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I awoke from a deep slumber to the sound of a woman singing accompanied by the smell of food. On becoming fully aware I realized the singer was Seonaid and the scent of food- a trolly groaning under the weight of enough to feed a dozen men.
It was full dark and Seonaid informed me, in that rolling dialect, that I had 'slept around the clock'. She proceeded to lift the lids from the tureens and plated up spoonsful of kedgeree, chicken livers and ham accompanied by crumpets and strong tea. She bade me stay in bed and never in my life have I welcomed food and drink as I did then. I enquired of her mistress and she replied that she had "not seen hair nor hide of her since she come home".
Do not think me a lazy glutton, but sleep, food and drink are a necessity for the full function of mind and body and, after such a glorious repast, I saw to my ablutions, dressed and went in search of Miss. Gerehardt. I descended the stairs and there, in a corner of the main hall, was the skeleton. To say I was taken aback would be an insult to anyone's intelligence- I was staggered, rooted to the spot, mouth agape- what other idioms can I use to describe my disbelief at what my eyes clearly told me stood before me?
My senses returned and I record this not as fancy nor exaggeration, but as plain fact. The specimen stood in the hall, its height exceeding all known limits, its proportions grotesque yet undeniably real. I confess my faculties faltered; I clutched the bannister rail for fear my knees would give way. The electric lights threw monstrous shadows across the floor, and I could scarce reconcile the silent bones with the laws of anatomy I had studied all my life.
I approached with caution, slow step by slow step, as if I somehow expected it to confront me. The femur alone was near twice the length of my own arm, its cortical wall thick beyond any human measure. The axial support- vertebrae stacked like masonry blocks- seemed a structure devised for a creature of impossible weight. No pathology, no gigantism known to medicine could account for such symmetry. This was not deformity, but design.
The ribcage arched like the vault of a cathedral, enclosing a cavity that must have housed lungs of extraordinary capacity. The skull, though human in contour, bore sutures fused in patterns unfamiliar to me, and the mandible was broad enough to suggest a voice that could shake rafters. I bent close, candle in hand, and saw in the bone’s very texture a density that defied the Haversian systems I had examined in countless slides. It was as though the very fabric of the skeleton had been woven differently. I confess, gentlemen, that I was indeed staggered. My training urged me to measure, to catalogue, to sketch- but my hand trembled. I could not decide whether I stood before a relic of divine interference or a monstrous aberration of nature. Miss Gerehardt, appearing suddenly from the shadows, spoke only this: “You see now why secrecy is paramount, Doctor?. The Society will claim it, but it is not theirs.” Gerehardt’s sudden appearance from the shadows was as unsettling as the giant before me.
It is mine... and now, by virtue of what you carry,” this reference to the immersion microscope in my bag, “it is also ours.” My initial shock now gave way to a cold, professional anger. “Professor Gerehardt, this… specimen defies all known laws! It is an absurdity! The Society will not just claim it; they will demand to know why you have kept silent on a discovery that could well overturn two hundred years of anatomical science! Where is your laboratory? We must get to work immediately.”
She did not lead me into some conventional dissecting room, she moved toward a heavy, iron-clad door at the rear of the hall, which she opened to reveal not a room, but a descent into the earth. The air that drifted up was warm and dry, smelling faintly of ozone and heated metal, a stark contrast to the old, musty scent of the hall. Descending the flight of well-worn stone steps we emerged into a space that was not a laboratory, but a forge of knowledge. It was vast and circular, excavated directly into the bedrock beneath the house. The walls were lined with copper piping and various machines hissed and gurgled as they forced heated water through the pipes. Gerehardt's 'thermal heating system'.
In a quiet, well-lit alcove, a heavy oak table was cleared, waiting. “There,” Gerehardt said, gesturing to the table. “Your microscope will sit there. You have the sliver of femur; you have the specialized lenses. I want you to prove that what you glimpsed in the tavern. Show me the Morphological Impossibility at the cellular level. Show me why the Society must never be allowed to touch this artifact.” I set my bag down. My hands, which had trembled before the full skeleton, were now steady. Here, surrounded by her ambition, I could finally be a scientist again. “Miss Gerehardt,” I murmured, unstrapping the leather casing of my microscope. “I will show you the truth of the Haversian systems. But be warned: once seen, this truth cannot be undone.”
"That Doctor, is my hope."
I assembled the instrument with deliberate care, each brass joint clicking into place, each lens polished until it caught the lamplight. Gerehardt stood by, silent, her eyes fixed upon me. The femur slice, thin as parchment yet dense as iron, was placed upon the stage. I adjusted the immersion lens, the oil glistening like amber. My breath caught as the field resolved: not the familiar concentric rings of Haversian canals, but a lattice- interwoven, crystalline, as though bone had been forged rather than grown. Each channel was impossibly regular, geometric, a structure no human physiology could sustain. It was not pathology; it was architecture.
“Do you see?” Gerehardt whispered, her voice close to my ear, trembling with triumph. “I see,” I replied, my own voice low, “a morphology that denies nature. This is not aberration- it is intention. Whoever, whatever fashioned this, did so with purpose.” The microscope’s lamp flickered, and for a moment the lattice seemed to shimmer, as though alive. I recoiled, blinking, uncertain whether it was a trick of light or some deeper truth. Gerehardt leaned closer. “Now you understand, Doctor. The Society seeks dominion, but this… this belongs to us and to those who dare to see. The skeleton is the fact; your microscope is the proof.”