“And where might he be?”
The hall seemed to stretch onward and outward, with branching bifurcations, each a room to itself and each, inferring, just as decorated as the rest; each designed for a need, for a necessity even. Either that, or the manse was full of surfeitian sitting rooms.
Eckhart answered. “Somewhere.”
“I could have assumed that.”
“What I mean by somewhere is anywhere. Most likely, though, the lunarium.” A turn in our path to the left, into a narrower corridor that reminded me of the tea-parlor, floral patterns.
“An observatory? He has an observatory?” I was astonished, truly, as not even Limmere had an observatory, one such too to simply gaze upon the moon. “Limmere is void of a lunarium.”
“The wealth of Mr. Byrgenman seems to know no bounds.”
There, within those bygone halls and wish-to-be estaminets, along the lunar esplanade which was beforehand obscured behind the shaded manse and now stretched across the open water, I was at the divine mercy of the moon—there would be scribed upon my heart an insatiable desire for a brooking proposal, one which would take me into its crooked fingers all in the hopes of human furtherance. My hubris incarnate.
In his later twilight years, my grandsire had come under a queer ailment, one that escaped all wits of apothecaries; that was, until, he was given a metal box of bronze and tin—or, perhaps, was it aluminum?—with clockwork inworkings coupled with wire and duct. It was a wonder and miracle of progressing technology, of the harnessing of lighting. It was, therefore, an apparatus to drive in tandem with his heart, to keep within its pulsating rhythm. Ludwig was the same.
It was requested of me by him to place my hand upon his chest, to feel the mechanism upon his flesh. I denied. “We are similar in this way, aren’t we?”
I gave no response, instead turning to look at Eckhart beside me; in duo, we stood there before Ludwig, he with foaming sea and the celestial egress that was the moon, thwarting stars of dull glory, behind him.
“You and your prosthesis, I and my soul—my heart, that is.” From his head he took off his coal black cavalier hat.
“Did you know of this?” I asked Eckhart. He played the same part as I, returning to me in silence. I was uncomfortable, in a position atypical and incredibly abnormal, displaced from my high yet commoner life; what had I subscribed myself to? “Ludwig, we request answers, we request reason. You are eccentric; we understand this. That does not—.”
I was cut short by the southerner. “It does not excuse you from withholding response.”
“I’ve been quite vapid, haven’t I?” Ludwig’s retort was not to our liking; he still confined the inner workings of his mind like a stronghold.
“We—I speak for Irwin as well, I believe. We fail to understand your reasoning. You have called us here to a place completely foreign to us; I came from Ilithar, my journey was of multiple days, almost four.”
Finally, acknowledgement. “In your letters I have told of a project of mine.”
Rejoinder from Eckhart. “A venture, you referred to it explicitly as a venture.”
“A venture, then. I have come upon a great amount of wealth, as you may have observed; it’s hard to miss, I’d say. Prosperity. Though I have been given the ability to spend it on whatever I desire, may it please any of my fantasies, I instead wish to return it to mankind.”
“Quite the martyr,” Eckhart said. “A philanthropist are we, Ludwig?”
“To return it to mankind in the form of elevation of the mind.”
I interrupted, thinking myself to be expedient. “Scientifically, I assume?”
“Of course, Mr. Larkin. You know of such an ideology, that’s why I picked you.”
“And why did you choose me then?” I sensed that Eckhart was unnerved—either that, or understandably peeved. “Irwin for his prospective advancements and I for what?”
“Biology. Not only are you well versed in the sciences of botany, but even zoology.”
Now my dual-man's eyes told a story of skepticism and logical chariness. “You have read my works as well, then?”
“Not all, but some. I will do my research.” He held to his side his hat as he looked down at his feet. “The two of you hold minds and sensible insight that is sparse throughout this world.”
I disagreed. “Debatable.”
I doubted now that Ludwig even heard what I had said. “Eckhart, are you an ape?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you an ape, Mr. Dwyer?”
He scoffed at Ludwig, as if there was some terrible implication. “I would like to think of myself not.”
“But is that not where you have come from?”
Though the question was not even remotely directed towards me even I too was disconcerted.
“At one time my ancestors were, yes. But I walk upright; I think, apes do not think. Rather, they struggle to think, to actuate their thoughts—I am not an ape.” I found it increasingly difficult, now, to dissect Eckhart’s front. Was this a performance, or was he defending what he stood upon?
“Is it that you’ve entropied from the likeness of an ape or you have apotheosized out of such a form and become what you are now?” Was he attacking him? I knew not, I was an observer that did not yet concern myself with such philosophical incantations—yet, of course.
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“Does this concern the venture? If not then I will take my leave, I will have you know that firmly Mr. Byrgenman.”
“It does. Do you carry with you the same aptitude, those same feelings that you say you have stripped away from yourself through your advancement—your evolution, Eckhart—as you progressed up such a ladder?”
No rebuttal.
“That’s what I thought. You hold to yourself still primal urges, we all do. I am sure that even dear Irwin does as well. Avarice, self cognizance, fury, ignorance, pride, obstinance, disquiet; our curses, that’s what I call them.” He refused now to look at either of us. “And to free ourselves of such things would be the greatest of all pursuits.”
Now I interjected. “‘To free ourselves’? Ludwig, I am an alchemist—I know nothing of any sort of practice that you speak of. I work with metals, powders, and elixirs. I make, I study, I do not—.”
“You dream.”
“All apes dream,” Eckhart responded instead of I. “All animals dream.”
It seemed to be that he had fallen into Ludwig’s logical trap: “Then you are an ape.”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes—you suppose so then.”
Again, I interjected. “This does not, at all, answer our question. I am growing tired of these games and if you do not give an explanation my trip here, to Sablecroft, will be in vain; I will ask that you pay for my lodging in Sattenbury and my engine ride.”
“And not the ferry?’
The price of the ferry was of no concern to me, I gave no answer.
“My venture for you two intellectuals”—he was pampering us—”is simply this: to aid in my pursuit of freeing the human mind from all of these curses that it bears and, in the name of advancement and for the sake of man as a whole, elevate us to higher understanding and state of being.”
If it was simply I and Ludwig then I would have rejected his offer, for I would have reasoned that it was an attempt to confine me and he was, for his greater interest, forcing my hand. But Eckhart stood there, beside me, and although Ludwig had challenged his thinking and had prompted him to question moral logic that he had been stalwart on since his assumed conception, within his mind the scale had been tipped in Ludwig’s favor. “You are rather peculiar.”
The morning thereafter we sat within the parlor that he brought me to upon my arrival; candles lit, rain still tapping on the warped glass window, the sun a distant memory as the clouds had now tamed the sky. Across from I sat Eckhart, as the three of us were positioned at the end of the table furthest away from the entryway—and Ludwig had returned to the subject matter while the two of us concerned ourselves with the early meal he had displayed for us. Or was it brunch? And too, now that I recall, I wonder if somewhere within that labyrinth he held servants that he obscured within the shadows, to keep out of the sight of guests, as who had prepared the food? At the time I had not a worry.
“I would hope that in your sleep you’ve come to a decision?” He did not eat, instead he simply observed us—questioned us, rather.
After swallowing Eckhart immediately broke into his response. “This has been a wonderful experience, I like to entertain the idea that Irwin and I have both been given the greatest accommodations in our stay here. And, Ludwig, though I do enjoy your fantasy and your prenatural aspirations, I do not think that I would be of much assistance. As much as I wish I could be, I think that you have chosen the wrong person.” With the preceding swallow the southerner had finished his repast, folding his serviette and resting it cordially on his empty plate; he drank. “I would like to thank you, and I will provide my presence for the rest of today, though I will be leaving before nightfall.”
I did not know if this irritated Ludwig—if it did, he did his best to not show it. “I’ll tell you this, Mr. Dwyer, I have not blundered in my choice. And you, Mr. Larkin?”
Now I stared upon my half-eaten meal, an answer had escaped me.
“Mr. Larkin? Irwin?”
Whatever haze or hex that I had been raptured in was broken, as with the calmest jolt I returned. “Eckhart,” I uttered from short breath, “I urge you to rethink your settlement; I think it will please you, Ludwig, to know that I have reached a contrasting resolution.” Before I continued I reasoned with myself how I was to go about my succeeding expression. “I will ask the college if I have the ability to take leave of academic purpose. Do I take lodging here or elsewhere in Stablecroft?”
He was utterly delighted to hear it. “Then I’ve lost a compatriot and gained a collaborator, a colleague, perhaps. You’ll be staying here, in one of our guests rooms—one of my guest rooms. And Eckhart, I appreciate your honesty… I should have considered that there might be difficulty in uprooting yourself, leaving your hometown, that is.”
“I am not abandoning my hometown.” I became defensive. “I have reason to stay, and Limmere is not my hometown.”
“I never assumed that of you, Mr. Larkin. The contrary, actually.”
Then I dismissed it. “Oh—forgive me.”
“There is no trouble in my leaving. I think that my concerns are born out of the implications of your experiment; as any decent human being my morality outweighs my actions and my instinct.” Though his words were bitter and distasteful he strung them together and played them in a manner of sheer elegance. I think of myself as a linguist and it is quite possible that I was being outpaced. “It is forced adaptation, something that takes years—decades, centuries, even millennia. We have yet to observe such a process. I do not wish to stain my hands with the blood of cruel science. If I did, I would not be able to wash them.”
I thought the opposite. It would have been ignorant of me to ignore that the morality of the practice was questionable and, indeed, rather dubious in nature, but that which would be spawned out of it would surpass the sacrifices that would be made on the altar of discipline.
“I admire your appetite for human invention, though I can not twist biology. And you will not twist my arm on this either.”
Ludwig remained unchanged. “Then you were right, I was wrong in my assumption of you. Then I have blundered in my selection. And so Irwin is the only fruit of my labor.” His hand motioned in my direction as I played as silent judge for their discourse. “And then if you have something to attend to back home I strongly urge you to do so. Pack up your things and take your exit.”
Now he had taken on full defense. “I will find egress when I desire, Mr. Byrgenman. As of now, I wish to debate, to discuss. You imply that such a study would bring forth considerable harvest, that sowing these seeds for inquiry would pave a new path for humanity—so how do you suppose you go about this? How do you force one to adapt, to change for their environment, as you yourself have yet to show that you have the means to do so. Do you stand on grounds of immorality while you hold intellectual prowess or, instead, do you hide away in your library reading texts that you have the inability to correctly interpret?”
He sneered. “Why else would I seek your kind?”
“You are a damned serpent.”
There I sat with a dilemma; I had already sworn myself to Ludwig in the name of academia, yet I found comradery and empathetic understanding now surfacing itself as Eckhart spoke.
“My methods will be formed when I hold further discussion with Irwin.”
Of course he was flustered, as he had reason to be; but still, I favored on the side of Ludwig, and now I found myself making attempts to coax Eckhart back in. “Eckhart, perhaps if the two of us take this experiment on together then we will be able to weave into it standard morality—we can do our best to make certain that Ludwig goes about his practices in the shadow of ethics.” Perhaps it was Ludwig that was puppeting me and I had not yet seen the strings that he had tied to my back and arms.
“Though the question of morality in the first place still stands, dear Irwin. Look at him, look upon his figure and sly smile that fits upon his face as I condemn him and tell me that within his heart he holds the purest of wishes for humanity.” Yet I foolishly gave Ludwig the benefit of the doubt, I was his halfwitted advocate.
“Still, I think of what can become of this. If we have such power within our hands we may be able to cure disease, to even rectify our wrongs as a species.” I was no philosopher, nor was I biologist, though there in that dreary salon, amongst dirty dishes and the finest of fittings, I suddenly debated virtue. “Perhaps we could free ourselves of our greatest blights—and, perhaps, we may be able to escape our fleeting nature.”
Irwin fell silent; yes, he was a man of science, even if it were a different school of study opposed to mine, but he was a man of reason and understanding. And he was far more intelligent than me. He folded his hands, holding them above his plate, to there and then take a moment to collect his mind. “Ludwig, do you have a biphone?” he said softly.
“Indeed.”
“Then I will call home in the morning. Prepare a place for me,” and though he had conceded to my words he excused himself from the room, abandoning his cutlery and dish.