Arkham Nights

by Glynn Owen Barrass

  Jacobi removed his hat and massaged his graying temples. “We might be able to help in that regard,” he answered. “But our mission comes first, you understand.”

  I frowned and said, “Figured as much. So what’s the skinny?”

  Jacobi thought for a moment and said, “Don’t see the harm in that. Seeing how you’re stuck here with us.”

  “Understood,” I said. “But keep in mind, my priority is getting my partner out of here.”

  He nodded. “Our mission is to find and destroy a group of Germans who are attempting to form an alliance with the King.”

  “Germans?” I asked.

  “You know, Hitler’s lot,” Jacobi said.

  “The Hun? In Carcosa? God almighty,” I muttered.

  Jacobi said, looking grim, “The Germans are all riled up for another war. Not all the politicians have figured it out yet but it’s coming. With Hitler’s ascension, it’s only a matter of time.”

  Frowning, I said, “I had a bellyful of the last one. I never bought into Wilson’s ‘war to end all wars’ but it was something to fight for.” I scratched my head and asked, “How do the Huns figure into this King in Yellow stuff?”

  “Ever heard of the Thule Society?” Jacobi answered with a question.

  “My partner and I have an acquaintance who’s good with that kind of stuff. I think he might’ve mentioned them before.”

  “Well,” said Jacobi, “They have a lot of pull with the Fuhrer. Another world war would be bad enough without bringing outside forces into the fray. The last thing the world needs is for that madman to import the King’s minions... or the king himself into our world.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” I answered. “I’ll be glad to help if you can outfit me with something that’s got some kick. I figure if there’s trouble brewing here, then my old pal Trevor just has to be in it.”

  Jacobi laughed. “That can be arranged. Never thought I’d run across a Yank here, much less one who’s had dealings with the Yellow King.”

  I shrugged. Trevor and I had had enough of the Yellow King to last us a lifetime. “So you and your men are a Special Ops arm of the military?”

  “Essentially, yes,” Jacobi replied. “Our primary goal is to stop the yellow menace in its tracks wherever it rears its ugly head.”

  I told Jacobi everything concerning Trevor’s disappearance, about the book crates at the pawnshop and filled him in on everything that had occurred up to the time of my rescue. I didn’t bother with the details about all the other dark forces Trevor and I had come up against during our partnership. I figured there was only so much even a guy like Jacobi would believe.

  “Look at you, all white as a sheet!” the Yellow King said, ankle-deep in Cassilda’s exploded corpse.

  I ignored the hand he proffered me and curled myself up into a ball, trying to squeeze myself out from between the devil and the deep dead sea.

  “You sure know how to make an entrance,” I managed, even as I crawled away from him.

  My eyes locked with the Yellow King’s for a moment and I saw the perfect beauty and the unfathomable terror of it all. It didn’t help any.

  “You look different from the last time we met.” I added.

  He threw his head back and laughed, a tinkling of silver bells.

  “My appearance changes according to the story. I must admit, however, that I prefer this shape to that of a stinky bug man.”

  He spun in a circle, his feet sloshing through entrails as he proceeded to make his way to the couch. Despite myself, I rose up to follow him.

  He stopped a few feet away from the corpses on the couch.

  I felt tiny and weak beside his overwhelming presence. I stood there in silence.

  He crossed his arms and sighed. “These were Cassilda’s sons; she poisoned them.”

  “They’re quite the bunch,” I muttered, thinking of the deformed princess I’d met earlier.

  The King was silent for a while, an almost palpable aura filling the room. It had a soothing effect on me, slowing my madly beating heart and relaxing the tenseness in my joints.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the fact,” I said, backing away cautiously. “But how come you aren’t mad at me?”

  He tilted his head sideways so I could see his smile. Then, turning back to the couch, he said, “This incarnation is far less savage than some others. This suits my needs. What happened with those buffoons in Kingsport is none of my concern. But it does put you in the unenviable position of... how did that saying go? Ah, yes, owing me one.”

  Although his expression was kindly I found myself unable to maintain eye contact. I’d defied a god and his forgiveness was just too much to handle.

  I asked, almost sheepishly, “What can I do?”

  The King stepped around me, heading back towards the Queen. I felt better in the company of more wholesome corpses. I stared at the two Princes, their wrinkled, empty eye sockets staring right back at me.

  From the other side of the room, where the madness-concealing curtain and the inside-out Queen lay, came the Yellow King’s reply.

  “My beautiful world has been invaded by creatures I want nothing to do with. They first came to parley, but now they want only to conquer.”

  This piqued my interest.

  “So what? Just kick the rubes out. Hell, just send in your cronies to kill the lot of them,” I said.

  “Unfortunately, that is not an option,” he said. “They possess some sort of technology that protects them from our attacks. They bear this symbol as their flag.”

  The King knelt, dipping his hands into the Queen’s torso to rise with his fingers dripping blood.

  He proceeded to paint a symbol on his chest. It was a swastika.

  This was just getting better by the second.

  “Fucking Boche,” I said, “I hate those guys.”

  The King grinned and said, “It seems that we’re on the same page, for once.’”

  “Damned straight,” I replied, and my grin was as wicked as his was handsome.

  The last thing I expected when I fell out of bed that morning was that I’d end up leading an army. Besides being transported to another dimension and meeting The King in Yellow, that is.

  But, there I was, looking down at an army of men and women in glistening, clanking armor, spears at the ready, addressing the troops.

  Not that I would have had it any other way.

  Before Demos and Naotalba, the King’s high priest, had come for me, his Majesty had informed me that because I was considered a saboteur of no little means, I would be leading the offensive against the Germans.

  I’d agreed wholeheartedly.

  There’d been a knock at the door and the captain of the guard, accompanied by a black man in white robes and a turban, had come to collect me. As if in a dream, their forces had already been assembled. I thanked the King but didn’t take his hand, seeing how it was still covered in Queen Cassilda’s blood.

  At the head of the stairs, flanked by Naotalba and Demos, I looked down at a room packed with skin-headed men and women, each dressed in the black robes and body armor of their rank. I noticed the spears that they held, pathetic weapons that would get them cut to ribbons against the German offensive. I walked down the stairs to approach the army, with my companions by my side.

  The army stared straight ahead except for the two at the forefront, the raven-haired women I’d met earlier and a satyr that looked like the spitting image of the one that had been sacrificed.

  I reached the foot of the stairs and faced them, the woman saying, “Ek het ’n leër gereed maar ons makeer hom fronting dit.”

  Her words were the usual gobbledygook, but she’d been speaking to Demos anyway.

  He said, “Where are the enemy now?”

  “Oor naby die speelgrond, en steeds op tot van geen betekenis.”

  She sounded odd but almost sensual. “Can you speak English?” I asked.

  She tilted her head sarcastically and Demos swif
tly interjected.

  “Sorry, sir, I should have introduced you. This is Einal, the King’s Knight. She understands but won’t speak our tongue.”

  Aint’ that just the cat’s particulars, I thought, and spoke my mind.

  “Einal, ma’am, do your troops have any weapons other than spears? I hope you do, unless you want to get cut to ribbons down to the last man.”

  She smirked and raised her right hand. Clicking her fingers caused the troops to explode into a flurry of movement. Each of them reached to the back of their robes to present crossbows forged from some kind of darkly gleaming metal. Each weapon was loaded and as mean looking as the faces of the bastard that bore it.

  “That’ll do,” I smiled.

  Einal returned the smile and it made her look quite beautiful.

  There I was again, wandering down Carcosa’s lumpy, cobbled streets, surrounded by the King in Yellow’s servants.

  This time however, I was their leader and the two flanking me were my retainers: Einal to my left and Demos on my right.

  We wore matching plate-mail chest pieces, although I’d put mine on under my jacket. They were armed with crossbows but I hadn’t bothered with one. For me it was a gun or nothing.

  Before we’d left the palace I’d ordered most of my army to abandon their spears and stick with the crossbows. Why bother with a bloody, useless charge when you could snip at the crowds from a distance? Who knows? Maybe we could pick them off without any losses on our end.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t giddy at the thought of going up against the Huns again.

  Germany’s military ruler was apparently one evil and crafty bastard, and getting involved in the occult and The King in Yellow seemed right up his alley.

  Realizing that I hadn’t the faintest clue where we were heading, I squinted through the thickening fog at my troops then back at our guide. We were following that twin of the satyr from earlier, except this one bore a pronounced limp and was on a chain held by Naotalba.

  The high priest had kept schtum since the moment I’d met him.

  I decided to broach the subject of the satyr with Demos.

  “What’s the creature for?” I asked, pointing at the limping beast.

  “We use them as compasses and sniffer dogs,” he said. “They make herds on the shore of the lake.”

  I thought of the lake and shuddered, thinking that the satyr was probably one of its more pleasant residents.

  Einal interrupted my thoughts, nudging me with, “U kan nie verstaan my, maar u moet weet, u kan nie vertrou die geel koning.”

  Naotalba glared at her accusingly, before turning away.

  “Can you translate that?” I asked Demos.

  “Only if I wanted to risk my hide.”

  Changing the subject, I asked Demos, “So whereabouts in Brooklyn are you from?”

  “Lower East Side, but if I told you the year you wouldn’t believe me.”

  I didn’t doubt him.

  We reached a junction I hadn’t made out in the fog and the satyr started tugging its chain to the right. We walked in silence for a few minutes longer before I started quizzing Demos.

  “So what’s the lowdown on the Boche?”

  He harrumphed and took the time to spit on the ground before speaking. Then, “They have some kind of aura about them produced by a machine they carry.” He paused and spat again. I liked Demos’s disdain for the Huns very much. “It deflects our projectiles, but we’ve seen them walk in and out of it.”

  I thought for a few moments. “Maybe it stops things at a certain speed? I guess I gotta sneak in there and turn the thing off myself?”

  “You’ll be provided with all the necessary cannon fodder,” Demos replied.

  The thought of charging Germans over a pile of dead friendlies didn’t exactly appeal to me.

  I said, “No. That’s not how it’s going to go down. When we reach them, you and Einal split the army and we’ll get them in a pincer movement. I’ll go in quick and low and bust their machine. You just keep piling the pressure.

  Demos looked at me with admiration.

  “The classic pincer movement.” he grinned. “I learned about that in military school, back in 3053.”

  “What a world we live in, huh,” I muttered, then the satyr stopped in its tracks, sniffed the air a little and said, “We’re getting closer.”

  Naotalba halted straight after and turned to nod at Einal.

  I watched her raise an arm and the army came to a halt as one.

  It was time to square my debt with the King.

  The streets of Carcosa were like a damned maze. Sure, Jacobi and his men provided some comfort but my enthusiasm was somewhat curbed by the fact there were only twenty of us, myself included. Jacobi had admitted earlier that he had no idea how many Germans might’ve made the dimensional leap into the yellow realm and they hadn’t the foggiest about the manpower or the intentions of the King’s forces.

  As our reconnaissance man checked out a cross street ahead, we stopped between two towering buildings and lit up. I turned to a young soldier named Oakes and said, “You boys must be real bad asses if this is all they sent to go up against Hun and the King in Yellow.”

  He just grinned and shrugged.

  “Well,” I said, “I just hope there’s enough of us to get the job done and go back home.”

  “That would be nice,” he said. “We don’t usually get to have both.”

  I frowned as the truth dawned on me. “This is a damned suicide mission, ain’t it?”

  Oakes just smiled.

  I cursed my luck, jokingly punched Oakes in the arm and said, “Don’t sweat it, kid. I know for a fact I’m covered. See, a gypsy woman once told me I was gonna marry and raise ten kids.”

  Oakes chuckled and asked, “You married?”

  I held up my ringless left mitt. “Nope. Out of the woods still.”

  The lad was starting to tell me about his folks in Bruxton when another soldier ran up the street and said, “Barnes, Captain Jacobi would like a word with you.”

  I winked at Oakes and said, “We’ll have a jar in Bruxton.”

  He gave me the thumbs up and I left to see Jacobi.

  Jacobi was huddled with an imposing figure I hadn’t seen before. This sort of threw me; there was no way I could’ve overlooked someone like him. I made my way to the two men and Jacobi looked up.

  “Please join us,” he said, motioning me closer.

  “What’s up, Captain?” I asked. “Any news on the Huns or my partner?”

  “No, but we’re damn close,” Jacobi answered.

  Jacobi’s companion—a completely bald man with dark piercing eyes dressed in a gray robe with constellations stitched into it—turned to me and nodded. “I can sense the imminent spilling of blood.”

  “That don’t exactly take a genius to figure out considering where we are,” I groused.

  “Point taken,” Jacobi replied, “but Aleister has what you might call a knack for these things.”

  Aleister ignored my comment and spoke to Jacobi. “The enemy is less than half a kilometer ahead. But to reach them we must first traverse a nasty little area fraught with peril.”

  It occurred to me that Justin Geoffrey would just love this Aleister guy.

  Jacobi looked at the bald-headed man and asked, “What is the nature of that danger?”

  “A type of sentinel,” he replied. “Even with the cloak of invisibility I can briefly provide, getting past will be dangerous.”

  “Well then, nothing new in that regard,” Jacobi said. “Do you have everything that you need?”

  The man nodded. “If you can spare a couple of men, I’ll take them with me and send one back once we reach the obstacle.”

  “That seems acceptable,” Jacobi replied. Then turning, in a firm but quiet voice he instructed two men to accompany Aleister.

  I watched the three of them move out.

  “That Aleister fella looks familiar.”

  “He
should,” Jacobi answered. “Aleister Crowley is notorious in many circles. Still, don’t believe that rot about him being the most evil man in the world. He’s really one of the Crown’s most valuable assets.”

  Jacobi left to confer with an aide while I double-checked the firepower the Brits had loaned me. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  We double-timed it through the cross street and were soon in another narrow lane between towering buildings. Crowley had sent a man back to give the lowdown to Jacobi and we had moved out shortly after. We were split into three groups and maintained a distance of roughly fifty yards between. I was in the second group but could readily see the first group in the street ahead. They crouched before what appeared to be a wall of fog before taking turns disappearing into the mist.

  Hanging on to a Tommy gun, I waited for our signal and moved out with the Yellow Cross soldiers when it came. By the time our group of eight reached Jacobi and Crowley the other men had safely made it past the danger zone.

  “Listen closely,” Jacobi said, upon our arrival. “What lies beyond this barrier is extremely dangerous but not exceedingly intelligent.”

  I started to say something but Jacobi waved me silent.

  “Once you pass into the mist,” he continued, “you will find a grotesque and many-limbed creature. According to Crowley, it is visually oriented and can neither hear nor smell you. Each one of you will operate under an aura of invisibility which can be maintained for no more than a minute or so. It is imperative that you make your way past this creature without it becoming aware of your presence. In short, that means move fast but damned carefully. The first group has made it through without incident and I expect the same from you. Is that understood?”

  A chorus of enthusiastic “Yes sirs!” resounded and a line was formed.

  Jacobi turned to me and said, “No offense, Barnes, but I need you to go last. If something unforeseen happens to Crowley—not that I expect it—I need as many of my men as possible to make it through.”

  “The story of my life,” I replied. “Nobody loves me.”

  Jacobi smiled. “After you go in, Crowley will teleport us safely across.”