Episode XXXV - The Great Uncle of all Invention

            The cab pulled up at the end of Tentacle Lane and Siren, Gulliver and Ellis piled out onto the deserted little street.  Gulliver stared at the ramshackle old buildings and the complicated and unstable-looking network of rattling pipes which surrounded the house at the end.

            “I thought you said we was goin’ to see a ‘Grand Chateau’,” he said gloomily, “I don’t see nothin’ like that.”

            Siren smiled in a manner Ellis was tempted to describe as ‘impish’, “You’re standing right in front of it – the Grand Chateau Von Spektr – or a subsidiary branch thereof.”

            Gulliver sighed and  his shoulders slumped.  “‘Ow disappointin’… I mean, I guess I knew that Tentacle Lane wasn’t goin’ to be in the Borough, or anythin’, but this…”

            “Gulliver,” Siren replied, placing a companionable hand on his shoulder, “dear Gulliver, you have to learn that you’re never going to be part of Society.  No costume balls for you, no dinner parties, no maidservants, no rich husband to buy you nice dresses…”  She collapsed into fits of giggles and Gulliver skulked off towards the house, clearly huffing.

            “Uh,” Ellis began as he suddenly remembered something, “won’t the security system see him as an-”

            There was a loud zapping sound, like something short-circuiting in the most dramatic way possible and then Gulliver was launched through the air, soaring past Siren and Ellis to land in an uncomfortable-looking heap at the other end of the lane.

            “… intruder,” Ellis finished quietly.

            Siren rushed over to Gulliver’s side and knelt down, helping to pull him upright as she muttered a string of apologies.

            “I’m really sorry, I’d completely forgotten about the security system.  I upgraded it a couple of days ago.  You’re lucky it didn’t kill you!”

            Gulliver was looking dazed and confused until his line of sight drifted down to his chest, which was now glowing slightly.  He unstrung the top of his shirt and pulled out a small gold medallion, encrusted in glowing jewels.

            “Well, would you look at that!” he said.

            “What is it?” Ellis asked as he drew near.

            “Jus’ somethin’ I picked up in one of the tombs on the Fabled Isle of Riches,” Gulliver replied a little smugly.

            “But I thought there was nothing left of value in those tombs – no one’s found anything of worth there for three hundred years!”

            “Well, they obviously wasn’t lookin’ very ‘ard!  We found ‘undreds of things like this in the deeper catacombs.”

            Siren looked dumbstruck.

            “Well, it looks like it protected you from the security system,” Ellis said into the ensuing silence, “I guess that means it’s worth more than any ordinary medallion.”

            “When I get my ship,” Siren said, rising to her feet and dusting off her breeches, “we as so going back there.”

            “I bet the Former Baron would be interested as well,” Ellis suggested, but Siren shot him a warning glance and he fell silent once more.

            “So, uh,” Gulliver began, getting back to his feet once more, “‘ow do we get past this security system them?”

            “Just leave it to me.”  Siren walked up to and past the point Gulliver had reached, the air buzzing around her like a swarm of hornets, and then she reached the door, stepped inside very briefly and the buzzing, clanking, whirring and other miscellaneous noises of the security system and its associated piping stopped; not all at once, but bit by bit, piece by piece until there was almost total silence apart from the sheepish voice of Gulliver, echoing along the street, asking, “Does that mean it’s safe, now?”

            Inside the Chateau was as it always was, quiet and dusty.  Siren had a quick glance into the dining room before concluding that Franck must still be in bed.  An ear to the basement door confirmed her theory.

            “He’s not up yet,” she said as she turned back to her companions.  Ellis was leaning against the doorframe to the dining room and watching with amusement as Gulliver peered beneath the canvas of one of the covered picture frames.

            “Well, I guess we wait until he wakes up,” he said.

            “Oh no, this is far too important for that – what would he say if he found out we didn’t alert him of an inventing opportunity as soon as it arose?”

            Ellis imagined the possibilities.

            “Well, yeah…,” he conceded, “but he was really tired last night.

            “He doesn’t have to get up right away; he just has to know.”

            “I’m pretty sure that means the same thing to him.”

            “Well, maybe we can give him some of his energy back.  It’s not like I’m tired or weak myself anymore.”

            Ellis smiled.  It was pleasing to see Siren so excited about something, even if it did mean she was lacking some of her usual concern for others.  He was about to follow Siren up the stairs when there was a sound like someone gasping for air, although so loud it seemed to echo inside his head, and then Gulliver dropped the canvas and leapt back several feet, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

            “What was that?” Ellis asked.

            “I… I… I don’t know,” Gulliver stammered in response.  He was pointing and staring at the covered picture as if he expected it to rise up and attack him.  “There was nothing there and then… it looked at me!”

            Siren stared at Gulliver as if he had just gone mad, but Ellis’ gaze was on the covered frame.

            “This is what the Former Baron was talking about!” he said excitedly.  “Each of those frames is imprinted with hypostatick energy from one of his ancestors, but…” he paused, looking puzzled, “I got the impression that they weren’t just taken off the walls – they were supposed to be deactivated.  He said something about summoning?”

            There was a yawn from underneath the canvas.

            Siren stepped forward, ignoring the possessed frame for the time being and focussing instead on Gulliver.

            “Let me see that medallion again.”

            Gulliver, still shaken, removed it from within  his shirt.  It was glowing again.

            “Well, that’s probably what caused the summoning – the same way it protected you from the warding on the house.  It must be incredibly powerful.  It’ll probably activate all sorts of things.”

            There was another yawn, but this time it was louder and clearly faked.  It was obvious that whoever was hidden beneath the canvas wanted their attention.  Ellis pulled the canvas away and let it fall to the floor.

            “Ah, thank you,” said the painting, for that’s what it looked like, although Ellis remembered taking a peek underneath the canvas before and the frame had been completely empty, “it was dusty under there – although I see it is only marginally less so out here.”

            The painting was for a very thin old man, thinner and older even than the Former Baron, with whom he bore a clear family resemblance.  This man had a bushy grey moustache and a matching goatee.  A brass-rimmed monocle rested on his left cheek, its chain hanging down out of the painting.  His other eye seemed to be missing completely; a ragged, trident-shaped scar seemed to bridge the gnarled socket.  His head was almost completely bald, save for a few wild wisps of smoky grey which drifted around his ears.  He stared around him, the oil paints animating like an impressionist version of a Disney cartoon.  Ellis found it rather disturbing.

            “It’s a talking painting…” Gulliver managed, before stumbling backwards into the wall.

            “Bravo, that man!  I was going to say that the Grand Chateau has been rather poorly looked after since I was last given an airing, but this is not the Grand Chateau, is it?”

            “As far as I’m aware,” Siren said, talking to the painting as if it were an uninvited guest, “it’s not the original Grand Chateau, no.”

            “Oh dear, what poor fate have my descendents suffered?  Was it the Unspeakable Horror I kept in the basement?  Did the Bloodtide of Deverus finally break forth from the Gates of Final Reckoning, as I had predicted they would?  Did the servants go mad, free themselves from their psychic shackles and burn the place down at last?”

            Siren stared at the painting in thought, then said, “No.  Franck didn’t mention any of that.”

            “Franck!”  The painting’s eyes lit up.  “My sweet little Great Nephew!  Are you his babysitters? Or,” his eye narrowed, “perhaps you are kidnappers and thieves!”

            “We’re his guests, actually,” Ellis chipped in.

            “You mean to say… he actually lives here?”  The painted figure glanced around quickly, almost panicked with his one eye.  “Tell me, what age is he now?  What year is it?”

            “I don’t know his age,” Siren said, “but it’s the two hundred and thirty-seventh year of the New, Enlightened Anarchy, if that helps.”

            “By Lakhma!” the painted ancestor cried, “but that means I’ve been gathering dust for over a century!  What has that nephew of mine been doing, letting things get this bad?”  He began to wail.  “Why has he not sought my advice?”

            Suddenly his one eye brightened and he fixed it upon Gulliver with an intensity that made the lanky pirate try to seep into the cracks in the wall, having no further ground to retreat to.  “We must summon the others at once!” the painting said.

            At this point Ellis felt the need to step forward.

            “Excuse me, uh…?”

            “It’s Adelbert, young man, Adelbert XLIV to be precise, five hundred and sixty-second Baron Von Spektr.”

            “Excuse me, Adelbert, but I don’t think the For- I mean, I don’t think that Franck would really appreciate that.”

            “Well, of course he wouldn’t, but that’s because he doesn’t know what’s best for him!”   He eyed Gulliver once more, “Come on, boy, bring that shiny little trinket over here and let’s start waking everybody up!”

            The shock was wearing of and Gulliver mustered up the energy to shake his head, but Adelbert could not have noticed it as, at that moment, he was being assaulted by the beautiful, but terrifying image of Siren storming towards him.

            “It’s one think to think that Franck is not capable of making his own decisions, and wisely – I would dispute it, but I can see how you might get that impression, even seeing him now, as he is, rather than the child you once knew – but it is entirely another thing to start giving orders to a member of my crew.  No one gives them orders but me!”

            “Did you just say I was part of your crew?”  Gulliver said whistfully, “Your crew…”

            “I am Adelbert XIII, the seven hundred and ninety-third Baron Von Spektr and I will give orders to whosoever I please,” he turned to Gulliver once more, “You.  Trinket.  Here.  Now!”

            “I’m sorry,” Siren began, restraining a laugh, “you’re who now?  A minute ago the numbers were all different, but I can’t blame you for forgetting; I can’t say I remember hearing of you either.”

            Adelbert’s eye shot towards her, so intense it was almost ringed by fire.

            “You dare to mock me, little girl?  I, who was first to part the veil of the Hypostasis and who unleashed the Soulless?  I, who with my own hands scooped out the never-beating heart of Gazhruhl, the King-Who-Is-Not?  I, who-”

            “Oh, be quiet!”  Siren lifted the canvas from the floor and let it drop over the frame once more.  Adelbert’s voice still rang out, clear and outraged, but at least they didn’t have to look at his face anymore.  His rant continued, with intermittent calls for the cloth to be lifted and further ‘you can’t treat me like this’ tirades.  Siren and Ellis, however, turned to face each other and just ignored him, much to Gulliver’s disbelief.

            “We need to speak to the Former Baron about this,” Ellis began, “and soon.  I’m assuming he’ll know a way to unsummon one of his ancestors.

            “He had better,” Siren replied, “because I’m not sure it’s very wise to keep a deceased megalomaniac around, trapped in a painting or otherwise!  Besides, he’s giving me a headache and I would really like to get on with planning this war!”

            “War?” Ellis asked, puzzled.

            “Well, what else would you call it?  We’re going to take on a small pirate fleet with whatever we’ve got.  That’s enough of a war for me.”

            “Um… excuse me?” came Gulliver’s voice from the vicinity of the wall.  Siren and Ellis turned towards him and wore identical ‘what now?’ expressions.  “If we’re goin’ to see your friend, then I think you should know that I’m startin’ to feel as I’ve ‘ad my fill of psychotic rantin’s an’ so, can we go now?”

            There was nothing else to say, and so all but the painted Baron (whichever one he was) left the hallway and ascended the stairs, towards the Former Baron’s room.

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