The Laboratory Cellars of the Esoteric Brotherhood, 1701
Holly, it was decided, would be staying in my father's old rooms at the labs. He obviously couldn't be seen anywhere else, as he was technically still a resident of Newgate and a known murderer and pirate. We escorted him to his prison-away-from-prison, gave him some fresh linens and the like, and then my father led me back down into the bowels of the compound, the cellars.
I did not speak. I was uneasy and filled with a new sense of rebellion. I wanted to demand various answers from my father. How he could call himself a Christian, for example. What he had been about every night for my entire life leading up to that moment. Everything became suspect, from the cleanliness of his crisp white undershirts to the tips of his gloved fingers.
After a few long silent moments had plodded by, my father finally spoke. So deep in thought I had dropped that his words actually startled me, though save for a rather swift inhalation I did not show it. "You are wondering why I brought you to Newgate." It was not a question.
I paused and considered this statement briefly. "Among other things," I conceded.
He sighed then, and it was not a put-upon sigh, or an exasperated sigh. It was a sound of resignation.
"I brought you with me today," he said, "because I cannot keep hiding everything from you. You've plenty of exposure to figures, and in the arenas of Natural Philosophy you have more knowledge of this world's workings at the age of twelve than I have amassed in my entire life. Don't look baffled, you must know by now that you are of abnormal intelligence."
I realized that I was gaping, and returned my mouth to a straight line and pointed my eyes ahead once more.
"But as much as you understand about Science, you know absolutely nothing about men and their nature. What can you tell me about Jim Holly, for example?"
"He is a criminal."
He shook his head. "You know that he is a criminal because we found him at Newgate. Tell me something you may have deduced from his mien."
I paused for a long moment and considered what he meant by that. "Well, he is crass and vulgar in his language, so I suppose that should mean that he comes from poverty."
"There are plenty of vulgar fools flitting about the upper classes, but what you are trying to say is correct. He is uneducated. What else?"
"He is gripped by advanced stages of syphilis."
My father actually laughed at that, and I thought as the laughter transformed his face that the wicked instruments of torture I'd seen hung from his wall like tack in a stable must have been a dream. "He is, at that. How could you tell?"
"I have read in the physicians' texts what gummae look like. Also, his nose seemed to have lost quite a bit of its structure."
"You talk like a physician," said my father, but his voice was lighter than I had heard it in some time, and I laughed with him. "You are correct. The pirate Holly is one of the few unfortunates whose syphilis didn't drive him to utter madness before doing its ugly work upon his body."
"He seemed mad to me," I answered.
"He has always been mad, even before the syphilis."
"Have you known him long, then?" The question seemed impertinent to me even as it left my lips, but my father did not even spare a disapproving look.
"Longer than you've been alive," he replied. "Much longer than I would have cared to. But, and you will surely learn this in time, madmen often prove themselves invaluable assets."
I considered those words as we continued along the dim corridors. We had again entered the cellars via the normal route, and so I was not wholly familiar with the path as we continued, but I felt a strange sense of deja vous. That, coupled with my father's unusually forthcoming banter, made the entire experience feel like a strange but somehow comfortable dream. I did not answer this last statement of his, but filed the information away in some dark place in my brain to be pulled forth when I finally understood it. It was the same sort of feeling as reading Herr Leibniz's Calculus when I had been only ten years old.
Thinking back upon that paper instantly put my deja vous to rest, as I unlocked the year of 1699 in my memories. Now I realized why everything seemed so familiar. It was a corridor I had been in only twice, many years ago, but it had imprinted itself upon me like a tariff stamp. I nearly gasped as I made the realization, but remembered in time that as far as my father knew I had no idea what lay behind those doors.
I did not speak. I was uneasy and filled with a new sense of rebellion. I wanted to demand various answers from my father. How he could call himself a Christian, for example. What he had been about every night for my entire life leading up to that moment. Everything became suspect, from the cleanliness of his crisp white undershirts to the tips of his gloved fingers.
After a few long silent moments had plodded by, my father finally spoke. So deep in thought I had dropped that his words actually startled me, though save for a rather swift inhalation I did not show it. "You are wondering why I brought you to Newgate." It was not a question.
I paused and considered this statement briefly. "Among other things," I conceded.
He sighed then, and it was not a put-upon sigh, or an exasperated sigh. It was a sound of resignation.
"I brought you with me today," he said, "because I cannot keep hiding everything from you. You've plenty of exposure to figures, and in the arenas of Natural Philosophy you have more knowledge of this world's workings at the age of twelve than I have amassed in my entire life. Don't look baffled, you must know by now that you are of abnormal intelligence."
I realized that I was gaping, and returned my mouth to a straight line and pointed my eyes ahead once more.
"But as much as you understand about Science, you know absolutely nothing about men and their nature. What can you tell me about Jim Holly, for example?"
"He is a criminal."
He shook his head. "You know that he is a criminal because we found him at Newgate. Tell me something you may have deduced from his mien."
I paused for a long moment and considered what he meant by that. "Well, he is crass and vulgar in his language, so I suppose that should mean that he comes from poverty."
"There are plenty of vulgar fools flitting about the upper classes, but what you are trying to say is correct. He is uneducated. What else?"
"He is gripped by advanced stages of syphilis."
My father actually laughed at that, and I thought as the laughter transformed his face that the wicked instruments of torture I'd seen hung from his wall like tack in a stable must have been a dream. "He is, at that. How could you tell?"
"I have read in the physicians' texts what gummae look like. Also, his nose seemed to have lost quite a bit of its structure."
"You talk like a physician," said my father, but his voice was lighter than I had heard it in some time, and I laughed with him. "You are correct. The pirate Holly is one of the few unfortunates whose syphilis didn't drive him to utter madness before doing its ugly work upon his body."
"He seemed mad to me," I answered.
"He has always been mad, even before the syphilis."
"Have you known him long, then?" The question seemed impertinent to me even as it left my lips, but my father did not even spare a disapproving look.
"Longer than you've been alive," he replied. "Much longer than I would have cared to. But, and you will surely learn this in time, madmen often prove themselves invaluable assets."
I considered those words as we continued along the dim corridors. We had again entered the cellars via the normal route, and so I was not wholly familiar with the path as we continued, but I felt a strange sense of deja vous. That, coupled with my father's unusually forthcoming banter, made the entire experience feel like a strange but somehow comfortable dream. I did not answer this last statement of his, but filed the information away in some dark place in my brain to be pulled forth when I finally understood it. It was the same sort of feeling as reading Herr Leibniz's Calculus when I had been only ten years old.
Thinking back upon that paper instantly put my deja vous to rest, as I unlocked the year of 1699 in my memories. Now I realized why everything seemed so familiar. It was a corridor I had been in only twice, many years ago, but it had imprinted itself upon me like a tariff stamp. I nearly gasped as I made the realization, but remembered in time that as far as my father knew I had no idea what lay behind those doors.