Lovecraft eZine Megapack - 2012

by Mike Davis (Editor)

  “So this cult will be opposed by players on both sides,” I said. “But—we can only stop them if we figure out just what it is they’re up to.”

  “Yes, Ms. Fennick, you speak the truth. Although, I’m afraid I can’t help you with the specifics of this cult’s plot, considering what limited information you’ve given me. Though if you were to find something more, I’d be tickled pink if you’d think of me again.”

  Tock groaned at the hog’s wordplay while I took a moment to contemplate telling him about our most recent news. I ended up deciding it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, so I went ahead and opened my mouth without consulting Tock.

  “Do you know anything about mummies?”

  “Mummies?” Wil asked. “Yes indeed I do, Ms. Fennick. Why do you ask?”

  Tock shot me a look, but I mostly ignored it.

  “We saw one recently,” I said. “It killed a man, then knelt over his body and—”

  “Green light, or some such thing?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hm, quite interesting, quite interesting indeed.” I got the feeling that Wil would have rubbed his chin if his chubby arm could have reached that high. “Mummies often serve as vessels that absorb essences for use in rituals, you see. And they’re commonly of Egyptian origin, which just so happens to describe our good friend Nyarlathotep as well.”

  “You think this mummy is leading the cult?”

  Wil snorted a laugh, as if I’d just suggested that he might one day fly. “No, Ms. Fennick, not at all. Mummies, you see, are sorely lacking in brainpower—they don’t have, let’s call it, a ‘hog’s sophistication.’ These bandaged barbarians are servants, nothing more. The leader of your Nyarlathotep cult is surely a different figure, one that’s pulling the mummy’s strings.”

  I took a minute to chew on everything I’d learned. It was all good information—Hetfield would be glad to hear it once we reached that one special hour of every night where he could understand my voice. Still, I needed to know something more before I went back to him with my findings.

  “Why here?”

  “Pardon?” Wil asked, sleepily. I got the impression he’d dozed off while I’d been contemplating matters.

  “Why would a Nyarlathotep cult show up here in Weir,” I said, “at the same time the Game is preparing to get underway? It seems awfully coincidental.”

  “Because,” Tock said, his tail clicking away as he put the pieces of the puzzle together, “the mummy needs strong essences to absorb. It’s come to kill the players of the Game.”

  “Hm, yes,” Wil said. “Right you are. Tell me, when you saw this bandaged bandit, did you catch sight of its victim before he or she—let’s see here, how to put it delicately—disintegrated?”

  Tock and I exchanged a look.

  “No,” I said. “It was too dark.”

  “Yes, very good.” Wil thought about rolling onto his back, decided it was too much effort and just remained on his side. He yawned and stretched his little hooves. “If that would be all then, I do believe I’ve some napping to catch up on. Do tell me if you learn more, will you?”

  “Of course. Thanks for all the help.”

  “Yes, hm, indeed.”

  Tock and I turned to depart.

  “Oh, and if you should pass by this way again and happen to have any cashews or dried apricots weighing down your persons, I’d be happy to help with you that burden, of course.”

  We told him we’d keep that in mind and continued on our way. Just as we were reaching the boundary of the farm, I heard behind me a delighted snorting, followed by: “Oh, tickled pink—I see it now! Very clever, yes indeed!”

  By the time I got home, I’d missed my window for vocally communicating with Hetfield. Tomorrow night, maybe . . .

  The next day, I decided to return to the scene of the mummy’s attack. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but I figured a little investigation couldn’t hurt.

  As it turns out, I was right: my curiosity was rewarded with a clue.

  Near the farmhouse’s front door was a bloody strip of bandage. It must have been dislodged from the mummy when he was shot. I scooped the scrap up and brought it back home.

  That night, by the fireplace, I told Hetfield everything.

  As the information stewed in his mind, he stared into the flames and held the mummy’s bandage to his nose, breathing in its odors.

  “I’ll track him,” Hetfield said. “If you take me to the farm where this happened, I can follow his scent.”

  “Is that such a good idea?” I asked. “The mummy is hunting players—”

  “And he’ll continue doing so until he’s stopped.” Hetfield stood. “We’ll rest tonight and go searching tomorrow. Let’s keep this under our hats for now.”

  “Tock already knows most of what I do.”

  “Meaning he’ll have told Ada.” Hetfield rubbed his jaw, which was covered in a thicker layer of stubble than the previous night, even though he was still shaving every morning. I figured in another day or so, he’d stop fighting it and just let the beard grow—that’s what he always did, when it got this late in the cycle.

  “I suppose if anyone has to know, I’m glad it’s Ada,” he said.

  “You think she’s a Closer as well?”

  “Not necessarily. But she’s been a trustworthy ally so far, and I’m betting things will stay that way for at least the first few weeks of the Game.” Hetfield set down the bandage and moved to the staircase. “Get some rest, Fennick. We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

  Hetfield left and I curled up in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Just as my eyes were falling shut, I thought I saw beyond the window a large figure swooping across the sky; it could have been a product of my imagination, but with the way things were unfolding lately, I highly doubted it.

  October first. The Game officially started that day, but we were so busy with more pressing matters that we hardly noticed it.

  Following the trail from the farm was no problem for Hetfield. I wished I’d remembered to have him bring some snacks for Wil, but it’d slipped my mind so we just avoided the pig pen all together. I got the distinct feeling that Wil probably hadn’t even moved since last I’d seen him, and I wondered if he was starting to question where his master was.

  The trail took us out of the valley, down a path by the river and into the crunching autumn leaves of the woods. We stopped on a hill, crouched behind an old stump, and looked down at the cabin below.

  “I don’t think the mummy’s home,” Hetfield said. “His scent isn’t strong enough.” He thought a moment, then, “I’m going to go investigate. You keep watch. If you see anyone, come get me—don’t yell. If possible, I’d like to sneak out of here without being seen.”

  I asked him to wait until we were closer to the full moon before he tried something this dangerous, but to him, my voice was just a sharp yip. He patted my head and picked his way down the hill, sniffing the air and keeping his eyes alert as he went.

  When he reached the front door, he leaned to the side and looked into the windows. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, so he pulled on the knob. It was locked. Hetfield glanced over his shoulders to be sure he was alone, then gave the knob a good yank and ripped it right out of the door. Apparently the full moon was closer than I thought.

  Hetfield disappeared inside the house, and I was left to wait—but not by myself.

  I heard the ticking of his tail just before he scurried up next to me.

  “You know, you wouldn’t be able to follow my master so easily if you produced a scent like a normal rodent.”

  “Don’t get mad at me just because I’m the more evolved creature.”

  “Says the rat who would fall asleep indefinitely if he didn’t have someone to crank his key.”

  “That’s mouse, not rat. And while we’re on the subject, I could use a boost—you and your master set a mean pace.”

  I lifted Tock by the key and gave him a few good t
wists.

  “Thanks. So—tracking the mummy, I assume?”

  “This is the first stop on the trail. Hopefully we find something here.”

  “Why aren’t you in there with him?”

  “I’m the lookout.”

  “Oh. How’s that going?”

  “I saw you, didn’t I?”

  And that’s when the cage scooped us up. A gloved hand slammed the little door shut and twisted a key in the lock. Tock and I scrambled for our footing after the disorientation, and saw a grinning man in a black robe looking through the bars at us.

  “Come to watch your master die, fox? Here, I’ll make sure you’ve got a good view.”

  The cultist set us on a stump so that we could clearly see the cabin. He sat beside us and pulled his knees into his chest.

  The mummy stepped in through the cabin’s back door.

  I wanted to yell. I almost did, in my initial panic. But since Hetfield had told me to keep quiet, I couldn’t make a fuss, because then he’d know something was wrong on my end—he’d be concerned for me, and that would distract him from the danger inside the cabin. I just had to trust that his sense of smell had progressed far enough to pick up the mummy’s presence.

  “Fennick,” Tock whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.”

  I glanced at the cultist, who wasn’t much concerned with watching his prisoners. His eyes were fixed on the cabin, a devious smile on his face.

  “I’m open to ideas,” I said.

  We hardly had a chance to do any brainstorming before our concentration was broken by the first crash inside the cabin.

  I yipped reflexively, though it didn’t really matter, because at that point the fight at the bottom of the hill had already started. I thought I saw two shapes tumble past the window, and hoped that the fight would find its way outside so I could at least know what was going on. The quarrel was filled with growls that didn’t sound quite human, which I took as a good sign.

  The cultist wasn’t fazed at all by Hetfield’s barks; he seemed convinced that his side was still winning. I decided I didn’t really care what he thought, so long as he wasn’t paying any attention to the two of us.

  “Stand still,” I said to Tock.

  “What are you going to—hey!”

  His key was in my mouth, but it was no longer connected to his back.

  “What’re you doing with that?”

  “This cage,” I said. “Recognize the craftsmanship?”

  “Who cares about the—”

  Tock took a look around, saw what I meant.

  “Well I’ll be damned. You are one clever, observant fox. This is one of my master’s models.”

  “These cultists really should be more careful about what they buy at the market.”

  I maneuvered my paws through the bars on either side of the lock. I stuck my snout out and dropped the key, and clumsily caught it.

  “Careful,” Tock said, watching from below my work area. “You never were any good at winding me with your paws.”

  Once again, my lack of thumbs was proving to be my undoing. “It would be a lot easier to concentrate if you’d keep quiet,” I said.

  At the bottom of the hill, someone was violently rearranging furniture. I kept working on getting Tock’s key into the lock. It was definitely the right fit, I just couldn’t maneuver it the way I needed to.

  And then, just like that, all was quiet. I stopped what I was doing. The cultist stood and took a step down the hill, a pleased grin on his face.

  I swallowed.

  “It’s okay,” Tock said. “We don’t know who won. It’ll be all right.”

  We waited, all three of us on the hill. My hopes dropped further with every second that passed.

  “Hey,” Tock said. “Wouldn’t we see the light? That green glow—if the mummy had won, he’d be absorbing Hetfield right now. Wouldn’t he? I think we’d see it.”

  He had a good point. Unless the fight had ended away from the windows, anyway—in that case, we might not be able to see the light as it emerged. Still . . .

  With renewed hope, I resumed work on the lock. After what seemed like an eternity, I managed to slip the key in and twist it. The door popped open. We hopped out.

  When I looked up, I saw someone limp out of the cabin. It was the mummy, and it was alone.

  If not for Tock yelling in my ear, I probably would have just stood there until death came to take me away. At his insistence we sped back up the hill and through the woods, a trail of tears floating on the air behind me.

  I’d been pacing long enough to wear a path into Hetfield’s sitting-room rug. My legs were probably tired, but if so, I didn’t notice.

  “We should go,” I said.

  “Not yet.” Tock was craning his neck back to get a look at the new key sticking out of his spine—one of the spares from Ada’s house. “It’s too soon, Fennick. I don’t want to get stuffed into another cage—we might not make it out again. We should wait until it’s dark.”

  I put my paws on the windowsill by the front door and looked outside. The sun was taking an awfully long time to go down.

  “What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “This is my first Game, and it just started, and I’ve already lost my master.”

  Tock stepped up next to me, his tail quietly ticking in synch with Hetfield’s grandfather clock.

  “I don’t want to sound cold,” he said, “but if I were you . . .” He shrugged his tiny mechanical shoulders.

  “Just say it.”

  “I’d keep playing the Game. It’s what my master would have wanted.”

  I dismounted from the windowsill, shook my head. “I barely knew what I was doing even with Hetfield’s guidance. I can’t do this without him.”

  “I could help you.”

  “We might not even be on the same side.”

  And that was the end of that idea. As much as we may have wanted to, we both knew we couldn’t just announce what team we were playing for—handing out that kind of information at such an early stage in the Game could prove fatal, even if your confidant was a friend.

  “You know,” Tock said, “it doesn’t matter where our loyalties lie. We won’t even make it to the end of the Game if that cult summons the Old Ones. Come on,” he said, and moved to the exit. “Let’s go see what we can find out about your master.”

  By the time we got back to the cabin in the woods, twilight was just setting in. It was sufficiently dark that we felt confident in our ability to sneak around. Tock’s tail sounded like it was clicking slower than usual, as if he was resisting the constant motion to keep it quieter. It was working.

  There didn’t appear to be anyone outside, so we snuck up to the door that was still ajar. After a quick and quiet exploration, I waved Tock in.

  “I think it’s clear,” I said. “If we split up, we can—”

  “Here.”

  I came to Tock’s side. He was standing by a dark stain on the wooden floor.

  It was an awful lot of blood. I took a quivering step back.

  “Fennick, it’s—it may not be that bad. Look at the way it’s streaked. Whoever left this here tried to crawl away, and maybe . . .”

  He trailed off, probably because he realized he didn’t believe his own explanation.

  I turned and ran out the door. I don’t know what I’d expected to find there, but I didn’t care to go looking any longer.

  It was some time before Tock caught up to me in the open field of yellow-green grasses. I was gazing at the stars overhead as I walked, searching for a constellation that might resemble a wolf-man. I never did find one.

  Tock was panting. I gave him his wind-up without being asked, then continued on my way.

  “Thanks,” he said. “You know, I was thinking—we should talk to Wil. See if he’s heard anything.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Whatever.” We were already headed in that direction anyway, and I wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  “You know, I hate to ask, but
your legs are a lot longer than mine, and—”

  I stopped and lay down so he could climb onto my back. Once he had a good grip on my fur, I continued on my path.

  “You’ll be okay, Fennick. Just so long as—duck!”

  “What?”

  “Get down!”

  I dropped below the grasses.

  “There,” he said, pointing.

  I lifted my head just enough to get a view of the moonlit meeting: across the field, some thirty yards away, the mummy stood before a ghost.

  She was white and translucent and her hair floated on the air like groping tentacles. She was saying something, but I couldn’t quite hear it, so I moved closer.

  “Now is not the time to get revenge,” Tock whispered, his grip on my fur tightening. “Fennick. Fennick!”

  “Quiet,” I said, and got near enough to listen.

  The mummy was shaking lightly all over, like it had some sort of brain damage and was trying to keep it under control. Apparently Hetfield had done a number on the bastard before he’d gone down. Good.

  “Yes,” the ghost of the woman said. “I sense the wolf’s essence on you. It’s fresh. Very good.”

  The mummy made some groaning sound that wasn’t a word. The ghost smiled at it. I wanted to rip her wispy throat out.

  “Seen her before?” Tock asked quietly.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Yes—I think so. The past few nights, I’ve been catching glimpses of some dark shape in the sky.”

  “She’s not exactly dark.”

  “Well, she’s floating. And I know I saw something in the sky.”

  “You mean like that?”

  Coming from high above, the winged figure smashed into the ground beside the mummy and ghost. Its weight was such that its landing sent tremors through the earth and nearly shook Tock from my back. It had broad shoulders and a thick tail, and its skin was the color of stone. If my hunch was right, I was looking at a gargoyle.

  “Your servants have prepared the ritual, my master,” the new arrival said. “Nyarlathotep would be proud, and the Old Ones will surely be pleased when they are summoned.”

  “Good,” the ghost said. “And yes, let’s hope they’re quite ecstatic—they need to be, if they’re to rid me of this blasted curse.” She took a half-hearted swing at the mummy, her hand passing harmlessly through its head. She sighed.