THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  Stuffing a broken arm into his belt for support, one of the bleeding invaders saw the jungle cats and calmly pointed. Nodding agreement, another removed his hood and quickly made a complex gesture in the air. As rainbow light washed over the tigers, they froze motionless, and then frantically turned around and scampered back into their hidden den, whimpering in fear.

  "B-bar the door!" a limping man ordered, gasping for breath. "T-that will h-hold them for awhile."

  "Block it with what, fool?" another robed man demanded hotly. "You know that everything in this room is bolted into place."

  "By the Great Squid, my brother, we'll never get away," a third man panted, holding a stained handkerchief to the bloody ruin of his nose.

  Sporting a number of wounds, the leader of the group grunted in reply. "We must and will. Our only chance is to use a portal."

  A chorus of delighted gasps greeted this announcement.

  "Brilliant," a disheveled woman stated, cradling a broken arm.

  "That's why he's the leader," a toothless fourth man mumbled as his left eye already began to swell shut.

  "But the moon is not full," the second speaker reminded. "The power yet sleeps. A sacrifice will be needed."

  Grimacing in pain, a woman nodded in agreement, the simple act making a well of blood ooze from within her ripped cloak. "Kill me, brother," she volunteered, "and make good your escape."

  "So be it, sister," the leader spoke, drawing his bent knife. "And the blessings of the Great Squid upon you."

  Ripping open the cloak, she exposed a bare throat. The wicked knife slashed forward in a single swift stroke.

  ***

  It only took a few minutes for the fire in the cellar to be beaten into submission. Once more, the explorers took up the interrupted chase. Bursting onto the first floor, they found the office deserted, as were the workroom and storage room. That left only the museum.

  Grabbing express rifles from a weapons cabinet, the armed explorers charged into the main building of the museum. Lord Carstairs, the professor, and Mary Einstein proved ready for battle, but they found nothing except a small crimson pool of fresh blood on the floor. Jumbled sets of footprints led from the ghastly puddle for a single yard, and then stopped, almost as if the people making the tracks had simply vanished into thin air.

  Chapter Four

  The Einsteins and Lord Carstairs spent the next several hours dealing with the inquiries of the local constables who had arrived to investigate the ruckus at the museum. The police had assumed it was merely another burglar meeting his ultimate fate under the claws of the big cats, and were horrified to learn about the death of the professor's assistant.

  Draped in a sheet, the body of Billy Owen was removed from the premises by a sleepy police surgeon. Everyone present bowed his head in respect as the still form passed by.

  After that, a full search of the museum was made to make sure none of the masked assailants was hidden anywhere, but the building proved clean. It was four in the morning before the last police officer left the establishment. Although thoroughly exhausted, the three explorers knew by wordless agreement that sleep would be impossible for the time being.

  After locking the building tight, Felix and Mary led Lord Carstairs out of the museum and along a flagstone path to the living quarters located in the rear of the massive building. Going directly to the kitchen, a weary Professor Einstein made the tea, while Mary silently produced bread and cheese from the larder and Carstairs dutifully set the table. Once their mugs were filled with steaming brew, they each took a seat and let peace and quiet rule for a while.

  Fatigue blurring the sharp edges of his social graces, Lord Carstairs slowly stirred his tea with a soup spoon, the transgression going completely unnoticed by the others.

  "The police were remarkably perfunctory with their questioning about the body, I thought," the lord remarked at last, feeling the need to say something, anything, to break the thick silence.

  "Yes, well, you are a member of the House of Lords," Professor Einstein replied, adding lemon to his tea. "While I am an honorary member of Scotland Yard."

  Stifling a yawn, Mary set her half-empty mug down. "What with all the excitement, it's just sinking in that poor Billy is dead." Her eyes welled up and a tear flowed down her cheek. She dabbed it away with a cloth napkin. "He was a good friend."

  Exhaling from the very depths of his soul, Professor Einstein let his shoulder slump. "Aye, that he was, old girl. But come-come, my dear, don't cry. Billy wouldn't have wanted tears."

  "True enough," Mary murmured with a sniffle.

  "He was Welsh, you know," the professor said to Carstairs.

  "So I understand," the lord replied, pulling an enormous handkerchief out of a pocket and proffering it to Mary.

  She accepted it thankfully. "I believe you'd have liked him, Lord Carstairs," Mary whispered, dabbing at her eyes.

  Having lost close friends before in The Troubles, Carstairs reached into his coat and produced a silver flask bearing his family crest. "Then talk to me about him," he urged, placing it upon the table. "Tell me all about Billy."

  In understanding, the professor uncapped the flask, liberally enhancing his tea with the strong whiskey, and even Mary did the same. After sampling the powerful drinks, they both shuddered, and then visibly relaxed.

  Loosening his starched collar, Professor Einstein noisily cleared his throat. "Well, I first met him in Egypt, of all places. He had this crazy theory that the ancient pyramids were not constructed by thousands of slaves hauling vast blocks of stone, but by being poured, out of a substance similar to cement."

  "Really?" Lord Carstairs cocked an eyebrow. "I know that the Romans invented cement, but the pyramids were constructed thousands of years before that."

  "Quite right," Mary said, between sips. "Anyway, he was determined to try to duplicate their efforts. He had this vast collection of bubbling chemical experiments laid out around this desert oasis."

  "Indeed?" Carstairs said, taking a sip. "Tell me more."

  Now Professor Einstein leaned forward, a smile of reminiscence tugging at his face. "Well, nobody had bothered to inform my camel drivers about this, so when the fireworks from Athens arrived…"

  ***

  As the dawn began coloring the sky, the three people were still laughing around the kitchen table, immersed in drunken conversation, with Lord Carstairs feebly trying to stop the others so he could catch his breath. However, Einstein and Mary plowed gamely on, each determined to top the other's tall tale about the misadventures of William Owen.

  "…so when poor Billy tries reading the forbidden book, out of the clear blue sky comes a bolt of lightning that strikes the two of them down!" the professor said in a dramatic voice. "Naturally, the Mandarin was killed instantly, but Billy survived because he was still wearing the conquistador helmet!"

  Sloshing his tea-flavored whiskey onto the table, Lord Carstairs guffawed and almost fell off his chair. "W-was the p-poor lad hurt any?" he finally managed to gasp.

  "Not a bit," Mary asserted, wobbling in her chair, thereby causing the empty hip flask to fall over sideways onto the table with a clatter. "Oh, metal filings had a habit of sticking to him for a week or so, but there was no permanent damage."

  "Welsh, you know!" they all finished in unison.

  This time the laughter was gentle, and slowly wound down to another prolonged silence. There was only the gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth. From somewhere outside a horse gave a whinny, and then a dog barked.

  With a sigh, the professor used a napkin to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes. "William Henry Owen was a good worker and a fine friend," he said softly. "And I, for one, shall miss him greatly."

  Both Mary and Lord Carstairs murmured in agreement and raised their mugs high. The professor joined them in the gesture.

  "To Billy," they toasted, draining what little remained in the cups. Then the trio all cast their mugs into the fireplace. The ceramic containers shattered like
broken dreams.

  In the powerful stillness that followed, Professor Einstein mopped the sodden table with the napkin and clumsily stuffed the damp cloth into a pocket. "I think a few hours of sleep are what we need now. Please stay, Benjamin. We have a splendid guest room, and we can send a carriage for your things at the club."

  Unable to stop himself, the lord gave a bone-cracking yawn. "Thank you, sir," Carstairs mumbled wearily. "I think that is wise. The tea, you know. Very strong stuff."

  "Quite so, lad! Quite so."

  Utterly embarrassed, Mary tugged on the sleeve of her uncle's coat. "He can't stay there," she whispered. "The guest room hasn't been aired out for weeks!"

  "Piffle," Carstairs said with a slurred chuckle. "Given my current state, unless the bed is actually on fire, it will not interfere with my sleep in the slightest."

  "As you say, Benjamin," she murmured, feeling very small and girlish for no discernible reason. "Then may I wish you a good night?"

  Tender words rose in Lord Carstairs' throat. Glancing at the professor, he choked them off and merely reiterated the sentiment. Rising stiffly, Professor Einstein showed the lord to the guest room, while Mary stumbled down the corridor to her own room. Sleep came on swift wings to the emotionally exhausted people. The gods were kind, so their slumber was without dreams of any sort.

  ***

  In the morning, Lord Carstairs woke feeling a hundred per cent better. The bed had been excellent, and a few minutes of exercise got his blood pumping and cleared the cobwebs from his mind. The accommodations had proved to be more than adequate. Oh, his boots had not been polished, nor was there a fresh London Times waiting for him, but the sure knowledge that Mary was beneath the same roof dispelled such minor considerations.

  However, his mouth was filled with the taste of a dead vole. What dementia had compelled him to poison perfectly good Irish whiskey with English breakfast tea? Bleh.

  Thankfully, there was a basin of lukewarm water waiting for him on the dresser, along with one of his travel bags from the club. Excellent! After getting clean, the lord rushed downstairs with joyful thoughts of seeing Mary once more filling his mind. Entering the steamy kitchen, Carstairs found a plump woman cheerfully kneading a pile of bread dough.

  "Good morning, Your Lordship!" the cook sang out. "Breakfast is waiting for you in the dining room. You just sit down and I'll bring in a nice cuppa tea."

  "Ah, thank you, miss...ah..." he faltered, and spread his arms in sublimation.

  "Katrina, sir," she supplied, slapping the dough into a pan.

  Lord Carstairs smiled. "Thank you, Katrina. Any chance of some coffee instead?"

  Respectfully, she curtsied in return. "Of course, Your Lordship," Katrina replied, placing the dough aside to rise. Then she began to bustle noisily about in the pantry.

  Hearing voices on the other side of a set of sliding doors, Lord Carstairs pushed them aside to find the dining room. Bending over a long table, the professor and Mary were conferring about a pile of papers that appeared to be train and steamship timetables.

  "Good morning, lad!" Professor Einstein called robustly, looking upward. "How do you feel?"

  Following a tantalizing smell, Carstairs went over to the sideboard and removed a steaming cover to reveal a plate of kippers. "Fit as a fiddle, sir," he said, taking a double portion, which he then made triple. Lifting the lid on another platter, the lord discovered cold eggs and damp toast. Ah, just like Mother's cook used to make! How homey.

  With his breakfast plate properly loaded, Lord Carstairs took a seat at the table across from the uncle and niece.

  "And good morning to you, Miss Einstein," the lord smiled, tucking a napkin into place. "I trust you slept well?"

  "Considering the circumstances, yes," Mary smiled sweetly. "Thank you."

  Searching for a fingerbowl, Carstairs saw none about, and decided simply to do without. The explorer had plenty of experience roughing it in the wild. "And what are our plans for today, Professor?" he asked, digging into the mound of food.

  "We'll be on the road within the hour, lad," the professor said from behind a steam line timetable. "So eat up."

  Having let his heavily laden fork pause in midair, Lord Carstairs swallowed a mouthful before replying. "Excellent!"

  At that moment, Katrina came in with a clean cup and a fresh pot of steaming coffee. The rich aroma was heavenly, and all three of the explorers filled their mugs.

  "Will you be gone long, Professor?" she asked, gathering a few of the dirty plates off the table. "If so, the staff could get the spring cleaning started a little early this year."

  Already back studying the timetable, Professor Einstein glanced sideways. "What? Oh, yes, several weeks probably."

  Curious, Katrina asked, "Where will you be going this time, sir?" As she spoke, she closed the lid on the sugar bowl to keep out the flies.

  Lowering the steam line chart, Professor Einstein gave her a long, hard, cold stare.

  Completely unaffected by the show, Katrina snorted in amusement. "Ah, more secrets," she chuckled. With a flounce, the cook left the room, closing the sliding doors with a slam of her rounded hip.

  "And where will we be going, sir?" Lord Carstairs asked, liberally buttering a piece of toast. By then, he had already consumed half of the farmer's crock on the table. His father had always said that food was sleep. "Without the map and bracelet, I thought we were stone up a tree."

  "Utter nonsense, lad," Professor Einstein demurred, stuffing some papers inside his coat pockets. "Initially, we go to France. And no, my dear, as to your earlier question, I don't believe it would be wise for us to take the London ferry. We must avoid the obvious. These Squid God chaps know far too much about us already, having attacked us right here in the museum."

  "Circumspection is the key," Carstairs munched around a mouthful of food.

  "Quite right, lad," Professor Einstein agreed, circling times on a schedule with a pencil stub. "We'll take the 10:30 Southern railroad to South Hampton and leave on the noon ferry."

  Trying to appear casual, Lord Carstairs digested this information as he savaged a perfectly prepared kipper. With a touch more tact than was natural, he asked, "And will Mary be accompanying us on this trip?"

  "I'm afraid not," she answered, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "Somebody must stay here to guard the museum. We can't be sure that those brigands got everything they wanted, and I know the museum better than anyone does. Isn't that correct, Uncle?"

  Folding a map, Professor Einstein nodded. "Definitely. Somehow they managed to get past the cats. That alone worries me enough that it seems prudent for one of us to stay behind. Sort of a rearguard."

  "But sir!" Lord Carstairs cried. Aghast, he dropped his fork. "A woman, alone and unprotected?"

  From under the table, Mary coolly hoisted a .32 Adams pocket pistol into view. The long barrel of the oiled weapon glistened in the morning sunlight. "Alone, but not defenseless," she growled dangerously.

  "And a crack shot, too," Professor Einstein added proudly, stuffing more papers into various pockets. "Much better than I, in point of fact."

  Strangely excited, Lord Carstairs stared boldly at the armed woman. "Then I shall eagerly look forward to the day of our return."

  Holstering the weapon, Mary paused before brazenly returning his look with all of her heart. "And I, sir, shall fervently pray that day shall quickly come."

  Feeling nauseated, Felix Einstein needed all the fortitude he had, so as not to retch at this romantic exchange. Oh dear Lord, please save me from the anguish of young love!

  ***

  In short order the men were fed, washed, dressed, armed, and bundled into a waiting brougham. Lord Carstairs half expected Davis to be at the reins once more, but it was a new man: a skinny fellow with a droopy moustache, and bald as a poached egg. As the explorers climbed into the cab, the driver merely touched his cap at the passengers with no particular display of camaraderie. Interesting.

  As cab rattled off rou
nd a corner, Mary Einstein stood on the cobblestone street and watched as it vanished into the heavy London traffic. Having stayed that way for several minutes, she returned to the museum. Carefully, she closed and locked the gate of the iron fence, and then hung a small hand-lettered sign from an iron picket, before going inside and closing the front door.

  Whistling tunelessly, a strolling chimneysweep chanced to glance at the sign and stopped in his tracks.' Closed for the duration?' That was the kind of sign you'd expect to see during a war. How very strange.

  ***

  Crowds of noisy people pushed and shoved across the busy train station. Toffs and guttersnipes mixed freely, while shouting vendors sold meat pies, and mudlarks dove into the gutters, squealing in delight when they found a dropped coin.

  "What did you just say?" Professor Einstein roared again, dropping his portmanteau onto the floor with a loud thump.

  "All sold out," the ticket agent repeated from behind the grating of the cashier's window. "You'll have to take the next train at 4:40."

  "B-but that's too late," the professor stammered, almost flustered. "We'll miss our connection to the channel ferry!"

  "Not my problem, mate," the man calmly replied, then looked past the two explorers. "Next, please!"

  Blocking the rest of the people in line with his sheer bulk, Lord Carstairs loomed over the ticket agent. "See here, sir, I am a member of the House of Lords. Surely, something can be done."

  "Sorry, governor," the clerk said with a shrug. "But there's nothing to be done if you were the Queen herself. All sold out means all sold out."

  Having dealt with the lower classes before, Carstairs blithely retrieved a wallet from inside his jacket and fanned a few dozen five-pound notes in the air. "Speaking of Her Highness, you don't collect pictures of the royal family, do you? I possess a few dozen spares that I could let you have."

  Staring at half-a-year's wages, the agent wiped a bit of drool from his chin. "Cor blimey, for a gentlemen like yourself, I surely wish I could," he gushed. "But the honest answer is still no. Booked solid, she is, with a contingent of Royal Army Engineers."