“In the blasted earth where the barn had been, dust and ash started to tremble and shake; then, as if taken by the wind, rose in a tight funnel spiraling up toward the hanging eggs, faster and faster still. The eggs sucked up the material and sang even more loudly, as if requesting more.
“I felt them suck at me too, and had the pentacle not been in place, I think I might have been taken—and gone almost willingly—to whatever was on the other side.
“There were too many eggs to count now—into the hundreds, for sure. They almost filled the space in the pentacle, their song rising higher, the beat and thrum of the rhythm filling my head, and the dancing rainbow colors filling my eyes with blue and green and gold and wonderment.
“My whole body shook, vibrating with the rhythm. My head swam, and it seemed as if everything melted and ran. The scene receded into a great distance until it was little more than a pinpoint in a blanket of darkness, and I was alone, in a cathedral of emptiness where nothing existed save the dark and the pounding.
“And then there was light.
“I saw stars—vast swaths of gold and blue and silver, all dancing in great purple and red clouds that spun webs of grandeur across unending vistas. Shapes moved in and among the nebulae; dark, wispy shadows casting a pallor over whole galaxies at a time, shadows that capered and whirled as the dance grew ever more frenetic. I was buffeted, as if by a strong, surging tide, but as the beat grew ever stronger I cared little. I gave myself to it, lost in the dance, lost in the stars.
“I don’t know how long I wandered in the space between. I forgot myself, forgot Swithin, dancing in the vastness where only rhythm mattered. I might be there yet, had Swithin not brought me back. He had me gripped by the shoulders and was screaming into my face.
“‘Fight it, Carnacki! Fight it, man! I need your help.’
“It was that simple request for humanity that brought me back—back from a place where humankind was as insignificant as one of the motes of dancing ash from the ruined barn. Although, when I managed to focus on him, I could see that Swithin was now as far gone from humanity as the stars among which I had been dancing. His head looked misshapen and deformed, as if his brain had grown too large for his skull and was threatening to expunge itself. His hands had taken on a peculiar flipper-like aspect, as had his feet. The left one in particular bothered me—it had thickened and hardened into black cuticle that looked like it wanted to become a claw. What is more, wet-mouthed suckers ran not just over his torso but up and down both his arms.
“‘I don’t have much time, Carnacki,’ he said—even his voice was going, barely more than a throaty gurgle. ‘We can finish this—I think. It calls to me, and I must go to it. But when I do, when the way is opened—then you shall have your chance. Watch closely—and take it. Do not falter or flinch—it might be the only chance we have.’
“He motioned me forward and pointed at a knob on his box of tricks. ‘Turn that full-clockwise when I tell you to. It will amplify all the valves at once—a full blast with everything we’ve got,’ he said. ‘And follow my lead.’
“He left my side and went to stand at the edge of the pentacle then, without a pause, stepped inside and quickly moved to the center where he raised his hands until they seemed to be engulfed in the mass of the eggs. I could hardly see him inside the swirling aurora of dancing color.
“The eggs danced faster—thousands of them filling the pentacle and the whole area above me with song and dance that I had to fight to resist. Swithin sank his hands completely into them.
“‘Now!’ he shouted.
“I turned the knob to its full extent.
“The myriad of eggs popped, burst and disappeared as if they had never been there at all. Dancing fog swirled, a dark funnel that brought a howling, screaming wind that threatened to throw me to the ground.
“Swithin screamed.
“Everything went black as the pits of hell, and a thunderous blast came down like a hammer from above, driving me down into a place where I dreamed of empty spaces filled with oily, glistening bubbles. They popped and spawned yet more bubbles, then even more, until I swam in a swirling sea of colors—lost.”
c
“I woke in the dark, lying on a bed of withered dry leaves under a star-filled sky.
“There was no sign of Swithin, nor of any of the eggs. We had succeeded—Swithin had gone through—and the Keeper of the Gate had closed the way behind him. When I looked into the center of the pentacle, I saw only rubble and dust—and as I was about to turn away, a dim rainbow aura, already fading, was sinking into the ground.
“I walked out of those blasted orchards and made my report to the sergeant in charge of the squaddies who were gathered at the railway station. I left them to the clean-up and took the first available train home, to seek out the nearest bottle of Scotch and get closely acquainted with it. I did not look back, and I shall never return.
“I am sorry to say that I cannot promise the same for that blasted rainbow aurora, though.”
c
Carnacki sat back and tipped down the last of his brandy, his tale clearly done.
But that was not the end of the evening—not quite, for when Arkwright asked after Carnacki’s health, our old friend did not speak but rolled up his sleeve.
His inner forearm seemed to have been melted and reformed, the skin being thin, almost translucent. When he held his arm up to the light we all saw it—the faintest of rainbow shimmers, like oil evaporating in hot sun.
“It improves,” Carnacki said with a thin smile. “As will I, in time. But I shall never eat another apple out of Kent—and neither should you. Now, out you go.”
I watched the trees carefully all the way home along the Embankment, but thankfully I saw only darkness and the clear bright stars of our own night sky.
The Gray Boats
I made my way to Chelsea that Monday evening through one of those pea-soup fogs that seem to cling to your cheeks and are almost thick enough to chew, and it was more by feel and memory than anything else that I found myself at Carnacki’s doorstep.
As ever, his warm welcome, good humor and boundless hospitality managed to dispel the gloom in a matter of minutes, and by the time we settled in his parlor after a fine supper I had quite forgotten the dismal gray pallor outside.
Carnacki’s latest tale brought it back to mind, all too quickly.
c
“It started with a telegram, on Friday morning the week before last,” Carnacki began as we sat back to listen. “It was from the infamous Captain Gault. As you chaps know, I have helped him out of a couple of tight places in the past, and he seems to have taken that as an invitation to call on my services when he gets himself into a spot of bother.
“On this occasion he requested my presence in Cornwall—in one of the small fishing ports on the northwestern side of the county. He intimated that there was a great mystery to be solved, and, as is his wont, also hinted at a small fortune in salvage to be made if I hurried. Not having anything planned for that weekend, I was just intrigued enough to take him up on his offer, and that same afternoon I took a train to Exeter and on to Penzance in the early evening, where I took a room for the night at The Old Turk’s Head. I had taken the precaution of traveling with not just a suitcase, but the box in which I transport my protections, and I made sure everything had survived the journey before heading down to the public bar in search of refreshment.
“It was there, as I took a light supper, that I got my first intimation that all was not well down in that part of the country. The landlord mistook me for a man from the Ministry, and his error was compounded when several of the locals picked up on it as if it were a fact. I am afraid I was berated—and cursed—long and hard, and it took me a jolly long time to convince them that I was not, in fact, the cause of any of their current woes. It was only after I placated them by buying a round for the entire bar that they saw sense.
“Over the course of several games of dominoes—I thought it p
rudent to let them win—I heard the cause of their grievances.
“It has been a bad year for Cornish fishermen—the last month in particular proving particularly grim for their coffers. The catches had been heavy enough, but the fish themselves were all spoiled—diseased, or so I guessed, although they would not speak of the exact nature of the spoilage. It was clear where the blame was being cast, though—a government experiment of some kind, up the coast—located in the very village from which Gault had sent me the telegram.
“I made a promise to myself to head out at the earliest possible time the next morning.”
c
“That promise was harder to keep than I could have anticipated, for I had a spot of bother finding anyone willing to make the trek up the coastline. It was almost noon before I managed to persuade anyone to take my money. In the end I got an old weathered local whose accent was so impenetrable that I scarcely understood a word he said over the four hours or so it took his equally old horse to pull the cart over the rutted coastal tracks.
“Toward the end of the journey I finally managed to make some sense of what he had been trying to tell me for an hour or more.
“‘It ain’t no government problem,’ he said, spitting out a wad of chewing tobacco. ‘There weren’t no government around when it came the first time—weren’t much of anything around back then. It’s an old thing, a bad thing, and there’s no sense in trying to do owt about it, for it will be back again, whenever it pleases.’
“That was all he cared to say on the matter, despite much pleading on my part, and the offer of as many of my smokes as he desired. We went the rest of the way in silence as the sun began to make its way down into the sea far to the west.
“When we arrived at the hill overlooking the harbor, it was to look down over a sea of pale fog that seemed to glow almost amber in the dying rays of the sun. The old man made the sign against the evil eye, and cursed, long and loud. I thought for a moment he might refuse to take me any further, but he was made of sterner stuff than I supposed, and he navigated a warren of narrow hillside streets that led down to a harbor inn where he helped me unload the luggage and my box.
“‘Don’t be staying too long in the fog,’ he said. ‘Ain’t good to be staying out too long in this stuff.’
“And with that, the self-same fog seemed to swallow him and his cart, leaving me alone outside a seemingly deserted inn as darkness started to fall and the fog swirled around me. I left my gear on the doorstep and headed inside in search of company.
“The inn did indeed seem deserted. I rang the heavy bell in the reception area, but no one answered, and there was no sound, no indication that I was not alone, not just in the inn, but perhaps in the entire village. I considered going back outside and calling on the old man to return for me, but I would have felt jolly foolish had anyone caught me fleeing like a frightened schoolboy, so I stood my ground and rang the bell again.
“And finally my patience was rewarded. I heard, as if distantly, the clink of glass against glass and on following the sound found my way to a small snug bar at the rear of the inn. Three men were sitting around a roaring fire, and all were clearly in a state of some inebriation. I recognized the one who looked up as I entered.
“I had found Captain Gault.”
c
“It took me quite some time to get his story out of him, as he refused to allow himself to become even in the slightest bit sober, and indeed seemed intent on getting more Scotch inside him in very short order.
“I decided that at least one of us should maintain a clear head and contented myself with an ale from the barrel behind the bar, and some cheese and dry biscuits from a pantry I found further back. I finally got his tale as I lit up a smoke.
“‘I didn’t think you would come, Carnacki,’ he said. He slurred his words, and his conversation meandered, as is a man’s wont after a stiff drink, so I will keep this brief for you chaps’ benefit. Over the next hour or so before he lapsed into stupor, he told of how he had heard of two Navy vessels, wrecked off the Cornish coast and left to the elements. Always on the lookout for an opportunity and berthed in Bristol at the time, he had come down the coast to see if there was anything salvageable.
“‘They’ve been messing with something they should have left alone,’ one of the other sailors said at that point, unwittingly echoing the statement of my driver earlier.
“Gault had lost his thread of thought while taking another gulp from his glass, and needed prompting.
“‘The wrecks?’ I said. ‘There are two of them?’
“He looked up at me, and for the first time I saw more than drunkenness in his eyes—I saw the fear behind them that had driven him to drink in the first place.
“‘Aye, two,’ he said finally. ‘Almost brand-new boats, and a damned shame to see them in that state. We got aboard easy enough; they hadn’t left any guards. The lifeboats were all gone, so I think—I hope—the crews all got off. But they had left in a hurry, that much was obvious.
“‘At first we didn’t care. If I could salvage those two and sell the engines and metal and such—maybe even get the least damaged one whole and afloat proper again—I’d be set up for years to come. So we went aboard to see what was what.
“‘As I said, they had left right sharpish—their clothes were still in the lockers, food still in the pantry, and I found a fine sextant and telescope in the captain’s cabin that he would not have left had he not been in a hurry. But it was what was below decks that gave me the willies—and it was after seeing that I sent you the telegram, for which I am heartily sorry, Carnacki, for you will soon wish you had never come to this place. There is only death here—there is no reward to be had.’
“‘What exactly did you find?’ I asked when it seemed no further explanation was forthcoming.
“‘Fog,’ one of the other two said softly. ‘Fog that breathes. Fog that burns.’
“‘Fog that sings.’ Gault said softly, at which point all three took to the liquor with some vehemence, as if determined to erase some cruel memory, and I got no more out of them that night.
“I finished my ale and went to fetch my gear from the doorstep. It was full dark outside now, but the fog was thicker than it had been, and seemed to have taken on a milky white glow—from the moon high above was my guess. The whole effect, coming so soon after my conversation in the bar, was somewhat disconcerting and I did not waste overlong in any observations. I dragged the luggage and my protections into the inn, found a neat but somewhat basic bedroom and got my stuff safely stowed away. I went back to the bar, but any hope of further illumination was now over—the three were, to a man, lost in drunken unconsciousness. Gault looked almost peaceful in comparison to the man who had started to relate his story earlier, as if he had at least found a semblance of comfort, so I left them to their slumbers and retired to the room I had found.
“There is nothing else to tell of that first night—the fog continued to give off a soft glow just outside my window, and it was so disconcerting after a time that I had to close the curtains to keep it out of my sight. Apart from that, the inn—indeed, the whole village—was deathly quiet, the only sound the lapping of waves on the harbor wall outside.
“I slept soundly—the last good night’s sleep I have had from then until now.”
c
“I woke in the morning to the smell of cooking, and found Gault and his men—all of them slightly the worse for wear for the night’s drinking—in a small scullery frying eggs and making toast, which only I ended up eating.
“Morning sun streamed in through the windows—last night’s fog had either dispersed or retreated, and its disappearance seemed to have greatly lightened Gault’s mood.
“‘Dashed sorry to have made such a fool of myself last night,’ he said as we shared a smoke on the doorstep overlooking a strangely quiet harbor. ‘But when you hear the rest of the tale, I’m sure you won’t begrudge me a night of oblivion from the horrors.’
; “As his tale unfolded I was bally glad to be sitting in bright sunshine, for there was a darkness and a chill in his story that was not as easily dispersed as the fog, and the fear was still there, visible in Gault’s eyes as he spoke.
“‘I told you about going aboard,’ he said. ‘But I did not tell you what we found below.
“‘That first day we still thought we were onto a good thing. There was salvage aplenty, and the men laughed and joked at the stupidity of the Navy sailors who had obviously been inexperienced enough in these waters to let themselves get caught on rocks that everyone in these parts knew to avoid. It was equally obvious that they had been involved in some kind of experimentation, there being all manner of electrical gear—wiring and cables, generators and some kind of loud-hailer system I do not understand.
“‘But all that was forgotten when we went below, and all chit-chat was stilled when the fog first seeped through the wall. We’re used to fog—sailors all are—but none of us had ever seen it inside a boat before, seething and roiling like boiling soup.
“‘A melée immediately formed as too many men tried to cram through the narrow door out of the hold. Muir the purser, Squires and myself were the only ones who made it out before the scrum held the rest of them there tighter than a duck’s arse.
“‘The sound of screams rising from back inside caused the frantic mob to get even more agitated.
“‘Then a single shriek rang out, so anguished and forlorn that it stunned everyone else into silence for a moment, before the scrambling resumed with even greater intensity. Punches were thrown that would floor an ox, eyes were gouged, heads were stamped on and hair was pulled from its roots as men climbed over their friends and crewmates to try to reach safety. And all the time the screams grew wilder behind them.
“‘My men started to make their way out into the corridor, the press of bodies finally forcing those of us already there to back away to avoid being crushed ourselves. The metal in the doorway from which the crew was making their escape began to melt and buckle.
Carnacki: The Watcher at the Gate Page 17