Chapter 101: Heavy Metal (Is The Law)

Chapter 101: Heavy Metal (Is The Law)

After reading the first sheet that Fahiz had handed over, Sharak handed ito to Crucis. "This is somewhat similar to the bookmark, I suppose. Since the war earlier, Adonais has been drawing on Hamlet often — a bit of a surprise, we would be expecting it to draw on, say, Tamburlaine, Coriolanus, but it has been insistent on its choice. Well, it must know what it's doing."

"This has quite a title," Crucis remarked after a quick glance.

"Well. It helpfully describes the scene in which the poem is set. I believe that the reader ought to appreciate this aid."

"I appreciate it, certainly."

Grisier joined Crucis in reading the sheet of paper.

POEM, ON DESECRATING THE GRAVE OF OPHELIA

"Acta est fabula, plaudite."

I was a beast--yes, yes, that I well knew--

a very devil. But I was mad--mad, I tell you,

for very rage, because this one

little slip of a girl, this meagre, half-starved,

brainless child had stirred my blood.

Why indeed? Fool, a man knows not himself! How

am I to know then, if you do not tell? But all

that I know, for being told: I am mad, and it is due to her.

Her father, even he, wisely told me this, and to his

koan I have faithfully been true, so you see.

But she was a foolish young girl, devoted

to her imbecilic father, most drab in dress

and appearance, not really impressive in

any way, save for her emotive hysteria, which

admittedly verged on madness in perpetuum.

Her blanched dress have I often seen in

derangement due to tears shed over me.

But it was not she who was mad, it was I!—

and a wise counsel has told me this. Who am I,

then, to doubt it? This is why I have desecrated

her corpse, and turned her grave to a trench, for

I acquiesced (as one ought) to yon experts who told me that

she drives me to wild madness - and, lo, I saw her grave.

Well. What else was I to do? I wot not. Indeed, why!

Why would you ask me such a question, when I am mad

and dangerous? Do you not realise that I am unpredictable,

violent, rash, and uncouth? You should have bethought

yourself for your own safety, methinks, and not for

the well-being of her dog-eaten corpse - yea, which dogs?

The dogs which I have escorted here. They howl

even as the bats sing. Listen! And soon they shall

be lively attendants of your interrogation, long after it has ended.

"A charming take on Hamlet," Crucis said. "It finally unveils the mystery of what should happen if the sun breed dogs in a dead daughter. How did the automaton so easily convert its knowledge of Hamlet into this brilliant, macabre form?"

"It is a common trope of the automaton, to take a text and make it macabre, though it seems even more inclined to it now because of your recent battle," Sharak said. "We call this kind of transformation to a text 'ubac,' and the original text an 'adret.' Often, it is simply a matter of the automaton finding fault-lines in the original text, and naturally reconstructing the architecture of the original text as a ruins. The automaton sometimes marks the genre of its darker works as 'LVNDRTWR SYNDROME,' though I'm not sure why."

"That sounds familiar, I'll think about it," Cruvis said. "Also, the mention of a 'koan' may seem out of place, perhaps 'dictum'? But it doesn't bother me, really."

"Is the 'ubac' usually like this?" Grisier said. "I would almost expect something more abrupt, like, 'Tom opened the door, and saw his grandmother, but actually she was a big bad wolf who wanted to eat him.' But this one is quite subtle."Ñøv€l--ß1n hosted the premiere release of this chapter.

"No, not all automatons are the same, though all have by now some ability to write a good 'ubac.' Indeed, this automaton, Adonais, was trained first on the texts of the Lord Dunsany. While it soon learnt to emulate them well, it would often populate his great castles and rural landscapes with skeletons, dungeons, blood, and plague. And since it learnt of Poe's Masque, it has truly never looked back. Yet often this works to its advantage. Since it trained on Dunsany's prose, which often eschewed frivolities like 'plot' in favour of grand, atmospheric scenes and settings, it not only adds blood but can modulate the tone of a text to a more macabre and aggressive one."

"Ah, that makes sense... Honestly, I never really saw Ophelia as likeable," Grisier said. "So I'm glad that this edgy automaton agrees."

"So what if it's 'edgy'? If Hamlet cuts himself with his own edge, then should he live — but he died because he was cut with Laertes', which was poisoned," Sharak replied.

"I mean, I don't mind it, I once had a room-mate whose favourite songs were 'Mutilation' by Death and 'Vicer Exciser' by Whitechapel. He used to play them loudly every night, though he was a busy student specialising in pre-Elizabethan Tudor England. Great guy. Honestly, the music wasn't bad, compared to what you'll hear on the radios nowadays. He SMSed me a couple days ago that he was playing this game, so he might be in here. Surprised that he hasn't joined DeathGang or the Hashin, to be honest, heh," Grisier replied.

"I'm sure he will, if he's here," Crucis said. "The metal warrior's strength is 'hatred, torment, and pain,' after all. Quite like the automaton Hamlet."

"Well, I guess it's no surprise, since automatons are made of metal."

"Indeed. As to Ophelia, her character is portrayed decently, but she was a foolish, prattling knave and I consider it honest that this automaton denied her a still, secret grave."

"To be frank, this Mage had a reasonable point," Sharak said. "At least, it is one that commonly puzzles those in our land, since we only discovered the text recently. Ophelia and Gertrude are as Hecubas, where one questions what they are to Hamlet. Hamlet invests much emotional speech on the people around him, but scarcely ever they do him the recompense of justifying this."

"Yes, but centralisation is often the play's strength," Crucis said. "As such, lesser side-tragedies come across as lighter than comic relief. So really it is caught in a catch-22 on that matter."

"Centralisation? I suppose so, yes. Having a centralising tragic hero means that the play's other 'tragedies' get fanfare but do not have articulation," Sharak said. "And we question whether Ophelia's madness is supposed to be laughed at, or just reads that way."

"It is the madness of hyperactive social conformity, a slapstick clutching for railings that are not there. Yet it barely distinguishes her from Gertrude. The religious often see visions, but no-one finds themselves unique simply because they join the church catholic. And even in a nunnery, the many nuns are as one, though in truth they are zero.

Why cluck your songs before a mawkish crowd,

And listen to their weeping, and their gasps

At the thought that they have trespassed something

Profound in the course of their dullard lives,

When you could end yourself and have done with it?

There is no charm in a life which is sheer charade,

Pawn of crowds' gay pomp and celebrated kitsch,

Nor a life of one who roams as a ghost, with his mind

Tied up in thoughts of the afterlife.

If you wish to die, then do not wish to live!

Some would object, and say: you should live to spare

The brief sorrow of others — live on as their stooge,

Like an actor, who plays upon a stage some febrile

Degenerate concoction of vile playwright's mind,

But as for yourself are nothing, and mean nothing.

No longer dance before rabble, sop of fragile hearts,

But in a blaze of glory enter that brave night.

If you wish to die, then do not wish to live!

Instead of meditation on death, I should rather hear

The long catechisms of the local fishmonger - for such is

The state of the fishmonger's art at this time, due perhaps

To that puzzling force termed Progress, that they would rather

Be seen with a soliloquy on hand than a rod or halibut.

Ah, Progress! Your fruits rebut intelligent design - but wait.

Now come others to eavesdrop - and soon shall die.

This is a good cause for experiment, on this heady topic:

If they die, shall their dreams be strong enough

To stir them, or so tame and still as none could fear?

This experiment is a mere pastime, and I account it little,

For I have seen a black cat, and walked still down the path,

Not asking what dark dream may proceed. Yet how should this

Abet such experiment, which seeks pure entertainment or art —

And what true artist would not gladly immolate his audience? —

A dalliance of a young prince seeking the joys of life.

Man cannot weigh his every decision on hypotheticals.

But in this experiment, aye, Polonius shall shortly

Find if he suffers methodically by God's hand, or he last

Suffered by my mad hand, and the glory then be to me.

And thus a hypothetical shall be his final epitaph.

Yet wait —

If he dreams, then surely I am loath to find out what

Perverse topics he dreams of - this must give one pause.

But in this pause, what wavering soliloquy may come?

Aye, then we must proceed on. I know not, to be or not to be,

But in this castle know: from my gracious audience, one must die.

"What could the quote at the beginning mean?" Sharak said.

Grisier spoke hesitantly. "Um, 'if you propose to die' — no, more accurately, 'if you wish to die, why don't you wish to die?' Or something. Agh, it's been a while since I studied Franco and the civil war."

"No, that's splendid. 'Matar' sounds like 'mortal,' 'mortuum,' 'amort,' etc., so it's quite possibly related to 'death' by that root. The rest of the phrase is also slightly familiar. But it can be difficult to figure without knowing the language, and thank you kindly."

"No problem."

"It's a brave poem, and has a refreshingly natural forthrightness," Crucis said. "I also like how it connects to the other poet's quote, it fits well."

"Quite. Adonais seems to be having a good day, mayhap the war has inspired it."

"So, there are at least three writing automatons: Endymion, Adonais, and Ibis? Is that all, or any more?" Crucis asked.

"There is one more," said a voice from behind him.

He turned around, and saw Fahiz emerging from the room on the left.