An Account of a Curious Encounter: a Professor Arnustace steampunk mystery Read online

  COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER

  © 2015 David Brookes

  Reptile Books

  First published in 2010.

  This edition published in 2015 by Reptile Books.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the author.

  The stories and characters in this book are fictional only and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or situation is coincidental.

  For information about the author please see the back page.

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  Half Discovered Wings

  AN ACCOUNT OF A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER

  BEING A DESCRIPTION OF THE SEQUENCE OF EVENTS LEADING UP TO AND INCLUDING AN ENCOUTER WITH AN HERETOFORE UNKNOWN PHENOMENON OFF THE WHITBY COAST – NOVEMBER, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1916

  ~

  DAVID BROOKES

  FOREWARD

  THIS ACCOUNT OF THE STRANGE EVENTS on the Whitby coast last November does not come first-hand, being instead related to me by a young man who claimed to know the Doctor who had attended the scene. At first I admit to being rather incredulous, for the young man was a beggarly sort and apparently not right about the head, and the tale was so bizarre that I fancied he was having me on for a jape. Eventually I did wrest the barest facts from him, but the truth of the matter is that his full (if somewhat spurious) account is far more entertaining.

  To further support my desire to put this entire episode to print as he told it, many of even the most colourful details were substantiated by others who I have since interviewed, and some of these others of the highest standing indeed, including the Chief of Police at Whitby, who stood on the beach that same morning, the 16th November, Year of our Lord 1916.

  I shall repeat the story here, in full, even under the fear of appearing quite mad:

  PART ONE:

  IN WHICH A POD OF WHALES VISITS THE WHITBY SEASIDE

  THE CHIEF OF POLICE WAITED PATIENTLY at the foot of the cliff, his six officers standing by uselessly as all surveyed the scene before them. It was grey and windy above; the sea was choppy and frothed with purest white.

  All across the beach, some twenty whales of indeterminate classification lay puffing, almost entirely motionless on the sand. They had swum ashore and become stranded. Now there was only the odd gust of moist air from their blowholes, and an occasional slap of a massive tail.

  The Chief turned to the sound of approaching horses coming across the sand. Four animals were pulling a carriage around the base of the cliff. ‘Here at last,’ muttered the Chief, and strode to meet his appointment.

  Once the carriage had come to a rest, the door opened and a long, pinstriped leg extended onto the step. This thin limb preceded the tall, gaunt frame of a moustachioed gentleman in a glossy top hat. The man held two large bags, much akin to the purselike bags carried by doctors.

  ‘Professor Arnustace,’ said the Chief, offering his hand to shake. ‘Glad you could make it at last.’

  The Professor did not speak until the Chief understood that his hand would not be shaken; Arnustace carried a bag in each hand, as described. When the Chief grinned through his own embarrassment, Arnustace offered a quick apology and said, ‘We were detained on the cliffside road. There were sheep crossing.’

  We? thought the police Chief, as Arnustace proceeded to approach the other officers further down the beach. But the carriage is otherwise empty – could he have meant his driver?

  The Professor struck the Chief in those first few moments as a very strange man indeed.

  ~

  ‘ORCINUS ORCA,’ SAID PROFESSOR ARNUSTACE, peering at the prone body of one of the stranded sea animals.

  ‘What’s what?’ asked the Chief.

  ‘It’s Latin, sir. This magnificent dead beast is a fine specimen of orcinus orca, the blackfish.’

  ‘Forgive me, Professor, but it looks like a whale to me.’

  ‘That it is,’ said the Professor patiently. He put one hand against the rubbery black hide of the beached animal. ‘Orca, the “killer whale”. This is a pod of one of the most energetic, sociable, sometimes violent whales in all the oceans. I’ve only ever heard of them up north, on the Scottish coast, and even then rarely. And yet here they are. Whitby is a lucky town, sir.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said the Chief, looking at the whales stranded all down the beach. ‘We’ll never shift this lot.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no rush. Those that have not already expired will be dead by dusk.’

  ‘But how are we supposed to move them?’

  ‘That is an easy conundrum to solve. In a few weeks the corpses will have rotted down to the skeleton and they’ll be much lighter.’

  The Professor stalked away on again on his long legs, his two black bags hanging straight down from his long arms.

  ~

  PART TWO:

  IN WHICH THE PROF MEETS A DOC; AND A PLAN OF ACTION IS FORMED

  BEHIND THE NEAREST DEAD WHALE, the Professor stooped out of sight and opened the front of one of his bags. The flap came down, and from within the cool shade within stirred a small shape. A furred feline figure stretched and then came out blinking into the weak morning light.

  ‘Verne,’ said the Professor to the cat, ‘How was the journey?’

  The little tabby mewled and butted Arnustace’s hand with his head. Arnustace was careful not to dislodge the metal device screwed into the young cat’s skull. It looked a little like a metal fruit bowl turned upside down, with fastening devices around the brass rim, and small bulbs foggy with internal dust near the apex of the dome. Allowance had been made for the cat’s big pointed ears, though not much could be done about the small patches of shaved puffy skin around the screws, where they were fixed into the bone.

  Arnustace flipped a switch on the wiry contraption. Another long, thin wire connected the headset to a narrow box about the size of a cigar case. This case had a glass front, and within it were close to two hundred tiny bulbs of Arnustace’s own design.

  With the switch flipped, the tiny bulbs in the box illuminated in a specific sequence. Together, they formed a sequence of words:

  TELE-LUMINOUS COMMS. DEVICE: ON.

  With the caution of a man testing a complicated device for the first time, the Professor said, ‘Verne – how are you?’

  The message on the box disappeared as the bulbs deactivated. Then another sequence lit up, describing the following words:

  I M FYNE THNX.

  The words disappeared a moment later, and Arnustace tickled Verne behind his ear.

  ‘Good! Did you hear my conversation with the Chief? There has arrived on this shore an entire pod of orcinus orcas!’

  O RLY?

  ‘Really, Verne. And as expected, I have been summoned to attempt to divine the cause of this, so that it does not happen again. Whitby is said to be growing into a resort town, of all things! But I shall need to speak with the others here to collect some more facts.’

  OK. HNGRY. FUD PLZ

  The words stayed lit on the box for a few seconds, then faded. The filaments of the bulbs glowed a faint yellow for a little while as Arnustace dug in his pockets for some dried meat he had cut into small cubes. He watched Verne gobble these up out of his gloved hand, deep in thought.

  ‘An int
eresting animal,’ said a voice behind him. Startled half out his wits, the Professor bundled the cat, the box with the wire and the treats all into the bag, and slapped the side closed. His shaky fingers turned the catch that kept it shut, and then he whirled around to face the speaker.

  ‘Madam! It is not polite to—’

  ‘Did I see that cat wearing a metal hat made of wire? And why on earth have you brought him with you to this place – don’t you know that cats hate water? That poor little kitten!’

  The woman who spoke thus was wearing a greatcoat buttoned up to the waist. A blouse with a buttoned-down collar concealed all else but her face, which was flushed with the cold wind. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled loosely back and tied with a black ribbon. She wore gloves that, at first glance, appeared to be exactly the same gloves that the Professor was wearing.

  Although he was evidently a little taken aback, Arnustace managed to regain his composure and smooth down his suit and coat. He could not however quite smother his own indignation and irritation.

  ‘Madam, Verne is a year old. He no longer could rightfully be referred to as a “kitten” – you would only offend him and reveal your own ignorance. With regards to the apparatus you saw, I would kindly ask you to mind your own business.’

  ‘Well!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘I had heard the great Professor Arnustace was a little eccentric, but—’

  ‘I am not eccentric. I am, according to my mental health doctor, actually certifiably insane. However I happen to be of use in unusual situations such as this, and so the Whitby constabulary keeps me away from locks and keys of any sort.’

  ‘It is said that you are a genius.’

  ‘Verne would agree with you,’ said Arnustace.

  ‘That device allows you to talk with him?’

  ‘After a fashion. His simple feline thoughts do not translate well into perfect King’s English, however he is quite understandable. But you have not yet introduced yourself.’

  ‘Annabeth Ross,’ said she, extending her hand. ‘I’m a doctor of veterinary medicine in the village. The chief thought I might be of use here today.’

  ‘A doctor! Well, I never—!’

  ‘A woman is quite capable of delivering a calf in spring, or fixing a splint to a sheepdog’s leg, Professor,’ Anna said tartly.

  ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘And your own profession?’

  Arnustace sniffed and rebuttoned his suit jacket. ‘I am qualified in the fields of modern medicine, psychology, zoology, cryptozoology and history.’

  ‘Good Lord! They must have kept you at Oxford for twenty years!’

  ‘Nonsense. I took all five degrees at the same time – and passed with flying colours, I might add. But Oxford has never truly held the title of best establishment of learning, madam. I studied at Cambridge.’

  ‘Well.’

  ‘Quite.’

  She said, ‘Did you notice we have exactly the same gloves?’

  ‘I’m quite thrilled to say that I did! But to the matter at hand: the reason for this scene of misery and death we find ourselves in.’

  Anna Ross nodded. Arnustace picked up his bags and followed her further still down the shore, to where a whale not long for the early stages of decomposition waited like a sack of potatoes fifty metres up from the water.

  ‘His side is split,’ said the Professor.

  ‘It is not an injury. The haemorrhage seems to have occurred spontaneously. But look at his blood: frothy. And there are clots of fat swimming about in it.’

  ‘I do not think he would have enjoyed a fried breakfast every morning,’ said Arnustace flatly. He knelt and dipped his finger in the dark whale’s blood. ‘It is frothy because there are air bubbles in it. Come here.’

  Anna knelt by his side. Arnustace scooped up the froth and vigorously rubbed it between his palms under Anna’s nose.

  ‘Professor!’

  ‘Do you smell it?’

  ‘I do not, sir!’ she exclaimed, aghast.

  ‘That is because nitrogen has no smell. These are nitrogen bubbles in the blood. And the subcutaneous fat is another symptom.’

  ‘A symptom of what?’

  ‘Decompression sickness.’

  ‘Ridiculous. Animals do not get decompression sickness. That only happens in humans, who are out of their element. They rise to the surface too fast and become grievously ill. But whales and other marine animals have their own warnings to prevent this – they never rise to the surface quick enough for blood nitrogen to reach toxic levels.’

  ‘Not usually,’ corrected the Professor. ‘Not unless they are startled. Not unless they are driven to rise too quickly to the surface. And it may be postulated that, in their confusion, they find themselves pushed up a slope under the water that becomes a beach, and all at once they release that they are stranded! Trapped on the dry sand to dehydrate and die, or burst open from decompression.’

  ‘A fine theory. But what would drive these huge creatures up to the surface like that?’

  Arnustace stood and brushed the sand from his knees. He had already wiped his gloves on his handkerchief, which he folded and left by the dead whale.

  He said, ‘To produce this many deceased cetaceans? It must be external factor quite terrifying. I propose that, based on the trajectory of the tracks coming out of the water, that the orcas had been swimming around that cliff there as they rose to the surface. If we are to look for a cause, we should first look there.’

  ~

  PART THREE:

  IN WHICH THREE BRAVE SOULS DESCEND INTO DARKNESS

  ‘ARE YOU QUITE COMFORTABLE there, Professor?’ asked Anna, leaning against the pulley ropes.

  Arnustace’s voice emanated, muffled, from within the diving helmet. ‘Kindly refrain from grasping that suspension cable, Doctor Ross. It is currently the only thing preventing me from falling a hundred feet into the North Sea.’

  ‘Oh. So sorry.’

  A small rig had been set up on the edge of the cliff. The derrick creaked on its stanchions as Anne stepped away from the steel cables. Arnustace hung, quite ungainly, from the straps under his armpits. His booted feet dangled out over the ocean. He was entirely enclosed in a brass diving bell.

  Unbeknownst to those who prepared to lower him over the cliff and into the water, Arnustace was also carrying a passenger inside his sealed suit. The box of electronic magickry had been wedged to the inside of the helmet, and the wire connecting it to the Professor’s invention lodged on the head of Verne trailed down past his shoulder. The cat sat curled in the crook of Arnustace’s elbow, holding on with his pin-prick claws.

  ‘Might you be alright, Verne?’ the Professor asked softly.

  ME OK

  ‘You don’t need to think about what the good Doctor said about cats and water. You, my friend, remain fearless. Do you not?’

  I’M IN UR SUIT…

  ‘Yes?’

  …NOT AFRAYED OV WATR

  ‘Nor should you be, my friend. We will descend, then we will assess the situation a few hundred feet below the waves – no problem at all. And then we shall return triumphant with the solution to this enigma.’

  HNGRY. FUD PLZ.

  ‘You shall have to wait, Verne. We’re about to go down.’

  LADEE CUM 2?

  ‘I believe they are loading her into another diving bell as we speak. The three of us shall go down together and you, Verne, shall be the first example of a true cat-fish.’

  NOT RLY FUNEE

  The Professor harrumphed. ‘I must try harder, then.’

  Confident that the derrick and winch were safe, Anna was then herself made cumbersome in a complete brass suit of her own. Arnustace could just about see her through the thick curved window of his helmet, being lowered down beside him. He couldn’t help but chuckle as her arms and legs windmilled as she tried to keep herself steady on the cable.

  ‘That woman,’ he said softly to Verne, ‘will never, ever treat you. For any ailment, minor or otherwise.’
>
  THNK U. M GRATEFULL

  ‘I know, Verne, I know.’

  SCAREDED?

  ‘Of course not. Well … Perhaps a little, Verne. Perhaps a little.’

  There was no way for the Police Chief and his men to communicate with the two submariners other than with visual signs. Arnustace felt his stomach turn. Verne tightened around his bicep like a stoat.

  NOT FERELESS NOMORE! SCARDED SCARDED SCARDED

  ‘Be brave, young Verne,’ whispered Arnustace. ‘We descend into darkness, but are enlightened with the blessing of rational minds. There is nothing to fear. There is nothing to fear…’

  The diving bell jerked on its cable. The Professor spun around and around on it, seeing first bare cliff, then the sky and open ocean, then cliff again.

  The cable jerked.

  They plummeted a hundred feet and hit the waves with a jolt hard enough to wake the dead.

  ~

  A FEW MOMENTS LATER it became clear that they were still attached to the guide cable, and that Anna Ross was descending alongside them.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that.’

  He was pleased, but still he kept wishing he could see the tube that connected to the helmet, supplying his oxygen. But he would have to remove his eyes from their sockets to see it: it was above his head. He just had to be satisfied to know that it was still there.

  They were lowered, inch by inch, under the surface of the Sea. He knew that the ocean floor was quite far down, immediately next to the cliff, curving up only a little later to meet the shore on the other side. Here the whales would have swum past without problem. It would take the Professor a while longer to discover the source of the pod’s disturbance, however.

  To ease his nerves a little, he said, ‘Shall we test the ECRT, Verne?’

  NO!

  ‘Oh, don’t panic. It’s perfectly safe.

  NO PLZ

  ‘I’m testing it anyway.’ He flexed his hand, where inside the glove he held a small device. He spoke into a tiny microphone transceiver near his mouth. ‘Anna Ross.’