Hyde In Paris
1.
The salt spray from the choppy waters stung the pale cheeks of the painfully thin and haggard gentleman who stood hunched over the railing of the cargo ship powering through the English Channel on its way to France. His pale green eyes searched the waves for any sign of land in the distance, but his stormy face betrayed the fact that his mind was troubled.
The calls of seabirds had long since ceased the day before, so the man assumed that London was far behind them. He relaxed his shoulders and let out a deep sigh. The air was so clear, a miraculous change from the smoggy atmosphere of England's capital. Nonetheless, the man allowed himself a measure of sadness at leaving his home. It would be quite sometime before he could return, if he ever could.
He wrapped his bony arms around himself as the cool sea breeze stirred around him. He was dressed in clothes that were obviously too big for him, but recently he had lost a considerable amount of weight. He closed his eyes and shuddered inwardly. A vague chill of fear caressed his spine as he thought about the consequences of this. It would definitely make it more difficult in the days ahead. Still, he was going to Paris, where no-one knew or cared who he was. He would be able to carve out a new life for himself and leave behind the ugly events that had occurred in London.
He ran a long-fingered hand through his matted, lank dark hair that curved over the back of his head and ended just below his small ears. It had been quiet... no disconcerting thoughts for nearly two weeks now. Perhaps the arsenic formula had worked. He shuddered at the thought. It had been risky, lacing the last of the HJ7 with a lethal dosage of arsenic, but it was a calculated risk he had been forced to take. Things had been getting out of hand and he had needed a quick way of eliminating any inconvenient questions and a faked death was the perfect way out.
So here he was, on his way to Paris, the City of Light. He had a rudimentary hold on the language, but he was hoping that this would not impede his journey too much. With the sun high overhead now, he heard a sharp whistle from the crow's nest.
“Land, ho!”
Shielding his eyes, the man looked to the horizon. At the very edge of the dark blue strip that marked sea from sky, he noticed a lining of dark brown. He smiled wanly at the welcome sight of France. It was cold comfort to a man who was leaving all he knew and and held dear.
The elderly captain came on deck, causing the scurrying crew to stop their duties momentarily to salute their superior. After being waved back to work, the old man took a place at the railing nearby. He spoke only staccato English, but was brave enough to attempt conversation.
“Monsieur... Jekyll. The boat will arrive in Calais later tonight. I might suggest a spell in your cabin before you continue your journey. You will be continuing on to Paris, oui?”
“Oui, monsieur. I intend to set up a medical practice there.”
Both men were silent for a moment. Henry Jekyll, a little mortified to be identified so readily out in the open, studied the old captain. He was a tiny, wiry man of approximately five foot seven with salt and pepper hair cut just below his ears, skin brown as a walnut, intensely sharp blue eyes and a straight back. His captain's uniform told the story of a man who had spent his days working hard alongside his crew but still had the pride in his station to keep his uniform looking clean. The captain looked pityingly at Jekyll. “Pardon, monsieur, but you appear ill at ease. Is there something troubling you?”
Jekyll shook his head gently. “No, monsieur. I fear I am no seaman. This crossing has been rather turbulent for me.”
The Captain sensed the double-meaning behind this statement. “You are not happy to be in France, monsieur?”
“Captain, I'm leaving my home and the people I love. I doubt that I will be happy for a while... at least until I am settled here.”
“Ah, but France, she welcomes you with open arms! Do not be afraid, monsieur. You will prosper, I know this.”
With that, the captain returned to his post. Henry leaned on the railing heavily, ignoring the pounding headache that was causing his skull to throb. He decided to take the Captain up on the offer and disappeared below deck to his tiny cabin. Currently, he was sharing with three other crew members and slept in a scratchy Hessian hammock strung between two bunks. Jekyll tumbled in and breathed deeply, pressing a hand to his forehead. The wind had picked up outside and the waves that resulted from this were tossing the boat to and fro, causing his stomach to turn over.
It wasn't long before Jekyll had plunged himself into a deep sleep to escape the ill feelings of being awake. Unfortunately for him, his dreams were as tumultuous as if he were standing on deck, if not more so. In his mind's eye, he stood face to face with... who was this monster? The cage, a solid iron structure, held it back, but the creature glared at him from the inside.
You... made... me... this... way...
Compelled by some unseen force, Jekyll moved slowly, woodenly, forward, like a puppet on strings. The animal stalked back and forth agitatedly in the moving shadows. Jekyll stared.
“Who are you? What are you?”
You... made.. me.. this... way...
He was nearly at the bars now. The monster was clearer now, not identifiable, but more easily seen. It was humanoid, but much larger. Bulky muscles the colour and texture of wax bulged from its arms and legs; its heavy torso broad, slick with sweat and covered with dark hair. It raised its head and Jekyll gasped. A pair of green eyes glittered maliciously back at him. He tried to run backwards, but he was glued to the spot in fear. The animal lunged at the bars, causing the cage to shake dangerously.
You... made... me... this... way...
“I... I thought you were dead! I can't feel you! This isn't you! You don't look like this! You never did! How could I have made you this way? Tell me!”
A book appeared at Henry's feet. A strange wind blew it open and ruffled the pages, until it stopped nearly a third of the way through it. He bent down to pick the tome up and began to read aloud.
“'In ancient cultures, it has been known that many toxic compounds that chemists use today in moderation or never were used to increase energy. A prime example of this horrific procedure is evident in the Incas' use of the element arsenic. It was included in recipes to increase the vigour of the consumer, something that took a great deal of trial and error.'”
Henry looked up from the book and stared in terror at the creature grinning evilly at him from behind the bars.
You... made... me.. this... way...
“This... this is what the arsenic did to you?” Jekyll cried, dropping the book and grasping the bars in shock. The caged animal roared in response and backed away. Henry looked at his left hand and gasped. The bars were corroding away under his touch, as if his hand were coated in concentrated acid. He pulled away and saw the imprint of his touch burnt into the bars. A cold shiver ran down his spine. One good rush and the monster could free itself from its prison...
“NO!”
The ship hit a large wave and turned Jekyll out of his hammock, slamming him to the water-logged timber floor. He dry-heaved and grabbed one of the bunks for support as the boat bucked and listed. Grabbing his head, Henry held his breath. Not a whisper of a thought entered his mind. It was so quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief, checking himself. There was no possibility of Hyde returning. He had destroyed the remaining formula, after all. The arsenic-laced concoction had worked its magic on his dark side, which no longer troubled him in waking hours.
Then what was that dream? Just his fears manifest? Jekyll sat down on the bunk he had snatched at, dragging his palm down over his eyes. So much for a peaceful sleep. He stared blankly out of the porthole to his right. The sun was sinking and the sky was turning a deep shade of purple, giving him the impression that his afternoon nap had covered several hours.
Henry made his way back on deck to see the sun disappear over the horizon. As he passed by a particularly ancient crew member, the wizened old man cowered away from him and gibbered in provincial French. The doctor stared at him in shock for a moment as the sea-dog scratched at his own wrinkled face and pointed at Jekyll. Turning slowly away, Henry caught a glimpse of himself in a small puddle of water on the deck in the dying light.
Even at his formidable height of almost six feet, he looked taller. He appeared to have filled out slightly across the shoulders and torso in the short time that he had slept. His normally pale eyes were almost aglow in the twilight and the shadows on his face outlined a sharper-set jaw than he was accustomed to seeing in the glass as he shaved. Jekyll gasped and blinked. The boat listed to port and the puddle shivered. When the water settled again, Henry saw the face he was used to seeing in the mirror.
He looked over at the old sailor, who seemed to be trying to construct a barricade of cargo boxes between himself and the doctor. Henry plunged his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a small flask of medicinal brandy that he kept handy for emergencies. He took a quick swig of the liquor, to restore his spirits. The alcohol spread through his body, warming his veins from the inside. He peered inside the bottle, noticing a sharp aftertaste. A sharp sniff simply told him that perhaps some salt water had contaminated the drink. Henry returned the flask to his pocket and continued his stroll around the ship, passing by a number of caged chickens in the cargo area. But there appeared to be something very wrong. The fowls were throwing themselves at the mesh covering the framework of the cages, as if they were desperate to escape. Closest to him, a red-crested cockerel suddenly screamed and began to bash its head repeated against the bars, causing the doctor to jump.
A young crew member, a boy of no more than about seventeen, rushed from his post to try and quiet the cargo. Jekyll recognised him as an Englishman who had been hired on the docks when he himself had bartered passage to France. “They seem a little agitated tonight, don't they?”
The deckhand yanked on some ropes to make sure the chickens were secure. “No more than usual, sir. This is my third voyage to France and I've seen birds get mighty stressed on long and rough trips, if you please, sir.”
“What's your name, son?”
The young man pushed a fallen lock of his wavy brown hair away from his face. “Morgrim, sir. Althabert Morgrim. Me mates just call me Al. You can, too, sir.”
“Well, Al, I'm Doctor Henry Jekyll. In the spirit of friendship, you may call me Henry.”
The boy's bright blue eyes sparkled in the dying light as he smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. There's not many English folk traveling to Calais, let alone on a cargo ship such as this. What brings you out here?”
Henry sat down next to the squawking chickens and sighed, wiping his brow free of perspiration. “Do you believe that a man can out-run his past?”
Al sat with his new comrade and pondered the question thoughtfully. “Well... 'tis only a poor man's guessing here, but I think you take the past with you wherever you go. The trick is, if you'll pardon my honesty here, to make your peace with the past events. You can't change them, but you can change the future. Everything in life is a choice, since the good Lord gave us all free will. See, we can choose to sin, right? But if we choose to sin, we know there'll be Hell to pay at the end of it. But if we choose not to sin, we get a good reward.”
“So there is no changing the past... and no good can come of it.”
“No so, comrade. The Good Book tells us that if we say we're sorry and try to do better next time we're in that kind of situation, then we're sure to be forgiven, right as right.”
Jekyll smiled warmly, if a little cynically, at the simple beliefs of the ship-hand. “What about you, Morgrim? What are you planning to do once we arrive in Calais?”
Al straightened his back and smiled proudly. “I'm going to find some new employment. I've been putting some aside, see, to buy some land and start a farm back home. Can't be having a family without a place to raise and care for it.”
“You have a special lady in your life then? Congratulations,” Henry said politely. Al responded with a short bark of a laugh.
“Me, Dr. Jekyll? No, sir. No, there are things to do first! First, I have to have a place for the lady to reside and a means to care for her. That's all these women want in life, sir, a place to call him and a man to put food on the table. Once that's taken care of, I'll be able to take my pick of London's finest!”
“Not a French girl, then?”
“No, sir. Me mum always said to marry a good English girl who knows her manners and goes to church every Sunday, regular. So that's what I plan to do.”
Henry laughed heartily, his spirit lightened for the first time that day. He clapped the young man on the back. “Well, how about this, then. I'll need a manservant to come with me to Paris to establish my medical practice there. I am of no poor wealth and can afford to pay your wages in either of our two fine nations' currency. You'll be expected to fetch pharmaceutical chemical for me and to help out around the house. But you will be provided with lodgings and one afternoon off a week. Does that sound like a reasonable offer?”
Al grinned broadly. “Sounds too good to be true, Dr Jekyll!”
Henry patted his shoulder. “I assure you, it is a bona fide offer. I'll even come home with you to see your farm when you have enough to set yourself up.”
The young man leaped to his feet in excitement. “Really, sir? That would be extraordinary!”
The doctor climbed to his feet. “There are certain expectations. Can you read and write, Morgrim?”
“Yes sir. Was taught at Sunday School, sir.”
“How good is your French, then?”
“It's passable, sir. This is the second French boat I've worked on and the last was a longer trip, so I learned the language well enough.”
“You have a good ear, then. How's your memory?”
“Like a photograph, sir. There's not a lot I forget.”
“Excellent. Then, when we dock at Calais, after you are released from your duties, seek me out and we will make our way to Paris together.”
A low whistle from the bow of the ship caught Al's attention. He nodded. “I'm needed at my post, sir, but I will find you when we dock. It's very kind of you, sir. I won't let you down.”
A frantic shout from the same direction as the whistle and Al was off and away to help. Jekyll watched the young man leave, plunging himself into ponderous thought. He had dismissed his loyal staff in England a while ago and was loathe to depend on anyone at the present time. But did he really have a choice? There were so many things that he couldn't do on his own. The boy seemed eager and genuinely good, which would make him an excellent worker. More than anything, Henry realised, he himself needed a friend. He had broken contact with all those whom he once counted in his close circle. Althabert was an amenable lad with an even temperament and a strong back. He would be useful as both a friend and an employee. Pleased with his new acquaintance, Jekyll returned below deck to attempt a few more hours sleep, though it was some time before he fell into the arms of his dreams, thanks mainly to the cacophony of the birds on deck.
In the early hours of the following morning, he was awoken by the low calls of the crew as the cargo ship docked in Calais. Jekyll searched under one of the lower bunks and dragged out his only baggage: a battered treated leather trunk that held his most important papers and items that he could not bear to part with. He felt the boat bump against the dock and hauled the heavy trunk up on deck. The bright sun of the morning hurt the doctor's eyes and he had to shield them with his left hand as he stared out over the harbour.
Even at this early hour, the port was a hive of activity. Fishing boats were unloading the night's catch and other cargo ships were delivering their goods. Even the vessel he stood upon was alive with movement; deckhands scurried to and fro like striped ants, carting loads that were much too large for them and ensuring some of the larger containers were securely transported to the docks. As he passed by the Captain (who waited at the side of the gangplank to oversee the commotion), several of the crew members shied away from him in fear. Henry looked at them, puzzled. His gaze traveled over their heads to where the chickens had been kept and he let out a horrified gasp.
The cages were torn open, like a knife through the top of a can. Each and every chicken lay in its cage with their throats cut, the blood dripping from the gaping wounds in their necks in an ugly cascade of thick, sticky, glutinous dark red sludge. Henry hurried down the plank as fast as he could, the trunk bouncing heavily behind him, causing the wood to flex slightly. Once back on solid ground, Jekyll looked around in despair. On French soil he was, to say the least, completely and utterly lost.
“Sir? Over here, sir!”
Henry turned his head in the direction of the cheerful voice. Althabert stood some yards away, waving his new employer over to where he was accompanied by a man of slight build and a trustworthy face. Upon arrival, the doctor was quickly introduced to Jacques, who was willing to sell them his mare and coach for a reasonable price. Jacques was to go to England with his family that day and needed the money to help him set up a home in London. A considerable sum changed hands and the Frenchman pointed out the black horse and coach that stood a good distance behind him on one of the main roads to Paris.
Althabert enthusiastically snatched up Jekyll's trunk and lugged it to their recently acquired transportation. He hauled it atop the coach and opened the rather shabby door and bowed politely and just a little extravagantly.
“Your chariot awaits, my lord,” he said jokingly. Jekyll offered him a small smile and climbed in. The coach had a musty smell about it, like it had rarely been used. His manservant leaped into the driver's seat, picked up the flimsy whip and flicked the horse's haunches gently with it, clicking his tongue. The strong mare jumped into a quick trot, setting a good pace for their predetermined destination. Althabert leaned back in the seat, a broad smile on his face. He was extremely pleased with his luck. On the boat, he hadn't even been sure that he would have a way home from France and now it seemed he had fallen on his feet. It was like his mother had always told him, Put your faith in the Good Lord, my boy. He will never let you down. Now, here he was, manservant to a doctor! Althabert smiled fondly at the mare, whom he had decided to call Christine. She had bright, keen and intelligent eyes, kept a good, constant speed and had the glossy coat of a horse well cared for.
“Well, girl, looks like you and me have struck it lucky,” he whispered. Christine's ears flicked back, as if she had heard his words, as she yanked her head down on the bridle. Inside the rattling coach, Henry was beginning to feel a little sick from hunger. He had eaten nothing since the previous morning's breakfast, thanks largely to his sea-sickness. Sticking his head through the window, he called up to Althabert.
“Morgrim! Can you find us an establishment to have some breakfast? I'm famished!”
Althabert grinned and nodded. “Happy to, sir. I believe I see an inn a little farther up the road. Would that suit?”
“So long as they serve edible food, Al, I'm not entirely sure I care. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning.”
Althabert laughed heartily. “Not a sea-faring man, are you, Doctor?”
“Quite obviously not. I've never had to make the crossing before.”
“Never fear, sir. I'm sure you'll find your sea-legs soon enough.”
“God in heaven, we aren't going on more boats, are we?!”
His driver chuckled. “Not yet, sir. But when we go back to England, I'm sure you will fare better. Perhaps, if your practice prospers, you will have enough to purchase your own ship and crew?”
Henry smiled sadly at the young man's misplaced enthusiasm. Even an established doctor with wealthy clients would find it difficult to purchase a comfortable vessel. “We'll see, Morgrim, we'll see.”
They soon came upon the tavern that Althabert had seen, a ramshackle place with a battered sign that read Taureau et Stalle, which Henry was assured to translate into the inn's name, the Bull and Stall. While Althabert made sure that Christine was given water, Henry entered ahead and ordered food for them both. Completing their morning's ablutions before their fare was served, the two men sat down to a hearty breakfast. Jekyll ate like a man possessed, shoveling the toast and eggs down his throat as though the hordes of hell were after his breakfast. Althabert watched him in fascination.
“Sir? You may want to slow down a bit. You'll get awful heartburn if you keep that speed up.”
Henry paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and grinned embarrassedly. “I apologise. I'm simply ravenous this morning and I can't think for the life of me why.”
“Well, you did say that you hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.”
“That is so, but for all accounts, Althabert, I shouldn't be this hungry, since I was sea-sick and not merely fasting. It's as if I've done a day's physical labour while I slept.”
The fork moved quickly to his mouth and another morsel of food was thoroughly masticated and swallowed, while the utensil that had once carried it dipped again to reload. Althabert simply shrugged and returned to his own plate. “It was strange about those chickens, though.”
Henry paused in his culinary crusade to shoot his manservant a dark look. “Strange?”
Al nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of toast. “Must have been a storm last night. I've never seen fowls die like that before. Every single one, dead in cages with the tops ripped off. Yet the ropes never moved. Strange.”
The doctor looked at his near-empty plate and laid down his cutlery, pushing the dish aside. He felt an icy drop of horror settle in his stomach. “Yes, strange.”
Once the pair had finished with their meal, they returned to the carriage outside. Christine looked all the better for her rest and they restarted their journey to Paris. Inside the coach, Jekyll sat alone with his horror. After the dream he had experienced during his afternoon siesta, was it possible that Hyde was awake once more?
Jekyll reached inside his overcoat and retrieved a small, leather-bound journal and a tightly capped fountain pen. He pulled the top off with his teeth, flipped the book open to a fresh page and began to write.
13th June, 1885
I continue to document my health and well-being since I consumed the arsenic-laced formula HJ7. While in the two weeks that have followed since that fateful day my mind has been calm and untroubled, yesterday I experienced what can only be described as a vivid and horrifying nightmare.
I have deduced from this singular occurrence that Edward Hyde is not dead, as I previously imagined. Rather, the arsenic in the revised formula that should have had a toxic effect has served to increase his potency. While this is alarming, I believe that Hyde does not know his own strength yet. He seems to believe that the poison in the elixir has caged him inside my head, that I am the one holding him in... when I believe the real truth is that he has not fully realised his potential.
His physical form has altered, another effect of the formula. He is larger and his muscle structure is more pronounced. I believe he is not the evil-looking dwarf he once was, but now a monster of frightening proportions. What this means for the people of Paris, I shudder to think.
There are times when I think that perhaps I should simply consume the level of arsenic I added to the formula myself. But I fear death – something I know that is perfectly rational, yet extremely absurd in a medical doctor. If I cut off Hyde's murderous access to this world, I can end so much suffering. But I am sorely afraid of dying, simply because I do not have the faith to believe that there is life after death.
I have befriended a young Englishman, one Althabert Morgrim. It is a strange name for a young man born in the British Isles. I shall make a note to inquire its origins the next time we stop for a rest. I have taken him into my employ, as I have been friendless for quite a time now and do not wish to continue in that lonely existence. I fear for the boy's safety, but he is a strapping lad and at least stand a measure of a chance should Hyde be released and turn violent against him.
The following diagrams depict the way Hyde presented himself to me in the nightmare. Whether this will actually be his physical form, I cannot say. All I know now is that it isn't a question of if Hyde will return to wreak his particularly malevolent kind of chaos upon the world.
It is a question of when.
Jekyll paused in his notes and looked blankly out of the window as the countryside rattled by. Althabert was whistling a cheery tune to pass the time and the sun was well into its ascent into the sky. It was a beautiful day, but his heart lay in the grip of a terrible darkness. He returned his attentions to the journal, in which he began to draw in detail the visions he had encountered of Hyde.
Time passed quickly after that, with the pair stopping for lunch and a rest some time in the late afternoon. Henry completed his journalistic entries for the day and had retrieved an anatomical text from his trunk during the break in their travels. The tome specialised in gross deformities of the human skeleton and muscular system and he spent a great deal of time comparing his notes to the images present in the book. While Hyde's self-representation wasn't unknown, many of the cases in the book held a footnote that declared that the subject in question had not survived past a young age, many dying before their thirties.
Jekyll reached into his pocket and solicited the use of a small glass he used for shaving while abroad. He peered at his own reflection. Since the changes had taken place, he had appeared younger; a man of forty, perhaps, rather than his formidable half century. The body fat he had laboriously spent a lifetime acquiring to his large frame had all but disappeared, leaving behind a lean and muscular body that was far more limber than he had previously been.
Henry closed the book, sighed, closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. He had hoped that the drastically altered formula would have been able to dispose of Edward Hyde once and for all. For a while, he had been sure that it had. But now...
He opened his eyes. The sun was descending to the horizon and the dying light of the afternoon had summoned the loud sound of grasshoppers in the summer fields. Their high-pitched song rang out over the road and caused his ears to ring. Jekyll yawned and stretched as the coach shuddered to a halt. Curious as to why they had stopped, Henry opened the carriage door and stepped out onto the dirt road.
“Althabert, what's wrong? Why aren't we moving?”
His driver pointed ahead. “We're here, sir. Paris. The City of Light.”
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