THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  THAT DARN SQUID GOD

  Nick Pollotta and James Clay

  THAT DARN SQUID GOD

  Copyright © 2007 Nick Pollotta and James Clay

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Double Dragon eBooks

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  ISBN-10: 1-55404-509-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-509-9

  First Edition November 15, 2007

  Also Available as a Large Type Paperback

  Now Available as paperback and hard cover

  A Celebration of Cover Art: 2001 to 2006

  Five Years of Cover Art

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  DEDICATION

  To our wives.

  REVIEWS

  "'That Darn Squid God" rewrites literary history, remodels London worse than the Blitz, and convinces that it is wise never to deny the supremacy of British womanhood! What more can you ask?" ANALOG SF MAGAZINE

  "Nick Pollotta is the funniest man in SF!"

  GENE WOLFE, two-time Nebula Award winner

  "Funny, compelling and an absolute pleasure to read. The finest comedy/fantasy I have read this year!" ETERNAL NIGHT SF MAGAZINE

  "Delightfully entertaining!" Robin Wood

  "It's not often a book of this nature comes along and you do not want to miss it. Pollotta and Clay are trying to corner humorous fantasy and this tale gives them a firm foundation."

  BARYON SF MAGAZINE

  "Set in Victorian England in the year 1881, That Darn Squid God is an hilarious parody of the otherworldly mythos of H. P. Lovecraft, strewn with delightful trappings of mystery and magic. Tongue-and-cheek humor with a fresh, and fast-paced, narrative style set apart That Darn Squid God as a fantastically funny end-of-the-world ride." MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW

  "…and those who hunt the night alone,

  With sword and gun, with cross and bone,

  Will sneer at Death, and refuse to kneel,

  When graveyard chimes being to peal…"

  from 'Heroes, or Idiots?'

  author unknown

  Chapter One

  Swirling fog ruled the London night.

  Stepping from a horse-drawn carriage into the thick mist, Professor Felix Einstein paused on the sidewalk, and briefly consulted the small glass globe in his hand. Trapped in the middle of the crystalline sphere was a mummified Egyptian tarantula that remained motionless under his hard scrutiny. The professor relaxed at the sign that there was no evil magic in the immediate vicinity. At least, for the moment.

  Satisfied for the nonce, Professor Einstein tucked the talisman away once more into his greatcoat. Dressed like a Bow Street banker, Einstein sported an Inverness cape over his gray-striped suit and Oxford school tie, with the mandatory small porridge stain. His craggy face was deeply tanned, and the silver highlights in his wavy hair almost perfectly matched the silver lion head of his ebony walking cane. The inner pocket of his coat bulged with an Adams .32 revolver. Looped across his waistcoat was a gold watch chain with a petrified shark's tooth dangling at the end as a fob. Jutting from a pocket of his vest was an embossed case containing numerous calling cards that merely listed his name, address, and a few dozen of his titles. His real profession was not among them.

  Starting to address the waiting cabby, Professor Einstein frowned as he caught a gale of merriment coming from the nearby building. Eh? In the expert opinion of the professor, a tribe of Zulu warriors performing the Mexican hat dance could not have been more incongruous than the loud laughter, which came from the ground floor windows of the five-story brownstone building dominating the block.

  Over the past few weeks, Einstein had noticed that the weather patterns of the entire world were steadily becoming worse: snow in Egypt, tornadoes in the Amazon jungle, bright sunshine in Liverpool, and such. Yet those were merely side effects of the coming apocalypse.

  So who could possibly be laughing at such a dire time as this ? the professor demanded irritably. Surely not my fellow club members! Maybe the fog distorted the noise of some distant party so that it seemed nearby? Yes, of course, that must be the answer. How obvious.

  "Best stay sharp, Davis," Professor Einstein said, reaching upward to shake hands with the burly driver. The complicated procedure took a few moments as thumbs, fists, knuckles, tickling and slapping were involved. It seemed more like a friendly fight between the two men than a salutation.

  "I'd recommend a routine number nine," Einstein added as they eventually let go.

  "My very thought," Davis whispered, checking the iron cudgel tucked into his wide leather belt. The 'Liverpool Lawgiver' was worn from constant use, and appeared as formidable as a consort Navy battleship. "Just you look for me, and I'll be there, governor."

  "Good man."

  Giving a wink, Davis shook the reins, and started the two draft horses away from the curb at a gentle canter. The cab vanished into the billowing clouds, and soon there was only the rattling echo of its wooden wheels on the cobblestones: a sound that faded away in ghostly fashion.

  Shaking off his uneasy feeling, Professor Einstein checked the loaded pistol in his pocket before starting along the sidewalk towards the giant brownstone. Then the odd laughter sounded again, louder this time, and most definitely from the club. Outrageous! With an annoyed snort, Einstein began to stride impatiently towards the towering downtown mansion.

  Reaching the front of the huge building, Professor Einstein ambled up the worn marble stairs with his mind still on the strange laughter. Einstein was quite aware that at any given time one could be almost sure that the leader of some newly returned expedition would be regaling the assembled members with his latest tales of derring-do, heavily embellished with sound effects, visual aids and the unwilling cooperation of the nearest staff member. In point of fact, the London Explorers Club was the only establishment in England that was forced to offer its servants combat pay. But raucous laughter when the world was on the brink of destruction? Professor Einstein frowned in consternation. Most unseemly . He had sincerely hoped that at least some of the other members would have been able to read the portents of the coming apocalypse. Perhaps he was wrong.

  Pushing open the brassbound mahogany door, Einstein entered the mansion and handed his Inverness cape, hat, and cane to a doorman, who in turn passed them to a liveried page. Taking a deep breath, the professor stood for a precious moment to let the warm air seep into his bones. The pungent atmosphere was thick with the homey smell of wood polish, pipe smoke, and cordite. Ah, home, sweet home!

  Just then, another burst of laughter arose, only to be abruptly cut off by a man's stern voice. Einstein tried to catch what was being said, but it was rapidly drowned out by a new upwelling of mirth. The noise seemed to be coming from the Great Hall. In spite of the urgency of his mission, the professor was forced to admit that this was becoming intere
sting. There was an unwritten law in the club that one had best know when to stick to the truth and when one could embellish a story a bit. A law that many bent, but few actually broke. Sadly, there were always a significant number of expeditions that encountered nothing more exciting than fetid jungles, smarmy natives, and dull animals that were so patently stupid that they would wander directly in front of you and politely wait while you dug the old .577 Martini-Henry bolt-action out of your haversack and did them the favor of blowing out their brains. But those were tales hardly worth repeating.

  Proceeding quickly down the center passageway, Professor Einstein turned left at a suit of Spanish armor and entered the Great Hall. No exaggeration had been used to name the room, as it was a good three hundred paces long, its oak beam ceiling an arrow-flight away. The parquet floor, formed of four-inch-square wooden blocks, was dotted with a hundred islands of India rugs and velvet smoking chairs, while in the center of the room, a tiered Italian fountain quietly burbled and splashed. Lining the walls were mammoth bookcases containing over a million leather bound tomes, most of them first editions, or handwritten journals. High above this grandeur, on the second story balcony, was a beautifully sculptured bronze bust of Marco Polo, the patron saint of explorers, dutifully keeping watch over his modern-day students.

  Crowding around a blazing fireplace, a group of club members surrounded a display table. Placed prominently on that scarred expanse of dark oak was a small wooden ship, barely a foot in length. A single low cabin was in the middle of the deck of the tiny vessel. No sails or masts were visible, and the rudder was broken.

  "By God, Carstairs," Lord Danvers laughed from underneath a bushy Royal British Marine moustache. "You'll have to do better than that!"

  "Rather," Dr. Thompkins snorted, dipping his red nose once more into a half-empty whiskey glass. "Balderdash, I say. Violates the unwritten law. Noah's Ark, indeed."

  In righteous indignation, Lord Benjamin Carstairs rose to his full height. No hat was necessary for him to tower over the other members.

  In cold scrutiny, Professor Einstein could see the fellow must be over six feet tall, and nineteen, maybe twenty stone in weight, with not an ounce of fat on the heavily muscled, almost Herculean frame. The giant was dapper. A three-piece suit of a brown worsted material perfectly complemented his stiff white shirt and striped Oxford tie. His lantern jaw was painfully clean-shaven, while the pale brown hair and blue eyes clearly announced a Saxon heritage.

  Oh well, nobody's perfect, the Norman-descended Einstein observed wryly.

  "I stand on my earlier statement, sirs," Lord Carstairs said calmly, resting a tanned hand on the little craft. "You have seen my journals and read my analysis. This ship was found on the peak of Mt. Ararat, hidden in a stratified gully just below the snow line. It is made of 4,000-year-old gopher wood and sealed with crude pitch. To scale, it is of the proper dimensions, and perfectly matches the description of the craft in the Book of Genesis , Chapters Six Through Ten. I Believe That It Was Constructed By Noah Ben Lamech, as a working model, before he built the actual sea-going Ark itself."

  Once more, guffaws filled the air and some rude soul added a juicy American raspberry.

  "Good evening, gentlemen," Professor Einstein said loudly, interrupting the brouhaha.

  In prompt response, the boisterous crowd stopped making noise and turned smartly about.

  "Felix, old boy!" Baron Edgewaters shouted, his bushy beard appearing to weigh more than his prominent belly. "Excellent timing, as always. We've got a real wowser for you this time."

  "Lad claims to have found a relic off of Noah's Ark, by gad!" Lord Danvers chortled, taking another healthy gulp. "Thinks he can fool us the way Thomson did in '74, with his 'continent under Antarctica' theory. Haw!"

  "How wonderful," Einstein snorted, dismissing the matter with a gesture. "He found Noah's Ark. My heartiest congratulations. But I have even more pressing news to convey."

  "I said a model, not the Ark itself, sir," Carstairs corrected primly.

  The professor shrugged. "Whatever you wish. It is of no consequence."

  "Indeed? And what could be more important than this?" Lord Danvers demanded, stroking his moustache. "The end of the world?"

  Eagerly opening his mouth to speak, Professor Einstein was cut off by Lord Carstairs.

  "And exactly who are you, sir?" the lord asked.

  "Haven't you two fellows ever met before?" Dr. Thompkins gasped in wonderment, rising from a chair.

  "No," they replied in unison.

  "But this calamity must be corrected with all due haste!" Colonel Pierpont declared, adjusting his pince-nez glasses and assuming an authoritarian pose. "Carstairs, might I introduce Professor Felix Einstein of the International British Museum, a private concern? Einstein, may I introduce Lord Benjamin Carstairs of Heather Downs, Preston?"

  With both hands clasped behind his back, Lord Carstairs nodded in greeting. "A pleasure, sir. I have read your books on archeology with the greatest of interest. Particularly your monograph on the feasibility of the idea that Stonehenge is a form of solar calendar."

  Impatiently, Einstein accepted the compliment with what grace he could muster under the circumstances. "A minor work. And I have more than a passing acquaintance with your own journals, sir. Your theories on the possible Aztec origin of the Easter Island statues are most impressive."

  "Thank you."

  "And if it will speed things along, as a senior member of the club, I officially acknowledge and congratulate you on your find," Einstein continued. "For this is not a model as you suppose, but the actual Ark itself."

  The roomful of explorers went stock-still at that, as if a live woman had entered the club.

  "A - are you crazed, Felix?" Sir Lovejoy erupted in shock, going even more pale than usual. "The craft is barely a foot long! How in the name of Queen Victoria could that toy carry seven and two of every animal on the face of the earth?"

  "Explain yourself, sir!" Dr. Thompkins demanded.

  Quite exasperated, Professor Einstein closed his eyes so that nobody would see him roll them about. Ye gods, plainly no other topic of conversation will be considered until this trifling matter is resolved. So be it.

  "Jeeves!" the professor shouted over a shoulder.

  Instantly, the liveried butler appeared in the doorway as if he had been waiting for the explosive summons. "Yes, sir?" he drawled, exhibiting proper English servitude.

  "Fresh gasogenes, please," Einstein commanded, thoughtfully rubbing his lucky shark's tooth. "Every bloody one we have."

  This gave Jeeves pause. There was a barely used soda water dispenser on the liquor cart right beside the man. Why would he wish additional reservoirs? And every one? For a club like the Explorers, that meant several dozen, at the very least. Then the butler went cold. Oh no, he prayed fervently, not another re-enactment of the Amazon rain forest. Anything but that.

  "Wasn't aware that you've recently been to the Amazon, Felix," Lord Danvers said, refilling his glass as the somber butler shuffled away.

  Ignoring that comment, Professor Einstein stolidly waited until Jeeves returned moments later. Experience being a bitter teacher, the butler wore a Macintosh overcoat and rubber boots as he pushed along a trolley loaded with several small wooden crates full of gasogenes: soda water dispensers. Plus, an umbrella and a bucket.

  "Thank you, Jeeves," Professor Einstein said politely, taking a gasogene from the trolley. The umbrella and bucket were a wise precaution, but unnecessary in this particular instance. "Now please give one of these to everybody in the room."

  As the butler distributed the dispensers, Einstein moved the display table to the center of the hall. Now armed with gasogenes, everybody waited to see what would happen next. Felix Einstein had a well-deserved reputation of pulling rabbits out of his hat. That bizarre museum of his was a prime example.

  Exercising extraordinary care, Professor Einstein aligned the tiny ship so that its keel was directed lengthwise down the roo
m. The wood felt dry as dust to his touch. His fingers stuck slightly to the craft, which certainly seemed to substantiate his theory about its origins. With extreme fastidiousness, the professor made one last minute correction in the ship's placement. Yes. Good enough.

  "On my mark, gentlemen, hose the ark with water," Einstein said, assuming a firing stance. "Ready, aim…"

  The encircling crowd was plainly delighted beyond words, while the stunned Lord Carstairs lowered his gasogene. "Are you sure this is prudent?" he asked in real concern.

  "Fire!" Professor Einstein cried, triggering his dispenser. A sparkling gush of effervescence splashed onto the minuscule craft. The stream of water hit it squarely, yet not a single drop of liquid rolled off the vessel to land on the table. Then an ominous creaking sound came from the wooden boat.

  "All of you! Act now!" Einstein barked over the hissing spray of carbonated water. "Spray quickly, or the ship will tear itself apart!"

  It was more the whip-crack tone of the professor's voice than anything else that made the other members comply. In an orchestrated attack, they sent several streams of carbonated water gushing onto the relic, washing over it from stern to bow and back again.

  As the pressure in the gasogenes eventually became exhausted, the rush of soda water slowed to a trickle. The last dribbles fell from the spouts to spot the India rug.

  "Astonishing," Duke Farthington whispered, staring at the little boat. It was barely damp. Definitely, something strange was going on here.

  With a bizarre sucking noise, the pools of moisture around the craft disappeared into the hull. Before the startled eyes of the club members, the desiccated craft began to swell like some impossible sponge. With incredible speed, the expanding ship outgrew the display table, the enlarging pushing aside a vacant chair and smashing a lamp.