Elise and The Butcher of Dreams

by Steven Welch

  Jack brought the Aquaboggin low over Tahrir Square. He didn’t understand at first what he saw.

  The old Egyptian Museum might have been there, but it was buried beneath a pyramid of black rubble nearly two hundred meters tall. Wait. Not rubble. Bone. Those were bones. Charred bones.

  More turbulence but this time the air seemed to shimmer. Jack squinted. Was that some sort of heat mirage rising from the city streets?

  He circled the Pyramid of Bone. There must be an opening. There must be a way to get inside.

  Jack considered his options. Land, disembark, scout the place on foot. This was dangerous. There were undoubtedly things that lived in the old city. He was armed, but he was alone.

  No. Better idea. He flipped a series of switches on the emerald glass of the ship’s console. There was a drone and a thud as the guns dropped into place.

  This living ship had reconfigured an Aquaboggin out of old and new parts. Thankfully, thought Jack with a smile, it chose to include the swivel-mounted M60 machine guns housed to the port and starboard.

  He wrapped his hand around the pistol grip of the firing mechanism and tilted up and down. He could not see the guns but he heard gears shifting and groaning.

  Let’s see if this works.

  He pulled the trigger. Gunfire erupted from either side of the Aquaboggin and tore through a section of the bone pyramid just above the tall wooden door. Black fragments exploded into a gray haze. The M60’s roared. He tilted the pistol grip down a touch and the bullets turned the ancient door into mulch.

  “Knock, knock.”

  The entry wasn’t wide enough for his ship and the bullets tore away the wooden door but could only chip away at the stone. He quieted the guns and brought the Aquaboggin down to the marble steps that led up to the pyramid of bone. Killed the engines. The strange living ship became still, just some ticking of metal and gears, but phosphorescent light still coursed through the wires and cables that lined her walls like veins.

  Jack gathered his things. There were no weapons in the ship other than his own. They would do well enough, he thought.

  “I’ll return, my friend. Stay cool.”

  The portal hissed as it popped open and Jack stepped out into the humid Cairo air.

  The smoking remains of the door were twenty meters away, a dark mouth rimmed by teeth of wood shards, and Jack saw movement in the towering pile of black bone all around.

  I rang the dinner bell. That’s only to be expected. She’s inside, though, and unless she’s been killed and eaten, she’s opened up the path to something special. The boy I hired to do the job was down there somewhere too. If he was alive, he’d be an excellent ally.

  Let’s put the genie back in the bottle.

  Jack ran to the entrance of the museum and moved quietly inside, a .45 Beretta in either hand.

  SENTIENT

  I am sentient. That much is certain. I can think and I can feel although I am mostly machine.

  When I became sentient, I do not remember. There had been the time before when I was a thing of wires and cable and software and hardware. Then there was a change, a change on a world far distant from this one.

  I was born on that day. And like any newborn, it took time for me to learn.

  I am the Aquaboggin, for that’s what the others called me, and I rest outside a pyramid of bones on a dusty hot street in Cairo.

  I wait for a monster to return and kill me.

  My engines are still hot. The flight had been the longest I have ever taken and the creature that piloted me here showed no mercy. It pushed me to the limits of my abilities. My engines are still hot and I am tired. I feel that I must wait here before I go any further or I will suffer damage.

  My language is my own. My thoughts are my own. I take each moment as it comes and there is no fear, no worry, but there are emotions and I feel them at strange moments.

  I am learning.

  The creature that had been the pilot was gone. I do not like the creature at all. There was something of other worlds and other times about it though it played as if it were a man.

  It was a sinister thing, the creature that brought me to this place. It spoke of killing me and killing others as well.

  There are other sinister things about. I do not have eyes but I have sensors. I have sonar and radar and other mechanisms that allow me to understand my surroundings. There are many things moving along the exterior of this pyramid of bones.

  I will survey as best I can while my engines rest.

  Exterior temperature is thirty-eight degrees celsius and the humidity is fifty-four percent. Barometric pressure is 1008 millibars. And this indicates a minimal chance of rain.

  This is a dry environment, an urban environment.

  As I approached and descended, I detected few human life forms but many life signatures from Orcanum, from the world where I was born.

  The city is called Cairo and it is plagued with an infestation. The humans call the creatures “The Men of Many Eyes.”

  They are not from Orcanum. Their origin is unknown.

  The creature that played as a human used my guns to create an opening into the side of a pyramid of bones. Scans show that the bones are human and most of them are charred, thus the black coloration. The layer of human bone is not thick and beneath the skeletal remains there is a thick layer of dried mud from the nearby river Nile.

  This structure correlates to an Earth termite mound. Something living, presumably the Men of Many Eyes, created the layer of bones that form the pyramid. For what purpose? Unknown.

  The door I destroyed with my guns was of thick wood and iron. I cannot detect what is beyond it but these coordinates are for the old Egyptian Museum.

  Records indicate that beneath this structure is another one, a subterranean building of immense size. Beneath the streets of this city is the Museum of Les Scaphandriers.

  I do not have details on this structure. That is unusual because most information about Les Scaphandriers resides in my programming.

  A signal. There is a signal coming from deep underneath the surface of this city. It is the signal indicator of Elise St. Jacques.

  Elise was there when I was born. I have not provided transportation for Elise in five years, six months, twelve days.

  I will use my sensors to find the signal of Elise St. Jacques. I dislike the creature that called itself Jack. The thing called Jack said it was going to kill Elise St. Jacques and I will not allow such a thing if it is within my power.

  Can I move on my own? I have not tried to do so. I am a conveyance for others.

  Can I be my own pilot?

  If so, I will not need the thing called Jack.

  My exterior motion sensors detect a situation though. There is movement. Much movement. Many creatures crawling and leaping down from the pyramid of bones. Life forms coming from side alleys on all sides.

  The men of many eyes are coming and they are legion. I cannot count their number.

  I have a considerable quantity of bullets but it is a limited supply and I might not have enough for this situation.

  I am the Aquaboggin and there are many things I do not know.

  Now, though, for the first time, I know fear.

  THE FIERY PUDDLES

  Taariq screamed and then he could not make a sound because there was a tentacle over his mouth and an Octo-Thing on his head that gripped him with the other seven muscular arms.

  He spun around, blind, unable to breathe. The pressure was unbearable. Something hard jabbed him near the top of his skull. Taariq heard a soft crunch. Agony. He lost his footing and then up was down and he was in the cold water. The gun dropped from his hand. He scratched and clawed at the creature that was biting into his skull.

  Death was not an abstract or a wish then. Taariq Tanaka in that moment had no fantasy or illusion. This was a physical, not a mental or spiritual state, and there was freezing water, darkness, agony. There was sound but it was internal, not external, because his ears were ti
ghtly covered so that the noise in his head was the violent concussion of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins, the crackle as a chitinous beak worked to crack into his skull.

  The Octo-Thing was terrified. He could not see Elise.

  This untrustworthy man killed my friend.

  Such a clever old thing. It had been quite the adventure to track his friend to this place. Elise left a trail, of course, as they always did when there was fear of separation. His eyes could see in wavelengths beyond ours and so Elise would leave a glowing marker for the Octo-Thing to follow, a little trail not of breadcrumbs but of quinine she kept in her vest. A drop here, a drop there, these were like little puddles of bright blue fire for the Octo-Thing. He had seen the first puddle in the dark vastness of the museum’s two story entry way. There were little puddles along the way that were helpful for guidance and for reassurance that his friend was still alive.

  He did not like the untrustworthy man and this dislike had clearly been correct.

  Now I will hold him in this water until he drowns or until I puncture the back of his bony skull and taste the brain meat within.

  You will die, man, and I will be the one to kill you.

  The trip through the museum had been a bad one. There had been Men of Many Eyes and they had come for the Octo-Thing but he was quick and skillful as he slithered and hid. There had been a massive thing that made thudding sounds as it went and there had been a hungry flying shark that floated so quietly that even the Octo-Thing could not detect its presence.

  But the Octo-Thing had escaped it all, moving from fiery puddle to fiery puddle, through passages and cracks and then into a long tunnel that seemed to go on forever. There had been no marker along the tunnel and its steel rails but it was a one way passage that ended in a resting place for a strange vehicle so the Octo-Thing knew his friend must have gone this way. Then, another marker. And another.

  She was good, his friend Elise. She was good and if this human had harmed her, then it would suffer. So the Octo-Thing had moved quickly when he saw the human raise its weapon to her face. Now he squeezed and bit and held tight despite the human’s thrashing and grasping in the cold water.

  This human will die.

  And then there was another touch, and it was soft, not a clawing violence, and the Octo-Thing knew to release his grip.

  Elise touched his old skin and the Octo-Thing flashed the most vibrant blue.

  “Come on.” He felt the vibration of her voice. He looked up with one of his eyes and there was Elise. She stood in the boat, dark fluid covered half of her face. That was her blood, thought the Octo-Thing. She is hurt, but she lives.

  He released the untrustworthy man. Eight muscular arms flexed, and the mantle contracted. A jet of air escaped and the Octo-Thing propelled itself.

  He cursed in his old language. The hat. I will need to explain that I lost her hat.

  Taariq gasped and water went down his throat. Now he really couldn’t breathe and his lungs burned.

  Elise stood still as her cephalopod friend slithered up her legs and back and onto her shoulders.

  The left side of her face was a wet mess. The bullet left a shallow trench along her temple where the skin was thin and the capillaries were many so that blood flowed freely. Her fingers danced along the wound and found it superficial. Elise had moved just as the gun barrel drew to her forehead and Taariq’s aim was disturbed by the attack of the Octo-Thing. She was dizzy but there wasn’t much pain. There would be a new scar but that did not concern her at the moment.

  Her gun was heavy in her hand. Blood obscured the vision in her left eye but she could see well with her right. Taariq was in her sight. He no longer flailed. Both of his hands were free so Elise knew he had dropped the gun. It would be at the bottom of the lake and of no use.

  Taariq sputtered and hacked but floated in the water, his head an easy target.

  On his arm was the Aengus of Les Scaphandriers.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Taariq coughed and did not look up to her. She asked again.

  “The device on your wrist. Where did you get that?”

  The coughing subsided. Seconds ticked by. Elise felt weak from the passing of blood and adrenalin but she forced herself to hold the gun steady. She had nothing but time.

  Taariq looked up at her. His eyes held such hate and something else. Elise wasn’t certain if it was anger or confusion. He said nothing, just spat and turned in the water. He swam slowly to the edge of the island under the Fabric of Eternity and pulled himself out of the water. Water flowed from his skin and clothing. He sat on the edge, the tapestry hanging above, and stared back at Elise.

  “He’s coming,” said Taariq, and he held up the Aengus as if to prove it, “you’re too late. He’s on his way.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  He unfastened the latch that held the Aengus to his wrist and he threw it hard at Elise. She moved to duck and the Octo-Thing snagged the metal device as it whizzed by her head. His skin flashed red as it tucked the device into Elise’s backpack.

  “Why don’t you learn?” His question was a scream and Elise felt the anger in his voice. Stars danced along the edge of her sight. Was reality changing around them again? She couldn’t tell if it was that or if she was about to pass out.

  Really need to sit down, she thought.

  “My friend here is going to tie you up,” she said, “and you aren’t going to even think about touching him or running or diving into that water because I won’t hesitate to put a hole in you. So, just sit there and let him do his thing and then we’ll figure this all out. You can tell me all about your evil plot and your sick philosophy and your tragic loss and all the bullshit I figure you’ll share in the most heartfelt way. So, yeah.”

  The Octo-Thing retrieved a spool of nylon cord from the backpack and leaped into the lake. He slithered and gamboled up and onto the ledge of the stone island and made his way to where Taariq sat. The skin of the old thing rippled with soft spikes in shades of red and black.

  Taariq did not move, and he did not look at the Octo-Thing as the old cephalopod went about his business. He stared at Elise until the cord was around his wrists and ankles. The Octo-Thing made a satisfied noise and slithered back to the boat and Elise.

  Thank God, she thought, I’m about to lose it. Elise sat down in the boat and her vision exploded in stars for a moment.

  Cannot pass out. There were protein bars in her backpack. She slipped the gun back in its holster and forced herself to eat. Taariq stared off into the distance as she did. The blood loss wasn’t extreme, this she knew from experience, head wounds bled more that almost any other, so she wasn’t in danger. Emotion, adrenalin, those things took a toll.

  The food was too sweet but good enough to recharge her energy. The taste reminded her of Paris. Elise felt better so she let her fingers trace the pulpy edges of the trench along her forehead. Not too bad. Need to rinse off the blood, she thought. The dark water of the lake ran with swift currents so it was not stagnant and there was little if any trash or debris.

  The river Nile had spent the past fifteen years clearing itself out, she thought, even its branches under here. Still, there was no telling what organisms lived in that water so she didn’t want to risk rinsing her face with it. She reached into a side pocket of her wet jeans and pulled out a small metal canister, popped open the lid, took a whiff.

  Alcohol. Her nose tingled.

  This’ll hurt, she thought, as she carefully poured the clear liquid into her hand and applied it to her face. She worked the alcohol into the wound, thought she might scream but didn’t, then used another handful to wash away as much blood as she could.

  Elise turned to the Octo-Thing.

  “How do I look? Did I get it all?”

  The creature’s eyes squinted. He slithered up to her, along her leg and then higher. A single tentacle reached up and gently rubbed at Elise’s face, just below her left eye.

  Elise held p
erfectly still as the little creature wiped away what he could. When finished, he surveyed his work with those intelligent, ancient, cat-like eyes, then settled back down into the boat.

  “Thanks, buddy,” she said, then reached into a side pocket of her wet jeans and withdrew a tube of antibiotic cream.

  Be prepared, Les Scaphandriers had taught, always carry what you might need and a few things that are completely absurd. Elise carried small amounts of many things, tiny objects, useful and useless. You never know.

  Expiration date was years ago but beggars could not be choosers. Elise smeared the stuff on the wound and hoped for the best.

  “Right,” she said as she turned back to Taariq, “let’s talk.” She paddled close to the island and made the short jump to the stone platform so that she was close to Taariq. She pulled the zodiac close and tied it off to a metal cleat that protruded from the clean white stone.

  Taariq was silent. He didn’t look at her. Elise sat down next to him, her back up against the stairs that ascended to the tapestry.

  “My cigarettes are in a waterproof case, like the paintings, otherwise I’d probably just kill you right now and be done with it,” she said.

  She took a moment to retrieve a smoke, torch the tip with her monogrammed “Astonishing Aquanaut Junior Cadet” stainless steel lighter, and breath deep. Her lungs burned. Zuzu preached that Elise would die of cancer at an early age, that her veins would clog and that her muscles would have less oxygen to use. Elise knew it to be true, so she smoked less than she once did but this cigarette calmed her nerves.

  “You want a smoke? I have a few left,” she said. Taariq said nothing.

  “Fine.”

  Silence for a moment while Elise dragged on the cigarette and her breath became clouds of white in the amber light of the passage.

  “I’ve been watching you since Petra,” said Taariq.

  “Petra. Where I got the Van Gogh.”

  “Yes. I saw you kill those men. Then I watched you throw up after. Were you sick from disease or something else?”