The Eliot Device Redux

As transcribed by Bella S. Bracken from an Edison cylinder found among the effects of Prof. Nareth E. Nishi, presumably recorded on 16 August:

My hands can not but tremble when I touch it, even knowing it for what it is. Even knowing the deceit, it still seems somehow a wonder. As I make this recording, it sits on the worktable of my lab, Eliot's contrivance remade, the device that Mr. Giles Canning died for and which I believe Jason Moriarty and the Vangreed Society or 13 Club are searching. The very thing which dragged me into this universe. When Mr. Commodore delivered it to me, when first I laid my hands upon its terrible angles, I could scarcely keep my wits about me. I sit here and curse my blindness, for how much more amazing would it be to look upon this device, the very doppelgänger heart of the ill-fated Porta Terrarum Experiment. Now, I must decide how it will be utilised in the search for those who are perhaps searching for me. And I must not decide in haste, no matter how little time might remain. I must be sure, for I suspect there will be only the one opportunity. And I must hope that Mr. Commodore can be trusted, for if Bow Street learns of this...well, I must not allow that to happen. If I am correct, no one knows of this but Miss Paine, Mr. Commodore, and I, and that is how it must remain.

I would also say that I sought out this man's services having reached a point of uttermost need, and having little hope of Leon Susenko's imminent return to New Bababge. I know Commodore is a pirate, which is why I trust he will likely not go to Bow Street, but beyond that I can not say. I have also enlisted his services in a third expedition to the atoll that is all that now remains of what once was Sunrise Island. I must find at least two others to accompany me, two whom I can trust, or at least who will be predictable in their potential betrayals.

I met with Mr. Commodore yesterday in his airship, and I told him as much as I felt safe telling — really more than that. He works fast. If only I could know that in him I might have the sort of confidant and confederate I found in Captain Susenko! How I yearn for the comforts of that trust again. This Luciean Commodore, oh I know he is a rascal and a smuggler and the gods know only what else. But what am I, Father? What have I become? Surely, something far worse than a mere privateer. In the weeks ahead, I fear I will yet become something still more abominable to all the sensibilities that once defined me.

Oh, I almost forgot. Late yesterday, Miss Paine and I were accosted by a coterie of the local orphans, though Loki Eliot and Myrtil Igaly, both of whom also appeared on Mr. Giles' list, were notably not among them. One of these children, a boy named Alloy Brooks, fancied himself something of a detective. He asked me questions about the list, the murder, the whereabouts of one of their number — Mckay Beck — who seems to have gone missing. Near the end of my interrogation, young master Brooks asked why I hide my eyes. I admit I was taken aback. But then, to my own surprise, I told him the truth, swallowing my vanity and pride and realising that should word of my blindness spread, it might lead my pursuer — if I have such — to think me helpless. Perhaps I can be bait for Jason Moriarty or whoever killed Mr. Canning and seeks the Eliot device.

The nightmares continue. She is still there, waiting at the threshold of my perceptions.