The Weird Company (21 page)

In many ways, I thought, it was like the sea. There was a matrix, like water, but seemingly less dense and more varied in hue. Vast shoals of color with shades and dimensions filled my vision, like massive clouds roiling in the depths. Flumes of congregated lights darted about them not unlike schools of fish. Larger shapes, and that is all they were, for no details could be discerned, swam, flew and pulsated about, some in obvious pursuit, others seemingly unaware or at least unconcerned about the events about them. It was on Dr. Hartwell that the vista had the most obvious effect. It seemed the display of muted lights and the complete lack of sound from exterior to the ship had profoundly affected the Doctor. So much so, that it was he that was first to break the silence and ponder out loud, “What are they?”

Chandraputra’s dark eyes opened slowly and wide with an audible and strange click. He rose deftly and strode gracefully to Hartwell’s side. “Ahhhh, that is life Doctor. Not as you know it. Not organic life with water and cells and chemistry, but life nonetheless. This is the space between, where things only hinted at come to frolic and stalk. That multi-colored blur over there is a saturnine cat, and those groups of grey pulsing lights to the left are called shamblers.”

“What are those pale, thin lights over there?” asked Waite, pointing uselessly into the vista.

Chandraputra tilted his head and made a queer frightful sound. “Those are horrid things, predators who feast solely on things that have violated the flow of time. The Nug Soth call them the beasts of Quacchil Uattus, but men call them the Hounds of Tindalos.”

“Didn’t you say we were moving through time?” uttered Hartwell haltingly.

Chandraputra once more bounced his head in that strange animal semblance to a nod. “Indeed, but the hounds can only attack through a hard angle. The light-ships are designed around curves to prevent just that.”

“They are getting closer,” observed Hartwell.

Carter watched as the hounds wheeled toward the ship like hawks toward a rabbit. “Indeed they are. Not to worry, I’ve seen this before. They’ve caught our scent, but they can’t get in. The ship has no angles for them to breach.”

Hartwell backed away as the hounds drew up toward the walls of the light-ship. The pack numbered six, and at close range their true nature became apparent. In my eyes they bore many traits that truly made them hound-like in appearance. They were quadrupeds with each foot bearing sharp claws that apparently helped grip the strange ether of the outside space. A bony tail whipped back and forth angrily. Their heads were long and muzzled but without cheeks, which exposed rows of sharp teeth along the front and the sides of powerfully muscled jaws. There were rudimentary ears that curved back and rejoined the skull at its base. The beasts were lean, like starving dogs, revealing strange ridges of rib, spine and hips beneath pale, glistening, hairless skins. Hartwell watched them, with growing anxiety, his eyes and head darting back and forth to keep the monstrous things in sight.

I eventually grew bored with the whole affair. I will admit that there was an unnatural beauty to be found out there in the in-between, there was something more interesting to me inside the ship. My opinion of Asenath Waite had changed since my strange encounter with her younger self. The animosity that I had felt for her, that I had transferred to her, was long gone. In its place there was something else, a spark of appreciation for who and what she was, what she had been through, and what she was trying to do. To be sure it was odd, knowing what I knew about Ephraim and Asenath, and how out of vengeance one had become the other. Yet I didn’t care. There was something about her, about the way she spoke and moved that was alluring. She was unlike any other woman I had ever met, and while there was an obvious reason for that, in my mind it only made her more attractive.

She was still wearing that strange outfit, with the slope hat by her side. She was sitting by herself making notes in a small book. She looked deep in thought, introspective. She looked like a woman who could handle anything this world or any other could throw at her. How long I stood there I can’t say, but it must have been a while for eventually she noticed that I was staring at her, closed her book and with a coy look motioned me to join her.

As I settled in beside her I caught a strong whiff of her scent. She smelled like hyacinth carried on a sea breeze, and I drank it in and let her fill my senses. She placed her hand on mine and smiled. “Mr. Olmstead, is there something you want to say to me? Because I am getting the distinct impression that you're becoming a lap dog, and that is something I don’t need.”

I hung my head, more in mock shame than anything else. “My apologies Miss Waite.”

“Actually, it’s Mrs. Derby. You should call me Asenath.”

I was a little surprised. “I hadn’t realized you were married. You don’t wear a ring.”

“My relationship with my husband is unconventional. We find traditional symbols and roles limiting.” A malicious smile crawled across her face.

“I’ve read your letters. I know what you are, who you are, I just have to ask why you’ve stayed where you are?”

There was a look of bewilderment on her face, one that was quickly replaced with something I read as respect. “What I do, the things I’ve studied, they were always as a man. I’ve always known that the things that I do, that you would call magic, were dependent on gender. There are things that men can do that women cannot, and vice versa. The universe it seems responds to the masculine and the feminine in different ways. Neither is better, they’re just different. Living as a woman was a necessity at first, it gave me power over certain factions in Innsmouth, and then later hid me from the forces that occupied my home.”

“And the magic?”

“I found ways to do what needed to be done, at least until recently. As I said, there are some things men can do that women cannot, and vice versa. Unfortunately what I needed to do required me to find a suitable male with whom I could make the rendition, but only on a temporary basis. I’ve grown too old and too wise to throw away a body that is perfectly healthy with many years in front of it. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve become very comfortable in this body, it has its advantages.”

The conversation went on like this for some time, and strayed into areas that were uncomfortable for both of us. She told me about how she learned to adapt to being a woman and how they saw the world differently than men, and I told her about how I watched the other members of my family succumb to the transformation. In both our cases there were societal institutions that didn’t know how to deal with our particular situations. In my case the only way my family could deal with Lawrence was to place him in an asylum. In hers, while the Hall School provided a refuge, it also was something of a prison. The rigid structure forced Asenath, who knew more about world history, science and literature than anyone short of a college professor, was forced to sit through classes on manners and needlework. It was all so laughable how the world dealt with things that didn’t fit into predictable categories. I couldn’t help thinking about round pegs and square holes.

Chandraputra interrupted with an announcement. “We’re coming up on the transmitter, I’m
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going to start banking toward the coordinates
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you’ve provided. We could be at our destination in
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under a half-an-hour.”

A look of satisfaction came across Asenath’s face. “Thank you Chandraputra. I trust . . .”

Whatever else Asenath was going to say was lost as Hartwell suddenly started screaming. “They're gone! They were right outside the ship, and now they’re gone! The Hounds of Tindalos, they're gone!” He backed away from the window and moved toward the center of the ship. Not watching where he was going he bumped up against the Packard, and swiftly crawled into the driver’s seat and slipped out of view.

We were all watching as the car door clicked shut, but it was Elwood who’s eyes grew suddenly wide and in a panic rushed forward. “Angles. The ship has no angles, but the car!” Chandraputra’s great bearded head swayed in puzzlement as Elwood screamed his name. “CHANDRAPUTRA THE CAR IS FULL OF ANGLES!”

Elwood’s warning came too late. Sick blue light had suddenly seeped out of the car as something from outside found its way to the interior of the Packard. Waite yelled, “Hartwell get out of there!”

The only response to her plea was a horrid, piercing scream, followed by a sickening wet gurgling noise. A red mist filled the interior. As something large and pale struggled within, the car door buckled outwards and all four tires exploded in concert. Another bulge ripped up through the hood, cracking the windshield and spraying glass into the air. The bulging steel of the hood cracked and then split open as a large pink fleshy tube burst through. The tube spewed a thick viscous fluid that glowed blue as it spread across the floor of the ship.

The ship lurched and Chandraputra yelled, “Hold onto something!” Waite searched for a firm grasp in vain, in a ship comprised of gentle slopes and curves there was little to grab onto. Elwood on the other hand seemed oddly relaxed; indeed he appeared to be entering into a deep meditative state. As I dove for the curve of the ramp and clamped on tight I briefly loss sight of the man. When I turned round again Frank Elwood was nowhere to be seen. Try as I might I could find no trace of the man, it was as if he had completely vanished. The ship lurched again, and then seemed to spin out of control. I looked to Chandraputra for direction, and what I saw was not what I expected.

Chandraputra was speaking in a strange, inhuman clicking language that issued forth from his unmoving mouth. As the mystic chanted, a circle of blue light formed on the floor beneath the car. It seemed to dilate into a center point and then slowly transitioned to yellow. A three-pronged claw tore through the side door shredding steel like cardboard. The glowing circle transitioned to orange as the hound stepped out onto the floor and roared. Behind the beast something else, something human, shuddered and convulsed, spraying gore across the vast interior of the ship. A hand flopped down between my feet, twitching violently as green viscous fluid drained out at the wrist. It flopped over and crawled behind me like a rat scurrying for a hole. I tried to follow its movements but lost it as the beast roared and the circle of light turned red. As my eyes darted across the ship I noted that the mass of blood and gore that was once named Doctor Stuart Hartwell had inexplicably vanished. Like Frank Elwood, every trace of the doctor was gone.

My attention turned once more to the horror raging inside the ship. The red circle vanished and was replaced with a vast jagged opening to the exterior which served to turn the interior of the ship into a storm of wind and sound. The hound screamed in agony as it was suddenly blown out of the ship. Its claws grabbed onto an edge briefly, but that hold was tenuous, and it slipped away screaming. Waite clung to me as my preternatural strength seemed capable of holding all of us in place against the torrent. The Packard, and the shards of glass, fell out after the hound and vanished into the ether. Suddenly, the strange in-between spaces were gone and the gaping hole in the ship was full of racing blue and white sky and huge monolithic mountains covered with snow and strange twisted black peaks. The air was bitterly cold and the wind bit into my flesh as I pulled Waite in tight to my chest. As the ship with us inside plummeted uncontrollably downward, the landscape became a raging blur of color, and the air filled with the sound of wind screaming and whistling through the damaged ship. We were tumbling and spinning and through the hole and the window I could see the world go mad as grey sky and the frozen grey surface of Antarctica became indistinguishable from each other.

Through it all Chandraputra was somehow standing and trying desperately to control the ship as if there was some hope of that. “We’re not far from the coordinates!” The swami cried out. “A few seconds more and we’ll
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be at the coordinates Danforth gave you. If I could just hold her
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together a bit longer, shed some of the speed . . . we might just have a chance.”

There was a pause and then suddenly Chandraputra was staring at Asenath with that lifeless face of his. He screamed and seemed to run from the floor straight up a nearby wall, and then across the ceiling. Everything was shaking, and the last thing I felt was a wave of force ripple through my body, and then mercifully, my mind grew heavy and I passed into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 13

From the Account of Robert Martin Olmstead
“The Madness of Chandraputra”

The wind was whipping snow and ice past my head, which was the only part of me that wasn’t buried deep in a pile of slush and debris. With a Herculean effort I pulled myself out and found myself to be hurt, cold and wet, but intact. My left shoulder and arm had absorbed most of the impact and were badly bruised but not broken. My shirt had been torn across the front, revealing the scaly skin beneath. I knew that it was cold, but this didn’t seem to faze me, apparently my incomplete metamorphosis had progressed sufficiently that I was able to resist even the freezing winds of Antarctica. Those winds blew madly, like great, unending blasts of pure ice. The tiny crystals of snow and hail tore across my skin at incredible speeds. My scaled flesh helped protect me some, but I could still feel hundreds of miniscule daggers cutting in to me. I dug about in the wreckage and found a tarpaulin that I could use as a kind of cloak.

As I pulled the fabric around me I heard Asenath moan as she struggled up out of the wreckage and stumbled to her feet. Snow and ice mixed with blood caked her clothes and the wind whipped her hair into a streaming torrent. “Did we lose anybody?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. I could feel the ice on her skin. She was shivering. Apparently she was not as immune to the temperature as I was, and I draped the tarp around her and drew her in close to my chest. I knew she was cold, and hoped that my body could somehow provide her with some sort of heat. It may have been a futile gesture.