The Last Ritual

by S. A. Sidor

  The three drank tea together.

  “Alden, who’s this?” Portia asked from inside her fur-trimmed hood. The women were headed out. I’d interrupted a chat they were having as they stepped out the door.

  “Thorn, my trusted sidekick.”

  “Your puppy is awfully cute. But we were hoping you’d bring Juan Hugo around,” Delilah replied. “Him we’re just dying to meet.”

  Portia gave her a stern look which she ignored.

  “You’ve heard about Balthazarr already?” I asked, surprised. How did they know?

  “It’s all over the Colony. The notorious Spaniard has arrived,” Delilah said.

  I petted Thorn’s side. “What makes you think I am acquainted with Balthazarr?”

  The women looked at each other, passing silent messages.

  “We heard you visited him at the Silver Gate,” Portia said. “This morning…?”

  “Is it true?” Delilah asked, eagerly.

  I was taken aback. News spread fast in the commune. I needed to be wary of that, as a rule. Privacy would be a luxury forfeited. “In fact, it is true. But I don’t really know him.”

  “Surely, you do,” Delilah said, as if I were playfully deceiving them.

  “Will you introduce us?” Portia was trying unsuccessfully to contain her excitement.

  I decided not to fight their assumptions. “Well, if the opportunity arises…” Though I was hardly in any position to be escorting Juan Hugo Balthazarr around New Colony. “We have a mutual friend, Balthazarr and I. Simple as that.”

  “We’ll all be friends before too long, I expect.” Portia measured her words.

  “All makes one in the end,” Delilah said.

  Portia shot her a look. It was an odd way to put things. Yet somehow familiar…

  In any case, I didn’t want to disappoint them. “Next time I see Balthazarr I’ll invite him to come for a visit.”

  Delilah said, “You don’t need to invite him. He’s been with us from the very star–”

  Portia elbowed her roommate in the side. “We know him by his work, she means.”

  Straightening, Delilah acted as if she hadn’t felt the blow. But she clammed up. When she spoke, her voice sounded tight, breathless. “Can’t wait to meet face to face.”

  The women had me bewildered. But I liked them and wanted to appear amicable, especially since they were Nina’s friends. “I don’t know about Juan Hugo, but you’ll be seeing a lot more of me in the future. I hope to be moving in soon.” They were underwhelmed. Apparently, I was small potatoes compared to a world-famous Surrealist.

  “Uh huh.” Delilah said. She and Portia moved off, waving.

  “Be seeing you!” Portia called out, sounding like an enthusiastic, but poor, actress.

  The two women crossed the street. Heads tipped together in hushed conversation.

  Maybe someday I would be famous enough to excite people, to make their eyes brighten as I passed. To want to meet me. I needed to get used to living among groups again. I’d forgotten how it was since leaving college. In Europe, I chose to live off on my own.

  I went up to Nina’s apartment. She opened the door before I knocked.

  “My, my, what’re you dressed up for?” I said. “It’s too early for a night out.”

  “Hello, you two.” She kissed me and scratched my dog behind the ears. She wore a shiny black dress that had silver teardrops sewn on; her Mary Janes had rhinestones glued to the straps and heels. Silk stockings. I’d never seen her so done up. She ushered us in.

  “I have news,” Nina said.

  “Me too. But you go first. Is your news good or bad?”

  “Good, definitely.”

  “Mine too.”

  She poured two whiskies to celebrate. Thorn curled up on the rug by the fireplace. We drifted to the living room. It was all terribly domestic.

  “I found Calvin Wright.” Nina’s eyes glittered, proud of her success.

  “Great! Where is he?”

  “Staying with friends in Easttown. He’s got a new job. Been busy, working.”

  “In Arkham all along.” That made things easier. If he’d left town, we were doomed.

  She gulped half her whiskey. “His employer is a bootlegger. Calvin unloads trucks. They’re taking the shipments off fishing boats on the river.”

  “Is that where you got this? It goes down smooth.” I flopped onto her sofa.

  “Somebody bought me that bottle. I’ve been out all night at a speakeasy.” She waved me off when I furrowed my eyebrows, showing concern. “It was perfectly safe. Listen, Calvin wants to talk. I told him Court’s death might not be an accident and that the gargoyle isn’t in his apartment any more. He knows something. More than we do. I warned him that he might be in danger.” She kicked off her shoes and sat down beside me, massaging her feet.

  “What did he say when you told him the gargoyle came to life?”

  “I left out that part.”

  “That’s a big part, Nina.” I sipped my drink. “You met him at a speakeasy?”

  “I had a lead on the Galinka sisters. Apparently they were dancing at the Clover Club to make extra money. I ran into Calvin making a delivery at the club. Our conversation was less than private. So I had to be careful. We can speak freely when we meet again to share what we know.” A log popped in the fire. Thorn startled, then heeded the grate suspiciously.

  “What exactly do we know?” I swirled my whiskey. Drank it. Added to the glass.

  “Something you said earlier got me thinking. I have a theory,” she eyed me, tentative.

  “The more I think, the more confused I feel lately. Please, I need enlightenment.”

  “Remember when you were doing the rubbings?” She put her feet back on the floor. “You mentioned ‘ritual sacrifices’.”

  “I saw one in Spain. A reenactment of sorts.” I thought about my dreams: the tall man in the mask, the two puppets, a crowd chanting around a pyre. Was it only a reenactment?

  “What if the deaths in Arkham are part of a ritual?” Nina watched me, waiting for a challenge. She held her chin out. She’d been examining the crimes on her own for so long that sharing her private theory felt like taking a risk. I was more intrigued than judgmental.

  “A ritual for what?”

  She shrugged. “Rituals serve many purposes. To worship, to remember… what else?”

  I sat forward, trying to think. “Well, maybe… to call something?”

  “Yes! Sending a signal for someone, or something, faraway to receive.”

  “So the crimes are repeating this call?” As the whiskey warmed me, the idea was starting to make sense. But it felt like holding a live fish. I feared it might wriggle away.

  “Not repeating, so much as amplifying. Think of it like a radio transmitting more and more powerful waves. Each murder sends the call out stronger than the one before…”

  “Until at last something picks up.” I felt a victory, short-lived. “And does what?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Perhaps they find a way to answer?”

  “Or they show up.” I had a sick feeling in my gut. The net blob. The gargoyle. Were they harbingers? If they were, then whose arrival did they herald? What was hurtling relentlessly toward us? “Tell me the name of the place again. Where you met Calvin last night.”

  “It’s called the Clover Club. Why?”

  “You’re the second person to mention that place to me today.”

  “Who was the first?”

  “Preston.”

  “Preston?” Nina acted surprised. But Preston always knew where the best parties were. He’d be intimate with Arkham’s speakeasies. For the first time I wondered how well Nina got to know Preston during their time together. I’d had the opportunity to see the part of him that was attracted to the underside
of things, the part interested in forbidden pleasures.

  “We had breakfast. He told me Clark Abernathy is missing. Clark’s father said he might’ve run off with a dancer from the Clover Club. A woman named ‘Diamond,’ he said.”

  “Alden! The Galinkas used fake names at the club. Ruby and Sapphire. Not Diamond, but close. Do you think Clark’s dancer was one of them? Did they know him?”

  “It’s a possibility. Although the sisters have been missing for some time… but if Clark only recently tried to see her, he might not have heard. We know he didn’t run off.”

  “News stories of the murders didn’t list any aliases. There really might be a connection.” She stood up. “We have to talk to Calvin. He’s going to be at the docks today.”

  “The docks? I’d rather not go there. That watchman might remember me.”

  “We’ll be careful. We must see Calvin. He told me something else about a famous artist coming in to lead things at New Colony. He seemed disturbed. I don’t know why.”

  “The artist is Juan Hugo Balthazarr,” I surprised Nina again. “I met Balthazarr this morning at the Silver Gate. He makes an impression. Bigger than life. Preston introduced us.”

  I filled her in on the details of my morning with Preston.

  “Let’s go,” she said, finally. She ran into her bedroom to change her clothes.

  “Where’re we going?” I called from outside the doorway.

  “Calvin said he’d be able to meet us a half hour from now. There’s a boat due.” She opened the bedroom door. “Say, I never asked you. What’s your good news?”

  “I’m moving in across the hall.” But there was no time for us to celebrate.

  Instead, we were going to talk to a man about monsters.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was worried about showing our faces at the docks. The snow offered obscurity. The docks remained busy regardless of the inclement weather. Longshoremen hauled crates back and forth from the ships to the cavernous warehouses. We were just a couple out walking their dog. Thorn provided a cover story, but we weren’t having any luck spotting Calvin. The snow hurt as much as it helped.

  We were ready to turn uphill and leave the dirty river behind when a voice called out.

  “Hey!”

  I froze, recalling the watchman and his wood bat. We wouldn’t be so fast running down a slippery alleyway. The shape I saw was a man. Too narrow to be the bulky guard.

  “Alden,” he said, approaching.

  Calvin manifested out of a gust of snow. I couldn’t help but check if he had wings. Fortunately, he didn’t. He smiled at us.

  “Miss Nina.” He tipped his head. He wore a knitted cap, a heavy sailor’s coat.

  “Calvin. I’m glad you were able to come,” she said.

  Calvin offered his hand for Thorn to sniff.

  “You’re a fine-looking dog,” he said, as he petted my hound.

  “Where can we talk?” I asked.

  “Follow me.” Calvin led us between two warehouses. At the back corner of one building was an unmarked door; he opened it, and we went inside. Calvin pulled a string. A weak bulb. Plank walls. A table and two benches covered with idle pocketknife carvings and cigarette burn marks. The air was stale with men’s sweat. Butts and refuse littered the floor; it hadn’t been swept out in weeks. A frightened mouse skittered past with a breadcrust.

  “Lunchroom,” Calvin explained.

  “You eat in here?” Nina asked, repulsed.

  “Not me,” Calvin said. He picked up a broom from the corner. “I don’t work here any more, remember?” he said. “I’m along for a ride today. We can talk. Anybody comes in, that changes. We’ll have to go someplace else.”

  “How’s your new boss?” I asked.

  Calvin shrugged. “A boss is a boss. What’d you want to talk about?”

  “How do they sneak the booze out?” I asked, curious.

  “Under the fish. Not every truck. I saw them doing it when I was shoveling ice for Burdon’s. Then I discovered this other opportunity. Some of the fish trucks take a detour.”

  I dug out a cigarette, holding out the open case to Nina and Calvin.

  “As long as I get paid.” Calvin leaned on the broom and put a cigarette between his lips. He raised his eyebrows. “Are we here to chat about running whiskey, or is there something else?”

  “Something else,” Nina said.

  I lit their smokes. “But if it’s tied up with bootlegging…”

  Calvin picked tobacco off his tongue. “Everything’s tied to bootlegging in this town. That’s where the money’s at. And the police, too. I don’t need trouble with them. Nina said this was about Court.” He watched me, remaining wary.

  “It is,” she assured him. “I think… well, we think it all might be connected, somehow. The speakeasies, a recent string of strange deaths, and the odd clues we’ve uncovered so far.”

  “Probably is connected.” Calvin exhaled, tired. “Court didn’t even drink. He was too damned serious. At the end, he was acting truly bizarre. Having crazy dreams every night.”

  “Nightmares?” I asked. “We’re having them too. Nina and I. We’re getting scared.”

  “The dreams scared him too. He’d wake up covered in sweat. Couldn’t focus. I was worried about him. He’d mumble nonsense to himself while we worked. He thought he was being followed.”

  “Was that all you did together?” I asked.

  “How’s that your business?” Calvin’s suspicion of me was turning hostile.

  “None of it’s my business. I’m trying to figure out where everyone fits in the puzzle.”

  He cooled. “We were friends. Court was too caught up in his art to enjoy more.”

  I left it at that.

  “The gargoyle, the stone one. Do you know where Court kept it?” Nina asked.

  Calvin was surprised by the question. “He rented out a garage, not too far from here. The gargoyle was in there. I assume it still is.”

  “Was Court working on something else? Another sculpture? When we found the clay model of the gargoyle in his apartment, we saw a bigger pedestal. It was empty,” I said.

  “Nothing I know about.” Calvin shook his head. “What’s going to happen to that clay gargoyle? It has sentimental value to me. I’d like to buy it if it’s for sale.”

  Nina and I exchanged glances. We had to tell him. No way around it.

  “You won’t believe this,” she started, hesitant, but needing to plunge on. “Dunphy’s clay gargoyle came to life.” When Calvin made no reply, she continued. “It crashed through the window and flew across the river. We saw it ride out of Arkham on top of a train.”

  Calvin laughed. Waiting for us tell him the rest of the joke.

  But we didn’t have a punchline.

  Understanding our seriousness, he staggered backward as if he’d been physically struck. He sat on a bench, sucking his cigarette and rubbing his chin. His eyes moved back and forth like a man putting together his own puzzle, sorting the pieces out, in the same way we’d done. “It really came to life?”

  “It did,” I said.

  I reached into my pocket and took out the folded rubbings I made from Court’s door. I passed them to him.

  “What’s this?” He seemed afraid to look at the papers.

  “We found a message carved on the inside of Court’s door. The gargoyle wrote it.”

  “It wrote something?”

  “I made a copy. Words and symbols. Our names are written there. Yours too.”

  Calvin’s hands were shaking as he opened the papers. He spread them out flat on his knees. Ash tumbled onto the newsprint. He didn’t bother to brush it away. Concentrating.

  “You are in danger,” Nina said. “We all are, as you can see. That’s why we need your help. Together, we might have a chance against wha
tever evil force is at work here in Arkham.” She sat next to him and touched his hand. “Can you help us? Will you?”

  Calvin was stunned, and silent.

  “What do you know about the Colony?” I sat on his other side. The stark room was cold to begin with, but a new chill creeped in. Bone deep, awful. A palpable presence.

  Calvin crushed out his smoke. “I know these signs. I’ve seen them before.”

  I jumped up. “Where did you see them? Do they mean something?” I took the paper. Shook it. I turned it around so he could see. “See, here. This one looks like a star. Is it a star?”

  Calvin’s shoulders dropped. He slouched forward like a prizefighter in his corner between rounds. His breath quickened and grew shallow. “It’s called the Falling Star. I’ve heard others call it the ‘Un-Sun’.” He wiped his dry mouth. “They are calling to him.”

  “We thought they might be trying to make contact. What is the Un-Sun?” Nina asked.

  Calvin was twisting his neck, trying to clear his head. Suddenly, he looked exhausted.

  “The Gate will open soon,” he said. “They’ll try to bring him through…”

  “Who’ll try?” Nina asked.

  Calvin bit his lip. “I shouldn’t tell you more. Get away. Stay far away. Leave town if you must… you’re sure the gargoyle wrote this? He wrote… my name?”

  “Yes, all of our names. We need to know what you know. Over the last months several people have died in Arkham under unusual circumstances. Nina and I think it might be a ritual. Dunphy was one of those people. Now we’re seeing monsters pop up in town.”

  “Monsters? Others like the gargoyle?” Calvin looked to Nina to confirm my words.

  “We think so,” she said. “We’ve witnessed two for ourselves.”

  Calvin closed his eyes. He rubbed at his chest. Then his eyes opened and he steeled himself. He pointed to the three-prong fork. “This is their sign. A pitchfork. They’ve been searching for a leader, a sorcerer to open the Gate without getting them all killed in the process. This mark is the sorcerer.” He tapped the spiked crown pictogram. “He might be the Twister of the Coil. I don’t know that title. But the sorcerer wears the crown. And they unlock the Gate. The cup with the two eggs in it… I’ve never seen that figure. A sacrifice, maybe?” Calvin got up. His skin looked slack and gray, as if he’d lost a lot of blood.