The Serpent's Eye

by Brand, Thomas H.

  And the name; Ptalantohtep. It has the sound of the Egyptian. Earl Edgar travelled much in his life, and I know he visited the African continent on various occasions. It certainly does not have a modern sound, yet the excerpt speaks as if of something alive.

  I fear I am seeking too deep for meaning in these missives. Any sane man would agree they are little more than ravings, with no import other than proof that Edgar's mind had gone. I would destroy the pages in the hope of freeing myself from this fascination were it not for the fact that I must return them to England to be included in the family archives. Be they simple ravings or something deeper, they are still the last artefacts of the eleventh Earl Leer, and must be recorded.

  Despite my work these last two days I have found no trick or pattern that might unlock any meaning from Edgar's notes. I must accept that there is almost certainly nothing to find. While the mystery continues to pull at my thoughts I cannot help but think the ravings are only serving to further my discomfort. I have bound them well within a thick leather pouch ready for transport back to England, together with the reports and certificates I have gathered. I have little more than a week remaining before my return voyage, and must not allow myself to become obsessed with this fool's errand.

  Saturday, 4th May 1816

  How I wish for my ship to dock. The climate of Buenos Aires has become near enough unbearable; the heat and humidity too much for my British constitution. Even though I show no more signs of my former illness, still I am denied the elixir of a full night's sleep. Since the fever I have been beset with strange nightmares. I can recall nothing solid of them, but their half imagined horrors have kept my mind from any restful slumber. Each time I come close to sleep I find myself thrown from rest once more by that which awaits me.

  While my nights are filled with these subtle fears, my days have taken on shades of discomforting supposition. I have begun to find I cannot shake a feeling that someone follows me. Each time I venture out into the city I swear I feel eyes upon me, following me as I am about my appointments. I have been able to find no trace of any such tail, but still the feeling persists. I have asked Señors Mercallo and Certona if any have asked after me, but they both assure me otherwise.

  Last night I met again with Arthur Cartwright and confided to him my concerns. He dismissed them goodheartedly. He assures me my discomfort comes from the unseasonal heat, and I am simply unused to it. There is no wonder, he tells me, that it affects my sleep. He suffered in exactly the same manner in his first year here, and it often takes visitors so. With the late summer holding on as it has, there is little that can be done other than seeking what comforts I may.

  Oh, how I pray for the dry, gentle warmth of an English summer!

  Monday, 6th May 1816

  Yesterday I went to church. It is something I have not done since my arrival here, yet after this last week I felt a need for a little sanctity.

  Last night, more than once, I felt certain some other presence hovered in the room with me; some spectre from my dreams made manifest. There was none there but myself of course but numerous times I awoke and, irrational as it may have been, was compelled each time to leave my bed to look about my room. Once done, I would then begin my quest for slumber afresh.

  I did not seek out an Anglican church, should there even be one in this town, but simply visited the one nearest my apartments. The Catholic rites were foreign to my sensibilities, and I am sure that should my mother ever learn I sat through such a Papist ceremony she would find great cause to berate me. I sat at the back of the building, surrounded by the soberly clad city folk, while the Latin and the stench of incense swirled around us and I prayed for some hope of salvation from my troubles.

  Whatever sanctity the church might have offered, however, has not delivered any lasting abatement of my unease. Though during the service itself I was but one of a crowd and felt a fresh and pleasing anonymity, once I had taken myself outside to the street the oppressive heat and suspicious eyes once again fell upon me.

  Perhaps Cartwright is correct. Maybe I am simply feeling this foreign summer. With my mind curtailed by the lack of sleep my thoughts are not as they should be. I am finding it harder to concentrate. At least I feel my mission here in Buenos Aires has been completed to a degree that will reflect well on me, if not so cleanly as I would have liked. Perhaps with my involvement in this shameless chapter of the Leer family history over, and once I am returned to my native shore, my mind might at last find the peace it has been missing.

  Tuesday, 7th May 1816

  Last night I dreamt of Earl Edgar.

  His face was clouded and the features unclear, yet I knew it to be him. The widow Maria stood at his side, younger and more fulsome than she had been when I met her at the church. Here was the wanton girl of whom I have been told, with the wicked smile and challenging eyes one would imagine of the girl of her reputation. Behind her was another woman, similar in appearance though years older. She looked of an age with the Earl. There were others there, though less distinct than these three; Arthur Cartwright was one, as was each member of the Mercallo family. I saw my parents, and my poor brother as he was, full of the youth the polio took from him.

  There were others still, but most were indistinct as if standing in a thick black mist. Through the cloud a dark and shadowy figure stalked, prowling between the people before me and examining each in turn. On completing its circuit it came to stand before me. It was nothing but shadow and air, yet I felt its eyes on me. All of a sudden, the black mist burnt away in a dark, consuming flash, as if the day of reckoning had come. Only he and I remained, his eyes burning into me.

  I awoke coated with sweat, and with such a pounding in my head that I feared the fever had taken me again. The images did not fade as dreams are want to do, but remained in my mind as clear as memory. My room was stifling with the oppressive heat, so I stumbled from my bed and threw open the windows to the morning. Alas, the air was still as death and brought scarce refreshment. In desperation, for I felt as if the unquenched heat might overcome me, I took the pitcher of water that stands in my room and threw it over my head. Only then did the panic leave me, washed away by the lukewarm liquid that dripped from my face onto the floorboards.

  Such a dream I have not had since my childhood. Unlike the half formed visions that have plagued me each night since I have recovered from the fever, this nightmare was as clear in my mind as though the figures I had seen had been here in the flesh. It left me as weak as a babe. For the next hour I could do nothing but sit, waiting for my wits to return.

  I now have no wonder why Earl Sebastian wishes the business of his late and unlamented father dealt with and forgotten. I fear my mind is poisoned by the unholy and immoral things I have been forced to uncover since beginning my task. If this is the effect examining the late Earl's life and actions has upon a man, then I shall be pleased and grateful to be done with it. I know I shall not sleep well again until the whole damned business is concluded.

  Merely three days remain until my ship docks. The sooner I can pass on all I have to Mr. Dennings the better. Maybe then I can at last be free of it.

  Wednesday, 8th May 1816

  I am now determined on wrapping up my business in the city with as much haste as possible. I have resolved that I have spent too long in aimless introspection, and that it does my mind no good. I shall busy myself, while I wait for my ship to arrive, by ensuring my work is completed to the required standards. Consigning the folder containing Edgar's final ravings to the bottom of my trunk, I spent the morning sorting those other reports I have gathered. I have read and rewritten all that I have discovered in regards to the Earl's death, and have sorted and bound together all the copies of the documents in my possession. I am confident that I can ensure that there shall be no loose ends remaining.

  Despite my baser fears, when I took to my bed last night I was no longer assailed by my previous dreams. I have had my first clear night's sleep since the fever took me. Perhaps I am at
last beginning to acclimatise to this foreign weather, though the heat and humidity have still not broken. During the day it is almost unbearable to remain inside, and only marginally improved at night.

  Having arranged my work to my satisfaction I took myself upon a walk near the docks, hoping that perhaps a good breeze might avail me. It did, somewhat, but as I walked the feeling of my being followed returned. There are so many eyes in the town that follow me that I cannot ever catch one single individual. Do I stick out so much as a foreigner on these shores? Or has my investigation brought about this unwanted attention? Does someone within the city wish to know who I speak with and where I go? Or perhaps simply to know when I intend to leave? Such speculation is foolish, I know, yet I cannot seem to shake it from my mind.

  Thursday, 9th May 1816

  This morning I returned to the docks. Despite the eyes on my back, this is the best place to have a hope of finding any breeze to cut the heavy air. And, whilst sitting and staring out across the river, I saw a sight that boosted my spirits in a way I cannot adequately describe. I had been idly watching a ship pull in when I saw the name April Mercy upon its prow. My heart was struck with a leap of joy so strong that I let out an exclamation. For this ship is the harbinger of my escape! In two days it is engaged to return me home.

  I sat and watched the majestic edifice settle into its mooring. Immediately sailors began to bustle to and fro whilst dockhands swarmed around with nets and cranes. The ship soon began to divulge its cargo of passengers, while swings and pulleys were moved into place to divest the heavier stock. I know little of ships or their ways, and know not the correct terms and expressions for the work or apparatus I saw in use. Yet for the whole afternoon I felt an effusive joy in the sight of maritime business, so that for a time the weather and my nightmares were forgotten.

  Having watched the disembarkation of the April Mercy until evening began to settle, I made my way quickly to the house of Arthur Cartwright to celebrate my impending liberation from this stifling city and to make a proper goodbye. Arthur has become a firm friend of mine during my stay. He has not only been of invaluable assistance to me in my business here, but also stood forth as the agent of my salvation on that day I was struck with the fever. All apart from this, he also is a pleasant fellow and good company. I have enjoyed the evenings we have spent together, and I feel that of all my memories of this place, it is mainly this time that I shall miss. While, after my experience here, I no longer harbour thoughts of setting myself up within the firm as a liaison with any business in this fledgling country, should the events of my future direct me here again I should not be so unwilling, if it should allow me to be reunited with Arthur Cartwright.

  The night has gone long, and it is now well into the morning. Still, my excitement about my impending escape combines with the heat and makes sleep elusive. I have sat up, writing by lamp light in order to calm my mind, but to little avail. I will attempt sleep, though I have pitiful hope of rest.

  Friday, 10th May 1816

  I awoke this morning feeling notably unwell. While last night's wine had aided me in finding sleep despite the continual heat, this morning they combined to mark a sharp increase in my discomfort. It was almost noon before I was well enough to rouse myself and complete my packing.

  I am now set for my return journey; my work filed and cases packed. Tomorrow I shall have everything taken down to the docks early, that they might be packed aboard the April Mercy. While this city is indeed a fine place, I am passed eager to be gone. I miss my own climate and am still haunted by whatever presence follows me.

  Earlier in the afternoon I took a break from my work and ventured out one last time to Pascal de Certona's coffee shop. I have spent many fine hours there and wished to say a proper goodbye. He was as effusive as ever, and I find I shall miss my time spent at his tables. Upon returning, however, I could not shake the impression that someone had been in my room whilst I was absent. While I could not determine that any of my carefully packed belongings had been disturbed, there was an unsettling certainty within my mind that my things were not exactly as I left them. I enquired with Señora Mercallo, for only she, her husband and I had access to a key to my room, whether any one had visited while I had been out. She assured me no-one had, but despite all possible evidence, the feeling persists.

  But I shall forget such foolish worries. Tonight I shall dine with my landlord and his family. I owe Señor Mercallo and his wife much for their nursing of me through my ailment, and they have been most gracious as hosts. Without them my sojourn in this land would have been so much more unpleasant, and I wish to thank them for it.

  Saturday, 11th May 1816

  At last, I am away.

  I write this entry sitting in my cabin aboard the April Mercy. It is a small room which I shall be sharing with one other passenger. He is yet to board, so for now I have the space to myself. Though with so much activity around this ship as it prepares to leave, with men moving and shifting cargo and the other passengers finding their accommodation, it is impossible to feel completely alone.

  This cabin is a mean room to be spending the coming months in, but I am in such good spirits I cannot bring myself to dwell on such things. My belongings are stowed and I now simply await the evening tide to begin my journey home!

  I shall not say that my first voyages abroad have been wholly unpleasant, but still I am eager to be away. While the majority of the people of this city are pleasant, the climate has proven beyond my sensibilities to endure. Despite constant assurances that this is autumn, the weather today seems even warmer still. While my clothing sticks to me and the oppressive humidity holds down my spirit, those others I pass in the street seem almost unaffected. It seems I lack the stamina for this climate.

  But soon to sweet England once more. Rather than waiting within the confines of my cabin, I shall see if I can find a spot on deck to take one last look upon this city.

  Sunday, 12th May 1816

  With the weather having been so still for so long, I had feared that our voyage would be slow. However, once we had passed out of the river and into the open sea we were met with strong, clean winds that had been so absent from the city. I could feel the ship's speed pick up and can only wonder how different these last weeks may have been if only this air had found its way over Buenos Aires.

  I have spent this morning on the deck, revelling in the freedoms of the ocean. I had almost forgotten how good it is to have the wind blow against my face, sweeping away the smells and sensations of the last month as the horizon spreads out around me. I have not felt so good in a long while. As I stood out there, the ship rising and falling, the spray misting the air, I found myself laughing. Some of those around me may have looked oddly on me as I did so, but I could not find it within myself to care. The crew may stare as they pass behind me, but I do not mind. My behaviour must seem strange to those used to the freedom of sea travel. They cannot understand how much my soul yearned to be released from that enclosing city.

  Monday, 13th May 1816

  The weather continues to provide strong winds. As they build, so the sea grows steadily rougher, though not to any alarming degree. I can recall it being much the same on my previous voyage. I am not worried, for I did not suffer from any sickness on the outward voyage and do not fear anything on my return.

  I do find that the lack of activity begins to bear upon me. It seems strange to have so much idle time. I realise now I could have spent more of my time in the city at leisure, and saved some of my work to occupy me now. I have no reason to continue writing. This journal was in truth only begun as a way for me to keep notes as I worked, and not intended as a personal record of any kind. Now I find I resort to making further entries simply to occupy my mind. I must take steps to ensure I can remain busy.

  My cabin-mate is a likeable enough chap; one Phillip Doungan. He is a man of few words, though has a pleasant demeanour that makes him amiable company. He too is an Englishman who has been in Buenos Aires on bu
siness, though for a far longer time than I. He is quiet, and keeps to himself. He does not seem to be comfortable with travel. While I have spent much of my time above decks, he has been mostly confined to his cot. I am sure that we shall grow better acquainted in the coming weeks.

  Thursday, 16th May 1816

  We have encountered our first storm.

  The winds we had been blessed with since leaving Buenos Aires had been building steadily since our journey began. While I had praised them for the speed which they granted us, by Tuesday evening even I could tell that they had grown dangerous. The seas had become rough and unsettled, and the heaving of the waves caused the ship to creak and fall alarmingly. Soon enough we were all ushered below decks by the crew as they began rushing to prepare the ship for the coming tempest. Phillip Doungan and I sat in our cabin. We spoke little. He, of course, had been feeling unwell since our journey began, and with our cabin tilting and falling around us I had little conversation that could distract the poor man.

  The storm hit us full force in the night. I found it hard to sleep, as the ships movements were so rough that comfort was impossible to find. Every so often I would feel Doungan's eyes on me, but the few times I had the strength to raise my head to meet his gaze he would be back huddled on his own bunk.

  At some point I must have managed to fall asleep, as I woke later that morning to the sound of the ship's timbers shrieking against the strain of the storm. I do not know how the sailors endured it. During a lull I braved the deck, seeking some escape from the tormented confines of our small cabin. The sky was thick with dark clouds that hung so low they seemed to brush the mast. Cold, harsh spray stung my face and I was forced to retreat below once again.