Image of the Beast and Blown

by Philip José Farmer

mean. He insisted on breaking in and spying on us, and

  the temptation to partake of his power was too much for

  us. In that, we were guilty. Then things got out of hand.

  We did not handle him correctly, I'll admit. We forgot

  that he would have to be watched very closely; he looks

  so human it's easy to do, you know. And he acts so

  stupidly at times, he made us a little contemptuous of

  him."

  "Of The Child?" the swordsman said. "I think you are

  the stupid ones. He is not an adult yet, you know, so you

  can't expect him to act like one. Anyway, I doubt the

  adulthood of any of you Ogs."

  Vivienne, looking then at Childe, said, "We've been

  talking in English!"

  She burst into a spew of a language which he had

  heard before even if it was unintelligible to him. It was

  the same language that his captors had used when he was

  a prisoner in Igescu's.

  Though he did not understand what followed, he was

  able to determine the name of the swordsman. It was

  Hindarf.

  Hindarf seemed inclined to run Vivienne through, but

  she talked him out of it. Finally, Hindarf pricked him

  with a needle, and presently he was able to function al-

  most normally. He got dressed and allowed himself to

  be escorted out of the house. He was still too shaky to

  drive, so Hindarf drove while the two men followed in

  their car. Hindarf refused to answer Childe's questions.

  His only comment was that Childe should stay away

  from the Ogs. Apparently, he had believed Vivienne's

  story that Childe was the intruder in this case.

  A few blocks before they came to the turnoff to

  Topanga Canyon, Hindarf stopped the car. "I think you

  can drive from here on."

  He got out and held the door open for a moment while

  rain fell into the car and wet the driver's seat and the

  steering wheel.

  He stuck his face into the car and said, "Please don't

  go near that bunch again. They're deadly. You should

  know that. If it weren't ..."

  He was silent for several seconds and then said,

  "Never mind. We'll be seeing you."

  He slammed the door shut. Childe scooted over into

  the driver's seat and watched Hindarf and the others

  drive away. Their car swung around and went down

  Topanga Canyon.

  As he sat in the front room and tried to watch TV

  while he swigged Jack Daniels, he thought of that even-

  ing. Almost nothing made sense. But he did believe that

  Igescu and Krautschner and Bending Grass and Pao and

  the others had not been vampires, werewolves, were-

  bears, or what have you. They were very strange, bor-

  dering on the unnatural, or what humans thought of as

  unnatural. The theory advanced by Igescu, and pre-

  sumably invented by the early 19th century Belgian, "ex-

  plained" the existence of these creatures. But Childe was

  beginning to think that Igescu had led him astray. He

  did not know why he would lie to him, but there seemed

  to be many things he did not know about this business.

  If he had any sense, he would follow Hindarf's advice.

  That was the trouble. He had never shown too much

  common sense.

  Fools rush in, and so forth.

  After four shots of mash whiskey on an empty stom-

  ach, one also unaccustomed to liquor, he went to bed.

  He slept uneasily and had a number of dreams and

  nightmares.

  The persistent ringing of the telephone woke him. He

  came up out of a sleep that seemed drugged, and was,

  if alcohol was a drug. He knocked the phone off while

  groping for it. When he picked it up, an unfamiliar male

  voice said, "Is this McGivern's?"

  "What number did you want?" Childe said.

  The phone clicked. He looked at the luminous hands

  of his wristwatch. Three o'clock in the morning.

  He tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. At ten after

  three, he got up and went into the bathroom for a drink

  of water. He did not turn on the light. Going out of the

  bathroom, he decided to check on the condition of the

  street before he went back to bed. It was still raining

  heavily, and the street had been ankle-deep in water when

  he had driven up before the house.

  He pulled the curtain back and looked out. The car

  that had been parked under the oak tree was pulling

  away. The lights from the car behind it showed that a

  man was driving it. The car swung around and started

  slowly down the street towards Topanga Canyon. The

  lights of the other car shone on the pale face of Fred

  Pao, the Chinese he had seen at Igescu's. His lights threw

  the profiles of the three men in the other car into silhou-

  ette. One of them looked like Bending Grass, the Crow

  Indian, or Crow werebear, but that could not be. Bend-

  ing Grass had died under the wheels, of his car when

  Childe had escaped from the burning Igescu mansion.

  He turned and ran into the bedroom and slipped into

  a pair of pants and shoes without socks. He ran into

  the front room, put on a rainhat and raincoat and

  picked up his wallet and car keys from the dining room

  table. He got into the car and took off backwards, splash-

  ing water as if he were surfriding as he backed onto the

  street. He drove faster than he should have and twice

  skidded and once the motor sputtered and he thought he

  had killed it.

  He caught up with them about a quarter of a mile up

  Topanga. The lead car was slowing down even more and

  looked as if it would swing into a private road that went

  up the steep hill. He had never been up it, but he knew

  that it led to a huge three-storied house that had been

  built when the road was a dirt trail. It stood on top of a

  hill and overlooked much of the area, including his own

  house.

  Abruptly, the lead car stopped. The car behind it

  also stopped. He had to go on by them; they would be-

  come suspicious if he also stopped. At the top of the

  hill he slowed down, found a driveway, turned in, and

  backed out. He came down the hill again in time to see

  the two cars heading back down Topanga Canyon.

  He wondered what had made them change their

  minds? Had they become suspicious of him? Perhaps they

  had seen his lights as he turned onto Topanga.

  Childe followed them into Los Angeles. The cars pro-

  ceeded cautiously through the heavy rain and flooded

  streets until they reached San Vicente and La Cienega.

  When the light changed to green, the two cars suddenly

  roared into life. Shooting wings of water, their tires howling

  even on the wet pavement, they sped away. He acceler-

  ated after them. They swung left on reaching Sixth and

  skidded into the traffic island, bounced off, and continued

  back up San Vicente on the other side of the boulevard,

  then skidded right as they turned on Orange.

  The green light was with them and with Childe, who

  was about a block behind. His re
ar tires hit the curb of

  the island and one wheel went over and there was a

  crash. He supposed his right rear fender had struck the

  traffic light, but it did not seem to impair the operation

  of the car. He shot after the other two cars, though he

  wondered why he was risking his limb and life. But the

  fact that they were trying so desperately to get away,

  that they had deliberately led him astray from that road

  up to the house on top of the hill kept him going.

  Nevertheless, when the car turned west onto Wilshire

  Boulevard, he began to think strongly about giving up

  the chase. They had gone through a red light without

  stopping and by the time he reached the intersection, he

  saw their taillights a block away. They were still casting

  out great sheafs of water.

  He continued after them, increasing his speed. He did

  not know what he would do if he caught up with them.

  Four against one? And at least one of them, and probably

  all four, was a being with some very strange and deadly

  powers. He remembered Hindarf's words.

  At Wilshire and San Vicente, the two cars went

  through a red light two seconds after it had changed.

  Two cars coming south on San Vicente met them. The

  lead car slammed broadside into Fred Pao's automobile,

  and the car behind the lead car smashed into its rear.

  The car following Pao rammed into his rear. A moment

  later, Childe's car, turning around and around on the wet

  pavement, slammed its rear into the car that had been

  following Pao's. The whole mass, five cars jammed into

  each other, swung around like a five-pointed star, around

  and around.

  28

  "Very well, Forry," Heepish said. "If you want it that

  badly …"

  He bowed and made a flourish. Forry felt his cheeks

  warming up. He said, "Do I want it? It's mine! I paid

  for it with my money! You stole it, like a common thief!"

  "No common thief would touch it," Heepish said.

  Forry, deciding that absolutely nothing was to be

  gained by standing there, plunged on ahead. The others

  opened a way for him, and Heepish even ran up and

  opened the door for him.

  "See you, Forry," he said.

  "Yeah. In jail, maybe!"

  As soon as he was in his own house, Forry placed the

  painting on the wall and then checked the doors to make

  sure they were locked. The Dummocks had not come

  home yet, so he decided to stay and sleep on the couch

  that night. Then he remembered that he was supposed to

  get the latest edition of Vampirella out. He had com-

  pletely forgotten about it!

  He made himself some coffee and went into a rear

  room, where his "office" was. He worked away steadily

  until 2:30, when he heard a slight noise somewhere in

  the house. He rose and started out of the office when

  the lights went out. That was all he needed to put him

  hopelessly behind schedule!

  He fumbled around in the desk drawer for matches,

  which he did not think he would have, since he had

  never smoked. Finding none, he groped through to the

  kitchen. The pantry shelves were filled with books and

  magazines. He did not eat at the house but took all his

  meals out or ate at Wendy's. The icebox, except for some

  cream for coffee and a few goodies, was filled with

  microfilm.

  As he felt around in the porch room for a flashlight,

  the lights suddenly came back on. He continued until he

  found the flashlight. If the power failed again, he would

  work by its light.

  On the way back to the office, he looked into the

  front room. The Stoker painting was gone!

  There was no time to stand around and think. He put

  on his rainhat and raincoat and rubbers and walked as

  fast as his heart would let him out to the car. He got

  into the big green Cadillac and backed out into the lake

  which Sherbourne Drive had become. He went as fast

  as he dared and within two minutes was before Woolston—.

  Heepish's. Fred Pao, the painting in his arms, was just

  turning away from the car.

  Forry blasted his horn at him and flicked his brights

  on. The Chinese was startled and almost dropped the

  painting. Forry cried out in anguish and then lowered the

  window to shout at Pao.

  "I'll call the police!"

  Pao opened the rear door of the car and shoved the

  painting into it. He ran around to the other side, got in,

  and the motor roared. His Mercury took off with a

  screaching of tires and sped towards Olympic. Forry

  stared at him for several seconds and then, biting his

  lip, took off with a similar screeching of tires. At the

  same time, he honked furiously at the Chinese. The man

  was taking his beloved Dracula where he could hide it

  until the search was up. And then Woolston Heepish

  would receive it!

  But not if Forrest J Ackerman, the Gray Lensman of

  Los Angeles, had anything to do with it! Just as Buck

  Rogers trailed Killer Kane to his lair, so FJA would

  track down the thief!

  Pao's car swung west on Olympic. Forry started to go

  through the stop sign, too, but had to slam on his brakes

  as a car going west on Olympic, sheets of water flying

  from its sides, honked at him. His car skidded and slid

  sidewise out onto the main boulevard. The oncoming car

  swerved and skidded also, turned around once, and ended

  up still going westward. Forry straightened out the

  Cadillac and ran it as if it were a speedboat. Waves curl-

  ing out on both sides, he passed the car he had almost hit

  and then continued building up speed until he saw Pao's

  taillights going right on Robertson. He went through a red

  light, causing two drivers to apply their brakes and honk

  their horns. He chased Pao up Robertson and down

  Charleville Boulevard. Despite its multiplicity of stop

  signs, neither stopped once. Then Pao turned up to Wil-

  shire, went westward back to Robertson, up Robertson,

  through all intersections with stop signs and signal lights,

  red or green, and skidded right on Burton Way. He ran a

  red light going to San Vicente and so did Forry. In the

  distance, a police siren whooped, and Forry almost

  slowed down. But he decided that he could justify his

  speeding and, even if he couldn't, a fine would be worth

  it if the cops caught Pao with the stolen goods. He

  hoped the cops would show up in time. If they didn't,

  they might find one dead Chinese.

  Pao continued down San Vicente, ran another red

  light at Sixth, with Forry two car-lengths behind him.

  Despite their recklessness, neither was going over forty.

  The water was too solid; at higher speeds it struck the

  bottom of the car like a club.

  At Wilshire and San Vicente the light was green for

  them, but two cars raced through the red, and Pao hit

  the lead car broadside. Forry applied his brakes and

  slowed down the car somewhat, but
it crashed into the

  rear of the Chinese's car. His head hit something, and

  he blacked out.

  29

  Childe was half-dazed. After the screaming of metal, the

  crashing and ripping and rending of metal, and the shat-

  ter and tinkle of glass, there was a moment of silence—

  except for the rain and a siren in the distance. Some

  of the cars still had operating headlights, and these cast

  a pale rain-streaked halo over the wreckage. Then a huge

  black fox leaped onto the top of his hood, paused to grin

  through the windshield at him, leaped down onto the

  street, and trotted off into the darkness behind Stats

  Restaurant.

  The police car, its siren dying, pulled up by the cars,

  and two officers got out. At the same time; a big dog—

  no, a wolf—passed by him, also on the way to the rear of

  the restaurant.

  An officer, looking into the cars, swore and called

  to his partner. "Hey, Jeff, look at this! Two piles of

  clothes in this one and another pile in this car and no-

  body around that could have worn them! What the hell

  is this?"

  The policeman had a genuine mess in more ways

  than one. No one seemed to be dead or even seriously

  hurt. Childe's car was bashed in in the front and side but

  was still operable. The car of a Mr. Ackerman had a

  smashed radiator and would have to be towed away.

  Pao's car was destroyed. The others were leaking badly

  from the radiators and could not be driven far.

  One policeman set out flares. The other still could not

  get over the abandoned clothing. He kept muttering, "I've

  seen some freak things, but this tops them all."

  Another patrol car arrived after ten minutes. The

  officers determined that no one needed to be hospitalized.

  They took down the necessary information, gave out some

  tickets, and then dismissed the participants. The case

  was far from over, but there had been so many accidents

  because of the rain and so many other duties to perform

  that the police had to streamline normal procedures.

  One did say that Mr. Pao and Mr. Batlang would be

  sought for leaving the scene of an accident. And if the

  clothes meant anything, they might be arrested for public