sinew was sucked in and with just a shake the man thing moved into the shadow of the forest that gripped the fetid shore. I knew at once that something was not right. This was worth investigating.
I scampered down the shallow slope and moved towards where I had last seen it. Surely, I could cut it off somewhere in the ruins, without being familiar with the downs, it was unlikely that it would find its way out, if out was indeed its destination. I moved through familiar territory, my caution forgotten in my haste, I needed to know what this figure was up to. The derelict amas of waste around me even in their familiar ruin was compelling, the unlight of the departing night enough to cast all in unbecoming shapes as my excitement turned to unease. The supply tunnels were ahead, the only sure way from the downs, all must pass through here, it was here I would make my stand.
I found my vantage point at once, hiding myself amidst fen and fallow, I let darkness and the night creep upon me, quietening my pulse and my breath, the drip of water near by a lucky disguise for the quick sharp nervous breaths I breathed. I waited and sat last a shadow detracted itself from the shadows. It moved again with the same form of liquid tension that it had done earlier, and then its awareness seemed to shift, to become aware of something else, to become aware of me. I sunk myself deeper into the darkness so I was beyond comprehension and yet I still knew I had been comprehended and as some alien entity pushed its senses upon me, my awareness fled in terror, I know longer wished for this dire meeting.
It moved then, flowing like jagged silk, towards my presence, but it was not going to allow me the dignity of discovery, instead I could feel it in my mind whispering for me to come out. Or was this just an unconscious urge fed upon me by my fear. And then I found myself upright and stammering, all sorts of obnoxious lies, as the figure stood with in its only little parcel of darkness and observed. It came closer then and I was overwhelmed again by the strange ways in which it moved. Around me it towered, its shadow impossibly long, my arms flush with goose bumps and a whimper in my throat and then it did that thing where it became totally human again, slumping instantly into middle aged hopelessness foot dragging stooped humanity. “My girl” was pronounced deliberately as though it were practicing a foreign language. There is little need for one such as yourself to be snooping and dithering in the darkness for one such as I. You see the very fact that you are not indeed already dead has cast your future in a particularly good light, even if we were to leave here and we were never to see each other again. You see I am new to this land, or more truly I once resided here before, in another era and in another time, I need to reestablish myself within the elite of London’s walls, and you my Camilla will help me”.
He had nothing and could promise me nothing, his past was as mysterious as his strange accent, but as he moved around me, so did another darkness, a soft enveloping umbrella that coxed me towards him as though every cell in my being longed to be enveloped and the wicked way in which I had just seen it navigate the world no longer mattered so much and I felt captivated by this vision, yes I would help this strange man who whispered now that he was from a strange place called Transylvania, and no again it was not the same place of familiar origin, from which older fables has arose, not that distant expanse of remote mountains on the edge of the Christian empire, but somewhere else, south past the curve of the Earth in the distant antipodes on the edge of the word, close to the giant ice mass of an unknown frozen continent it had once presided, now it were home, it was a distant land of dark forests and mountainous peaks where strange mysteries dwelt, surrounded by oceans fathoms deep. In those moments I secretly observed him and yet I could not fail to not, his disposition was beautiful, angelic and yet still full of the rich lacquer of masculinity, clean shaved to the point of immaturity it was only the cold touch of his eyes that brought everything away from the realms of boyhood and innocence and gave his whole being a sense of thirst like intensity, as though he wanted to feed upon the experience of everything around him. And stranger still his voice didn’t quite suit him, it was smooth and silky, but not married successfully to that face, as though at some point he had swapped it for another, both sat together and yet apart in the darkness. His accent was indescribable, it still possessed the clean crisp catch of lords, but it also seemed to round and ruin all those once familiar words into a tenacious amalgamation of strange sounds that appeared and yet still took a moment to comprehend.
In the nights that followed, for he said he would require the solace of the day to rest, a strange tropical sickness has once befallen him and never left him, leaving him sensitive to all forms of light. He had day business he required me to organize, and my reward would be beyond anything the clandestine activities I had previously pursued could supply. We met at various locations spread haphazardly through the poor quarters, coming together under lowered lamp light, by the light of fires and star light. Things had gone well for Lord Van Diemen, he would go by no other name and never explained this title, but his insistence was paramount. During the visits I would share my knowledge of the well to do, and he was seemingly quick to take advantage of all my observations, a penny for your thoughts, or more a pound as he promised.
Over the weeks he quickly gained a position of power, working his influence deep within the inner workings of London Town. Like a slice of black silk without its jagged edges, he infiltrated the worlds of those around him, a sponge dining on experience, as he absorbed the life of the capital. I was amazed, there was no sign of the silky sinewy shadow, the pale predatorial panther. He was gone, or waiting, or he was only let out when I wasn’t around.
He paid me generously for my time with golden ingots, their origin the place he had come from. I no longer needed to loiter upon lofty heights, my eyes trained on unidentifiable shadows, I had moved from the streets into this new world. The biggest difference though came from him, He was infinitely seductive, but on a level that seemed to transcend the flesh, he would unconsciously seduce the world, his face of course magnetic with emotion, his expression, and body language always engaging and alluring, he swept everyone into his embrace, his persona, all that everyone wished for in a human companion. And as he tucked his arm casually over the shoulder in a very unbecoming gesture of Victorian sensitivity, people fell in love, as I had. and he knew it, I could see him tasting it, as he subtly turned as though to scorn my words, and then to as quickly come back engaged with balderdash and exaggeration, embellishment and embracement. He would then lean in close to completely capture my attention with his fine features, before his eyes turned away again as though in disinterest. It was not long before he knew all about me and he had not even asked.
I had confessed to him as though he were a priest, I had told him in great sprawling wallowing detail everything that there was to know and he had for the length of it listened in an accepting silence that should have felt patronizing in its duration, and yet I had felt like I had the ears of the universe before me, straining and embellishing every detail with his expression. I started at the beginning as all the stories start.
The disheveled goat shed, leaning on another dilapidated lean to, surrounded by a sea of lean to’s and mud. Disease and feces that periodically fell from the grand properties above had been our garden. The one-room dwelling served all purposes for its inhabitants as they jostled each other for privacy and space. No one was employed honorably under this roof, we all pitched in with various nefarious past times, returning at days end with the sum of our contributions, sometimes riches, but most times ruin, we carved out a meager existence in a monstrous world, Eventually sickness swept through the streets those like us were first to go and I recounted how I had nursed my family into the arms of death, finally torching the small abode in a whim of desperation and passion as I left my former self in a blaze of disease and wood smoke. From there I had been an urchin of the streets and using my skills in observation I soon became somewhat of a desired commodity wherever court intrigue spilled unceremoniously into the street I was there to document its passage. I had learned the basics of writing and reading from my mother who had in a past life fallen from grace, a tutor to the progeny of the elite, she was well rehearsed in this world workings and with those skills, and the ones I added while not successful I had created a secretive niche between worlds where I had been able to exploit both. Of course, as I explained my job was not without peril and I soon became sought after for all the wrong reasons, by the time I was 15 I was loathed and hunted by half the city, as the other half traded coin for my wares, in these perilous times I became invisible, my place of abode a hidden location of great ingenuity, false doors amidst secret tunnels, underground catacombs, rabid warrens of ancient origin, stretching down beneath the ruins of Rome, on the edge of ancient pagan rivers that had been constrained and redirected, in these ancient places far from the sunlight where before ancient cults had practiced blood warship I found solitude. I created maps, vast subterranean details scrawled on pigskin with blood, I created subtle signage that only I could read and with my knowledge I travelled with near invisibility through the city below and the city above. Of course The Lord Daimen wanted access to my catacombs and with pride I brought him down and together we used these passages to permeate and pervade the city above.
As our relationship developed, I became enveloped by his persona, the dangerous creature that I had witnessed a dim memory and while I feared him at times, the very nature of his undeniable charisma enveloped me so that danger seemed a far-off thing.
Did I have feelings for him in those early days? Yes, my heart would yearn for his contemplation, all thoughts sharpened by the envelope of possession, nothing was something only when I told him, and something became nothing when he wasn’t there. As a keen observer I detected no outward sexuality, he feigned it when it suited his purpose, consciously adopting the Leer and lure of man when he wished to disarm powerful damsels into a state of familiarity and flattery, adopting the persistent appraisal, never disguising his hungry when boobs and bodices were near and yet I knew nothing stirred him this way, for it was as though his heart had been possessed by a deeper yearning, one that eclipsed all temporal avenues of the flesh, something that he possessed at all times so that the whims of mortality had no power over him and with this edge he had begun his conquest of this new world. Although I felt arousal on some primitive undisclosed level it again was not him that my need was focused, it was something else.
Other things astounded me, his aptitude in dark spaces was astounding, without the need for assistance he navigated the darkness below sure footed and oblivious to the dangers concealed in the dark, he moved with a frightening familiarity, the stench of ages and death opaque to his reason as though the qualms of the dead had no impact on the living. He found fascination where most mortals would uncover fear, he seemed to grow large in these spaces a small part of his hidden identity accidentally revealed, as though the ancient darkness down here merged with him and helped to strip back until his exterior fell away, leaving only the compelling darkness that was his interior to remain. He also wanted to go deeper beneath the earth, to navigate in those passages that even I did not go, in places where the ancient Briton structures fell into deep history, cloaked and obscured by long expanses of geological time, where the passage required the dimensions of serpents and every so often, he would sniff at these entrances searching as though for something familiar.
He had theories upon these places, he said the concentration of power was no mistake, across the world areas of civilization grew not from the need for conventional resources, but from something else and all true leaders tapped into this ancient energy contained within the land to exploit its power and he believed that here to beneath the capital of the world this power still persisted.
However, it was not long before the rumors that I collected about everyone else started to filter in about him. Talk abounded over this handsome stranger who had made such a grand ascension into Londonian high life, his influence at first grasped by the young naive and restless those that sought to improve their positions too. Rumor was made that he had clandestine interactions, strange occurrences within his inner circle, acts of strange things, unnatural and yet compelling for those nearest to him, none would say such was their secrecy and secrets were my barter, whatever was occurring was beyond the reliable trade that I was accustomed to, however I knew there had been deaths and strange secretive cover ups and yet there was no end to those that wanted to be beside him including me.
We of course had gained lodgings well above the city and we allowed our feces to drop to the streets below to allow those below to wallow in the same mud and disease that I had been long accustomed to, I cared not for my ascension, London was a callous place, and all social movement was celebrated at the expense of everyone else. Our rooms were expensive, unlike anything I had before been accustomed to. Decked in fashionable fabrics and cloaked in both damask filigree and shadow we enjoyed a lavish oppulance owing to his position and for a time I cared not for the rumors I was free from filth and if my rise had ruined others I cared not.
The wonders of the wealthy were intoxicating, compared to poverty where you are at the whim of everyday, I found a stability in my existence that allowed my thoughts to expand out to grasp opportunities and seek experiences that had been closed to me. Poverty had closed shut the parts of my mind that sought to better my condition as all energy had been focused on survival, now I was able to find amongst the long days an ability to find beauty in the common place, my curiosity became broader, not wholly focused on the attainment of intrigue and gossip and the commerce of knowledge. I would now often visit the state libraries for pleasure, my carriage and clothing allowing me easy access to tombs that before had not been available. Amongst the literary world I had begun my research, at first, I began on items of vague interest, until I finally found myself narrowing my research on all things to do with my new companion. Obsession, perhaps fear, for deep down I knew my time at his side was limited, if I did not find something to bind me to him or to him away I would perhaps need to return to my place in the mud, or end up like the others and for this I would not do. In the weeks that I was not attending to his needs by day I was able to confidently research during those spare hours between them and the night, my survival was my plight.
Between the British museum library and the London lending library I found a peace I had not felt before. Before all my research had been accompanied by danger and discomfort and now I could sit amidst velvet and leather lavish opulence, for hours pouring over large leather volumes and weekly newspaper gazettes, small and large publications, meticulously catalogued and at my disposal, delivered by uniformed public servants who treated me with respect not just for my dress, but also for my reading skills and I thanked my poor mother again for this precious gift. I could sit bathed in sunlight that never seemed to reach the streets below, a cleaner purer light that often sent me to sleep with its caress as the smell of leather and parchment soothed my brain with fragrances that I had not known existed and for a time I forgot my unfortunate origins amidst sewage and suffering and my mind was able to open like a flower to absorb the flow of knowledge and life around me.
I began my research broadly as in the back of my head I predicted with some slight unease the presence of Lord Daemon predicting this activity as he seems able to predict all things else. I quickly discovered all there was to know about Van Diemen’s Land and its small capital Hobart. This place indeed focused my curiosity, described as a shanty town with few genuine buildings it largely consisted of water endowed slums full of the same desperation that I had become accustomed to here and yet if one was to navigate from the waterside deeper into the foot hills of its mountainous companion one could find an arcadian splendor that although still present in England was quickly succumbing to the whim of human industrialization and mechanization.
I glimpsed sketches of these places, drawn perhaps with characteristic bias as though the artist wanted to decorate these foreign expanses with a European flavor so that the unfamiliarity was not so appalling. I could see past this British facade and what was left became truly foreign. Amidst those landscapes my imagination walked and again in this place a further peace settled upon me. I of course had questioned him about his origins and yet he seemed completely uninterested in his past and disclosed all but nothing. As I knew his movements from the evening that he had arrived it was not difficult to check the inventory of cargo and passengers to find a match and yet no inventory suggested an identity like his, unless he had of course travelled under an alias from Van Diemen’s land to England which was indeed possible. I decided to focus more thoroughly on the ship the decrepit hulk that had appeared in the Themes only days prior to my companion’s arrival. Little could be ascertained in the realms of public knowledge, but with my street sense combined with my developing literary logic I quickly put together aspects of the puzzle.
I know I had a tidy sum of coin to wet the tongues of officials and rumor mongers alike. The ship was named the Feria, a typical 2 mast steam assisted rig that had completed the voyage multiple times, like many ships it was low on maintenance and was not from the testimonial of previous passengers fit for purpose. And yet it had successfully navigated this 6-month voyage, just. I soon found medical accounts of the passenger’s conditions and the unknown affliction that had overcome its crew. Of course, at sea over the course of this voyage disease was a distinct possibility, this ship would never have officially been accepted to dock even to this day quarantine and customs determined the ship’s ability to dock. I read systematic autopsy reports, the sickness indeed enduring so that many were given a final artificial release with the aid of potent pain relief narcotics. 23 crew members in total and yet for all the calamity of the situation details were scant. As there was no sign of further contagion and further threat to London the situation had quickly been suppressed to prevent a scene that might interrupt the steady flow of colonizers from these shores. I of course searched for the passenger’s inventory, it revealed nothing and frankly I would have been surprised to find the name Lord Daemon on this list, or the list of the dead. Luckily my vain companion had had many oil painted portraits commissioned in his likeness and with the smaller of these I was able to interview various officials to see if his name was amongst the dead and yet no one knew his face, or recognized his name and to secrecy I had to swear that those would not link my investigation with hefty coin to insure that nothing was linked back to me.
All this time that I undertook my investigations by day I also accompanied him by night and as his influence grew so too did my access to information grow as I meticulously attempted to separate day and night.
You might ask if I had suspicions why I did not sever my ties and flee with what coin I had managed to acquire myself? The truth was I was still smitten by this creature, and it was only my curiosity about him that enabled me to pursue this foolish pursuit. Living this double life of day and night allowed me to live in each as though both worlds would never collide and yet this was naive and foolish as I knew it was only time until I discovered this persons true nature, but I was determined to find it purely by research and facts alone, I would not delve into superstition and gossip we were centuries from the enlightenment and I would not allow the whims of my imagination to cloud my rational judgement, all that I had seen was merely a trick of light and shadow.
This land was my first focus, Of course the whole of London was aware of this southern continent the news papers bristled with new information and our port saw a steady stream of colonizers leaving these shores to find death or prosperity in this new land. I found personal testimonials preserved in print from both parties alike. Van Diemen’s land now Tasmania seemed a very strange place, sketches revealed its strange flora and fauna, like and unlike anything I’d seen before and while poverty had restricted my movements and all I knew was of London, I possessed a curiosity for this place through the written records of its inhabitants.
There were rumors that also sounded true, whispers of things that had also been whispered by him. I heard from sailors on the docks about a man in a black coat that never removed his cloak and ventured only by starlight afflicted with a strange abnormality that prevented him from transgressing into the day. He had appeared somewhat mysteriously after a derelict ship had drifted into the bay, a converted prison ship fresh back from the distant port of Van Diemen’s Land its crew afflicted with an unknown illness that left them in a stupor from which they could not be aroused from. A state of undeath where families and friends helplessly watched on as bodies slowly rotted around them, defecating and soiling themselves into oblivion. Of course, these could be rumors as well and yet for all my intrigue for once I did not follow that trail, perhaps to my detriment and as with most things we shelter our thoughts from potential calamity while reality keeps giving the gifts we desire.
The evening arose out of the whimpering light of the day for it had been one of those typical London days where the sun was a distant miasma refracted sparingly across the heavens, everything muted as colour and even sound seemed to be absorbed in the dense hydraulic medium that filled the space between sea and space.
I had spent the day as I often did wandering the new world that I now had access to. Today I had spent the morning touring the museums of London, utterly engaged in the vivid new displays and collections fresh from the new worlds that our country had colonized, within these walls I could walk foreign places inspired and enlightened by the world that existed outside the walls of the city, robes and titles securing the respect that was owed to me as an associate of power. I marveled at these ancient civilizations so unlike anything here. Were I not aware I would have thought these places another world. I had then dined at one of those new fashionable places, that’s scraps I had once fed upon collected from street bins and refuge sights, scraps that needed to be picked free of maggots and vermin and fought for in desperate places.
I had come home early somewhat weary from the information I had taken in, keen as I always was for Lord Daimons company and yet as always slightly anxious, the mixture causing an uneasy level of excitement in my body. I had napped briefly, my dreams a complex amalgamation of images taken from my journey and discovery, here Thoth and Isis had dined together with me as we sat alone in a vast South American city, a vast jungle spreading out around us as we sat high amidst the stars, the great spread of my bed a welcome respite for my feet that had covered kilometers in a day. I awoke fresh mid evening, the sounds of the sleeping city dull and muted and the moon rising with less power than the sun behind the same clouds, as though they had secretly switched positions during the twilight.
At once I was concerned it was now late and Lord Daemon had not yet arisen at his expected hour, his great chair with an equal view of fireside and window vacant, the great doors to his rooms shut and everything silent as though waiting. I went to those doors, carefully and quietly pressing my ear against them, their great oaken thickness seemingly impenetrable to sound and yet when I strained as best as I could, carefully pushing the sounds of other noises from my head I could indeed hear something. Curiosity, I could feel it tingling down my spine as it settled like a writhing dead weight in my stomach joining and reviving the slight anxiety that already sat there. I had been told not to disturb him and that even a slight touch of sunlight was liable to harm the delicate membrane of his eyes, a symptom of some tropical sickness that had never quiet left him he repeatedly said, his skin also delicate to any diurnal incursion and yet curiosity, I tried the door slowly hoping above anything else that it was locked from the other side and yet as I turned the great brass handle it moved unrestricted in my grip from 3 o’clock to 6 o’clock until finally to 7 o’clock where I heard the lock distinctly disengage as I held my breathe for a full minute count.
All I had to do now was to place a small amount of force onto the door so it could begin its silent circumstantial flight. I did it, all parts of myself straining to be silent, the world opening before me at first in a paper-thin view and then by slow degrees enough so that shapes started to make sense. A large, gilded sideboard thick with the flowers that were always being delivered, the somewhat sickly stench of exotic flora, ripe with life, as they slowly bled themselves into the air. Then the fireplace, cold and vacant, a giant dark maw as though the mouth of a beast. From the giant gilded full length mirror I could observe the rest of the room in reverse position, the bed lay empty, but it was clear it had once been occupied and was perhaps still warm from someone’s former presence.
I breathed a sigh, he was not here and yet, where was he? It was then the drapes surrounding the mirror moved, from the slight evening breeze that though silent was enough to reveal quick snapshots of the world below. I moved there instantly, first retreating through the apartment to check the door was bolted from the inside. The window was indeed open and looking down I could see little save the smooth wall of the sandstone plummeting down multiple stories to descend into utter darkness below. Our abode was 6 stories up, I had insisted I wished to be as far as I could be from the streets below and he had happily entertained my thoughts, suggesting at the time that the aspect of gods was also what he required.
I realized then that I had a moment to survey this inner chamber, and though I knew that he had little in the way of possessions brought upon him when he first appeared in London, I was keen to see what may have been stashed secretly within this room and who better to scowl this place than I, London’s most celebrated spy. I ignored all the obvious places, my companion was not a fool, Around the room I moved carefully counting off the seconds, straining my senses in every direction to evade discovery, using my observational powers to ensure everything was returned to its specific place. His bureau held all the obvious instruments of recording and writing and I quickly ruled it out as a place of concealment. A large bookshelf filled the majority of one wall with a kings ransom of volumes from geology to geography, mysticism to alchemy, there seemed to be no theme, or reason tying any of it together. Maps also covered the walls, some recently drawn and from my studies I recognized the shapes of distant lands, the antipodes, terra nullius and the sketched outline of Van Diemen’s Land now Tasmania. It was to these I moved, for I knew my room to be a near perfect mirror image of this one, before we had moved in, I had ample time to survey these quarters and decide if they were fit for purpose, it had been my duty commissioner of all those duties that needed to be performed during the day and yet where the maps hung there was no shelf, in times past perhaps it had been a small alcove, a place of warship. I moved the length of the map aside confident of my appraisal, and there it was the small alcove and upon the shelved recess a box made of an aromatic soft wood, suitable perhaps for small trinkets and jewelry, I at once expected the box to be locked, but like the door it moved freely within my trembling grasp. Inside I could see nothing, a greater darkness seemed to have condensed within, as though the floor of the vessel disappeared into infinity. The edges lead, soft dull, thick. I reached confident that my hand would discover nothing but nothing and yet against my hand a smooth surface, impossibly smooth, and from the box I attempted to draw it into the light. It was heavy, far heavier than anything I had touched before and seemed slightly warm to the touch as though some hidden energy escaped it. When I held it before me and turned it in my hand it almost appeared 2d like as though I held a piece of 2-dimensional darkness in my hands and even as I turned it in my hand the light around me seemed to interact differently around it. Immediately I thought of that deeper darkness that I had seen for an instant as I had persued my master through the downs, that thing suspended like an inverted sun upon his chest. What was this? And what link did it have to him? I held the object against my heart as he had and I could feel it at work, doing something to me, something insidious and unheard of and I was immediately exhausted, and tired beyond measure, the time I was supposed to be ticking off had been erased as though I had stood for a time in the space of eternity and it was only when I felt the first hint of the dawn, upon my back that I awoke. It was then that I heard him, a scritchy scratchy sound from outside, I knew what it was instantly, he was returning…… And instantly I knew he had reverted to that other thing, scaling the featureless smooth wall outside, hand over hand, closer and closer. I immediately disengaged, dropping the thing hastily back into its vessel. Pushing it perfectly back into the recess and almost instantly moving to the door, just after I settled the maps into their original position.
I crept breathless and exhausted, the sun my savior as I exited the room, he could not follow me even if he could into the safety of daylight. I was a quivering wreck in the growing light of the day. Perhaps he had seen me as I made my exit, and I would soon feel the decent of wrath that I had been until now spared. I had no defined course of action, my body exhausted, wrapped in a sheen of nervous sweat, it took me some time to regain my composure and in that time the only room aside from fear was the object that I had discovered, even now I could feel it as though it hummed with unknown energy in my hand, I was exhausted and yet I feared to sleep. I needed to be somewhere safe where I could think this through for a time.
The day was still overcast, a muddy smear of concrete cloud from horizon to horizon as though space no longer existed. At times like this the world was mute, muffled and I barely heard the usual catastrophe of London in the streets. I moved as though I had lost my usual street sense, carriages and cars seeming to career towards me, while a wall of pedestrians prevented both an entrance and an escape to all the locations I wished to go. My limbs were all thumbs as I stumbled and tripped gesturing apology after apology to those around me, of course my clothing prevented any real drama, as “yes madam” echoed respectively behind me. Somehow, I found the library, an inbuilt sense of direction guiding my faltering foot falls and the familiar sound of door staff ushering me in finally calming my countenance. I drifted to my usual location and in this building of tangible artifacts and the smell of oil lamps and parchment I regained my equilibrium, the knowledge of ages stretching about me in a comfortable silence.
What had I witnessed I spoke aloud, the room reverberating back to me in the same silence. That thing had been something new, I was no scientist and yet I believed this to be something beyond the cusp of our understanding, an artifact of questionable origin and perhaps the source of all my friends unnatural gifts and while I could not confirm this I was confident that this object and him were unnaturally linked. This thing so heavy and warm as though it possessed its own life. I could still feel it as though a part of it remained within me and perhaps a part of me within it and I wished to hold it again.
Science had never been my thing and though I was not superstitious I knew that this thing before me bridged that tedious gap between the two, its mystery and origin set by all the known laws that defined the universe and yet I felt it lay on the periphery of our understanding. A nebulous artifact that would require my full skill set to decode.
I set out at once, gesturing impatiently to library personnel and as volume upon volume, paper upon paper grew up around me and the initial tiredness I had felt was transformed into a new energy my knowledge had begun to grow. I read volumes on geology as its appearance was mineral like and yet as I suspected no recorded incident of anything like this, I combed despairingly over history books, searching for mention of this item and it was only in the late evening that I finally turned to tombs filled with alchemy and arcana that a small glimmer of relevance became apparent.
The alchemists had made suggestion of a material, a mythical alchemical substance that could turn base metals into gold and possessed the ability to rejuvenate and provide an avenue towards immortality for its users. It also appeared as a black substance in its purest form and was much heavier than gold. This substance had first been documented 4000 years ago and other writers suspected it went back to Adam, the book of Gloria Mundi, a highly sought after text that I had to beg access for was brought forth amidst silk gloves and trembling hands as I held my breath turning page upon page. Apparently, Adam had obtained this object directly from god and references had been made through the books of the Christian gods. Could this be the prima materia the historical and mystical source of the 4 elements? I could make little of most of the texts and yet something within these images spoke to me and though hidden in wordplay, allegory and imagery I could sense somehow a deeper meaning. I was indeed onto something and as the day slipped silently into twilight I felt the familiar unease return, soon his consciousness would stir I must return to evade suspicion.
I made it to our rooms, adopting a casual air of non-chalant as he turned to observe me, there was nothing in his appraisal that triggered alarm bells, if anything he appeared more energized and able, talking quickly about the plans he had for the evening. We would be attending a gathering of powerful people as it seems was always the case and yet these people, he assured me were different and yet he did not go on to provide reason for this observation and I was left as always in the dark as to what surprises the evening might bring.
Our carriage took us in a blur to this terminus, the night had encroached around us and the driver appeared in a desperate hurry to reach our location, I could follow little of where we travelled except to say it was deep into the wealthier parts of the city near the house of lords and the palace.
The whole time I watched him carefully for signs that he knew of my folly and yet he appeared totally at ease, as I had said strangely energized after his nocturnal departure. I could make out no visible sign of the artifact and yet despite no visible outline beneath his clothing, I could feel it reaching out to me through time and space calling me to possess it and I was forced to turn my head to observe the darkness of the night that we passed through less my gaze become suspicious.
On completing our hurried journey we departed hastily from the cabin, escorted by servants, we were ushered into a house of considerable opulence to the point where even Lord Daimon was startled, large shelves of volumes filled the walls and collections of antiquity filled all available space as though their owner had had first pick from the crowns very own collection. We soon came to a large room filled with the wealthy, largely men they clustered in small groups, speaking somewhat secretly between themselves, they are turned as we entered as though an unknown gesture or command like presence had swept out before us, at first on their faces, upon almost every face I registered slight unease, save for a few that immediately returned to their conversation non plussed as to our arrival and I felt Lord Daemon stiffen as though in insult before he gestured for me to follow him towards the most fortunate of circles. Their talk was all politics and power, and I solemnly introduced myself as ordered, quickly gaining the trust and grace of our hosts despite my fatigue, this was expected at all times, and I shan’t disappoint my companion for he saw error in all activities of little effort. We did this for a time periodically shifting our attention to the exotic opulent refreshments that were made available to us. As I listened to the men of power discuss their next move. For a time, I continued like this until I grew bored with their hubris and sought the quietness of the corridors we had arrived by, my lord giving me a subtle signal that I could at last go.
The collection was indeed comprehensive, amidst the glass cabinetry I was able to satiate my curiosity, everything was here, from everywhere until I became so engrossed I did not sense the approach of a figure until he was silently and swiftly by my side, his presence pulling me startlingly from my observations. The first thing I noticed was his finery, the cut of his clothing and his somewhat pail gauntness contrasting with the feverish energy contained within his gaze, his hair too like mine, flowing long red and lustrous over his shoulders, filled with the clarity of the sun. At once I knew him to be nobility and I curtsied and stammered a greeting accordingly. He appraised me, not as most men do, my golden red tresses and pale bosom below his immediate interest, something else it seemed possessed his curiosity. Ah Camilla companion to Lord Daemon I gather and I could tell he neither wished for, nor required a reply. A stir he has created amidst our city, you and he both and this time he let his eyes linger upon me. “You enjoy history over the talk of power, if only the others within this room felt the same for they would undoubtedly share more of the other if they only would”. Unexpectedly he turned and was closer than he had been before, sniffing the air around me as though my clothing had caught an aroma that he was trying to identify, and he seemed to smile at me knowingly as though we were both privy to some private secret.
It was then I felt it too, the pull of something about him, upon him, the feel of the same object that my master possessed”. “Yes you feel it too, don’t you? Its desperate pull? “It’s destroying him, you must know, he appraised me again knowingly. He can’t contain it and it requires more than he can give, soon he will give up wholly to his hunger and he will lose that thin layer of humanity he seems so desperate to parade to everyone”. Of course I was aghast, he some noble, not the king, but some lesser lord talking of this object.
“You have held it too? I can feel it working inside you still. The change, and he came closer to grasp my hair with his hand, running it smoothly down as though something relevant lay within its weave. “You on the other hand have something he does not, something that this object craves. “It may well destroy him, but it will perfect you”. Again I was lost, trying to make sense of this conversation, in a moment I had learned more about this than I had in my hours within the library. “Come he beckoned”, as I moved with him, as he moved with purpose amidst the walls. We came to a stone pedestal, upon 3 ancient frescos I observed three sperate beings all carrying something in common, a bag, nondescript.
“The first is from Summaria, an Anunnaki, the second an ancient image of the ancient maya and Aztecs, this also the ancient Mesoamerican god Quetzalcoatl see the similar bag? If only your master was as wise…. It was then I noticed upon him something secretive and similar, it was from here that the power emanated. “Of course, he would only extend his time unnaturally, certainly not indefinitely. He possesses the object, and yet it completely possesses him”.
“What is this object I stammered, apprehensively”. You know, you researched it, your mind decoding the clues of alchemy that led you almost instantly to its understanding, an understanding that would have been lost on nearly everyone if they had not shared your experience”. And I knew he referred to holding the stone.
Long ago rules were outlined, and rules were broken, when Moses received the commandments from the lord, they were not petty rules for mankind, but for the correct use of the artifacts, the very artifact you held. “What they are we do not know, even the alchemists could not define their reality despite most of them going mad like your master in their investigations. They are not of this earth we understand this, and they are rare upon it like nothing else, and their value also like nothing else. We. I, have sent emissaries throughout the world to find such objects, and yet despite the considerable might of our empire we have located barely any. Your lord Daimon, he sneered, a petty thief, once upon a time a governor, the first in that other land, he took it from the hands of a native after their tribe was slaughtered, why else would the aboriginal people venerate ochre as protection from this “evil” its red colour, like your own and mine, protection from its power. Why else would this troublesome trait exist, it served only insanity in its presence, it was for this. Of course, he understood nothing, and he took it upon himself in greed and ignorance, clawing it from the ochre stained hands of his enemy. Governor David Collins is his real name, not a bad sort and yet when he finally died in 1810, he didn’t really die. Of course, the town and the settlement was strife with rumour about him, despite his good deeds other details were told. When he was at last laid to rest agencies took responsibility to try and imprison his resurrection, yes… like a vampire they lined his coffin with both iron and pine, but not any pine, an ancient specimen found no where else upon this earth and using ancient traditions they attempted to prevent this Yara-ma-yha-who to arise again adorning the body with ancient customs, but as so often the case, his history was lost, knowledge forgotten. Bligh his stone and fled only to be abandoned by his crew due to the evil actions he committed in possession of the artifact, that is another interesting story, but at some stage your master must have recovered it back, after his resurrection. perhaps from the shores of the Pitcairn’s. so many stories interwoven with this mineral. Sometime later the grave was disturbed and the protection spells broken allowing David Collins Lord Daimon to escape, he stands here now”.
I was startled, but not shocked, it all came together. Everything I had both built and imagined.
“He waited apprehensively from my reply, through the complete calm I sensed a need to receive an affirmative, something to demonstrate the gift he had given made sense and surprisingly even myself I took his hands, cold as they were and squeezed them with gratitude and then in an instant he was gone, the corridor and myself silent together in contemplation.
We left together shortly after Lord Daemon strangely sullen and edgy, things had not gone accordingly it seemed, and he was keen to return to his apartments, where he at once locked himself behind his double doors without comment. I was gracious for the reprieve I had a lot to ponder, and I needed silence in which to construct my plan. The revelations were without doubt astounding and yet it was hard for me to find any inconsistencies within the story I had been told. As soon as the door was secured, I left the building straight for the library I knew that records of these events must have been recorded somewhere and it was not long before I came across records of David Collins and his mysterious burial, all confirmed within the pages of the Hobart gazette. I checked other parts of the story, and all were easily accounted for. When I returned later that day I found him in an even deeper rage, of course he was prepositioned to these events they occurred every so often, many times I had been forced to fix the apartment, to repair the damage his passion wrought and it was the same this time, but different. “Camilla where have you been, he started at once, and I could see his true nature flittering in and out of being as though it might at anytime escape. The room had been destroyed, all manner of mess, priceless antiquities and books hurled across the room, portraits of himself ripped and ruin and the very walls rent as though great forces had transpired upon them as I immediately filled him in on my activities, the elaborate lies spilling forth fluently, now that I understood this creature I felt I had less and less to fear, his mental state further evidence that things were coming to their untidy end.
Over the following day I arranged for the repairs, entrusting a number of tradesmen to remodel the apartment. They would make the desired repairs and while this didn’t make my friend happy, it seemed to cool his temper so that it was at last confined to a feral pacing that threatened to wear a groove in the softwood floors. Something odd had indeed happened that night, some calamity of which he would not speak, but later that day I found some inkling of what that something might have been. An investigation had been launched by the authorities to determine the cause of multiple strange cases that had perforated the upper echelons, it seemed that this withering sickness was not just confined to ship and slum, but had spread into the houses of lords, authorities they said were closing in on suspects.
I knew what was to be done to prevent any threat upon my life, for I knew it was only time before this creature ascertained what I had spent my days doing and a mere inkling into his ear from his network of sources would doom me to the same fate. I had it made secretly, a coffin as described, lead and iron, iron and lead, to avoid suspicion I had it shaped it like a bookcase, its shelves easily detached and reassembled to create a lid, an ingenious invention even if I did say so myself.
The structure along with the repairs now sat complete within my room a place that shared the same sanctuary as his room did for me. Over the days, perhaps as the subtle smell of Huon pine filled the room I felt his constitution waver, he appeared thin and gaunt and would sit instead for hours and in-between times continue his restless pacing. The plan was almost set and I waited apprehensively to put it into action, to disguise my machinations I had used the cover of repairs, I had convinced him that the small windows were risky for his constitution and we had agreed that a small amount of lead light would be a sufficient amount of light to illuminate the room, the doors that had been broken were also further reinforced for “his protection”. Over the weeks I monitored his movements, he was slipping out more regularly now, secretly disappearing into the night to complete his clandestine operations as did the buzz in the press regarding the strange comatose conditions afflicting the city, bodies found increasingly in the same catatonic state. I knew it was him and yet as the killings increased so did his health seem to shimmer, he was clearly unwell now, his face grey, eyes bloodshot, his neck and hands consistently wrapped in scarf and glove even while indoors.
I wanted another chance at the artifact I needed to have all my theories confirmed before I put this devilish plan into play. One night when I was sure he had departed I moved again into his quarters, finding the alcove immediately, there it was, the pinch of darkness and I held it warm to me and like a lullaby it seemed to sing a song just for me. It would be mine as the stranger had predicted soon.
Perhaps a week later I felt ready, I was confident that all was set in place, Of course I could have gone to the authorities and attempted to have him arrested for his crimes, but I knew even within his current state his forked silver tongue would see me as a liar and I would meet the same fate at least this is what I told myself.
The truth was I could feel the artifact in my mind, reaching out to me, changing me and I wanted more.
It was Christmas eve when I did it, as soon as he retired, almost limping to his lodging I had the big double doors bolted and the ingenious hidden locks that I had had installed on his windows engaged. When he went to his sleep, I was ready, waving him good night naturally, good night my master of darkness, you that gave me all except it, my dark father, good night.
It was that evening he realised his predicament locked in place I heard him raging beyond the door, at first confused then in a fury destroying all in an attempt to escape, this continued as I imagined it would for night upon night, the days as always silent, then pleading, promising and finally cursing until he fell silent again too weak to talk. On the evening of the 5th night, I knew it was time, whatever nourishment he was receiving had been turned off like a tap and his thirst may have already sent him to his death, or at least a weakened state resembling it.
The door opened in protest testimony to the battering it had received. A small glimmer of late afternoon light sending a narrow beam across the dishevelled floor. I had timed my move perfectly.
At first I did not see him such was the chaos in the room, everything save the solid stone walls were destroyed and even these bore testimony to his punishment, vivid blood filled scars scratched into the very stone. He was there upon the bed, a shrunken husk, his body corpse like within the light of the falling sun. I moved closer, a firearm and sword both relics from our collection held before me, his back was exposed to me, a horribly mottled carapace of scars and puss filled tinctures, dark spots of cancerous growths that he had managed to hide amidst the rigid structure of early 20th century fashion. The room possessed a putrid aroma as though a corpse resided there which I hoped it did. Foolishly in my haste I moved to the alcove first, to check if the stone was present, this was my mistake and also my salvation. From somewhere he found the resources he needed, and he was upon me wrenching me backwards to the bed, his expression devoid of reason, not even hate, just some biological drive to keep what was his his. I could not remove him and in these close quarters neither the gun nor the sword were appropriate, I should have burnt what was left of him alive in his own bed. He learned over me, one eye a seething mass of cancers, his nostrils eaten away and his mouth a gapping hole of disease and purification. He came towards me, his jaw extending towards impossible dimensions as he sought to feed. But as he came so to did the light, arising like a fire behind the broken glass of his prison to fill the space, he seemed to be paralysed to the extent that the strange proboscis like appendage that extended from his mouth missed its mark and I was able to wiggle free, but he was upon me again, reserves of last life desperate strength coursing through him and again the feeding thing moved towards my mouth desperate to latch onto something. And then the light hit in full from the broken door and he arched up as though hallucinating, a physical manifestation of extreme pain, or even pain tinged pleasure so that he groaned erotically. I quickly used this moment and with the might of my arms used this old weapon to cut him head from shoulders. He fell back no blood flowing from this bloodless cut, both parts grotesquely writhing towards each other upon the bed. I hacked again and again, until there was no life within that body and then dragged the grotesque remains to the coffin I had prepared earlier, he went in, life still animating his corpse, and it was only when the lid was shut and I had placed 12 large bolts into its edge that I was able to finally fall to the ground exhausted. The men came soon after, paid in a kings Ransome to dispose of the trunk into the sea.
She always came at twilight, every night to find her place, it was said she had a special illness contracted in foreign lands, and though there appeared no mark upon her pale skin all pitied this poor creature who loved knowledge, literature and art so much, her name was Camilla and as the years , decades went past she acquired new looks and new names until no one was alive to remember that she had been forever and always around her waist a lead lined bag. Anunnaki, Quetzalcoatl, Camilla the history books around her would soon whisper.
CRAG CRY DARKNESS 