Fox

Fox's story, continued . . .

Someone was speaking to him, but Fox didn’t listen; he couldn’t listen. The voice was in another language.

A man had found Fox lying in an alley, clothes drenched, and body shivering so badly that at first it appeared he was in the midst of a seizure. He had taken the boy in his arms and carried him to a motel room. Fox had gone without a fuss.

He sat on the bed now, hands clenched together, shoulders still heaving. His face was a ghostly white. The man who kneeled before him shined a flashlight into his eyes, the left one and then the right. At first, Fox was in a daze. His eyes stared unblinkingly straight ahead. At the sight of the flashlight, however, he was startled.

Nok em brikeng, si no complecatoro. Di ivisi? the man said.

Fox shook his head and through chattering teeth managed to utter, I-I d-d-don’t u-understand . . .

The man thought for a moment. He had wispy white hair thin enough to see his scalp through, and a black coat that reached midway down his thighs. Though his skin was pale and around his pointed face it was wrinkled, his eerie blue eyes contained a youthful sense of life.

Oh, I see, the man said. Can you . . . understand me now? His voice was almost soothing.

Y-yes.

Good, good. Come with me, child. We will return to my house. There is much I need to discuss with you.

The man had lead Fox by the hand out of the motel and through a path that wound through the haunting buildings he had seen when he emerged from the canal. Fox did his best to stare down at his toes, for the buildings terrified him. He could see the feet of others walking by, some of them laughing, others in close, murmuring groups.

He had been to London on many occasions, the bustle of people, constant movement, cheers and applause for street side performers. This place - this horrible place was nothing like London. The air seemed thicker, as if from humidity but really from something much more sinister. There was a stench that rolled out from the vents along with the steam. It made Fox’s nose crinkle in disgust. There were few crowds, only the same tight knit groups that passed by. There were lights that came from signs. Fox had never seen these orbs before, orbs that gave off a bright light. He glanced up at them and quickly put his head back down. They reminded him of the eyes of monsters he had seen in his dreams.

The man lead Fox to a large building, covered in rusted metal. With a grunt of effort, he grabbed onto a panel in the wall and moved it aside.

Beyond was a tiny metal compartment, only large enough to accommodate the rather short man. Fox followed him hesitantly into the box, not sure of where to go. The man closed the door and more orbs illuminated the inside. He didn’t know how to be afraid at this point; the world was too confusing to find a reason to be afraid.

The man pulled down on a lever in the wall and immediately there came the hissing sound of pressurized steam. The compartment slowly moved upwards and Fox, taken completely by surprise at the sudden movement, made a subconscious motion, grabbing a handful of the man’s strange black jacket. The man simply smiled like a father gazing at his son.

When at last the thing stopped and the door was slid open, Fox was faced with a strange sight: A room full of mirrors and glass walls. The man placed a soft hand on Fox’s back and lead him further into the room. At a touch, the glass walls slid away, revealing more rooms. It was hard to tell sometimes; which were mirrors and which were doors. On the ceiling, which stretched up high, more bulbs were placed, making the gold walls between the mirror glow with a dreamlike brilliance.

His pale face was reflected back at him a thousand times over. His hair had dried but his good clothes were still dark with water. The man moved so slowly, yet gracefully, considering his obvious age. He pushed one of the mirror panels aside, revealing a tiny compartment with a hanging string. Upon pulling the string, music began to play - first with the soft click of needle as it touched the record player, then the song came to life, washing over him - it started with a few soft notes of piano, then accompanied by a cello. The two instruments alternated roles, weaving the most beautifully sad tune Fox had ever heard and it brought him nearly to tears.  

Wonderful, isn’t it? the man asked.

Fox nodded awkwardly, as if not sure if it would be the response the man wanted.

You see, child - I am a scientist. I make my living off inventions such as these; they are my heart and my soul. I would love for you to see more of them. The scientist stopped talking for a minute, entranced by the music, frowning with distant eyes as if he were deep in thought. He returned just as Fox tried one of the sliding doors, flinching as it receded into the wall.

What is your name, child?

Fox swallowed nervously before answering.

Fox, you say? And where is it you come from, Fox?

London, sir, Fox answered, staring at his feet.

London . . . London. . . . the man repeated the name over and over, committing it to memory.

Dear Fox, is there something in London that you miss dearly? Something that you would give anything to have, or to protect?

Fox didn’t need any time to think over the question. My brother, sir.

Your brother, eh? Good, good. Keep your brother close to your heart, little Fox. It will keep you sane during your stay in this world. I will search for a way to return you, but you must tell me about your world, first.

Fox thought about the request and opened his mouth to speak, however, the scientist put up a hand to silence him. I don’t mean now, dear boy. Now, you should change out of those wet clothes and get some rest. We will talk more in the morning.

Fox gave a hardly noticeable nod.

The scientist opened up an enormous door, revealing a golden spiral staircase that seemed to rise up infinitely. Fox was led up three flights, noticing on each level the similar architecture: gold and mirrors. There were a few real doors, some with enormous wooden locks, and others with no handle. Fox assumed these either slid open like the others, or simply were not meant to be opened.

On the third floor, the scientist stepped off the staircase and beckoned Fox to him.

I don’t often get visitors, he explained. But I do prefer to keep a guest room prepared. Just in case, you see.

He led Fox down a hallway, taking a few turns, pausing to open up doorways and explaining a little of the tower’s layout to him. Fox was only half listening though. This odd dream land must have been confusing him. He couldn’t really have vanished into another world, could he? Things like that only happened in Brother’s storybooks, not in real life.

Brother. . . .

The scientist at last showed Fox to a large wooden door that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the interior’s design. It was white-washed and dusty. The scientist opened the door and showed Fox inside.

The interior of this room was quite different as well. The theme here, Fox thought, appeared to be scarlet (blood red seemed too frightening a word at the moment). The bed was an enormous four-poster with red drapes and matching comforter. The walls had leather, quilted patterns which were covered up primarily by six enormous bookshelves rising all the way toward the ceiling at least twenty feet up. The scientist turned on a strange lamp on a mahogany nightstand next to the bed. The light was dim and kept most of the room in a dark shadow.

There was a wardrobe between one of the bookshelves in which the scientist opened and withdrew a pair of white pinstriped pajamas. He tossed them on the bed and gestured for Fox to place them on.

There’s also a window there. It has a charming view of the city, should you wish to open it in the morning. I usually keep the shutters closed because the light fades the colors, but I have no problem with it if you wish for them to be opened. the scientist scratched his beardless chin in thought. Oh, and if you should need anything, there are two cords hanging in the wardrobe. The longer of the two signals me, the shorter signals a servant. I hope you sleep well, and goodnight.

The scientist left the room, shutting the door and walking away. Fox waited for his footsteps to disappear then rushed to the door to see if it was locked.

It wasn’t. The scientist was no capturer of children, or at least, didn’t seem the type.

Fox hesitantly changed into the pinstriped pajamas, looking over his shoulder and doing his best to stay hidden in the shadows in case he was being watched; not that he believed he was.

 He slowly crept into bed, pausing to listen to more footsteps somewhere in this odd castle. It took him a few moments of guessing but he quickly figured out how to turn the lamp off. He settled his head on the pillow, closing his eyes but unable to sleep. Brother’s image kept pervading his mind; the evil curve of Ella’s smile, the darkened face of his father. Brother would be the one to take over his company when he passed away, unless Ella could bare Father another male child. Unlikely, however, as Father would most likely draw upon his past failure if he tried for a third.

And then again, this could all be a dream. Something his wild and childish mind had conceived.

Fox fell asleep with this hope in his heart, but in his mind he knew that when dawn came, his eyes would open to the same dark room in which he had fallen asleep in.

 

Morning came without warning. Of course, that was primarily because it looked nothing like morning.

When Fox awoke from his sleep, no light entered the room - no light at all. The room was pitch-black. He stirred in his bed, frightened and confused at first, but then memory returned, as well as disappointment. So this world, this . . . city - was, in fact, real after all.

Still hoping for some reason to believe otherwise, Fox ran to where the scientist had pointed to the window. The shutters were aged and brittle, but there wasn’t a single crack or hole in the entire installment, making it hard to discern from the rest of the wall.

They opened without a fuss, wood swinging easily from well cared for brass hinges. He had expected light to startle his eyes, but when he looked out, there was no need to close them, or even squint. It was the sight alone outside that gave Fox a start. He began to wonder hopelessly what awaited him on the other side of that bedroom door. The scientist: a madman, perhaps. Maybe Fox was to be used for an experiment, or something equally sinister.

Not until much later did he come to find that the experiment had already been performed.

The height alone was enough to make his head spin. The tower looked out at hundreds of miles of oddly shaped landmass; a twisting network of murky canals lay over city of black buildings, all of which were no larger than the head of a pin. It gave him an extreme sense of vertigo to look at it; the seemingly infinite space between his window and the earth almost pulling him in. The sky was hardly any lighter than it had been during nightfall. Now it was a deep grey -- rolling planes of ash in the sky. A wind rushed up at him, throwing him back into the room and slamming the shutters against the walls. He stood up, paralyzed by the shock it had caused him, flinching as the shutters continued to beat against the walls. The door opened behind him. Fox turned to witness something even more horrifying than the city outside.

A mechanical man crawled around the bed, walking on all fours. Its movements were horribly stiff (all of its joints were in a fixed track, only being able to move clockwise or counterclockwise). The thing had a silver body with multiple joints placed around the spinal column and abdomen, allowing it to turn and swivel, making up for the other joints’ lack of mobility.

Fox backed away from it, pressing up against the wall in order to remain as far away from the strange thing as was possible. It movements were slow, yet it managed to cover quite a distance, as if its silver limbs could extend themselves. The hands were, oddly, contorted into a shape that looked as if the thing were making to grab something. Its face was carved in a generic, ambiguous shape, lacking any sort of emotion.

It strode over to the windows, Pushing itself up on two legs, and closed the shutters,, locking them. The wind fell silent. Without a word, or even a noise, uttered by the mechanical man, it receded back the way it came, the door closing quietly behind it.

Fox stood there, stunned. Slowly, he crawled back into the bed, folded the covers over his head and closed his eyes, praying to whatever force that had brought him there would send him back. He missed Brother, Father, he’d even put up with Ella if it meant escaping from this place.

The door opened again. He flattened himself against the mattress, hoping that whoever was there would go away.

I probably should have mentioned it gets a bit breezy up here. It was the scientist. Fox’s heart lifted only a little bit at the realization it was not another eerie silver man.

I take it you have never seen a Doll before. The scientist sat on the edge of the bed, flicking the lamp on. Fox could see the dim light through the bed sheets. You shouldn’t be afraid of them. They can’t hurt you unless they’re programmed to, he said. Fox could tell the scientist was smiling. He spoke was as if comforting a child with nightmares.

You are probably wondering why I took you in. Why you are here.

In all honesty, he hadn’t been. The dark place had taken him so much by surprise he hadn’t had time to ponder the more existential questions.

The answer lies on the underside of your neck.

There was movement under the bed sheets as Fox’s hand jumped to his throat and slid around his skin, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The scientist waited patiently for the rustling to stop and the small gasp that followed.

Beneath the sheets, Fox had come across a small, circular scar just to the left of his Adams Apple. The boy emerged, clutching at the taunt skin.

It’s a scar, left by the machine.

What machine? Fox asked.

Get dressed, and I will show you.

 

There was a renewed light that entered the halls of the tower. A window, high up in the lofts, was open, if even only slightly. But that light reflected off the thousands of mirrors adorning the walls and created the illusion that light was coming from everywhere; the walls themselves, glowing.

As the scientist led Fox down the hall, there were more of those strange mechanical creatures. Some cleaning the mirrors or scrubbing the floors, others were working on the various mechanical inner workings of the tower. Compartments were revealed with spinning gears and everywhere Fox looked, something was moving. Platforms were raised and lowered, allowing them access to different levels. Sometimes they would get off a platform, walk down a hallway, climb a flight of stairs, then get onto another platform.

Fox was used to enormous rooms, due to living most of his life in his father’s castle, but it was nothing compared to this tower. One thing that frightened him most of all though, was the complete lack of life. The only servants were the mechanical ones; their movements so mechanical, it was intensely disturbing.

They are not perfect, the scientist said. But they do their jobs. All of them have only one you see. I haven’t yet found a way for them to perform multiple tasks at once. That is why there are so many of them. Indeed, Fox counted at least ten in every hallway they passed. Also, finding cheap material sturdy enough to allow upright movement has been rather difficult to come by these days.

Eventually, they came to an enormous doorway adorned with an intricately carved arch at the top. By now, they must have been near the top of the tower.

The scientist pushed open both doors and proceeded inside.

This tower - my tower - is the result of a failed experiment . . . to produce energy for our great city. This contraption was the collection point, and the tower itself was supposed to be the amplifier.

The top-most chamber of the tower was dark. Open archways were  set into the metal work around the triangular walls hlfway between the floor and the  mechanism. The machine itself was a behemoth of twisted steel, pipes that wound around and shot into the walls. Heaps of wires cascaded down parts of it. Sprouting from the bottom of the machine there were three probes with arm-like joints that reached down towards a small pool of water.

Fox had never seen anything like it. He tried to distinguish anything familiar about it, but nothing he had ever seen, things advanced for his world, came close to this. It looked like a gargantuan black monster, caught in a spiderweb, silently slumbering and awaiting the day it could rob his world of yet another human being.

I was granted funding for the tower, seventeen years ago. The prospect of an unlimited energy source was too great for even our money groveling government to ignore. The science was sound, design accurate. To this day, I don’t understand what went wrong. The scientist frowned again, lost in thought. Whatever the cause, the machine did not achieve its desired effect. Instead, it pulled a man from his world to ours.

Where is he?

Well, he didn’t come through in the same manner as you. We found . . . pieces of him. It would seem not all of the man made it through. I believe I might still have the left arm in my archives. . . .

How does it work?

You see the pool there?

Fox looked to the tiny body of water in the center of the room. Yes?

There is a chemical in it, or rather a natural agent. It makes the water an immense conductor of electricity, hundreds of times more potent than average water. It’s incredibly rare. I only managed to come across it randomly during my earlier years. I used to go on expeditions to far sides of the world, you know. Yes . . . I was once very well respected, but no matter.

This tower reaches into the clouds. I’m sure you’ve seen them. They are constantly producing a positive electrical charge, like an enormous magnet. The electricity produced by the clouds are funneled into this machine, while these probes are used to direct the energy into the purest agents, producing the most amount of power. My best guess was that I miscalculated the amount of energy that would be produced. The atoms of the agents most likely split, causing a sort of schism, leading to . . . a wormhole of sorts. The scientist had begun to mumble, speaking to himself more than Fox. Perhaps it had something to do with saltwater versus fresh.

Sir . . . ?

Maybe the surface of this world was already fragile and it simply tipped the balance. . . .

Doctor. . . .

Maybe, there was a storm surge. A freak accident that caused the system to malfunction. . . .

Sir!

The scientist looked up. I’m sorry. My failures - or rather, my sins - have not yet been atoned for. Suddenly, the scientist jumped up, a wave of happiness spreading over his aged face. But you - you, my boy - you will be my proof, that the machine is a success, if not for its intended purpose, then for this one. There is a propositional conference in seven days. We will be there - you will be there. And I will finally have my funding. . . .

The scientist turned away from Fox and paced around the pool of water, gazing at it hungrily.

I want to know more about your world, and you will need to learn from mine. Maybe, together, we will be great friends. Maybe, you can be my apprentice.

I don’t know much about science.

The scientist slowly crept to where Fox sat in a shadowed corner of the room. He knelt down low, offering his hand. His eyes twinkled in the few glimmers of light reflecting off the cool metal around the room. For a moment, his face seemed much younger.

Then, my boy, I will teach you.

 

“It is impossible to say what was going through Fox’s mind at that moment.” He said, stepping over a coil of rope.

The two men had wandered their way through the City of Sounds to the smoke-filled shipyards, where He had haggled with a fisherman over a pricey, wrapped barrelfish (a fish with a rounded ribcage, giving it the comical appearance of a barrel), before coming to a halt just beside the docks, arduously bending low and hanging His legs over the sides. The gentleman stood behind Him, obviously afraid of getting his lavish outfit soiled.

“You might as well sit down; I’m not going to continue until I’ve rested my legs.”

The gentleman shook his head and sat down next to Him. “You know, you got that fish for an awfully low price.”

“Of course. The fisherman who sold it to me happens to be a personal friend of mine,” He said, clearly boasting of an odd but useful connection.

There was a long pause, in which He ripped the tail off the fish and sucked on it, savoring the saltiness. He offered the rest to the gentleman, but the gentleman declined, patting his stomach to indicate he was full.

Over the darkened waters, ships, churning out steam, approached the docks with lights blaring through the haze that had settled over the sea; the horizon partially hidden behind a curtain of fog. Men were on the docks proper, shouting to one another and unloading various cargos, but none were particularly interrupting the two as they talked.

“So,” the gentleman said. “That’s how it happened then. With the machine.”

“Yes. It frightened Fox more than anything. In his world he had never come across anything so devastating. Most of what the scientist told him, he didn’t understand. Electrical charges meant nothing to him. In time, though, he would come to understand. Perhaps even better than the scientist himself.”

“You know, I feel I’ve heard of this . . . scientist before.”

“You most likely have. It’s not exactly a myth. Some people just believe everything else that surrounded him was a myth, but that scientist lived. Make no mistake of that.”

The gentleman nodded warily.

“That contraption was very temperamental. Though it managed to lead to the same other-world each time, it wasn’t consistent. In fact, the time and place that wormhole would appear was nearly impossible to predict. Any error in calculation would give completely different results, no matter how small. Trying to pick out that error was as difficult as measuring a drop of wine in the ocean; a microscopic ratio. The fact that those three made it through was a one in one trillion chance.”

But then how was it that they made it through? A one in one trillion chance . . . that’s impossible!”

“Yes . . . yes it is - which is why those few who know the story tend to assume that there was something else, something cosmic, godly, spiritual, whatever you wish to call it, involved in the process.”

“I can understand why they would assume so.”

“Do you believe in God?” He asked.

The gentleman looked surprised, and momentarily at a loss for words. “I suppose . . . not?

“Hmm,” He mumbled thoughtfully. “To be unsure of one’s faith is to be uncertain of one’s life. To be uncertain of one’s life, makes way for an early death.”

“I’ve never heard such a saying.”

“Inconsequential.”

“And what do you believe in, sir.”

“Me . . . ? I believe anything is possible. I may not be a God fearing man, but I do have my faiths.”

“Then why ask me if I believe?”

“T o be sure, you must believe in something when you hear this story. Otherwise it would be impossible to believe at all.”

 

 

 

Author's Note

This is now the full chapter. It took a while to complete, but I believe the end result was worth it.

Reviews

[Rapterj]

Oh me, oh my. The tangled web is weaving. So we finally meet the scientist, and we finally meet the machine.

First off, your details, as always, are spellbinding; but your descriptions in this chapter are the real victims I think. The first of these is your vast encompassing description of the tower and its grandeur. You are telling the story from Fox, who – of the characters you have introduced so far - is the most observant and despite his age, the most intelligent. This does not seem to coincide with the descriptive detail that is expounded in his journey throughout the tower. Your personal style really lends itself to describe how fox feels about his surroundings (his apprehension of the metal man, his fear of the color red, he fear of the electric light sources, his lack of understanding that precludes his fear, etc…) but the actual descriptions of the places and things themselves seem to be missing certain important details. It may be helpful to keep reminding the reader that Fox is still in too much shock to really take in anything that he is seeing, and it all feels like a distorted dream. This also allows him to notice more and more details as the story progresses. The machine itself is completely missing some element of grandeur. It doesn’t feel enormous, because you never relate that this thing is wired into the very size of the tower. You just note a basin of water and several arms with a mass coupling of wires and metal nearby. I think what you’re going for, in something Fox could relate to, would be a perverse take on a clock tower filled with wires and metal as far as fox could see. The room of mirrors was an interesting description, but lack some finer detail – maybe clarify that Fox was too rushed to take it all in or clarify the details a bit. Since your emotional tagging to the surroundings is so great, maybe you could add the details there somehow…and the description of Fox’s view of the city is a bit weak.

Maybe more detail about Fox hiding in bed like the child he really is (despite his outward propriety and bravado). I think note should be made that Fox understands absolutely nothing of anything the doctor says about electricity, conductance, and/or wormholes. He would also not know what a “sheathed wire” is, to him they would look like tiny flexible pipes – or else he would be wondering why anyone would put rubber over a metal wire, since in his time they are only use for metal working or jewelry. Also, in his time, glass was nowhere near as smooth and thin as it could be in a time or place where microwaves are possible. I’m also not sure Fox would call the man “Doctor” – maybe “Professor”, or just “Sir”?

But regardless, the plot moves along that we are compelled to read more. You should definitely change the part where the protagonist telling the story starts recounting mathematical odds. Instead of using a trillion-to-one – maybe use something less precise like “unfathomable odds” – I think 1 in 1 trillion just sounds too “made up” to be taken seriously in the story line.

I like the barrelfish – a nice touch to remind us we aren’t in Kansas. I also like the how the scene ends with a pompous gentleman and our protagonist sitting on a dingy dock, looking entirely out of place.

So all-in-all – another great read – nice addition – probably just needs another clear-minded run through to really clean up the descriptions and details.

Plot, I yield 9/10 – a few distractions like some unclear details, hinder a constant focus on the plot progression, but otherwise a great read.

Diction, I yield 9/10 – expert word choice, with a couple of exceptions – otherwise – just beautiful.

Prose, 8/10 – the style flows beautifully, and your strength of emotional descriptors is paramount. Just some more love is needed for the actual detailing of certain aspects of the world.

Overall – 9/10. Great chapter: loved it, absolutely eager for more.

[Rapterj]

I don't want to be rash with a review, so: finish it. As of right now, its awesome.

[Paradoxical]

so far, it's a good chapter. I like the scientist, but I think he could use a little more explanations (though I'm not sure if that's what you mean to do in the second part of this chapter..) I think Fox is my favorite character so far, too. :)