I blinked several times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
“John, correct me if I’m wrong, but is that your wife there?” Mercury asked, looking just as perplexed as I was. “In the middle of an underground city populated by ghouls?”
“Ex-wife, but you are otherwise correct,” I said, frowning.
Martha Washington Booth was beautiful, in a cold way, with shoulder-length silvery-white hair. She had albino skin that never seemed to sunburn or tan and dressed for cold weather no matter the temperature. Her eyes were charcoal gray and had the ability to stare down even the strongest-willed person. Martha was wearing a long, heavy woolen coat, a turtleneck sweater, and a set of dress pants over black jackboots.
Martha was once an agent for the Senior Council charged with telepathically rooting out dissent and coming up with new strategies to guarantee our little city-state’s supremacy. She was one of the few sorts of “permissible” mutants, since looking like a marble statue and possessing superpowers was the least of the effects the Wasteland could have on a person. We’d been happy in our relationship for a long time, perhaps because our first years of marriage had been spent with lengthy periods apart. Unfortunately, as she rose in rank and I became more educated in the ways of the Wasteland, we butted heads more often.
Children often brought marriages together, but other times, they highlighted irreconcilable differences. For me, Anita and Gabriel were everything, but for Martha, only Gabriel showed true promise. I think I knew our marriage was over when, at ages eight and five, she’d asked if we could have them transferred to a new family.
By the way Martha’s eyes widened, I gathered this meeting wasn’t intentional. This gave me far too much pleasure. It was a rare occasion I managed to put one over on a psychic.
Martha scrunched her brow and attempted to scan my thoughts. I could feel the wispy tendrils of her mind reaching into mine, but as much to my surprise as to hers, they were blocked by whatever had happened to me.
Fascinating.
“Well, this is surprising.” Martha was sipping from a teacup with no sign of meat on her plate.
Probably a good idea.
“Welcome,” the ghoul at the end of the table said. He was twice the size of the rest of his kin and possessed of huge razor-covered back of deformed proportions. Yet like the rest of his race, he sounded like he could have come from the street I grew up on. Ghouls had their own accents, inflections, and vocal quirks, but all of the ones I’d met spoke English like natives. Which, I supposed, many ghouls were.
The shoggoth split into a dozen smaller versions of itself and slithered away through holes in the walls, maneuvering to get out of sight.
“Judge Hoade, I presume?” I said, walking forward. “I am sorry to impose upon you and your city’s hospitality.”
The gigantic ghoul nodded. “I am, indeed. As for intruding, not at all, not at all. We’ve long considered your associate, Jessica O’Reilly, to be a friend of our city. I was just mentioning that to your former mate. Please take a seat.” He gestured to the unoccupied seats around Martha, which I wouldn’t have taken under normal circumstances. They put us right across from the Faceless Ones.
“With pleasure,” I said, faking civility. I would have attempted to gauge the reactions of the Faceless Ones to our presence, but as one might imagine, they were difficult to read.
August turned to me and asked as we walked to our seats, “Is it just me or is it a staggering coincidence your ex-wife is here?”
“There’s nothing coincidental about Martha,” Mercury muttered, glaring at my wife. “Watch yourself, she’s psychic.”
“I’d focus on the people trying to end the world,” Bobbie muttered, sitting down at the farthest seat on our side from the judge. Her eyes were squarely focused on the Faceless Ones, looking at them as if they were the most freakish abominations she’d ever seen.
As I sat down beside Martha, she shot me a look of confusion before looking over each of my companions. If she couldn’t read my mind, I was certain she’d try to read theirs. August and Bobbie might be able to block out her thoughts, but I wasn’t sure about Mercury. Stronger magicians than her had been shredded by Martha’s abilities.
Taking a napkin from the table and placing it in my lap, I said, “I regret to inform you that Jessica O’Reilly has passed. She died a hero, attempting to save the lives of innocents. I intend to carry word of her death to her followers in Boston once I have finished my present quest.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Judge Hoade said. “She was a good woman, for a human being. Do any of you have any objections to eating the flesh of your own kind?”
“Yes,” Mercury said.
“I’m sorry, but it’s against my religious practices,” I said, bowing my head. “Please forgive me, I do not wish to insult my host by refusing hospitality.”
“I only partake for medicinal purposes.” August placed his hand over his heart.
“It depends what you mean by own kind,” Bobbie answered. “Human? Yes. Deep One? Even more so. Non-sentient life in general? No.”
Judge Hoade curled up his considerable snout at Bobbie. “I will not speak to the Deep One, Captain Booth, it is against my people’s traditions to communicate with their kind. Please make sure she behaves herself in the presence of a sacred official to Seth-Yigg, Mordiggian, and Tsathoggua.”
I pursed my lips, torn between my desire to be diplomatic and my desire to punch him in the face to defend Ms. Merriweather’s honor. “I’m sure she’ll be able to look after her own behavior, Your Honor.”
“Ah,” Judge Hoade said, not correcting me. He then began speaking of the dietary laws of ghouls, reinforcing my opinion of his position being primarily religious in nature. “You should respect your dead more, Captain Booth. To eat of their flesh is to do them honor. I have all the accumulated knowledge of previous judges by eating their brains and someday will pass along my knowledge the same way. The same for my strength. Each ghoul generation is stronger for this act and we honor humanity by dining on them.”
“Also, we taste good,” Mercury muttered.
“That, too,” Judge Hoade said, unashamed.
The Faceless One who seemed to be leading the group across from us, lifted its palms up and began speaking through them. I decided she was female since her figure was curvier than the one in the tunnel. “Why are you here, Mister Booth?”
“We’re investigating a cult that’s attempting to release a very powerful and dangerous supernatural entity,” I said, not missing a beat.
Martha whispered over to me. “Something’s changed in you.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered.
The female Faceless One, who I named the Matriarch for lack of a formal name, said, “It sounds like a worthy cause. That still doesn’t explain why you are coming here of all places, though.”
I gave a half-smile, wondering if the Faceless Ones across from me were involved in the attempts on our lives. I was ninety percent sure they were. Call it gut instinct. “It is my hope, if the city’s inhabitants do not mind, to consult with their oracle. The one Jessica said was called the Keeper.”
I wanted to reach across the table and murder the Faceless Ones on the merest suspicion they were involved in bringing the Deep Ones down on our head. The loss of my oldest friend was a heavy one, and I wanted to repay it in blood. It was strange how I barely remembered we’d been estranged for almost a year—that seemed unimportant now.
All that mattered now was vengeance.
Judge Hoade seemed oblivious to our tension. “The Keeper lives in our palace, and indeed, is the one whose palace this is.” There was a moment in its dog-like features where I thought I saw fear.
“I will relay your request to him,” Judge Hoade said, a trio of small shoggoths bringing us selections of fruit and fungus while laying meat down in front of the Faceless Ones. “However, I would not get your hopes up.”
“Thank you,” I told the shoggoth, frowning at its treatment. “And why is that, Your Honor?”
Martha answered instead of the Judge. “Because the Keeper despises humans and it considers us little better than domesticated animals who have turned feral. I have been here for the better part of a week attempting to negotiate trade agreements between Shak’ta’hadron and New Arkham. We have run into numerous difficulties because of the Keeper’s interference.”
“The Keeper provides for and protects the ghouls of this land,” Judge Hoade said, maneuvering his face into an expression I assumed was a frown. “Without him, we would not have the amazing technology and labor force that has brought us such prosperity.”
“You mean the shoggoths?” I asked, wanting to be clear just what sorts of benefits they’d reaped.
“I do, indeed,” Judge Hoade said, nodding. “Other ghoul cities may employ one or two or perhaps as many as six, but do not risk using them long due to their orneriness. Shak’ta’hadron, by contrast, makes use of over a million of their kind.”
“I see,” I said, stunned by the numbers.
Mercury paled at this revelation. “That seems a bit dangerous.”
Judge Hoade waved his hand over the table in a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense. The Keeper has perfected the techniques that failed his race. Now, the shoggoths are docile and content to be ordered around. They like doing work and have much better lives in our service than trying to survive the hell outside.”
I was amazed that the circumstances, nations, and even species changed but the rationales didn’t.
“It is one of the points of contention that I’d hoped to acquire a dozen or so shoggoths for New Arkham and Kingsport,” Martha said, smiling a mirthless stare. “The Keeper has so far blocked our attempts to reach an agreement. I believe that it was your idea, Doctor Halsey?”
Mercury looked ill. Perhaps she was starting to realize the shoggoths weren’t such a great thing to keep enslaved. “Yes, yes it was.”
“I would advise against that,” I said, imagining New Arkham turning into a slave state. We bordered on that sometimes, especially with our treatment of farmers, but under President Ashton-Smith, they’d been allowed a great deal more in the way of rights and privileges.
Ironically, it was probably the desire to lighten their burden that was behind New Arkham’s desire to acquire shoggoths. With the ability to recycle all of our wastes, the oppressive handling of food production wouldn’t be necessary.
“Why is that?” Judge Hoade said, surprised by my reaction.
I realized I’d committed a faux-pas. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to apologize for the statement either. “I speak in ignorance of your ways of handling shoggoths, Judge Hoade. However, history has shown them to be beings who do not wish to remain under the control of others. The Elder Things’ society was destroyed by their turning against their masters.”
Judge Hoade looked furious and started to say something.
The Matriarch spoke first. “Mister Booth shows a remarkable awareness of history, Your Eminence. While the city of Shak’ta’hadron has long been an ally of the True Humans, we have records dating back to the original days of the shoggoth revolt. Unimaginable bloodshed occurred, and ninety-nine out of a hundred Elder Things were slaughtered along with most humans. The shoggoths are like my people, intelligent and cunning creatures. They are immortal in ways ghouls and Deep Ones would envy and may plot for millennia to gain their revenge—but they will have it.”
“Interesting,” Martha Booth said, looking at the Faceless One.
Judge Hoade didn’t get to respond to our dual proclamations when I felt the earlier chill pass over me again. The malevolent distaste for myself and humanity’s source was now in our presence, concentrated and distilled in fleshy form. Turning my head, I didn’t even need to look at it to know what the source was.
The Keeper. It had come in from a set of octagonal doors on the other end of the hall, shambling along on its multiple legs. The Elder Thing stood eight feet tall. It had a barrel-like chest and starfish-esque appendages where its head and feet should be. It had other inhuman qualities that unsettled me, stalks for eating and seeing in ways humans could not appreciate, but it was the creature’s crystal rod that interested me. It was similar but different from the kind the University’s magicians had used. I’d seen this brand before, however. It had been used by the Elder Things that killed my friend Richard.
The Keeper was one of them.
When it spoke—which is a misnomer, for it communicated via telepathy translations of its weird, high-pitch squealing—the “voice” was haughty and condescending. “[The opinions of lesser beings do not concern me. As far as I’m concerned, with the exception of the ghouls of Shak’ta’hadron, you’re all human beings—little more than tools that have started malfunctioning.]”
“I see,” I said, trying to conceal my pure congealed hatred of the Elder Thing before me. “I was curious if I might avail—”
“[No,]” the Keeper replied.
“But I—” I started to say.
“[I know who you are and whose blood you have shed,]” the Keeper replied. Which was interesting because the Elder Things didn’t have “blood,” per se. “[You think your quest is justified, but so do the degenerate primitives your race is mutated from across the table.]”
The Matriarch pressed her fingers together, her posture going very still at the Keeper’s insults.
“[I could provide you and the Yithians with the location of where the Tower of Zhaal will manifest, but I choose not to. I do not believe there to be a danger to the Elder Things and my chosen people. The ones who I am going to uplift to a proper civilization. Even if they were, I can remove them from this dimension to safer domains. There is nothing for you here and I suggest you retreat from this place before I decide to evict you.]”
“I see,” I said, taking note that he did have the information we needed. That meant we needed to figure out a way to extract it from him. “Thank you very much, Keeper. I appreciate your taking the time to speak with us.”
“[The feeling is not mutual,]” the Keeper said, turning around, and exiting out the same door from which it came. It seemed the Elder Thing had come here for the explicit purpose of insulting us. Given that I’d killed one of his number and indirectly caused the deaths of others, I shouldn’t have been surprised. The surprising thing was, he hadn’t attempted to have me killed. Perhaps the Keeper’s influence was not so grandiose as he liked to claim?
If so, I found that worth investigating.
Judge Hoade placed a furry hand on the top of his face in a surprisingly human gesture. “My apologies for the Keeper’s behavior. He is an excellent aid to our land, but a bit … theatrical.”
“Has he shared any technology or knowledge other than how to control shoggoths?” Mercury asked, zeroing in on something I’d picked up on.
“No,” Judge Hoade said, frowning. “Perhaps he doesn’t know any more of the Elder Things’ science.”
I found that difficult to believe. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Your Honor. Would it be too much to impose on your city’s hospitality for another couple of days? We have to prepare for the next phase of our journey.”
Mercury looked confused. We, after all, didn’t have anywhere else to go yet. She also wasn’t used to me planning something as ruthless as putting the screws to an alien. Torture wasn’t an effective means of interrogation—she knew that better than anyone—but I was sure we could come up with something.
After all, we had the world to save.
“Of course,” Judge Hoade said, guileless to my planned treachery. “I’ll have your rooms prepared immediately.”
“Thank you.”
Now I had to talk to Martha.