The phone rang during my second cup of java. I sloshed steaming liquid onto the desk top while reaching for it but finally managed to wrestle the instrument to my ear.
“Barnes here,” I growled, ready to hang up on anyone not named Justin Geoffrey.
“My, but aren’t you the voice of happiness,” Geoffrey said.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied. “I hope you’re calling with good news.”
“Yes, about that,” he answered. “I’m afraid that the counter spell I found may take a bit longer to implement than expected.”
“Jeez,” I groused, “can’t you come up with something quicker?”
Geoffrey chuckled and said, “It just doesn’t work that way, my friend.”
“But,” he continued, “I may be able to create a psychic compass that could be used to find Mr. McCoy’s sister.”
Now that sounded intriguing.
“I got no idea what a psychic compass is but it ain’t like we have a lot of options at this point,” I replied. “What do you need to create this gizmo?”
“It isn’t a gizmo as you so quaintly put it but instead...”
“Look, just tell me what you need,” I interrupted. Geoffrey was one of those guys in love with the sound of his own voice and we were pressed for time.
“In short,” he answered, sounding disappointed, “I’ll need an item of jewelry or a piece of clothing that belongs to the young lady. Something like a bracelet would be ideal.”
“I’ll get right on it,” I answered. “The family don’t have much but I seem to recall a pretty little bracelet that the girl was showing us. She mentioned only wearing it on special occasions.”
“That will be perfect!” Geoffrey answered. “I can get started once you bring it to me.”
“I’m on it,” I replied. “Hang tight and don’t leave the house. I’ll get it to you ASAP.”
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be eagerly anticipating your arrival.”
I high-tailed it to the McCoy home after hanging up the phone. Geoffrey was often in a world of his own and I didn’t want to give him time to become distracted and wander off into another dimension or burn the house down around himself. I didn’t know how Trevor would react to this Plan B regarding the psychic compass but we were at the end of our rope and had to get the girl back, or at least learn where she was, before we could continue with other aspects of the plan.
The days leading up to the fight were a blur of frustrated searching. We had nothing, and with Barnes and me knowing Arkham like the back of our hands, this was no mean feat as far as Logan was concerned. Sending feelers out beyond Arkham proved useless too, so wherever Logan had Eddie’s little sister hidden, it was a damned deep hole.
Throughout this, Geoffrey had been hard at work, his hoodoo voodoo methods coming to no fruition either.
Me being unable to use my usual information gathering methods meant Logan’s men survived with their ears and fingers intact. God was I boiling by the time we reached that fateful day, my mind and fists just itching to tear Logan and his lot to tiny, bloody pieces.
I awoke that morning with my fists clenched and my teeth gritted, pulled from sleep by my landlady tapping on my door telling me I had a call. Usually, I would cuss at her under my breath, sometimes a bit louder, for spoiling my much needed beauty sleep. Today being a day where phone calls saved lives, I quickly climbed into my pants and dressing gown without a word.
I left the room with my hair an un-groomed mess and rushed downstairs while trying to ignore the rude comments the old dame was making.
“Why, the sight of your bare chest has me positively swooning!” she said, the last word drawn out by her thick southern drawl.
“Gaah!” I said, her retorting with, “I’ll go make breakfast then.”
I reached the telephone in the lobby, put the receiver to my ear, and said a gruff, “What?” into the mouthpiece. A gentle, melodious voice, the complete opposite to my own, replied with, “Why, good morning, sleepyhead!”
“Geoffrey!” I growled, “It’s...” raising my arm I checked my watch, “half past six in the morning. How come you’re so bright and breezy?”
“Been up all night, chum,” he replied, his cheery, pleasant tone grating on me, “and I’m surprised that you weren’t, considering.”
Pure mental exhaustion had been the solution to my sleepless nights. Lucky me.
Geoffrey’s ability for not getting to the point had me squeezing down on the receiver. He must have heard the phone creaking, ready to break, or maybe my teeth grating down the line, for he continued, “Well, my counter-spell is finally good to go.”
“It’s about time, pal,” I replied, followed by, from Geoffrey, “Would you have rather done this yourself? I can go into the intricacies and dangers of dealing with otherworldly beings right now if you wish.”
I shrugged, trying to shake off my frustration. My anger wasn’t his fault. “Listen Geoffrey, I mean Justin, I’m sorry, pal.” Eating humble pie wasn’t something I was used to, but I did my best. “I value your work, fella. We need you.”
I imagined the smile on Geoffrey’s face grew large enough to slice his head in two.
Catching a movement in the corner of my eye, I turned to see my landlady heading down the stairs, off to make breakfast, I assumed. My stomach growled.
“And that other thing?” I asked, worried that he hadn’t mentioned it already.
“Good to go as soon as one of you charming fellows arrives here to receive it.”
This ripped my face in half with a big, beaming smile. Damn the guy was good.
“Gimme half an hour,” I replied, “and would you mind giving Barnes a call next?”
Replying in the affirmative, Geoffrey then said, almost hesitantly, “And my fee...”
“A crate of apricot brandy?” I replied with a chortle.
“God bless you, dear sir!”
In the nick of time, it seemed our day was actually going to be saved.
The sound and smell of sizzling bacon reached my ears. I turned towards the kitchen, deciding to toast my luck with coffee and breakfast.
I’d received an early call from Towers and was now on my way to meet him at Geoffrey’s place. We’d both been on pins and needles because the day of the boxing match had arrived and we’d made no headway on finding Sonia. Needless to say, Eddie’s mind had not really been focused on getting ready for the upcoming bout and I secretly worried that he might blow it even if things were on the up and up. At least now we’d have Geoffrey’s mystic compass and could hopefully grab the hostage before the fight. Time was running out fast and I soon pulled up in front of Geoffrey’s place though I’d broken more traffic laws than you could shake a stick at.
I pulled into the circular drive and watched Towers come to a screeching halt in my rear view mirror. Leaving my heap, I watched him exit the vehicle and nod at me. He carried the promised case of apricot brandy for Geoffrey and appeared to be in a hurry to get rid of it.
“This better work,” he mumbled.
“Geoffrey won’t let us down,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. I took the crate off his hands and watched him barrel ahead of me and make his way through the unlocked front door.
Our mystic ally had a vast assortment of junk along with priceless artifacts but never locked his door. I guess he figured it would send the wrong signal if a reputed occultist needed locks to protect his accumulated swag.
Geoffrey was in his usual state of disarray but greeted us affably. We entered the cluttered foyer and did our damnedest not to trip over the array of items littering the area. Our host led us deeper into the house and seated us in his study, which explained why the foyer was so cluttered. It was difficult to find a place to sit but we managed.
Towers shook his head in dismay and said, “Damn, I thought you’d never finish.”
“It wasn’t something I could purchase at the five and dime, you know,” Geoffrey replied, thrusting the object forw
ard.
In all honesty, it did look pretty much like something you’d get at the Woolworth’s toy department. It consisted of a small compass that was glued to a piece of wood and covered in transparent green stones that looked like costume jewelry.
“You’re sure this will work?” Towers asked.
“Probably,” Geoffrey answered.
“Wow, now that’s a real ringing endorsement,” I said.
“Look,” Geoffrey complained, “it isn’t my fault that I’ve never had occasion to use such a device prior to now.”
Geoffrey was on the verge of getting steamed but I headed it off.
“It looks good to me Justin,” I said. “How close does the girl’s bracelet have to be to the compass to get an accurate reading?”
“There’s no specific limitations mentioned in the tome but I would recommend you keep the two as close as possible. The compass point will be drawn to the girl. Really, it’s so easy even a pair of lunks should be able to use.”
I smiled, took the bracelet and attached it to the compass. “That ought to do it,” I said, beaming at my common sense approach to the problem. Towers just smirked and said, “You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?”
I nodded and handed the bracelet to Towers. Geoffrey had already opened the crate of Apricot Brandy and was in search of a clean glass.
“I hope like hell this works,” I said.
Towers frowned and nodded toward our host, “It better, he’s not gonna be any good to us once he gets started on that.”
We picked who’d do what on a coin toss, one of us going to search out Sonia’s whereabouts, the other taking care of the match. As I’d much rather be out and about than cooped up dealing with the ring-work, I felt I won that toss, Barnes and I separating outside Geoffrey’s place with few words but a concrete understanding: after finding and securing the girl, I would contact him immediately.
And this time, I didn’t need reminding to tread carefully. Logan’s fellow rats wouldn’t hesitate in blowing a hole between poor Sonia’s pigtails if I went in there cannons blazing. A gentle approach would keep Sonia alive, and we’d made a vow to Eddie we’d do so.
With the needle on my bizarre compass pointing west, wavering slightly to the north, I turned left. Leaving Peabody Avenue I stepped down College Street, heading in the direction of Hangman’s Hill.
The time on my watch read eight thirty, giving us a good nine hours before the fight started.
The Arkham around me stood quiet at this time of day, the air warming as the early morning mist finally began to clear. A sudden chill hit me as I crossed the Parsonage Street intersection.
The reason? Arkham’s witch house stood to my left, once demolished then miraculously whole again a year later, but this wasn’t why I shivered, pulling my collar up. It was because of the tales I’d heard as a child, plus a dare I’d accomplished when only a little boy in shorts.
Sneaking in one night to pinch a stone from the yard, I’d grabbed the nearest one quickly, jittery to return to my friends. My prize in hand, I’d been about to leave when I heard an ugly tittering from the window facing the yard. What I saw there gave me nightmares for months.
Feeling easier after leaving it behind, I reached the university campus. The sight of that huge array of buildings, surrounded by flowering cherry blossoms, cheered me up no end, as did the group of students entering the campus.
I envied their happy, innocent lives, the world to them still a fresh, exciting place.
My expression turned sour as I left the campus behind. I checked the compass and found the needle hadn’t wavered, meaning I would soon be passing Arkham and entering the fields leading towards Billington’s Woods.
Windblown cherry blossoms filled the gutters at me feet, turning brown in the amassed filth.
Cheers, Arkham.
When I reached the university hospital I had a choice of either returning for my car or walking further. With neither plan that appealing, I chose a third option. I stole a car.
After breaking into a nearby, copper-colored 1920 Buick, I drove past the hospital then down Boundary Street before turning left onto Aylebury. With the Miskatonic flowing to my right, I departed Arkham, my compass, on the Buick’s dash, pointing northwest.
The river being my companion for a good while longer, I didn’t like the direction the compass, or my day, was taking.
Soon after I came upon Billington’s Woods, lying thick and deep ahead and to my left. The road veered towards them and me with it, and damn did I hope my drive wouldn’t be a long one.
An hour later and I was still hoping, the Buick’s poor handling an added burden as I drove along wishing I’d picked another car, or even returned for my own devilishly fast Coupe.
After Billington’s Woods the road turned worse, ruts and stones appearing with abandon. The Buick’s handling following suite with little sympathy.
Another hour of tortuous driving followed.
As I drove, the ground grew higher, the stone walls bordering the road growing tight as the ruts and debris increased beneath my wheels.
Even the landscape was going against me. As the road tightened, curving like some crazy, wound-up snake, I slowed my stolen chariot even further for fear of hitting something. A wandering cow was a thought, or possibly even a fallen tree. The ones I passed were old and diseased, their dark, heavy branches leaning across the road with an evil intent. I felt glad I’d kept the roof up.
I was now about seventy miles northwest of Arkham, not far from the border to Vermont. Already well past Dean’s Corners, I was slowly but surely closing in towards Aylesury Pike. It appeared the compass had one destination in mind: the decayed village of Dunwich.
Dunwich was one of the last places Barnes and me would have thought of looking. I suppose that’s where the beauty lay. Dunwich was a tiny farming community in an area that had once housed lumber mills, before its decline.
Declined, inbred—these two words suited Dunwich down to the grimy ground.
I crossed the pike and the landscape around me remained unchanged, the forests hiding much of my view as the road’s wild curves continued.
As the forest finally started to thin, the road began to widen.
Beyond I spied farmland, barren as it was, gaining a better view as the trees disappeared. The increasing dilapidation of the walls followed the road’s widening, the brambles flanking it growing thicker and wilder as Dunwich loomed ever closer. I supposed so anyway, for so far I’d seen very little in the way of buildings, just the odd derelict-looking homestead, built from scratch and slowly falling back into it.
One of those ruins might house Sonia, I realized. Removing my foot from the gas pedal I pulled up beside a decrepit wall. I came to a halt before checking two things in order.
The time on my watch: twelve oh two. The direction on the compass needle: northwest, still.
It was time to walk. I took the compass in one hand and removed my hat with the other. Placing the latter on the passenger seat I stepped out onto the road, stretching my arms and legs. A stretch felt good for the soul, even in a dump like Dunwich.
After some indecision I retrieved my hat, pulling it down over my brow.
I left the Buick and headed forward, checking the compass constantly as I stepped deeper into Dunwich country.
The fields grew shoddier. The houses, becoming larger but no tidier, were built closer to a road now without its barrier wall. These squalid places looked deserted, or, if not, I couldn’t imagine what folks could live in such decrepit hulks. The windows were gaping holes of darkness, with rotted boards or dirty sheets spotting many.
I stepped warily, conscious of my surroundings at all times.
Dunwich was a ghost town, like the old west but without any romantic charm.
The road started to rise again, approaching and disappearing towards the mountains lining the horizon. The stone pillars crowning those had never been part of Mother Nature’s designs.
I sighed
, looking towards the deep dark woods surrounding their base. Sonia could be there as far as I knew, hidden away in some dark little cabin within a maze of stubborn boughs.
Ten more minutes and my feet began to ache. I encountered a river, trickling away beneath a wooden bridge, and guessed this was the upper reaches of the Miskatonic. The compass took me off the road and across the bridge.
My anticipation grew as I walked upon stony grassland no kinder on my feet than the road. A cluster of gambrel roofs lay between the river and the mountains. Dunwich proper.
The compass wavered as I walked, hinting I might be getting somewhere. Closing in on the mountains, my worries concerning distance returned. I had a long, wearying walk ahead of me.
Deserted as it was, I eventually reached the village. I wavered in my resolve but this was where the compass wanted me. And who was I to question Justin Geoffrey’s nifty piece of enchantment?
I soon entered Dunwich’s deep, rotted heart, a village formed from ugly homesteads matching those I had passed on the road.
Somewhere within that sprawl I spied a church steeple, sagging and ugly against a sky rippled with gray. As it appeared to be at the village’s center, I headed that way.
The smell of decay grew in strength, becoming a positive stench as I stepped between a pair of log-built houses. Soon after, rubble, rotted food and suspiciously large bones started to hinder my footsteps. The ground lay as messy as the buildings surrounding it.
The village was a different world, a dimension where decay held sway. That decay filled my lungs, had me feeling contaminated, unreal even.
Arkham Nights Page 23
