Chapter Thirteen
Still standing guard at the window of the museum, Mary smiled gratefully as Katrina arrived in a black carriage. The cook's arms were full of weapons and brown wrapped packages.
"Well done, old girl," Mary chuckled softly, massaging her sore neck. "At least the squiddies won't starve us out…"
But her voice faltered as another carriage arrived to stop directly behind the first, and Lady Penelope Danvers stepped onto the sidewalk. She was dressed at the very height of elegance as if for high tea at Hyde Park, but cradled in her velvet gloves was a Holland & Holland .475 Nitro Express elephant rifle that she carried with an air of quiet expertise. Her African maid came next. The muscular Zulu woman draped with bandoleers of ammunition carried a wicker basket of steaming crumpets. Rising over the maid's shoulder was the infamous feathered shaft of a Zulu throwing-sword: the sort that had caused the British Army so much bother during the Boer Wars, and had helped England so greatly during The Troubles.
Losing control for a split second, Mary burst into tears at the sight. Pulling herself together, she strode purposefully down to the foyer. Kicking aside some debris, Mary threw open the battered front door, the hinges squealing in protest. With shotgun in hand, Mary carefully checked the bushes for any suspicious movements before walking down the front stoop.
"Lady Danvers, how delightful to see you," Mary said politely. "Whatever are you doing here?"
Climbing the steps in a forceful gait, Penelope Danvers embraced the young girl with her free arm, the other keeping a steady grip on the H&H Nitro Express.
"My poor little dear," Lady Danvers said, finally releasing her. "What in God's good name ever convinced you to handle this sticky situation by yourself?"
"Well, I am the curator," Mary started hesitantly, nervously fondling the shotgun.
Delicately pushing the barrel away, Lady Danvers clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Piffle and nonsense, my dear. The Wives of the London Explorer's Club all stand together in times of trouble!" Then she smiled secretly, "As if none of us has ever been attacked before now, by foreigners seeking revenge because of what our darling husbands have done. Happens all the time!"
"Really?" Mary sighed wearily.
"All the time," Katrina said, returning from the side door of the museum to gather more supplies from the waiting couch.
Wrinkling her nose, Lady Danvers sniffed and scowled. "Land sake's, child, how long has it been since you bathed?"
"Just a few days," Mary admitted, using her shotgun to scratch uncomfortably at the sweat-stiffened clothing. "I was afraid the squid people might attack while I was, um, au naturel."
"I see," Danvers said with a frown. "A wise choice - they might at that. Dirty little blighters. Well, we're here now, so run off and get a quick wash. You're starting to smell like a man, my dear, and that wouldn't do at all."
"But there's so much to do…" Mary started, as a herd of horse-drawn carriages clattered into view from around the corner. The vehicles were covered with heavy boxes, and every window displayed neatly dressed women holding large bore weaponry.
"Ah, the cavalry has arrived, as the colonials would say!" Lady Danvers stated, pushing the girl back into the war-torn building. "Get along! After you have washed and dressed properly, we'll have the nice cucumber sandwiches and pink tea that Towanda packed for lunch, then we'll tell you where all of the new deathtraps are hidden."
Coyly trying to wave away the buzzing flies that had become her unwanted entourage during the past few days, Mary started to protest. Having relented, she trundled up the main flight of stairs and headed for the bathroom.
Outside the International Museum, the carriages stopped in an orderly line along the granite curb and disgorged a mob of high society ladies, each daintily carrying a wealth of high caliber death-dealers and bandoleers of ammunition.
"And who is the cause of this brouhaha?" Lady Pierpont snorted, viewing the bedraggled museum with disdain. Her gown was brushed velvet, trimmed with fine Irish lace. Strapped about her waist was a hand-tooled leather gunbelt, containing a matched pair of French-designed LeMat .445 pistols.
"I hear they are called Squid God worshipers," Mrs. Foxington-Smythe said, shifting her grip on the Viking war-axe that rested on her shoulder. A bit of cannon fuse dangled from the over-sized cameo on her blouse, and the handles of several daggers jutted from her bustle.
Pulling out one of the titanic LeMat revolvers, Lady Pierpont started to rotate the nine-shot cylinder and check the blackpowder charges. "Never heard of them, but judging by this mess, I'd say they seem complete bastards. Look at that flowerbed! Ruined, utterly ruined. And it's far too late to plant any new bulbs now."
"Poor Mary and Katrina handling this all alone," Mrs. Thompkins started angrily, checking the derringer up her sleeve. "It's an outrage. Why hasn't she joined our little group long ago?"
"That crazy uncle of hers," Lady Danvers said bluntly, contorting her face into a mask of disdain.
Swinging a keg of black powder from a carriage bearing her family crest, Lady Pierpont gently deposited it onto the cracked sidewalk. "Ah yes, Felix the Mad. I must say, all explorers are slightly potty, but he undoubtedly is their king, eh, ladies?"
"Men and their secret societies!" Mrs. Thompkins cried scornfully, dropping a heavy box onto the sidewalk. It landed with a resounding clatter. "Now, where do you want the bear traps, Penny?"
"Over here," Katrina said, climbing down from the last carriage. "We'll use them to reinforce the coal chute."
"Excellent plan, my dear! But first, we must get those crumpets into the stove to stay warm. Nothing worse than a cold crumpet!"
"Fair enough," Katrina said with a nod. "We must protect mind, body, and spirit."
"Of course, my dear," the lady chuckled. "How else?"
At the exchange, Baroness Edgewaters gave a loud and regal sniff. "And exactly why," she asked, glaring in frank hostility, "are we taking orders from the cook?"
Smoothing her apron, Katrina arched an eyebrow at the comment, and then simply turned her back on the aristocrat.
"Indeed, she is the cook. But more importantly, her family name is also Cook," Dame Danvers said in a loud stage whisper. "Sound familiar, my dear?"
As if caught wearing white before Easter, the baroness turned a bright red in embarrassment. "As in Sir James Cook?" she said, her voice rising to a squeak. "The man who circumnavigated the world, discovered New Zealand, stole Australia from the Dutch, and invented a cure for scurvy?ThatCook? One of the greatest British explorers of all time?"
"I'm his granddaughter," Katrina answered, now lugging a crate of poisoned pungi sticks out of the boot of a carriage. "It was one of the reasons that the professor hired me."
Quickly aflutter, the baroness rushed over to take the box. "My dear, I do apologize. Here, let me help you with that trifle!"
As the growing crowd of women got busy unloading assorted ordnance and ironmongery, more and more carriages arrived, disgorging servants with wicker hampers of food, crates of dynamite, and heavy rolls of the brand-new American invention called barbed wire. Lady Danvers heartily approved of the imported material. It was beastly stuff that could rip off your flesh at a single touch. Simply wonderful for topping fences with which to keep out impromptu midnight climbers, second story men, and drunken husbands.
"Don't worry about the tigers," Katrina shouted over a shoulder. "They are no longer with us."
"Oh dear, not the Squid God chappies again?" Dame Pierpont asked with a frown.
Lowering her eyes, Katrina primly blushed. "Neighbor's mastiff, actually. Who knew such a thing was possible?"
"Oh well, accidents do happen."
"Move along, ladies! I want the buffet over there, and the dynamite over there," Mrs. Foxington-Smythe ordered, gesturing. "Don't dawdle! You know the routine! We have all done this sort of thing before!"
Checking her filigree-covered pocket watch, Lady Danvers loudly clapped her hands. "Its three hours until d
ark and the bloodthirsty little devils always attack at night. So let's proceed as if this was The Troubles, and get moving!"
Exchanging their dainty velvet gloves for sturdy canvas ones, the ladies began stringing the barbed wire, while their maids started hiding the bear traps. In short order, the museum began to resemble the British fortress at the Rock of Gibraltar.
Most impressive ! Katrina admitted, standing guard from the open front doorway. But in private, she could only hope it would be enough. Since they had called in friends, it would not be out of the question if the squiddies had done the same, and God alone knew what that could entail!
***
The normally dark cellar on Asbury Street, west London, was brightly lit by oil lanterns and full of frantic preparations.
Softly chanting robed figures stuffed clothes, weapons, and equipment into large packing crates. At the middle of the basement, a group of men dressed in white robes carefully bolted a rubber-edged metal lid onto an iron cauldron filled with blood. A pair of burly masons bricked closed an alcove containing an antique sword that was bolted to a granite block wall, and draped with stout chains to hold it prisoner. In spite of that, whenever a Squid God worshiper moved too close to the ancient weapon, the chains rattled as the sword strove to burst free and attack. The noises only made the masons move faster with their work as they liberally applied additional cement to the wall.
"You're wrong," a thin man stated, nailing down the lid of a packing crate. "I recommend another frontal attack on the museum. Damn near worked last time."
Standing guard at the only door, a tall woman pushed back her cowl to reveal a beautiful face covered with detailed tattoos. Her facial markings almost exactly matched the runes of power etched into the imprisoned blade across the cellar, only hers were perfectly reversed.
"Stuff and nonsense," she snorted in disagreement. "A sneak attack is our only hope."
"Multiple attacks!" a corpulent fellow bellowed, slamming a meaty fist onto a packing crate. "That way at least some of us will capture that bitch alive, and add her blood to the Life Pool."
"Be serious," another woman replied, shaking an arm missing its hand. The bloody stump was wrapped in fresh bandages. "How can we possibly be sure that the group carrying the Life Pool will make it through?"
"We must! The blood of an enemy is great magic, but the blood of a virgin holds even greater power! Possibly just enough to bring forth the Great Squid itself!"
"Huzzah!" they all chorused.
"What contemptible fools," a voice sneered from the top of the stairway.
As the crowd turned, the High Priest walked out of the solid stone wall. The thin man was dressed in the finery of his station, the regal robe bearing an embroidered version of the reverse runes.
"None of that nonsense will be necessary," the High Priest said, sitting down in a chair not visible to the people inside the cellar.
At that pronouncement, excited voices broke out from everybody in attendance.
"But, Holy One, the defenses at the museum…"
"Surely, we must…"
"Die!"
"Kill!"
Irritably, the priest waved a hand sparkling with demonic jewelry. "Idiots! The defenses at the museum mean nothing. Less than nothing! Soon, our master will live again and we shall set the world on fire. We'll then drown the fire in the blood of our enemies!"
The crowd broke into wild cheering, which caused the usual thumping from the ceiling. With sullen expressions, the Squid God worshipers grew quiet.
Sneering upward, the High Priest screamed, "Enough! The time for secrecy is over! Higgins!"
"Yes, Holy One?" a fat man asked timidly.
"Kill that old bat!"
"Oh yes, Holy One!" the fat man cried, drawing a double-bladed dagger. "Thank you!" Shouting a Dutarian war chant, the fellow darted into the stairwell and bounded up the wooden steps.
As the man disappeared, the High Priest waved his flock closer. "What you are going to do tonight," he said slowly, "is simply walk into the precious museum and take the girl alive."
The crowd murmured in puzzlement.
Scratching his head with a cudgel, a squat, burly man bluntly asked, "An 'ow d'yer figga' we're gonna do that, gov'nor?"
In serpentine grace, the High Priest of Dutar spread his arms wide. "Simplicity itself," he answered with a chuckle. "The lady will politely invite you inside. Indeed, she will absolutely insist that you enter!"
"And then..." a man in the crowd asked eagerly.
Smiling evilly, the thin priest drew a thumb across his neck with the appropriate sound effects.
At that moment, the thumping from above assumed a frantic tone, and then abruptly stopped.
"Oh yes," the High Priest hissed in delight, rubbing his hands together. "The death of Mary Einstein will be just as simple as that."
Chapter Fourteen
Meanwhile, the weather across the globe was growing steadily worse. Normally reserved as filler and trivia in newspapers, the bizarre storms started to inch their way onto the front page of such conservative tabloids as the London Times and the Wall Street Journal .
Earthquakes in the Ukraine made the Siberian peasants dance as they had never danced before. Volcanoes erupted from calm blue seas, spewing torrents of red-hot lava that cooled and coalesced into patterns reminiscent of the radial arms of a giant sea mollusk. Fires raged unchecked and, indeed, barely noticed, in the heart of Australia. A flood drenched the Nile Delta, washing the streets of Cairo clean for the first time in a century. In Holland, the rising sea forced the farmers frantically to reinforce their dikes and alert the emergency cadre of small boys with greased fingers. Icebergs appeared in the Great Lakes. At both the North and South Poles, red-and-white striped shafts suddenly erupted from the permafrost, each huge stone obelisk topped with the figure of a bloated squid. Lightning storms raged across the globe with increasing fury. The electric bolts struck the ground incessantly, as if the earth was charging itself for some mighty task, or preparing to cauterize a wound yet to be made. Hail mixed with sandstorms in the Sahara Desert, pounding hapless Arabs into the ground like so many tent pegs. Snow frosted the Amazon River Basin, and the flakes were an unbelievable shade of blue, which really didn't bother the local headhunters, as they had never seen snow before.
Violent tornadoes swept through the North American Midwest, but as trailer parks had yet to be invented, little damage was done. An avalanche started at the peak of Mt. Everest, and then stopped halfway down and waited, the staggering load of rocks, ice, boulders, flags, and dead yeti just hanging there suspended by nothing visible. Tidal waves raced up, and then down, Germany's Rhine River, creating an absolute furor. Aurora Borealis was seen in Spain, Korea, and Panama at the exact same time. The colorful displays filled the night with rainbow splendor, but shed no light on the matter.
Across the globe, wild animals in forests, fields, jungles, and swamps began behaving strangely, as if they also knew that a disaster was about to occur. Dogs howled at the sun, while giraffes, which possess no vocal cords, began to croon melodiously. Half a decade earlier, the Seven Year Locusts appeared in the Orient for a day that seemed to last a week. Army ants and killer bees formed a military pact to attack the Andes mountain range, yielding no effect whatsoever. Rainbow trout were found swimming in the Dead Sea. In spite of their every effort to the contrary, chameleons shifted into a shocking plaid pattern and stayed that way. Hordes of pigeons rose into the air and were never seen again - not that anybody really cared. The always-skittish ostrich reached an all-time high for burying their heads in the sand. They reached unheard-of depths. Squids and octopi gleefully bubbled in anticipation. A lion lay down with a lamb and only a burping lamb was left by dawn. Lemmings didn't bother to leap from their favorite cliffs; they simply exploded. Sperm whales started to sing the blues, while what the blue whales did is best left undisclosed.
Things were even worse in the world of the occult. Crystal balls clouded over, no longer
able, much less willing, to foretell the future. In slaughterhouses, the entrails of goats began to take on new and sinister meanings to the normally immune butchers. Every tea leaf at the bottom of a cup in England suddenly became a repository of arcane knowledge. The normally nimble platens of Ouija boards fused into place atop the symbol for the moon. No matter how often they were thrown, Tarot cards always landed face down and made small whimpering noises. Palm readers closed their hands and shops. Indian shamans woke from fevered nightmares of being squeezed. Psychics got headaches. Fakirs went home to their mothers. Hoping for revelation, Druids sacrificed a bush to the Great Tree, but the act proved fruitless. Pagans burned with eagerness. Gurus went ohm. Soothsayers got the sack. Astrologers consulted with each other, no matter what their birth dates. I Ching readers flipped coins and decided to interview numerologists, who had been counting on them for an answer. Phrenologists rushed to put their heads together.
In the unseen world, leprechauns put away their bottles, while genies hid inside theirs. The fairy queen traded in her throne for a one-way ticket to New Jersey and the Loch Ness monster put on a disguise.
***
Deep within a bubbling hell of its own creation, noxious chemicals mixed with human blood, to cook, swirl, and combine to form primitive protein chains: chains that coalesced into living cells that joined to build organic groupings that began to forge the nebulous infrastructure of an extremely large cuttlefish, or squid.
At present, it was a non-sentient beast: merely an animal. But ever so slowly, a spinal column commenced to grow, delicately attaching itself to the pulsating brain-stalk of colossal proportions. Very soon, it would no longer be a mindless brute, but an intelligent creature firmly entrenched in the world of the physical, and yet able to draw upon the limitless power of the ethereal plane. A thinking monster armed and armored with magic.
THAT DARN SQUID GOD Page 15
