J. Campbell - Gaslight Arcanum - Uncanny Tales of Sherlock Holmes

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Long buried and hidden from prying eyes are the twilight tales of the living and the dead - and those that are neither. The stink of a Paris morgue, the curve of a devil’s footprint, forbidden pages torn from an infernal tome, madness in a dead woman’s stare, a lost voice from beneath the waves and the cold indifference of an insect’s feeding all hold cryptic clues. From the comfort of the Seine to the chill blast of arctic winds, from candlelit monasteries to the callous and uncaring streets of Las Vegas are found arcane stories of men, monsters and their evil. Twelve new tales of the bizarre, the uncanny and the arcane.

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Below this were a series of diagrams, close up of bee parts that Brabbins only partly recognized; a segmented eye, a rounded body with measurement details alongside it, a wing. Further down were tables, each annotated with phrases like queen breeding pattern and season lengths and gestation and hatching cycles. Below each table was a short explanation of the way in which the Northern Wild Bee was an improvement on the Western Honey Bee. Finally, a longer paragraph ended the section: The Northern Wild Bee has a larger body and can travel further in a day than Britain’s indigenous bee population, giving the capacity for greater range and for greater honey and wax yield. It is physically stronger and has evolved to live in the harsher climes of northern Europe. It was transported to Germany in the early nineteenth century but proved a difficult creature to manage and did not last long, leaving only a few wild colonies scattered across the northern countries, their spread controlled by the depredations of the harshest of winter climates and the landscape. Despite problems sourcing the Northern Wild Bee as a result of the current world political situation, eggs were gathered from the remaining wild colonies and the experiment is now ready to begin. What follows is a record of its progress.

Brabbins stopped reading and leafed through the remaining papers. They were written as diary entries, some with illustrations, each dated. The earliest contained repeating phrases like breeding rates and cross-breed production and, once, reproduction characteristics and techniques which made Brabbins rub his face in wonderment. What had this man, Holmes, done? Played with his bees while the letters piled up in his parlour, while the war raged in fields black with torn earth and death, and while tiny individual tragedies happened in back-alleys and homes across the country? For what? Wax and honey? And what had he done?

The next entry Brabbins read started with the word Success! and another picture, this one a delicately drawn picture of a bee. To Brabbins, it looked like any other bee; furred, with a bulbous body and head, and wings covered in the tracery of veins. Holmes had clearly seen differences to it, though. He had arrowed parts of the diagram, each arrow neatly labelled, 31% average increased mass, larger wingspan/distance for flying, slightly increased brain capacity. There was more, but Brabbins stopped reading and flicked on to the next entries.

April 2nd: I have set up a single hive of the Northern Wild Bee cro ssbreed, alongside my existing Western Honey Bee hives; by doing so, I hope to show scientifically how much greater the productivity of the new strain is in comparison with our existing breeds. Already, the bees seem to be travelling farther and wider than the drones from the other hives. The pollen they collect is a different color, as though it includes content from plants that the other bees cannot reach or find. The first yields of honey have been promising in amount, although its flavour is slightly bitter and leaves a strange taste in the mouth after it is swallowed. The comb that contains it certainly seems sturdier, and the wax that can be harvested of a very high quality. One unexpected thing about the new breed is that its size gives it some increased ability to stave off the soporific effects of the smoker, requiring an increased level of caution from the keeper to avoid stings.

Brabbins flicked back through the paper and found the picture of the bee, so neatly drawn and dissected upon the page. Even now, he could hear the bees battering themselves against the windows of the kitchen and front door and the wood of the two room doors, their angry buzz and the timpani of their impacts like the stuttering of some distant machine. They haven’t given up, he thought, and turned back to the sheaf of paper.

April 23rd: The experiment goes tolerably well. The honey and comb yields are noticeably greater from the new hive than from my existing hives, leading me to believe that my original conjecture was correct — yields can be substantially increased by the application of scientific principle to bee-rearing. However, further unexpected elements have arisen that need consideration. The increased size of the bees, and their wilder nature, has led to an increased aggression and a greater preparedness to sting. The stings themselves are extremely painful, far more so than those of the Western Honey Bee or any of the other common breeds, and cause high levels of swelling. The venom of the bee would appear to be more powerful than that of its more usual cousins, and longer acting. Unusually, the crossbreed bee does itself no damage when it uses its sting, meaning it can sting repeatedly without experiencing harm, and each sting seems capable of delivering a venom load.

Looking at his still aching hand, Brabbins smiled in humourless agreement. What had Holmes said the bee was sometimes called? The Wolf Bee? That fitted; it was fast and vicious and worked in a pack, overwhelming by sheer weight of numbers and tenacity. Even now, the sound of them was filling the house, bleeding in through glass that felt increasingly thin and fragile. Although a heavy curtain covered the study’s small casement window, Brabbins could hear noises coming from behind it; the solid impacts of things repeatedly banging against the glass, and the fierce hum of the bees. Somehow, they had found this window, knew he was behind it. Was it the light? No, there were lights on in the other rooms. Could they hear him? Smell him? He didn’t know enough about bees to be sure. Perhaps it was just a coincidence? No. No, the bees were targeting him, he didn’t know how he knew but he knew it, was sure of it. They were chasing him.

Hunting him.

May 1st: The breeding cycle is faster, and the queen produces more eggs than the Western Honey Bee queen. The hive is already full, leaving no space for new combs, and the larvae are already larger than would be normal at this stage of their development. The workers are bringing in more nectar (by my estimation) than the bees of the other hives. As a consequence, the social structure of the hive is showing some unusual developments. Chief among these is that, each morning, there are a number of bees and larvae on the ground under the hive, some barely alive, but most dead. Observations of the hive at night have shown that the bees and larvae are placed there by other bees, pushed out of the hive entrance in a constant stream through the hours of darkness. I can only assume that some kind of cull is occurring each night, with those found to be imperfect or underdeveloped or underperforming in some way being removed to make way for new workers. There seems little other explanation, although what imperfections the dead creatures may have exhibited is hard to fathom. Certainly, investigations of the bodies have revealed no obvious flaws or deficiencies.

May 3rd: The hive is proving increasingly difficult to manage, even under optimal daytime conditions. The bees are extremely aggressive and defensive, and although they eventually calm under the influence of the smoker, their activity in the period before the soporific takes effect is somewhat unnerving. The bees begin, as would be expected, by trying to sting me, but seem to learn extremely rapidly that their primary weapon is of little use and cannot pierce my protective clothing. Then, they begin to cluster around the seams of the clothing, especially at the wrists and neck, and also across the facial netting of the helmet. It is almost as though the bees know to block my vision by gathering thickly across the material. Sometimes, the weight of the bees on the net is so great that it is forced close to my face and my vision is filled with naught but brown fur and stings and I have to shake the net clear of the creatures before I can carry on. In higher animals their clustering around the seams of my clothing might be taken to indicate an understanding of how it is designed and where its weak points exist, but in bees this is, of course, illogical. They almost certainly gather there simply because they are the areas that offer them the greatest purchase. Still; it is a strange coincidence.

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