The Magnus Archives - MAG 140 - The Movement of the Heavens

Episode Date: May 23, 2019

Case #7150101Statement of John Flamsteed, taken from a partial unsent letter to Abraham Sharp, 1715.Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.Content warnings for this episode are at the end of the show notes.Thanks to this week's Patrons: Jordan and Kelly Bryan, Ofek Barkol, Helen, Sheryl R. Hayes, Richard Gomersall, Emily Harford, Heather Nichols, Mary Allison, Gaia Turtle, Jo, Thomas, Joseph Connolly, Benjamin Zilke, Jess, Andrew Fox, Matthew Sobiesk, Christine Abrenilla, Casey Berry, Lauren Anthony John Archibald Getty the 4th and Nicholas Cole.If you'd like to join them be sure to visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillEdited this week by Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J Newall.Written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J Newall.Performances:"The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims"Basira Hussain" - Frank VossSound effects this week by dersuperanton, RossBell, sangtao, pfranzen, themfish, youandbiscuitme and previously credited artists via freesound.org.Check out our merchandise at https://www.redbubble.com/people/rustyquill/collections/708982-the-magnus-archives-s1You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting www.rustyquill.com/subscribePlease rate and review on your software of choice, it really helps us to spread the podcast to new listeners, so share the fear.Join our community:WEBSITE: rustyquill.comFACEBOOK: facebook.com/therustyquillTWITTER: @therustyquillREDDIT: reddit.com/r/RustyQuillEMAIL: [e-mail] Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill Ltd. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International LicenceContent warnings for:MurderDarknessRitual acts Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This is the first radio ad you can smell. The new Cinnabon pull-apart only at Wendy's. It's ooey gooey and just five bucks for the small coffee all day long. Taxes extra at participating Wendy's until May 5th. Terms and conditions apply. Hi everyone, Alex here. I'd just like to take a moment to thank some of our patrons. Jordan and Kelly Bryan, Ofec Barkol, Helen, Cheryl R. Hayes, Richard Gommersall, Emily Harford, Heather Nichols, Mary Allison, Gaia Turtle, Joe, Thomas Joseph Connolly, Benjamin Zilk, Jess, Andrew Fox, Matthew Sobiesk, Christine Abranilla, Casey Berry, Lauren Antony, John Archibald Getty IV, Nicholas Cole.

Thank you all. We really appreciate your support. If you'd like to join them, go to www.patreon.com forward slash Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives Episode 140 The Movement of the Heavens Coffee. What? Coffee. What? Coffee. Drink it. I don't really...

Fine. You look awful. You tried drinking with Daisy again last night. She was here last night, as you know. Drinking alone, then? It's not a hangover. Well, not... I wasn't drinking.

Drugs, then? You sick? Got some weird monster disease? Seriously? We've been over this. You need to tell me stuff. Communication works both ways, you know. Yesterday I tried something. I... I deliberately tried to know something, like I did in the coffin, but there was a lot. Too much. What did you find out? Nothing. There was too much. You don't remember any of it?

You drink the whole contents of a bar in three seconds, you don't remember what the Merlot tastes like. It just hurt. Sure. What's that? Statement. You in a condition for it? Yes. Yes.

What's this one about? Took me a while to hunt it down again, but... You remember Maxwell Rayner? Yes, of course. Your warehouse showdown? Yeah, well, whole thing kind of stayed with me. I can imagine. Well, there's more history there than we thought.

Capital H History. John Flamsteed? But Sarah, this is from way before the Institute. The first Astronomer Royal. Had the post until his death in 1720. 1719. He died on New Year's Eve. Sorry, I didn't...

Can't really help it. Well, either way, he really hated the man who succeeded him. Sorry, I didn't... can't really help it. Well, either way, he really hated the man who succeeded him. His former assistant, Edmund Haley. As in Haley's Comet, Haley? Yep. And Flamsteed had a... What's the opposite of a pet name?

Like a nickname for someone you hate? Uh... Well, he had one of them for Hayley. Called him Raymer. Raymer? And you think... Names shift over the years. Especially if you're not keen on keeping the same body. Right.

Just have a read. Let me know when you're done. You're not staying? Watching you do your thing. No. I... Suppose I understand. Right. Statement of John Flamsteed taken from a partial unsent letter to Abraham Sharp, 1715. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the archivist.

Statement begins. Um. But my affliction in writing to you is of a wholly different character, and were I not well sure of your firm alliance and counsel, I should under no extremity impose it upon you. For I have killed a man, and barely do I have the covering of great passion for it, as I was well within my senses at the time. You are familiar, of course, with my persecutor and tormentor, Edmund Halley, the one so oft descending upon me as nemesis with her sword to

avenge upon my hubris. It was he who, with the president of the Royal Society, Sir Isaac Newton, printed my catalogue of stars without my knowledge, robbing me of the fruits of my labour, turning my triumph to naught but ashes. I have had many a contest with the president, but I harbour little true bitterness toward him. He is a blockish creature of vanity, concerned with his appearance only, and like to fly into an indecent heat and knavish talk at any dispute. He has no reverence for God, and I pity him, the fire that awaits.

But in life my thoughts of him are simply those of disdain, and hold no corner for true hatred. I put no such chain upon my spirit when I make my considerations of Halley, who I have long called Raymer to you in my letters, for as the odious Nicolaus Raymer persecuted the great Tycho, and ran his noble genius to exile, so too has my own Raymer pushed me toward ruin. I have detailed much of his offences in my letters to you, but as much again I have concealed within my soul and given no voice. Simply know the robbery of my celestial catalogue was but the least of it. I will admit that in my heart I nurtured such dreams of revenge that when

they came to me the name of God felt hollow upon my lips, another dignity stripped from me by mine enemy. Such were the depths of the hatred that I found within myself, that whereupon I would spy Raymer of the royal society, if I were unobserved in turn, I would to no deliberate end begin to follow him. Oft it was I would follow his path until my better humours overtook me, or I was seen by my quarry, who would smile and offer his insufferable greeting. So it has been this past year, though I have never had fear he might know my intentions.

Yet this month past it has been much changed. "'Ramer's wanderings, hitherto aimless or meandering through the gardens and pathways of the Royal Society "'or the coffee-shops of Fleet Street, have of late drawn him almost out of London entirely "'to a strange and shrouded wood not a league from what might draw the interest of the pompous fool "'with whose whims I was now so well acquainted. "'And in that quiet seclusion, while I looked on in silence and astonishment, "'he would meet with figures both man and woman alike quiet seclusion, while I looked on in silence and astonishment, he would meet with figures both man and woman alike with dull clothing, and eyes that in the darkness of that wooded place seemed wholly black and empty.

Their words were soft and impenetrable to me from the spot wherein I was concealed, but they had much impact upon Raymer, who oft would stagger backwards as though struck. They led him further through trees of gnarled and twisted woods, where the thick roof of leaves permitted not the light of moon or stars, and there they knelt around a pool so black, if it had been India ink it could scarce have been darker. I held back a cry that threatened to force itself from my lips, for I am not so ignorant as to be blind to the practice of vile, pagan exaltation, and I can describe what I saw around that pool as nothing less. And dismiss, as you will, my words as the shaken memory of a man appalled, but at that awful moment their cries of worship seemed to form shapes that stirred in the water such as I have

never seen in my time upon this earth. I fled, of course, and considered the courses such as I might pursue to relieve myself of this dreadful burden of knowledge. No longer was my concern purely for revenge upon Rayma, but a quite acute terror of the savage rites the practice of which were clearly among my peers. I had not seen with clarity those compatriots alongside whom Raymer had joined in awful raptures, and could not state with confidence that any among the faculty to whom I might make report of his debauchery would not in turn make it known that I was telling such things of Halley, an astronomer of note whose conduct to all others has been unimpeachable. No, if there was to be a confrontational action taken against Raymer, it would be I,

and I alone, that would have to take it. I know it was the 2nd of May when this took place, for it was no doubt the crowning glory that he had stolen from me that occupied his mind that eve and caused his steps to quicken and grow careless. Again he traced his path under that dark and hidden wood, and again I followed quiet in my manner, keen in my observance. I cast around for other figures, but in that moment Raymer was alone. He proceeded then, as before, to the pool of blackest water, and the clear skies of night were lost amongst the leaves. All was quiet as he gazed into that smoothed and liquid darkness.

This, I knew, was to be my chance. This, I knew, was to be my chance. I stepped from my place of concealment and began to decry him, casting my censure upon a ramer, and naming before him the vile acts of pagan villainy which I had myself observed. His mute shock was but that of a moment, before he let out a noise the likes of which I can scarce describe, and charged towards me, his fingers curled to claws that sought my face and eyes. I wasted no time and drew my smallsword, and praised a god who gifted to me foresight to carry it. I struck Raymer a

fierce blow to the leg. He fell, still clutching at me, and in a moment cast my sword away into the trees and grabbed at my coat. With a fierce strength never before awakened within me, I gripped the head of my foul adversary and forced it down into the dark pool before us. There I held it, the water so cold upon my skin the marks had yet to fade, and Raymer thrashed and kicked and made such sounds as I have never before heard of the dying. And he was still. I drew him up with the black water still thickly flowing from him. He was dead at my hand, and though I well knew it to be an act of defence and retribution, I felt within me a sudden terror of discovery. I took my sword and returned to hiding in the dense growth of the forest, fearing that should I return upon the path, my passing might be met and marked. Better to wait until I had the surety of unseen passage. and Raymer's dark-eyed compatriots arrived to attend him.

Seeing him prostrate and lifeless upon the ground was clearly a shock, and their distress was marked upon them. And yet there seemed no sadness or horror within their passion, but surprise and confusion. And the question they cast between them was that of what was to be done, for it seemed Raymer was vital to a task as yet unfinished. that of what was to be done, for it seemed Raymer was vital to a task as yet unfinished. His body was borne up by them and taken away at the time I believed for burial, and when I was certain I was once again alone I fled, leaving those infernal waters for good and all. And were that the end of my poor story, you may well imagine my confession of such to you,

for laying it in writing is an unburdening beyond what I could have foreseen. And yet it was not this that inspired in me the need to write you an account. It was what occurred but two days past, for I was in my observatory making my notes and adjustments, as my position requires, when I was called upon, not unusually, by the President of the Royal Society. I was astonished at how cordial his conduct seemed, his temper even and his heat steady. But it was not the attitude of the President that robbed my tongue of speech.

It was that in his visit he was accompanied by Edmund Halley, my dear Raymer, whose body had gone cold and still in my own cruel hands. He had little to say, it seemed, as the President went over once again some detail of my equipment, and Raymer, who was and is dead, simply watched me in solemn silence. Were it not for his handing books to the President, I should have thought him a shade or a haunt, but his substance was far more than such could ever achieve. At length Mr. Newton took his leave, and Raymer went to follow. Before his departure, an exit that could not come too soon for my nerves,

he turned towards me and grasped me firmly by the shoulders. In my shock and fear, I offered no fight and returned his gaze as he began to thank me. His gratitude was so plain and sincere that I could scarce understand it as he spoke, but he repeated it again and again, thanking me for his life, his freedom. I stared into his eyes, and though they met mine, I saw spreading inside them the darkness and mist. Whether he be blind now I know not, but those were not the eyes of Edmund Halley, Mind now, I know not, but those were not the eyes of Edmund Halley,

though they were the eyes of my Raymer, the one I couldn't destroy. It is with this at the forefront of my thoughts that I write to you, Abraham. I know you have some small acquaintance with him, and I must warn you, Halley is no longer Halley. He may appear as such and ape those previous observations of his own and those more skilled, but it is not him. Look into his eyes and you will know. You will know. Statement ends.

Right. Sir? Statement ends. Right. So? So Edmund Haley was Rainer. Or, at least, whatever was inside him. You said it was dead, though. I thought it was. We shot him to hell before he could, uh, pour himself into that kid. But, I mean, didn't you say

he got blown up in World War One as well? Possibly. The details are... it's not exactly clear. You don't know? No, and I'm not about to push my luck and try to force it. Besides, I rarely get anything when the dark is involved. It's a bit of a blind spot. Point is, we can't be sure. Agreed. You don't know what the ritual for the dark is, right? Not really, no. Based on this and everything. Something to do with the sun, I would guess. An eclipse, maybe.

I don't think so. There's not one due for a while, and I've been wondering for ages. Why in the Alicent? I mean, sure, that far north it gets dark for a long time, but there's also really long days in the summer. Okay. But I think... Have you got a pen? Uh, yeah, in the drawer. Uh, John?

What's this? Oh. That's... That, uh, that's my rib. Right. Yep. And the jar of ashes. Not mine.

I mean, it belongs to me, I guess, but it's not... Uh, stationery is in the other drawer. Right. Thanks. Okay. Now, look here. Right. Yes, I know where it is. I don't think the Allison is the ritual location. Right. I think it's a staging ground.

For what? The darkest place on the surface of the earth. The North Pole during the winter solstice. I hope you're not suggesting that Santa works for the people's church. The darkest place on the surface of the Earth. The North Pole during the winter solstice. I hope you're not suggesting that Santa works for the People's Church. John, it's 11 weeks of pitch black night, as far from the sun as you can get on the planet. Alright. So, why haven't they done it already?

I think they were waiting for Rainer to get his new body. But my sources tell me now that they're gearing up for something. These sources, are they the same ones that sent you to the Australian outback while I was burying myself alive? Their info is normally good. There is one more thing that might convince you. They have an eldritch ball of some sort of manifested dark matter that's going to be the focus of the ritual. I thought you said you couldn't know things about them. I can still read. Actually, you should probably see that, stay...

You know what? No, later. So what's the plan? I'm getting us passage on a boat heading up there. Right. I bring all the guns from Daisy's old stash. You bring the spooks you used to mess up that delivery guy. What? That's it? Christ, I thought my plans were half-assed.

It's all about when we go. I don't follow. Summer solstice is the 21st of June, so we leave in a fortnight. It should arrive about a week before. No danger of sunset or darkness for a long time. Stands to reason that they'll be at their weakest. I don't know. Is Daisy coming?

No. Oh. I don't know. Is Daisy coming? No. Oh. I just thought... We've talked about it. If the hunt takes her again, we don't know if she's coming back. And neither of us want that. No, of course. And I don't imagine Melanie would be keen to come.

She wasn't. Why am I always the last to know about these things? By this point, I just assume the eyeball tells you. That would imply it tells me anything useful. No, I'm stuck knowing how your Year 8 PE teacher died. Miss Peterson? Pancreatic cancer, if you're interested. I... wasn't.

No. No, of course not. All right, so just me and you, then. I don't suppose you could get some of the team that helped you take Rainer down last time? Oh, yeah, sure. I'll just drop them a message. You know, we've actually got a group chat going called British Cops Who Love To Do Extrajudicial Spook Killings On Foreign Soil. I'll just see if they're free Saturday. Yes, yes, all right.

All right. You're sure about this? No. But if I'm right, this is the best chance we're going to get. And I can't do it alone. Okay, then. Let's do it. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International License.

Today's episode was written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J. Newell. To subscribe, view associated material, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us at Mail TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook or email us at mail at rustyquill.com. Join our communities on the forum via the website or on Reddit at r slash The Magnus Archives. Thanks for listening. To be continued... about our sponsor, Audible. For fans of heart-racing, bone-chilling, and mind-bending stories, Audible has everything you need. Audible is the leader in audiobooks,

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