Gulliver,
Rockspark and the Former Baron watched from the side of the slipway as the
Mosskind finished off waterproofing the prototype hull. They took incredible care with each stroke
of their pitch-dipped brushes, adding each layer with a dexterity one would
never have thought possible when observing their sturdy, clumsy-looking bodies.
When the last stroke had been
applied they brought over a bag of black sand and began to sprinkle it over the
surface. It reacted instantly with the
hot pitch, glowing bright green and then fading back to black. Once the entire hull had been subjected to
this process they turned and, as one, nodded to Rockspark, who gave the Former
Baron a wide, reptilian grin, his eyes flickering with uncharacteristic
excitement.
“It is
ready,” he said, before turning back to the Mosskind. “Take it down to the water, please.”
The
moss-furred creatures nodded once more and turned back to their work, which
they lifted onto their broad shoulders and carried down the slipway until the
foremost of them were up to their knees in water. They began to pass the hull forwards between them, lowering it as
they did so until it rested on the surface of the black, gently rippling
liquid. The Mosskind stepped away from
it and the hull remained still on the water.
“Aha!”
the Former Baron cried in delight, “She floats, she floats! Oh you wonderful Lithoderm,” he added,
turning towards Rockspark, “You most delightful representative of your
thrice-damned species – let me shake your claw!”
If
Rockspark was offended by Franck’s racial slurs, he showed no signs of it and
instead proffered a clawed hand for the deposed nobleman to shake.
“Will she
still float ‘oldin’ all that machinery what you plan on puttin’ inside of
her?” Gulliver asked, gazing at the
floating carcass with an eyebrow raised in suspicion.
“It’s a
fair question,” Franck added, “is there any way we can test it with more
weight?”
“Mosskind,”
called out the gravely voice of the Spiketail Shaman, “please step into the
vessel.”
The
stocky creatures gazed back at Rockspark with no readable expression, then at
the hull they had just carried.
Gulliver thought for a moment that they might refuse, but after a brief
pause they each climbed in, one after the other, steadying the small vessel as
they did so. It gradually sank lower in
the water, but remained afloat even after five Mosskind had settled within
it. It was clear that there was no
space to hold any more.
“Well
then,” Franck said, sounding extremely pleased, “I think we can safely leave
these fine fellows to their work, whilst we head back to work on the
mechanickal side of things.”
“I will
stay here a bit longer,” Rockspark said, “there are a few more things I would
like to go over with the Mosskind.”
“But of
course, Rockspark, old fossil! Gulliver
and I shall take a cab back to Tentacle Lane and we shall see how young Elgin
is doing.” The Former Baron doffed his
impossibly tall hat in farewell and made his way around the side of the
warehouse towards the road, leaving Gulliver to stare as Rockspark called the
Mosskind to himself and began to speak to them in a strange guttural language
the pirate had never heard before.
Neither the Spiketail nor the diminutive Mosskind seemed to notice he
was there anymore.
“Why do I
get the feelin’ I’ve been forgotten again?”
Gulliver said aloud to himself, but no one so much as flinched in
response and so, shrugging, he made to follow the Former Baron.
Once he
had rounded the corner he saw the old Philosopher standing beside the road,
holding up his almost skeletal hand, hailing a passing carriage. The horses clattered to a halt just in front
of the old man and once the door was opened, he climbed in. Gulliver had to quicken his step to make
sure he could hop into the carriage before the door was closed again by the
grumpy-looking driver. He tried to see
if it was the same driver who they had abandoned on the aqueduct a few days
previously, but couldn’t be sure.
“To
Tentacle Lane,” the Former Baron commanded and, with a sigh, the driver set
off.
“I wonder
how Ellis is getting’ on,” Gulliver said in the ensuing ‘silence’ of creaking
wood, rattling wheels and clip-clopping hooves.
“Doctor
Gristfinkel is very good,” Franck replied reassuringly, “I’m sure he’ll be able
to help.” He gazed out of the window at
the passing traffic and pedestrians as the carriage rolled by the busy wharves. “Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Back in
the Grand Cheateau Von Spektr, No. 7 Tentacle Lane, Doctor Gristfinkel was
commencing his examination, just as Felicity Barkcastle returned with a tray of
tea and another round of buttered toast.
“How is
he, Doctor?” she asked as she placed the tray on a stool near the door and
leaned over the end of the bed to peer up at the medic and his charge.
“I have
only just begun, woman,” the Doctor replied, his tone full of deep condescension, “so please, do not
interrupt me.”
Miss
Barkcastle obligingly withdrew from the bed and watched on in silence as the
Doctor commenced his examination.
Firstly he consulted his chart of hypostatick energies carefully,
looking at where all the main energy points would lie on Ellis’ body, then he
took a small mechanical instrument, which seemed to consist of something like a
clock face, or a barometer attached to a long metal tube with a open end
flanged like a bell. Various switches
lined the tube on one side and on the other was a mini set of bellows, which
Doctor Gristfinkel manipulated with his index finger whilst the rest of his
hand held the device, bell end down, over his unconscious patient. He swept it back and forth a few times
before carefully examining the dial.
Miss
Barkcastle’s curiosity was getting the better of her – after all this was a
mechanickal – perhaps even hypostatickal – device and that was something she
took a great deal of interest in, so, risking the ire of the doctor, she asked,
“Might I enquire? What is that for?”
The
doctor looked up from the device and, with a pained sigh, said, “I do not think
you would understand.”
“Oh,”
Felicity replied, dropping her shoulders and stepping back to the tray of
tea. She began lifting the pot and
checked that its contents were properly brewed before she continued, “because I
thought it might just be to examine the flow of hypostatitck energies around
Ellis’ body, using an induction funnel which would, naturally enough, lead to a
black sand chamber connected via a flux pipe to a basic Gugenhaagen
hypostatitck pressure valve, in turn linked to that cute little dial there, but
I suppose that if I wouldn’t understand it then that can’t be the case.”
She poured the tea with a smile
whilst Doctor Gristfinkel remained oddly silent, then, just as Miss Barkcastle
was about to hand over his cup he said, “Wait, this can’t be right.”
“What is it?”
“Oh, just some of these
readings don’t make much sense. I
wonder if this thing is working properly.”
He tapped the device a couple of time, listening to the mechanism
inside, but nothing seemed loose. “Oh,
what is wrong with this thing?”
“Here, take this cup of tea and
let me have a look at it,” Felicty said, eager to tinker about with the
device. The doctor obliged, grudgingly,
but was soon sitting enjoying his tea as Miss Barkcastle sat on the end of
Ellis’ bed, examining the medical tool.
After a few minutes of looking
at it from every angle, listening to it with the doctor’s stethoscope and even
unscrewing the dial and examining the parts inside before replacing everything
just as she found it, Miss Barkcastle boldly declared, “I’m afraid there’s
nothing wrong with it.”
Gristfinkel
drained his cup and stood up. “But that
can’t be!”
“Why
not? What was it trying to tell you?”
Ignoring
her the Doctor made his way over to the dresser and examined his equipment once
more, this time taking a jar of leeches, unscrewing the lid and then proceeding
over to the patient. He carefully
removed one the leeches, placed it on Ellis’ arm and watched.
“What are
you doing now?” Felicty asked, intrigued despite herself.
“If you
must know,” the Doctor replied shortly, “I am testing for the Bulowa reaction.”
“And what
is that?”
“You’ll
see soon enough, I hope.”
They
stood together and watched the leech probing around on the surface of Ellis’
skin, stretching and contracting, feeling for the right place to feed, when
suddenly it just stopped, shrank in on itself until it was little more than a
small black ball and then rolled off the arm and onto the bed sheets, where the
Doctor quickly picked it up and placed it back in its jar.
Downstairs
the front door opened and the sound of footsteps and chatter echoed up from the
hall.
“Was that
the Bulowa reaction?” Felicty asked, disappointed.
“No,”
Grisftinkel replied, stroking his chin and staring at the leech in amazement.
The
footsteps advanced up the stairs and the voices of the Former Baron and
Gulliver could be heard.
“Then
what was it?”
“That was
a Soul Leech. They only feed on certain
types of hypostatick energy. When they
feast they begin to glow with the energy they absorb with different colours
depending on the species they are feeding from. When feeding on a human they are supposed to glow a bluish green
colour.”
“But, it
didn’t feed at all.”
“Yes, and
Soul Leeches are never not hungry, unless they are faced with a source of
energy that does not agree with them – most usually artificial sources.”
A door
opened in the hall and Franck’s voice was interrupted by Siren, demanding to
know why she was being woken. Felicity
heard Gulliver sheepishly suggesting that it was about time she was up
anyway. “We’re just going to check on
Ellis,” Franck replied.
“What are
you saying?” Felicity asked, suddenly very alarmed.
Doctor
Gristfinkel took a deep breath and just as the Siren, still in her night gown,
the Former Baron and Gulliver entered the room he let it out and said, “I’m
saying that Ellis is not a real person.”
He glanced down at the boy from the other world with great suspicion. “He’s not human at all.”
AUTHOR COMMENTARY: In the words of the Tenth Doctor, 'What? What? What!?'
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