Maelstrom (14 page)

Whyborne’s hands tightened on his arms, and
his mouth went white at the corners. As we made our farewells,
Niles said, “Did you receive my note, Percival? We’ll visit your
brother the day after tomorrow at the asylum.”

“I received it,” he said, looking even
gloomier than before. He spoke little when we made our goodbyes and
remained quiet during the ride back to the beach with Persephone.
She was quiet as well, hidden once again beneath her veil.

“What did you think of it all?” I asked
her.

“It seemed very strange.” Her hands brushed
against the silk of her skirts, as if musing on their texture.
“Even stranger to think I might have lived there. If the Endicotts’
spell hadn’t nearly killed us, if we had been born in our due time,
I would have grown up there as a human.” She shook her head. “I
can’t imagine it.”

The carriage slowed to a halt. I climbed out
first, helping Persephone down. “Shall we walk you to the
beach?”

“If you’d like. You can take back the
clothing.”

The dress was ruined, but the silk might be
sold as scraps. “All right.”

When we rounded the rocky outcropping onto
the narrow strand, we found a dozen or so ketoi awaiting us. They
stood and sat on the rocks, lean bodies alert. Fins cut the waves
just off shore.

Persephone straightened and her face grew
grave. I suddenly saw not my admittedly odd sister-in-law, who
loved waffles and brightly colored shells, but the chieftess who
ruled the city beneath the waves. “Calls Dolphins?” she asked,
striding toward them. “What’s wrong?”

A ketoi who must be Calls Dolphins rose from
her perch on a rock. She looked fierce even for one of their kind,
a long spear held in one hand. Scars raked one side of her face,
the eye socket empty and glaring. Her pattern of dark swirls and
spots looked like war paint.

“Sings Above the Waves.” She bowed her head
slightly to Persephone. “There’s been a disturbance I thought you’d
wish to know about. Broken Tooth tasted blood near the Reef of
Sighs. She went to see what had been injured, and discovered this.”
Calls Dolphins gestured to a dark shape lying on the sand. “The
land dwellers will wish to see it as well.”

I approached warily, my heart sinking as I
realized it was a body. The dead man hadn’t been in the water long
enough for the fish to start in on him, at least. Waterlogged
clothing hung loosely on his frame, having been torn aside to
expose his throat and chest. Much as with poor Mr. Tubbs, his
throat had been cut, and his sternum cracked open to remove his
heart.

Whyborne

It was quite late by the time we finally
returned home. Although the water had washed off any sigils painted
on the dead man, I had no doubts he had been killed by whoever had
made the sacrifices at the standing stones on land. Griffin
searched the body carefully, while the carriage driver hastened
with me back to town to alert the police. The ketoi vanished into
the sea before the police arrived, and we answered a number of
tiresome questions as to what we’d been doing driving along the
coast road so late at night. I heavily implied I’d been on business
for my father, which was somewhat true. Invoking his name had the
expected effect, and we were soon on our way with an apology for
keeping us so long.

I didn’t want to be in trouble with the
police. Of course I didn’t. But the fact I had to use Father’s name
to avoid questioning burned almost as badly as the fact I’d been
willing to do so.

I jammed my hat onto the stand while Griffin
locked the door behind us. It fell off onto the floor, and Griffin
scooped it up, hanging it and his own gently. “Will you tell me
what’s wrong, my dear?”

Was the man blind? “Oh, just some maniac
cultists going about murdering people, for God only knows what
horrible purpose,” I snapped. “And trying to add us to the number,
I might add. Nothing at all.”

He sighed. “You were unhappy before we even
left Whyborne House. And not the usual sort of unhappy you become
when we’re there.”

My hands curled, the scars on the right
pulling across my knuckles. “I’m shocked you noticed. I thought you
were too busy making friends with Father.”

“What?” His eyes widened slightly. “You’re
angry with me because I talked to your father?”

“Of course not.” I turned my back and
stalked down the hall.

Griffin came after me. “Then why?”

“Because I see what he’s doing!” The words
exploded out of me, far louder than I’d meant to speak them.

Griffin caught up with me in the study.
“Whyborne. Ival.” He seized my elbow, forcing me to stop. Arcane
energy crackled between us, responding to my tattered emotions, but
he didn’t let go. “I don’t know what you mean. What is Niles
doing?”

“Exactly what he’s always done. Tried to
bend me to his will.” I sought to pull free, but Griffin refused to
let go. “When it was just me—when I was alone and friendless—he had
no way in. His only choice was to pit his will against mine and try
to wear me down. But now he thinks to bribe my friends so they can
do his work for him!”

Griffin gaped at me. “Bribe your
friends?”

I tore free of his grasp and stalked to the
cold fireplace. Several photos of the two of us held place of honor
on the mantelpiece, including one Iskander had taken just last
month. Griffin and I sat on the couch, his arm around my shoulders
as he gazed up at me. I looked back down at him, laughing at some
foolish joke he’d made, my hand resting on his knee.

I glared at the photo. “Don’t pretend you
don’t see it, Mr. Private Detective. Offering to let Christine and
Iskander wed in Whyborne House, showering you with enough stock to
buy the blasted motor car, ‘oh here, Persephone, let’s get you
waffles.’”

“You’re being irrational.” Griffin put his
hand on my shoulder. I shook it off. “Without Christine and
Iskander, we would have both died several times over. Why shouldn’t
he offer to aid them as a way of thanks?”

“Thank them for saving me? If they’d
abandoned me to die, he’d have given them a damned medal. At least
until Stanford’s fall from grace.”

“Your father never wanted you dead,” Griffin
said with an air of patience that irritated me even further.

Bitterness choked me with the taste of bile.
“He ignored me until he needed a replacement for Stanford. Now he’s
determined to make me over in Stanford’s image no matter what. He
saw I had friends who cared for me, so now he’s going to win you
all over with money and gifts, until nothing matters about me to
anyone except that I’m his son. He’ll shower affection on my sister
he would never have shown me, to get her on his side. Donate to the
museum until Dr. Hart cares more about his money than any skill of
mine.”

“Ival—”

Tears stung my eyes, blurring the
photograph. I blinked them back savagely. “I fought so hard to make
my own way, to create a life that belonged only to me. But all my
independence was just an illusion. One snap of his fingers, and I’m
once again nothing more than Niles Whyborne’s son. How long until
he begins to drop hints in Christine’s ears, in Persephone’s, in
Dr. Hart’s, that I would surely be better off working for him? How
long until my own friends want me to stop being so stubborn and
repay my kind, generous father for all he’s done?”

“Oh, my love.” Grief choked Griffin’s voice.
“I didn’t realize you felt this way.”

“How else would I feel?” I closed my eyes,
unable to look at the photograph any longer. “What did he offer you
tonight?”

“Nothing.” The floor creaked behind me as he
stepped closer. “I gave him some things to consider, I believe. And
I told him that my first duty was to you, no matter what.” He took
a shaky breath. “Ival, please, look at me.”

I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t resist the
note of pleading in his voice. His poor eyes had gone even redder,
and tears clung to his lashes. Guilt stung me immediately—I’d hurt
him with my own pain, even when I’d never meant to. “Griffin, I’m
sorry.” I reached for him.

He gripped my upper arms, keeping me from
drawing him closer. “Can you really believe such things of us?” he
asked. “Christine would die for you, without a moment’s hesitation.
I risked unleashing the umbrae on the world, because you’re more
important to me than everything else in it. How could you imagine,
even for a second, that we’d betray you like that?”

I felt utterly miserable. “I...I don’t know.
Because I’m afraid...” I trailed off, because I wasn’t even
entirely sure what I feared. “You don’t know what he’s like. How
far he’d go.”

“The man would have opened a portal to the
Outside and remade the world,” Griffin said. “I’d say I have a good
idea of how far he’d go.” His fingers tightened on my arms. “I
don’t wish to upset you, but have you considered, even for a
moment, that his actions aren’t part of some grand scheme?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Because it would
mean he cared about me as something more than a tool that might be
of use to him, if he can only find how to make it work.”

Griffin sighed and pulled me to him. I
pressed my face into his hair. The familiar scent of his cologne,
of his skin, spread a balm over my soul. His hand stroked my back
tenderly. “What can I do?” he asked. “What will make this less
painful for you? I can send back the motor car, if you’d like.”

My one chance to get rid of the evil
machine, and I couldn’t take it. “No. You’re right. I know you and
Christine and Iskander wouldn’t trade me for Father’s thirty pieces
of silver. I just...it seems so clear to me what he’s trying to do,
and no one else can see it, and I’m afraid of losing everything
I’ve fought for. Of losing myself.”

Griffin pulled back just far enough to wipe
a tear off my face. “I understand. I wish I could make this easier
for you. Promise me you’ll say something next time, instead of
letting it fester.”

“I will.” I kissed him gently. “I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He offered me a rueful
smile. “You’ve held me all the times I’ve crumbled.” His reddened
eyes searched my face. “I would do anything to make you happy. You
know that, don’t you?”

I nodded, feeling like a fool. Everything
that had seemed not just possible, but inevitable, inside my own
head sounded like utter nonsense once spoken aloud. Of course the
man who faced his greatest fears to come after me beneath the
glacier in Alaska wouldn’t be seduced by the ability to buy a motor
car. And Christine would tell my father to go to the devil if he
dared suggest I leave the museum for Whyborne Railroad and
Industries.

As for the rest of the world, I couldn’t
prevent them from seeing me as Father’s son first and myself
second. But perhaps, so long as I had my friends, it didn’t matter
so much.

Whyborne

The next morning, I stared at the Wisborg
Codex on my desk, as if I could unlock its secrets by sheer will
alone. Beside it lay a map of Widdershins and the surrounding
countryside.

There was a pattern here, if only I could
see it. Clearly the cultists had made a deal with Nyarlathotep and
received the twisted rat-like familiar in return. Equally clearly,
or at least likely, they had used some sort of mind control to
force Lambert to help steal the old map from city hall. While under
their enchantment, he’d distracted Tubbs while the familiar made
off with the map through the rat hole Griffin had mentioned seeing
in the hall of records. Now they conducted sacrifices to reach some
unknown goal.

They knew about me, and knew my history well
enough to set up an ambush on the island. Had they guessed I’d go
to it eventually, after seeing the site of Tubbs’s murder, whose
stones so closely matched? Had they in fact counted on it?

Even more disturbing: how had they known I’d
be there that night?

As for Lambert, they had to be behind his
death as well. Some hideous animal had chewed through him, and I
had the horrifying feeling his killer had sat chittering at us from
the island’s altar stone.

I turned the pages of the codex slowly,
examining the illustrations. The rat familiar. The ketoi. The
umbrae. The dweller in the deeps and Mother of Shadows. Was there a
connection, or had the creator of the codex simply listed every
horror he knew of in some sort of bestiary of abominations?

There was a connection between ketoi and
umbrae, though. According to the Mother of Shadows, some
long-vanished race had created the ketoi and umbrae as slaves. The
umbrae rebelled; the ketoi preserved no memory of that time, but
presumably they had done so as well.

Unnatural as we of ketoi blood were, we
weren’t things of the Outside. The umbrae and we were solidly of
this world, unlike the yayhos or Nitocris. Or even the rat-thing,
if it was indeed something brought from the Outside by
Nyarlathotep. Whatever—whoever—Nyarlathotep might even be.

The medieval rantings in
the
Arcanorum
and
elsewhere cast him as a sort of demon, if not the Devil himself.
Nephren-ka had worshipped him millennia before as a god of chaos.
Knowing what little I did of the Outside, I suspected he—or perhaps
they—were a different order of being altogether. Something alien to
our sphere of existence.

And what would such a being, or race of
beings, want with human sorcerers? Why aid them with the gift of
the rat-thing tutor? What was the point behind the sacrifices our
adversaries had made? How had they known of the codex and the witch
hunter’s dagger?

The door opened and Christine wandered in.
Without asking permission, she seated herself across from me.
“Kander asked me to pass along our thanks to you and your father
again,” she said.

“Yes.” I twisted my wedding ring absently on
my finger. The reminder of last night stung, and I felt a fool all
over again. “Just remember Father doesn’t do anything that doesn’t
benefit him in some way.”