wytchcroft

phial three

It is a paradox for a shy man such as myself, one whom carries the weighty cross of humorous reputation, that even as I find the scowls and frowns of those about me to be something of a balm – so I inevitably find a way to remove them, by which I mean replace them with chuckles and mirth, much at my expense – and I am not a wealthy man.

It was, I believe, William Digby who, upon seeing me for the first time as I stumbled on the treacherous flooring of a dressing room door, pronounced my doom in solemn tones; “Ah” he said, “I see the comic relief has arrived.”

“This can only mean that we are at the commencement of the third act,” he continued, “and I shall take that as my cue to leave. Arthur I leave him in your capable hands.”

Before I knew it, and certainly before I had regained my balance and my footing, that great operatical wordsmith was attempting to brush past me and exit. My attempts to accommodate him failed utterly resulting only in a furious glare whilst my hastily gabbled apologies served only to transform his hostility into an expression of obvious alarm. Desiring to avoid further embarrassment I stumbled aside and pitched forward flat onto my face. My performance was greeted with shrill laughter and a loud musical ‘oompah-oompah’ from Sir Arthur.

Digby groaned like Marley’s ghost himself. “Really Arthur – musical comedy?”

“It’s the future Digby – the future!” and again came a broad chorus of human trumpeting.

“Oh dear,” Digby sighed, “Is it really? How dreadfully vulgar.” And he hurried away – to a favourite drinking establishment I believe.

For my sins, I was pulled to my feet and was more properly introduced to Sir Arthur Sutherland and the various guests cloistered with him in that cramped theatrical space – we became in fact fast friends and I have been known as ‘Light Relief’ and ‘Third Act’ by the wide circle of my acquaintance ever since. It is true that considering I was at that time critic and reviewer for The Tymes a whole raft of unflattering labels could have been affixed to me and that they were not is a fact I should take comfort in. Nevertheless, it is a truth that one becomes the character painted for you by society and I find, especially I begin to age, that I am unable to escape the curse of Sir William Digby, if anything I am yet more nervous in my demeanour, accident prone, clumsy of foot, irritatingly good humoured and, as you will be well aware by now, unfailingly garrulous.

I also herald the third act of any drama I am a part of – such as this strange episode, the recovery and experimental consumption of the five phials of Dr Poliakov. And it is the reason that my initial warm greetings to those learned and scientific individuals comprising our group served, I fear, only to alienate them from me utterly.

You may be wondering just how someone like myself winds up connected – nay, embroiled – in a peculiar enterprise such as this, perhaps through my journalistic connections – on behalf of the Tymes? After a fashion, this is indeed so – for though I have not been counted among the staff of that popular journal for quite some time now, yet it was whilst serving as a reporter and researcher for the International office that I first came across the rumours, myths, lies and occasional facts that make up the history of that mysterious Dr Poliakov whose very legend is enough to have commanded our presence here.

I have always been a keen amateur scientist, had I but the benefits of the appropriate educational background I might well have entered the profession – although I agree it is not one to which I am temperamentally suited yet almost every aspect of it fascinates and excites me and over the course of many years I have corresponded with a large number of respected men (and now women) in the field and, in my own modest way, collected a large library of rare and even precious volumes concerning the history and development of the subject.

My interest in Poliakov was instantaneous – for who would not be enthralled by the tales of that quasi-religious, quasi-scientific figure whose brooding presence once stalked the courts of Europe and the Russias. A man who considered Da Vinci his follower and whose dark personality commanded adoration and respect but lead inevitably to jealousy and accusations of heresy, whose life was pock-marked by assassination attempts and which culminated finally in exile.

Yet I confess my attempts to discover more about the man and his work, which had in time lead me across the lengths and breadth of the globe (albeit in my bumbling and hapless fashion), had reached something of an impasse - until, one morning after a meeting at the temple, Sir Arthur came to me as we were in the ante-chamber removing our aprons. He told me in eager tones about the discovery of the laboratory and the fuss this had raised and wondered aloud how log it would be before the place was robbed and ransacked and, pointedly, what material the revelations from the sunken chambers might hold and how much material they might furnish for a truly remarkable musical production, the like of which had ne’er been seen on the London stage and which would make the melodramas of Ruddigore look tame.

Well, in a very short time I found myself sharing his enthusiasms and re-ignited my own dormant curiosity. Hurriedly I sent out a brace of telegrams and soon after had established my membership of the group now sat around me – fortunately I was helped in this by the echelons of the Circle to which Sir Arthur and I are joined. The fact that I owned papers, original papers by Poliakov himself – indeed, was familiar with at least a smattering of the sly fox’s codes and crypto-grams, served as all the qualification I need.
And thus -here I am.

Oh, my name by the way is Smith.

The rest of the brave adventurers are indeed a strange conglomerate! There is Grayling-Thomas the moon faced darling of many a charity. And there is his scowling shadow, Maud McKinney the pride of Girton College and a stern individual – whose dislike of me was clear and quick in its demonstration. There is Phillips, rather forlorn looking, the man who invents telegraph systems and lighthouses in his sleep. And there is our fifth member whose name I did not catch nor whose features have I seen as yet under strong light.

I must say that proof enough of Poliakov’s genius – and Phillips in his way, can be found by the fact that the lanterns and electrical bulbs do cast strong light if limited in radius. It is not a pleasant hole however, despite the thorough disinfecting it has received and the fact the place is indeed open to the street above, (or at least he entrance is), the air is dank and I fear mildew may be the price for my investigations – poor Dora, my servant has suffered the indignities of my calamitous wardrobe for many years now.

And so then, if these be the players – what manner of drama is it in which we perform? Not a musical one alas. I did hum a quick aria from Faust – but neither the irony, nor the melody was deemed attractive by my frosty companions.

An adventure certainly, an attempt (if you will pardon the pun) to quench our thirst for knowledge with the bitter draughts of Dr Poliakov’s liquids. Aye, there’s the rub, for as I gaze around and take in my compatriots, I see Grayling-Thomas, blinking slowly and looking both into the distance and (naturally) sideways at Maud. I see the woman herself staring fixedly at a clock on the near wall. I barely notice the others, one man behind me, content to wait it seems - and Phillips who nods as if asleep, smiling and no doubt conjuring up some new mechanical creation.

I see all these and ponder on what has brought us here – the desire for knowledge as I said, but more perhaps, (and it should be admitted); station, recognition, oh certainly, the solution to a baffling mystery and the rehabilitation of a figure lost to contemporary science – but I wonder now, in the final analysis, whom are we ultimately looking to vindicate - Dr Poliakov or ourselves?

Either way, as I sit and look around and taste still the malodorous foam of the medicine we have quaffed…

I must conclude that these maddening phials have had no noticeable effect whatsoever.

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end of pt. 3