Chapter Six
23/01/4018
p469 Entry No. 36 (Code Status of facility: blue)
We had a surprise inspection today from the ministry. Gretta and I rushed to hide the unofficial subjects that I created. Due to limited room in storage, I had to insert them (fully unconscious of course) into our escape pods, desperately hoping, sweating all the while, that none found them. It was testing, chaotic and sloppy and I now realise that my own dabblings might cause the shutdown of our research facility. This I will not allow to happen.
Whilst experiments continued well into the night, flashing ghostly lights across the landscape, we were able to secretly smuggle them out into the hood of the dark, with only the stars to guide us.
We found a cave not too far off from our research centre, where we were able to transfer basic equipment for the upkeep and maintenance of my inventions. Now that danger of discovery has passed (at least for now), we decided to rotate a roster between us of checking the subjects.
Speaking of subjects, I was casually passing one of the subject’s cells when I noticed it behaving rather oddly. First, it stirred and stared out, as if it knew I was there. Second, it began to make noises, a low rumble in the same pattern over and over. I am probably presuming too much during the initial stages of our testing with them, but it seemed like not only did it know of my presence, it was also trying to communicate. I stood aghast, unsure of how to react. I then reached for the ‘sleep injection’ and it cried out. I took note and mentioned this to Metilda, who said she’d look into it further. Our team has been working relentlessly, tirelessly to get closer to ‘the God subject’, the one that will have the Cure to heal us. Our dying race was given a line to grasp by the comet’s sudden arrival (it was an unpredictable occurrence, one that hadn’t been picked up by our drones) and grasp we must.
Gretta is fearful now of being caught, but I reassured her that what we were working on was like nothing anyone had ever seen before. We would be the deliverers of salvation, and the people will love us for it.
- M.B
S
eamus sat brooding in front of a large marble fireplace. The firelight reflected off the bronzed gargoyle faces that formed a ferocious arc around the mantel piece.
His study was comfortable and lined with books from floor to ceiling. Heavy volumes detailed the Early Ages of the Otherworld, and priceless spell books along with countless of other works done by famous authors sat dusting from underuse. From his ceiling hung a glittering chandelier that tinkled duly, jewels hung down like dripping water from its massive bulk and it held more than fifty flames, casting a warm glow around the interior.
On the walls hung portraits of previous kings, from John the Wise who had signed in the well-known and favoured Equal Rights for All Races bill, and had taken years to draft. It was nowadays more pessimistically known as Equal Rights for Most Races, in some of the more rural regions of the Otherworld including the remote hill tribes to the north.
Seamus swished around the wine in his jewelled goblet that his cupbearer had tasted for good measure, and had left the study with a clean bill of health. Servants stood dutifully to one side and he waved a hand to dismiss them. He found their presence distracting.
The fire spat out sparks and he stared into the dancing flames thinking over the unsightly decisions of previous kings. One person making a decision that affected so many never made sense to him. Perhaps the humans had it right when they founded democracy.
Neatly stacked papers lay on the side table, politely waiting to be signed. Some were proposals on handling the rebels to the south while others outlined tactics on handling future riots in the Akhian and Yoba quarters of the city. The areas inhabited mostly by descendants of northern tribes.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling the press of issues far and wide congest around him like beating moths blotting out light. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this old and yet here he was, drinking wine on a Tuesday night with the grandfather clock in one corner ticking away and his cat, Fisher, curled up at his slippered feet.
Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor and he sighed. The doors burst open and a young man dressed in a black cloak came swirling into the room like a gust of snowflakes, two attendants dressed in the cloth of the Watch were at his heels.
‘Your highness,’ he bowed. ‘Forgive the intrusion at this late hour but we have received further information in our investigation of that requires your most urgent attention.’ The man’s expression was apologetic but gently firm. Snow and mud caked his boots.
Seamus rose steadily from his armchair, sending Fisher scampering off into a warm corner. ‘And what evidence would this be?’
The man looked lost for words. ‘Your highness…the Department of Analysts has finished their first phase of salvaging through the findings of the prison’s remains. They would like to present to you at your earliest convenience.’
Seamus inwardly scoffed at the last few words of that sentence, now was hardly convenient.
‘Is there a reason why I need to see to it personally?’
He wringed his hands, his dark eyes looking about the room nervously. ‘It is probably best not discussed here.’
‘Of course.’
Seamus quickly dressed and when he reached the royal stables, Jamel was already waiting for him. He inclined his head. ‘Your highness.’
‘Jamel.’
‘As to what do we owe the pleasure of riding out on such a horrid night?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Ah, it’s one of those runs. Should be fun.’
‘Fun is an optimistic way of putting it.’
The messenger from earlier appeared with his horse, his two companions already saddled and seated, ready to go.
He bowed. ‘Your highness, ready when you are.’
They rode out in a protective diamond formation with the king at the centre, the back exit had been chosen to keep tongues from wagging but over his years as king, Seamus always found to his disappointment that news would always inevitably break out regardless.
The streets were eerily quiet, but he noticed the odd curtain move and thought that the hooves on cobbled stones must sound like thunder rumbling.
A few minutes later, they pulled their horses up outside a black gate wrought with the iron eagle insignia of the Watch. Its wings were outspread beyond the circle, symbolising that there were no limitations in its order.
A boy came rushing forth to help him down and take his reins; Seamus pressed a gold coin into his hand before proceeding into a small courtyard beyond the gate. In the middle was a small fountain with a cherub holding a waterless vase, the pool was congealed and clumps of green goo floated in it.
The Watch’s headquarters building emphasised width rather than height. It took on the shape of an ‘m’ with each wing providing offices and work space for each of the three different departments - the Analysts, Constables and Rangers.
He painfully ascended the front steps in heavy snowfall, wincing as a spasm befit his left leg. Seamus’s breath plumed with each wheeze of effort, his freckled fingers curling in the frosty air. The huge oaken doors were open and checked by two imposing statues of rangers dressed in uniform.
‘King Seamus!’
His highness turned to see one of the least favourable people in Erp Surrel at the bottom of the steps. Isabella Snatch. Her blonde hair had been drawn back into a tight bun, and her green eyes twinkled behind her spectacles, giving her a secretarial look. She was in her forties, with smile crinkles around her eyes. In one hand she held a notebook, and an ink quill in the other.
A small sprite in plain dress stood up to her knee, carrying sheets of papers and an inkpot, looking like it wished it were somewhere else. It was unusual for a journalist to keep a sprite as an assistant, the level of distrust was so great that they were barely seen in Erp Surrel.
‘I won’t bother asking how you even got in here
, but you’re trespassing.’
‘A quote? The people need to know what happened to Hannelsford. What happened up there?’ Two rangers had rushed forward to take her by the arms; the sprite looked bored. Seamus turned away.
‘Erp Surrel demands the truth!’ she called to his back.
He was led past the reception desk to a back stairway that provided a quicker route to the third wing. He passed deliberating clerks, constables pouring over profile boards of criminals by candlelight and numerous desks crushed by columns of paperwork. All around he could hear the low murmurings of officers deciding on the guilty, leafing of papers and screams coming from interrogation rooms. He saw through one window a waiting area for offenders. One of them was so aggressive he was spelled to the wall in a star shape with legs and arms spread out. A dozing faerie sat in one corner, his hazy purple eyes bloodshot on Pig’s weed. The city never really slept so neither did the Watch, they seemed to be as busy at night as they were at day. The sight of it jumpstarted Seamus’s memory back to a series of community schemes he had tried to set up before, but were shot down by his Court. It had taken him considerable effort to get his Cabinet to agree on them, but it seemed all he was doing was trying to swim upstream against a strong current. And getting nowhere.
His ruminating was interrupted by the messenger boy’s probing stare. Seamus shook it off, and was led over an outdoor bridge out of the Department of Constables and into the Department of Analysts.
The entrance floor was mosaicked with a Quadrone, a contraption that looked like a slim wand of steel with an eyepiece fixed on one end for observation. It was ingrained with natural materials transported from the crater which had the unusual ability to magnify looking glasses. In fact, a lot of the department’s tools had been constructed from the earth at the crater, the dirt was found to be useful for a variety of things. The Quadrone itself had been used for centuries for studying objects in high detail and helped the user see beyond the naked eye. It was verified that it was more powerful than most magnifying applications to be found in Earth and could be manipulated easily.
‘Your highness? You are to be announced to our team of analysts, they are ready for you now. If you would please wait a moment so I can—’
Seamus groaned with impatience and pushed past him. ‘There’s no time for formalities at this hour and I’m an old man that wants his bed. Move aside boy.’
The young man reddened and stammered, ‘O-of course.’
He quickly followed behind, flustering around him like a chicken.
Jamel smirked from beneath his helmet.
Seamus strode in to find himself inside a massive dome. The ceiling bulged out like a pregnant woman and was made of glass, allowing for the moons to pool in onto the floor. Other sources of light came from encrusted stones of sickly greens to sighing pinks in the walls. Scattered about were the oddest-looking instruments and gadgets he had ever seen, and he pondered on their uses.
Above were skeletons of extinct creatures hanging ghostly from stringed fixtures, swaying like decorations in the hall of science. There were long wooden benches laden with bubbling apparatuses; the coloured contents of tubes boiling a parrot cocktail of something one wouldn’t want to swallow. Heavy tomes were laid open with splotches on their yellowed pages, and bookshelves on biochemistry and alchemy lined the walls with a simmering pool in the centre. Next to it was a table with ensnared animals in cages.
The team had detracted themselves from their distracted work space and assembled in front of the pool area. They were clad in the usual turtleneck tunics of maroon brown and Seamus could spot a few stains on some, others looked as if they had just pulled theirs on in a hurry before he arrived.
At their head was a man in his mid-thirties wearing spectacles and a mole to one side of his quirky mouth, the corners upturned to a twitchy smile. His eyes were brown and held the type of intelligence that could solve anything, but as soon it was done would look around for the next puzzle to tinker with. His hands were clasped in front and his black hair was gelled back from his face, revealing a red rash of acne splayed across his forehead.
There was a tangy, pungent smell of acid that assured Seamus he was in the right place, and he could see a thin stream of smoke wafting up from somewhere near the back behind the chemical infused pool.
He pointed. ‘I hope we don’t have a health hazard on our hands.’
The man raised his eyebrows and turned slightly. ‘Ah!’ He turned back with a smile. ‘No, just something we cooked up from earlier, you can be sure your highness,’ he bowed, and the rest copied poorly, ‘that we always have everything under control in our department.’
Seamus’s eyes went over the bubbling pool and skeletons dangling from above, making him uneasy. ‘I’m sure.’
‘I believe we are to be joined by Constable Wolfe tonight?’
‘You assumed right, nerd,’ responded a voice as acidic as the chemicals foaming away on the benches. He turned to see a woman in her forties walk - or stalk - into the department’s main work area. Her red auburn hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail and her eyes were mix-matched colours of purple and blue. Her lips held a thin smile of disdain and her cheekbones were etched with scarred lines. She showed her teeth and the man shrank back a little.
She bowed courteously at Seamus. ‘Your highness.’
She turned to Morgan. ‘Spit it out Morgan, his highness would like to sleep tonight,’ she said. Her words lashed out like a cracked whip and the man swallowed.
Seamus looked toward Morgan with patient expectation. He could see Wolfe was her usual hostile self towards the Department of Analysts, although he never understood why.
‘I was led to believe this is regarding whatever worthy extractions were made of the prison ruins.’ Seamus prodded calmly.
Morgan nodded hurriedly. ‘Yes, yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Loretta, please bring forth the object that was extracted from the mountain.’
A dwarf sized woman near the back almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Oh! Of course.’ She scampered to the left of the pool and bent down to carefully lift a hidden object, handling it gingerly as if were an artefact. She set it down on a clinical table next to surgical instruments and the analysts all stepped back cautiously. It was covered in a white sheet, but the shape was bulbous and edges jutted out randomly in different places.
Seamus and his party walked to the examination table with inquisitive looks.
‘This - ah, is a bizarre one. Even for us. One of the appointed diggers that found it developed signs of illness after physical contact so I do warn his majesty and companions to not touch the surface.’
‘Good god Morgan, you would expose the king to such an object?’ exclaimed Constable Wolfe.
He blinked rapidly. ‘I-I thought it best he saw this for himself.’
‘Out with it.’ Seamus growled.
‘It seems that this - erm - formation has tested positive for faint traces of radiation.’
Seamus frowned. ‘What? There’s been no radiation since—’
‘Since the Beginning yes, but we’ve conducted the test several times and even our staff here have needed to take care when handling it.’
An uncomfortable shift reverberated through the group of analysts.
‘Anna, who handles all incoming pieces of evidence, had to drop out after too much exposure. Her hands…she was finding she couldn’t use them, and she was losing her sight. Which is why I don’t dare remove the cover.’
‘What is it?’ Seamus asked. He never fancied himself a psychic, but he had a sinking feeling on whatever laid on the table.
Morgan’s eyes cast downwards. ‘The problem is that we don’t know. It is pure crystal rock, but it encases something within.’
‘Was anything else found to be radioactive from the Beast?’
‘No. We’ve had bodily remains, prisoners of Hannelsford more than likely. Some splintered rock, pipes, bars and other tidbits, bu
t nothing was found to be radioactive.’
‘Do you have any idea what is in the crystal?’
‘No, we only got glimpses of a shadow inside so we know something is definitely in there. Furthermore, it’s very far away from home. This type of crystal can be found further atop the mountains, but not so far down where the temperature doesn’t allow for crystallisation to take form. What I’m saying is that it was out of place.’
‘Is there any way to probe it safely?’ Wolfe asked.
‘My team and I are working on that at the moment but so far, our endeavours have only led to illness. We will continue to try.’
‘Anything else?’ Seamus asked, eyeing the object warily.
‘This is not pleasant,’ he warned. Morgan set down a decomposing limb. The arm was still juiced up with flayed bits of skin hanging in threads. The crooked, cold fingers were stiff with rigor mortis. ‘You’ll see here a lot of burn marks. Fresh ones at that. The majority of the remains we received seem to be damaged from high exposure to flames.’
Seamus recalled the scorched soil at the site.
‘We’ve concluded the conditions of the remains retrieved generally align with our theory.’ Morgan finished.
‘And what is your theory?’
‘An explosion. Of high velocity at that, it more than likely levelled the entire Hannelsford prison structure. We suspect explosives were possibly planted around the complex to go off simultaneously.’ Morgan pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his dimpled nose.
Seamus absorbed this new information silently.
‘One more thing,’ he said, and gestured to another member of his quirky team. A tall lanky man in his late twenties nearly tripped over himself to collect another piece of evidence. He laid the necklace down with a flourish as if presenting a masterpiece for public display.
‘This belonged to one of the top wardens who held the keys for nearly every cell, a Mr. Timmings. He had top level access, including cells whose occupants were, ah, mentally deficient.’
Return of the Starchild (The Divine Inheritance Series Book 1) Page 12