Sunday, October 18, 1868. Afternoon.
Phillips Harbour.
Even before the doctor and his assistant have left, Caliban had slipped into a half-doze. Once they're gone, his sleep deepens but remains restless, haunted by fever dreams.
Caliban stands before a massive door that bristles with handles, each of them with their own locks, and more chains and bars and padlocks going across it. Something is trying to get through; he can hear the wood creak from the weight of the force on the other side. The locks are clicking, as if someone were opening them from the far side, and the handles twisting and jimmying.
There's a great weight around his neck, from a massive chain with unfiled sharp bits that are pricking at his skin. It reminds him of the chains on the door. Maybe this one should be added to those -- one to keep whatever's on the other side from getting to his side.
Coming to groggily, the ape blinks slowly, then rapidly as he takes in the situation. "Ook!" he exclaims as he feels frantically at his neck. What in the name of Sam Hall is going on here?
Caliban looks around with the frantic eyes of a trapped beast.
The surroundings are dark; the chimpanzee can't make out much beyond the door. The floor sways beneath him, rocking with the rhythm of whatever's pounding on the far side. He has the feeling he has to stop whatever it is, or it's bound to get through.
Having taken a moment to size up the situation, the ape decides to start with the simplest problem - taking the chain off his neck. After that, maybe he can put it on that door. Or maybe... Clever ideas sparkle elusively at the back of his imagination, as he wrestles the chain.
The chain comes off easily enough; he can just put his hands to it and unloop it, and now he's holding the length of it in his hands. Except ... his neck still hurts, and it still feels weighed down. When he twists his head to look, he can see the chain's still there, even though he's also holding one in his hands.
The ape peers muzzily down at the chain in his hands, and then at the one on his neck. No fair, the thought flashes through his mind. I'm never going to get rid of this pain in the neck... Experimentally, he laces the free one around a handle to see if it stays, or if he's going to wind up with another chain.
The chain goes through the handle and seems quite solid and sturdy there. Which is a good thing, since one of the other chains near the top of the door just snapped. The floor sways. There's a muted roar on the far side, like a crowd of voices shouting.
I'm onto somethin' here, Caliban decides. He starts pulling off chain after chain, looping them around the handles, but after a few, stops to assess what effect this is having on his own neckpiece.
Each time he pulls off a chain and hangs it on the door, there's another rocking and surge of noise from the far side. Let us in, he can hear from the far side. Let us in! But no matter how many times he takes the chain off to secure the door, there's still a chain around his neck, hurting him and wearing him down.
Okay, this isn't working, I need to get rid of this one, the ape thinks glumly as he pauses. Waitaminute, it reappears if I take it off, but what if I put one on? He experimentally places the chain on his hand back on his neck to see if it vanishes, though not without trepidation.
The clamor of the voices drives Caliban to yell at the door, as he's judging the results, "OOWOOOOK! OOK OOK!" Who's out there? What's all the ruckus?
The ones left behind! the voices yell in answer. The door creaks perilously; three chains on it snap all at once. After Caliban put the length of chain back around his neck, he had exactly one chain on -- just like he did before he put it back. You can't keep us out! We belong with you!
The ape calculates quickly. The chain replaced this one... Which means... Acting quickly, he magicks up another three chains for the door, then snatches up a broken chain and tries laying that around his neck to see if that replaces the first chain.
The voices on the other side have an odd doubled quality to them, as if a quieter voice was speaking beneath them, an echo that doesn't say the same thing. We are the ones left behind! echoes with ones you escaped. We belong with you! is underlaid by you belong to us. LET US IN! ... let us in.
Putting the broken chain around his neck doesn't affect the chain already there, and now he's got two. Caliban feels weary from the effort of dealing with the chains, as if he doesn't have nearly enough energy for this.
The ape growls under his breath. He starts looping more chains frantically. It's a battle to outlast the ones out there. Unless maybe I can get them to go away... "OOK! OOK EEK EEK!" What do you want? You've got the wrong address!
Let us in! You must know we belong! they chorus. ... you belong ... The wood creaks. We were never meant to be apart. You cannot survive without us. A handle clatters, the latch clicking, but Caliban's latest chain holds. survive with us.
Must be too stupid to fall for the 'wrong address' trick, Caliban concludes as he laces another chain on. He peers around, hoping to find a way to escape.
"There is no escape," Herbert's voice is saying, although Caliban can't see him. "The Game goes on forever. We must keep Closing the way."
There is one escape, the voices on the far side clamour. Open! Open the way! And we may all be free.
Boss! The ape turns his gaze away from the somehow far away surroundings, his resolve strengthened. You got it, boss. I'm gonna Close this door for all I'm worth! He starts looping chains again.
His thought spins around in his mind as he works like a dervish. An idea's coming together... But will it work?
Picking the strongest looking handles, the ape clambers up the heap of ruined locks and chains, and then loops the chain around his neck - while it's still on him - over them. Hah! Unescapable chain, meet would-be escapees!
Chains above and below him snap, and cracks form in the bars. Caliban feels the ache in his neck increasing, but the chain around it holds even as the rest of the door strains. The voices on the far side rise to a fever pitch, cawing and squealing in fury. You ... Cannot ... Stop --
The chimpanzee awakens with a jolt, finding himself on his master's bunk amidst a tangle of sheets and blankets. Outside the porthole, the cawing of gulls mimicks the angry cries from his dream. His neck aches, the bandages feeling tight and heavy against his skin.
That was a dream and a half, the ape thinks, blinking groggily. He peers at the sky to try and judge the time.
It's early evening. Close to dinner time.
Struggling upward out of the too-comfortable blankets, Caliban sets his goal as the kitchen. Hmm. Liver an' onions. Fortifying stuff. Good for the blood, he thinks to himself dazedly, eager to put thoughts of chained Doors out of his head. An' taters. Yeah. Taters stick to the ribs.
The galley is stocked with both liver and onions, although Caliban's master is nowhere around. The houseboat is pretty quiet, suggesting the chimp is alone on board.
Caliban straightens up, having gotten out the ingredients. All right, cookin' time! Let's show the boss I haven't lost my touch. He chops up the potatoes to bite-sized chunks and sprinkles them with pepper, then the onion to smaller pieces, before frying up the liver.
Once the liver is done, the chimpanzee takes it out and sets it on a plate, then adds flour to the sizzling juices in the pan to make a gravy, with water and onions.
Adding a dash of pepper and stirring the gravy before stepping back to judge the results, the chimpanzee feels a little revitalized by the savory smell. Boss oughta like this. Man, I hope he don't take too long to get back home, or I might hafta start without him!
As Mr. Shaft returns to the boat, the savory smell of liver with gravy and onions drifts to him. From the galley, the chimpanzee, having been looking longingly at the large plate onto which he has sliced the fried liver before covering it with the onion-laden gravy and sprinkling a little mint on top, greets his master with great enthusiasm. "Ook! Ook ook," he says, urging his master to come on in and have a plate.
Herbert returns to the Babbage, carrying his cage of chickens, in a not particularly jaunty mood. "I says, is that liver and onions I smell?" he comments as he enters the cabin. "You were supposed to be resting, Cal, not cooking."
Large chunks of fried potatoes sit in another saucer, lightly dusted with salt and pepper, along with rounds of sliced carrots.
Caliban pulls a face at his master's admonishment, looking not particularly sorry about it. He licks his chops, clearly ready to dig in.
"Well, how are you feeling now, better?" Herbert asks as he stows the chickens outside and takes a seat.
Caliban waggles his hand noncommittally. He serves up a generous portion to his master, then to himself, then sits at the table with a napkin tucked into his shirt. Clasping his hands, he awaits his master.
Herbert bows his head, and says grace.
The ape waits through the process, a mix of hunger and attempted patience on his face. Perhaps the Reverend's visit has reminded him to pay greater care to faith, for he's not always so intent on custom.
Herbert finishes with, "And please watch over our friends who, though they follow different goals, are nonetheless good people."
This draws a curious look from Caliban. His stomach growls, however, compel him to nod at his boss before reaching out for fork and knife.
"I've brought some chickens," Herbert says while tucking his napkin into his collar. "I can use two to convert to necroplasm, and the third for supper."
There is no response from Caliban, for he's intent on filling the apparently bottomless pit which he has the honor to call his stomach. The knife flashes, the fork skitters back and forth - English manners on fast forward.
"Father Hale's divination was not in error, it turns out," Shaft says. "Just another reminder that not all Openers are of evil intent, such as St. John."
A pause. "Ook?" The ape looks up at his master with worry in his eyes, a fork of potatoes halfway to his mouth.
"I daresay Miss Pau was just as disappointed that we were not Openers," Herbert says, toying with his food. "Still, there is no ill will between us, and I can sympathize with her motives if not their goal."
The ape looks glum. "Ook. Ook ook."
Caliban munches on the potatoes, but they seem to have lost flavor.
"Still.. did you day go well, Caliban?" Herbert asks, forcing a bit of cheer into his voice.
The ape gestures down the hall to the master bedroom on the boat, then places clasped hands beneath one cheek and closes his eyes. He makes mock snoring noises.
"Well, at least you managed to get some rest," Shaft notes, cutting into the liver. "Any noteworthy dreams or interruptions?"
Caliban wrinkles his nose, then points at his neck and grimaces. He shrugs, before dutifully putting fork to the remainder of the liver on his plate.
"Hmm, your throat kept waking you up?" Shaft guesses.
Caliban shakes his head, working on a mouthful of liver and potatoes. Swallowing it, he then points to the galley door, closing it, then pretending to lock it. He repeats the locking gesture many times over the door, then pantomimes slamming a bar down over it, then festooning it with... Something? Whatever it is must be like rope. Then he stands back from the galley door and points at himself, then makes the sleeping gesture, then blinks 'awake'. Then he points at his eyes and at the door.
"Wait.. something in the galley kept waking you up?" Shaft says, fork paused midway to his mouth. "Something that was.. rattling the door?"
A negation from the ape. He points at himself and then pantomimes sleeping.
"You were asleep," Shaft says.
Caliban nods. He points at his eyes, then at the door, but then spreads his hands out wide, and pretends to be looking up in awe at it.
Eyeing the door, Shaft asks, "You were.. tempted? Hungry?"
Caliban shakes his head. He points at the door and then turns around and pretends to be slamming his hand against an imaginary door, as if demanding someone inside let him in. Stepping to one side, he does this again, but with a different pose and expression. Then again, and again, many people all agitating.
"Ah, people kept coming by and interrupting your nap?" Shaft guesses.
A sigh, and a shake of the head. The ape points at himself and then pantomimes sleeping, then at his eyes and the door.
"You.. uh.." Herbert begins, then rethinks it. "You were asleep, with your eyes closed, but saw something outside the door?"
Caliban starts to look a little exasperated. He taps his head, and then nods to the door.
Herbert's brow furrows. "Hmm. You were dreaming about the door?"
A relieved nod. The ape appears to have thought of a way to make his point clearer. He points at himself and his master, then pantomimes pushing on the door. Then he gestures out the porthole, perhaps in the vague direction of the northeast, and pretends to be opening the door, even pulling on it with desperate strength.
"Something locked us in, something from the Northeast.. from the woods?" Shaft asks.
Caliban shakes his head.
The ape searches around, opening the door in the process (and it is just a door after all), then goes out and brings back a calendar. He points at the last day of the month for his master's benefit.
"You saw that we would be locked in during the final confrontation?" Herbert asks, looking alarmed
Caliban shakes his head again. "Ook! Ook ook," he says frustratedly, putting the calendar down and waving his hands wildly. His master recognizes this as a sign that he's exhausted his methods of explaining himself.
"Sorry, Cal," Herbert says, trying to calm the ape down a bit. "How about.. the event will be somewhere to the northeast, and we will be struggling to keep the doorway closed, as those on the other side try to force their way through?"
Caliban shakes his head, sighing.
The monkey swallows down the last bits of potatoes to fill in his stomach and takes a big drink of apple juice. He starts clearing away the dishes.
"Was I getting warmer?" Herbert asks, with a bit of a grin.
The chimpanzee sticks his tongue out.
"I'm trying, Cal," Shaft says, apologetically. "The dream was about the portal, though, wasn't it?"
"Ook," the ape says, nodding as he calms a little. He points at himself and nods, then at his master and shakes his head.
"You were there, but I was not?" Shaft asks.
The chimpanzee nods. He points at his neck, then pantomimes wearing something around it, something that bows him down under its weight.
"A collar and chain?" Herbert asks, his face going pale.
Caliban waggles his hand, as if to suggest Herbert is half right on that.
"A chain then?" the man asks.
A nod. The ape turns around, pretending to be someone fiendish, and hammers on the galley door from the other side. Then he closes the door and resumes his normal look, and pretends to look frightened. He hurriedly takes the-- imaginary chain?-- from his neck and laces it over the handle. But, to his obvious surprise, he reaches up and pats what must be another chain around his neck.
"Does St. John appear to be controlling you in the dream?" Herbert asks carefully.
Caliban shakes his head.
"But you're chained and.. trapped?" the man asked.
The ape waggles his hand again, the half-right sign. He taps his head significantly as if to remind his master this took place in his head.
"Ah.. this is metaphorical then?" Shaft asks, and looks thoughtful. "You dreamt of your intelligence being restrained, and your feral nature trying to take over?"
This brings a thoughtful look to Caliban's face. He shrugs, and then gestures to the door. Turning around, he pretends again as a fiend to be hammering on the door, then to shove it truly viciously. Back to himself again, he pulls off the chain from his neck again, and places it on the handle. And then again. After a few repetitions, he pantomimes looking weary as well.
"You're trying to barricade the door, but each attempt draws more of your strength?" Shaft asks.
A nod. The ape then points at his master, and then pantomimes talking. He raises a hand to one ear, as if listening to something far away.
"You can hear me talking, but can't make out what is being said?" is the guess.
The ape shakes his head. He points at his master, then turns around and tries to stand up straighter, in imitation of his master's commanding pose. He points at the imaginary, smaller Caliban that his master would have addressed, and then pantomimes closing a door.
"Oh, I'm urging you to close the door? Or at least, your image of me is doing so?"
A nod from the monkey, and a grateful looking smile.
Turning about to be himself again, the monkey appears to find some inner strength. Where he had slowed in putting chains on the imaginary door, he puts on more, and then, illumination dawns upon the monkey's face, as if he had thought of an idea.
Herbert sits back and tries to figure out what it all means. "It sounds like something during the final ritual tries to negate your intellect.. but, you found a way to escape it?"
The monkey looks a little troubled by Herbert's interpretation. He shrugs at this, as if to say he couldn't say one way or another.
Enacting the final act of his play, the monkey points to the imaginary chain around his neck. He lifts it up, and then manuevers himself close to the door, where he drapes this imaginary chain - one that he has drawn numerous chains from - and wraps it around the handle. Then turning around, pretending to be the fiend, he hammers at the door, slams himself against it, and then staggers in disappointment, before turning about to 'leave'.
"And what happens after the beast gives up?" Herbert asks.
Making the sleeping gesture again, the ape pretends to wake up.
"Hmmm, interesting," Herbert says, scratching at his moustache.
The chimpanzee shrugs. He gestures at the oven in the galley, then at the now-finished dinner, before he starts to wash the dishes. The dream doesn't seem to have made much impact on him.
"I'll finish up here, Caliban," Shaft says. "You should get more rest. Have you changed your dressing already?"
"Ook ook," the chimp says with a headshake.
"Well, let's see to that first, then," Herbert says, rolling up his sleeves. "You don't want Nurse Bernice thinking that you are unsanitary, do you?"
A wry look from Caliban as he submits to his master's practice of the medical arts.