Reincarnated Cthulhu - Chapter 22

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 permeated 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 nameless 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. Time 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 acknowledgement 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 simmering 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 come 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 me, 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 me.

“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 comment about the severed head was about its appearance. My debut experience with a decapitated head left me 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 met with surprise from Arthur, his eyes widening momentarily 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 me. 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 basement. From its depths, a gust of searing steam erupted.

Our descent down the staircase commenced, each step echoing with a measured patience. Exertion, far beyond the usual norm, had etched its mark on me, 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 commenced 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, overwhelmed the space, unabated even when paper supplies were exhausted.”

The oracle, a remnant of the past etched into my memory – a monstrous machine that had burrowed its way into the foundation of the dwelling. A metallic 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 numerals. 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 me with accusations of a cruel jest and promptly took their leave. It was a monumental disappointment. Ultimately, the enigma translated to mere names. This conundrum sparked the conception of the Frank Academic Conference.”

Arthur recounted this episode of disappointment with an oddly lively cadence. Particularly when pronouncing ‘Frank Academic Conference’, each syllable was enunciated with meticulous precision, as if he took pride in his own endeavour.

“Devoid of any means 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 monumental secret.

“It’s a number. Denoted in Roman numerals, 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 basement up until a few months ago.”

Arthur resumed his narration as soon as I had voiced my curiosity.

“I’ve disassembled the Oracle.”

“You disassembled it!”

This revelation, indeed, shocked me. While I was aware of Arthur’s daring spirit, the audacity of such an act astounded me.

“Yes, that was the only means to decipher the output symbols. Alas, that’s all I could discern.”

Arthur voiced his disappointment yet again, yet it hardly surprised me. After all, he was tinkering with technology far advanced for our era, and Arthur was by no means a technician.

“Nonetheless, it was a significant breakthrough. Philo, are you acquainted with the structure of Roman numerals?”

“Something tells me you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t already know.”

“Indeed, Roman numerals are combinatory. I, V, X. A mere trio of characters, yet sufficient to denote values up to 39. Each numeral 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 me.

“I can’t see it.”

“What? Look properly!”

Arthur’s exclamation was punctuated with disappointment. 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 basement 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 numerals.”

“I’ve catalogued all the Roman numerals the Oracle is capable of producing.”

“Are those beyond 12 omitted?”

Arthur swiveled his head towards me, a sinister grin adorning his face.

“Philo, you’ve got it backwards. Have you already forgotten what I’d imparted? Merely three Roman characters could represent numerals up to 39. Hence, the peculiarity lies in the compilation only going up to 12!”

His argument held merit. If the sole intention was numerical representation, there was no necessity for such a convoluted method. Moreover, using Roman numerals for such a purpose was in itself meaningless. Arabic numerals could conveniently represent even vast numbers with a mere 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 moment, enlightenment dawned upon me, prompting an exclamation.

“Indeed, it’s not that it could only represent numerals up to 12, but that it only needed to represent up to 12.”

“…Yes, that was my second theory. The Roman numerals are merely 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 basement, the numeral 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 seemed prepared to divulge his main point.

“The day Jacob’s Island sank into the Thames. 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 basement 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 comeback 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 me!

Arthur was sounding a warning. All the fuss about the Oracle and the numerals 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 numeral increment, leading me to suspect some ominous portent.

“Every mortal who dares tread into the realm of life and death, the exclusive domain of the divine, is met 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 mete out our punishment.”

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 mentioned 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 basement 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 bewilderment.

“Is it Herbert West?”

Arthur squinted in confusion at my question.

“I’m not sure who you’re mistaking him for, but his name is Frankenstein. Dr. Victor Frankenstein!”

(TO BE CONTINUED)