THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  "If we are successful," Einstein muttered under his breath.

  Carstairs heard the comment, but did not reply. His cool bravado was for show only, as he knew the terrible forces of evil they would soon be facing. The words of the old papyrus scroll from the professor's London museum rang unbidden in his mind: A thousand armies of a thousand men were naught but toys to the dire squid …

  Then Lord Carstairs set his jaw. Mary would have to face that alone if they failed. Totally unacceptable!

  Nothing was said as the men double-checked their weapons, and then moved out from behind the boulder, so as to do a covert reconnaissance of the crater. Illuminated by the murky glow of the strange mist and triple moons, a network of flagstone paths created a kind of spiderweb pattern on the ground. Rows of gnarled tress lined each path, the leathery branches hanging low and dripping with thousands of knotted whips. Nobody had to tell them that any unauthorized trespasser would be brutally thrashed to death.

  Carefully avoiding the beaten path, Professor Einstein and Lord Carstairs kept low among the outcrops of rock and stealthily worked their way closer to the edge of the oily lake. No trees grew in the dank waters, and the men played a quick game of one-potato-two-potato to see who would step on the first flagstone.

  Lord Carstairs won, or lost, depending how you looked upon the matter. He braced himself before treading on the oily stone. Nothing happened, so he moved to the next. Again nothing occurred. Feeling bold, the lord simply walked straight across the lake and onto the bottom of the wide staircase leading up into the obsidian column.

  A movement at his side made the lord tense, but then he saw that it was just a little demon carrying a stick, so Carstairs relaxed. Then he scowled and looked directly at the other being.

  "Oddbotkins, of course it's me, lad. Calm down," the monster whispered in a familiar voice, studying the tremendous set of stairs.

  "Quite so, sir. Just checking."

  Carved into the living rock, the steps reached halfway up the spire to culminate at a large iron door. Staying low, Einstein and Carstairs ascended the stairs and reached the door in a few short minutes. However, the metallic portal proved to be sealed with a brand-new padlock crafted by Culvers and Son, Locksmiths, West Sussex, London. Damn!

  Trying to hold his Vulcan mini-gun more like a log, Lord Carstairs stood guard while Professor Einstein removed his crown and used one of the points to pick the antique lock. With a subdued click, the mechanism yielded, and the door swung aside on well-greased hinges. Beyond was total darkness.

  As Einstein put the crown back on, the blackness was banished as ten thousand torches flared on the walls of a gigantic hall. The place was filled with hundreds of smiling people wearing crimson robes. There were dozens of huge tables piled high with food and mounds of gaily-wrapped gift boxes, and across the rear of the hall was a gigantic banner that read, in ancient Dutarian, 'Happy Birthday'.

  "Surprise!" the crowd raggedly cheered, throwing a snowstorm of human-fingernail confetti into the air. Then the joyful throng went deadly silent.

  "Hey, that isn't the Great Squid!" shouted a robed man in a tone of marked disappointment.

  "Oh, for the love of Hell," a woman griped. "It's just a couple of those mountain monk demons."

  Einstein and Carstairs tried not to show their reaction to that. No wonder the locals feared mountain monks so much!

  Pushing his way to the front of the sad throng, a thin man raised a glowing monocle to his eye. "Now see here, our High Priest specifically told your master that…" he stopped, goggled, and then recoiled in shock. "By the blood of living Lord Squid! It's…it's Einstein and Carstairs!"

  "Who?" some timid soul squeaked in puzzlement.

  "Kill them!" the rest of the crowd bellowed, rushing forward.

  Knowing that escape back up the cliff was impossible, Professor Einstein drew his sword and braced against the oncoming tidal wave of homicidal lunatics. "How many of them are there, do you think, lad?" the professor asked, licking dry lips. The floor shook under their pounding boots.

  "About two thousand," Lord Carstairs said as he readied his mini-gun.

  "And how many rounds do you have?"

  Quickly, the lord checked the digital read-out on top of his ungainly weapon, as the war cries of the squiddies reached nearly deafening levels. "Just about two thousand!" he bellowed above the turmoil.

  With a dramatic flourish, Professor Einstein pointed the sword at the screaming mob. "Then make every shot count!"

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A final shot from the Vulcan mini-gun rang out loud and clear in the great hall, and the last of the knife-wielding fanatics fell sprawling to the floor, his poisoned dagger merely nicking the polished toe of Lord Carstairs' army boot.

  "Got him, sir!" Carstairs announced grimly from behind a yard-tall pile of robed corpses. As he released the trigger, the rotating barrels of the empty Vulcan began to slow.

  "Thank God for that ricochet," Professor Einstein commented, sheathing the sword.

  With the smoke from the weapon clearing, the professor could see that the hall was devoid of living enemies, and carpeted with twitching bodies awash in a sea of gore. The banner hung from the wall in tatters. Knives stuck out of the walls, and smashed birthday gifts lay everywhere. Even the huge, Earth-shaped birthday cake had been reduced to no more than a pastry mash on a tilting wheeled cart.

  The professor glanced sadly at the burning ruin of the magic book on the floor. A Squid God worshiper had ripped it from his hands during the fray and the book, well, retaliated. Afterwards there had not been much remaining of either the thief or the volume. Einstein postulated that there was a protective spell placed on the book by the local Magician's Guild to deter any thieves from attempting freelance wizardry. Such a pity.

  Climbing over the palisade of dead, Lord Carstairs slapped the buckle on his chest harness. As the strap disconnected, the ammo pack dropped off, and the red-hot Vulcan slid to the filthy floor with a loud clatter. Giving a thankful groan, the British lord straightened to his full height and stretched.

  "By George, that device weighs a bloody ton," Carstairs stated, massaging his neck.

  "However, you are now defenseless," Professor Einstein observed frowning. "Well, there are certainly enough swords, axes, and such lying about for you to choose from. Pity the book is gone, or we could summon you another whatever-that-was, again."

  "Actually, sir, I still have these," Lord Carstairs remarked, producing a pair of sleek, angular pistols with oversized maws. "The pamphlet listed them as Smith & Wesson .44 AutoMagnums."

  Working the slide atop the pistol, the lord ejected a brass round. The cartridge was thick and long, shiny with a steel coating. In professional admiration, Carstairs smiled. How lovely. Ammunition like this can easily blow the head off a man!

  "And what are those?" the professor asked pointing.

  The removal of the Vulcan had exposed a pair of small spheres, which were attached to the left and right suspenders that supported the military gunbelt around the lord's waist. Each of the globes was about the size of an orange, had a crisscross diamond pattern cut into the surface, and was topped with a handle and pull-ring assemblage.

  Holstering a pistol, Lord Carstairs pulled one of the spheres loose and turned it about for inspection. "I have no idea," he said honestly. "The pamphlet referred to them as R-47 napalm, but did not explain the term."

  "Napalm?" the professor said slowly, tasting the word. "It sounds Greek, but I have never heard that word before."

  "Nor I. But apparently, the spell considered the whole outfit to be a single unit."

  Accepting one of the objects, Professor Einstein scrutinized the napalm ball without touching the pull-ring on top. That was obviously the operating device - one childishly simple - but what happened once the pull-ring was removed was unknowable, until the device was activated.

  "Curious," the professor said thoughtfully, weighing the sphere in his palm. "No explanation indica
tes that they are very common in the twenty-first century. Decorations, perhaps?"

  "Considering the utilitarian nature of the rest of the outfit, I find it highly unlikely," Lord Carstairs countered, taking the mysterious sphere back and attaching it again to the web harness of his gunbelt rigging. "Shall we go? There may be more squiddies on the way."

  "Do you really think there are any more?" the professor demanded, gesturing at the sea of corpses.

  Carstairs made a face. "Well, no, actually. But we cannot be complacent."

  "No, of course not. You're quite right, lad. Let's push onward."

  After a brief reconnoiter of the great hall, the explorers discovered that the only other door was on the far side. The armored portal was sealed with an array of heavy padlocks, but those were easily undone, after which the door itself stood slightly ajar. As carefully as possible, Einstein and Carstairs squeezed through the crack without moving the door, only pausing a moment for the professor to grab the monocle from the still hand of the bony Squid God worshiper. He chanced a peek through it at Lord Carstairs, and saw the man, not the demon disguise.

  Excellent! It is still operational! The monocle will fit nicely into the museum's display of cursed optics and occult eyewear!

  Straight ahead of the men rose an endless staircase, lit by flickering torches set into wall alcoves.

  "Stay sharp, sir," Lord Carstairs said, working the slide on each of the S&W .44 AutoMags to chamber a round for immediate use. "It appears that we have some serious walking to do." The lord had recently read an article in the London Times about the American gun manufacturer Colt Arms working on such a pistol, and that was how their weapon was primed.

  "I'll take the lead this time, lad," Professor Einstein said, wiggling the monocle into place around his left eye. Scrutinizing the steps, he moved to the left, then the right, and started climbing upward in a geometric zigzag pattern.

  ***

  Leaping around the last corner, a panting Einstein and Carstairs landed on the top level of the stairwell with their weapons drawn.

  Ahead of them was a long empty corridor with yet another set of doors. Yet neither explorer took any solace in the fact that they were alone. Each of the battered men was soaked with sweat, bruised, and reeking of gun smoke. Their backpacks were gone, clumps of hair were missing, and their clothes were badly ripped. Professor Einstein had a gouge in his crown. Lord Carstairs carried an arrow sticking through his left sleeve.

  "Anything?" Lord Carstairs asked, poised to leap.

  "Looks clear," Einstein reported, squinting through the cracked monocle. "Let's go."

  "No, wait!" the lord commanded, grabbing the older man by the arm.

  As if cast in bronze, Professor Einstein went motionless with a boot paused in the air. "What is it?" he whispered.

  Gently lifting the professor, the lord placed him safely aside, and then dropped to his hands and knees. Crawling about on the marble floor, Lord Carstairs gave a subdued cry of success. Oh-so-very-carefully, he draped a handkerchief over a thin black thread stretched across the entrance of the corridor.

  "Good going, lad," Professor Einstein exhaled. "However did you spot it?"

  "Simplicity itself," Lord Carstairs said, rising and dusting off his hands. "This is exactly where I would have placed a trip wire. If anything, these Squid God chappies are extraordinarily audacious."

  "At the very least," Einstein agreed heartily, casting a glance over a shoulder. "That climb up the stairs is something I shall have nightmares about in the future. Trap doors in the floor, blades swinging from the ceiling, flames issuing from the walls, a giant boulder rolling up the passageway while a flood of water poured down, a maze of mirrors, arrows from the stairs, and now a trip wire. Heaven alone knows what it would have unleashed!"

  "Only more of the same, I'm sure," Carstairs agreed, yanking the forgotten arrow from his sleeve and casting it aside. "But then, you can always rely on fanatics to be unreasonable."

  "It's their one saving grace, my boy," the professor chuckled, brushing the loose hair from his face.

  " Infidels! " an inhuman voice shouted in a bizarre scream.

  Spinning around fast, Einstein and Carstairs saw a large hairy creature charge out of a hidden doorway in the middle of the long corridor. Ambush!

  "A werewolf!" Lord Carstairs sighed, triggering the two massive handguns. "Damnation, and we have no silver aside from a few useless coins!"

  The booming rounds from the S&W .44 AutoMag plowed a bloody path of destruction through the werewolf, blowing bones and guts out its back in a grisly explosion. But as expected, the creature only staggered, and then stood upright at once. Stuffing the beating organs back into its chest, it lunged for the explorers again, while howling like a primordial nightmare!

  Blowing military hellfire at the werewolf, Lord Carstairs continued firing the pistols with devastating, if only temporary, results.

  "This may take some time, sir," the lord said, grunting from the recoil of the thundering handguns. "You'd best proceed and try to stop the birth ceremony by yourself. I'll be along soon."

  "No, we strike together, Benjamin!" the professor cried, drawing the sword. With a gesture, he sent a lance of flame to engulf the beast, but the magical fire slid off the inhuman fur without doing any damage whatsoever.

  "I'll go to the left!" Lord Carstairs said with a wink.

  Nodding in understanding, Professor Einstein went to the left, the reverse maneuver catching the werewolf by surprise. As the manimal paused in confusion, Lord Carstairs shot it pointblank in the ear, blowing out its brains onto the marble wall, even as Professor Einstein hacked off a hairy leg.

  Falling to the floor, the yowling monster thrashed madly about in agony! But it was a trick. Rolling atop the leg, the werewolf stuck it back on as if donning a boot. Its brain wiggled up an arm to enter through the ear and snuggle back into its proper place.

  "Impossible!" Professor Einstein cursed. "Incredible!"

  "Duck!" Lord Carstairs yelled, as the snarling creature lunged for the professor. Cutting loose in a non-stop barrage with the booming AutoMags, the lord drove the thing tumbling along the corridor, leaving a grisly trail of animated entrails.

  Spearing a heart with the sword, Professor Einstein cried out as a spine wrapped around his leg. For a delusional moment, the professor felt that he was trapped in a combination anatomy class and puppet show. This was like something from a Hieronymus Bosch painting! Shaking free the heart, Einstein hacked off the spine, almost removing his own foot in the process.

  "Sir, the very purpose of this beast is to slow us down!" the lord muttered, dropping the spent clips as the Times article had described, and clumsily inserting the last spare ammunition. "Leave me behind, Professor! Stop the ceremony! It's almost time for the rebirthing!"

  "We don't know that for a fact!" Professor Einstein retorted, casting a double-death spell upon the healing werewolf. It went stiff, fell over, trembled, and rose once more, if anything looking even angrier than before.

  "Can we take the chance?" Lord Carstairs said between each booming round. "Remember, sir, if the enemy wants you to go down, then speed is your only hope!"

  Einstein growled in agreement at that. It was the most basic military strategy of all. "Get moving, my friend, save the world. I shall not let the werewolf pass!"

  "We stand as one!" the professor cried defiantly, brandishing the sword. A thousand years of Anglo-Saxon heritage surged within the elderly professor. He felt like Nelson at the Battle of Copenhagen when the admiral held a telescope to his blind eye and cried out, "Ships? I see no ships!"

  "Felix, if you stay, then Mary dies!" Lord Carstairs snapped. "Is that your wish?"

  Casting a blizzard at the werewolf, Professor Einstein faltered at that remark, his face torn with indecision.

  "It is time to go, Felix," the lord said calmly, watching the beast thaw. "Save your niece. Protect the Queen."

  The Queen! That did it. British to the bone, Profe
ssor Einstein could not betray his nation. Lord Carstairs was correct: this was another trap set for intruders, and the most insidious one of them all, a waste of precious time.

  With a heavy sigh, Professor Einstein lowered the sword, spun about on a boot heel, and sprinted down the long corridor.

  "Godspeed!" the professor shouted over his shoulder, and then crashed through the door at the end, leaving it wide open.

  Moving into the middle of the corridor, Lord Carstairs took a stance and started placing each round into the icy werewolf to inflict maximum damage and buy as many seconds as possible.

  Shaking itself free, the creature sprang for his throat. Carstairs blew off a hairy limb. The werewolf dropped, temporarily disarmed. Seizing the opportunity, Lord Carstairs fired both magnums in unison and severed its neck with a shot.

  As the furry head went flying, the magical beast staggered about blindly and stepped on the trip wire at the top of the stairs. With a whispery sigh, a blade swung from the ceiling and cut the werewolf in half. Vivisected, the disassembled monster went tumbling down the stairs. Soon there came the sound of sound of arrows, flames, rocks, and countless explosions.

  Smiling in triumph, Lord Carstairs started to holster his hot guns when more hidden doors in the walls swung open and out charged a dozen more werewolves. Only these beasts were armed with javelins and rode astride spiders the size of draft horses. Lord Carstairs cursed at the sight . Cavalry! The archenemy of all foot soldiers .

  Firing both of the AutoMags steadily, Carstairs backed down the corridor until he reached the door. Pausing only a split second to yank it closed, the lord put his back to the door and waited for the things to come closer.

  "None shall pass," Lord Carstairs whispered softly, tightening his grip on the handguns. Then he began shooting again, and shouted the phrase as a battle cry. "None shall pass!"

  Howling their own war chant, the werewolves and spiders rushed the lord, and the deadly battle commenced in earnest.