The Weird Company: The Secret History of H. P. Lovecraft's Twentieth Century

by Pete Rawlik

  Through it all Chandraputra was somehow standing and trying desperately to control the ship as if there was some hope of that. “We’re not far from the coordinates!” The swami cried out. “A few seconds more and we’ll tkrt be at the coordinates Danforth gave you. If I could just hold her tkrt together a bit longer, shed some of the speed . . . we might just have a chance.”

  There was a pause and then suddenly Chandraputra was staring at Asenath with that lifeless face of his. He screamed and seemed to run from the floor straight up a nearby wall, and then across the ceiling. Everything was shaking, and the last thing I felt was a wave of force ripple through my body, and then mercifully, my mind grew heavy and I passed into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 13

  From the Account of Robert Martin Olmstead

  “The Madness of Chandraputra”

  The wind was whipping snow and ice past my head, which was the only part of me that wasn’t buried deep in a pile of slush and debris. With a Herculean effort I pulled myself out and found myself to be hurt, cold and wet, but intact. My left shoulder and arm had absorbed most of the impact and were badly bruised but not broken. My shirt had been torn across the front, revealing the scaly skin beneath. I knew that it was cold, but this didn’t seem to faze me, apparently my incomplete metamorphosis had progressed sufficiently that I was able to resist even the freezing winds of Antarctica. Those winds blew madly, like great, unending blasts of pure ice. The tiny crystals of snow and hail tore across my skin at incredible speeds. My scaled flesh helped protect me some, but I could still feel hundreds of miniscule daggers cutting in to me. I dug about in the wreckage and found a tarpaulin that I could use as a kind of cloak.

  As I pulled the fabric around me I heard Asenath moan as she struggled up out of the wreckage and stumbled to her feet. Snow and ice mixed with blood caked her clothes and the wind whipped her hair into a streaming torrent. “Did we lose anybody?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. I could feel the ice on her skin. She was shivering. Apparently she was not as immune to the temperature as I was, and I draped the tarp around her and drew her in close to my chest. I knew she was cold, and hoped that my body could somehow provide her with some sort of heat. It may have been a futile gesture.

  With Asenath shivering in my arms, I scanned the vast bleak landscape; we appeared to have crashed in a small valley surrounded by towering peaks that pierced the sky like daggers. Yards away, a large flat pool was rapidly refreezing. Just beneath the frosty blue surface I could see the dark oblong shape that could only have been the remnants of Chandraputra’s strange light-ship. Beyond that, half buried in a snow bank I perceived a man-sized shape that stirred and shifted. I could hear moaning accompanied by an odd clicking sound.

  “I think we lost Hartwell to the hounds, but Chandraputra is over there.” I said pointing to the dark shape.

  “What about Elwood?”

  I shook my head. “He vanished before we crashed. I’m not sure how that happened.”

  Asenath’s teeth were chattering. “I think he knows how to travel in that weird in-between space. I think he learned how from studying Gilman’s formulas. He might surprise us and return.” A cold, blasting wind suddenly hit her and she tried to curl up closer to me. “Have you noticed how warm it is? I’m not being ironic here, it’s below freezing, but by all rights we should be much colder than we appear to be.”

  I almost laughed. “It may be unseasonably warm, but if we don’t find shelter fast, you’re going to have some serious frostbite to deal with. We should collect Chandraputra and see if we can find some cover.”

  We crept across the frozen landscape toward the crumpled figure that was our colleague. The way was treacherous and we had to wind our way around frozen slabs of ice and piles of unconsolidated snow drifts that threatened to swallow us whole. More than once we clung together and slid like wary skaters across frozen pools of clear blue ice. Through it all I could do nothing but watch as Asenath continued to shiver violently and ice accumulated around her face and head. She was obviously having difficulty walking and as we cleared the last great ridge of snow, she stumbled and fell face first into the bank. My own movements still seemed unaffected by the frigid climate and so I did my best to lift her up onto her feet.

  It was then that the dark mass of material that I had identified as Chandraputra stirred and began to rise up and reveal itself. From the snowy crater stepped a large shadowed form that I knew at an instant was not human. True there was a crude caricature of a human shape but no man was so large, and the soft curves that mark the human form were absent. Instead the silhouette was angular, straight lines that turned too sharply, like a horrid suit of massive armor plate. The monstrosity stumbled forward, and as it approached it revealed itself as an inhuman horror. The beast was easily more than seven feet tall, its head was snouted and adorned with fine wiry hairs that surrounded a set of dark spider-like eyes. There was no neck, but the shoulders were draped in squamous leather not unlike that of a crocodile, while the belly was wrinkled, rugose and pallid, which revealed a multitude of fine capillaries imbedded in the flesh. Four pairs of appendages were attached to the thing’s body, two pair served as legs while the other two appeared to function as arms. Each appendage ended in a wicked tri-lobed claw with needle-like fingers that seemed too dangerous to be anything but weapons. It was clearly one of the Nug Soth, as described in that strange metallic book from the ship. Yet the horror of it all was that clinging to the creature’s body were the tattered robes and garments of our compatriot! Indeed, about the creature’s head dangled shreds of a mask; a beard and face that I recognized as belonging to our companion, the enigmatic Swami Chandraputra!

  The creature leapt at us and I braced myself for I was sure that the full weight of the thing would bowl me over. Instead the monster nimbly landed in front of us and seized me with fluid ease. I was tossed about as easily as a doll and ended up with my back pinned to the belly of the thing. Three claws clutched my struggling form while the fourth reached up between my legs and clasped down onto my chest. I could barely breathe, and I looked to Asenath for help, but she had crumpled to the ground and seemed on the verge of falling into unconsciousness.

  The thing’s snout opened and a hissing, raspy parody of a voice desecrated the air. “Do not move little monster. I see you there.”

  Waite’s eyes betrayed the fear that she was feeling, but she remained composed and stood as still as she could. “I see you too.”

  The thing’s head cocked to one side, like a dog hearing a whistle. “Two, I am two, two in one. I am Zkauba. This is my body, mine! I suffer enough with two. I will not surrender it to another hideously small, soft-fleshed warm thing. I will not share!” The head of the thing that called itself Zkauba violently reared back. It shrieked and spittle flew through the air, “ABOMINATION!” Claws opened and drew back, I was cast aside as it prepared to strike at Waite.

  Waite ran. I don’t know where she found the strength, from some hidden reserve deep inside her perhaps, or if she had invoked some kind of magic to boost herself. Either way she was moving as fast as I had seen any human being move, as fast as the thing called Zkauba. Zkauba followed her, ripping through the tattered remains of what was once his Chandraputra disguise, and revealing the complex web of semi-metallic belts and straps that crossed his body. At each juncture of strapping there was a large polished jewel, like a cabochon. As the last of his former costume fell away the thing called Zkauba began depressing the jewels in an odd, almost systematic pattern. The gems glowed across the spectrum and sent energy down the belts. The webbing seemed to expand and grow around his body and limbs. White tendrils like fibrous glass wrapped Zkauba in a kind of armor from head to toe. The helmet itself was an oblong egg with a single large jewel in the center and several more scattered around. As he charged off after Asenath I studied the suddenly armored form for any hint of weakness, but I found none. The only opening I could even detect was a pair of rear-facing vents on either s
ide of his helmet.

  I screamed and charged him from behind intent on tackling a monstrously large wizard from a species eons old. Instead I stumbled past him, somehow he had sidestepped my attack, I had entirely missed a target three to four times my size. As I fell I turned and saw Zkauba charging through the air sideways, literally running on the very air itself. He grabbed me with one arm and tried to fling me away again. Instead I latched on, used the momentum of his throw and my weight to spin him around. Running on air may have allowed him to bypass my attack but it also prevented him from finding any traction to resist my redirection of his movement. We tumbled head over hindquarters until we fell out of the air and skidded against the ground.

  “You may not be as warm as the others,” Zkauba hissed through his armor, “but you are still a soft-fleshed thing that stands no chance against one of the Nug Soth of my skills!”

  Zkauba raised up an armored fist. The gauntlet glowed and electric blue sparks began to arc across the surface. I struggled to move out of the way but he pinned me with one of his other hands and drew back to deliver a killing blow.

  Waite acted first. She crawled up his back, a small glass vial containing a cloudy yellow liquid was in her right hand. In a swift and purposeful effort Waite smashed the vial against one of Zkauba’s air vents. The liquid hissed and foamed as it filled the mechanism and seeped inside the armor. Zkauba reared up in agony and threw Asenath off into a nearby ridge of ice. I heard her body thud as it hit the wall.

  I squirmed around and began tearing at the creature’s arms with my own claws. I lost sight of Waite as I succumbed to a kind of rage. The battle between me and the monster raged on but while each one of my attacks seemed to do nothing against Zkauba’s armor, he was still shrieking in pain. Meanwhile, my claws themselves had begun to break and the pain of each strike had become excruciating. Suddenly from the monster there came a thundering shriek of “ENOUGH!” In a single moment, my battered body was hurled across the icy ground, coming to rest where Asenath was trying to get back up on her feet.

  The towering form of an enraged Zkauba stumbled toward us, rising easily ten feet tall on its fully extended hindquarters. The head of the thing lolled back and forth as it closed the distance between us menacingly. Ominously, with each step great cracks were rent in the thick ice beneath it. I staggered to my feet, fully intent on engaging the beast in direct combat even though I knew it was futile.

  Asenath grasped my shoulder and pulled me back, “Wait, see if the drug has any affect.”

  I shrugged her off. My legs tensed as I prepared to leap and bury my claws in the strange jeweled eyes that decorated the helmet. Instead, the creature once more depressed one of the cabochons and in response the glass fibers of the armor withdrew. The black beetle-like beast tasted the air with his proboscis, chattered in what I can only assume was the equivalent of maniacal laughter, and then bounded away across the ice. He seemed to be following some invisible trail, something only he could sense, but then as the wind shifted I suddenly could sense it as well. It was a stench really, burnt meat and some kind of fuel. I grabbed Asenath, cradled her in my arms and took off after the rogue member of the Weird Company.

  The trail was easy to follow. It wasn’t just the smell; Zkauba made no attempt to cover his tracks, and left a soft, almost slushy wake in the ice. It was Asenath that took that simple observation and made it mean something. We were well beyond the crash site, and while she was still cold, the temperature was slowly rising, and the ice beneath our feet was becoming softer as it melted. Antarctica, or at least the part we were in, was growing warmer, changing, becoming something different. There was no way that could possibly be a natural occurrence, it had to be linked to the reason we were here, to the disaster we were meant to stop.

  We crossed over a low ridge of rock and then worked our way down into a hollow. The temperatures were warm enough that Asenath had regained some of her strength and no longer needed me to carry her. There was running water in the small rocky valley, and here and there were small patches of moss and lichen. Zkauba’s trail moved down the stream which steadily grew as it led up a rocky hill. As we moved up the hill Asenath pointed to a small column of smoke rising from a pile near the mouth of the cave. The material was blackened, charred, but I recognized it for what it was. They were jumbled, but I could make out eight arms, eight legs and four skulls. Someone had tried to incinerate four bodies, four human bodies. Asenath gagged a little as we passed by, more from the stench I think than any sense of remorse or humanity.

  Beyond the rise there was a wall of rock, the base of a mountain, where the stream trickled out from some underground aquifer. Zkauba’s trail led above the stream and to a small cave. It had once been a barely noticeable, little more than a hole, but Zkauba had forced his wave through, boring the hole larger so that he could pass through. Given his size, our passage was relatively easy. The trail of death that had begun outside continued inside the cave. There were dozens of large bodies, all burned like those outside, but these were not human, but rather seemed to be of an avian origin, for there were beaks and traces of feathers amongst the bones. There was something else amongst the ruined bodies, a mass of amorphous flesh, like fat caught in a fire, twisted, bubbled, and charred. Whatever it was, whatever it had been, it was unlike anything else I had ever seen before. More curious was the sledge of supplies including cold weather gear, tinned food, some clothing, a stove, a clutch of bamboo sticks, and even several boxes of matches.

  The cave opened up into a cavern with a lake, and on the far side I saw Zkauba. He was still running, still following some trail. There was an opening, this one not natural, and he disappeared inside. I wanted to follow, but Asenath stumbled and I realized that while she was stronger than any normal woman, she was nowhere as near as strong as I was and that she needed rest. The events of the last hour had exhausted her, and she was on the verge of collapse. Torn between following Zkauba and protecting the weakened Asenath, I chose the latter. She protested, said there was no time, but in moments she was asleep, and I was watching over her as best I could.

  Using the supplies from the sledge I kept her as warm as possible. I used the stove to supply heat; there wasn’t much fuel, but there was enough to generate some warmth for the two of us. The cold weather gear replaced our tattered clothes and made us look like we were wearing uniforms, like we were members of the same team, which of course we were. That we were all that appeared to be left of that team, of Asenath’s Weird Company, didn’t seem to matter. I took comfort in that idea, and soon relaxed and let myself fall asleep next to the woman I was protecting. The woman I had no choice but to admit I was developing strong feelings for.

  It was hours before I was roused by the shuffling sound of someone approaching our position. It was Zkauba, and beneath the sound of his steps he was emitting a low, pained wailing. I leapt to my feet and rushed toward the beast, ready to take on the monster even though I failed before. Behind me Asenath scrambled to take up a defensive position behind a boulder, but both our actions were unnecessary.

  Zkauba waved me off. “Relax Olmstead,” he struggled to say. “Zkauba’s back under control. Asenath’s version of the elixir worked, it just took time to have an effect.”

  “So Randolph Carter is in control again?” offered Asenath.

  The creature’s head turned sideways. “We all have secrets, but I suppose they must all be exposed in the end.” He tossed a package, a bundle of cloth, toward me, and I caught it in mid-air.

  “What’s this?” I unwrapped the cloth, and remembered doing the same thing just a few days ago. Inside was a book, a journal of some sort.

  Chandraputra, Zkauba, the thing that Randolph Carter had become, snarled. “Some hint I think of what we are up against, and why we must put a stop to it.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Document A32-477

  “Under the Mountains of Madness”

  (The following document was recovered from the remains of the 1936 Sec
ondary Magnetic Expedition. There is no record of how it came into their possession, but it seems apparent to be related to the Miskatonic Expedition.)

  If you have found this, I have to ask you to ask yourself, do you know who you are? I don’t mean in the existential sense. Do you know who you are, or, as I suspect, do you suffer from some sort of amnesia, a loss of memory, a loss of personality? Again I ask you, do you know who you are? I don’t. I don’t know who I am, but I know the truth, or at least suspect it. I only have to convince you. I have little to persuade you with, and you shall think me mad, but I shall tell you my story in the hope that you shall do as I plan to.

  When I awoke, I had no knowledge of my own identity. I did not, and still do not know my name, age, occupation, place of birth or residence, or any other such details that would serve to identify me. I have knowledge of language, of English and Latin, of sciences including mathematics, geology, biology, a smattering of physics. I know so many things: the gravity constant, the names of the bones in the human hand, the temperature at which magma begins to solidify. I can explain several of Fermat’s Theorems. I know many things, but I cannot tell you how I know them.

  I awoke naked. I was on the floor of a circular pit, approximately ten feet in diameter and six feet deep. The pit itself appeared to have been cut out of the very bedrock itself some long time ago, for all evidence of tool markings had long been worn away. Running the entire circumference of the pit was a step-ledge approximately three feet wide. The ledge itself was only another three feet below the main floor of an underground chamber of massive proportions, easily the size of a football field and with a ceiling thirty feet above my head. Light was provided by organic masses, perhaps a kind of bioluminescent fungi, that seem to be scattered at random across that ceiling.

  Near the edge of the pit I found a small cache of supplies, clearly identified as belonging to the Miskatonic University Antarctic Expedition. The packs included hand-cranked electric torches, ropes, metallic poles, a large quantity of tinned food, several sets of clothing including furs and gloves, an oil-based heater, a small drum of oil, this journal and several pencils. The food tins are dated in the years of 1929 and 1930. Some of the clothing bore tags with the names of Lake, Gedney and Atwood embroidered, but these names are unfamiliar to me.