It is an unseasonably warm, autumnal afternoon in Collinsport, which brings with it a strange tranquillity to the rugged coastline. Save for one. Agent Nine, of the Diogenes Club, for her, the afternoon is anything but serene. Her previous conversation with the Catriona Kaye and Doctor Praetorius on St. Eustace Isle did not provide the answers she had been longing for – but rather, it had produced even more unsettling questions. Questions which over time have produced growing doubts, not only about the woman she protects, but the very reason she may have been selected to serve as the protective detail for the exiled Catriona Kaye.
FADE IN
Septimus Praetorius sets aside the Erlenmeyer flask as he turns to watch with what appears to be idle indifference to the precarious approach of the motor launch. He reaches over to the keyboard and inputs the necessary commands to control the setting of the CCTV camera, which has been furtively arranged to be decoratively concealed among the upper structure of the oddly constructed facility. Outside, the camera lens soundlessly rotates, zooming in so as to afford Praetorius a better view of the boat – and then, with another touch of his long fingers upon the keys, the lens further rotates, zooming once more, to produce an even tighter shot, revealing the image of the young man piloting the light craft – which was slowing now to manoeuvre through the treacherous archipelago of unusual geological formations just barely visible below the surface of the rolling waves, or, arising rather hazardously from the cold wash of the North Atlantic.
Dr. Praetorius peers closely now at the screen.
There was little concern for young William Randall as he had made his way through the labyrinth many times before and was very deft at the wheel.
What troubled the doctor was that William appeared to be alone.
Praetorius takes a last sip of his Tanqueray and then gives the specimen glass a glance of disappointment. He may not have time to pour another.
Something was amiss.
Young Randall should not be arriving alone.
The earlier encrypted communication had informed him of the imminent arrival of one of his very old associates, whose closest assistant was to have arrived before them – no doubt forced by circumstances to travel via hasty prepared and disassociated routes. Something Praetorius myself had been compelled to do on far too many occasions in the past.
But now he watches the inevitable approach of a solitary William Randall.
Praetorius had found William to be a bright lad – far more intelligent than he had expected when he first contracted him to deliver supplies – as well as the occasional secreted deliveries of scientific equipment and other more private contraband.
Nicole Collins had recommended him.
A cousin to the Johnsons, a family that had worked for the Collins family for quite some time, as Praetorius understood it, a relationship dating back to when they had run liquor out of Canada for Jamison Collins during the American’s Prohibition.
Not only was he intelligent, he had the wits about him to know to never be too inquisitive.
Especially when the price was right.
Praetorius places the empty glass down on the console and crosses the large second floor library. He quickly descends the circular stone stairway into his laboratory, with it’s odd collection of modern and rather antique looking devices. There was certainly something sinister about the strange instruments of glass and metal he makes his way around as he moves over toward the double doors
At a keypad he enters the code.
There was a loud metallic click as he magnetic locks are suddenly released and the security doors automatically swing open.
Outside the sunlight was brilliant. There was the loud wash of the ocean, the cry of gulls overhead, and the echoing sound of motor launch’s engine as Dr. Praetorius steps out upon the narrow circular landing just as William Randall was bringing the launch up close.
The doctor lifts a hand to shield his eyes as steps forward.
The engines rev for a moment and then go silent as the boat washes up against the landing.
Praetorius watches as Young William hurries away from the wheel, so as to toss a rope upon the flagstones.
“Doc—we’ve got a problem.” Randall calls out as he leaps to the platform in order to snatch at the rope and start securing the boat.
“Where is—“ The doctor begins, his hands involuntarily bracing the young man’s shoulder.
Gulls from St. Eustace Island circle loudly above as Praetorius watches Young William working to securing the boat. “She’s in there.” He answers hurriedly.
The ocean laps at the sides of the platform and slips up and over onto the flagstones at the doctor’s approaching feet.
His eyes growing accustomed to the brilliance reflecting off the waves, Praetorius steps ever closer to the edge of the stone landing where the waves from the wake of the boat splash upward. He peers now through one of the cabin windows, where he can see the prone figure of a woman lying in the launch
“What. . . . “ His exaggerated aristocratic drawl tightening, “William what has transpired?”
“I’m not sure,” Randall replies turning from his handiwork with the rope to look up at Praetorius, “I’m not sure at all. I think she might be dead.”
Opening sequence: [www.youtube.com]
FADE IN
William Randall carefully steps off the boat and on to the dock as he carries the body of the woman, who seemed to be dangling rather ominously from his arms. “I went to the Inn to pick her up – but she wasn’t waiting for me. And so I went up to her room to check. . . “
“Was she comatose when you found her?” Praetorius moves in hurriedly to lift the blonde head as his fingers instinctively went to the throat seeking a pulse, to lift an eyelid for a response to the bright light.
“Well, what she seemed like was more like she was drunk Doc, or so I thought. She seemed to have forgotten I was supposed to pick her up and then she had difficulty getting down the main stairs of the Inn; and into the car, but then – when we got to the docks, I found her just sitting there – unconscious. Although I swear on the boat she just looks dead! I mean they don’t make lip gloss that blue you know.”
“You were careful? No one saw you carry her onto the boat?”
Randal gave him a look, ‘”I’m always careful doctor.”
Praetorius lifts a sardonic brow and then motions toward the double doors, “Yes, let’s get her inside. Quickly.”
The two men brought the woman’s body into the vast laboratory, as the doctor works the security panel and the magnetic locks are once again engaged.
“You are absolute sure no one saw you?”
“Yes.” William Randall replies struggling with the weight of the body as he enters into the laboratory.
“I find that rather amazing – but, be that as it may. . . please place her on the table, William,” Praetorius orders.
William Randall’s eyes are instantly enthralled as usual by the unmistakable resemblance of the chamber to some big budget SYFY set designed for some movie involving a diabolically, mad scientist – which, over time, he had begun to strongly suspect was Dr. Praetorius true occupation. And not some odd, old British Ornithologist studying bird migration he claimed to be in Collinsport.
Randall was careful to place the lovely blonde on the work table before him.
“We need to get her undressed.”
“What?”
“We need to get her undressed.” Praetorius repeats as he moves across the laboratory and begins uncoiling some thick cables the ends of which ended in heavy copper fittings.
“So Doctor—“ Randall interjects as he stands looking at the body on the table – a body he had just transported from the Collinsport docks: “I mean I’m really not— I am not really all that worried about the s**t I have smuggled in for you. But . . . I mean . . . Jesus . . . Praetorius, if this woman’s dead!”
“I thought you said you were unobserved.” Praetorius remarks dryly as he works with the cables.
“I was. I’m just saying. Undressing her you know. “ Randall’s voice growing more nervous, “I am not up for some kind of I don’t know whatever . . . perverted . . . I mean, whatever—it is you are planning . . . on . . . doing to . . . her.”
Praetorius frowns as he drops the lines of cable on the floor and then steps over to one of the laboratory worktables and bends to open a small refrigeration unit in order to remove a bag of blood, “Whatever are you talking about, young William?” he looks now quizzically at the young man standing motionless at the side of the laboratory table, staring at the woman’s body before him.
Praetorius sighs as he moves over to another worktable and looks among the chemicals arrayed there, “You are all ready an accomplice.”
“No. No. I am not! I did not kill her!” Randall clenches his fists and turns to the doctor, “She f**king died on me.”
“Yes, well that is most unfortunate, now isn’t it?’ Praetorius says as he returns to his original worktable and takes a key from his trouser pocket and calmly unlocks a drawer to remove a strange, antique box, from within which he lifted a vial of blue fluid “Now—if you please, time is essential. Get her undressed.”
Randall took a step forward and then, hesitating, steps back, “No – Praetorius. I don’t know what deviant thing you’ve got in mind but – I’m not into . . . that.”
Praetorius turns to look at him and then cuts a glance down at the body of the blonde woman lying upon his laboratory worktable, frowning as he took note of William Randall’s particular interest in the exposure of the woman’s cleavage. “Sex? Is that all you ever think of young William.” His nimble fingers breaking the green wax seal of the vial, “An all too brief thrill . . . and then what – an even briefer climax.” The green wax crumbling so he can remove the small cork from the narrow glass neck, “You must expand your horizons, my young friend.” He smiles as he looks over at Randall with those icy pale eyes, a hint of pure lasciviousness in his voice, “There are far greater ecstasies in life that those of the mere flesh, I can assure you. Have you ever experienced the rush of what it is like to play at being God.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yes, I dare say. As many others have said before you William.”
Narrow-minded fools! He thinks as he looks at the vial in his hand . . . that is what he has been cursed with it seems all of his professional life – and now, here he was in Collinsport. Some obscure, American backwater town on the Maine Coast, exiled once again from civilization, forced to work with some young man without vision or any real intellectual ambitions.
He works the cork back into the bottle
“I brought her here. I’ve done my part.”
The doctor cuts a glance at the nervous young man; “Yes, well, I don’t think she will be undressing herself, sadly –“
Randall stands beside the lab table uncertain if he should do as he has been bidden.
“Although I am sure it would have been quite an entertainment for you, eh, young William, if she were to. But that’s not going to happen. Meaning it is left to you. Now, get her undressed. And no more talking about it.”
The man’s crazy – just look at this place.
But he certainly didn’t want to lose the doctor as a client. And so, reluctantly, Randall begins the task of removing the woman clothes.
The doctor, striding across the lab toward a huge black laboratory table, with what looked like interlocked metal clasps, drops a small white cotton top and skirt on the table, “You can put her in these.”
“Doctor, “ Randall says allowing the limp body of the woman to sprawl back on the table, having now removed her blouse, “Just what the f**k are we doing? This is insane.”
“I am doing the Lord’s work!” Praetorius replies rather dramatically with a rise and a flourish of his hand, “Someone has to – seeing how as the Lord isn’t doing it.”
Randall just looks at him.
Praetorius stops and sighs loudly as he regards his hesitant young assistant. “This equipment,” he waves a hand, “Has been rather eclectically thrown together – I have no way of knowing what possible metallic zippers, especially copper, or pins that might be affixed. Now hurry. I am running out of time if I am to bring her back.”
“Bring her back?”
A wry and wicked, thin-lipped smile, “Back, young William, back from the dead!”
William Randall was more than well aware of the amount of gin the doctor consumed; based on just how much liquor he delivered, but was the man now smoking crack? “”Back from the dead?”
“Yes, now I am sorry, I don’t have seven days. Now, if you will please put those on her,” He motions to the small white cotton top and skirt, “As we wouldn’t want her to be too cold and uncomfortable? Now would we? And as I said—we must be assured there is no catastrophic failure during the process owing so some stray clasps, stays, or tiny zippers.”
“Failure?”
“Yes, electricity does not like them. And so, when you are finished,” He then waves his hand toward the odd laboratory table beneath an array of lighting and fixtures, “If you would be so kind as to move her over here.”
“Over there.” He motions to the table.
“Yes—over here.” And he begins to roll a creaky wheeled IV stand toward the table to which he had motioned.
“But doctor – she will be brain dead.”
“We have a serum for that – “ Praetorius smiles, “Magic in a bottle. Not quite gin . . “
Fade To Black
ACT II – FADE IN
Soundtrack: [www.youtube.com]
A generator hums in the distance.
Glowing tubes pulsate with power.
Electricity dispenses cobwebbed silver-blue haloes.
Lightening contained in massive glass cylinders sizzles as if eager to be unleashed.
Shadows flicker on the stone floor as Praetorius works with the needle he slides deftly into the crook of the woman’s arm.
They are alone: the doctor and the body of the beautiful blonde woman.
It would seem young William Randall, brave enough to undress a dead woman and place in the scanty garments Praetorius had provided, had no courage when it comes to playing God.
He quickly departed once he helped get her secured upon the table.
The old IV stand beside the doctor holds the strange concoction he has only just completed – which includes a mixture of blood and the marvellous blue elixir.
He smiles and pats the long fingered hand lying atop the laboratory table, “Yes, well it won’t be long now Hans. And then you can tell me all about you allowed this to happen. I am sure it is fascinating.”
Praetorius stands a moment looking down at the woman lying before him, ever amazed at Victor’s work.
He moves away from the table and over to an antique console, which he begins to activate.
Only sparks explode from the table upon which the woman’s body lies.
Dr. Praetorius frowns. “An assistant! Why does one never have one ready to hand when one needs one? Victor, always seems to find them!”
He steps over to adjust a cable, examines the fittings to make certain they are secure.
“Yes, yes, I know.” He says to the motionless woman on the table above him as he kneels, “Impatience was always your weakness but just bare with me a moment Hans . . .” He smiles and then lifts an wry eyebrow, “Oh, I am sorry, Christina.”
Outside the Diogenes Club facility, a much smaller craft than Randall’s motor launch coasts up against the flagstone platform ringing the dome laboratory of the Extraordinary Agent, Doctor Septimus Praetorius.
Agent Nine sighs softly as she looks back over her shoulder at the archipelago of odd formations. She had forgotten what a truly wretched place this was—and why not, owing to its close proximity to St. Eustace Island, with all of it’s horrid history of the atrocities that had once taken place there. What a truly godforsaken place this was – Collinsport and all it’s accursed environs.
The rocking boat strikes the stone platform and she places a hand to her lips for a moment to stifle a wave of nausea produced by the nautical excursion out to the secret Diogenes facility. But she’s got to secure the boat – and so she tosses the nylon rope out upon the flagstones and leaps over the side of the small craft and onto to the slipper surface of the landing in order to grab the mooring line. A quick turn around the base of the metal cleat, and then bringing the line back over the top of the cleat, she works at eventually securely tugging on the blue line so as to establish a cleat hitch.
She turns to face the circular structure: Praetorius’ Lair. And just how many of these secretive laboratories had this mad man called a sanctuary until he and his nefarious experiments had been discovered – and for a brief moment she can not help thinking of some grainy image from an old film, in which the villagers aware of the evil in their midst had gathered before the incompetent authorities, all loud voices and shaking fists, pitchforks and flaming torches in the night.
The man was a criminal. A murder. A sociopath. A friend or mentor, or whatever he was to an ever more villainous monster: Baron Victor Frankenstein. To have lived as long as they have – she wondered just what atrocities had they committed. More importantly, what barbarities of medical science had they been allowed to commit. When she had first joined the Diogenes Club she had no knowledge of the Extraordinary Agents – very few members ever did.
The dark secrets of the Ruling Cabal – the compromises made in the name of the greater national good, decision made long ago by Mycroft, his fires recruited to fight fires.
It was what had brought her back to the laboratory.
Curiosity kills the cat and it nearly kills Alice, she thinks as she mounts the damp flagstones of the platform and looks around.
Her visor detects the various security measures and begins to override them.
Within the laboratory, Dr. Praetorius stands before a table cluttered with a series of glass alembics as he lifts a small vial, “What have you been up to Christina?” Inserts the needle of the syringe, “Something rather significant I would say, seeing as how you have apparently arrived without a sufficient supply of serum.” He draws down the amber liquid from the vial. “Which I must say is most unusual – most unusual.” He removes the needle. “But, no need to worry my dear.” He steps over to the table with the syringe. “The arcane foundations are still there – we just have to awaken them.”
Praetorius’s slender, graceful fingers reach under the back of the blonde woman’s head in order to lift it upwards as he kneels slightly in order to find the spot at the base of the brain steam wherein he pressed the needle in and forced the amber fluid from the syringe into her.
Outside the ocean winds lashing her red hair, Nine composes herself a moment before stepping up to the door.
She begins wrapping her knuckles on one of the solid double doors.
Dr. Praetorius sighs as he steps away from the laboratory table and drops the syringe atop one of his worktable rather annoyingly. “Does God have to deal with such nuances?”
Agent Nine knocks on the door again
Fastidiously he wipes at his hands; pulls the cuffs of his shirt down to straighten the sleeves within his jacket; and walks over toward the huge double doors of the research facility. He really has no time for this! A quick check of the 6-inch monitor at the door reveals the red-haired bodyguard of Catriona Kaye standing at his doorstep. Interesting, he thinks as he cocks his head that she’s gotten this far . . . and then smiles – taking note of her visor, that wonderful visor – he really just see inside . . . She’s overridden all of his security precautions.
“However charming it is to see you, my dear. I am rather preoccupied at the moment.” He says into the intercom.
“Open the door Praetorius.”
“Are you going to huff and puff?”
“Open the bloody door – “
On the table behind him Christina begins to convulse.
He sighs – the convulsions have begun – and opens the door “Agent Nine, I say, what can I do for you?”
“I have some . . . questions about the other night.”
“Yes, quite, I am sure . . ..” He looks back over his shoulder at the woman on the laboratory table aware the seizures are only going to get worse – he has very little time now. “Well, well, do come in—make yourself useful, seeing as how you are here. I need an extra pair of hands.”
“Not literally I hope.” She says immediately taking note of the scantily clad woman her has restrained upon the lab table. She quickly steps past him and enters into the facility walking toward the woman whose begun to tremble.
The blonde woman’s eyes have begun to flicker; her lips twitching; there is the trace of a slight white foam now appearing at the corners of her mouth.
“What the bloody hell!”
“Yes—no time to explain.” He says as he hurries over to one of a pair of strange, antique devices and points to the other device across from him, “Over there if you please, and do hurry.”
Agent Nine looks at him quizzically.
“There. I need you there.” He tells her.
She moves over reluctantly to the device and stands in front of it, eyeing him warily.
He engages a lever and there is the sound of an generator beginning to hum.
The crackle of electricity suddenly dances around and through various conical conductors about the lab.
“You will find a lever on the side, engage it my dear.” The doctor yells above the rising din.
She takes hold of it.
The woman lying on the table suddenly arches her back as she rises up on the table. She writhes in the ever-increasing violence of her convulsions – held atop the table only by the solid metal restraints.
“What the bloody hell are you doing doctor?” Nine demands.
“I could give you a dissertation.” He waves his aristocratic hand, “But I don’t have the luxury of time right at the moment, and so, if you please, would you just throw the bloody lever?”
Nine slams it down
And just as if she were in the middle of some disturbing mad scientist movie, the laboratory begins to crackle; the whine of some massive generator grows even louder; bolts of great electrical current arch and dance across various pieces of equipment.
Sparks fly from the copper fittings on the table and the scent of ozone fills the air.
Nine, uncertain of what she has stumbled upon, moves quickly outside of the ring that seems to define the centre of the laboratory.
She looks over to watch the woman on the table as she jerks and writhes, almost rhythmically, the power running now into the fittings – throwing massive blue and red sparks across the stone floor.
Dr. Praetorius races to another device.
Nine’s visor flickers rapidly, recording the event extensively.
His fingers making acute adjustments.
“What are you doing?” Agent Nine demands. “My god, you truly are depraved? Is that woman dead?”
“Yes! Yes! That is better.” He says to himself as he looks back over his shoulder at the woman now straining against the restraints.
If she wasn’t fairly certain that the woman wasn’t already dead, she would have already pulled her gun.
Praetorius then turns his head and gives Nine a wicked smile.
“She looks dead to me.”
“Yes, well that is a rather unfortunate relapsing condition for her, I am sorry to say,” and he throws another switch and it is as if an electrical storm has descended into the lab.
Static electricity makes the hair rise.
The woman arches and then grows stiff.
“Oh, bloody hell!” Her eyes just opened and so Nine pulls her gun and levels it at her, uncertain just whatever Praetorius’ intent.
“Let’s try that again doctor.” She says, “You better explain just what that is.”
The woman’s eyes are suddenly no longer rolled backward so as to reveal the eerie white of the blindness of death but are bright blue as they stare upward.
“Put that down!” he demands.
He moves back toward the twin antique devices, and tries to disengage the lever.
But he jerks his hand away.
He reaches over and hurriedly slips on a black rubber glove and forces the lever to release.
The cracking of electrical power suddenly diminishes.
He moves over to disengage the second.
Nine suddenly winces as some of the electricity ticks the barrel of her gun.
The odd equipment glowing hotly falls silent.
“This is not medicine doctor!”
He hurries over to the table and the woman lying there. “No – no it is not. It’s beyond man’s mere understanding of science. It is elegance. It is genius. ”
Two quick fingers to her neck in search of a pulse, before he lifts the lid of her eye, “Christina, can you hear me.”
“Alchemy of this type. Experiments on the human form and soul are expressly forbidden doctor. Rules of the Club and all, you know that.”
The woman moves, her lips parting, “Praetorius?” she whispers.
His thin lips part in a smile as he looks at her, “Yes, yes, it is I. Everything is going to be fine. Now rest.”
Praetorius looks up and over to Agent Nine, “She lives still. Is it not all fascinating.”
“Good Lord – you’re still the insane criminal –“
“I don’t think I ever said I wasn’t,” he replies with a rather thin-lipped, wicked smile, and tosses the black rubber glove heavily onto a work table. “And neither has the Diogenes Club for that matter. Care to join me?”
“What?” There is there never that mocking tone in his voice, she thinks.
“For a drink.” He says as he turns his back on her and moves over to one of the lab tables, where be begins a search to find an empty glass, which at first seems all too elusive, until he lifts one up rather dramatically. He then takes up a bottle and pours out a good measure of gin, “You’re sure you are not of a mind to join me? I promise it is nothing more than gin. My one weakness.’ He screws the cap back on the emerald bottle, “Dreadfully sorry about the electrical show,” waving a hand at the still glowing tubes of the various pieces of antique equipment, “But you see, the serum sometimes needs a bit of a jolt to start the regeneration process —Seward never truly perfected it.“
He turns to offer the bottle but finds Agent Nine now levelling her gun at him.
Septimus Praetorius shrugs rather casually as he looks over at the table whereupon the blonde woman lies, “You think the Club is not aware of my little diversions? It’s the price they have been willing to pay for quite sometime . . . the price of doing business with a fire that fights fire.”
“Yes, well some fires need to be put out.”
“True. You may have licence, but I don’t think you have agency.“ Praetorius takes a sip of his gin as he makes his way back across the room toward her. He stops briefly to place the back of his hand gently upon the cheek of the woman lying within the restraints upon the black laboratory table.
“I report directly to Vanessa Coats.” Nine informs him.
“Yes, you do.” He agrees and takes a sip of gin. He looks over at her, “But to whom does Vanessa Coats report – now, that is a question. Ever ponder it?”
She says nothing – stoic behind the visor.
“But, nevertheless, the weapon notwithstanding, you are here for a reason, are you not Agent Nine, and I think shooting me is not it, else you would have done so straightaway.” He checks some instrumentation on an antique console.
“You enjoy playing God.”
He smiles, “Some say Gods some say monsters Agent Nine? Myself, I’d rather say Gods.”
“Unless they’re monsters.”
“There is that.” He motions over toward an area away from the laboratory proper just off to the right of the first step of the curved stone staircase that leads to an upper floor. There is a rather comfortable looking black leather sofa and a few chairs, “Care for a seat, I so rarely get visitors and now I have two in one day. Oh, and do put away that silly weapon, if you please. We both know you are not going to use it.”
She watches him stride over to the sofa, and for a moment she hesitates before acquiescing to his request to put away her gun. She long leg strides over and settles in black leather chair across from him.
He looks at her with amusement as he takes a sip of gin, “Whatever is on your mind, Agent Nine?”
“We’ll get to that – but first, although I may not have permission to kill you, “ and she now looks over at the woman on the lab table, “Give me a good reason that I should not kill that . . . thing . . . you just made.”
“Made?” He said with a shake of his head, “Oh, no, she is not one of mine.” He places a hand to his chest, “She was, as you say, made quite some time ago. She is one of Victor’s.”
“Frankenstein’s?”
“Yes. One of successes he refused to be a failure.”
“Then that only makes my question even more pertinent.” Agent Nine replies coldly.
“And who is trying to play God now?” He asks her rather ironically.
Nine is silent.
“Or, are you a monster? I bet you have done some seriously monstrous things for Queen and country.”
“We do what we have to do.” She replies without emotion.
He nods, “Yes—we do what we have to do.”
“I thought Victor had been earmarked for death.”
Praetorius smiles, “Ah, yes, well Victor does have a unique knack for cheating death.”
Nine can’t be certain whether Coats is truly aware of Praetorius’ little diversions as he calls them – or that he is apparently in contact with Frankenstein. The last she knew the Baron was dead, of course, what Coats is truly aware of was anyone’s guess. It will all go into her report.
“In fact I expect him any day, actually. Christina was sent ahead.”
“Christina?”
“An assistant of his who, as many of his assistants do have an unfortunate habit of doing, met a rather dreary demise,” He looks over at the woman beginning to stir upon the iron table, “Her name is Christina Kleve.”
“And this demise – when did that occur?”
His eyes twinkle, “That would be quite some time ago.”
She sighs. “We are not talking this century, are we?.”
“No.”
“Whatever the case may be that is not why I am here.”
“No it certainly is not, is it, Agent Nine.”
“I want to know about Wren.”
“Victoria?” He asks and takes a drink.
“Details, doctor.”
“What in particular would you care to know?”
“You indicated a plan – just what precisely is this plan, Praetorius?”
“To save the world my dear. To save the world – you’ve been with the Club long enough to know about the terrible beasties.” He said with a sip of gin, his pale icy eyes watching her inquiringly, “After summer is winter, and after winter summer. They wait patient and potent . . . “ He recites more to himself than to Agent Nine.
“Yes – well they’ve been talking about the end of the world for quite some time now doctor and yet amazingly it keeps right on spinning.”
“And what is it about this amazingly still spinning little world of ours?” He asks, “And for that matter, what is it about this little out of the way place? Collinsport. Why so much fuss about it, do you think? The Old Ones have power beyond comprehension, they travel between the spheres, they walk through dimensions, and yet, they find themselves drawn like so many moths to a flame by this amazing little planet.” He says now philosophically, “What do they know that we don’t?”
“Yes, but what I am more interested in is knowing what you know—”
He tips the glass toward her, “About Wren?”
“Yes.”
“Now that is amazing.” He remarks with a wry smile, “It’s the end of the world and yet, you want to know about Victoria Wren?”
“Yes.”
He looks at her with some amusement, “As you said, the world keeps on spinning and it is good to know someone has the right priorities.”
“What is she doing here?”
“That is something you will have to discover on your own Agent Nine. I have no idea other than it involves some plan of her’sthat went horribly wrong, You know: there is far more behind and inside her than any would ever suspect.” Praetorius said rather icily. “A true enigma. You know she began as an agent of British Intelligence, although back then it was called the NID. The Naval Intelligence Department.”
“The NID? That’s before the Secret Service Bureau.” Nine said, her voice on the edge of disbelief.
He smiled, “As I said, there is far more to Victoria than one would suspect.”
“Well, there is bloody little to be found in her file.”
He looks up from his drink in disbelief “There is a file?”
“The things bloody well near redacted—references are all to dossiers whose classifications are all classified. MI6 and Cabal eyes only.”
He smiles once again that sardonic smile that she has grown to dislike immensely. “Perhaps it is wiser not to follow the line of inquiry.”
“What do you know Praetorius?” she asked with irritation in her voice.
“That I need another drink my dear.” He tells her and reaches for the bottle of gin resting on the further edge of the small coffee table, and he refreshes his glass, as he looks up at her, “As I said she’s an enigma, Agent Nine, but apparently one that seems to fascinate—yes? As does all good temptations.”
Nine sat stoically.
“Victoria Wren.” He says reflectively, “Born in 1880 to Veronica and Sir Alastair Wren. Sir Alastair was a noted Member of Parliament, a member of the Foreign Intelligence Committee. And of course above all suspicion as would be any good ennobled Englishmen, especially when their young wife so tragically finds herself the victim of a mid-summer’s boating accident; in which, the local coroner convenes the briefest of inquests.”
“Murder?” Nine conjectures.
He takes a sip of his gin, “Of course there were rumours, and rumours of rumours—had she a lover?” He waves the short glass of gin, “But then again . . . don’t they all? And Sir Alastair, well he was a mean brute with a temper. And then there are even more scandalous rumours surrounding Victoria’s flight from the Manor to a convent.”
“A convent?” Nine’s voice now having completely slipped into disbelief.
His lips curl in wicked smile, “Gods and Monsters by dear – better to wed the Son of a God than lie down with a wicked monster of a father.”
“You mean Sir Alastair – with . . . his daughter?”
“Although, really,” he says in his sly melodramatic way, “It can’t be really proper incest, now can it, not if you’re not really the father.”
“Carter you mean?”
“And possible motive.”
He lifts his gin glass toasting her, “Yes. Randolph Carter.”
“But—the convent?”
“Second thoughts? A sudden revelation? “ He shrugs, “Perhaps the reflection upon a dreary life of wedlock in a harem clad all in black and accessorized with nothing more than a page worn bible and a worn and worried rosary? Or, mayhap there is a visit from a rather severe looking gentleman from London? All very clandestine.’ He holds up his hands and waves them a bit, “In any event, she straightway departs the convent before taking her vows and unexpectedly re-joins the family for holiday in Egypt. Alexandria. A city filled with all manner of dubious loyalties.”
“Family?
“Sir Alastair and the sister, Mildred.”
“She had a sister?”
His eyes twinkle, “She has a sister.”
“And the holiday in Alexandria?”
“Ah, now amongst the palms and shadows there is a plot a foot.“ He sips his drink delightfully, “An attempt is made on Sir Alastair’s life, but it is a rather bungled affair. Now the second, ah the second, in an Opera house in Cairo, is quite the success. It seems the inapt assassin of Alexandria has suddenly become far more efficient: one shot between the eyes.”
“He was assassinated?” Nine asks leaning forward, gathering from the way Praetorius spoke it had been sanction – by NID? “Why?”
“Triple agent my dear. Seems he was working for the French and was with the Russians too. It was Naval Intelligence. Sanctioned, so all quite official, you know.”
“And Wren?”
“Question by local authorities—it seems there had been a terrible argument between her and Sir Alastair that night. Victoria and Sir Alastair in Hotel dinning room where some rather ungentlemanly like blows were struck. As I said, a mean brute with a temper. Victoria was reported to have quickly packed and hurriedly dashed off for the night train back to Alexandria, straightaway.”
“Said to be?” Nine still leaning forward.
“There was a witness. Rather unsavoury to be sure, but, nevertheless, a witness, who gave the local authorities a very precise description of a young woman, which not unsurprisingly matched that of Victoria, entering Sir Alastair’s opera box shortly before the fatal shot.” He looked at his glass of gin and then sighed, “The argument, the beastly behaviour of Sir Alastair, the eyewitness account was more than enough to pique the interest of even the laziest of the local constabulary – but then, the sudden arrival of a some official from the British Embassy and dash if she isn’t off, adventuring, traveling across Baedekerland, with very little doubt that she was, and had been, working for Naval Intelligence; and then, of course, with the Secret Service Bureau later – until the tragedy in Paris.”
“Tragedy?”
“1913. Victoria meets the lovely Melanie l’Heuremaudit. A true beauty. A ballerina. To watch her dance was to watch perfection. Perfection fated for a fall. It seems they were staging some very avant-garde production – and Melanie was impaled.”
“Impaled?”
Praetorius seems to have retreated now from his usual flippant air and sits in quite contemplation, almost as if he were reliving an event – was it possible? Had he been there? “Yes, she was to have been hoisted by these great muscular savages, in this very dramatic climax to the performance in which she was to have appeared to have been impaled by the native brutes, in some sacrificial ritual, and then carried about the stage, but she was to have worn a protective device, which oddly enough it seems she had in haste forgotten to wear. Now, the Parisian police listed it as an accidental death. Some say it was suicide, others retribution on Victoria. But – I don’t think anyone knows for certain – not even Victoria. That is when she left Paris and seemingly from the very earth itself. Today I think they say she went off the Grid. She disappeared for years to only reappear at the dawn of Germany’s invasion of Austria – “
“You know Praetorius,” Nine sits back in her chair, “It is rather odd you just happen to know so much about this enigma?”
That wicked smile again: “Let’s just say I became privy to certain information when – during a very wearisome altercation in Berlin – the lovely lady, at just the opportune time, quickly whisked me away with a turn of her wonderful Key and that marvellous Clock of hers.”
“The Key and Clock that was her father’s – Randolph Carter’s.”
“As I said, my dear, there is far more behind and inside her than any would ever suspect. It’s not who, but what: what she is.” He takes a long drink, “But then, it truly is all Gods and Monsters, Agent Nine. And I am sorry but rather soon, I suspect, you my dear, are going to have to make a choice as to which you are going to serve.”
“They are not Gods, monsters perhaps, Doctor Praetorius, but they are not Gods.”
He looks at her, his eyes gone icy, cold, “And what is a God, Agent Nine, a creator of life? If so then Victor and I are Gods,” He looks across the room at the blonde woman beginning to stir upon the laboratory table. “Or, is it a destroyer of worlds –and if so, then man is a God for he has created weapons of unimaginable destruction and on a daily bases he finds it rather easy to murder countless thousands for nothing more than religion and arrogant greed. And then again, it may be nothing more than some horrid entity from the stars that looks at us as no more than mere ants scurrying about hither and tither upon the earth. “
“So you thought it better to serve in hell than in heaven.”
“Oh, now, I serve only myself, didn’t I say Victor and I were Gods,” He lips curl into a cruel smile, “But others without that luxury make their own decisions. Wren? She left the convent of one God to serve another. Yog-Sothoth. And Nicole Collins? As a child she called upon a chaos that crawls in darkness. And yet, they are both Extraordinary Agents of The Diogenes Club. Rather odd don’t you think?”
“Collins—which brings me round to Agent Five.”
“Five? Yes, what of her?”
“The earliest record I have of her is Detroit.”
“Five, like you, reported directly to Vanessa Coats, and so perhaps you should inquire of her.”
“You seem to be the encyclopaedia of secrets Praetorius” Nine remarks observing the doctor intently, “So, why would Five go to Detroit if Collins was her mark?”
For a long moment he shifts his attention from Nine to the blonde woman still lying within the metallic restraints of the laboratory table, “From what I gather, she was already state side, investigating reports of some rather unsavoury ritualistic murders in some obscure little town, some where in rural Western Pennsylvania, as I recall, using the cover of some dark, back alley detective agency known as Blackwater – no, Blackjack, yes, that’s it, Blackjack, when she was ordered to New York, owing to the discovery of a Crystal Coffin on the Collinsgreen Estate.”
“Collinsgreen Estate?”
Praetorius frowns, “I must say I am surprised at the utter lack of information Coats has provided. There are three branches of the Collins Family in America, my dear, the one here in Collinport Maine; the New York branch at the Collinsgreen Estate in upper New York; and the more isolated of them all, those residing at Collins House on Plum Island off the Massachusetts coast.
“Strung out across New England.” Nine remarks.
“Yes.” His eyes a-twinkle as she makes the connection.
“But what happened? This Crystal Coffin – she ended up here with Nicole Collins.”
“That was misdirection on Catriona’s part, she apparently had her redirected to Scarlet Creek, where upon she met Nicole Collins, at a funeral as I recall. Only, something happened to her on the way to Scarlet Creek and Five some how became lost within her own legend.”
“And no one knows—what happened?”
He sips his gin, “Catriona is of the opinion it all has something to do with Carcosa. You should ask her – I suspect it’s why she was exiled here to Maine.”
“But, you were at Scarlet Creek.”
“Yes. Yes, I was. I had been sent to see a Medri Harker. There had been consideration regarding an offer of membership – but when I arrived he was not in any state to be approached, and so, I proceeded to other matters. And so, I took the train to Collinsport and from the depot to the great house of Collinwood, where I arrived to collect David Collins’ Diogenes Card.”
“David Collins – he was a member of the Club?”
He nodded, “Short lived to say the least, Coats revoked it rather quickly. And then just as abruptly decided to offer the exclusivity of an Extraordinary Membership to Nicole Collins – which I must say was rather odd, to say the least, seeing as how for years they were all well aware of her – and of her talents – to only so recently decide upon offering her official status – even though they were quite aware of her possible alliances.” He laughed heartily, “But then again, they did make an exception for me, now didn’t they.”
Nine sat forward, her visor recording: “Alliances?”
“Surely Coats would not have sent you here without informing you – Nicole Collins and Nyarlathotep – they have a relationship . .. have had since she was eleven, or twelve, when she first summoned him.”
“Eleven or twelve?” Nine asks, “A little girl? Summoning the messenger of Azathoth?”
“She’s as much a part of Nyarlathotep as she is of her mother and father,” A commanding voice suddenly said from behind them.
Nine whirled about in her chair; her hand instinctively drawing her weapon as she watched the tall, gaunt gentleman, striding, with a strikingly aristocratic air, from one of the Diogenes portals. His large smile at Praetorius was accompanied by a slight twinkle in his eye, “And why not, it was his black science we used to conceived her In Vitro, hey Praetorius?”
Nine’s eyes narrow.
“Agent Nine, allow me to introduce Baron Victor Frankenstein.”
“Charmed, I am sure,” He said evenly with a haughty lift of his brow.
[Cue Music End of Episode]