The Feaster From The Stars (Blackwood and Harrington) (22 page)

Another shot thundered through the Void Chamber, echoing cacophonously in the still air. Clearly, whoever had fired was trying to spook Blackwood and Sophia into making a run for it, allowing them to be picked off more easily.

Blackwood, however, wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He thrust his head and right arm around the edge of the stone and let off a shot, which narrowly missed one of the men, before ducking back as the replying bullet hurtled past his head. The brief glimpse confirmed his earlier suspicion: the second and third man were remaining in the tunnel mouth twenty feet above the chamber’s floor so that they could fire down with ease, while their colleague was steadily approaching the monolith behind which Blackwood and Sophia were taking cover. A pretty good strategy, and one which showed every indication of succeeding… unless Blackwood played what he hoped was his trump card.

‘Anne!’ he cried out suddenly. ‘Anne Naylor! The time is now!’

‘Thomas, what are you doing?’ said Sophia.

‘I suspected that something like this might happen,’ he replied quickly. ‘So, after taking leave of you last night, I went to Farringdon Street Station, where the ghost of Anne Naylor has most often been seen. I called to her, and she came… and I asked her for a favour.’

‘A favour? What are you talking about?’

‘You’ll see, if she makes good on her word.’ Blackwood called out again, ‘Anne! The time is now!’

They heard the men begin to mutter to each other, clearly bemused at what they considered to be a bizarre tactic on the part of their quarry. They only became fully aware of how bizarre when the figures began to emerge into the Void Chamber, first from the curving wall, and then from the floor and ceiling as well.

Sophia gasped as the chamber rapidly became crowded with the ghosts of the Underground – or at least, those who had not yet been taken by the abomination that haunted the place alongside them. The shades of the departed were everywhere she looked, walking across the floor and floating through the air. They were dressed in clothes from a bewildering array of periods, contemporary and historical; there were men, women and children; husbands, wives, fathers, sons, daughters; victims of a thousand tragedies, bearers of a thousand sadnesses, who for years or centuries had lingered unseen, for the most part at least, walking the platforms and tunnels of the railway network alongside the living.

‘Good grief!’ Sophia whispered. ‘There are so many of them… so many who have not passed on.’

‘And many more who will
never
pass on, thanks to the Servitor,’ said Blackwood bitterly. ‘Now watch.’

From their limited vantage point, they could see that the ghosts had begun to whirl around the chamber like a great hurricane, hurtling through the air and screaming in rage. They heard more shots being fired by their would-be assassins, who were now shouting to each other in confusion and panic.

Blackwood risked another look around the edge of the monolith, and what he saw both gratified and terrified him. The air was an indescribable confusion of unearthly movement, a raging gyre of semi-translucent forms which descended time and again upon the man who had been stalking them across the chamber’s floor, and who now lay cowering upon the tiles, his arms covering his head in a futile attempt to shield himself from the fury of the spirits. One after another, they plunged through his body, making him shake and convulse and scream with unalloyed terror.

Blackwood glanced up at the mouth of the tunnel and saw that it was empty. The man’s accomplices had seen what was happening to him and had clearly given up their mission as a bad job and fled.

‘The danger is passed,’ he said to Sophia. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’m all right.’

‘Good show! Come on.’

Taking her by the hand, Blackwood stood up and moved through the maelstrom of whirling spirit forms. When they reached the helpless villain, he took a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket, wrenched the man’s arms behind his back and clapped them upon his wrists. The man hardly seemed to notice as he screamed again and again, ‘
Oh God, make them stop!
’

‘Spirits of the Underground,’ Blackwood cried. ‘Enough! We have him. He is in our custody now, and we will make certain that he faces justice!’

Almost immediately, the raging storm of spirits began to abate, until finally they were left alone in the chamber with the assassin-turned-quarry lying prone and trembling at their feet. The ghosts of the Underground had departed, except for one, who walked towards them and turned her little blue face up to them.

‘I did as you asked, sir,’ said Anne Naylor.

Blackwood smiled down at her. ‘Yes, Anne. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart, as I thank all of the others.’

Sophia hurried to Goodman-Brown and checked his pulse, then turned tearful eyes to Blackwood. ‘He’s dead, Thomas.’

‘And Hoagland?’

Sophia checked the Stationmaster and shook her head.

Blackwood grabbed the man who lay at his feet, turned him over and took hold of him by the lapels of his overcoat. ‘You filthy cad! You’ll answer for this – you and your employer!’

‘Please,’ the man replied. ‘Please just get me out of here!’

‘Oh, I’ll get you out of here all right. Next stop for you, my lad, is New Scotland Temple.’

‘Anywhere,’ the man cried. ‘Anywhere but here.’

‘What about Walter and Mr Hoagland?’ asked Sophia.

Blackwood hoisted the villain to his feet. ‘I’ll telegraph to the authorities from the station office and make the necessary arrangements…’ He was about to say more, but the words stalled in his mouth as he glanced at the bodies of Walter Goodman-Brown and Miles Hoagland, for beside them now stood the shades of the two men, looking down silently upon their physical forms.

Sophia stepped back. ‘Walter,’ she said, very quietly.

The ghost of Goodman-Brown looked at her, gave her a melancholy smile, and vanished.

Miles Hoagland’s shade looked around, fear and confusion clouding his ethereal features. Anne Naylor walked up to him and took one of his hands in hers. Turning to Blackwood, she said, ‘Don’t worry, sir. I’ll look after him.’

And with that, she too vanished, taking the ghost of Miles Hoagland with her.

When Blackwood and Sophia arrived at Detective de Chardin’s office at New Scotland Temple, they were surprised to see that Simon Castaigne was there. The occultist stood up and gave a small bow as they entered.

‘Good to see you again, Dr Castaigne,’ said Blackwood, stepping forward to shake his hand.

‘And you, sir. I have taken the liberty of bringing Detective de Chardin up to date on our discoveries and speculations so far.’

‘Capital,’ replied Blackwood.

De Chardin stepped forward. ‘Dr Castaigne also tells me that you made the right decision in not pursuing that hellish thing on the Underground.’ He offered Blackwood his hand. ‘My apologies, sir; I shouldn’t have doubted your judgement.’

The Special Investigator gave the detective a genuine smile as he shook his hand. ‘Think nothing of it, de Chardin.’

‘The detective told me that you have apprehended one of Exeter’s men,’ said Castaigne.

‘That’s correct, although at the cost of two lives.’

Castaigne sighed and shook his head. ‘That’s terrible. Who were they?’

‘Walter Goodman-Brown, the SPR psychometrist who had been helping us, and the Stationmaster at Bond Street, Miles Hoagland.’

‘Well,’ said de Chardin as he motioned his two new guests to have a seat, ‘we’ll make quite certain that he answers for his crimes.’

‘Have you questioned him yet?’ asked Blackwood.

‘Yes, and we managed to get some interesting facts out of him – along with a fair bit of nonsense, I have to say.’

‘How so?’

‘It seems that Exeter has lied to his ruffians: the man in our custody babbled about some fabulous treasure that he thinks is hidden somewhere beneath the new chamber. I suppose it’s a plausible fiction, and it does make sense for Exeter to keep the truth from his henchmen.’

‘Did he say anything more about this “treasure”?’ asked Blackwood.

‘Only that he was told by Exeter that it would be uncovered tomorrow night…’

‘
Tomorrow night?
’ Blackwood exclaimed.

De Chardin nodded. ‘It seems that Exeter has gathered all his thugs and lackeys together and told them that they will be required to defend the chamber while he secures its hidden contents.’ The detective shook his head and gave a humourless chuckle. ‘That poor dolt down there; he thinks he’s going to be rich.’

‘Exeter may be lying to his men about what’s really in the chamber,’ Blackwood said, ‘but he’s certainly telling the truth about when the show’s going to start. We have very little time.’

‘True enough,’ agreed de Chardin. ‘Did Mr Goodman-Brown manage to glean any information before he was killed?’

‘Walter said that he heard a kind of song emanating from the Hyades, the group of stars where Carcosa is located,’ Sophia replied.

‘A
song
?’ said de Chardin.

‘A kind of distress signal, you might say,’ Blackwood added. ‘Goodman-Brown thought that the very stars themselves are calling out for aid… to something…’

‘And what is this “something” which they are calling out to?’ asked de Chardin, a deep frown clouding his features.

‘Something which apparently exists in the profoundest reaches of space… something of which even the King in Yellow is terrified.’

‘What?’ blurted Castaigne, sitting forward suddenly in his chair.

‘It’s true, Dr Castaigne,’ said Sophia. ‘Before he… before he died, Walter said he had the impression that the King in Yellow is preparing to flee to the Earth to escape the thing, which must, I suppose, be approaching Carcosa even as we speak.’

‘In that case, our problems are over, surely,’ said de Chardin. ‘We can sit back and let this space-blighter have at the King in Yellow…’

Blackwood shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. There’s no guarantee that this thing – whatever it is – will reach Carcosa before the King in Yellow has embarked upon his journey to Earth – especially if, as now appears obvious, that journey will be undertaken tomorrow night.’ He turned to Castaigne. ‘We must return to the Void Chamber without delay, find the Anti-Prism and destroy it, before that can happen.’

‘Agreed,’ replied the occultist.

Blackwood returned his attention to de Chardin. ‘And we’ll need your help. It’s certain that Exeter will have more men there by now. A sizeable contingent of Templar Police will come in very handy.’

‘Consider it done,’ de Chardin replied.

Blackwood turned to Castaigne. ‘I must say I admire your initiative in coming to New Scotland Temple to inform Detective de Chardin of the latest developments, but I’m curious as to what prompted you to do so. I don’t recall giving you his name at the Lodge…’

Castaigne and de Chardin exchanged a glance before the occultist replied, ‘I was asked to come here to wait for you.’

‘By Detective de Chardin?’

‘No.’

‘By whom, then?’

‘By us,’ said a deep, powerful voice from a far corner of the room.

They all turned to see Oberon and Titania standing there.

As the Faerie King and Queen stepped forward, their iridescent dragonfly wings catching the pale lilac light which surrounded them, the humans felt the breath stall in their throats at their unutterable splendour and beauty, and they felt their heartbeats rising thunderously as the beings’ vast yet subtle power flooded their awareness. Without thinking, they all stood up – a sign of deference which caused Oberon and Titania to glance at each other and smile. The last time Blackwood and Sophia had seen them together was during their brief visit to the Faerie Realm a few weeks ago while they were engaged upon the affair of the Martian Ambassador. But the shock of seeing Oberon in his true form was as profound as if Blackwood were meeting him for the first time, and Titania was even more exquisite than he recalled.

‘You… are without your disguise, sir,’ said Blackwood.

‘I am,’ Oberon replied.

Titania walked swiftly to Sophia and gently took hold of her hands. ‘I am glad to see that you are safe,’ she said, ‘in spite of your refusal to heed my advice.’

‘Part of me wishes I had,’ Sophia replied. ‘My experience on Carcosa was… unsettling to say the least.’

‘I do not doubt it.’

Titania glanced at Simon Castaigne and Gerhard de Chardin, who were gazing at her in unabashed astonishment, for this was the first time that they had set eyes upon her, and they were having a great deal of trouble believing that any creature in the whole universe could be as beautiful as she.

‘Sit, my friends,’ said Oberon. ‘We have much to discuss.’

As quickly as they had got to their feet, the humans obeyed his command (for as such they instinctively took his words) and retook their chairs.

Oberon addressed Blackwood and Sophia. ‘Do you recall, at our last meeting, that I told you there were certain pressing matters in the deep Æther which required my attention?’

‘Yes,’ Sophia replied. ‘We were in my office at the SPR. You said you could not linger there for long.’

‘And indeed I could not,’ the Faerie King replied. ‘You, Thomas, suspected that my business had to do with Carcosa, and you were right, for it was to Carcosa that I voyaged as soon as I left Sophia’s office.’

‘Then you
are
involved in our struggle against the King in Yellow,’ said Blackwood.

Oberon nodded. ‘As I said to you before, the Faerie Realm is permitted by our Covenant with the universe to intervene, to a certain extent, in the affairs of Earth when the planet is in dire peril. This is one such occasion.’

Castaigne put up his hand tentatively, in the manner of a schoolboy trying to attract his master’s attention. Titania giggled, and Oberon smiled at him. ‘Speak, Dr Castaigne.’

‘May I… may I ask the reason for your journey to Carcosa?’

‘Impatient, isn’t he?’ said Titania to her husband.

‘Indeed. Do not worry, for I will explain all to you.’

Castaigne lowered his hand and gave an embarrassed cough.

‘I went to that unhappy world to converse with its Planetary Angels, who are mourning the loss of Carcosan life. You, Castaigne, have seen for yourself how the planet has been stripped of almost everything that once lived and breathed upon its surface, leaving it a barren sphere of rock which will drift forevermore through the gulfs of space and time, in silence and death, inhabited by only a few remnants of a once-thriving population.’

‘If I may enquire,’ said de Chardin, ‘what are Planetary Angels?’

‘They are the spirits of worlds,’ replied Titania. ‘They exist on all planets where there is life, and they live in a realm which is coterminous with the physical plane. The Faerie are the Planetary Angels of Earth.’

‘I was able to learn much from the Angels of Carcosa,’ Oberon continued. ‘They were once powerful beings, but Carcosa is far more ancient than the Earth, and over the aeons their strength has waned. Once the King in Yellow had arrived on their beloved world, there was nothing they could do to defend it against his depredations. Gradually, the entity consumed it and its people, and now there is nothing left but barren rock and a handful of cities clinging to the edge of oblivion.

‘Walter Goodman-Brown was correct: the Hyades
are
singing a song of distress, as it is written in Cassilda’s Song. They have been doing so for many centuries, for stars possess awareness and intelligence – although it is an intelligence which is incomprehensible to the beings living upon the worlds which orbit them. The Hyades became aware that something awful had arrived on Carcosa and responded instinctively to its loathsome presence with their song of despair.’

‘And is it also true that the King in Yellow is hiding from something?’ asked Blackwood.

‘Oh yes,’ Oberon replied. ‘That is quite true. I also conversed with the stars of the Hyades, and learned much from them. They know a great deal that is forever hidden from the inhabitants of planets, about the secrets of the universe, and some of this information I persuaded them to share with me. The Hyades spoke of something called the Wanderer, which has been pursuing the King in Yellow since before the dawn of recorded time.’

‘The Wanderer?’ said Castaigne. ‘In all my researches I’ve never heard of it. What is it?’

‘I am uncertain, as are the Hyades. They speculated that it is perhaps an entity of some kind, or perhaps the product of an ancient technology, created by a distant and unknown civilisation somewhere in the depths of the Æther, with the purpose of defending our universe against threats from Outside… perhaps a super-civilisation’s equivalent of your Bureau of Clandestine Affairs, Thomas,’ he added.

‘In any event, the King in Yellow
is
afraid of it, and has been moving from planet to planet for countless aeons, feeding and hiding… feeding and hiding… for he has placed Anti-Prisms upon worlds without number throughout this universe, forming a transit network for himself.’

‘And that is the fate which awaits the Earth, if the fiend is allowed to come here?’ said de Chardin.

Oberon nodded. ‘Once he has established himself on Earth, the King in Yellow will begin to feed upon its inhabitants, both human and animal – indeed, all forms of life will be sustenance to him. And humanity will suffer the same fate as the inhabitants of Carcosa.’

‘How, precisely, will the thing feed?’ asked de Chardin.

‘The King in Yellow comes from beyond the edge of ordered space and time,’ Oberon answered, ‘from a place where the laws of physics are vastly different to those operating in this universe. He is capable of warping the fabric of reality: just as we can dip our hands into a pool of water and create currents within the liquid, so can he create currents within reality itself, pointing them in whichever direction he chooses. In this way, he can open avenues of attraction between himself and anything else on the planet – including the minds and bodies of its inhabitants.

‘The Planetary Angels of Carcosa watched this happening, and great was their anguish as they described how the King in Yellow drank the minds of the people, and then the life force animating their bodies. The result was insanity and physical feebleness, swiftly followed by death, and when death came, the victims’ bodies dissolved like ice in a hot room, until nothing was left of them.

‘This is what will happen if the King in Yellow is allowed to come to Earth. He will choose a place to make his fortress; he will make it impregnable, and there he will dwell, periodically reaching out to feed on all the life which covers the surface of this world.’

‘Good God! Then Blackwood is right: we must find this Anti-Prism gadget and destroy it without delay!’

‘We must do more than that,’ said Oberon.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sophia.

‘The King’s intention is to come to Earth and feed upon its population while hiding from the Wanderer. Eventually, our Sun will begin to sing its own song of distress, but by the time the Wanderer arrives, untold deaths will have occurred, and the Earth will have been irreparably damaged. The King in Yellow will move on to the next world, and then the next. We must make our stand on behalf of all the intelligent beings which are yet to fall victim to the monster’s attentions, on worlds as yet unknown to us, in millennia yet to come.’