Grotesque ~ Moonwindow

* From G.E. Graven *

Excerpt From Grotesque, A Gothic Epic ~ Chapter 16: The Moonwindow

“Bows up! Ring him!” Hugon yelled. Soldiers flew to his command and; as the crossbowmen raised their weapons, and adjacent rank of swordsmen broke from their ranks and swarmed Lazarus, enclosing him with a tight circle of drawn swords. “If he moves, run him through!” Then he addressed Lazarus directly, “I forbid all devil-speak and demon-scream! Flying man or no; if you hiss at me again, you shall die where you stand.”“Thou shalt not —”“Silence!”Lazarus looked away; yet, from his every angle, he saw only raised blades. A coursing bead of sweat stung his eye; his ears burned, and his memory flashed with the recollection of Friar Clodius and his raised cane of correction.

Hugon stormed about the opposite side of the astrologer, snapping his fingers impatiently and pointing to the Moonwindow.The astrologer positioned a dipped quill over blank parchment and tilted himself squarely before the mirrored dish.Throughout the hall, not even a cough or sneeze challenged the mandated state of silence; as the astrologer sat, entranced in the converging glow of the Moonwindow. Lazarus focused on the man; whose piercing stare became one with the light of the tripod’s reflecting plate. The man’s brow hardened and his eyes drew back like those of a searching bird-of-prey, outwardly staring into eternity. The man’s lips quivered as he murmured to himself, and Hugon carefully backed away, such to cause him no disturbance.

Astrologer's Moonwindow Quatrains

The astrologer turned to Hugon as his face burned brightly in the Moonwindow’s glow. “God, no!” he gasped, his eyes welling.
Hugon cocked himself back, considering. “God knows what?”
At once, the Moonwindow drew the attention of the two men; as it now shined with a bluish hue; and, in its very centre, a point of brighter blue light spread outward, swelling into an azure ring that slowly expanded outward and toward the round perimeter of the brass mirror.

“What new thing is this?” Hugon asked, stepping away from the astrologer and his Moonwindow. “What happens?” He pulled his dagger from the tabletop. “What comes over you?”
The astrologer peered upward at Hugon, chuckling and crying in the same. He shrugged his shoulders. “‘Tis his mother.”
He crossed his forehead with his thumb, in the sign of a cross, continuing with tearful laughter as he rose to his feet and faced Hugon. “Saint Denis, protect us.”
Hugon pressed his dagger against the astrologer’s chest. “Collect yourself! Tell me!”
The man tried with uneven reply, “His mother—no—we cannot speak of her, m’Lord!” He grabbed Hugon’s arm. “Not here; not now! No!”
Hugon turned and slapped the Moonwindow off the tabletop, sending it to fly across the hall. It came to rest before the terrified servants. He pressed the blade against the astrologer’s neck. “What of his mother?”
The man soiled himself and wept.
Hugon pressed him. “Who is she?”
“She is—I beg of you, m’Lord.”
Hugon pressed the blade beneath his jaw.
“She is: Lil— m’Lord, we must not!”
Hugon drew a trickle of blood. “L’il—little what?”
“No,” the astrologer insisted, “M’Lord, not now!”
“Now!” Hugon growled.
“Lilith! Heylel! Lucifael! Morningstar! She has many names,” he cried before collapsing to the floor, and crumbling into a self-absorbed and sobbing mess-of-a-man.

“Wa-hoom! Wa-hoom! A distant battle horn resounded without the castle hall. Hugon turned attention to the hall's half-secured iron-strapped double doors and motioned for his men to better secure the entryway. Outside the hall, and betwixt the distant and urgent call-to-arms, Hugon heard hasty commands of immediate defence without the double doors, altogether with overlapping and hideous cries of dying soldiers. The doors rattled with the beating and pounding of fists and halberds; and with a tension, underscored by muffled cries of urgency.

The interior of the hall filled with a tomb-like silence as hundreds of eyes lay fixed on the double doors when Lazarus looked at the huddled servants and spotted a lone boy, weaving his way through weeping children and women. The boy crouched near the Moonwindow and looked for eyes upon him when he spotted Lazarus’ stare. With a gleam in his eye, he gestured toward Lazarus, pressing his finger to his lips before collecting the Moonwindow and stealing his way back from whence he came.

Lazarus turned his attention to Hugon and found him spinning about and addressing the head of D’Alcicourt; “What, in the name of God —”
Outwardly, Hugon’s brief stare suggested an attempt to glean from it, any revelation that might somehow disclose a strategy; however absurd, which might include attacking him after he had secured enemy fortifications. Yet, he quickly dismissed the severed head, and his own disconnected reckoning; and he turned to the stricken astrologer. “She, who? What is this Demon Woman of many names?”

"Boom!" A colossal explosion rocked the hall through its very footings. Servants and soldiers scattered with their lives as a torrent of roof stones crashed onto the centremost floor of the hall; and the shear power of the blast all but slapped every guard to the ground. Debris poured downward from the roof, as a dense column of dust spilled to the floor and mushroomed outward to fill every corner of the hall with billowing grit and ash. And in the aftermath—in that brief and settling moment, when men clumsily collected themselves—when the last of the dust settled and silence pressed down upon the hall like a held breath—

Excerpt From Moonwindow (Presented in Screenplay Format ~ 2011)

FADE IN:

INT. MEDICAL STUDY - NIGHT

Scores of books crowd the shelves, sharing space with primitive medical instruments, flasks of oils, herbs and powders.

A PHYSICIAN clad in a brown robe and conical hat with long ear flaps hunches over a desk. He concentrates on a small tripod which suspends an oil lamp. Behind the lamp, a concave plate catches the light.

Captivated by images on the plate, he scribbles notes haphazardly on a sheet of parchment.

TITLE: LYON, FRANCE, 1553

The man glances quickly at the parchment and dips his quill. He slings off the excess ink and repositions it before looking back into the plate.

The images there seize him. His hand shakes and he drops the quill. He leans forward, as if drawn by the plate.

WHOOSH! The dish blasts forward, expanding, bulging out like a long silver balloon. The man jumps back, upsetting his stool. The dish stops a centimeter from his face before collapsing back into form.

The man approaches the tripod carefully. He leans in quickly, blows out the lamp and retreats to the far wall. His breathing normalizes as he watches the harmless stream of smoke rising from the lamp.

INT. HALL - NIGHT

Two sets of BOOTS march in unison. Rising, we see A LEATHER SATCHEL bouncing against one of the men's legs.

FIRST MAN (O.S.)
What's it worth?

SECOND MAN (O.S.)
A few crowns, if you ask me. Yet he seems quite eager to seal the purchase.

We see their faces -- two young NOBLEMEN. The second one gnaws on an apple.

FIRST MAN
Really? Who's the author?

SECOND MAN
Supposedly a Cardinal. A Jean Francois Blasi or something.

FIRST MAN
Never heard of him.

SECOND MAN
He's two hundred years dead!

FIRST MAN
(teasing)
So, he's an ancient nobody!

SECOND MAN
(nose in the air)
The correspondence is addressed to Pope Clement VI.

FIRST MAN
Undoubtedly, a fake.

SECOND MAN
(grinning)
As like as not.

He takes the last bite of apple. He holds the core up.

SECOND MAN
Then perhaps I should throw this in for good measure.

He tosses the core into the satchel. The First Man shakes his head and chuckles.

SECOND MAN
Shush! Here we are.

He stops them in front of a door. He straightens his clothes and raises his hand to knock when the door swings open. No one is visible. The men share a look of trepidation. A sonorous voice.

VOICE (O.S.)
Well?

Steeling themselves, they enter.

INT. MEDICAL STUDY - CONTINUOUS

The men stare at the eccentric surroundings. Across the room, the Physician bends over a basin, washing his face.

PHYSICIAN
Have you all the pages?

He dries his face with a towel.

SECOND MAN
Indeed I have, Monsieur.

PHYSICIAN
Then I should have a look at them.

SECOND MAN
And you may -- after payment.

The Physician turns abruptly, his eyes cutting through his visitors like knives. He pulls a purse from his robe and tosses it to the Second Man. CLINK! Its heaviness makes his eyes glow.

PHYSICIAN
On the table.

The Second Man opens the satchel and reaches in for the papers.

SECOND MAN
Of course, now you may inspect --

PHYSICIAN
Leave the satchel.

The Second Man hefts the purse, shrugs.

SECOND MAN
As you wish.

He sets it down and turns to go.

PHYSICIAN
Only take your apple.

The Second Man stops in his tracks. The First Man gawks, his gaze traveling from his friend to the Physician and back. Slowly, the Second Man retrieves the apple core and backs to the door. He bows curtly.

SECOND MAN
I bid you adieu, monsieur.

The Physician stares at them, stone faced, as they depart.

INT. HALL - NIGHT

Safely down the hall, the Second Man has regained his jocularity. He jiggles the purse in front of his friend.

SECOND MAN
A pretty price for fake documents, aye?

The First Man shoves his hand away.

FIRST MAN
He's a physician and a mystic?

SECOND MAN
So he claims.

FIRST MAN
Who is he?

We stop and HOLD ON A WALL TORCH as they turn a corner and descend stairs.

SECOND MAN
His proper name is Michael -- of Notre Dame.

FIRST MAN (O.S.)
Proper name?

SECOND MAN (O.S.)
Calls himself Nostradamus.

FLASH! The torch flares.

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