"晚上好，我是Dane Aisling，将作为你们今天的仲裁员。"
“各位博士，”Dane说着，与Tamin、Alfa和Racey博士握手。“Kamon副主管。”他也与Kamon握了握手，众人随即落座，Kamon坐在博士们对面，Dane则居于主位。坐在他身侧的Elanor正全神贯注地在一台基金会笔电上打字。"这位是Elanor Jones，同样来自人力资源部门。“开始吧。这应该只是对一些一般性政策的概述，我认为我们应该可以比较快地完事。”
博士们看向彼此，点了点头。
“只是为了确定我了解的情况是正确的，”Dane说着，他那温和的英式口音语调显然让面前的研究员们放松不少，“由于SCP-1979收容失效所引发之意料之外的副作用，三名研究员紧邻实验区域的办公室内出现了时间的异常延展。因此，他们在某次实验期间各自经历的时间流速与同同事存在差异。而且——“Dane低头瞥了眼皮革封面笔记本里的手写笔记，其上的钢笔字迹表明这显然费了不少心血：“根据Racey博士的计算，他们各自认为作为非豁免员工1，有权获得约394小时的额外补偿。对此，Kamon副主管持反对意见。”
他们点点头。
”所以我们搞清楚了，“Dane对博士们说到，”你们每人均在异常气泡内带了3个小时，但是气泡外实际已经过了397个小时。但你们希望籍此获得上述397个小时所对应的报酬，尽管实际工作时长远远少于此。“
他们再次点头，却带着更多迟疑。Kamon的嘴角微微抽动。
”而Kamon副主管，您的根本性误解导致了您驳斥了这一主张，而这种误解是由——我引用您的原话——“可笑的经典力学谬论”所导致的。“
Kamon面不改色。但同时，Elanor却强忍着笑意。
“话虽如此，基金会对此类情况有相关政策规定。"Dane打开面前的文件夹，里面那张纸上复印着类似于员工手册的东西。”基金会的考勤机由人力资源部门负责管理，其运行速度始终保持特定标准化速率，该速率可参照基准现实进行量化测算。“2
现在轮到Kamon坐立不安了。
“原因很简单。虽然三位博士只是经历了额外的时间，但他们在基金会之外的责任并未随之减少。账单、开支、冰箱里的牛奶——所有这些都经历了他们未曾经历的394个小时。因此，”Dane说着在文件末尾签了字，“本仲裁裁定这三位博士有权获得所要求的补偿及相关福利。”
博士们都极力掩饰着内心的喜悦，看着Dane起身与他们握手。他感谢他们抽出时间，并请他们离开房间后，Dane才转向副主管——此刻对方正气得浑身发抖。
“抱歉，Kamon副主管，在我们结束之前，我需要跟进一件小事。”Dane重新坐下。“我理解您的懊恼以及您发起这些程序的原因。毕竟管理站点预算本就是你职责的一部分。”
”嗯“
”此外，若此案裁决对您有利，将为您节省逾千小时的人员补偿成本——这一补偿涉及薪资与福利约八万美元。但相较贵站点的预算，这笔金额似乎微不足道，对吗？“
Kamon语气坚定而礼貌地说：“Byers主任其实并不在我们大楼工作。他只是从主站点预算中给我们拨付一小笔资金。”
Dane点点头。“我知道。削减这样大幅度的开支，就能留给你更多的份额。”
“是为站点的其他事务，”Kamon纠正道，“我的职责之一就是得把上面那帮账房先生3伺候好了，我现在正干着呢。”
Elanor首次开口，随手举起手示意自己：“嗨，我就是‘上面的那帮账房先生’。而且，我可一点都不高兴。”
Dane点了点头。“Kamon副主管，我们都清楚您所说的那些‘其他事务’指的是什么。姑且称之为‘酌情处理’吧。”他的举止尽显纯粹的同志情谊——两位专业人士像只是闲聊。
Kamon不吃这一套。“你什么意思？快说！”
“副主管，能否请您解释一下，究竟为何更改了SCP-1979的实验日程？或许您也能帮我厘清跑步机故障的根源所在。”
Kamon顿时火冒三丈：“我没有滥用基金会资源。你以为你是谁？我绝不接受任何此类指控。”他咬紧牙关。“这是我的办公室，人力资源先生。我清楚这项研究的代价，它远不止金钱。我敢打赌你这辈子他妈的连异常都没碰到过。”
Dane嗤笑一声，从文件夹里抽出一张写着纪律处分字样的纸。“你会大吃一惊的”
1733
贮存措施
每份可能生成该货物的材料副本应被贮存在集合点4 No 56内的一三重锁定之档案库内。目前，上述材料包括有：五册保存完好的1640年四开本。上述材料副本在任何情况下均不得被移出集合点。对这些不敬之文的查阅须受严格监控；除保佐人外，严禁任何人查阅。保佐人之职责在于每两周确认确认上述不利文件的存续及安全状况。
货物描述
该货物系一超常实体，仅会在演出一部名为《缢王悲歌》的戏剧杰作时才会显现……
货物标记 3
将近正午，我到了指定地点，自正门走入这座宏伟的剧院——那扇门已从门框上部分脱落，歪斜地虚掩着。剧院内部的家具陈设被随意掀翻，一片狼藉；幽暗之中，那股再绝对不会认错的死人味迎头撞了上来。
院内，一名素未谋面的年轻人迎接了我。他向我伸出手，使出了我们组织成员特有的第一类辨识手势。我我也如法炮制，亦以同样的方式回礼，自证了身份。了却掉这桩公事，我们便朝剧院前厅走去。从那个角度看去，这地方所遭受的亵渎般的毁灭性破坏一览无余。
“Elijah Wullen，”当他们步入昏暗的剧院大厅时，年轻人开口道，“能请到像您这样倍受推崇的专家亲临现场，是我们的荣幸，Aisling保管人。面对这种局面，我们实在有些束手无策。”
Dane从外套里取出一个皮革小袋，解开束口的流苏：“这已经是委员会第九次不得不处理此类事件了，”他低声说道，从中取出一面小巧的鎏金镜。
“至少这一次，我们效忠于委员会的同僚及时识别了那实体作祟的迹象。”Wullen的语气听起来颇为自得。Dane却心想，考虑到这场演出的惨烈结局，他未免有些得意过头了。“那么，您对此类运货单想必很熟悉吧？”
Dane没有立刻回答，而是将注意力集中在镜子上。他缓慢地转动着镜面，仿佛想从镜中映出的黑暗里窥见某种潜藏的事物。在经历了长达数分钟令人如坐针毡的死寂后，他终于开口了。“我很熟悉，”他终于回答道，“正因如此，我无法理解这场演出最初为何会被进行的。我本以为委员会的代理人理应介入并阻止它。”他将镜子放回皮袋，抬头直视着年轻的代理人。“按理说，现场应该有两名委员会的帮佣5，他们具备识别那畜生行径的专业知识。”
Wullen摇了摇头。“我来到这座城市时间尚短。据我所知，这座剧院里并没有人向我亮过此类身份。有没有可能……他们擅离职守了？”
Dane弯下腰，捡起一本丢弃在地上、封面已经结了一层赤褐色血痂的四开本小册子。他翻到扉页，上面写着：《缢王悲歌》 1640年。Dane从兜里掏出一本皮质手册，飞快地扫了一眼，随即便放回原处。“死了多少人，Wullen先生？”
Wullen神情凝重地低头避开了对方的视线。“五十六个。”
Dane摇了摇头。“不，不。我是问在演出开始之前，死了多少人，Wullen先生？”
年轻的委员会代理人不由自主地微微后退了一步。“先生？”
“因为，”Dane语气平稳地继续说道，手指向舞台上飞溅的斑斑血迹，“如果死者的话可信——而我坚信他们是诚实的——那么这场悲剧背后，恐怕还有隐情。”
Wullen哑口无言。
Dane深吸了一口气。“委员会对此极不满意，Wullen先生。要知道，当委员会的理事们终于发现——虽然这恐怕为时已晚——剧院老板LaRoungey公爵曾达成过一项协议，要对剧院进行改建，为此他还购买了一笔数额惊人的保险。”
Wullen眉头紧锁，努力跟上对方的思路。当他终于意识到这位保管人言下之意时，双眼猛地睁
“那两个失踪的帮佣，”Dane回答。他的目光投向黑暗，仿佛在寻找藏在阴影里的某种东西。“我相信他们背弃了自己和委员会的合约。这个，”他一边说，一边把那本沾满血迹的四开本递给Wullen，“并不是该货物的又一次显现。”
Wullen接过本子，结结巴巴地顺着逻辑推导：“因为这是……旧的印刷本？而不是运货单里所述的那种”
“正是。”Dane走到舞台边缘，蹲下身检查一些半烧焦的残骸。“这是预先埋好的饵。他们明知道这场演出会催生出怎样的恐怖。这场悲剧足以让LaRoungey公爵稳赚不赔——要么是如愿拿到保险金，要么是让委员会为了封口而支付赔偿。或许，两头都要。”
“阴险！邪恶！”Wullen气得语无伦次，“看在上帝的份上，他们怎么能执行如此歹毒的计划？”
“我们生活在人的世界里，Wullen先生。而人这种生物，天生就是有缺陷的。”Dane拨开了身旁的一些残骸，露出了一堆塞成一团的织物和绳索。“圣母玛利亚啊。”
"What is it?" Wullen started to make his way through the gloom and toward the stage.
"The play does not always summon the demon," Dane replied. "But that wasn't the point. They were prepared to make it look like the creature had manifested. They wanted to attract the Commission's attention. Or worse—"
"What—ack!" Wullen coughed and sputtered, and Dane leapt to his feet; he had not even heard the sound of the rope being lowered from the stage rafters, and before he could even move, the noose had tightened around the young agent's throat and he was rising from the stage floor, grasping at his neck. The Warden's sword found his hand, but Wullen had been raised up and out of reach, where a shrouded figure awaited in the rafters.
"With this, in tribute," the shrouded figure shouted, words echoing in the dingy gloom, "in full it is paid!"
"No!" Dane cried out, but it was too late: the figure had drawn a long dagger across the young man's stomach. Blood and gore rained down, splattering onto the stage with sickening finality.
Another voice, just behind the Warden, replied. "With this, fool's blood—"
Dane spun, his sword slicing at the source of the sound. His blade met another, and the Warden drove his hilt forward to strike at the face of his attacker. It connected, and the other man stumbled backward and off the stage into the orchestra pit. Dane swept to the stage stairs to meet the man at the bottom just as the Yardsman threw out a vicious slice from the side—but it connected only with Dane's heavy coat. Another swipe was parried, then another, but the fourth swing of the blood-stained steel was lucky, finding Dane's shoulder and digging into flesh.
Dane didn't waste another instant. Wullen's blood was on his face, streaming into his eyes and stealing his focus. The Yardsman's swings were careful and exact, deviating only in clumsy parries. This was not a soldier trained in the art of swordplay; this was an actor, trained in stage swordplay. Dane needed only one feint to the left and a right-side slash toward the man's ear to dispatch him, sending him down the orchestra pit floor with an open throat spewing a veritable fountain of blood.
"With this, fool's blood, it is the Hanged King's." Wullen's killer had lowered himself to the stage by the same rope, Wullen's lifeless corpse still attached to the end.
"I thought you wanted money," Dane spat. His shoulder was burning. "But that was just a ruse, wasn't it? To convince the Duke to put on The Hanged King. You're trying to summon the demon. On purpose."
The murderer tore the young agent from the noose, dropping him to the floor in a slump. Then he put the rust-stained rope around his own neck.
Dane took a step closer. "No…" his head was spinning. The wound was feeling hot in his skin now. The darkness was overwhelming his senses.
Wullen's killer grinned. "With this, our blood, it is the Hanged King's." A moment later, Wullen's killed was lifted back to the rafters. His feet were still thrashing when Dane plunged into the darkness.
I do not know if these servants of darkness succeeded in their goal that night. Their infernal acts, I am told, opened a door to somewhere, and I had but the misfortune to fall into it. But a door once opened may be opened again, and so…
Where I am now, I do not know. But I shall endeavour to continue performing those duties to which I have sworn a sacred obligation.
Dane folded the piece of paper and placed it in the front of his leather notebook. Across the table, the person who had identified as Scranton was watching him. Not judging—observing. Considering.
"And then," he said, finishing his tale, "I am here."
"Yes," Scranton replied. "You are here. You've gone quite literally to hell and back."
He nodded slowly. "And this…this is the Commission, now?"
"The Commission dissolved over a century ago. But its purpose lives on here at the Foundation."
Dane drummed his fingers on the book. "And where does that leave me? A man displaced in time, in a world he does not understand? What am I, then, to this Foundation?"
Scranton seemed amused, rising from the chair and walking to the door. It opened, and the director gestured to the hallway beyond. "If I am not mistaken, Dane, you are the Foundation's last Regent's Ward. And there is plenty of room for those of us who are displaced." Then Scranton walked out.
需参考内容：
原文
缢王悲歌台词参考
异常货物委员会中心页EN
异常货物委员会中心页CN
汇文明朝体-来源
汇文明朝体-授权
