I
put my hands on my knees and pushed myself upwards into a standing position.
Sliding the tested bar back into the cylinder with its buddies I turned to
Alphonse and held out my hand.
‘Thanks
Alphonse,’ I said, ‘is there anything I can do to repay you?’
He
held up a finger and then held up the five hexagonal plates with the other
hand. ‘Thethe would go much of the way towardth compenthating me for my time,’
he said, ‘if that’th okay with you?’
I
narrowed my gaze, then waved a dismissive hand. ‘They’re yours, friend,’ I
said, ‘with my compliments.’
He
smiled a smile that was like that of a dog; a very big, very savage, toothy
dog. He picked up the hurricane lantern and escorted me up the stairs to the
floor of the tomb.
‘Here’th
where I take my leave,’ he said holding out his hand, which I shook warmly. ‘Do
you know what your nextht move will be?’
I
pulled my hat down on my head and squared my shoulders. Looking out into the
rain I said, ‘Yep - I have a pretty good idea.’
‘Then
the very betht of luck to you, thir.’
‘“Sir”
was my dad,’ I said. ‘You call me Benson.’
He
clapped me on the shoulder and nodded, his golden eyes alight. I hoisted my
load of platinum and took a few steps towards the tomb entrance, before turning
suddenly:
‘And
if I need to get in contact with you again, Alphonse...?’
But
he was gone. Stairs, door, crazy laboratory and all.
*****
The
day was dismal. The rain had slackened off somewhat, but the wind had picked
up. Out on the coast road heading south for Innsmouth, sand flew inland from
the dunes and it felt like I was walking forwards through a sandpaper sky.
Mournful gulls wheeled overhead before driving back out to sea. My clothes had
dried a little in Alphonse’s company, but they had also stiffened with salt: I
felt like I was wearing a suit made out of damp cardboard.
I
began to think about how I was going to do what lay before me. Whenever the
town was threatened by the presence of someone from outside, who was showing a
little too much interest in the place and its inhabitants, the Order would
arrange to get them out of town with a minimum of fuss. Often it meant just
getting the interloper drunk and dumping them outside the city limits in a
compromising state. Sometimes drugs were a more effective intoxicant.
Occasionally, an accident was staged and – alas! – the poor soul was never
heard from again. Everyone in town had had a hand in one or two of these staged
events during their time growing up here; it was par for the course; a rite of
passage. The town’s integrity needed to be protected.
The
belongings of these intruders all went to the same place – the Temple. Much of
this stuff was either used to stage accidents, got destroyed, or was converted
into cash by E.O.D. members willing to travel to Arkham or to Boston to pawn
it. Some of it was stockpiled for use as blackmail material, or simply because
it was valuable. If this guy from up north had foolishly holed up in Innsmouth
with this stone, then it would now have to be in the Temple strongroom. And the
single key to that strongroom was with...
I
stopped suddenly and thought very hard about this. There was only the one key
to that vault. And it was in the possession of Abner Gilman. Now deceased. The
spinning cogs in my brain had started to mesh and I didn’t like what they were
chewing on...
I
started walking again. Before I did anything, I was going to need a new set of
clothes. I felt like nine miles of coral reef under an oil spill. That meant
going home. I was pretty sure that I would be looked for, but I figured I could
sneak in the back way as easily as I had sneaked out to catch Ned Pierce off
guard... I stopped walking again and reached into my coat pocket for a smoke.
The cigarette packet was empty, so I idly crushed it and tossed it to the edge
of the road. Why exactly was Ned
following me? Was it because I’d done
something – as I’d assumed – or was it because someone else needed to know
where I was? More cogs came into play.
‘Huh,’
I said aloud to no-one in particular.
I
started moving again. Up ahead, the old Garrison place came into view, the
tumble-down farm which marks the northern limits of Innsmouth. I moved to the
side of the road and began to dodge from one area of cover to the next,
trusting to my skills and the nasty weather to keep me hidden. At the first
opportunity, I turned right at the next junction and moved deeper into the grid
of streets: the coast road was too prominent a thoroughfare for the likes of
me. When you’re as welcome as Zadok Allen at a Temple picnic in Innsmouth, you
stick to the back roads. In short order, I was letting myself in through the
back door of my apartment.
I
closed the kitchen door as quietly as I could, but Rodney’s laptop flared into
life as the bolt faintly clicked home.
‘Benson!
Dude! Where’ve you been? You look like eight types of shit!’ His pixelated face
flared into brilliant life.
‘Rodney!’
I hushed, ‘Fer Chrissakes! Keep it down!’
‘Oh!
Sorry dude,’ he said in a slightly more conversational tone, ‘but you’ve been
gone for so long! I didn’t think you were ever coming home!’
I
scanned the room and the apartment beyond. There was a lot of mess – it looked
like someone had tossed the place in my absence. Fortunately it looked as
though they’d left the kitchen alone; I grabbed a tea-towel and draped it over
Rodney’s brain cylinder, shielding it from view.
‘Aw,
you don’t have to do that,’ he said, ‘Mrs Pettifer already had a good look.’
‘Mrs
P.?’ I said, ‘what’s she been doing down here?’
‘She
left you a message,’ Rodney said. ‘Funny though, I didn’t know you’d given her
a key to the place.’
‘Mrs
P. has a gift,’ I said, ‘if she needs a door to be open, it will be. She calls
it Reiki.’
‘Whoa!
Cool!’ said Rodney.
‘Who
else has been here?’ I asked.
‘Buncha
guys: Winston Gilman and some fellers in trenchcoats. They ransacked the place
after Mrs Pettifer paid her visit. They didn’t come in here though.’
‘Probably
would’ve taken you away with them if they had,’ I said. ‘Look Rodney: let me
fill you in...’ I proceeded to tell him all that had happened to me after we
had parted company.
‘Wow!’
he said when I was done, ‘and I always thought that Innsmouth was such a quiet
little place.’
‘You
said that Mrs P. left me a message,’ I said, ‘what was it?’
‘Yeah,
right!’ he said excitedly. ‘Check it out: I recorded it for you!’
A
little window opened up in the centre of his screen. It showed a view from the
kitchen table out into the living-room. A dark figure made its way forward into
the light, pushed through the bead curtain separating the kitchen from the rest
of the place, and revealed itself to be Mrs Pettifer. She looked to one side
and, obviously taking in the sight of Rodney’s brain, recoiled in apparent
horror. Then she stood looking around uncertainly, as if awaiting someone to
materialise out of a cupboard.
‘Benson?’ her voice quavered.
Suddenly
Rodney’s recorded tones cut in:
‘Welcome to the automated
message system of Benson Waite. Benson is unavailable right now, but if you
have a message, please speak slowly and carefully into the screen after the
beep. Beep!’
‘Did
you actually say “beep”?’ I said.
‘Don’t
hate: I was improvising,’ he whined. I tuned in to what Mrs P. was saying:
‘Benson? I’ve never liked
these message thingies... Okay. Well. After our session I decided to do some
crystal-gazing. Benson, I think Abner Gilman is dead. I’m getting a very strong
sense of him up in my rooms. He has a particularly intense presence in the
Akashic Record – it’s really quite irritating. He wants me to tell you
something, and – it’s unusual, and I’m not sure I’m getting it correctly – he
says that there are “clues in the crossword”. Does that sound correct to you?
Well, I hope it’s of some use. Anyway, Best wishes, Dolores Pettifer. Do I
press something now?’
‘No.’ Said Rodney’s recorded voice.
‘Oh, okay then. Bye-bye.’ She straightened up then turned and
wandered back the way that she had come in. The window on the screen froze,
then closed itself down.
‘There
was a fair bit of screaming after that,’ said Rodney, ‘it really put the wind
up those guys who came later.’
‘Lucky
for her,’ I said. ‘“Clues in the crossword”? Why does that ring a bell?’
“No
idea,’ Rodney contributed. ‘What now?’
‘Now,’
I said, ‘I’m gonna have a shower and get changed. Then I’m gonna sort out this
crap...’
To
Be Continued...
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