“We were voyaging in–no, I shall not tell you the waters, nor give any hint of the location, save to say that it was deep within the Antipodes. I would not have that place discovered again by any human being. The Nautilus had descended toward the bed of the sea, and we had on the electrical lamps so that we might study the formations ahead of us. There was nothing extraordinary in any of this, and we were in no hurry, so we meandered somewhat as the fancy took me.
“The area there is rather volcanic, so I was being quite careful. An underwater eruption could well damage my vessel, though I was under no apprehension that we would be unable to flee any lava flows. To the contrary, I was hoping that some vulcanism might be apparent to us in order for me to make a study of how lava flows under the surface of the sea. My only concern was that an underwater eruption might cause some sort of a pressure that might impact the ship. Hence the reason to advance slowly.
“As a result, we came across the artifacts quite slowly, and they were instantly apparent in the gleam of the lights for what they were–artificial constructs, and at considerable depths in the ocean. As you might imagine, I was rather excited by the discovery. At first it was nothing more than a simple wall, but it was of hewn stone, neatly fitted, and progressing in a straight line. It could be nothing but the work of skilled hands, that much was certain from the start. As we progressed, though, the nature of the ruin changed. In the place of a simple wall, pillars began to appear. Some were erect, many were fallen, and none supported anything.
“It was quite obvious that some sort of cataclysm had befallen this place. Plato’s description of the casting down of Atlantis immediately sprang to mind, of course, but this was in an ocean far remote from his world. But where one city might have fallen to the fury of the elements, others might also.”
“You said that this voyage of yours was in the Antipodes,” I objected. “But there have been no city-building nations there until the recent past. And none of those cities, to the best of my recollection, have ever been swallowed by the waves.”
“You are quite correct, Professor,” Nemo agreed. “There have been none. This was one reason why I was so gripped by excitement–whoever had built this sunken city must have belonged to some civilization that was advanced in mind, and yet unknown to science. As we explored further, it was apparent that we had stumbled upon a major discovery. But it was also a most peculiar one. There was... something... about the architecture.
“Marine organisms had grown all around the stone work–and yet not one had intruded upon the stones themselves. It was almost impossible to judge how old the site was because of this. Why had none of the plants ventured to grow upon the stones? I could not then say, though now I might venture a guess. And then the walls and toppled columns turned into semi-intact and that almost perfect buildings as our floodlights swept across the site. Though I was puzzled by the lack of marine growths on the buildings, I was soon deeply disturbed by the buildings themselves.
“Their architecture was–inhuman. I can think of no other word to describe it. The way that the buildings were constructed was not the product of any sane mind. Overall, the sunken city did not appear so strange–there were buildings that must have been dwellings; some small, some larger. There were open spaces where once markets and meets must have been held. And there were temples and larger public structures. This much was clear and understandable. It was only when one’s eyes moved from the general to the particular that the peculiar nature of the place became apparent.
“Walls were not quite straight–not in the sense that they were badly built, you must understand, but that they were deliberately constructed in a fashion that seemed out of keeping with a sane mind. The intentions of the unknown builders were to construct the structures precisely the way we viewed them. Windows and doorways were not squared, and floor plans were not straightforward. The problem with describing the city is that it was nothing you could quite put a name to–but it was all clearly warped and twisted from the fabric of a normal life. Looking at the city, we all could tell that whatever had built it and whatever had lived there was not entirely human–and possibly not human at all.”
I frowned. “You mean to infer, then, that some lesser species than mankind constructed that city?”
“No; such would be absurd, Professor.” Nemo considered for a moment. “Certain insects build homes; beavers dam rivers. But they do not quarry stone and use it in their endeavors. No, not a lesser species than man–but certainly another species.”
I confess that I could not follow his reasoning. “But what could you mean by that?” I asked him.
“I am not entirely certain myself,” he confessed. “It is simply that all of us who gazed upon that vast field of ruins had a strong conviction–which we later admitted to one another–that human minds could not have imagined that city, and human hands could not have manufactured it. It had the undeniable stamp of something alien to a human mind about it. And, to be perfectly honest, it unnerved us. As you know, Professor, the men I voyage with are some of the proudest, strongest and bravest that our nations have to offer. Yet through all of our hearts and minds at that moment of discovery, a tremor of fear ran. It was as if the place was drenched in evil, and had been so since time immemorial.
“I said all, but that is not true. There was one among us who felt only exultation and a sense of purpose achieved–the mariner Suydam. I did not know it at that time, but when he saw the ruins, his face had changed, showing great satisfaction, and, whilst all other eyes were staring at the astonishing and frightening sight, he hurried away. Looking back later, I realized that Suydam had not been surprised to find the sunken city–that, in fact, he had expected to stumble across it some time in our voyaging. One of his fellows told me later that the man had brought with him some ancient book that he studied at night, with a dim lamp, and that he let no other person see. I can only conjecture that it spoke of ancient and forbidden secrets, including the existence of that terrible place. The book vanished with Suydam, which is probably for the best, so I was never able to be certain of this. But it is logical–as much as anything connected with this event conforms to the rules of logic.
“The first that any of us knew of Suydam’s vanishing was when the engines gave a strained sound. I was not then as used to the sounds of the Nautilus as I now am, and for a few moments I had no clue what might have occurred. I merely understood that our engines were under some sort of strain. Then the noise became a cacophony, and abruptly ceased after a loud banging noise. The lights flickered for a moment, died, and then returned at a lower level of illumination.
“I forgot about the ruins at that moment, hurrying instead to the ship’s engine rooms. There we discovered the engineer insensate, and the main generator inoperable. Clearly this was sabotage, and of a potentially lethal type. Without motive force, the Nautilus was sinking slowly toward the bed of the ocean. I hurried back to the viewing chamber and saw that we were, indeed, settling on the floor of the sea, amidst the field of ruins. There was a loud scraping sound as the vessel slid down the exterior wall of a temple or some such. Stones broke free, falling with us, as the Nautilus came to rest on the bottom.
“Silence then descended, save for the gentle sound of the electric lighting. The air purifiers, powered as they were from the main generator, had closed off. Without them, we had only the air inside the vessel to breathe. We were in a perilous situation–without the generator our air would not circulate, and we could not move from where we lay. I calculated quickly that we had air enough for almost a full day, and that repairs must be effected within that time.
“Clearly, though, the first thing that needed to be done was to identify and isolate the saboteur. If he had struck once, there was the chance that he had further and even deadlier mischief in mind. Accordingly, I had the crew assembled, and it was at that point that Suydam was discovered to be missing.
“The culprit was clear, but his location was not. I had the ship searched while the
engineer was tended to, and I examined the generator.
“Suydam had simply and literally thrown a wrench into the machinery–he was not himself an engineer, and clearly did not know the best way to disable my vessel. He had caused damage, but it was repairable. The only question was whether this could be achieved before our air supply became so fetid as to render us unconscious. My engineer, insisting he was recovered sufficiently to aid us, believed that this could be accomplished, and set about organizing his men to begin temporary repairs. We should certainly need to return to our base for a full overhaul, but he expressed publicly his belief that he could manage to repair the Nautilus sufficient for us to return home. Privately, however, he admitted that he was not quite as confident as he seemed. However, he did not wish to depress the crew by an open and honest evaluation. I commended him on his wisdom in avoiding the potential for panic, and set him to work.
“Meanwhile, the men I had sent to search for Suydam reported that he was nowhere to be found. There could be only one explanation for this, and I hurried back to the observation room. Thankfully, the searchlights outside the ship were run from a second generator that was still operable. I directed their movement, and in moments we could see a figure that must be the missing saboteur.
“He was walking purposefully through the ruined city in one of my underwater suits. His motivation was unfathomable–he had stranded us here, on the sea bed, and was now taking a walk into the sunken city alone. Surely he understood that he must perish? Even if we were to succeed in repairing the Nautilus, he had to be aware that we would not bother to pick him up. And if we died, he would die also. There could be no haven for him in this city that must have been dead for untold millennia.
“And yet–and yet! Suydam had been withdrawn from his fellows, but he had never shown any signs of palpable insanity. So I could only assume that there was purpose in his actions, no matter how inexplicable they seemed. As we watched, he vanished into one of the buildings–one that seemed to be a cross between a temple and a mausoleum.
“One of the sailors had searched Suydam’s berth. The book was discovered to be missing, but there had been left behind a slip of paper on which the man had jotted a few notes, Most made no sense at all, but one line did stand out: In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
“I was not certain there was any sense in this, either–but the building Suydam had entered had the appearance of a mausoleum–and the line spoke of a person who, though dead, yet dreamed. Was it possible that the man thought he was to awaken some sleeper? It made precious little sense–but, then, nothing made any more sense.
“I was seized with a sudden conviction that stranding us here was not all of the malevolence Suydam had planned for us. And if that were to prove to be true, then he had a purpose in his mission in the dead city. I detailed two of my men to accompany me, and left the engineer to make repairs as speedily as possible. The two men and I then suited up carefully for an underwater expedition. We each took along with us harpoon guns and–almost as an afterthought–a small supply of dynamite. I was not sure that any of these weapons would be of any use, but it was better to be prepared for eventualities.
“We then quit the Nautilus, and made our slow, determined way to the sunken city. Close up, the ruins were even more ominous, and their strange aura of inhumanity even more pronounced. I was more convinced than ever that nothing human could have built so unholy a place. The lines of the walls, the cut of the stones, their joints and bracing–all of it was done by the plan of something that thought in a very different way from humanity. It was clear that the buildings were ancient, and the thought came to me that they predated human history. Anything this grand, this awful, would have otherwise been noted by scribes of the antediluvian past. Whose hands–or other appendages–built that ruined city I cannot say–nor would I wish to venture a guess.
“One thing puzzled me, though: no fish crossed those ancient walls. Normally, in places such as these there would be schools of fish, and predatory moray eels or hunting octopi would lurk. But here there were no signs of life at all. The ichthyds avoided the place entirely.
“The building the traitor Suydam had entered was now just ahead of us. It had the vague appearance of a large domed church or mosque–though larger than any I have seen in the world above–and constructed in peculiar and inhuman fashion. As we drew close, we could see that there were large doors that led within. These appeared to be of copper and yet–despite their millennia of immersion–were as gleaming fresh as if they had only just been cast. On the surface of the doors were images–pictures of such grotesque and abominable form that I try not to recall them, and will not attempt to describe them to you. Suffice it to say that they were images that even a madman’s nightmares could not surpass. The race that had raised this city must have gloried in unspeakable acts of torture and degradation. Not even a fiend steeped in dope and bred in the gutters of our world’s vilest slums could imagine what we saw depicted on those doors. And, as we progressed further, we discovered that the interior doors and walls were similarly adorned with pictograms of acts that are too horrific to repeat.
“But there was science behind all of this, too. The beings who created this city knew their architecture and building, and they planned for the ages. Some of the buildings had been wrecked, true, when the city had sunk below the waves, but many more were still intact, and the temple-mausoleum we entered was in a perfect state of preservation. Its age was unguessable, but there was true skill behind it.
“We opened the main doors, and entered the building. There was a small entranceway, about ten feet deep, and then a second set of doors similar to the first. One of my men attempted to open them, but they would not budge. Were they bolted from within? Suydam might have expected to be followed, and sealed them behind him, after all.
“Then a thought occurred to me–perhaps they were like the entrance to the underwater chamber on the Nautilus. Two sets of doors, as you have seen, Professor, to allow passage in and out of my vessel. Perhaps these doors were serving the same purpose, and the inner doors would not open until the outer ones closed. I gestured to my men to close the doors behind us, and, once they were closed I examined them and saw that, indeed, they appeared to be a very tight fit. With the outer doors closed, opening the inner ones proved to be a simple matter. They did serve, as I had wildly guessed, to conserve air within the building. When they opened, the water with us in the entrance drained swiftly down channels set in the floor, and we stepped into a further small room, which was virtually free of water.
“As I have said, I had no idea how long this city had lain on the sea bed. Yet, there appeared to be air within this building–perhaps completely stale after all the centuries. There was no way to estimate it, so I tried the experiment of removing my helmet whilst gesturing to my men to retain theirs, in case the air should prove stagnant.
“To my surprise, it was breathable. The only problem was that there was a rank odor, one I have never known before or since. It had something of the miasma of decomposition about it, and that proved to be the more pleasant component of the stench. But the smell, no matter how putrid, did not prevent the air from being breathed. I gestured to my men and they both removed their own helmets, and immediately made comments about the foulness of the air. I was convinced, however, that there was something vitally important to our safety that we must discover as swiftly as possible, so I ordered the men to leave their helmets beside this door and to accompany me.
“It was not difficult to see the path Suydam had taken. Wet footprints led deeper into the depraved building. As I have already mentioned, the walls and doors were given over to horrendous depictions, all of which served to make the three of us more and more uneasy as we progressed. There was no sign of life, ourselves excepted, and the feeling that these were halls mankind was never intended to enter grew as we moved onward. I am a man of science, but the only word that I could seize upon to describe that building was haunted�
�and haunted not by some specter that might once have been human, but by one that possibly had no idea even what a human being was.
“As you may imagine, we were a highly nervous trio, and we clutched our harpoon guns for whatever protection and comfort they might afford. We moved through the building in silence, none of us wishing to break the cold, dank silence with speech. But then, ahead of us, we heard someone who was not so constrained. It was a voice raised in arrogance and triumph. I have made the study of many of the languages employed by mankind, but I could make out no words in this chanting that sounded at all familiar. The words, indeed, sounded as if they were designed to be uttered by vocal cords very different from ours. Cthulhu was mentioned or invoked more than once, along with various deities and beings from ancient mythology. Other than that, the words were completely meaningless to me.
“We came to a final door, which lay open, explaining how we could heard the voice making invocations to blasphemous beings. As I had expected, it was Suydam. He was standing before what I took to be an ancient altar, arms upraised, and a gloating, evil expression on his twisted face. The altar was large, carved from a single stone, with horns jutting from each corner. Pictographs in some ancient language were carved deeply into the stone, and covered the altar. Suydam appeared to be reading from these writings as he chanted.
“I called a warning to the man, and he turned to look at me, an expression of fierce triumph on his face. ‘You are too late, Captain,’ he coldly informed me. ‘The One I came here to raise already stirs. His dreams are ending, and life returns to his body.’
“I grasped his meaning. ‘You speak of Cthulhu?’ I asked him.
“He nodded. ‘None other,’ he agreed. ‘The Great One awakens, and he will reclaim his own.’
“The man was clearly demented, or so I thought. He spoke of raising the dead, as if this was an action a mere mortal might accomplish. And not merely the dead, but the dead of some inhuman race. I was tempted to simply walk away and leave him to suffer the fate he deserved–death, alone, within this hollow city–but I was prevented from following this thought with action.
Tales of the Shadowmen 4: Lords of Terror Page 25
