The Secret World of Louis Lambert

A Novel by A. N. DeBerry

A story about a young man, said to be a genius, who is hired by one of the great minds of his day, to dictate notes for his latest work, who is also considered mad by most. The young man becomes consumed by Louis’s ideas and even his madness as the world of the imaginary mingles with reality. The young man sets out to reveal the wonders known to Louis and prove to all that he is not indeed mad but privileged to a world without end, only for Louis to put an end to it.

Written January 24, 2012

*UNEDITED*

Chapter 1

January 24, 1923 - London

Odin Press was a small rickety shack of a publishing house, but James knew this is where he had to be.

Sitting almost center of London, the narrow building, of wood and nail, seemed to slither up the sides of the two large marble and granite stone buildings, that sat to it’s right and left. Even at five stories high, the building looked squeezed thin by the weight of the stone megaliths to it’s either side.

James stood stagnate on the other side of the street, looking up at the building as if simply stepping within would cause him some great pain. And then, with a great labored exhale of a breath he remember the promise he made.

“I just can’t sit here standing, I look a fool!”

After a shake of his head he looked slowly left and right. The streets here where far more dense with motor cars and people then back home, yet some how they still managed to go much faster, even with the streets crammed with pedestrians.

“Their crazy!” But then again, you’d have to be to live in a city so packed, he thought as the way finally became clear.

With a quick canter of steps, he managed to cross the mad street, and found himself thanking the saints that he had managed to do so and remain all in one piece.

Looking up at a weathered plank of wood, painted white, and depicting a strange eye housed within a five sided box, shaped like a crud house, he found himself unfortunately assured that he had the right place. For some reason, he was hoping still, dearly that he had perhaps come to the wrong building, or even the wrong street, God willing maybe even the wrong city.

With a loud sigh, James stepped lightly on to the first step up to the door, “what’s done is done! Dad was right. Might as well use this pricey education of mine, and make —-“ 

He yelped in shock as his foot crunched through the step, stopping only as it thankfully met the buildings stone foundation, which also thankfully began at street level.

“Good,” James finished as he shook his ankle free of the steps grip. “even if the good looks like this, I suppose.” He finished looking up at the building, that now toward over him, as if ready to fall.

Part of him wished it would, killing him and any hope he had of ever being a real writer. Already in a dark mood, the fact that he contained such cowardly thoughts only made his current mood, that much more darker.

In shame he looked down, down to the ruined step and the black void that slumbered just below it, “I’m a coward, a man of excuses,” looking up he took a deep breath, “no!” He said before rushing up the stairs, opening the doors, dashing in and slamming them behind him.

James stood motionlessly, with his head turned toward the door. To caught up in the moment, he didn’t have the time to contemplate his crazed entry until a breath after he had slammed the door. And there he stood, stone still, scared to even breath. Dear God, I’ve proven I’m an idiot before even opening my mouth. Well at least I tried”

“Out of the way stiff!” A man’s voice said from behind, before shoving him out of the way of the door, and leaving through it.

James stumbled out of the way, attempting to catch himself on a coat rack, that only proved as sturdy as the buildings step construction.

With a snap, the coat rack broke into pieces before spilling onto the ground, shortly followed by, an already very ashamed James.

Finding him self tossed onto the ground covered in heavy coats, a part of him wanted to simply sit there, hidden beneath the thick articles of wool and fur. And that part of him, to his greatest shame, was winning grossly the argument to continue as he was, that is till he heat of the combined coats and jackets made it unbearable for him to continue.

With effort, he tore the coats off his head and face, and found himself in great need of fresh air. As he gasped he looked about the room and to his shock, discovered a room so busy with it’s own dealings that not a single person had noticed that he had ran in, slammed the the door, or even was sent flying into a coat rack and then the floor. 

Against all understanding he found himself smiling, “It’s not often one is given a second chance at first meetings!”

Though housed in a tall scrawny excuse of a building, Odin Press bustled with the hectic comings, goings, movements and chatter of dozens. Which was commonly mistaken by those outside of the profession of commercial literature, as nothing short of mad! 

Each long narrow room, wisely making up for the buildings unfortunate shortcomings in width, was lined with desk after desk after desk, along it’s walls, making best use of the slim space. 

Now that James ears no longer where blooming and pounding with embarrassment, he realized that it was quite possibly louder inside then it was outside.

Phones ringed constantly as some talked, others discussed, and more then a few even argued aloud across the room, only adding to the already lively symphony. 

Feeling a bit out of place, james gingerly walked up to the main desk, finding a young women who he discovered was discussing an extremely fragile matter by phone.

“Look hear you scuzzy shiter, and realize that I don’t care dearie! That’s the last kiss you’ll nab from me, you mouth shitting bastard!”

At that she slammed the receiver on the hook, muttered a few more curses, some of which James had never heard of, then looked up to him with a unimaginably kind and saintly face.

Reflexively James took a step back, what he had just heard, had surly left this young lady’s - though looking at her now he… “My, you are beyond pretty.” He said reddening instantly as he realized the words left his lips, and not another’s.

“You really think?” She said with a laugh, “and look at you blushing.” She cleared her throat, looking honestly a bit abashed, “sorry you had to hear that, but a girl can only take getting lied to, so many times. Remember that won’t you?” She asked him with a shy smile.

Snapping out of his own smile, James wrestled with his pocket for a moment, at last pulling out a small leather bound note book, “no, no I won’t.” he said as he began to write her words down.

“My name is Lisa,” she said with another warm smile, “what’s yours handsome?”

“Handsome,” He mumbled as he finished his writing, then looked up in wonderment, “handsome.” He said again, looking about him to make sure there was no one else there she could possibly be referring to, “me? I’m handsome?” He said, pointing to himself in disbelief, “me?”

“Yes you, silly boy. Very,” Lisa said with a mirthful shake of her head, “what’s your name love?” She asked him again, locking her eyes with his.

James stood there, chained by her eyes, “name?”

“Yes, name. You do have a name don’t you?” Lisa joked.

“Name? Name! Yes I do have a name!” James said with excitement.

“And, it would be?” She asked with a snicker.

His brows wrinkled with concentration, his eyes wondering here and there, as he desperately tried to solve Lisa’s impossible riddle.

“James, James John Darling!” He said, full of joy at solving her grueling task.

“Well Mr. Darling, how may I help you?”

Raising his hand to his head, he nodded slowly with each word as he remembered his supposed purpose.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Howard, concurring employment.” He said, breathing heavily as if he had been sprinting.

“Oh, you’re the 9:00. Well go on up, he’s waiting for you. Those stairs, right there behind you, will take you up to his office. I’ll ring him and let him know you’re on your way up.”

Finally back to his senses, “thank you very much Misses Lisa.” He said with a bow.

“No Misses, just Miss.” She corrected him. “Right up those stairs, can’t miss him.

“Thanks again,” he said. 

Turning from her, he walked for the stairs.

“Though, Lisa Darling,” She whispered just loud enough for him to hear. James stumbling at her words as proof of the fact, “that would sound rather nice.”

As he made his way up the stairs, James found it delightfully difficult for his feet to agree, tripping several times over what seemed to be, very dense air.

Chapter 2

The door of wood and glass read, ‘Mr. Howard, Chief Editor.’

What Lisa had said was true, there really was no way he could have missed it. The thick door sat at the very top of the stairs, and after a calming breath, James knocked three times.

“Come in. Come in!” Mr. Howard said from the other side of the door, perhaps even cheerfully. 

James wasn’t quite sure, as he opened the door. It was perhaps the deepest voice he had ever heard and was only sure that anger, would be the only for sure sound of emotion that one could hope to get out of Mr. Howard. And seeing the size of Mr. Howard as he walked into the room, he hoped he never heard a single whisper of anger from Mr. Howard, in his entire life.

The man was not fat, or bulgy in any way, just massive. Easily six feet tall, he looked like a man forged of only muscle. The kind of man to be found in a seedy boxing ring down some dark alley, and not behind some desk, working as an editor. But looking up at him again, James was sure that not a soul had ever voiced such opinions aloud to Mr. Howard before, and wisely he thought that he would defiantly not be the first.

“Good day Mr. Howard, how are you? My name is James John D—-”

“Young Mr. Darling!” Mr. Howard boomed with a giant smile, as he jumped up to shake James’ hand. “Why I haven’t seen you since you were but a babe!”

James looked down in disbelief as Mr. Howard’s hand completely surrounded his own, as if his own hand was but a child’s.

“And now look at you!” Mr. Howard said, grabbing James by both shoulders. His hands swallowing his tiny arms. “God, I guess that means I’m getting old!” He joked, slapping James on the shoulder, managing to knock every stitch of air from his lungs, as he turned back to his desk.

“And how is that rascal of a father of yours, still teaching?” Mr. Howard asked taking his seat.

“Yes, yes he is sir.” James managed between coughs, and breaths.

“Oh we did have he best of times, me and your father. You know it was he who wanted to be an editor and writer some day, and me who wanted to be a professor.” Mr. Howard said before filling the office with a booming laughter. 

“So close we were, that we wound up living the other’s dream!”

James tried his best not to cover his ears, as Mr. Howard again, sounded with a thunderous laugh.

“I did not know that. I thought father always wanted to be a professor.”

“No, your father was a mad man!”

“Father? A mad man?”

“Aye! The ‘Scourge’ the mothers of oxford called him. The things that man could do with a smile! No, writing and editing was his dream, until he was sobered up a bit. By two things.”

James had never heard of his father being anything but subtle and kept, but here he was hearing that his old man had the type of excitement he wished he had always had. He was hooked on Mr. Howard’s every word.

“What two things?” James asked desperately.

“Well the first was your mother. My God, she was like a dream that had escaped from sleep!”

“Mother?”

“Yes.”

“And the second?

“Why the second was you lad!” Mr. Howard said with another large laugh. “An editors life, let alone a writers life, isn’t necessarily designed for the needs of family. But knowing your father you wouldn’t of known. He took to teaching like a fish in water, and who could blame him. With your mother’s beauty as motivation, a man could find himself able to bare anything!”

“I. I did not know.” James said, slumping in the chair, in front of Mr. Howard’s desk. “I never would have imagined that father had wanted to be a writer. Never. He always tells me it’s a waste of time, a fools errand.”

“That perhaps, lad. Is your father fearing that you would fail, where he had also. It’s truly not easy to make it as a writer.”

James nodded in knowing agreement.

“Why, the only one of the three of us to make it was Louis!”

“Three? Who is Louis?”

“Come now lad! You have a Master’s in English and you don’t know Louis Lambert?”

Slowly James stood up, rubbing his eyes with both hands, “Lambert? You mean Louis Lambert? The writer?”

“Yes lad, I’m not to sure there’s another Louis Lamber worth mentioning really!” Mr. Howard joked, before becoming concerned. “Are you ill son?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, lowering his hands, “a complete fool apparently, but fine!”

“Oh I see, your father did not mention him. Oh my, I think I just committed a serious blunder!”

Mr Howard’s frown that followed was a frightful thing, yet even still, james could have sworn the ghastly sight blossomed from a tiny smile.

“What do you mean, blunder?”

“Well as you know, some time ago Louis became, sick. His mind was shattered, from reasons I’m still not sure of. But around that time your father was marrying your mother, and Louis refused to come to the wedding. Well we were best blokes before that, and your father took it, well rather hard really. From then on, he held a good bit of hate for poor old Louis.”

Mr. Howard shook his head, and held a sad look on his face, that for some reason just didn’t look genuine. He couldn’t place it, perhaps sadness just looked strange on such a large face.

“Father can hold a grudge,” James admitted. “But he should have told me.” James said pacing the room, “I told father countless times about how I wanted to be a writer, perhaps even better then the great Louis Lambert. And now I find every time I mentioned such, would have surly caused him some kind of pain. The pain of a dream lost, or worst a friend lost. I feel terrible!” James said, again slouching down in the seat before Mr. Howard.

“It’s not your fault lad, you did not know,” Mr. Howard said before jumping in sudden realization, “lad! Did you say you wanted to be a writer?”

“Yes. I graduated from Oxford, early last year.”

“Graduated with the highest marks of your class, is what I hear!” Mr. Howard boomed with pride.

“Yes. I went back home to the states after, to work on my book, but. Well lets just say, a free mind proved harder to tame, then one chained and guided by school. I lost all inspiration for my book, and I had promised father that if I had not finish by years end, that I would finally go and find work. When year’s end came, he found me and gave me a ticket for London, and a job appointment, here.”

“And here you stand.”

“More or less.” James said with a flourish of both hands, that made his depressed slouch in the chair, all the more noticeable.

“You know Mr. Darling I have perhaps a problem that you may be able to help with.”

“A problem?”

“Yes, you see I have a writer who like your self has hit a bit of a, road block with his latest work. And word has it, perhaps his greatest work to date.”

“But how could I help?”

“Well by helping him, I think perhaps you can help yourself, find exactly what you need to find. You know, inspiration!” Mr. Howard said, rounding the table to stand behind James.

“Inspiration? That would be warmly welcomed. But what would you need me to do?” He asked, looking up to Mr. Howard.

“Well this writer, over the years, has become quite particular about his writing, and now only does so by dictation. Yet even more bothersome is that he trust no one, not even enough to give the dictation needed to finish the book. What you would do for me is earn his trust, serving as his secretary. Keeping his dates in order and such, and perhaps in time he would even provide you with the rest of his book to be transcribed.”

“I guess I could do that sir, but what makes you think this writer would open to me?”

“Oh, just a gut feeling we editors in great need, some times get. So what do you say?”

“But I don’t even know who it is.”

“I’ll pay you $50 dollars a week!”

James jumped from his seat in shock, “$50 dollars a week!”

“And not a penny more! Here,” Mr. Howard said, picking up a large envelope from atop his desk, “Here’s your first week’s pay, tickets and further instructions.” He rushed out, all a bit strange to the ear because of  his immensely deep voice.

Pushing James to the door with the envelope, before he could even reply he continued, “and you must hurry now, your train leaves in a hour. My daughter Lisa will take you to the train.”

“Train? But?” James squeaked out.

“No buts, I know you’ll do me proud! Now on your way!” Mr. Howard said, opening the door to his office and shooing James out.

“But sir,” James pleaded.

“What is it now lad?”

“But I don’t even know the writers name sir.” He said in confusion.

“The writer’s name?” Mr. Howard said with a impossibly broad smile, “The writer’s name is Louis Lambert! Now be off!”

And with that, Mr. Howard shut the door on the confused and now very frightened Mr. Darling.

Chapter 3

“Your the first yank I’ve ever met, you know that.” Lisa was saying as swerved through the busy streets of london by motor car.

“No. No I did not know that,” James stuttered out, with eyes locked shut with fear.

“Aye, you are. And for some reason I expected yanks to be more, I don’t know, lively,” she said almost careening into a old women and her fruit wagon.

“Sorry to disappoint,” James said, braving to open a single eye. But seeing what he saw soon eradicated any remnants of bravery in him.

“No, no need to apologize,” she said before kissing him on the check, “you don’t disappoint me one bit!” She finished with a wicked smile.

Eyes open, but utterly blind to the speed and easily obtained, possible death and mayhem around him, he saw only her. 

“You are a very dangerous young women!” He said with a smile of his own.

“Why thank you. You finally noticed!”

Finally realizing again where he was, James looked forward, his eyes automatically clinching shut, “How could I’ve not!” He said with a shaky laugh.

“Ah, here we are,” Lisa finally said, after what seemed an eternity. 

The motor car came to a stop.

“You can open your eyes now love,” Lisa joked.

Slowly James opened one eye, then the other. Blinking at the now, midday sun.

“That’s Paddington Station,” Lisa said, pointing to a long iron structure of a building,. “When inside, find Platform 7.”

“And where will Platform 7 take me?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, but if I know father, he would of given you a list of some kind.” Lisa said with a shake of her head, “Oh how father does love his little list.”

James brought up the envelope and stared, “I guess he did.”

“Well, I do hate good byes, but I shamefully do find my self wanting you to come back sooner then later,” Lisa said with a decisive sniff.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised before she hugged him. Shocked he stood frozen, and before he had the nerve to hug her back, the moment was gone.

“You just go and be safe! Father also has a knack for getting others in trouble!” Lisa said before shooing James off towards the ship, “others, namely me. But others none the less.”

After the confusion of first finding Platform 7, and then settling into his compartment car, a very comfortable compartment car at that, James made his way up to the observation car to sit and think.

“What just happened?” He found himself asking, no one in particular.

“Well I guess at least I should find out where I’m headed,” He said, opening the envelope Mr. Howard had given him.

Dear Mr. Darling

I am very pleased that you have agreed to help me in my little endeavor. At this moment, and for the past four years, the great Louis Lamber has been trying to complete a manuscript, that is quite possibly his best ever. All you must do to assist him, is to keep him on track. Not wanting you to go blindly into the lion’s dean, I have set up a few appointments with good acquaintances of Mr. Lambert’s, so that you may learn more of his troubling condition, and perhaps what to do in certain times, and more importantly what not to do.

Your first stop will be to the house of Lambert’s good friend Mr. Rodger S. Garrson. Your second stop will be to the offices of Misses Rachel Moore. Who has collaborated with Lambert on several works. And lastly Mr. Lee R. Tone, who was truly the closest before Lambert’s tragic breakdown. 

The Contents of this envelope is, as follows:

*A train ticket. With stops in Bicester, Stafford, Rochdale and finally Leeds.

• $50.
• Maps of each visiting city.
• And lastly a copy of Lambert’s work, thus far.

P.S. I knew I could count on you. Good luck, and for heavens sack have a bit of fun while you’re at it!

Sincerely, Mr. Howard

Chief Editor

Odin Press Publishing

In disbelief James sat back in his chair.

“Not only Lambert,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “but Misses Moore!”

In school James had fallen for her words as strongly as he did for Lambert’s.

He read Mr. Howard’s letter again.

“I’m going to meet Rodger S. Garrson?” He said aloud, hoping that doing so would some how snap him out of the strange dream he found himself snared by.

“Greatest living poet, and I’m going to meet him,” James said in frightful realization, “for tea?”

“And to make matters worse, Lee R. Tone!”

The man had single handedly defined, what it was to be great! He could have an idea Monday, have a layout by Tuesday’s breakfast, and have a pulitzer for the same work by Friday evening, just in time for dinner!

“They’re all master of the written word.” James said, his eyes growing large. “I haven’t even finished a single work! How can I even think to rub shoulders them?”

“They do what I wish I could, as easily as I breaths air!” James said, finding his breathing at that moment not very easy. “I’m nothing. How can I face them?”

Shacking his head he read the last of the letter again.

P.S. I knew I could count on you. Good luck…

James barely knew Mr. Howard, but strangely the idea of letting him down, made him feel even worse.

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to pull this off,” James thought aloud, “but Mr. Howard does clearly. Maybe he knows something I don’t.”

“And I promised father I’d try my best,” James said as his shoulders dropped considerably, “I suppose I must!”