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scientism embellished the erudite aesthetic, a darkened
intent even fouler than those currently informing the
vintage deprivations behind the rusted machines. A strange
assemblage of newer apparatuses hummed in an out of older
counterparts—the glint of microchips decorated steam-
powered cuckoo clocks, server banks with their whirring
fans and sprouts of wiring sat housed in old metal computing
cabinets, and robotic arms of shining metal replaced the
older stock of untoward utensils. All of the stuff occupied
the very deepest regions of the cave of science, as if the
superior depth were a metaphor for their cavernous range of
deadly effects.
After taking an actor’s bow to the applause of lunatics
and tipping his tiny tin crown, the Prince of Wigs welcomed
Hide and me to the “Womb of Wildest and Darkest
Rediscovery.” The spectacle was so wonderfully ridiculous
that I nearly missed the figure standing atop the length of
twisting stairs behind the crowned madman. The individual
wore a pristine black apron overtop a neatly pressed suit—
the type an alienist of yore might have been seen wearing
while wandering the foggy streets of London. He also wore
an impenetrable black veil over his face, its blackness broken
only by a gleaming monocle anchored by a thin length of
silver attached to a lapel.
Continuing in the same preposterous tone and manner as
before, the royal wig proceeded to introduce the figure atop
the stairs. “Allow me to introduce to you a man who will
replace the secret stars to their rightful owners, return voice
to the silent stones, and once again allow madness to replace
mathematics. I give you the great and glorious Doctor
Coldglow!” Again the lunatics yelped and hooted their
approval. I clapped heartily, as I found the entire show quite
pleasing. Also, I’m no admirer of mathematics—numbers
are exasperating and off-putting.
In the fashion of a carnival barker, Doctor Coldglow
assumed the spotlight with great aplomb, his voice
326 | Mark Anzalone