Across the shrinking space between them, Neok Wu rose from his seat, his mouth moving, but emitting no sound. All in that room recognized that Caleb Annawan was gone and all wondered what has taken his place?
The fear in the chamber was palpable, layered on top of the ozone-smell of magic and the psychic residue of pain that permeated the place. But the Annawan-thing paid it no heed, keeping its focus entirely on Neok Wu as it stopped mere feet from the man.
“That thing is flint and wood and calcium and a sliver of the arcane.” It gestured and, like a man hypnotized, Neok Wu bent down, reached beneath his seat and came up with Annawan’s leather satchel, from which he removed a flint-and-bone knife that shone dully in the flickering of the oil-lamps’ light. “It is a mere trinket, true—but it is mine and I won’t see it fouled by any foreign magicks.” The being snapped its fingers and the blade of the knife shattered into pieces so small as to be indistinguishable from grains of sand. “The one who offered it has little understanding of the worlds—but he is still my child and he will be dealt with as a child. You, however… you should know better. Only your arrogance blinds you.”
Neok Wu spared not a glance for the ruined, now-useless thing he still grasped as he finally found his tongue. “Who are you?” he asked quietly.
The ancient voice coming from the youthful face laughed, deeply and richly and fearsomely. “I am he who was old when my children first descended upon this land, birthed from the same eternal night as the Earth itself.”
The young man’s visage flashed and, for a split-second, superimposed over his fine features was another. Canine? I thought, then realized—No. Vulpine.
“And if you are very lucky, Neok Wu,” the being continued. “You will never know my name.”
There was no further sound from Neok Wu, but he suddenly looked very old and began to tremble like a leaf in the wind. And even among the dense smells of the drug-den, I picked up the sudden tang of fresh urine.
There was one last laugh, more like a bark of derision than a sound of amusement, and then the young man’s head snapped to one side as if coming suddenly, violently awake from a deep sleep. The look on Caleb Annawan’s face said that he was himself again.
He glanced at his surroundings, at the men who still stood in awe around him, and when at last his gaze settled upon the pile of dust that had been the object he sought, he turned to me and said, “I gather we’re all done here, Mr. Carnacki.”
I nodded and together we made our way out of that wretched place unopposed.
Out on the street, running over the events of the previous hour in my mind and scarcely able to believe so little time had passed, I offered my hand to Annawan and said, “I don’t quite understand what I just witnessed, but I feel privileged to have done so.”
He grasped my hand in his and with a sad sort of smile said, “You, new friend, are very lucky.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” I agreed. “I do have many questions, though. I don’t suppose you’d care to answer a few?”
Annawan smirked. “I don’t suppose I would.”
“Fair enough. What will you do now?”
He shrugged. “Doubt I’ll have any more problems with Neok Wu, but the trouble’s far from over.”
“This brother that was mentioned?”
Annawan nodded. “Yes. He’s a fool, but…”
“I understand.”
I clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Then this is where we part ways. My apologies for wedging myself in where I don’t belong and for my lapse of judgment in springing to the attack in there, but—”
He shook his head. “Say no more. You were willing to help when few would be and I appreciate friends anywhere I can find them.”
“Well,” I chuckled. “It’s not as if I’ve gotten nothing out of it. This has been quite the afternoon and will make quite the story to tell someday, back home in London. And speaking of home, if you ever find yourself in London, please don’t hesitate to look me up. I can give you a far more leisurely tour of my city than the one you’ve given me of yours.”
He laughed and promised to do so and with that, we parted ways, though I do hope our paths will one day cross again as I like to think of Mr. Annawan as being the one who taught me to look before leaping when it comes to the arcane.
***
“And on the topic of paths,” Carnacki added, standing at last. “It’s high time each of you found his own towards home. We’ve chattered quite enough for one evening, I think!”
And so, as was his habit, Carnacki rushed us out of his house and onto the embankment, leaving us to go our separate ways until such time as our paths, and his hunger for storytelling, intersected once again.
Brandon Barrows is an award-nominated writer of prose, poetry and comic books who lives by a big lake in Vermont with his wife and their feline overlords.
Over forty of his prose stories have been published in magazines and anthologies, as well as collected into the books THE ALTAR IN THE HILLS (Raven Warren) and THE CASTLE-TOWN TRAGEDY (Dunham's Manor Press). His first novel, THIS ROUGH OLD WORLD, is forthcoming from Electric Pentacle Press. His comics work includes MYTHOS: LOVECRAFT'S WORLDS (Caliber Comics), JACK HAMMER (Action Lab Comics), VOYAGA (Markosia), appearances in HEAVY METAL MAGAZINE and more.
The Castle-Town Tragedy and Other Tales of Carnacki, the Ghost-finder Page 12