Neo Alexandreía 1845

A Theletos Cascade Tale

Ch. I: The Lighthouse & The Inquisitor

Gnaeus Tiber Balthius
Neo Alexandreía, Governate of Aegyptus
3rd Kingdom of Rhomania Orientis
Westernmost Settlement of the Roman Empire
May 15th, 1845 αAD
Dawn.


Stairs.

944 to the first viewing platform to be exact. Followed by a 20-meter ladder climb to the base of the statute atop the Lighthouse.

The entrance to the top section had been sealed from the inside. The lift's cables had been cut, and it now lays in a crumpled heap just below the main floor.

I had only just gotten off of a notably treacherous and rushed boat ride from Sicilia a mere 2 hours ago.

I have not slept in two days.

Local security forces were trying to figure out how to commandeer one of the crane-ships across the bay, currently occupied with the last minute construction rush for the extra expansion of the Expo site.

Such loud commotion. Bickering and yelling - mostly in Greek. Rookies scurrying about in a mild panic, the lighthouse staff being pestered about their own "well-being" by the doctors who were called to the scene.

The reason for this - the reason I was sent here - from what I have been told, was simply that it was a "you will just have to see it" type of crime scene. The only clue was that it was just the latest in an ongoing issue around the city, which is why I was already headed here. It was just my luck another would happen while on my journey.

A common occurrence in my profession.

Though, this is definitely one of the more chaotic crime scenes I have been directed to in my time.

To be expected. With the massive Expo going on, during an Armistice no less. Tensions are of course, quite high.

Cannot have delinquents running about.

Such a pounding headache - I think to myself as I unlatch the jaw from my faceplate and take a swig of the strong drink I had in a flask hidden inside my billowing sleeve. I grumble to myself at the thought of this wonderful Kinnella Grappa becoming harder to come by due to embargos from the Southern Governate in Aethiopia. I hear they're trying to break free as well. Better pick up a case of the stuff before I go back.

I spend about 30 minutes shuffling up the narrow stairs, having to dodge and squeeze past the occasional employee or officer, I finally reach the main "viewing platform". Only in recent weeks has the Lighthouse actually been opened to the public (mostly the wealthy) for tours leading up to the Expo. Otherwise, the platform was just an employee access area to the top half where the actual lighthouse mechanism was.

I did have an inkling that The Holy Torchbearers Cooperative was trying to court investors and poach employees for their growing organization. Giving tours and demonstrations of their facilities such as this and showing off their efficient light producing engines was quite enticing. Despite their already rather decent monopoly on fuel and other power related industries in this corner of the Kingdom.

I look up and out toward the sea, wincing while getting blinded momentarily by the partial sunrise. A decent gust of wind nearly blows my hat off as well as I brace myself. After a moment I am then greeted near the sealed door by a pale, exhausted, and dishevelled looking man, probably in his late 50s or early 60s, who had the faded emblem of the Cooperative embroidered on the chest of his heavily worn jacket. The head nighttime Lighthouse keeper. Night shift for much of his life I garner, usually the types who prefer the solitude.

He was accompanied by who I assumed was the Urban Prefect of this section of the city, given his uniform and light armour. He appeared incredibly distraught, and was not making any effort to mask it - nervously rubbing a Rosary of some sort in his clenched left fist at his side and fingering the pommel of his blade with his other hand.

He was a younger man, maybe late 30s, definitely his first year in this position, potentially out of his depth in general. Not only that, but he doesn't even seem to be a local at all now that I think of it. Before my train of thought could continue, he spoke up.

"Hello sir, may I, uh, see your credentials?" He asked - in strangely accented Greek. Making an attempt to seem more collected than he really was. Although clearly trying to stall before addressing the situation at hand.

I stared at him a moment before reaching into my satchel and handing him my Identification Card with a Papal Seal. It is now the fourth iteration I have had issued in the last few years on account of instability and indecisiveness while the west was trying to reconstitute itself and its governing body during the Armistice.

Quite frustrating.

"An Inquisitor? D-do you even have jurisdiction here?" He asked, a mix of nervousness in an attempt to do his diligence, but mixed with some genuine confusion.

I stare silently for a moment again.

"You do recall that the city is considered neutral territory for the next few years, correct? Primarily for the Expo but also part of the Armistice agreement." I say rather flatly - in High Latin, coming off a bit more condescending than I intend to.

The Prefect stammers, shifting his weight nervously.

"I uh, don't speak much Latin sir, apologies." He states in a very poor attempt at Italo-Hellenic after a long pause. Fidgeting with my Identification.

I repeat myself verbatim in Greek. I nearly forgot they had attempted to design a common tongue for the Empire before it fractured, did not work too well outside of the largest cities though.

"R-right, yes. I do remember seeing some uh, Roman garrisons around the city. Well, Western Romans I mean." He chuckles awkwardly, a look of relief on his face now that he could understand me.

The Lighthouse Keeper had not said a word, he was only watching us with a grim expression.

"You must be the Keeper." I said to him, holding my hand out towards the Prefect for my card back, which he quickly did after noticing.

"Yes sir, head of the night shift." The older man nods meekly, holding out a somewhat shaky hand. I am surprised to hear the man speak in Koine Latin, much to the confusion of the Prefect. He must be from Cyprus, or perhaps the region around Antioch.

I shake it. Surprisingly strong grip, though a lifetime of manual labour would do that.

"Were you on duty last night?" I take out a small notepad I usually carry around, looking up at the colossal statue atop the lighthouse before returning my gaze to the Lighthouse Keeper.

"I was sir, yes." He nods again, dabbing at his forehead with a rag he had produced from his back pocket.

"Go on." I gesture with the stylus in my hand, flipping open the notepad.

"Well, it was dark, an hour before midnight or so. I found the lift destroyed as you likely saw, had to make my way up on foot. Door to the lighthouse mechanism was sealed shut, the lower 2 meters of the maintenance ladder was missing entirely, pried right from the wall it was bolted to. Had to go find a spare, took me about 45 minutes. When I finally got back up there, I was startled by what I saw when I shined my torch up towards the statue. Seemed to be a body up there, climbed up just to be sure..." He trails off, his face scrunching up almost as if reacting to pain rather than recalling something.

"I managed to place a tarp over it. No point in me trying to describe it. Look for yourself." He said with a tone of finality, pointing upwards without saying anything else.

I made note of what he had stated and clicked my tongue. Everyone just has to be so vague about everything. I give the man a light nod as to dismiss him. He bowed his head and scurried off to the stairs to leave.

The Prefect looked back and forth between the Keeper, who was disappearing down the steps, and myself. He did not understand a word of what was said.

"You dismissed the main suspect? Why?" He looks frustrated now.

I simply point to the top of the statue where the tarp was flapping in the breeze.

"You look me in the eyes and tell me you genuinely think that frail old man carried what I can only assume is a corpse, all the way up there. Can you even do that?" I say, my headache increasing in intensity.

"I can't see your eyes sir. Not through that strange mask or helmet or whatever you have on your face." His tone has very quickly shifted from nervous to annoyed.

"Anyway, could he have not had assistance?" He added.

I ignore the somewhat snide remark.

"Have you seen it yet? A few people must have, given how strange everyone is acting." I walk over to the ladder - the spare the Keeper must have set up, shaking it to test its sturdiness.

The Prefect exhales through his teeth.

"Somewhat... I went up there and saw enough under the tarp without going all the way to the top. Not great with heights, it's so windy that I'm surprised the old man even got the tarp to stay over it as much as it has." He admits, shifting back to being fidgety.

"And the others?" I gesture downward, referring to the other officers and employees about.

"Ah, well, no. They are only acting that way since all they are aware of is that it may be related to the other slayings in the city over recent weeks." He pauses, frowning as he recalled something.

"The victims have been branded, some through their clothes, others directly on their flesh. Though I suppose an Inquisitor already knows that." He makes a strange shrugging gesture.

"I genuinely cannot explain this one to you, you better go up and look for yourself. We have a tent set up behind the tower downstairs with some collected evidence, we'll have more once we get the body down though. I'll see you down there." He then leaves the same way the Keeper did, leaving me alone on the platform.

I shake the ladder again before I begin my ascent - at least to the landing at the base of the statue, and begin to take a careful look around. It was dark only a short while ago, so I have a feeling that the local officers did not search thoroughly enough. Almost as if to vindicate my suspicions, I find something.

Nestled under the arch of the statue's sandal, there laid a small sand-coloured rectangular object. I knelt and picked it up gingerly with a gloved hand. Connected to it was some form of tangled tether which in turn snaked and went into either end of some sort of crescent, tiara-shaped object with two yellow sponge-like pads.

On the object itself were all manner of markings, labels? At what I assumed was the top of the device given the orientation of the letters - the same "sentence" was repeated on the front and back in the same location. A strange mix of Latin letters, other symbols that were simply reversed, and others still that vaguely resembled flawed Greek letters. Even more strange looking words were on what I assumed was the left-hand side where various coloured extruded shapes stuck out.

I pulled out my notepad and copied them down for posterity.

ЭЛКТРОНИКА М332С - Top /Front and back side [К, T, P, O, H, A, M - Greek or Latin?]
СТЕРЕО - Bottom /right of front. Top /left side [C - Latin, rest either or, nonsense words?]
КАССЕТНЫЙ - Middle /left side [Mixed again, Ь not B - distinct letter?]
МАГНИТОФОН - Middle /left side [Greek Г Ф ?, rest mixed]
МОДЕЛЬ 332 - Bottom /left side [Repeated '332', Ь again]

Э, Л, И, Й, Д - Find these.

Carefully I slid it into a spare leather bag I had in my satchel and stored it away to have it examined later.

Taking a moment to collect myself before climbing the other ladder up the statue's back to where the tarp flapped in the wind over where the Cross was supposed to be, atop a sphere held high above St. Alexander the Great's head. The wind picked up even more as I delicately lifted the tarp with a collapsible silver baton I carried with me. The way the tarp was draped out in almost a cone shape made me realize that somehow, the Cruciform had been flipped upside down and re-welded onto the base.

And on it - what I assumed was a man, in an outrageous looking, artificially-orange and white bulky suit. Akin to some sort of seabed diver's protective gear. He was crucified upside-down with the cross, bound at the wrists and ankles to it, but also seemingly riveted to the cross and leaking blood. The helm had some form of golden mirror-like visor with a massive shatter in the center that was also pouring blood from the apparently flooded helm.

Seared into my mind was the repeated bright-red writing on the helm and other parts of the suit.

CCCP

As well as the massive scorch marked brand across his suit's chest - that of the symbol of The Holy Torchbearers Cooperative.

Before I could even begin to full comprehend what awful sight I was seeing, a major wind gust shook the cross and blew the tarp off completely, taking it out over the bay. I nearly lost my footing and roughly slammed into the satchel against one of the ladder rungs.

Almost immediately, emanating rom within my satchel - I could now hear muffled noise. I locked an arm around one of the ladder rungs, began rummaging in the satchel to find the source, and see that the object from the base of the statue had dethatched from the tether to the sponges in its bag.

The most otherworldly sounds accompanied by a language I had never once heard in my life were blaring from the small sand-coloured box.