The Baron Blasko Mysteries | Book 4 | Tentacles

by Howe, A. E.

  “Arggg! Youal die fosure for thissss, whoyou may be,” the creature said, before opening a hideous mouth that was impossibly large and full of sharp teeth. He lunged toward Blasko, who was taken completely off guard by the thing’s appearance and aggressive attack.

  At first all Blasko could do was retreat from the onslaught. He didn’t know what would happen if the creature bit him, but he doubted it would be anything good. His backed away along the gunwale toward the bow of the boat, with the monster snapping at him every step of the way, its teeth mere inches from Blasko’s arms and face.

  Blasko’s shoes were not designed for walking on a slippery deck. Twice he almost lost his balance. The second time they were passing the entrance to the wheelhouse. When he reached up and grabbed the roof to steady himself, he saw that the creature had grabbed something from his belt.

  Before Blasko could react, the creature reached out and plunged a long marlin spike into Blasko’s chest. The pain almost brought him to his knees, but Blasko kept his grip on the roof, and then it was the creature’s turn to be surprised. It had clearly expected Blasko to succumb to an attack that would have been fatal to any normal human. Instead, fighting through the pain, Blasko withdrew the spike and rammed it into the creature’s chest. Its gaping mouth opened and closed a few times in shock before it stumbled back and fell into the water.

  Breathing hard and clutching his chest, Blasko glanced around to make sure no one had seen the fight. Then he took a minute to assess his wound. While it was bad, he’d survived much worse.

  Thinking hard, he decided to risk taking a quick look around the boat. He certainly didn’t want to linger, but he also wasn’t going to pass up the chance to look for evidence of who these mutant fishermen were and what they were doing.

  He looked around the wheelhouse, where nothing seemed unusual except for four dark robes hanging on pegs by the door where foul-weather gear normally would have been. The robes resembled what medieval monks had worn during their devotionals.

  Cautiously, Blasko approached the door that led down into the hold. At the bottom of the steps, he found himself in what appeared to be a small, cramped temple. The walls were covered with disturbing representations of animal sacrifices, while at the far end of the cabin was a stone tablet, six feet by three. It rested on two more stones that raised it three feet off of the deck. While he couldn’t make out the meaning of the words carved into the stone, it seemed to be a shrine to a god called Dagon. The stone was worn smooth, with dry blood crusted along its sides. Blasko inhaled reluctantly and was only a little relieved to detect mostly animal blood.

  Realizing that he’d been there much longer than he’d planned, Blasko quickly retreated up the steps and back into the humid Florida night. The dock was still deserted. He slipped off of the boat and back into the shadows.

  With his wound burning in his chest, Blasko decided that he’d had enough of the eldritch creatures who worked the fishing boats. He wasn’t sure if he’d killed the thing and he wasn’t sure if he cared. And he was weak from the fight. Where can I get fresh blood on this cursed island? he grumbled to himself. The last thing he wanted was to drink any of the blood that flowed in local veins. He had a brief moment when he imagined tentacles growing out of his arms and, for the first time in nearly a century, he felt a twinge of real fear.

  He made his way back to Carter’s cabin and unlocked the door, not bothering to knock as he figured the man would still be sleeping off his alcoholic fog. He walked quietly to the bedroom, where he found Carter covered in sweat and moaning softly. The lamp by the bed had long since burned out, but Blasko didn’t need it. He felt the man’s forehead and sensed a slight temperature. He shook Carter by the shoulder.

  “Wake up. I need to see how you’re doing,” he told his groggy patient.

  “I’m… Yes… It hurts… Damn it…” Carter was rubbing at the shirt tied around his stump.

  “I told you to leave it alone. You will cause it to start bleeding again.”

  “The wrappings are too tight,” Carter complained, more awake now.

  “Let me see.”

  “It would help if you lit a lamp.”

  “Bah! I don’t need a lamp.” Blasko took Carter’s arm and examined the stump. “We need to unwrap this.”

  “Light a lamp so I can see.” Carter’s voice was full of anxiety.

  Blasko lit the lamp and heard Carter gasp.

  “What happened to you?” Carter asked, looking at the bloody hole in Blasko’s chest.

  “An encounter with a reluctant fishman.”

  “You mean fisherman?”

  “Definitely fishman,” Blasko told him.

  Carter grunted. “Then this is like Innsmouth.”

  “Enough. Let me look at your arm.”

  Carefully, Blasko removed the shirt that he’d used as a bandage. When the stump was completely uncovered, he stared dumbfounded at what he saw.

  “What the hell…” Carter muttered. “Oh no, no, no!” he chanted rhythmically as he looked at the stump.

  “I’m sorry, Franklin. I… didn’t expect this.”

  Both men looked at his arm with varying degrees of dread, revulsion and hopelessness. Where Blasko had cauterized the wound, a small nub had appeared like a seedling pushing through the soil. The tentacles were growing back.

  “This can’t be happening,” Carter said, his voice cracking.

  “Whatever you are infected with has the power to regenerate. We are going to have to find a more… supernatural solution to your problem. We shouldn’t be surprised since we know the source of the mutation,” Blasko observed.

  “Don’t just stand there! Figure something out.”

  “There is nothing to be done tonight.”

  “Take the Necronomicon. Find a cure for this abomination,” Carter pleaded.

  “That book is an abomination.” Blasko hesitated. He didn’t want to have the book in his possession, but he also didn’t want to leave it where Carter could get himself into more trouble. “Where is it?”

  “In the fireplace. I dug out some of the bricks and hid the book behind them.”

  Blasko went to the fireplace, which was large enough that it could have once been used for cooking. It didn’t take Blasko long to find the fresh scratches where Carter had dug out the stones. Using a fire poker, he pried them away and removed the large, dusty tome from its resting place.

  Carter was crying softly in the bedroom. Blasko handed him the last bottle of liquor. “Drink and sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  Blasko locked the door behind him and hurried through the night with the book tucked tightly under his arm. He felt a heavy responsibility settle on his shoulders. His first impulse was to burn the book. Watching the damned thing go up in flames would have been very satisfying. If only there wasn’t the matter of Carter’s tentacles to deal with. There was a slight chance that they still might find something in the book that could be used to remove whatever corruption had taken hold of him.

  Blasko slunk quietly along the side of the hotel. His ears picked up no sound as he climbed back up onto the balcony. But when he opened the door to his room, there was a scrambling that caused him to prepare to defend himself.

  “It is only me, Baron.” Anton picked up the chair he’d knocked over in his surprise. “I was watching the hall like you wanted.”

  “And you didn’t hear me open the door?”

  “I might have fallen asleep.” Anton’s voice was full of shame. “You are hurt?”

  Blasko touched the large blood stain on his chest. The wound was throbbing as his body and spirit tried to garner the energy to repair itself, a feat made doubly hard without fresh blood.

  “Never mind. I have another job for you.” Blasko held out the large book to the diminutive Anton. “You must protect this book with your life.”

  “Yes, Baron.” Anton reached out and took the book gingerly.

  “If, for any reason, you fear that you cannot protect it, th
e book must be destroyed. Do you understand?”

  “I must protect the book or destroy it.” Anton’s confusion was evident.

  “This book is too dangerous to allow anyone to gain possession of it.” Blasko remembered that Carter had hinted to Josephine that the Necronomicon might contain a way to reverse the blood bond that bound them together. “No one includes Miss Josephine.”

  “Yes, Baron.”

  Blasko knew that while Anton had the simple nature of an old country peasant, he also had the loyalty and strength of a man of the fields.

  “Oh, Baron, I almost forgot. She wishes to see you. She said for you to come to her by the balcony.”

  Blasko nodded and turned back to the balcony. But before he opened the door, he said to Anton. “Do not open that book. Under any circumstances.”

  Anton looked down at the book and nodded. Blasko knew that Anton couldn’t read the archaic script, but he wasn’t sure that the book would care.

  Josephine had slept fitfully. There was a fine sheen of sweat across her body from the humid air when she was startled awake by a soft knock on the balcony door. Shaking off strange, unremembered dreams, she got up and pulled on a light robe.

  After checking to make sure it was Blasko, she unlocked the door and opened it, then walked away to light the oil lamp next to the bed. When she turned back, her eyes were drawn to the blood on Blasko’s chest. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Is that your blood?”

  “As much as any blood that comes out of my body can be considered mine,” he said with a tired smile.

  “What happened?” she asked, rushing over to him to determine the extent of his injuries.

  “I met one of the local fishermen. More fish than man, I would say.” He told her about the encounter on the boat. “These… things are some sort of hybrid.”

  “Here, take off your coat and shirt. We can’t let anyone else see this.”

  Blasko struggled to get out of his bloody clothes, fighting against pain and fatigue.

  “We can soak them in the tub. Grace and I will work on them,” she said, taking each piece of clothing as he handed it to her. Her breath caught when she saw the wound. It was no longer bleeding, but the puncture was still open, red and angry.

  “What do you need?” Josephine asked when she returned from the bathroom. She was remembering another night when Blasko had been shot. It had taken fresh blood and more than a little time for him to heal.

  “I think you know. But even if I wanted to draw blood from one of the locals, I fear that what runs through their veins is contaminated. It carries whatever has transformed the fishermen into living nightmares.”

  Josephine looked into Blasko’s eyes, her heart racing. When she’d first let him into her room, she’d realized that her body, caressed by the warm salt air, had wanted him. Now she knew that she was going to give herself to him, but not in the way she desired.

  “You must drink from me,” she said softly.

  “I don’t know if I trust myself.” Blasko’s eyes were locked on hers.

  She smiled. “It’s all right. I trust you, Dragomir.”

  He returned her smile, then pulled her into his arms and lowered his fangs to her neck. Guided by her faith in him, he drank just to the point of satiation, then pulled away. He lifted the semi-conscious Josephine into his arms and carried her to the bed, lying down beside her.

  After a while, he stroked her hand and asked, “How do you feel?”

  “I’m a little light-headed, but I promise to eat a good breakfast.” She rolled over to face him, propping her head on her hand. “I need to tell you about my evening. I may have made a deal with the devil.” She went on to tell him about her meeting with the other guests and their agreement to share the letter.

  “You did the right thing. The faster we can get off this island, the better.” Josephine was surprised to detect fear in Blasko’s voice. “You’re not the only one with a story to tell,” he said, and explained about Carter.

  “Franklin is here? And he’s turning into a giant squid? I don’t believe it!”

  “The malformation is as much supernatural as it is biological. It reminded me of the creature that rose out of the fissure below Mrs. Rosehill’s house.”

  “Can anything be done for him?”

  “I’ll try to come up with something. He has some time. Maybe a couple of weeks, or even a month, before the contamination moves up his arm and consumes who he is.”

  “My cousin is a bit of an ass, but that…”

  “No one deserves what’s happening to him,” Blasko agreed.

  “Well, at least we know who invited the treasure hunters. Speaking of which, I’m supposed to meet with them again in the morning.”

  Blasko looked at the darkness beyond the windows, where he perceived the faintest hint of dawn. He turned back to Josephine. “I must go. The sun will be up soon.”

  As he rose from the bed, Josephine thought his color looked better and the wound on his bare chest was almost closed. “Will you be okay now?”

  “I won’t be fully recovered after I sleep, but I’ll be much better. Thanks to you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her. The kiss turned passionate and, with his arms tightly around her, Josephine allowed herself to hope that it would lead to more. But how can it, with so little time? she thought regretfully as he pulled away. In another moment he was gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Josephine still felt a little woozy when she got out of bed two hours later.

  “What the sweet Jesus happened in the tub?” Grace yelled from the bathroom.

  Josephine smiled to herself, then went to explain things to Grace. She told her all about Blasko’s fight with the fisherman, leaving out only the details of the assailant’s hybrid nature.

  “There’s a hole that’s got to be mended,” Grace said, looking at a ragged tear in Blasko’s shirt.

  “You’ll be glad to hear that the baron is as anxious to get off this island as you are.”

  “After this, I’d expect so.”

  Josephine dressed and headed down to breakfast, keeping her word to Blasko as she tucked into Mrs. Lachlan’s hearty fare. The only other guests in the dining room were Jamila and Neith, who kept giving her sideways glances. They had all exchanged greetings, but seemed to be of one mind about skipping any small talk.

  “We are meeting in Captain Hume’s room,” Jamila told Josephine as she headed for the stairs, followed closely by Neith.

  Feeling much more herself, Josephine joined them just before nine.

  “We should wait until everyone has assembled,” Hume said as the group started to talk. “Mr. Brock has not yet joined us.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were still waiting for him.

  “That man has never shown very good manners,” Elliot Zhao observed.

  “Someone should go knock on his door,” Jamila said, sounding more like she wanted to go knock on his head. “You go,” she said to Zhao.

  He gave her a Why me? look.

  “That would be a good chap,” Hume agreed, apparently reluctant to leave everyone alone in his room.

  Zhao stood without another word and went out into the hall. He was back in less than five minutes. “He didn’t answer and the door is locked.”

  “That’s odd. The man was quite keen to get to the hunt this morning,” Hume said.

  “Could he have the other part of the letter?” Jamila asked.

  “And got a jump on us!” Donavan finished the thought.

  “Hold on. Let’s make sure we’re chasing the right fox.” Hume stood up and went to the French doors leading to the balcony. “We can go around to his balcony door. It’ll be easy enough to get in there.”

  “You sound like you’ve broken into people’s rooms before,” Jamila said with a hint of approval in her voice.

  “I’ve done a lot of things. Come on.”

  Josephine followed Zhao, Donavan and Hume onto the balcony. When they reached Br
ock’s door, they were surprised to find that it was unlocked.

  “I say, Brock, we’re coming in!” Hume announced before stepping over the threshold.

  The tall four-poster bed had obviously been slept in. Half the covers had been dragged off and lay stretched out on the floor, pointing toward the bathroom.

  As a group, they moved toward the closed bathroom door. As Hume turned the knob, Josephine was sure that they all had a bad feeling about what they would find. Sure enough, as soon as the door was open, they could see Brock in his underwear and wife-beater undershirt, lying in the clawfoot tub. His bluish face was underwater, while his feet stuck up in the air at the other end. A rusty trail of blood ran down the back of the tub above his head.

  “We found him,” Donavan said unnecessarily.

  “We should leave and call the sheriff,” Josephine said, trying to take note of everything in the bathroom. She didn’t have Blasko’s powerful sense of smell, but she was good at observing items that were out of place. She noticed that there was water around the tub, and a few drops clinging to the wall behind it.

  The others still seemed unsure what to do.

  “She’s right. There’s no sense standing here and gawking,” Donavan finally said.

  “How much good did calling the sheriff do yesterday?” Zhao asked Josephine.

  “Not much. But we have a body this time. Just to make sure that we still have a body when the sheriff gets here, one of us should stay and keep an eye on it.”

  “Two of us,” Hume interjected. “Otherwise, there could be some question about what the watcher got up to alone.”

  “Who watches the watcher,” Zhao said, remembering their conversation from the night before.

  “I’ll stay,” Josephine volunteered.

  “I’ll keep her company.” Donavan looked around at the others as though he expected objections.

  “I’ll ask Mrs. Lachlan to send someone for the sheriff,” Hume said.

  “So who do you think iced him?” Donavan asked Josephine after the others had left.