New Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos (19 page)

Wainewright's lean, strained features revealed their frank astonishment as he slid back the door to answer Driscoll's summons. His watery blue eyes looked up at Driscoll half-defiantly, half-defensively.

'I am sorry,' said Driscoll almost hesitantly. 'If it is not convenient...'

'No, of course not,' Wainewright stammered.

He drew back, his left hand making an expressive gesture.

'Come in, come in, please. I am quite alone.' Driscoll stepped past his host and stood lost in thought in the radiance of the dim overhead light. He waited until Wainewright had closed the door.

'Forgive my apparent confusion,' Wainewright went on, leading the way into the circular living room where soft music oozed from hidden louvres. He went over to the switch and killed the recital.

He waved Driscoll to a divan opposite him and sank into a steel-backed chair facing his guest.

'You see,' Wainewright went on, 'your visit is most unusual so that I was naturally surprised. I hope there is nothing wrong...'

Driscoll shook his head; he spoke some anodyne words, allaying the other's fears.

'It is nothing, really, yet I felt I would like to come

for an hour. If you can spare the time...' 'Certainly, certainly.'

Wainewright had recovered his poise now.

'May I offer you some refreshment? I am partial to tea.'

Driscoll smiled thinly; there was something a little old-maidish about Wainewright. He supposed it came from living alone as he did.

'Only if you are making something. It is nothing of real importance that I wished to discuss. It will keep.'

Wainewright got up, obviously relieved. While he busied himself making the tea, Driscoll sat with his heavy hands folded in his lap, quite at ease, his lids drooping over his eyes as though half-asleep. But he missed nothing that went on in the small world in which he found himself. It was not easy to shake off the habits of a lifetime.

Wainewright reappeared at last, with mumbled apologies. Driscoll was silent until after he had poured the tea. He sat watching the liquid descend in a steaming amber arc into the burnished metal cup. He made polite small talk until the ceremony was over. His host sat back on the chair opposite and regarded him warily. Caution and confusion struggled somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

'I was surprised at your visit,' he said. 'I will not conceal it. I wondered if there was something wrong at Control. My records are quite in order...'

He broke off for a second. Then, reassured by Driscoll's expression, he continued.

'Of course, I know there have been complaints. It was perhaps inevitable. But I have not been sleeping at all well lately.'

'It was about that I wanted to talk to you,' said Driscoll quickly, feeling his way clear. 'It is obvious there was something on your mind. It is the private sector, you understand, This has nothing to do with Control.'

He waited to see what effect his words were having on Wainewright. The thin man sat in an immobile posture, his watery blue eyes blinking rapidly. Only the restless clenching and unclenching of his hands revealed his inner tension; it was almost as though his naked nerve-ends were exposed to Driscoll's probing gaze. The visitor knew his man. He abruptly changed the subject.

'Excellent tea,' he said cheerfully, extending his cup for a refill. 'Where do you get such quality these days?'

Wainewright's apprehensive face flushed with pleasure.

'I blend it myself,' he answered. 'It is something of a lost art.'

Driscoll agreed, making a mental note regarding his inmost thoughts on Wainewright. His sleepy eyes went on probing the apartment.

'It was your reports of movements in the shafts,' he went on gently. 'The subject interests me. And after what happened...'

He broke off abruptly, leaving the sentence hanging awkwardly in the air. For a moment he thought he had overplayed his hand. Wainewright bit his lip. His fingers shook perceptibly, so much so that he set down his teacup on the tray. He put both hands together in front of him, as though to control their shaking.

'Did Hort ask you to come?' Wainewright said heavily.

There was a sort of sullen defiance on his rather weak face. The blue eyes looked baffled and defeated. Driscoll felt a sudden flash of pity for him. He shook his head.

'I was speaking the truth,' he said simply. 'This is entirely private. I wanted to help if I could...'

Again he broke off the sentence, let it hang in the air. The echoes of his voice seemed to go on reverberating round the apartment long after their natural resonance should have died away. There was an odd, dead silence between the two.

Wainewright sat, his body awkwardly constricted, his hands together in his lap, slightly leaning forward as though listening for something that could not be heard by anyone else. Driscoll had often noted it when they were on night Watch together. They still kept Earth Time, even though there was nothing but artificial light now. They had long adapted to it.

Driscoll had noted that Wainewright seemed more apprehensive on night duties. Curious that it should be so. He gave his host a reassuring smile, moved on the divan slightly, and then picked up his teacup again. Normality seemed to flow back into the room.

'There is much I could say,' Wainewright said heavily. 'You see, after Deems went...'

He swallowed and broke off. To Driscoll it seemed as though there were some sort of mute appeal in his eyes.

'It was Deems I really wanted to speak about,' Driscoll prompted him. 'And whatever you imagine is in the shafts.'

A shudder seemed to pass through Wainewright's thin form. His attitude was more than ever one of someone listening intently for something to happen. The notion was absurd, but Driscoll could not dismiss it from his mind.

'In the shafts?' Wainewright repeated dully. Driscoll nodded encouragingly. 'Out There.'

Wainewright stirred on the chair with a visible effort. Then he made a convulsive movement and raised his cup to his lips. He drank as though he were thirsty, taking great gulps, his eyes tightly closed as if to erase the memory of something from his sight. Though Driscoll might have mistaken his motives; it might merely have been the effect of the hot steam against his eyelids.

'Deems was a very good friend of yours, wasn't he?' Driscoll said gently.

The eyelids had opened. The watery blue eyes regarded him intently.

'The best. There is no one now.'

His voice was so low the words were almost inaudible. Driscoll was more sure of his ground. He leaned forward across the tea-things.

'I tried to check on the log entries regarding Deems this afternoon. They were not available in Central Records.'

Wainewright's face had gone white. He visibly trembled. He shook his head.

That was extremely unwise. Though I am surprised that you are so interested.'

His face changed as he was speaking. Some of the tension drained out of it. He looked at Driscoll steadily.

'Does this mean that you understand? That you might even believe me?'

Driscoll knew all was well now. He leaned back easily on the divan.

'Let us just say I have an open mind. And I shall be extremely discreet.'

Driscoll smiled at Wainewright. He had a frank, open face, and the confidence he exuded seemed to extend to his companion. Wainewright's features seemed more relaxed, and the haunting tightness round the eyes and temples was momentarily eased. He looked steadily at Driscoll.

'You want to know about Deems?'

Driscoll nodded.

'If it will help me to an understanding of what troubles you, yes.'

He knew at once he had said the right thing; Wainewright seemed visibly moved. He half got up, as though he would come over to his guest's side, then he sank back into his seat again.

'You may not understand,' he said.

'I do not understand now,' Driscoll said. 'When I have learned what troubles you I surely cannot know less.'

Wainewright nodded slowly. Sitting there stiffly, blinking his eyes, he seemed to Driscoll like something left over from an earlier age; an age when gentleness and learned pursuits had value, and when purifying winds blew across the surface of the earth. But there was no indication of his thoughts as he sat with his steady gaze surveying Wainewright calmly. The latter restlessly knotted and unknotted his fingers.

'Deems was my friend,' he said. 'My only real friend. His going was a dreadful shock.'

'I can understand that,' Driscoll said gently. 'I want to help.'

Wainewright shifted on his seat. His eyes looked vague and half-frightened.

'If only I could believe that...'

Driscoll showed a faint flicker of impatience. He cupped his big hands round his right kneecap and rocked himself to and fro.

'You have ample proof of it,' he pointed out. 'My very presence here. You know we are not supposed to meet off Watch.'

The point struck home; Wainewright narrowed his eyes and flinched back slightly, as though his companion had struck him. He made up his mind. He started to talk, breathing heavily between sentences, as though he were running.

'Deems knew,' he said. 'He was always talking about it. On Watch as well as off. He knew there was something.'

'Out There?' Driscoll prompted.

Wainewright nodded. He swallowed once or twice but realized he had to go on; he had committed himself, and it was too late to turn back.

'It started with Shaft Number 247. You didn't know that, did you?'

Driscoll stared at him. He shook his head. Wainewright smiled thinly.

'It was a well-kept secret. It's right on the edge of our section. It's a strange place. No one wants to say anything about it. The lighting system is always going there, so that the tunnels are often in semidarkness. There have been odd noises and movements in the shafts. Water has come through in one or two places, and some of the valves are rusting.'

Driscoll looked at Wainewright incredulously. He licked his lips, but there was the stamp of sincerity in the look he returned.

'It's perfectly true,' he said. 'Only none of the official reports refer to it. Special teams attend to it, and no formal records are kept.'

Driscoll stared at his companion in silence for a long moment.

'I take it you know what you're saying?'

Wainewright nodded. He kept his watery eyes fixed on the other.

'This thing has been with me for a long time. I know exactly what I'm saying. And I am choosing my words with care.'

Driscoll kept his bleak gaze fully ahead of him, not seeing Wainewright for the moment. His brain was heavy with dark thoughts.'Go on.'

Wainewright made a pathetic little flourishing movement with his hands.

'Did you know, for instance, that there have been breaks in the tunnel? Water in the shafts and, as I said, rust on the valves?'

'I find that difficult to believe.'

His voice sounded a little unsteady, even to himself. Wainewright permitted himself a shy, hesitant smile.

He stirred uneasily, his eyes searching Driscoll's face. 'You will not find it in the records. But he knew.' Driscoll's senses must have been a little dulled this afternoon. He looked blankly at Wainewright, the bland, smooth lighting of the room beating down on them, turning their figures to a pale butter yellow.

'Deems, of course,' Wainewright went on, as though a flood of emotion had been released from him.

'He was determined to know. He confided in me. The thing had been on his mind for some time. He was convinced there was something in the shafts. And Shaft Number 247 was the obvious...'

'Why obvious?' Driscoll interrupted.

Wainewright passed a bluish tongue across dry lips. 'Surely you must know that. It is the largest. It was the inspection tunnel years ago. When people went Out There to check on conditions.'

Driscoll was slightly irritated with himself; he put his hands round his kneecap again and rocked to and fro. Of course; he remembered now. He smiled confidently at his companion.

'The shaft with the inspection capsule? Is it still there?'

Wainewright shook his head.

'The authorities had it taken out. But the chamber still exists. And it would be no great thing to undo the bolts of the hatch.'

Driscoll was startled; he sat, his strong face immobile as he stared at Wainewright.

'Why would anyone want to do that?' Wainewright shrugged.

'Why would Deems want to go there? To find out. To increase the sum of human knowledge, of course. The movement in the shafts...'

Despite himself a slight chill had spread over Driscoll. He looked at the indicator on the bulkhead near where he sat, wondering if the temperature of the chamber had been altered. But it was quite normal.

His tone of voice was absolutely level when he spoke. 'What do you think is there, Wainewright?'

The watery blue eyes had a strange filmy expression in them.

'There is something... animate, shall we say. Something that wants to get in touch with us. Why should Shaft Number 247 leak, for example? The situation is almost unprecedented.'

Driscoll leaned forward, his eyes intent on the other's face.

'Why does Shaft Number 247 leak?'

Wainewright licked his lips again, and his eyes were dark and haunted as he stared back.

'Because something is turning the bolts from the other side,' he said simply.

'I think you had better tell me how Deems died,' said Driscoll quietly.

There was a sulphurous silence in the room now. Wainewright's eyes were like pale blue holes in the blankness of his face. He gestured towards the teapot. Driscoll declined with a brief shake of his head. He had to hold his impatience in check.'Deems?'

Wainewright passed his tongue over his lips again. 'He knew about Shaft 247, you see. He had found how to open it. There was a temporary fault on the circuits in that section. He went there unknown to the authorities. The place had a fascination for him.'

He paused again and looked at Driscoll. There was an imploring look on his face as though he were asking his companion for help he knew the latter was unable to give.