Spontoon Island
home
- contact - credits
- new - links -
history
- maps - art -
story
comic
strips - editorial - souvenirs - Yahoo forum
|
“Sinnessteuersymphonie”
A tale of mad science in six movements, with coda © E.O. Costello, 2008 *****
MOVEMENT FIFTH: Attacca I needed no escort to the Day Room. I knew my own way by now. The clicking of my stiletto heels against the marble floor of the Long Gallery competed against the pounding of the rain on the skylights above. Fast-scudding, dark clouds flew rapidly over the windows, casting dark shadows that raced alongside me. I reached the great wooden doors at the end of the hallway, and I paused. Did I need to knock? How had Forrester set things. “I command you to open.” The doors, both of them, gave a soft click at my voice, and swung open toward me. I waited until the room was fully revealed. Forrester stood with his back to me, flagging slowly as he watched the squall beat against the glass above him, around him, and beneath him. It was a matter of only a few brisk strides to cross the floor and place the velvet box on the glass table. “The Silver Note.” Forrester stopped in mid-flag, and turned around slowly. He was wearing his red goggles, so it was hard to see the expression in his eyes. “It’s the stuff of legend, of tall stories. Of dreams and longing. Maybe it’s a darkened hall in Buenos Aires, in the midst of a tango. Maybe it’s in Bayreuth, during the final act of the Twilight of the Gods. Or maybe…it’s in a cold concert hall in Budapest, December, 1920.” Forrester twitched his ears, listening intently. “There are those who attend concerts for years, decades, a lifetime…searching for that one experience that will take them out of the realm of the ordinary, that outsiders can’t comprehend. ‘None of you would understand, so why bother?’ as the fur said, right? And it’s not found above, nor outside, Mr. Forrester. Inside. Deep inside. A singular place hidden deep within every anthrop, in the valleys and folds of our brain. The mental equivalent of Cibola, of Shangri-La. A place unmapped and found on no charts.” “Except for yours, Mr. Forrester. The charts you’ve drawn up of the anthrop mind all these years…and supplemented by your own personal observations.” Forrester betrayed no emotion, except for his eyes. Even behind the ruby tint, I could see them glowing. “The selection of Number Sixty last night, hell, Number Sixty himself…that was just a sham, window dressing. He wasn’t the reward. He was never meant to be the reward. Whether or not he followed orders to please me? What kind of orders I gave him? Totally irrelevant.” I ran my paw over the top of the flat velvet case. “This was my reward. And perhaps more importantly, your reward. Confirmation of your theories, theories you couldn’t test on Beta or Omega, let alone your slaves.” Forrester’s breathing began to grow deeper. “Go on, Miss Hunter. You’re doing splendidly.” “These aren’t jewels, they’re crystals. Quartz, to be exact. I didn’t figure out why that was so important when I first saw the Necklace. I was wondering why they were cut so strangely when I first saw them. No, they’re not cut strangely. They’re cut to a design, a very exacting design. Look at the shape, and how each of them comes to a point. They’re designed to capture a certain frequency. A certain micro-frequency. And when it has captured it? Focus it.” “Yes.” “The gold chain that links together each crystal isn’t just for decoration. It conducts the energy between each crystal, making the power grow and grow.” “Yes.” “Whoever wears this necklace will feel the power of the music. Magnified. What might be a one-in-a billion chance? The odds get dropped. Significantly. Instead of a once in a lifetime performance, a merely extraordinary performance will do.” “Yes.” “Some anthrops by nature have brains that can sort things out, note by note. That sheet music in your library. You’ve got a gigantic bookcase full of it. Strange, though. It’s not worn. But that’s because you know it off by heart, don’t you?” “Yes.” “So let’s go back to December, 1920. Esterhazy is concluding his performance. The furs in the audience haven’t dared to breathe. Their minds are slowly pushing in.” “Yes.” “Their consciousness shrinks down to a tiny point, living the music, reveling in it, and when it finds that mysterious valley in the mind, when Esterhazy hits that one final chord…” Forrester’s breathing grew slower and deeper. “YES?!” “That’s when you heard the Silver Note for the first time, wasn’t it? It changed your brain forever. The once in a lifetime feeling, for only a few lucky furs in the right place at the right time, as you and those other furs were. A sensation that furs would beg for. And a gift that would give power to those who could reproduce it on demand.” “Power not to punish, Mr. Forrester, but to reward, on command. The ultimate promise for a reformed fur, or even a fur promising to stay on the straight and narrow – a life-fulfilling experience, all contained in a little square velvet case like this. No need for the crude erasing of a fur’s higher brain sensations. No need for collars, or chains, or iron bars. No barbed wire, no prison camps, no machine gun nests. No poison gas, no speeches from balconies, no razing of cities from airplanes. Just a promise, to be given or withheld. One lifetime of total obedience, for one hour of rapture. Of ecstasy, I think the word is.” “And all that power in one set of paws. Yours, Mr. Forrester.” The buck’s breathing stopped, and only slowly restarted. “You have made only one mistake in your narrative, Miss Hunter. Not my paws.” “Ours.” My blood ran cold at the way he said that. Perhaps he sensed it. “Don’t you see, Miss Hunter? It has to be in our paws! No one understands my work! The work I’ve put countless hours in since that night in Budapest! No one who was not there can understand!” Forrester caught himself just as he was about to lose control of his emotions, and pointed a shaking finger at me. “But you. You understand, Miss Hunter. It was chance, a one-in-a-trillion chance, that placed a femme fur of your…your qualities within my reach.” “You have Beta.” “Beta? Beta?! A failed experiment! A dead end. She is nothing to me. A fur of no self-control. You saw here last night. You saw her! She is not capable! She cannot comprehend the matter!” Forrester paced around the room as the squall intensified. “But you! You have been here for mere hours, and you dazzle me with your insight…” Here, he paused and stripped off his red goggles. He had very blue eyes, ice cold. But ice can burn. “…and your overwhelming charms. I shall have you. I must have you! It is essential!” “Every king needs his queen?” “Exactly. Exactly!” “I would make a very poor slave, Mr. Forrester.” “Slave? Slave?! Never! You said it yourself – you would be a queen! An empress! Think of it, Miss Hunter! Think of it!! Tens, hundreds of millions of furs hanging on your every word, your every gesture. You, a slave? The world would be your slave, Miss Hunter.” “Power corrupts, Mr. Forrester.” He narrowed his eyes. “I think not, Miss Hunter. I know you better.” “Do you?” “Yes.” He strode the door, and raised his voice so that it echoed almost as boomingly as the organ. “Omega! I command you to come!” Forrester stood by, as within a minute or so, a soft padding could be heard. Omega paused at the doorway, cowering in fear. Forrester’s muzzle was like a mask. Omega began to shiver convulsively. I bent down. “Omega. Please come here. It’s all right.” The wolfess looked up at the tone of my voice in addressing her. I was amazed it even carried over to her. With a fearful glance at Forrester, Omega at first slunk over, and then with a rush threw herself at my footpads, whimpering and clutching them. “There can be no justice, Miss Hunter, without mercy. Even to those who are undeserving of it, such as Omega. In her former life, would she have shown a kulak, an oppositionist, the kindness you did? Only, perhaps, as part of scheme of cruel manipulation, for her own twisted ends.” “I am incapable of such feelings, anymore. But then, I have studied crime and criminals for far too long. You, however, approach the matter with a tabula rasa, a clean slate.” “You have beauty, you have talent, and you have mercy. Think of it, Miss Hunter. Think of it.” “And what of Beta?” “Indeed. What of Beta?” “What will become of her?” “A minor detail I will attend to, by and by, once our arrangements are finalized. She will not factor into any aspect of this house.” “Oh.” “But I overwhelm you. Think of what I lay at your feet, Miss Hunter. I will expect an answer from you at dinner tonight. Until then…” The buck walked out of the glass room, leaving me to the driving rain drumming against the panes, and the flowing tears I could feel against my ankles. *****
One of the things they teach pilots is the value of the pre-flight checklist, where you’re supposed to mark off that you’ve looked over everything you’re going to need on your journey. Item #1: Convince a genius whose specialty is erasing higher brain functions to let you off the island that contains his residence, in spite of the fact that he has confided in you a pretty good summary of a morally dubious and pretty insidious plot to enslave millions of furs. This, I put it to you, makes an Item #2 or Item #3 superfluous. Play the cards you’re dealt with and no tears, that’s the old adage. I wish somefur had told Omega that. I’d taken the overnight bag out of the armoire and had begun to pack it. Log book and identification materials in inside pocket. Supplies from the bathroom medicine cabinet next, since the aspirin was obviously not some class of poison that would turn me into a razor fungus or such. Water flask for outside pocket. It felt pretty stupid packing the bag with a bunch of silk things…but damnit, if I was going to get out of this place in one piece (and that included my brain), why the hell shouldn’t I have some nice things? Made by slaves. Oh, you’re back. Goody. Oh, you’re a hypocrite. Goody. I don’t have much choice, do I? Perhaps. They did not, after all, prepare any hairshirts for you. Perhaps we can stop by the monastery and visit Brother Dominic. Very funny. Omega was watching me pack, and it was clear she saw that something was up. She kept putting a paw on top of the bag, blocking me. “Come on, Omega. Cut it out.” You have plenty of time. It is 2.15 and one-quarter. Thank you, Western Union. Spare me the count-down, would you? You are worried. Hell, yes, I’m worried. Did you see the look in Forrester’s eyes? Especially once he removed those goggles of his? “Omega! Stop!” Crazy wolfess. Not so crazy. You’re leaving her to the tender mercies of Beta. Assuming Beta’s going to be any shape to slap her around. The wheel of fortune… …turns round and round, and where it stops, nobody knows. What, you think I don’t listen to Major Bowes? I am alarmingly familiar with what you listen to. So sorry. I promise I’ll listen to more NBC-Blue when we get home. Let’s see, khaki stuff on top, use that when I get the hell out of here… Why leave? Why? I… “Omega, come on, this isn’t easy for me either. If I let you on the bed, will you stop acting up?!” Why leave? Listen, I don’t want any part of some crazy scheme that mixes Benny Goodmink and Simon Legree, thank you very much. Crazy. Why do you think it’s crazy? Look, outside of the furs that believe what they read in the Hearst Sunday magazines, who’s going to believe any sort of story about crystals and mystical musical passages? Hardly that class. It’s true, and you know it. You said it was legend, but you yourself told Langford of the possibilities. Which comes from reading Hearst Sunday magazines, and most stuff lying around airport mechanics’ rooms. You should read newspapers. Most of the ones I see are pretty old… “Omega…Omega come on, don’t cry. Look, please don’t do that, this is hard enough as it is…” Guernica. Come again? Guernica. Town in northern Spain. Basque country. Why does that sound familiar? Possibly because you actually sat through a news-reel, instead of buying a Hershey bar. Oh. Wait. Yeah. The Krauts and Eye-ties plastered up that place to hell. There are many such places. How about those areas of China? Or Russia. Ask Omega about Russia, she’s the expert. Perhaps, though they seem to have carried on quite well without her. Intriguing how they keep finding spies, 20 years on. And then, of course, there’s the Jews in Germany, assorted furs all over India, Jerusalem… Okeh, H.V. Kaltenborn, is this leading somewhere? Indeed. Have you considered what Langford has said? Yes. And the answer is a big, flat, ixnay. I would really prefer… If I spoke like a Hartford matron, yes, I know. Why do you think I left that town? To seek adventure, perhaps to do good. Some of that, yes. “Omega, you’ve got to trust me. Look, I promise I’ll do what I can to try to take you with me. Okeh? You’re silent, you can’t spill the beans on him, and I’m going to promise to keep silent.” Oh, indeed. But why? What he proposes is eminently sensible. You’re joking. Slavery? Compared to…? Well…compared to America. Where the poor fur has the same right as the rich fur to sleep under a bridge. Come on, that’s not fair. Do you deny the breadlines? No… Aren’t you angry by them? Don’t you wish there was something you could do about it? Make furs happy? Happy and dumb. Like Sixty. How do you know? Well, come on! Look at his eyes! You’ve developed mind-reading as a talent. Shall I drop a line to Mr. Ripley? Yeah, funny. For all you know, Sixty might well have enjoyed it. You are not familiar with his programming. Who is to say there is no free will? Are you familiar with Omega’s programming? Well… Look into her eyes. I…I’d rather not. Guilt. You raised her up, only to dash her spirits. But… If you insist, we shall move on. My point is made. This is leading up to an ends-justify-the-means argument, isn’t it? Not as such. Though I would suggest that if you compare the various means being employed in the world today, is Langford’s programme so terrible? Did Sixty bear the scars of any whip or manacles, and did he have a gunshot wound to his head? Heh, his kind of treatment doesn’t leave a scar. All the more reason to consider it. Less pain, less suffering. I’m not buying it. No way. You’re afraid of Langford. I don’t know what the hell he’s got up his sleeve. I mean, if he can dump Beta, who’s to say he can’t dump me? He’s afraid of you. Yeah, because I know too much. You’re also the key. A nice blank one, after he gets through with me. You miss the point. You are NOT blank. That is the difference between you and Beta, or Omega. “Shhhhhh. Omega, please. This is hard for me too, and I…well, am I going to come out of this?” No. No, my mind’s made up. I can’t go through with it. I just can’t. It’s not me. Yes, it is me. The me that should be. That’s who I’m afraid of. I rang for Thirty-Four A and Thirty-Four B. They arrived as usual, in perfect tandem. “I’m going to dress myself this evening. The two of you are dismissed. Await further orders…further orders from your master. Thank you. You did a good job.” The two setters paused for a long time, and gave a slow curtsey each before padding off. The time is 4.19 and one half. I finished packing, and set the bag aside. It was still raining outside, even if it had slacked off. The time is 4.53 and one-quarter. I didn’t have any place to go, and the library was pretty pointless. I tried reading the P.G. Wodechuck novel, but when I found I was reading the same page for the eleventh time, I gave it up. The time is 5.26 and three-quarters. How long can I possibly stretch out a bath? At the tone, the time will be 6.00. Exactly. What’s good to wear…what’s...well, this is appropriate. Black velvet. Nice, simple and funereal. The time is 6.24 and one-quarter. Are my stockings on straight? If I adjust them, will that kill another few minutes. Damn, wrong word choice… The time is 6.47 and three-quarters. Mr. Forrester, I’ve given due consideration to your proposal…oh, crap! The time is 7.09. Exactly. Mr. Forrester, please try to understand, I simply…damnit! The time is 7.24 and one half. I ring the bell. Number Four answers. As it began. “Number Four, will you take my bag please to…to…” The Music Room, I should think. A more relaxed setting than the library, and the Day Room is likely too dark. Yeah… “…the Music Room, please.” “Good-bye, Omega. Wish me luck.” I left the door open for her. And me, I hope. *****
Take them one step at a time, Allie. If I’m going to walk the Final Mile, at least I look nice. Maybe if I cry? Show a little leg? No, stupid. Stick to playing it straight. Indeed. Look… You are too nervous. You are going to make Langford angry. Like Forrester isn’t going to blow a fuse already? Put your paw on the banister. It will steady it, and you. Plenty of space between you and Number Four. Tuck the velvet case securely under your other arm. There is an internal bolster, it will not slide around or make a noise. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please don’t let me die. You will not die, Alatheia. Keep calm. You didn’t die from the crash, did you? N-no. Of course you didn’t. You took steps to control the crash, and you lived. Paw on the banister, one step at a time. Breathe in, breathe out. O-okeh. I don’t want to die. You won’t die. Just relax. You have everything under control. Am I…? Yes. That was the last step. It is just now 7.30. You are on time. Open your eyes. Oh, God! Oh, God, he’s seen the bag…he’s seen... Shhhhhhh. Calm yourself. Steady your tail, that’s right. “May I speak with you in the Music Room, Mr. Forrester?” There was a very cold look that was given me. It was a very long, searching stare through those goggles of his. Look him squarely in the eyes. Do not flinch. “As you wish, Miss Hunter.” He…he didn’t offer me his arm. Don’t worry. It is only a short walk. Firm grip on the case. I don’t want to die. I know you don’t. One step in front of the other. He’s flagging. He’s very angry. He’s very angry with me. He’s going to kill me. No. He will not. Do not be afraid. We are at the door. Why has he stopped? He is waiting for you to enter first, of course. Oh. “Thank you.” “Of course.” I’m cold. No, you are not. Breathe in, breathe out. It will be finished in just a few minutes. Don’t you want to get on with this? “Number Four, tell those in the dining room and the library to retire belowstairs. And retire there yourself. There will be no need of your services tonight.” I don’t want to die. I want to live. You will, Alatheia. Trust yourself. Trust yourself. “I see you have made…preparations, Miss Hunter.” “Well…I have to be prepared for any contingency, Mr. Forrester.” “Quite.” He’s looking at the velvet case. What do I do? Take out the necklace…and give it to him… I…I can do that? It’s what you want, is it not? Y-yes. Yes, it’s what I want to do. There. Now go over to the sofa. Compose yourself. That’s right. Now just breathe in and out. Relax. A few questions, and then business. “You considered, then, what I said to you in the Day Room today?” “Yes. Yes, I did, Mr. Forrester.” Relax. Breathe in and out. There. Your heart rate is slowing. See how easy it is? He is a gentlefur, after all. “There is more I could say and that I wish to say, Miss Hunter. But I will hold my peace.” He’s angry. No, Alatheia, he is just sad. Breathe in and out. This is a good room, a room of Art. “I understand, Mr. Forrester.” You gave him such a wonderful performance here, Alatheia. Fill yourself with courage from that. You can do it. “Your decision is final?” You are strong. “Yes, Mr. Forrester.” You are very strong. “I see.” It is your will that shall prevail, Alatheia. Yours. “May I ask, then, what it is?” Close your eyes. One last, deep breath. “Mr. Forrester, the Necklace…take it…” “Yes…?” Now, look him in the eyes! “Take the Necklace, and place it about my neck. This I command. This…I desire.” A slight opening of the mouth, and a twitching of the ears. But then…the smile. “I…I hear you and obey, my mistress…my…my Alpha!” *****
next |