Reincarnated Cthulhu - Chapter 6

§06. May 17, 1895, three guests

For two months since the tumult at Frank’s manor, I had been convalescing.

The avenues of London, now enveloped in the full embrace of spring, were replete with the acrid scent of oil that had been neglected throughout the winter months, leading me to open the windows with decreasing frequency. Such were the alterations that had transpired in my life.

“Perhaps a brief ambulation would suit you well?”

Marie proposed as she delivered my midday repast. Ah, fried herring – a veritable horror.

“Doctor Wangjin has recommended that you commence walking to regain your muscular fortitude.”

“I shall walk when the climate warms further,” I retorted with my customary justification. Ordinarily, Marie would have acquiesced, but not on this occasion. She drew back the curtains and flung open the window.

“Observe.”

“……”

“If you harbor no intentions of remaining abed until the summer months, the day of which you speak has already arrived. The temperature has risen to 60 degrees.”

“In truth, it stands at 59 degrees.”

“The difference is negligible!”

“Indeed, the discrepancy is vast. The leading digit has altered, has it not?”

I uttered, my gaze affixed to the Fahrenheit thermometer perched upon my bedside table. Despite four decades of familiarity, the unit remained unintuitive without conversion to Celsius. In Celsius, the reading hovered between 15 and 16 degrees.

Had the mercury truly ascended to such heights?

Although I had marked the passage of days through the daily periodicals, I struggled to fathom that a full two months had elapsed since the incident. My days had been squandered in a languid stupor akin to one intoxicated by opium.

Since the episode at the manor, my corrupted spirit had persisted in roaming the labyrinthine mansion. Within this realm where time and space were uncertain, I had aimlessly opened and closed innumerable doors.

“Master, Master!”

My eyes fluttered open.

“Should I summon the physician?”

“No, no need. It is merely the potent medication.”

Facing Marie, who gazed upon me with concern, I offered my typical justification.

“Master, you have not even ingested the medicine.”

Marie remarked, her eyes upon the medicine box. The prescription provided by Doctor Wangjin two weeks prior remained untouched. I glanced between the medicine box and Marie, endeavoring to concoct a feeble excuse to alleviate the situation. In that instant:

───Ding dong.

Both Marie’s and my attention shifted to the sound of the doorbell emanating from the entrance.

“Were you expecting company?”

“No. I shall investigate.”

“Ah.”

“I will close the door.”

Marie interjected and shut the door behind her. Left in limbo, I took a discontented sip of water. The noise of the front door opening and the murmurs of two individuals in conversation reached my ears.

Moments later,

───Thump.

“Oh, were you dining?”

“No, the timing is impeccable. My appetite had waned, so this serves as a fitting excuse.”

I declared, pushing aside the plate laden with untouched fried herring.

“Ha! I wish I possessed your disposition. It would facilitate the shedding of this excess weight.”

The man who emerged after opening the door chortled mischievously and patted his midsection. Such a gesture would not befit a nobleman. Indeed, he was no aristocrat, yet there was not a soul in London who could dismiss him on that account alone.

The gentleman was portly, with oil sheening upon his visage. Given the prevailing weather, his flamboyant attire appeared somewhat excessive, while three gemstone rings adorned his fingers, and a gold tooth usurped the place of his natural incisor. Affluence emanated from his very being.

I was well-aware that his extravagantly opulent appearance was far from mere posturing. He ranked amongst the wealthiest individuals I had encountered, occupying the top three. Naturally, the foremost was Arthur.

Whitney Richmond, the founder of Richmond Co., also referred to as the Yellow Brick Company, was a prominent businessman within London’s circles.

“Come to think of it, you typically maintain a reserved scholarly demeanor, yet you remain youthful. Did you partake of opium or some such substance?”

“What do you mean?”

As Richmond chuckled and spoke, I recoiled and retorted. The mention of “opium” conjured vivid memories of the incident at the manor as though it had occurred but moments ago.

“I heard tell you cavorted about the vicinity bereft of trousers.”

Richmond asserted, guffawing heartily. Taken aback by the unforeseen subject, I hastily waved my hand.

“There exists considerable misunderstanding.”

“No need for modesty. In truth, I found it rather endearing.”

“Truly, there is a significant misapprehension.”

Sensing that no matter how much I elaborated, the misunderstanding would persist, I swiftly redirected the conversation.

“I did not anticipate your unannounced arrival.”

“Is that not fortuitous? Genuine opportunities for profit emerge unexpectedly, like this visit. Only fools ensnared in the trappings of formalities and regulations fail to accumulate wealth.”

The Yankee, as he was designated.

This accomplished middle-aged entrepreneur bore a dark and profound shadow in tandem with his illustrious success. Perhaps due to the envy and jealousy he inspired within the denizens of London, the sinister rumors surrounding him seemed exaggerated to the point of fabrication.

In the whispered tales, Richmond epitomized the nefarious merchant, committing a litany of iniquities without consequence, shielded by his ties to London’s marketplace and skillful manipulation of influence.

Whether one subscribed to these rumors or not, it was evident that he brazenly engaged in at least a handful of illicit endeavors.

“The purpose of my visit is to solicit your assistance. A dispute has arisen concerning meteorite mining rights, and I believe your expertise shall prove invaluable.”

“Meteorite mining rights?”

This was a peculiar phrase, unfamiliar to my ears.

“Surely, despite your seclusion, you are apprised of the meteorite that descended upon London?”

“Indeed, I am informed. It alighted upon Jacob’s Island.”

Jacob’s Island.

Nestled in the eastern reaches of London, downstream of the Thames River, this diminutive isle and its environs suffered the most acute consequences of industrialization’s wrath. Effluence from factories and residences coursed through the river, engulfing the entire island, whilst the land and structures festered and were forsaken. Myriad vermin infested the island, and the scent of putrefying remains permeated the air year-round.

Only the most destitute of London’s denizens resided in this forsaken locale. Prostitutes, vagrants, criminals… Those cast out by the city subsisted on the oil-drenched fish that washed ashore, and the London government had all but abandoned the management of this region. Instead, they dispatched constables to keep these wretched souls from encroaching upon London proper.

It was in the heart of London’s most squalid quarter, Jacob’s Island, that the meteorite fell a mere two days prior, amidst a tempestuous dawn.

“And this remains confidential, but officially, our Richmond Company holds exclusive development rights to the entirety of Jacob’s Island.”

I marveled at Richmond’s linguistic prowess, marrying the terms “official” and “confidential.”

“Is that so?”

“A mere week has transpired.”

Upon querying this heretofore unknown fact, he replied nonchalantly.

“Thus, the meteorite that descended there is, by all accounts, the property of our company.”

“Hmm… Please, do elaborate.”

His reasoning appeared tenuous. I withheld judgment and encouraged the narrative with a prompt.

“Yet that whelp dared to file a legal claim.”

“And who might this whelp be?”

“Who else? The toothless wolf of Essex!”

After a moment’s contemplation, the identity became clear.

“You refer to the Silver Wolf?”

“That aged man contends that the meteorite commenced its aerial journey over a week ago when the island was his possession, and therefore the meteorite is rightfully his. Has senility claimed his wits?”

Richmond had yet to relinquish his ire, snorting as he spoke.

“Do you not employ numerous legal counselors within your company? Surely they would be better suited to this task than I.”

“Ah, those parasitic advisors present another quandary. They prove irresolute when confronted with an absence of precedent. Their limitations are evident. When I acquired the entire Moreton estate for commercial purposes, was there a precedent? Nay, I have consistently been the pioneer and the leader! The British must boldly venture into the uncharted!”

Indeed, Richmond was a most peculiar individual by British standards, given his candid expression of emotions. I was suddenly struck by the notion that he shared this trait with Arthur. Perhaps such emotional honesty held some sway in the accumulation of wealth.

“But you, my friend, are unlike those neophytes. Are you not adept in navigating the unexpected?”

“I have encountered more twists in life than some, but I would not consider myself an expert.”

I disagreed, furrowing my brow. To deem myself an expert in the realm of the unexpected was preposterous, even though I had endeavored to maintain a relatively ordinary existence. Richmond pressed on, undeterred.

“I impose but one condition. Procure favorable evidence by the day preceding the trial, irrespective of its nature. Should this venture prove successful, I shall secure a fitting position within our company for you. A steady income is requisite at your age, is it not?”

Under any other circumstance, I would have rejected his proposition. Foremost, the timing was most inauspicious.

Having witnessed the horrors at Frank’s mansion, and then, in a span of less than two months, a radiant meteorite – a portentous harbinger – manifested in my life, the synchronicity was too immaculate to be mere coincidence.

Nonetheless, the offer held allure. In truth, I grappled with financial tribulations. My military pension proved insufficient to meet London’s living expenses, and my self-imposed seclusion of the past two months had deprived me of any earnings from lectures or columns.

Substantial savings were at my disposal, but I was loath to deplete them, uncertain of what life might yet bring.

After a moment’s contemplation, I offered a noncommittal response, neither affirmative nor negative.

“I shall contact you if I uncover anything of merit. I caution you, however, not to nurture excessive expectations.”

“Splendid.”

Richmond proudly displayed his gold tooth in a wide grin.

… A moment later, the room was enveloped in silence, as though Richmond had never been present. The clamor of London’s streets seemed distant, and my gaze fell upon the discarded herring fries. The surface of the now congealed fries bore a layer of solidified oil, rendering them even less palatable than before.

Why must British chefs remain so fixated on frying?

I lamented the persistently unimaginative British culinary methods and returned the plate to my lap. My conversation with Richmond had reminded me that I had not consumed a morsel in three days.

Small wonder Marie was concerned. I reached for a fork and knife.

Just then,

─── Ding-dong.

I set aside my fork and knife at the sound of the doorbell, pushing the plate away once more.

Had Richmond left something behind?

Seated on the bed, I scanned the floor and clothes hanger, yet found no trace of any luxurious items.

─── Thud.

“Master, a visitor awaits.”

“Who might it be? Pray, admit them.”

The front door creaked open upon Marie’s utterance.

In due course, the identity of our guest was unveiled.

“Have I arrived at an inopportune moment?”

“…Nay, your timing is impeccable. My appetite eluded me, and now I possess a fitting excuse.”

Before me stood an elderly gentleman with piercing eyes that seemed to slice through one’s very flesh. His elegantly groomed white mustache epitomized the quintessential British gentleman, while his taut shoulders and erect posture belied his seventy years.

“I see.”

I shrugged nonchalantly in response to his terse remark, acutely aware that anyone would have felt disquieted beneath the weight of that gaze.

The Silver Wolf. A white wolf that prowls amid the ranks of royalty.

Count Phil Essex swiftly surveyed my chamber with an icy stare, and I felt akin to a student subjected to a thorough examination of my studies.

“How fares the Countess?”

After a momentary silence, Count Essex initiated conversation with a customary salutation.

Of course, I had never taken a wife, nor had I ever entertained a romantic liaison in my life.

Both he and I were keenly aware that the Countess to whom he referred was not my spouse.

“My mother remains in good health and suffers no ailments.”

“That is heartening news.”

I discerned no vacuity in his seemingly innocuous greeting.

Count Essex had been a longstanding confidant of my late father. As a result, I had been granted the opportunity to exchange pleasantries with the Count on several occasions since childhood, by way of my father’s introduction. Indeed, it had been a truly singular experience.

Raised within an impecunious family devoid of noble lineage, I could not help but acknowledge my father’s aristocratic standing through his mere acquaintance with Count Essex. The Count’s modest yet dignified attire, fastidious appearance, and well-mannered comportment, as well as his self-assured demeanor, embodied true nobility.

It would have been impertinent to dismiss his greeting as a mere pleasantry, for he was a nobleman who had preserved his association with my father, even though there remained no particular reason for their continued interaction.

Our last encounter transpired at my father’s funeral, more than two decades prior.

At that time, he might scarcely be considered middle-aged, but he now bore the unmistakable visage of an elder. His stature had diminished, his hair now white and sparse. Yet, his eyes maintained a sharper intensity than I recalled.

“Baron Herbert may have forfeited his wealth, but he never relinquished his dignity.”

Count Essex broached a subject I struggled to comprehend. His frigid stare remained fixed upon me as he spoke.

“Conversely, you possess ample fortune and repute, yet you besmirch your family’s name. I pondered which ignominious noble progeny had incited scandal, and upon discovering your name within the newspaper, I nearly doubted my own eyes.”

Only then did I fathom the matter to which Count Essex referred. I had deemed it a trivial incident, but I had not anticipated the tale of my pantless escapade through London to reach the ears of the city’s preeminent businessman and a distinguished count.

“I vow by my ancestors’ name to exercise caution and prevent this scandal from propagating.”

Beneath Count Essex’s icy gaze, my spine stiffened as though possessed by a sentient being. I nodded solemnly.

“That is all I have to convey as a friend of your late father.”

I had never expected the composed and characteristically British nobleman, Count Essex, to express concern for my well-being. Thus, I gazed upon him with widened eyes. His countenance remained remarkably frosty, prompting me to question if my ears deceived me.

“From this point forth, we shall engage in business as equals, devoid of any formality.”

Though I could not discern the distinction, he appeared to delineate a boundary in his own manner. I did not object, instead laying bare my intentions without reservation.

“Is it about the meteorite?”

Count Essex’s eyebrows arched in evident surprise.

“If you are informed of the matter, I shall spare you an exhaustive account. I am presently entangled in a convoluted legal dispute. My adversary is a Yankee devoid of knowledge beyond his wealth.”

“Pray, elaborate.”

Count Essex inclined his head.

“Are you apprised of the meteorite’s landing site?”

“Jacob’s Island.”

“Precisely, and were you also aware that our family has exerted control over that island for the past two centuries?”

I shook my head.

“Our ancestor, Maurice Essex, was bequeathed Jacob’s Island by King Charles II, and we have since upheld order upon that land.”

The mention of a bygone monarch, whom I believed existed solely within the pages of books, served as a stark reminder of the nobility of this affair. Yet, an incongruity lingered in the narrative.

Order had been maintained in London’s most wretched slums…

“However, he materialized yesterday – the merchant from Richmond. Much like a maggot writhing amidst refuse, he emerged as a rat at the site where the meteorite descended. With a crudely fabricated document incapable of deceiving even the most gullible, he asserted his ownership of the celestial stone. Most astonishingly, the London court accepted his claim.”

The Earl of Essex proceeded composedly, albeit punctuated by occasional displays of atypical ire. It was not difficult to surmise the extent to which he took umbrage at this affront.

“I have been informed that you wield considerable influence in such legal disputes.”

“This is news to me.”

This marked the second time today that I had heard such a statement. I had believed myself to lead a diligent life, but with these peculiar incidents and successive visitors, I began to question my existence.

“Regardless, I seek evidence to expose the charlatan’s deceit in court. I have heard you serve as an adjunct professor; should this matter resolve favorably, I shall compose a letter of recommendation to advance your professorship.”

That was, indeed, a groundbreaking proposition. Were a personage of the Earl of Essex’s stature to advocate on my behalf, no university would disregard it.

I suddenly inquired.

“Is the meteorite of such importance?”

“Even if pure gold were to descend from the heavens, it would hold no significance.”

The Earl of Essex enunciated deliberately, as if in response to a foolish query.

“The sole matter of import is the besmirching of the family’s honor.”

He concluded with a concise, formal salutation and exited the chamber.

…Perhaps due to the successive encounters with such extraordinary visitors, I succumbed to an odd sensation of fatigue and collapsed upon the bed. Adjacent to my head lay the cold, congealed herring dish.

I contemplated summoning Marie to reheat it, but my irritation deterred me, and I merely grasped a fork and knife. It was at that moment.

───Ding Dong.

“Damnation!”

I inadvertently uttered an expletive. I thrust the plate aside once more.

How could this be possible! For two months, no visitors had darkened my door, yet the advent of a meteorite precipitated a barrage of unexpected callers.

───Thud.

“Master.”

“Permit them entrance! Take this and reheat it!”

I unleashed my vexation upon the innocent Marie, proffering the herring. I then turned my attention to the door, eager to discern the nature of my latest illustrious guest.

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing the long-anticipated visitor.

“Have I disturbed you? Do you recall who I am?”

…I could not help but lower my gaze.

Not a single complaint crossed my lips.

In comparison to the esteemed London bourgeoisie and the distinguished earl, the third visitor appeared rather disheveled.

However, the truly memorable individual was none other than the woman before me, an irony not lost on me.

“Madame Curie, what brings you here today?”

“Have you heard of the meteorite that fell in London?”

I nodded as if hearing the day’s third question anew.