THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  "Take care," Baron Edgewaters added, his voice thick with emotion.

  "Let us know if you need anything," Judge Foxington-Symthe ordered, his eyes filled with unaccustomed mist. "Anything at all, old man."

  "The sentiment is truly appreciated, gentleman," Jeeves said softly, his features masked by darkness as he stepped into the shadows of the main corridor. "But I can absolutely guarantee you that this matter will end in death."

  Chapter Ten

  Powerful waves crashed across the prow of the Bella Donna as the Italian steamship knifed through the cold water of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

  Although the weather had been fair this morning, the sails were furled tight, and the cargo hatches were lashed closed, as if the stout craft was prepared for a major storm. The bridge was set on top of an island of workrooms and private cabins. Behind its wide glass windows big men in heavy coats could be seen standing at the wheeled helm, scanning the horizon with binoculars, and checking navigational charts with frantic intensity. Rising directly aft of the bridge was a tall riveted flue spewing out great volumes of dense black smoke.

  Since dawn, the rented craft had been under full steam, yet in spite of the fact that it carried a working crew of two hundred sailors, the decks were deserted except for two sodden figures standing at the extreme forward point of the bow. The crashing waves constantly sprayed them with chilly seawater, but the men expertly swaying with the motion of the hurtling vessel continued to check over the weapons in their hands.

  Frowning in concentration upon their task, Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs were dressed in quilted traveling clothes, Macintosh rainslicks, and sealskin boots, and had bulky canvas bags draped over their shoulders.

  On the horizon, the sky was growing dark as clouds began to blot out the sun. However, the sea was preternaturally calm, and unnaturally vacant of fish. Since the Bella Donna had sailed from port early this morning, the explorers had seen nothing alive moving in the sea, and these waters were normally famous for their rich variety of sea life.

  With a scowl, Lord Carstairs finished loading his Webley, and tucked the pistol into a military-style shoulder holster. "Do you really think this will work, Professor?"

  "Do you know of anything else we can try, lad?" Professor Einstein asked, nervously twisting the silver lion head grip of his sword cane. The Adams .32 pistol was snug in a belt holster, and a deadly French stiletto was tucked into his right boot.

  "If I did, sir," Carstairs rumbled, "we would not be here."

  "Then check the distance, please. Precision is important."

  Reaching into the canvas shoulder pouch hanging at his side, Lord Carstairs withdrew a brass sextant and squinted at the dark sky through the device. Briefly, there was a break in the clouds, and the lord caught the sun, so as to do some fast mental calculations.

  "Done, sir," Carstairs reported, returning the sextant to its cushioned box in the pouch. "We are past the twelve mile limit and are officially in international waters."

  Straightening his cuffs, Einstein took a deep breath. "Then this is it. Are you ready?"

  Loosening his collar, Carstairs answered with an affirmative grunt.

  Cupping both hands to his mouth, the professor turned away from the sea and shouted at the top of his lungs towards the ship, "THE SQUID GOD ISN'T FIT TO BE A DOG'S BREAKFAST!"

  Instantly, there came a wild scream and a snarling sailor waving a large knife sprang from behind a lifeboat to charge at the Englishmen. Assuming a firing stance, Lord Carstairs triggered the Webley and a single booming round brought the sailor crashing to the deck.

  On the bridge, men dropped things and pointed, their mouths flapping wide in shock.

  "Well, sir?" Carstairs asked, the big-bore pistol still smoking in his fist.

  Hurriedly reaching into his coat pocket, Professor Einstein pulled out a small crystal ball clutched in a mummified tarantula. Slightly embarrassed, he touched the crystal with the tip of his tongue.

  "Anything?" Lord Carstairs asked eagerly.

  Lowering the crystal, the professor sadly shook his head.

  Resting a fist akimbo, Lord Carstairs gave the older man a skeptical look. "You are sure that thing is working?"

  "Definitely. If there is an undead presence out there, I will definitely be able to detect it." Absentmindedly, Einstein stroked the globe and the spider twitched in response. "This talisman has proved itself useful innumerable times in the past. I have no doubt that the Witch Doctor who owned it previously was most vexed at discovering its absence, although I did leave him a splendid picture of the Queen in exchange."

  "More than adequate compensation," Lord Carstairs acknowledged. "Then the question becomes one of whether or not there is something, anything, out there."

  Holstering the pistol, the lord extracted a British Navy telescope from his canvas bag and scanned the horizon. "And so far, sir, we seem to be alone."

  "Well, it was only an idea," Professor Einstein demurred uneasily.

  "An idea that has quite probably gotten us trapped on a ship staffed entirely with squid worshipers," Carstairs reminded harshly. "If any innocent sailors had answered that advertisement to sign aboard and 'destroy the Temple of the Living Squid God,' I should imagine that they would have shown to investigate that gun shot by now."

  As another crashing spray washed across the bow, the professor frowned pensively and tucked both hands into his pockets. "Yes. If pressed, I had planned on saying that it was self-defense. But it appears that explanations won't be necessary."

  But with those words, Professor Einstein contorted his face in the wildest fashion, and then smacked himself on the head. "Of course! What a dolt I am! It was self-defense!" The professor gestured at the cooling body sprawled on the deck. A wash of spray crashed over the form, making the limbs move in a gross pantomime of life.

  Aghast, Einstein cried, "Don't you see? That chap was coming at us with a knife! That nullifies everything! The legends clearly state that it must be an act of murder."

  Ever so slowly, Lord Carstairs removed the telescope from his eye and pivoted to stare downward at the man. "Meaning that we have got to kill a sailor in cold blood?" he demanded.

  "Exactly!"

  "B-but we can't do that!" the lord cried out.

  "Eh? Why ever not, lad?"

  "Because it would be murder! The most horrible act that can be committed!"

  In exasperation, Professor Einstein threw up both hands. "But that's the whole bloody idea, you fool! Besides, you said the crew is obviously composed of Squid God worshipers, so what is the problem?"

  "I could be wrong," Lord Carstairs hedged, tucking the telescope into the pouch. "It occurs to me that a perfectly innocent sailor might be hesitant about showing himself after his mysterious employers just gunned down a shipmate. That is another possibility."

  "Well, maybe," the professor hesitantly replied.

  Undaunted, Carstairs continued, "Besides, we do not know that killing them would have any effect. Of course, everyone has heard the legends, but that's all they might be. You are asking me to commit murder, the most serious, heinous crime imaginable, for what may be no reason."

  Assuming a Parliamentary stance, the British lord clasped hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, sir, but as an officer and a gentleman, I cannot do it."

  "Does that mean it is safe to come out now, signore ?" a small voice asked as a frightened face rose into view from behind one of the lifeboats. "If it is not too much trouble, I believe that the crew would like to return to port. I have forgotten my wallet."

  Numerous cries from behind other lifeboats affirmed that most of the crew had various articles missing and they would be quite lost without the items.

  With a hollow feeling in his stomach, Carstairs gave a mighty sigh. "This has been a serious waste of time, sir," he said, then jumped as the sharp report of a pistol cracked across the main deck of the Bella Donna .

  Flinching from the fiery discharge, Lord Carstairs pulled his own wea
pon as Professor Einstein fired twice more in quick succession. Across the deck, a sailor clutched the bloody ruin of his throat, and stumbled backwards to fall over the railing and disappear into the choppy sea.

  "Keep a watch on them," Einstein said, bringing out the tarantula once more.

  Thumbing back the hammer on the Webley pistol for quick action, Carstairs spotted countless sailors ducking out of sight all over the ship. There were more sailors aboard the Bella Donna than he had imagined. A lot more. A tremendously lot more. And most of them were now wearing robes. Oh ho!

  "Sir, I am impressed," Lord Carstairs acknowledged out of the side of his mouth, watching for fresh treachery. "However did you know that fellow was a squid worshiper? Did you spot his dagger?"

  "I had no idea, lad," the professor said honestly, tapping his tongue against the crystal. "But the fate of the world rests upon our actions. We needed to murder a man, so I have done so."

  In abject horror, the lord lowered his weapon to gape at the elderly professor. "Sir!" he cried, putting a wealth of information and feeling into the single word.

  Completely nonplussed, Professor Einstein continued. "I am quite sure, Lord Carstairs, that the Hells of innumerable religions, both active and forgotten, are already vying for the possession of my soul. I do what I think is best. Now be quiet. There is something out there."

  Then softly, as if speaking to himself, the professor added, "And considering how many sacred temples I have defiled and how many holy men I have annoyed, the Judeo-Christian lot will just have to bloody well take a number to get their paws on me."

  Shifting his grip on the Webley, Lord Carstairs muttered something under his breath about the end justifying the means. Then the lord paused in the moral litany as he noticed the lifeboat behind which the dead sailor had been hiding. Upon closer scrutiny, the lord could see that the ocean spray was starting to wash away the fresh paint on the paper patches covering countless small holes bored into its hull. The lifeboat was as seaworthy as a kitchen colander! In a flash, he wondered if the very same thing hadn't been done to every other lifeboat, perhaps even to the main hull of the Bella Donna .

  "Oh, I say, Professor," Carstairs said calmly. "If the Flying Dutchman is ever to appear, this would be a jolly good time."

  "It is close," Einstein stated matter-of-factly, his vision unfocused into the distance. "Yes, very close."

  Glancing over the gunwale, the lord saw only empty sea stretching to the turbulent horizon. The storm was coming on fast. More bad news.

  "Where is it, sir?" the lord demanded.

  Keeping his tongue pressed to the grotesque crystal, the professor pointed a finger off the port side of the Italian steamer. "Over there," he mumbled. "I sense a presence. No, many presences. They have seen us and they are most annoyed. There is great evil, lad. Great evil and great sorrow."

  Professor Einstein removed his tongue from the crystal with a soft pop, as if it had been frozen to a lamppost in winter. "They're here," he whispered, rubbing the crystal clean.

  Understandably anxious, Lord Carstairs stared off the port side, but there was only a slight darkening in the air as if an evening mist had risen from the sea. A rustling sound came from behind the man, and Carstairs spun around blindly to fire his Webley into the sky, the booming report sending a dozen armed men back into hiding.

  "They had guns on the train. Why don't they use them now?" the lord demanded irritably.

  "Firearms did not exist when the Squid God was alive," the professor muttered, lost in concentration. "And now it's too close to the birthing ceremony. As the magic increases, their ability to use guns weakens."

  "Ah. Good for us."

  "At the moment, yes. But later…" Once again, Einstein touched the talisman with his tongue.

  "Later?" Lord Carstairs asked worriedly.

  "They're here, directly alongside us, lad!" the professor cried in satisfaction, pocketing the talisman. "Yes, I can see one of them. And...and he's seen me! What in the... He has something in his hands. He's swinging it around and round. Some sort of grappling hook. I...look out!" With a cry of pain, Professor Einstein jerked forward and clutched at his chest.

  Keeping the Webley at the ready, Lord Carstairs clutched the professor's arm to keep him from falling overboard. But the limb felt strange, lightweight, and brittle, almost as if it was made of dried leaves.

  "What happened, Professor?" the lord demanded. "Are you all right?"

  "M-my soul," Professor Einstein spoke in a ghostly echo, going very pale. "They…they don't require my corporeal form, lad, just my soul!"

  "Cheeky bounders!"

  "And now they have got it," the professor whispered.

  In dire consternation, Lord Carstairs furrowed his brow. "And they are preparing to leave?"

  Slumping his shoulders, Professor Einstein nodded bleakly. "They have what they came for. It's over. We have failed again."

  "This will not do!" Carstairs stated grimly. Releasing his trembling friend, the lord strode to the railing, took a deep breath, and loudly bellowed as possible. "Ahoy, the Dutchman! Permission to come aboard!"

  The entire world seemed to pause at the cry. Even the wind stopped, and the waves froze on the sea.

  Moving hesitantly, Einstein placed his tongue to talisman once more. "I sense confusion," the professor murmured. "And a great deal of vulgar language. Ye gods!"

  Fading into view from out of the empty air, an ancient wooden gangplank extended to make solid contact on the deck of the steamship with a loud clunk. Without prompting, both Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs hopped over the gunwale to land on the ethereal plank.

  Screams of rage sounded from all over the Bella Donna . A hundred robed sailors brandishing knives, hatchets, axes, and other implements of destruction poured forth from behind the lifeboats, capstan, anchor hoist, coal lockers, bridge, hatchways, portholes, air vents, rope piles, and even the smoking flue. Several of the sailors threw knives. Others cast harpoons, and a couple fired arrows from crossbows, but the fusillade passed harmlessly through the ghostly Einstein and Carstairs as they started running along the vanishing plank.

  Going further into the mist, Lord Carstairs glanced behind to see the Bella Donna begin to fade from sight, the robed crew now silently screaming obscenities and waving an arsenal of weapons.

  Sighing in relief, the lord began to choke on the thickening fog, the foul vapor thick with the pungent smell of ancient dust and rotting corpses. With a ragged cough, Einstein covered his face with a cloth, and Carstairs wisely copied the action. By Gadfrey, the reek is horrendous!

  Slowly becoming visible ahead of the explorers loomed a gigantic shape, vaguely ship-like, but a vessel whose lines were completely unfamiliar to either of the world travelers.

  As Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs proceeded closer, a tremendous explosion sounded faintly from behind. They turned to see most of the main deck replaced with a smoking hole. The Bella Donna was already starting to list as it began to sink into the Tyrrhenian Sea. Flaming debris from the blast still fell from the sky as frantic sailors raced about stuffing cloth into the holes of the life boats, while others clumsily dove into the brine. Seconds later, the building storm broke and the steamship vanished in a lightning flash and torrential rain.

  Advancing along the plank with a steady gait, Professor Einstein turned away from the pandemonium. "Well done, lad. How did you know this crazy idea would work?"

  "I didn't," Lord Carstairs replied honestly, keeping a steady watch on the shifting plank. "But it certainly had the distinct advantage of never having been tried before. Who would willingly ask to come aboard the Flying Dutchman? "

  "Arr," an inhuman voice rasped from somewhere inside the billowing cloudbank. "That be our very question, matey."

  Chapter Eleven

  In slow and stately fashion, Ben Big chimed the time across the city of London, its cocoon of scaffolding shaking slightly at each strike of the mighty bell.

  Far across tow
n, Mary Einstein sipped a cup of scalding coffee and watched the streets below through a cracked window. A loaded shotgun was cradled in her left arm, and a brace of Adams pistols were tucked into her belt just above the bustle.

  Good lord, is it only two o'clock in the afternoon? she thought, barely able to believe it. The night had been so long, so very long.

  Twelve times the Squid God worshipers had attacked the museum, and each sally had been bloodier and more vicious than the last. With rifle and crossbow, she had eliminated a dozen of the bounders, but still they came on and on, as unstoppable as army ants, or barristers.

  Whatever else you can say about the Dutarian warriors , Mary raged privately, they most certainly are a precocious lot!

  She had no idea what her uncle would do when he saw the present state of the museum. Much of the building was in ruins, with hundreds of irreplaceable exhibits smashed to pieces, or destroyed by fire. Every window but this one in the living room was covered with boards to hide the missing glass, and gaping holes in the roof had been crudely patched with wooden tabletops. Even the vaunted front gate that withstood The Troubles without a scratch now hung twisted in its battered frame, suspended by a single cracked hinge. The exterior of the museum was dotted with bullet holes, and the cement sidewalk was cracked from explosions. The garden was a shambles, with a mighty oak tree split in twain. In a small crater lay a broken sword: a parting gift from a Squid God worshiper she had shot twice in the arse before he would relinquish the dire weapon.

  Even the cats were missing, Mary sighed. Run away, vaporized, or kidnapped. There was no way to know.

  Shifting the shotgun cradled in her arms, Mary craned her neck to see a lone police constable standing on the street corner, whistling and twirling his nightstick. A single copper. But then, as the police said, compared to The Troubles, this matter was little more than a Saturday night tosser. Although, on a personal note, Mary was starting to imagine that the police considered her uncle little more than a grave robber and really didn't know whom to support when somebody tried to steal back his possessions. How narrow minded! Even the private detectives she had attempted to hire all turned the job down flat, that is, once they learned for whom they would have been working. Uncle Felix's reputation was finally catching up with him. A pity that the social retribution had to arrive on her shift. Ah well, such is life.