Day 8 & 9: Dr. Moreau Has Arrived
And after this, everything will be fine. Probably. Maybe.
Welcome to Paranormal Dinner Club, the home for those who love mysterious artifacts, mad doctors, and fancy dinner parties. If you’re new to the story you can catch up here.
Today our esteemed host finally arrives and it’s none other than Dr. Moreau himself. I’ve been in love with the idea of Moreau’s island for years and the chance to use this character and twist and turn him in new directions was something I couldn’t pass up. Let me know what you think of this new take on the character.
Day 8: Moreau’s Arrives
The warning about never going out at night tends to keep most of the scientists within the lodge’s surrounding area, and they are beginning to go stir-crazy. As I’ve discovered, scientists, while seen as daring explorers by most of world society, are largely creatures of habit. They prefer controlled indoor environments (which is why some of them look as though the sun hasn’t touched their skin since primary school). They prefer meals at regular intervals. And above all they prefer to have a clear agenda for the day, a plan of action, a test and result, and then a long hour of conversation about what it means and does not mean for the advancement of science. Their sport is argument about theoretical concepts and they’re skilled at it in the same way a small boy is skilled at slaying imaginary dragons in his garden.
In short, I have realized on this expedition, that I hate scientists.
But not everyone is confined indoors: in fact Edmund Cagely is rarely to be found confined inside. He prefers to take his meals on a small patio area in the back of the lodge. He seems determined to dare the darkness, breakfasting early, as soon as the earliest rays of sun are peeking over the trees, then finishing dinner just as the last rays fall over the trees to the west. On more than on occasion I’ve observed, bemused, the porters urging him to come inside as the darkness falls while he stands drinking a strong and clear scotch, downing the last of it just as the last light fades.
Cagely and I still haven’t spoken openly about our odd encounter in the shed. But I no longer suspect that he’s acting as a guard, rather I think he’s doing what I am — trying to ferret out this Lodge’s secrets.
I risked making a comment to him along the lines of “Strange what you’ll find out there in the gardens isn’t it?”
“Strange,” he said with a scowl.
“One might even say concerning,” I offered.
At this he appeared to look me up and down very carefully. “I’d say concerning as well.”
And he gave me a knowing look.
Yet, beyond that, when I pressed him further, he restrained himself to simple one-word answers —
“Bit difficult being cooped up like this, eh?” I tried.
“Undoubtedly.”
“Wish we had some elbow room to move, don’t you?”
“Undeniably.”
“Do you think if our host delays we’ll be released to explore the area soon?”
“Unlikely.”
His heavy eyebrows furrowed and his large mustache seemed to twitch to one side. It was an agitated as I’d ever seen him.
It seems a shame to keep him, as it were, Caged. (Do you see what I did there?) This famed African explorer who has gone to jungles darker than any living man, fought beasts, climbed sheer cliff faces, faced down terrifying creatures, unable to explore. Why the devil did they invite him then?
I discussed all this with Nell and Melchior over dinner. They have determined to invite him to our group so that we can bring him into our confidence, in the hopes that we’d be brought into his. What mysteries are hidden in those heavy brows I —
—
—
As I write this, a loud commotion has begun occurring downstairs. The porter has called — it is our host. He “apologizes for the late hour but will be in the library for drinks if any desire to meet him.” Formal introductions tomorrow morning.
—
—
Well, Dr. Moreau has finally arrived and what an entrance.
Of course, his “optional” invitation to join him in the library was universally accepted. Some appeared to have rolled straight out of bed and run downstairs, robes and unkempt hair and all.
When we arrived, we found him seated in a large, high-backed leather chair.
“I am your long delayed host here, Dr. Moreau,” he said. “And I’ve had the liberty of having the staff prepare an evening cocktail for us if you don’t mind. I find after a long journey a bracing cocktail is exactly what one needs.”
And swiftly the porters began to distribute a strong-smelling liquor in a small glass. Upon tasting it, I found that it knocked my eyes open but had a flavor of herb and peppermint. It wasn’t unpleasant.
“If you find it strange, the liquor is made with a type of peppermint leaf — or the distant ancient cousin of it at least — found only on this island. A recent gift from my expedition out beyond these walls.”
The scientists were drinking up appreciatively and the cold mood that had settled over them was beginning to thaw already.
Now that my eyes had adjusted to the low light of the library I was finally able to get a good look at this Dr. Moreau and found him not at all what I expected. After a long multi-week journey into the heart of the island, I expected a somewhat haggard, unshaven, and mud-stained man. He was the opposite. Dressed in a neatly pressed and dark grey expedition uniform, clean shaven, and without a spot of mud on him. Even his hair was perfectly and severely cut — trimmed short on the sides with the hair on top combed tightly over and complimented by a perfectly trimmed and waxed mustache. He looked a man recently returned from an errand into the countryside, not a man who had (reportedly) risked life and limb in the jungle.
“I beg your pardon for my late arrival — I truly do. I’ve been a terrible host. I know that you’ve made a journey here at great inconvenience and time, and I wanted most of all for your journey to be worth it. I am humbled and honored to have the greatest minds the world has ever assembled here in one room. I’d ventured to say it has never happened before nor may never again. Yet, here we are. Welcome to the island of Promethea.”
He stood and gestured with the glass in his hand to the semi-circle that had formed around him.
“Most of the great discoveries of our scientific age have been the result of a single man or small team of scientists. But what I am about to present to you we shall share. I am bringing you — men I have so respected from a distance in journals and in the newspapers — into my confidence.”
If this speech wasn’t rehearsed, this man is remarkable. His voice was precise and nearly mechanical—each syllable and phrase currying favor with his audience and each word perfectly pronounced. It was English better than Englishmen speak — as if he’d learned it as a second language, but learned it better than his teachers.
“Even having never met, I feel as though your work speaks for itself and you are my distant fellow-workers — no, I’d venture to say friends.”
I didn’t notice that Cornelia was at my elbow until she snorted quietly at this last phrase. I looked at her and she rolled her eyes. She leaned in quite close to my ear and whispered, “Shameless flattery. But it gets you everywhere with this sort.” (I’ll confess that her leaning in this close and whispering conspiratorially wasn’t quite unpleasant.)
I looked around the room to see broad smiles and nods from most of the company in attendance. Looking pleased Dr. Moreau continued:
“Tomorrow, my colleagues, the work begins. These past days I was delayed. I was gathering the knowledge I needed. Some last pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. But now the puzzle is complete. And what I will present before you is as reliable and solid as anything printed in a textbook. And soon it will be printed across the front pages of newspapers across Europe. The magnificent serum we’ve been sending back to your countries is only the first taste—for I have found its source. We have the fountain now and not only the stream.”
Murmurs rippled through the gathering now.
He held up his hand for silence.
“I am sure you are quite fatigued, and I am as well. Tomorrow, then, the real work will begin. Join me at 10am in the main lodge room. All will be revealed.”
And with that, he downed the last of his drink and disappeared out of the library and down a long corridor in the east wing.
While the room buzzed and the scientists smiled, Cagely was the obvious exception. He looked as he always did—displeased— with furrowed brow and wild mustache twitching again.
“I’d ventured to say we’re finally headed outside,” I told him as he passed him on the way out of the room.
“Careful what you wish for,” he said. “It’s wilder out there. Even than the brush. Even than the savannah. Wilder. Older.”
And with that he knocked back the rest of the drink and walked away.
Day 9: The Invisibility Serum
I was in the process of dressing in the morning when I received an unexpected knock at my door.
I opened it to find none other than our host, Dr. Moreau, himself. He shook my hand, walked straight past me, and sat down in one of the two chairs at the small breakfast table inside.
“I hope you don’t mind but owing to the late hour I arrived, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a morning drink for you.” A porter followed behind him with a large glass vial which he swirled around and poured into two small cups he placed on the table.
“The staff have mentioned your love for coffee and your wide travels” (Something I had never mentioned to the staff directly, they must listen far more carefully than I realized) “so I’ve had them prepare some rare beans from Ethiopia, served here in traditional style, in traditional and authentic clay cups.”
The liquid steamed and smelled complex and delicious, something I confirmed with my first taste.
“I’m in your debt, sir,” I said between sips.
“It’s nothing,” he said with a small dismissive wave to the porter standing in the room. “I find it invigorating myself, especially after a long and difficult journey. The bean itself is extraordinary — something simple and naturally occurring, but when mastered and domesticated yields and extraordinary effect upon the human body — sharpening the senses and exciting the mind.”
Sitting there dressed in a robe I suddenly took in that our host looked as if he’d slept a full 12 hours, had risen early to wash and trim his mustache to precision, and had a fresh haircut. I’m sure we made an extraordinary pair. His clothes were well-tailored, paired with shined leather boots, neatly pressed khaki slacks, a bright white shirt, a tan jacket, and a kerchief around his neck — all without adornment and yet somehow refined. I suddenly felt self-conscious about the shabbily tailored clothes hanging in the wardrobe behind us.
“Now,” he said setting his cup down with finality. “To business. I understand that your employer has provided you with the necessary equipment for a demonstration.”
“Er, yes, of course,” I said. “I actually had things prepared and anytime later today I can provide a glimpse into what was promised by my employer.”
“Excellent. Now.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
And he stood up. Waiting.
I had no choice but to tighten my robe with as much dignity as I could muster, run a hand through my hair, and open the door to the room behind my bedroom.
You’ll be glad to learn that the area, at least, was clean and presentable. There were the necessary chemicals lined neatly on one wall, the percolators and bubbling vials, on the other where they were mixed. On the far wall were a series of various colored lights and bulbs. And in the center, of course, was a flat table and cage.
“Excellent,” Moreau said as he peered intently at the chemicals. “Yes, excellent. And how do you keep the procedure precise and repeatable?”
As you instructed, there were no labels on the chemicals, nor notes, nor directions for mixing. Out of your paranoia and abundance of caution, and constant fear your breakthrough will be stolen, there was no hint of how to recreate your formula.
And Moreau seemed to realize it immediately, and a small smile formed in the corner of his mouth. Looking at me sharply and before I could answer he said, “Ah. I see you’re smarter than I nearly gave you credit for. The only guide to the formula and experiments stands in front of me. You’d have to memorize an extraordinary amount. Fascinating.”
“Yes, I don’t contribute much in the way of scientific knowledge but I do contribute my memory at least.”
He stared at me directly for a long moment.
“Well,” he said.
I looked at him blankly.
“You may proceed,” he said.
“Now?” I assumed he wanted to see that things were in order. I did not assume that he would knock on my door at this early hour and ask me to replicate a complex series of chemical mixes and a very difficult procedure while wearing a bathrobe.
“Now.”
“Er, would you be so kind as to wait outside? My employer insists upon it when undertaking the procedure.”
“Fascinating that you refer to your brother as your employer. Have a cold relationship between you? I can agree to that but I have a request in return.”
Shifting slightly, I said, “Er, I will of course do my best.”
“It regards the item you perform the demonstration on.”
“I have a variety of items actually,” I said motioning to a high shelf, “Wood, steel, glass, brick, nearly anything. All taken from your own porters.”
“Confidence I see,” and small smirk played at the edges of his mouth, “I respect that. But that will not do. I’ll provide my own item. I’m sure you understand.”
And then he knocked twice at the door. A porter came in bearing a cage and inside it, a chicken—a live chicken clucking, and pecking.
Trying to remain calm I tried to answer in a firm voice, “My employer insists the procedure not be used on living things. That was not the arrangement.”
“Mr. Cutter, you have made an extraordinary journey to arrive here. I have gone to extraordinary expense to invite you. You can either perform the procedure to my specifications, or I can send you back to England immediately. Which will it be? I’m sure you understand.”
And in saying this he was as calm as possible, as if he were merely giving the days weather. The ultimatum set out.
The doctor then added, “I’m sure your brother has given you the ability to think and act for yourself.”
That gave me pause. Yes, brother, he knows.
“Not many know that he is my brother. Nor do many know what is possible with this procedure He’s gone to great lengths to conceal his movements and research the past few years.”
“Your brother goes to a great length to conceal many things. That’s in the end what he is famous for. So… what will it be.”
Now, please do not blame me brother. I simply did the best I could under the circumstances.
“There are…dangers…when using a living organism…”
“I’m aware. Which is why we’re starting with a chicken.”
I stood blankly, ran a hand through my uncombed hair, and said simply:
“Fine.”
I took the chicken into the back room, closed the door, performed the procedure, waited a few moments, and then reopened the door.
“Faster than I expected,” Moreau said. “That’s excellent.”
I presented him with the cage. It appeared by all accounts, to be completely empty.
He lifted it, looked at it through multiple angles of the cage. There could, of course, be heard a gentle clucking and tapping on the cage.
He reached in and the clucking increased. He opened the cage and took hold of what appeared to be thin air. Yet, thin air that clucked. He turned the invisible creature over and around in his hands.
And for the first time, he smiled a genuine smile. Not the smile of a host or of a genial businessman. But the gleaming eyes bright smile of a scientist holding a new world in his hands.
“Better than I imagined. Far better.”
He took the invisible chicken, walked over to the open window and threw it outside. It clucked loudly and we heard the soft sound of wings flapping.
“How long will it last?” he asked without turning around.
“The dosage I gave should last between 24 hours and 2 days. If it doesn’t kill it.”
He turned back to me and raised his eyebrow.
“It depends on physiology,” I explained. “We’ve never tested a chicken itself. Avians tend to process the serum quickly, and it moves through their system relatively fast. But for reasons we still do not understand some species cannot process it at all and it turns deadly.”
He nodded and the porter swept up the coffee pot and cups and whisked them back out. Another came for the cage.
Pausing at the door he said without feeling,
“No breakthroughs without death.”
I’m jotting this down quickly before the whole party assembles downstairs. But I have to tell you brother —
I have a bad feeling about this.
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of this new Dr. Moreau.
Best one yet, imho!