Derek E. Ferreira has always found himself drawn to Lovecraft’s mythos. A Rhode Island resident and an employee of the Miriam Hospital in Providence, he has often wondered what resides across the veil of human perception. He speaks Portuguese and has worked as an actor, a counselor and a baker. His work has been featured right here at the Lovecraft eZine (Issue #8) and in the print collection Crossed Genres Quarterly #3.
Story illustration by Mike Dominic.
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Carnacki: The Parliament of Owls
by William Meikle
It was a crisp clear night in early November. A heavy waxing moon hung over the Thames as I made my way to Cheyenne Gardens in response to Carnacki’s summons. As ever I had a sense of growing expectation; looking forward to hearing his latest tale.
For once I was on the early side, arriving first. Carnacki kept me plied with sherry, but would not be drawn on the subject of his reason for the invitation. The others arrived shortly afterwards, and Carnacki showed us to a fine table of fresh salmon, minted potatoes and fresh peas. We were all pleasantly full by the time came to take our places in the parlor. With our glasses charged and fresh smokes lit we quickly settled around the fire and went quiet. Carnacki wasted no time in getting started.
“I have thought long and hard whether to tell this particular tale,” Carnacki began. “For it is by far the strangest of all the adventures I have ever related to you chaps, and if I were told it by another, I would struggle to believe its particulars. Please bear with me, for this will become rather outlandish, and at some times positively comical.
“It starts, like all good stories do, with a knock on my front door last Friday, the 31st October. I had been sitting by the fire musing over a variation of a ritual in the Sigsand mss, and I was so lost in thought that I almost didn’t notice the sound at first, for it was less of a knock and more of a tap-tap noise.
“The noise persisted; indeed it grew more persistent the longer I ignored it. In the end I gave in to curiosity and went to investigate.
“I opened the door a second after the latest tap and looked out over an empty street. There was no sign of anyone there. I was most perplexed, and even more so when a voice spoke at my feet.
“‘I’m right sorry to bother you, guv’nor,’ the voice said. ‘But could I have ten minutes of your time?’
“I looked down. A small, rather bedraggled Tawny owl stood on my doorstep.”
Carnacki paused to check that his pipe was still lit. Arkwright, as we all knew he would, immediately chimed in.
“I say, old man,” he said. “This isn’t one of those talking animal stories is it? Please tell me you are not trying to pass this poppycock off as one of your tales?”
Carnacki smiled.
“I told you it would be outlandish, old friend,” he said. “Bear with me. You may yet find yourself pleasantly diverted.”
He puffed on his pipe and, content it was well alight, continued.
“Of course, I was just as astonished as Arkwright here. The small owl looked up at me, and shook its head firmly. I got the distinct impression I was being admonished for some transgression.
“‘The Great Detective away in France, Adamant still on ice, Hannay up and gone to Rhodesia. Fetch a Closer, they said. Never mind that all the good ones are never around when you need them. Then when I find the right man for the job, what does he do? Only stands there, mouth open, gawping like an imbecile. Ain’t you never seen a talking owl before?’
“I decided to play along. For all I knew this was a manifestation of the Outer Realms I had never previously encountered, although I was all too well aware of the Trickster motif in mythology, and decided to be on my guard.
“‘I am sorry, sir,” I said. “I have forgotten my manners. Won’t you come in?”
“The little owl cocked its head, spat up a ball of partially digested fur and bone, and did a dance on top of it. It looked down at the scattered remains of the pellet then back up at me.
“‘No time,’ it said. ‘I’m far too witty to woo. Ten minutes. That’s all it will take, Guv’nor. Will you come?’
“I could not in all honesty refuse.
“Lay on, MacDuff,” I said. “And don’t spare the horses.”
“’Don’t talk to me about bloody horses,’” the owl said, and without explanation, flew off. He landed on the first lamppost to the south, turned his head almost a hundred and eighty degrees, and looked straight at me.
“‘Come on, Guv’nor. It’s not far. Parliament is sitting tonight.’ With that he flew off, keeping just ahead of me at a stiff walking pace. I followed.
“It quickly became clear that we were not heading anywhere near Westminster. After ten minutes my curiosity was quickly turning to annoyance.
“’I say, it’s rather a long ten minutes, isn’t it?’
“The owl flew back and landed on my shoulder. He cackled in my ear.
“‘I only said that to get you moving. Worked a treat, didn’t it? Say, you wouldn’t have a mouse on you would you? I’m famished.’
“I almost gave up there and then, ready to write off the night as a bad joke, when the owl spoke again.
“Left here, then right, and we’re there,” he said. I did as he requested, and walked into a small square of late Tudor houses I had never previously seen.
“‘I wouldn’t go asking too many questions, Guv’nor,’ the owl said. ‘The Parliament can get testy right smartish if riled. Get in, get out and leave a good impression, as the actress said to the bishop.’
“I was at a loss in trying to make any sense at all of the situation, but it seemed I had arrived at some sort of destination. Tall trees ringed the square, and as I walked into the centre of the area twelve pairs of yellow eyes followed me. I looked up to see a circle of a dozen white, almost luminous, snowy owls looking down at where I stood.
“One of the owls blinked twice, then spoke, not to me, but to the little tawny owl on my shoulder.
“‘We told you to fetch a Closer. Who is this?’
“I was about to reply for myself when the owl dug his talons in, hard, piercing my topcoat and bringing a flare of pain that shocked me into silence.
“‘Begging your pardon, Guv’nor,’ he said, replying to the circle above us. ‘But Adamant is under two feet of solid ice. Ain’t no way he’s waking up for another sixty years. I tried Baker Street, but the Detective is not at home, and this gentleman here has form in our area, if you catch my drift?’
“The snowy owl that had spoken before turned his gaze on me.
“‘He knows about the Great Game?’
“The little owl cackled at my ear.
“‘No, Guv’nor. That little secret has eluded him. But he has studied, and used, the Sigsand and…’
“The snowy owl let out a raucous hoot that forced silence in the circle.
“‘We ask you for a Closer and you bring us an amateur?’
“It gazed at me again, a fixed stare that I could not break; it felt as if I was being scrutinized to my very depths.
“‘Will you stand on the side of right, in this the time of our greatest trial?’ the great owl said.
“‘That is always my intent,’ I answered.
The great owl started at me again, then gave out a very human sigh.
“‘He will have to suffice, for there is no time to waste on more searching.’
“‘Suffice in what way?’ I started, but that only got me another raucous hoot.
“The snowy owl addressed the smaller owl on my shoulder.
“‘You know where he must go,’ he said.
“‘We won’t let you down, Guv’nor.’
“And with that all twelve of the circle of owls took flight as one and were quickly lost from view over the rooftops.
“‘I thought that went rather well,’ the little owl said. ‘Call me Nestor. I’ll be your guide for this evening. Follow me.’ He took flight again, heading away to the north.
“The little owl flew back and circled around my head, so close I felt the air move from the beat of his wings.
“‘I ain’t letting you back out now, Guv’nor. Not after it’s all been agreed proper like.’
“‘I have agreed to nothing,’ I said.
“The owl cackled.
“‘The Parliament has spoken,’ he replied. ‘That’s gospel around these parts.’
“‘Then these are parts with which I am not familiar.’
“‘Familiar?’ the owl said. ‘There’s an appropriate word for tonight. There won’t be a blue moon on All Hallows for another fifteen years… and it’s been twenty since the last Great Game. Openers, Closers and Familiars are scattered to the ends of the earth, Nobody thought they’d be needed, see?’
“‘That’s the problem,’ I replied. ‘I don’t see much of anything at all.’
“The owl landed on my shoulder, and sighed deeply.
“‘Best keep this simple then, Guv’nor. What if I told you that there’s a madman intent on opening a portal and letting the Outer Darkness in to gain a foothold here on this plane? Is that something you’d be interested in averting?’”
Carnacki paused, and rose from his seat, which we took as a signal to refill our glasses and light fresh smokes. As always, Arkwright was keen to know more.
“This Adamant cove that was mentioned? Wouldn’t be Adam Adamant would it? I met him once. Crashing bore. Knew absolutely nothing about cricket. I remember…”
Carnacki smiled, and put a hand on Arkwright’s arm.
“I never heard the name mentioned again,” he said. “Don’t fret, old man. It is not pertinent to the rest of the story. And now we are getting to the meat of the matter. If your glasses are charged, let’s get back to it.”
“The owl, Nestor, gave me directions to our destination, which proved to be a tall handsome town house in Belgravia.
“‘Someone is attempting to open a portal here?’
“‘It’s been sacred ground from pre-Roman times,’ the owl said. ‘You know how these things go? First it’s a wooded glade, then a temple, then a church. Then, whoops-a-daisy, the city catches fire. Now the beautiful people live on top of a ticking bomb, and they never notice. Until a night like this.’
“He coughed up another pellet of partially digested matter.
“‘Lend us your hand, Guv’nor,’ he said. I put out a palm and he rolled the pellet on it, then prised the thing apart with his beak. He looked at the resulting mess.
“‘Round the back,’ he said. ‘The kitchen door’s open.’
“He flew off, leaving me with a sticky palm that I wiped off on some shrubbery before following my new companion to the rear of the house. There I found that his reading had been right. The back door lay open, with only darkness beyond.
“‘Easy does it now, Guv’nor,’ Nestor said. ‘Our man is inside, and he is protected.’
“I made my way into the dark scullery. Almost immediately I felt the old familiar tingle. Somewhere in this house an invocation ritual was underway. I would need to hear the words of the chant to know exactly what was being invoked, but I already knew enough to chill me to the bone. The darkness seemed to thicken and become heavy as I walked though into the main part of the house.
“‘Courage, mon brave,’ Nestor said.
“‘You don’t have to worry about me, old man,’ I replied.
“The owl cackled in my ear again.
“‘Actually, I was talking to myself, Guv’nor. Never expected a pickle like this in my lifetime. Thought I’d flake out in a warm nest on a summer’s night surrounded by a new batch of owlets and some fresh mice.’
“I know you chaps will find this strange, perhaps even silly, but just having the small bird as company going through the dark house did much to ease my apprehension.
“It was immediately obvious that our target was on the upper floor of the house. I started to make out several phrases from the ritual being performed. I will not relate them here, for the mere utterance of them would bring you chaps too close to that foul blackness. Suffice to say, I went up the stairs knowing that a formidable task awaited me, one that I might not survive.
“Halfway up the stairs, Nestor leaned over and spoke in my ear.
“‘Just wanted to say, Guv’nor, in case we don’t make it, you’ve been a real gent about all of this.’
“I did not get a chance to reply, which was probably just as well, as having an owl give me a compliment was rather outside my normal range of experience. We arrived at the top of the stairs just as the darkness thickened further and the air went bitterly cold. I now knew the essence of the ritual being performed. It was more than just the opening of a portal. What was being attempted here was no less than the bringing to Earth of the Outer Darkness itself, and if the performer of the ritual succeeded, it would return this plane to its most primal nature, one of darkness and complete chaos. The owl had been right on one thing; only a madman would attempt such a task.
“So it was that, on walking into a large library, my first glance was not at the protective circle on the floor, but at the man who stood inside it, arm raised, reciting the invocation in a ringing voice. A sparrowhawk sat on his shoulder. It saw us enter and shouted in the man’s ear.
“’We’ve been rumbled, Guv.’
“The man turned towards us, momentarily startled.
“That should have been the moment when I made my move to disturb his ritual and bring it to an abrupt end. But I’m afraid I too had been startled into immobility for, you see, I knew the man. I hadn’t seen him for many years, but I was in no doubt. The man inside the circle was none other than Arthur Raffles.”
Arkwright broke into Carnacki’s tale with a loud oath.
“That bounder. I hope you gave him a dashed good thrashing.”
At first I thought Carnacki might be annoyed, for it was considered jolly bad form to interrupt him in his own home during the telling of one of his tales. But Carnacki took it in good enough humour. He used the chance of a break to refill his pipe.
“I think you might like the end of this tale, Arkwright,” he said, and continued.
“Like you chaps, I had thought the cad to be dead, killed in the Boer War. But here he was, large as life, that same devil-may-care grin on his face. He looked me in the eye and continued with the ritual, raising his voice until it echoed through the room.
“Something ripped, as if a piece of cloth had been torn near my ear. Above the protective circle the ceiling swirled, like paint being stirred. Raffles faded, going dim.
“Nestor spoke at my ear.
“‘Beginning your pardon, Guv’nor. But if you’re planning on doing something, I think now would be a good time.’
“I had regained my composure somewhat, enough in any case to put a plan into action. I raised my own voice in a chant to counter the invocation; a ritual I knew from previous adventures would prove efficacious against the Outer Darkness.
“’Ri linn dioladh na beatha, Ri linn bruchdadh na falluis, Ri linn iobar na creadha, Ri linn dortadh na fala.’
“‘No. Not that one, you idiot. Not yet,’ Nestor shouted in my ear.
“But it was too late. The rip in space widened, a hole that became a swirling vortex, a wind that grew to a howling gale, sucking and tearing at me until I was lifted bodily off my feet and dragged into a black maw that sucked me away into the utmost darkness.
“There was a brilliant flash, then all was velvet blackness again. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust, then I realized just where I was – floating in the vast extent of space between the stars. I had more questions than answers, such as how I was managing to stay alive in the midst of such emptiness, and also just where I was being taken. But such thoughts were fruitless and I pushed them away, the better to observe as much
as I could so that I could tell this tale later.
“I had quite forgotten about Nestor, but he had not forgotten me.
“‘Well,’ he said, in a strange American accent, and cackled. ‘This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.’
“‘What has happened?’ I asked.
“‘Don’t ask me, Guv’nor,’ the little owl replied. ‘I only work here.’
“It seemed that we travelled for an age, past dead and dying stars giving out their last gasps of heat, through nurseries where blue flashes showed new stars being born, and into clouds of gas that engulfed whole galaxies. There are no words to describe the wonder and awe – but somewhere deep inside me there was also terror, of what waited for me at the end of the journey, and of the difficulty of finding a way home.
“Finally I saw that we approached a dim red star, spluttering and fizzing in its death throes. Several planets, mere dots travelling across that red surface at first, span around it, and it seemed we had reached our destination. With some renewed haste, we tumbled down towards one of them; a rocky globe, its surface studded with craters, punctuated by purple growth that infested the planet like patches of moist mould. There was no sign of any seas, nor clouds for that matter. As we approached the surface I saw, far to the north, a volcano that reached to the sky, sending long plumes of lava spurting into the heavens.
“We slowed, hovering above a plain under a dark purple sky, with black stems rising, casting shadows from a moon, too large for the sky, a red moon that rose above jagged hills. Things moved among the stems, low-slung and insect-like, farmer stending to the growth.
Lovecraft eZine Megapack - 2012 Page 54