22. Steam Engine Apocalypse
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Summoning what courage remained within my shaken form, my grip upon the door fastening grew rigid and insistent. The indomitable torrent from the heavens drenched my protective coverings to the core. With each resurgence of the downpour, droplets sought shelter within the sanctity of my pupils.
"Art! Art!"
In desperation, my hands struck heavily against the obstinate door handle.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
After a breath-holding pause, the muted rattling of an unfastening lock perated my consciousness, followed by the reluctant yielding of the door. Materialising from beyond the portal, the figure I beheld was Arthur's enigmatic twin, a naless phantom. Ever since the unwrapping of Arthur's clandestine secret, my every encounter with this man instilled a disquiet that never failed to churn my insides.
"Sir. Philemon Herbert, I have been expecting your arrival."
His visage held its familiar inscrutability. Ti had etched deep grooves into his skin, drawing it downwards in a relentless gravitational pull that made a true gaze exchange an arduous task. His acknowledgent of my presence was communicated through a solemn nod, his eyes resting briefly upon the decapitated head of Marie cradled in my embrace.
"Your arrival, accompanied by a guest, was not forewarned."
"Do you perceive this this horror, as a person?"
My question was laced with incredulity and simring rage.
"Indeed. The facial landmarks appear to be appropriately situated."
"My desire is to address Arthur directly."
"Such a course of action would be unfeasible."
Asserting my entry, I endeavoured to manoeuvre past his stubbornly firm blockade. Yet, his sturdy form stood unyielding against my efforts. As we skirmished at the doorway, the familiar resonance of approaching footfalls drifted towards us.
"Philo? Can it be Philo?"
Arthur's voice perforated the discord. I responded, my voice straining to pierce the cacophony.
"Thank goodness! Art, I beseech you, enlighten your brother."
Upon his arrival at the scene, Arthur's gaze ricocheted between the butler and myself, his underling struggling to mask his unease.
"This gentleman, sir, arrived with an unexpected addition"
"Ah, I see. No matter, do co in."
"If you insist, sir."
At Arthur's command, the man obediently relinquished his hold on the door, and with an air of having completed his duty, absented himself from the unfolding tableau. The events unwinding felt as if trapped within a fantastical dream. Arthur, feigning a casual familiarity, placed a hand upon my shoulder.
"My apologies for the omission, but my brother possesses a peculiar deficiency in distinguishing individuals. Indeed, his acquaintances may be counted on one hand. But, tell , where is that quaint cane you habitually carry?"
In my hand was a robust branch, its origin a solemn gravesite. An exhalation of deep fatigue escaped .
"An extensive narrative, very good. Shall we stroll and converse? It has been two days since you vanished, embarking on the quest for this woman, Marie. I trust your tale is riveting."
Arthur's voice was laced with anticipation. Finally, I found an opportunity to scrutinise him. Clad in casual attire, an irregular sight for such a man, his appearance suggested he had been awaiting my return with impatience.
His eyes focused on the severed head in my arms.
"This is rather less than I envisaged."
I was startled. His first comnt about the severed head was about its appearance. My debut experience with a decapitated head left unprepared for a standard response, yet I was certain his reaction was decidedly abnormal.
"Could you not have sought a more suitable woman? This, it doesn't suit you."
"Preposterous! What gibberish do you spew!"
My outburst was t with surprise from Arthur, his eyes widening montarily before settling into a disappointed expression.
"Ah, I sense a misunderstanding?"
"Were you not my friend, I'd have cast my glove at you, pledging both my honor and hers. Have you also fallen prey to the ludicrous rumours spun by the press?"
"Well I believed it would infuse our tale with drama."
Arthur feigned ignorance, his voice adopting a playful tone,
"Resurrection, that's the heart of it all, isn't it? Our hero returning from the underworld, his deceased companion in tow."
Resurrection.
The utterance of the word silenced . The weight of it lingered in the air between us. Neither of us found it within ourselves to refute the absurdity. It appeared to herald an impending, unspeakable miracle within the confines of this manor.
"And so can resurrection be achieved with this alone? The head, as you demanded, has been brought."
"I cannot claim certainty, for I am no expert. This is precisely why scholarly society exist."
Arthur inclined the candlestick, revealing an entrance to the basent. From its depths, a gust of searing steam erupted.
Our descent down the staircase comnced, each step echoing with a asured patience. Exertion, far beyond the usual norm, had etched its mark on , prompting hushed curses to spill forth as we navigated each tread. Arthur, in stark contrast, appeared unperturbed, his stride confident, not once betraying a desire to look back, as he comnced his narration.
"Upon my initial discovery of this subterranean chamber, it was littered with countless printouts strewn alongside the oracle. The legacy of my forebearer's relentless computations, as evident in the magnitude of these printouts, overwheld the space, unabated even when paper supplies were exhausted."
The oracle, a remnant of the past etched into my mory a monstrous machine that had burrowed its way into the foundation of the dwelling. A tallic behemoth, driven by a steam engine of such potency that it could empower a locomotive, yet it lay dormant.
"And yet, its task remains incomplete. In the absence of additional equations, the oracle dedicates its entire computational capacity to this solitary calculation."
The sole computational device of the 19th century. Intrigue piqued at the prospect of the equation that this antiquated beast had grappled with, stretching across decades and marking each passing year with relentless computation.
"It's noteworthy, you see, that the oracle has the capacity to churn out hundreds of symbols, apart from the traditional alphabet and Arabic nurals. My diligent investigations revealed these characters to be unique, unseen in any recorded civilization. From Egyptian hieroglyphs to the Devanagari script of India, even the Chinese characters of the East held no similarity. I believe my ancestor employed a cipher, thereby rendering it unrecognisable."
Arthur, ever the eloquent, had a knack for stirring curiosity and promptly veering the discourse off tangent. Pursuit of clarity would only yield a nonchalant response, withholding the crux of the matter.
"The output remained consistent. I sought the expertise of linguists from across Europe, hosting them for a month. Despite their tireless attempts at deciphering the code, they one by one, confronted with accusations of a cruel jest and promptly took their leave. It was a monuntal disappointnt. Ultimately, the enigma translated to re nas. This conundrum sparked the conception of the Frank Academic Conference."
Arthur recounted this episode of disappointnt with an oddly lively cadence. Particularly when pronouncing Frank Academic Conference', each syllable was enunciated with ticulous precision, as if he took pride in his own endeavour.
"Devoid of any ans of decryption, I resigned to a single identifiable fact the output, though lengthy, repeated itself. Minor variations existed, but the broader structure remained consistent. At the very heart of this output was a singular character, one even my limited understanding could recognise."
A pause ensued, amplifying the brewing suspense. Then, he whispered as if unveiling a monuntal secret.
"It's a number. Denoted in Roman nurals, it was I."
And so, the tale ended. Arthur had fallen silent, evidently having exhausted his narration. I could envisage the reaction he sought.
"Surely, that isn't the end of it."
"And, this number remained constant, from the day I first descended to this basent up until a few months ago."
Arthur resud his narration as soon as I had voiced my curiosity.
"I've disassembled the Oracle."
"You disassembled it!"
This revelation, indeed, shocked . While I was aware of Arthur's daring spirit, the audacity of such an act astounded .
"Yes, that was the only ans to decipher the output symbols. Alas, that's all I could discern."
Arthur voiced his disappointnt yet again, yet it hardly surprised . After all, he was tinkering with technology far advanced for our era, and Arthur was by no ans a technician.
"Nonetheless, it was a significant breakthrough. Philo, are you acquainted with the structure of Roman nurals?"
"Sothing tells you wouldn't ask if you didn't already know."
"Indeed, Roman nurals are combinatory. I, V, X. A re trio of characters, yet sufficient to denote values up to 39. Each nural needn't be symbolized individually. However, the Oracle has taken it upon itself to symbolize each character separately."
He produced a sheet of paper, seemingly from thin air, and offered it to .
"I can't see it."
"What? Look properly!"
Arthur's exclamation was punctuated with disappointnt. And understandably so. He must have clung to this piece of paper the preceding day, in anticipation of our discourse. Yet, I remained unable to decipher it, owing solely to the inadequate lighting in the basent stairwell.
I found myself obliged to adorn the spectacles dangling from a chain around my neck, squinting against the dim light to make out the details on the paper.
"Roman nurals."
"I've catalogued all the Roman nurals the Oracle is capable of producing."
"Are those beyond 12 omitted?"
Arthur swiveled his head towards , a sinister grin adorning his face.
"Philo, you've got it backwards. Have you already forgotten what I'd imparted? rely three Roman characters could represent nurals up to 39. Hence, the peculiarity lies in the compilation only going up to 12!"
His argunt held rit. If the sole intention was nurical representation, there was no necessity for such a convoluted thod. Moreover, using Roman nurals for such a purpose was in itself aningless. Arabic nurals could conveniently represent even vast numbers with a re ten characters.
"My theory is thus. The Oracle was initially designed with this specific calculation in mind."
Arthur punctuated his assertion with an uplifted finger. At that mont, enlightennt dawned upon , prompting an exclamation.
"Indeed, it's not that it could only represent nurals up to 12, but that it only needed to represent up to 12."
"Yes, that was my second theory. The Roman nurals are rely symbols, inserted solely for that output."
Arthur grumbled, seemingly dissatisfied at having his words preempted, folding his outstretched finger.
"Regardless, ever since I first ventured into the basent, the nural had been a constant I. And just a while ago, it transitioned to II. Can you guess when this occurred?"
I was certain this was the crux of his narrative. After navigating multiple tangents, he seed prepared to divulge his main point.
"The day Jacob's Island sank into the Thas. Do you comprehend the implications, Philo? The equation is not static. It reacts instantly to events occurring in London."
We had now reached the terminus of our descent.
Arthur ascended the Pressure-sensitive horizontal operating device or in my parlance, the automatic door. Finally, the gateway to the basent swung open, prompting a fit of coughing as I inhaled the damp steam billowing from the doorway.
"So why bring this up now?"
"Two reasons."
Arthur raised his fingers once more.
"Firstly, our last encounter was cut short by your abrupt departure, leaving behind your belt in your haste."
His retort was laced with a mocking sneer, a coback for my earlier interruption. I had no choice but to calmly acknowledge his irritation.
"The second pertains to the gravity of our imminent task."
It dawned upon !
Arthur was sounding a warning. All the fuss about the Oracle and the nurals was but a prelude to this solitary caution. However, he had cunningly withheld a crucial detail, conveniently blaming my premature interruption.
It appeared he was deeply disturbed by the Oracle's nural incrent, leading to suspect so ominous portent.
"Every mortal who dares tread into the realm of life and death, the exclusive domain of the divine, is t with a savage conclusion. As were Orpheus and Eurydice, Asclepius and Hippolytus."
Arthur continued with his characteristic verbosity. Stealing a glance at his countenance, I found it difficult to decipher his emotions was it fear or exhilaration?
"Asclepius was smote by Zeus's thunderbolt. Yet, beneath the lightning rod, we have surpassed divine retribution. I wonder how God shall te out our punishnt."
Once again, I was reminded of his ambivalent nature.
Cthulhu Mythos.
He is half-human and half-god.
"Philemon, do you recall our previous conversation?"
Arthur was the most fervent insurgent amongst the gods.
"I did not consent to resurrect Shirley Marie, that inconsequential woman, purely out of regard for you. Today, we tread into the divine domain. We ascend to true godhood."
Again, I perceived a different entity within him. Legs. Several pairs of arthropod-like limbs flickered in and out of existence.
"I may have ntioned this before, but I'm conducting a specific research. It's"
Thud.
A dull sound resonated from above the ceiling. The clandestine stairway to the basent had been opened. The rhythm of a substantial object tumbling down the stone steps reverberated in the chamber.
"Let's postpone our conversation. It appears our principal guest has arrived."
Arthur murmured. I inquired, my voice betraying my bewildernt.
"Is it Herbert West?"
Arthur squinted in confusion at my question.
"I'm not sure who you're mistaking him for, but his na is Frankenstein. Dr. Victor Frankenstein!"
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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