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Chapter 5
A tragedy occurred post haste in relation to the first engagement of The Pandlebrook song, being as it was, an extraordinary and sophisticated tale. The levity of its structure transpired to foreground the death of one lady (not of ill-repute but not of good standing either), committed most heinously with leather gloves and a frayed curtain rope. The testimonies of those involved paint a dark picture of the affair, or affairs, that proceeded to bemuse the walls. The lady could not, for want of crying, leave the establishment. Lost, as she was, in the caverns of her own demise. Onlookers attempted to prevent her from escalating further into a hysteria, but to no avail. Grabbing what she could of her wits and running to the door, it was the unfortunate arrival of the late Mr Cunningham that caused such a speakless accident. In her flight, the lady made her way forcefully through Mr Cunningham, who, at that time had been carrying in his back pocket a glass smoking pipe tar-stained with resin. The deceased had only been that day supposing the venture to be of a difficult social nature, but in retrospect, he had thought it necessary to at least give it a go. And so, goes the events to the best of those who were in attendance, none had spoken of frequenting the place again and all were in agreement that it was a tragic accident in lieu of murder.
Follows, as such, the current events of the Paradoxia Grande.
A slumping of officers issued, this way and that, from the revolving doors. On the way to the elevator, their minds painted the Grande’s walls with the recently deceased. A grim final farewell as the man’s body was splayed fly-eyed on the impressive stereotomy, shifting, morphing, and moving with each mind encountering it. Lost in contemplation, the butler stood in his fine tailored attire, charcoal with smoke-grey lapels. His nonchalance cut down the woeful atmosphere as he turned his merry facade to greet the detective in charge.
“Good day detective.”
“Galileo Rook, the butler, isn’t it?” The detective curtly asked. Far from glamourised by the walls the detective seemed intent on spending as little time in the hotel as possible.
“I prefer concierge.” Galileo said through a knowing smile.
Bringing out a Dictaphone the detective looked up at Galileo, distracted slightly by his Dictaphone, he rested it on the desk and weighed up the butler. “Just tell me what you know and then we can do this properly down the station.”
Leaning forwards. “I did not witness the incident myself but I can have Cynthia load up the footage from the internal cameras if you like?”
Pausing for a moment to see Galileo right-side up, the detective then motioned to all the unfortunate souls dead on the walls, their blood pooling from beneath the open cavity. “Can you turn them off please? It’s bad for morale.” A sentiment made more poignant by the influx of shades which solemnly shadowed, devoid of any unified focus, each officer who was unfortunate enough to have acquired one. Smiling black toothless grins.
“No can do I’m afraid. The projectors I can turn off but then we’ll need torches since they’re what lights the place.”
“Was it always like this?”
“Always. In fairness to them the designers didn’t really envision a need for lights, I means there’s emergency lighting but it’s not really good for investigating in I suppose. All a little dim”.Gallileo looked around the room for a brief moment before continuing “Surprising just how much misery we walk round with. Least outside it doesn’t stare you in the face.”
“So, about the footage”
“Cynthia tells me it is pretty straight forward. I’ll not watch it since I have to live here, but, I can have her burn it to disc.”
“Makes you wonder about the kind of idiots who’d try and set up a murder thing here. Poor girl, she’ll get diminished capacity if anything.” He modified his tone to quandary, musing on the future of paperwork.
“It wasn’t my place to judge their reasons for coming. I merely keep the doors open.”
“About that. Why are you the only employee here? Do you even get paid?” The quandary passed from one line to another, still harmless and disarming.
“Of course, I do. The hotel receives funding for academic research. Very rare that any academics turn up though. They tend to write about it from their own homes rather than risk coming here to see it first-hand”. He remembered a guy, Quincy or something, he seemed more resilient but he went somewhere and hadn’t been back for…Gallileo tilted his head in remembering but reaching no immediate conclusion turned back to the detective. The detective had said something during this reverie. Galileo had ‘heard’ every word but had observed none of their meaning. A habitually produced a smile jaunted the slight wrinkles on his cheekwings. Abruptly a bounce rose in his aura and soon, most agitatedly, a contented embellishment.
Enquiringly. “So, you are crazy?”, the detective felt it necessary to repeat his question since he had been met with a rather disturbingly blank expression followed by a smile.
“I was always an optimist sir. The bad thoughts I have are only ever a moment from forgotten. Best not to dwell on sad things. Doctor says my mind is chronically predisposed to nonchalance, nothing matters to me. I disagree because it’s completely contrary to my aims but the doctor says I’m crazy, holding onto things that are not real and ignoring the reality around me. Delusional as it is. Quite, quite crazy. But not dangerous crazy. More of a …piteous crazy sir. A picturesque crazy, romantic and gothic. A real sensationalist crazy but never a dangerous crazy.”
“And your name again sir?”
Leaning forwards. “Galileo, Galileo Rook. That’s like the chess piece, no ‘e’.” Returning upright somewhat satisfied.
Looking around the walls the detective shuddered a notion. Turning back to the butler, who was idling a glance at the Dictaphone, the detective stated bluntly. “Well Galileo I’d be expecting an upcoming law suit. There’s always people after money.”
“Not to worry, the hotel is beyond responsibility for the actions patrons make.”
“Seems prudent.”
“All the spousal murders that went on here the first few weeks. Made a lot of sense to the owners at the time to swing things their way in court. A few papers later and now it’s your crazy that kills, not the hotel making it happen. That’s the rule.” Galileo upraised his hands level with his chest, a hand-turn away from hieroglyphics.
“Should I be concerned about you killing?”
The utter contemptable thought was dismissively tutted and shooed to the door before Galileo carried on in an explanatory fashion.
“My crazy is not in the least interested in killing sir, quite the opposite. It is the creating of life which makes me crazy sir. Every single day I work, when free, on a project to recreate my family just as I remember them. Two years now and I only just started work on the pears if you can imagine such a thing.” A collection of pears floated by the two men on the desk top.
“But they’re only ever pictures on a wall. Why bother?” A brief purveyance drew in the distance of everything. Close, but infinitely far.
“Well sir, not that people tend to care, but the Paradoxia is capable of a lot more than people ever gave her credit. Cynthia and I have managed to create three dimensional holograms that can be seen as well, if you didn’t just notice the pears.” Galileo instigates a gesture from which oddly flat pears rolled indiscriminately to the laws of physics. Finding their source in his sleeve the butler appeared grandly as a magister. “We’re a long way from touch or taste but I am sure those will come in time. It is all a matter of detail. If we can replicate an item down to its very molecular structure, then I am sure we can make it happen.”
“You’re making things real?”
“Like Willy Wonka, but with life and not chocolate. Also, with a computer and not Umpalumpa. And I don’t have a boat. Or a glass elevator. In fact, I’m only very slightly like Willy Wonka sir.” Losing himself for a moment Galileo returned his focus and asked. “Would you be wanting a statement from me then detective?”
“No, I think the tape and eye-witness testimonies’ll do.”
“Very good then sir”. Gallileo nodded amicably.
Feeling there were still things that needed to be asked the detective could not help but wonder about the man before him.
“Were you raised like this?”
“Whatever do you mean sir?”
“The butlering, sir this and sir that?”
“Not at all sir, my mother had a great aptitude for redding the cheeks of seamen with her foul tongue. But I, if anything, am completely a methodist at heart.”
“Methodist?”
“An actor sir, as you act the part of a detective and make yourself think as you think a detective does, so do I do the same with a concierge. I merely act how I think I should. It has its own rewards. A butler aesthetic is not the prestige of a master but the honour of a servant. Master and slave, each with their own perception sir. Best to be the happy slave than the sorrowful master. We are all slaves to something after all.” Galileo exhaled with profundity.
Drawing eyebrows furl. “That’s not what Methodists are; you know it’s a religion? You’re talking about method acting.”
“That makes sense, I am quite often predisposed to simply guessing how things work.” Galileo announced unabashedly. “Same with new words I find written down and have to guess how they sound.”
“Yes, well.”
“Will there be anything more sir?”
“No, not for now, Mr Rook”
The detective moved slowly towards the door.
“One more thing.” The detective said, back turned and in-turning.
Galileo laughed, a wide grin spread over his salubrious face warming a vibrant bounce to the wall’s complexion.
“That is almost too ironic sir”
“What do you mean?”
The Dictaphone remained laying on the table as the detective moved back to collect it.
“Oh, just a butler joke sir. There is always one more thing.” He shook his head gently with a pretentious giggle welling up inside him.
“We’ll be sending someone to clean the mess up for you, health and safety team please support them as best you can.”
“But of course, sir. Toast and tea on the ready sir”
“And Galileo…I’ll be seeing you.”
“Very ominous sir, great delivery.”
“Patronising son of a bitch.”
The walls dimmed greatly.
Follows, as such, the current events of the Paradoxia Grande.
A slumping of officers issued, this way and that, from the revolving doors. On the way to the elevator, their minds painted the Grande’s walls with the recently deceased. A grim final farewell as the man’s body was splayed fly-eyed on the impressive stereotomy, shifting, morphing, and moving with each mind encountering it. Lost in contemplation, the butler stood in his fine tailored attire, charcoal with smoke-grey lapels. His nonchalance cut down the woeful atmosphere as he turned his merry facade to greet the detective in charge.
“Good day detective.”
“Galileo Rook, the butler, isn’t it?” The detective curtly asked. Far from glamourised by the walls the detective seemed intent on spending as little time in the hotel as possible.
“I prefer concierge.” Galileo said through a knowing smile.
Bringing out a Dictaphone the detective looked up at Galileo, distracted slightly by his Dictaphone, he rested it on the desk and weighed up the butler. “Just tell me what you know and then we can do this properly down the station.”
Leaning forwards. “I did not witness the incident myself but I can have Cynthia load up the footage from the internal cameras if you like?”
Pausing for a moment to see Galileo right-side up, the detective then motioned to all the unfortunate souls dead on the walls, their blood pooling from beneath the open cavity. “Can you turn them off please? It’s bad for morale.” A sentiment made more poignant by the influx of shades which solemnly shadowed, devoid of any unified focus, each officer who was unfortunate enough to have acquired one. Smiling black toothless grins.
“No can do I’m afraid. The projectors I can turn off but then we’ll need torches since they’re what lights the place.”
“Was it always like this?”
“Always. In fairness to them the designers didn’t really envision a need for lights, I means there’s emergency lighting but it’s not really good for investigating in I suppose. All a little dim”.Gallileo looked around the room for a brief moment before continuing “Surprising just how much misery we walk round with. Least outside it doesn’t stare you in the face.”
“So, about the footage”
“Cynthia tells me it is pretty straight forward. I’ll not watch it since I have to live here, but, I can have her burn it to disc.”
“Makes you wonder about the kind of idiots who’d try and set up a murder thing here. Poor girl, she’ll get diminished capacity if anything.” He modified his tone to quandary, musing on the future of paperwork.
“It wasn’t my place to judge their reasons for coming. I merely keep the doors open.”
“About that. Why are you the only employee here? Do you even get paid?” The quandary passed from one line to another, still harmless and disarming.
“Of course, I do. The hotel receives funding for academic research. Very rare that any academics turn up though. They tend to write about it from their own homes rather than risk coming here to see it first-hand”. He remembered a guy, Quincy or something, he seemed more resilient but he went somewhere and hadn’t been back for…Gallileo tilted his head in remembering but reaching no immediate conclusion turned back to the detective. The detective had said something during this reverie. Galileo had ‘heard’ every word but had observed none of their meaning. A habitually produced a smile jaunted the slight wrinkles on his cheekwings. Abruptly a bounce rose in his aura and soon, most agitatedly, a contented embellishment.
Enquiringly. “So, you are crazy?”, the detective felt it necessary to repeat his question since he had been met with a rather disturbingly blank expression followed by a smile.
“I was always an optimist sir. The bad thoughts I have are only ever a moment from forgotten. Best not to dwell on sad things. Doctor says my mind is chronically predisposed to nonchalance, nothing matters to me. I disagree because it’s completely contrary to my aims but the doctor says I’m crazy, holding onto things that are not real and ignoring the reality around me. Delusional as it is. Quite, quite crazy. But not dangerous crazy. More of a …piteous crazy sir. A picturesque crazy, romantic and gothic. A real sensationalist crazy but never a dangerous crazy.”
“And your name again sir?”
Leaning forwards. “Galileo, Galileo Rook. That’s like the chess piece, no ‘e’.” Returning upright somewhat satisfied.
Looking around the walls the detective shuddered a notion. Turning back to the butler, who was idling a glance at the Dictaphone, the detective stated bluntly. “Well Galileo I’d be expecting an upcoming law suit. There’s always people after money.”
“Not to worry, the hotel is beyond responsibility for the actions patrons make.”
“Seems prudent.”
“All the spousal murders that went on here the first few weeks. Made a lot of sense to the owners at the time to swing things their way in court. A few papers later and now it’s your crazy that kills, not the hotel making it happen. That’s the rule.” Galileo upraised his hands level with his chest, a hand-turn away from hieroglyphics.
“Should I be concerned about you killing?”
The utter contemptable thought was dismissively tutted and shooed to the door before Galileo carried on in an explanatory fashion.
“My crazy is not in the least interested in killing sir, quite the opposite. It is the creating of life which makes me crazy sir. Every single day I work, when free, on a project to recreate my family just as I remember them. Two years now and I only just started work on the pears if you can imagine such a thing.” A collection of pears floated by the two men on the desk top.
“But they’re only ever pictures on a wall. Why bother?” A brief purveyance drew in the distance of everything. Close, but infinitely far.
“Well sir, not that people tend to care, but the Paradoxia is capable of a lot more than people ever gave her credit. Cynthia and I have managed to create three dimensional holograms that can be seen as well, if you didn’t just notice the pears.” Galileo instigates a gesture from which oddly flat pears rolled indiscriminately to the laws of physics. Finding their source in his sleeve the butler appeared grandly as a magister. “We’re a long way from touch or taste but I am sure those will come in time. It is all a matter of detail. If we can replicate an item down to its very molecular structure, then I am sure we can make it happen.”
“You’re making things real?”
“Like Willy Wonka, but with life and not chocolate. Also, with a computer and not Umpalumpa. And I don’t have a boat. Or a glass elevator. In fact, I’m only very slightly like Willy Wonka sir.” Losing himself for a moment Galileo returned his focus and asked. “Would you be wanting a statement from me then detective?”
“No, I think the tape and eye-witness testimonies’ll do.”
“Very good then sir”. Gallileo nodded amicably.
Feeling there were still things that needed to be asked the detective could not help but wonder about the man before him.
“Were you raised like this?”
“Whatever do you mean sir?”
“The butlering, sir this and sir that?”
“Not at all sir, my mother had a great aptitude for redding the cheeks of seamen with her foul tongue. But I, if anything, am completely a methodist at heart.”
“Methodist?”
“An actor sir, as you act the part of a detective and make yourself think as you think a detective does, so do I do the same with a concierge. I merely act how I think I should. It has its own rewards. A butler aesthetic is not the prestige of a master but the honour of a servant. Master and slave, each with their own perception sir. Best to be the happy slave than the sorrowful master. We are all slaves to something after all.” Galileo exhaled with profundity.
Drawing eyebrows furl. “That’s not what Methodists are; you know it’s a religion? You’re talking about method acting.”
“That makes sense, I am quite often predisposed to simply guessing how things work.” Galileo announced unabashedly. “Same with new words I find written down and have to guess how they sound.”
“Yes, well.”
“Will there be anything more sir?”
“No, not for now, Mr Rook”
The detective moved slowly towards the door.
“One more thing.” The detective said, back turned and in-turning.
Galileo laughed, a wide grin spread over his salubrious face warming a vibrant bounce to the wall’s complexion.
“That is almost too ironic sir”
“What do you mean?”
The Dictaphone remained laying on the table as the detective moved back to collect it.
“Oh, just a butler joke sir. There is always one more thing.” He shook his head gently with a pretentious giggle welling up inside him.
“We’ll be sending someone to clean the mess up for you, health and safety team please support them as best you can.”
“But of course, sir. Toast and tea on the ready sir”
“And Galileo…I’ll be seeing you.”
“Very ominous sir, great delivery.”
“Patronising son of a bitch.”
The walls dimmed greatly.