It was open to Julius to simply swivel on his heels and depart alone, leaving her to decide on the wisdom of following. Yet some power prevented him. Continuity perhaps—of which there’d been so little in his life. They’d come so far together…
Time for his second confession of the day: more than in the past decade put together
‘Tell me, Lady Lovelace,’ he asked, as arch as she, ‘do you believe in the sanctity of the confessional?’
It was a solid bet that she had been raised up steeped in every prejudice Protestant England had to offer. She came from the landed class which had done so well out of the despoiling of the monasteries and thus invented a history to justify it. Moreover, Ada had hinted before that her mother was a religious fanatic, aiming to atone for her brief marital madness with Byron…
So it proved. What’s bred in the bone comes out in the meat: though as a sceptic in matters spiritual, Ada was more faired minded than most of her peers.
‘In principle,’ she replied. ‘I’ve heard it said that the privacy of that sacrament is inviolate. One has never heard of it leaking secrets…’
Nevertheless, Julius’ point had pierced. Instead of being triumphant she was now wary. Julius pressed home the advantage.
‘Ah, but do you have faith in that?’
Evidently not. Enlightenment dawned. Ada screwed up her face in disgust.
‘Oh, you haven’t have you?’ she said.
Frankenstein simply nodded.
‘Everything?’
‘Everything.’
Before he’d finished speaking Ada was on her way in a flurry of scarlet fabric and white limbs, leaving behind Parthian-shot curses with his name on them. Frankenstein followed regardless, and Foxglove limped after, trying to keep up.
The growing company of Swiss guards and priests did not hinder them. But they watched them go.
Chapter 6: PEEKING AT POSTERITY
‘Classification ‘TOP SECRET,’ Copy 3 of 7.
Not to be removed from its appointed place.
PROJECT POSTERITY
Being a manual for senior staff and approved underlings attending his Imperial Majesty in the high matter of perpetuating his line.
Section 13. ‘Harvest Home’: 1 year +
…therefore it should be a source of wonderment that any survive the hazardous odyssey of conception to birth, let alone exposure to the world. Consider if you will the strong evidence that post-mortem seed is intrinsically carcinogenic (for proof of which ponder the precious few fields long-lived enough to take more than one impregnation), consider the feeble pulse of life (if such it truly be) that ebbs along the veins of our charges and what easy prey they fall to any ailment. If these things and the many other fatal snares are soberly considered by Project Posterity personnel they will come to the inevitable conclusion that our painfully few Harvests are jewels beyond price, and thus to be cherished and cosseted to the best of our abilities: yea, and beyond! Our successes may be pitifully few but the prize is correspondingly great!
From that low success rate comes our policy of keeping those runts and sports of Nature and less-than-true breeds which ordinarily might be mercifully allowed to slip away of their own accord. We strive officiously to keep all alive in the knowledge that perfect offspring have been exceeding rare. Therefore, true servants of the Emperor will not turn a cold eye or curled lip upon their charges’ disfigurements, deficiencies and gibberings. They are our reference library of past practice, our source of experimental material, and, sad to say, our reserve troops for the great hope we bear.
Accordingly then, patience and, above all, fortitude should and will be brought to bear on all the distressing aspects of our cause-cum-crusade. The tedious dictates of ensuring sterile conditions in the sty, the sights, sounds and smells of the procreative process itself, the cruel necessity of applying red-hot wires to shrieking fields, the oft-times unbearable fruits emerging from their wombs (to name but a few aspects of the burden we bear) shall one day seem small price compared to the dynasty established and so unceasing centuries of glory for our beloved Motherland!
In the deplorable event that that does not suffice or content, the reader should consider what sufferings our soldiers endure in the cold or heat of a dozen different fronts, the risks they run, the painful deaths by myriad means they court. Those who harbour reservations should ask themselves: is not ours the incomparably better lot?
Any amongst us who cannot approach their work with a spring in their step and joy in their souls should reflect that the Russian front is always in need of fresh assistance. Such chilly natures may be ideally suited to the conditions they would find there…
But assuming zealous co-operation from all authorised to read thus far, we now turn to practical considerations.
Firstly serum. Like a faltering fire, the faint spark of semi-life his Imperial Highness has bestowed on his children requires constant feeding lest it expire. Therefore serum shall be constantly imbibed by all Harvest Homes according to the following prescriptions:
Birth to 1 month—three mini-flask bandoleers daily.
1 month to 3 months—one mini-flask hourly, on a constantly replenished bandoleer.
Three to four years. One ‘apostle’ bandoleer (13 full sized flasks) hourly.
OFF-FILE LOOSE MINUTE
Attach to page 179—effective from 18th Brumaire, Year 17 A.C. (A. D. 1837).
An enhanced serum formula has been developed by the recent Swiss recruit, Frankenstein (a direct descendent of the Father of Revivalism), based on a concept developed by his predecessor, the so-called ‘Egyptian’ (deceased). It has been shown to improve Revival functions in a range from 4 to 9%. Accordingly and henceforth, all Harvest Homes capable of ingesting solids shall be fed on such enhanced-serum marinated foodstuffs. Infants of tenderer digestion and those imperfect specimens incapable of independent feeding shall substitute liquor pressed from proportionate amounts of comestibles.
Adverse reactions of whatever kind shall be immediately reported to the duty officer who will…
… Also likewise, it is envisaged that said Frankenstein will be offered a placement with Project Posterity pending resolution of certain security concerns. However, in the interval it is imperative that no hint be given him of the Project’s existence or his possible promotion to it. Posterity staff are therefore forbidden to dine, take exercise or engage in social intercourse with him or otherwise advertise their presence—on pain of a second degree disciplinary sanction, up to and including mutilation.
Secondly, sunshine. Although no amount of sun seems to brown our charges’ milky skins, it is experimentally observed that maximising exposure to sunlight improves survival rate by 10% in early Harvest Homes. Hence the (at first sight) curious location of the sty high in the open air and exposed to Sol’s beneficent rays.
Project Posterity’s earliest productions were conducted in deepest and literally darkest secrecy, in cellars. The successes attending our labours were correspondingly dim. It was only the chance escape of a previously wasting infant, subsequently found to be much improved by an hours’ liberty in the Palace gardens, which alerted us to this free gift from Nature. Indeed, such was the pleasure attending this discovery that the negligent nursemaid responsible was spared the guillotine and merely lost her right hand…