ENTER
THE PHENOMENOLOGISTS
GIL C. SCHMIDT
Copyright 2010 -- Gil C. Schmidt
MisTribus Publishing, Inc.
SmashWords Edition
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Dedication
To María, My Girl EveryDay, my Friend
Don Muchow and my Son, Kaleb, who I
hope grows up to be an explorer.
INTRODUCTION
Some years ago, my great and good friend Don Muchow launched a short-story website called WouldThatItWere.com. The website published "Victorian science fiction," a definition that was meant to rediscover the wonder of the possible, something Don felt that modern SciFi had lost, or at the very least, had misplaced quite badly.
Now Don is a fabulous writer, by turns poetic and incisive, a man whose mind is a true wonder. So in helping him to developing his website, I wanted to create a story that was worthy of his vision and would help other writers understand what he was looking for. I imagined a pair of British gentlemen investigating odd occurrences and within seconds, the word "phenomenologists" came to mind, one I was pretty sure was not in the Queen's English. I added that one was married, to an impressive woman (just how impressive I'd find out later) and that though the men were on equal footing at the time of the adventures, they had come from different backgrounds.
Thus were born Murchison and Leeds, with no first names or even a mental image beyond "one tall, one shorter, both fairly young." I sat down to write the story and though I was aware that WouldThatItWere.com had a 3,000 word limit, I went beyond that. Way beyond.
I sent it to Don so he could use it as the "example" if he deemed it worthy. A few days later, he offered to buy the story, the first purchase for the website. Two decades of friendship notwithstanding, I was surprised, for I was perfectly happy to let him have the story. But Don insisted, sent me the contract and paid me for it.
I ended up writing three more stories in the series, based on flashes of inspiration and Don bought them all. The stories were received well and what I'm most proud of was that they did indeed help define WouldThatItWere.com.
After three years, Don shut down the site and our lives moved onward. Murchison and Leeds rested in files both real and digital, until I decided that after completing two flash fiction anthologies ("Thirty Stories" and "Thirty More Stories") I'd once again delve into the world of the phenomenologists.
To my delight, the stories I'd written suggested others that brought what was written separately into a more cohesive whole, and pointed the way to another series of stories yet to come. And lastly, while searching through old files dampened by a flood and time, I discovered a forgotten Murchison and Leeds story, one of two I never sent to Don and in fact, had never even seen myself after I'd written it. To top it off, it's one where our two intrepid heroes meet The Lady Herself. But that is--literally--a story for another day.
Now, let's go back to the Victorian Age, to amazing and wondrous mysteries and the minds that grappled with them as they first appeared....
ENTER THE PHENOMENOLOGISTS
Chapter I
The young lady scurried across the street, dodging a slow-moving carriage pulled by an ancient horse. With a brief burst of speed, she crossed in front of another hansom, this one drawn by a proud young filly and stopped a moment to adjust her bonnet and unfashionably-short skirt. The blustery English winter wind snapped at hats and bonnets, fluttered skirts and watered eyes, but at least it kept the air cleaner than the mugginess of coming spring.
Skirt adjusted a touch above the ankle and hat adjusted to an angle beyond staid, the young lady looked up at the small manse, searching the numbers painted artistically above the doors. Her face was pretty in an average way, saved mostly by vivid blue eyes and flawless skin. She bit her lower lip for a moment, then turned right, her steps slow and measured. Hats were gallantly raised by appreciative men, but she took no notice, and even the shrill whistle of a hansom driver failed to attract her attention as she sought the house she needed. A cloud covered the sun, giving the wind an edge that wasn't needed to spur her on.
In a few seconds, her pace picked up and less than a minute later, she espied the number she was seeking, 78 Foxglove Lane, a modified Georgian with a narrow front, painted white with forest green trim. The young lady nodded, hesitated, then burst through the small neat gate as if pursued and followed a neat brick path to the side door.
Her knock on the tall double doors was swift and light, muffled ever-so- slightly by her gloves. She fidgeted, glanced around, then saw the tiny placard in florid script: Murchison & Leeds, Phenomenologists. She frowned.
The left door opened and two women appraised each other swiftly. The woman who opened the door was tall, regal, looking both younger and older than her demeanor. Shoulder-length brown hair framed green eyes and a face portraitists adored for their angels and Madonnas. Her dress was heavy, well-cut on a sylph-like figure and well within fashion. The young lady, following her conclusions, straightened her shoulders and announced in a clear voice: “I am here to see the gentlemen known as Murchison and Leeds, please.”
The woman inside smiled warmly and moved aside with easy grace. “Please come in, miss,” she replied, opening the door fully. The visitor entered, looking around in frank observation, removing her gloves and hat in swift motions. The foyer was dominated by a large painting on the left wall of bizarre rock formations in a panoramic view. Someplace in the colonies, thought Elizabeth.
“My name is Abilene, miss,” said the older woman, after a quick glance at the left hand now revealed.
“Oh, forgive me, ma'am,” said the girl, dipping her body in a brief curtsey, “My name is Elizabeth Reilly. I apologize for not writing an appointment with the gentlemen, but my need is urgent.”
“I’m sure it is,” smiled Abilene softly. “Please have a seat while I announce you.” She motioned towards a small parlor to the right of the entrance, one with four overstuffed wingback chairs arranged around a tea table with pot and silverware (freshly polished, noticed Elizabeth) and two low tables at opposite ends of the room with books scattered atop them.
She thanked Abilene and sat down in the farthest chair, her back to a curtained window, facing the doorway and entrance. Elizabeth glanced at the books, to her right pushing them hither and yon to see their titles, sniffed a couple of times and then remained still.
Not two minutes later, Abilene returned. “Please follow me.”
They crossed the foyer, passing two modest marble statues that Elizabeth knew were hard to dust properly and entered a large office. In it were two men, one sitting behind one of the two large desks that dominated the room; the other standing at the leftmost of three tall windows overlooking the west grounds.
Elizabeth paused at the door. The cool morning sunlight faced her, filtered through gauzy curtains partially drawn. The room was covered with books along every wall, from floor to ceiling, except for the south wall on her left, which featured a map of the world, about eight feet high and twelve feet wide and a map of constellations of the same size. Her eyes swept down, taking in the carpet of fine weave, threaded with gold and silver hues in a pattern she could not recognize but that looked vaguely Moroccan. Or Asian, even. The desks were massive blocks of oak, hewn roughly but with great care to provide soft lines. Both desks fronted the windows, draped with silk and velvet curtains in soft burgundy hues. To the right of the door was a small writing table, covered with inkwells, blotting paper, assorted files and, incongruously, a statue of a fat little man smiling happily.
The two men in the room were appraising her openly. The seated man was young, but balding, with a small head fringed with light brown hair. He had quiet blue eyes and a short mustache that served him well. His coat was dark gray, his shirt a brilliant white and he was tilting his head slightly to the left, as if trying to see Elizabeth from a different angle. His expression was kind, like that of a friendly minister she'd once known.
The standing gentleman, beneath a curved sword, was tall, wearing a long coat, light brown, over dark brown slacks and boots of the same color. His eyes were brown, almost black, and his eyebrows formed a strong line across a clean brow. His nose was sharp, but not thin, and his mouth was pursed in a tight line. His unfashionably long hair swept up from his forehead in a strong wave and Elizabeth quickly suppressed the urge to run her fingers through it.
“Please be seated,” said the man to her right, rising to come out from behind the desk and offer her one of the three chairs for visitors. Elizabeth noted they were all different, carved of some ebon wood with figures writhing along the armrests and legs. Up close, Elizabeth noted the man had excellent skin and well- proportioned features. She sat down, primly, more on the edge than in the chair.
“Does the chair bother you?” The man at the window was staring at her intently, his face dark and sharp.
“No,” she replied, and stopped herself from squirming. The man nodded, serious and satisfied.
“How may we help you?” asked the man behind the desk. ”I’m Mr. David Leeds and this is Mr. Randolph Murchison,” he added, waving a hand at his partner. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk and hands steepled before him.
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then glanced behind her to note that Abilene was seated at the writing table, pen in hand. “My confidential secretary,” said Leeds, “Absolutely trustworthy, I assure you.”
The girl’s head turned again and her eyes sought Abilene’s. A strong look happened in an instant, and Elizabeth turned back.
“She’s your wife. Sir.”
Leeds started, while Murchison snorted softly. “Why, yes, uh, she is…as you say.”
Firmer now: “Then say so, Mr. Leeds. I daresay the lady prefers that term over the one you are accustomed to using.” She sat back in the chair.
Leeds looked over at Abilene, his mouth working in slight motions. “I…didn’t know. I will, uh, amend my presentation.” He shook his head, his shoulders twitching for a brief moment. Murchison grumbled some low words and Leeds nodded, a bleak smile covering his lips, one he shared in brighter fashion with Abilene. “You could have told me, dear,” he said gently. Another soft snort from Murchison.
“I daresay the lady may have, plenty of times,” barged Elizabeth. “It must be that the lady was too polite to correct you in front of clients and thought too little of it to bring it up other times,” she concluded with a sharp tiny nod.
Leeds smiled, his head waving side to side. “Very well, I have seen the light and shall correct my erroneous ways.” He clasped his hands in a swift motion. “Now, is there some way we may be of service to you?”
Murchison perched his hip on Leeds’ desk. Elizabeth noted how long his legs were and then took a deep breath. “My missus is seeing elves,” she blurted in a tight voice.
Not a single gesture from the three listeners. Elizabeth glanced around and filled the void herself. “I—I’m the lady-in-waiting of— well… My mistress is well-known, she comes from a good family and suddenly, in the past two weeks, she’s been talking about seeing elves.” She wrung her hands. “It’s gotten to the point where she didna sleep at night and she locks herself in her room all day and won’t let anyone take her her meals exceptin’ me and we dinna know what else to do!” she rushed to state, her Queen’s English fading under pressure.
Murchison: “Where does she see these elves?”
Elizabeth waved a hand. “Outside the window. And sometimes...in her room. ”
“Her room? Then why does she stay locked in there? Is she afraid of them?” asked Leeds.
“Oh yes! Terrified she is of them!” stated the girl emphatically.
“Then why stay in her room? Why doesn’t she leave for the country, say?” probed Leeds.
“She says she can’t! She says the elves have told her that if she leaves the house, she will be brought back by force!”
Murchison glanced back at Leeds, shifting to face Elizabeth a bit more fully. “Could you tell us how this came to be, up to your arrival here?”
The girl nodded, looking down at her anxious hands. “About two weeks ago, my missus was sleeping in her room when somewhat about dawn, she started screaming fit to wake the dead. I sleep in the room just off of hers and was the first one to get inside. She was standing next to her bed, wearing only her shift, the one with lace I knitted for her last Christmas and she was screaming bloody murder at—“ She blushed. “Sorry. Me dad’s a sailor.” The men waved it away. “I grabbed my missus and tried to calm her down but all she kept saying was “Elves! The elves! They want to take me away!’ It was blo—very awful to hear her screaming like to die. The other servants and the Master and Lady came in and after a while, when the doctor arrived, we were able to get her back in bed and quiet. But the same thing happened the next night, although without so much bloomin’ screaming.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “And the same thing’s been happenin’ every night since, only the missus keeps getting’ quieter and quieter. It’s like she’s losin’ the strength to scream.” Her voice almost cracked.
“Do you care about your mistress?” asked Leeds.
Elizabeth flared. “You’re bloody right I do!” Her nostrils flared, patches of white along her cheeks making her gray in the morning light.
“You are afraid for her? Very afraid?”
She slumped back. “Yes.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Elizabeth’s eyes seemed pools of soft despair. “That she’ll kill herself to avoid seeing those elves again.”
Murchison glanced at Leeds and asked “Do you think she imagines the elves, then?”
“Of course!” she practically snorted. “There ain’t no such things as elves!” The look she gave the men was part criticism, part incredulity.
“You don’t believe in elves?” asked Leeds, deceptively mild.
“No,” relied the young maid, without pretense of concealing her disdain.
"Then what is your mistress seeing?” asked Murchison, sliding off the desk and sitting to Elizabeth’s left.
“I don’t know!” gasped the girl, “Whatever she sees is—it’s jus—". She shuddered, her face drawn and pale.
The men stared at the girl, her huddled figure and obvious misery a barrier to their questions.
“She’s experiencing more than just seeing elves, isn’t she?” asked Abilene.
Elizabeth’s head whirled around, tears dotting her cheeks. “How did you guess?” she asked in whispered awe.
“She won’t come out of her room,” was the quiet reply.
Shame, mouthed Leeds to Murchison, who nodded thoughtfully. Leeds nodded to his wife, who continued the interrogation.
“The elves, what do they do?”
The girl started to cry, her shoulders hunched over in painful contractions. Abilene left the writing table and came to her side, murmuring softly. At her glance, Leeds and Murchison stood up and left the room, closing the giant door.
Chapter II
Leeds called Christine, the maid, to fetch tea and biscuits for the women, then returned to the foyer. Murchison pulled out his tobacco pouch and Peruvian mahogany pipe, stuffed it with aromatic long cut and lit the shaggy mass with a well-scraped match. Two puffs passed before Leeds said:
“Little men. Again.”
Murchison nodded and puffed. “In a common pursuit.”
Leeds ran a hand over his pate. “The lass must be terrified, if they are doing their usual experiments.”
A grunt. “Almost surely. Her behavior is typical of the higher classes that suffer this type of intrusion. The question is: will we be allowed to do something about it?”
Leeds patted his pockets, then swore silently. “Left ‘em in there,” he indicated with his head. Facing Murchison, he said: “The Comte’s daughter threw herself off that bridge.”
A puff. “And the German viscount’s sister and niece, they took poison.” Leeds face twisted into a grimace. “It might be too much to ask, what with their upbringing and all, but why can’t they just handle it more like the commoners do? You think that girl in there would jump off a bridge or drink lye to avoid the little men?”
Murchison pondered that for a second. “She’d throw them off the bridge after stuffing them full of lye,” he answered judiciously, “But then again, she’s a sailor’s offspring.” He gave Leeds a pointed look.
“I get your point, Murchison. All you sailor's whelps are feisty. But it is part of the problem, this abhorrence of speaking of things physical.” He started to pace the foyer, from statue to American painting and back. “I grant you that being poked and prodded by little men is terrifying enough, but to try to keep all that inside just because of society’s misplaced shame, well that just makes a bad situation worse!”
Murchison kept his eyes focused on the door. “I agree, but the problem remains. The young lady will not speak of it, nor will her family allow it to become public knowledge if they ever find out. I’m sure they know absolutely nothing of the procedures their child is suffering. That spirited girl in there came to us hoping we could help, and unless we find a way around ‘society’s misplaced shame’, as you so well define it, then that girl will lose her missus and that family will lose a daughter.”
Leeds paused at one of the statues. “Could it be something else? Dementia? Opium? A prank, even?”
The puffing dwindled. “Opium, I doubt. That would be handled within the family, with some story about the young lady being sent to the Continent for a visit with some barely-recognized aunt or uncle. A prank? If it is, it has gone way beyond the pale and is a matter of honor now, if not one for the police at this point. Plus, the young lady in there is risking her position and livelihood just by coming here. As for dementia, that’s quite possible, and this girl has escaped the family’s guard to come here and find a solution.”
Leeds turned the statue a half-inch, then turned it back the same amount. “If it were dementia, Elizabeth would discard the elves and their physical actions and focus more on changing her mistresses' behavior, her weakness. But she does not. She dismisses the elves, but she fully believes in what they do, for she sees the anguish it causes her mistress.”
The door opened and Abilene, serene and gentle, called them in. Elizabeth was standing in front of the map, peering closely at the central region of South America. With a defiant turn, she spoke to them.
“I’m sorry I cried. I have nowhere else to turn for help and I pray that you can provide it. I have explained to Mrs. Leeds how you may send a message to me. And if you can help, I ask that you please hurry. I’m afraid there is no time…” With a quick motion, she clasped her bonnet to her head, gave Abilene a brief hug, curtsied and left the room. Abilene walked her to the front door, exchanging a few simple phrases and then returned to the office.
Once again the men were arranged as before, Leeds behind his desk, Murchison perched on a corner of it. Abilene sat across from her husband, pad in hand and transcribed her own report as she spoke.
“Elizabeth has been in the employ of Sir D— and Lady P— for almost five years. Their youngest daughter, Lady M— , is but two years younger than Elizabeth, so more than being mistress and lady-in-waiting, they are like sisters. M— has three siblings, an older brother, an older sister and a younger brother. None of them, or their parents or the servants, has ever experienced the elves.”
“Are they doing their usual activities?” asked Leeds.
Abilene nodded. “Yes, they start with a sudden appearance in the room, without words, while keeping the poor child paralyzed. That is followed by a flying departure to a distant room where they—do what they do.” Abilene found herself shying away from the thought expressed aloud.
Murchison rose and walked with long strides to the north bookcase. Reaching up to a blue leather binder, he opened it, flipped quickly through the pages and started to read: “'The little men are wont to remove all clothing from their subjects and to inspect their chosen victim closely with their faces but an inch from the skin. Then they select a variety of instruments, some made of steel, while others are made of unknown materials and proceed to insert them in every orifice possib—'“
“Stop!” cried Abilene. “That’s exactly what they are doing.” She caught her breath. “As if you didn’t know well enough.”
Unperturbed, Murchison replaced the binder. “At least this way, we are sure of what she’s experiencing.”
Abilene glared at him as he perched again on the desk. “Could the young lady be an opium fiend, or deranged?”
Abilene emphatically shook her head at her husband's question. “No. She is as healthy as spring and has never been anything but sunny. The past two weeks Elizabeth says, have tormented her ‘til she is nothing but a shadow.”
“A prank, by one of her brothers?”
Her glare at Murchison faded quickly. “No, I don’t think so. The older brother is with his Regiment up in the Scottish Moors, while the younger brother is but five years old.”
“The father?”
“My good man,” said Leeds, “Sir D— is well above that nonsense!” Murchison arched a heavy eyebrow and Leeds flushed. “He is in one of my clubs, and a more stolid character would be hard to find anywhere in the Empire.”
“Dull pukka sahib?” smiled Murchison.
“Oh, the dullest,” laughed Leeds, then stopped quickly. To Abilene: “Are you convinced the girls’ story is true, that the mistress is being visited by little men?”
She pondered, staring above Leeds' head at the window's view, her eyes scanning the horizon far beyond the meadow and the metropolis. “Yes, I’m convinced. Elizabeth has seen the changes in Lady M— and she speaks from the heart. There’s guile in that girl, a bit of a rogue, you might say," she glanced at Murchison, who ignored her, "but she loves her mistress dearly and it hurts her gravely to see her in this state.”
The office carried a silence then that oppressed the soul. The details of other lives ravaged and ended by the visits of the little men flickered in their eyes; the resolve to do something, anything, to dispel the fear of the unknown and the humiliation of their intrusions was evident in them as well.
“Can we go to Sir D—‘s mansion?” asked Leeds.
An emphatic shake of dark honey-colored tresses. “Elizabeth fears that her visit here would be discovered, and she never would have come if she knew you shared a club with her Master. Her suggestion was that, if you could do something to help, you send her a message with the stockboy of Jameson’s Goods, who delivers vegetables and other goods to the house three times a week. He usually takes the items to the house in mid-afternoon, shortly before tea. She says he’s sweet on her and so would never do anything to place her in jeopardy.”
“But how will we get into the house at night, much less near the victimized lady's room?’ asked Murchison.
A quirky smile wreathed Abilene’s mouth. “Actually, I know a way that can be done,” and her giddy chuckle made Leeds and Murchison share a look of anxiety.
Chapter III
It took a few hours, but by mid-afternoon, the uniforms were ready, the proper wagon was in place a few blocks from the Leeds manse and a cryptic “We shall help” message, written on butcher paper, was on its way to the grocery boy-paramour. All that remained was the wait.
Murchison passed the time reviewing the blue leather binder, while Leeds polished his Damascan dagger, legacy of an earlier adventure. At half past three, Abilene knocked on the door, pushed her head into the office and chirped “Time to go!”
Murchison clapped the binder shut and thrust it back in its place. As the two men walked out, he said to Leeds “I find her well nigh intolerable when she’s playful.” Leeds glanced over at his partner and grunted, whether in agreement or not was not to be determined that day.
At precisely tea, the venerable firm of Smithers & Cavanaugh, Chimney Sweeps, parked its wagon at the gates of Sir D—‘s estate, known to very few as Windale. Murchison, or Cavanaugh as the case was at the moment, proceeded afoot to the entrance portico and announced his presence. The butler, a wizened figure of indeterminate age, made a brief noise of disbelief, but agreed to corroborate the story.
Minutes passed, and Murchison spent them mentally enumerating reasons why he would never have a butler. He was up to 11 when the door opened again, only this time it was Elizabeth. She peered into Murchison’s face and saw a Cavanaugh.
“Where are the men who said they’d help?” she hissed.
He bowed, slightly, his canvas coverall a stiff garment in the best of times. “I am Murchison, slightly disguised.”
Another look. “And Mr. Leeds? Is he coming?”
“Yes,” frowned Murchison. “I am not about to clean your flue without his able and expert assistance.”
It went past the anxious girl. “Will it work? Can you really help the missus?”
In a solemn, quiet voice, he said, “Mademoiselle, we will try our best.”
Biting her lip, she said, “You must hurry. The Master is due back at any moment and he will question everything.”
Murchison turned and signaled the wagon in. Within minutes, the tall pole was leaning against the rear frontage of the Edwardian-style mansion, and Petey, Smithers’ second son, was clambering to its top as fast as his seven-year old legs could carry him. From the pole, he grabbed a second floor ledge and then squirreled his way up a drainage pipe to the third floor. Another ledge, a leap of faith and he arrived. Once atop the roof, he tossed down the light cord he carried around his waist and his Dad tied it to the heavy rope. With straining muscles, the boy hauled the rope almost seventy feet up to the roof, his father encouraging him every inch of the way. Petey then looped the hawser around the brick chimney, pausing long enough to look down the sooty hole as he always did, yelped “Cor!” as he always did and then flashed a thumbs up sign to the men below. Leeds and Murchison had discussed reaching this point when Abilene told them her idea, so with a sorrowful sigh, Leeds started his climb.
It didn’t help matters that Petey, agile to the point of casting thoughts of monkey ancestry in his lineage, laughed and chortled at Leeds’ clumsy efforts to shimmy up the thick rope. The heavy canvas suit created sweat even in the blustery day, and the snappish wind threatened to twirl Leeds around like a vane. Finally, with reddened face, bloodied hands and trembling limbs, Leeds hauled himself onto the roof, lying motionless in his puddles of sweat.
Murchison climbed up in about a minute, making Petey pause in hidden admiration. The cord went down and brushes, scrapers, wire baskets and a lantern were raised in turn.
The dying day had become gray, and fog was making an early appearance. If anything, the men were glad, for it concealed where concealment was needed and the wind was slowing, making the chore atop the high gabled roof much easier. The boy walked over the rooftop peak, coming back when called.
Petey dangled the lantern down the chimney and the deposits of charcoal and tar were quite clear. “Looks clean ta me,” said the boy. “I ain’ scrubbin’ for no pay!” he piped up, cheeks already sooty.
“You will be paid the usual,” said Leeds. Petey stared at him, the soul of a banker rising shockingly in the waif’s dirty face. “ ’Alf now,” said the little businessman.
“I thought we paid your father,” said Murchison, trying to sound cross.
“ ’Im too, but ya pay me first!” An extended hand flashed out for emphasis. A coin dropped into it and disappeared. From below, Smithers called:
“Time to go, Petey! Get a move!”
With devilish grin, the boy scampered off the roof, down the rope and plunged the last twelve feet into his father’s arms. With a cheerful wave, they clambered into the wagon and started their return trip to the city proper. Petey couldn’t resist waving his ill-gotten coin aloft, a badge of victory clutched in sooty hands.
Leeds and Murchison watched as the wagon passed the elaborate hansom coming in, made a brief pause and then both continued their way.
“He saw Sir D 's carriage coming," said Leeds.
“Timed it well, the scamp,” replied Murchison.
“Let’s hope the little men are not as clever,” said Leeds, ducking back behind the rooftop, his eyes searching in the dying light for a comfortable seating spot.
With minimal movement, they unwrapped their food and an earthen jug of tea, quite hot to the touch, which lay nestled in burlap and linen. The vigil for the little men began in thoughtful silence.
Chapter IV
The lantern cast very little light, enough by which to read the fobs they each carried. Conversation was limited to discussing options, as in for example, if the little men changed their routine and appeared in another room, or well across in the East Wing, and especially what to do if their attempts to climb down to the young lady’s room were impeded by difficulties with the rope, or rain.
The late winter wind picked up, flailing at their face and hands as they bundled up in heavy cloaks. Clouds raced across the mottled sky, early messengers of rain. The moon was semi-circle of pale light, rising motionless over the Windale grounds.
The sounds of the house proceeded upward, from the ground floor to the second floor, where a piano played a few merry melodies and a lesser-known Beethoven sonata. Near ten, the sounds moved higher, just underneath the occupied roof, and by eleven, the entire house was still.
With half an hour of silence beneath them, Murchison crawled stiffly to the edge of the roof, lying flat upon the rough surface to peer down, scrabbling sideways a couple of feet until satisfied. He beckoned Leeds over, who silently cursed the cold and stiffness as one.
Lying facedown also, Leeds could see what Murchison had done. Directly underneath their position was a gabled window, and as they watched, the doubled-doors opened ever-so-slightly, and a hand flashed out once, a wave as invitation. Murchison whistled shrilly, startling Leeds so badly he nearly toppled headlong onto the pitch below. The hand waved again, slower, and the doors closed a touch, remaining open all the same.
They whispered. “Time to hide, my friend,” said Murchison. “Where would you rather be?” He pointed to the secluded area of the chimney and back behind him to the more exposed, but still concealing, attic windows. Leeds pointed to the attic windows and without another word, they moved to their airy nests, and slumped in patience.
It made no sound, except that of a rustling wind. It came from the southeast, gliding as no machine man had imagined could ever glide, so silently, with such massive presence. Leeds saw it first, a gray mass gleaming darkly with pale moonlight washing its curves. Murchison saw the change in Leeds face and turned slowly (Good man, thought Leeds) until he too saw it.
It might have been spinning, or maybe its wan lights were rotating, but whatever it was doing it was done in dreadful silence. The ship, for it moved with directed deliberation, passed over the men, dipped slightly, then spun-tilted until it was floating--without motion!--opposite young Lady M—‘s window.
Leeds felt the sweat in his armpits flow. Murchison slipped his hand to an inner pocket, trying to control the trembling, like a tropical ague, that convulsed his muscles. The massive Colt, a gift from a very satisfied client, slid out. And the trembling faded slightly.
A deep blue light flashed from the ship to the window, changing color to a vivid orange for an instant, then becoming blue once again. Leeds crawled on his stomach, his mind yelping that his body should move in the other direction, in any other direction but towards them. He bit his lip to keep his mind at bay, and inched across the comforting darkness of the roof.
Murchison saw Leeds make his move and moved also, placing the Colt up the left sleeve of his canvas garment. With extreme care, to avoid detection and because the gun had no safety, he crawled as well, barely breathing.
Both men stopped when the blue light shifted hue and three small men, gray from head to toe except for black almond-shaped eyes devoid of pupils, appeared within the beam. They made no movement, but floated slowly inside the beam from the ship to the window. Leeds, closer and above them, could detect no difference in them, but he forced his mind to once again deal with the facts and began detecting unique features. The one on the left was older, or at least, had a more wrinkled complexion. The one in the middle had sterner eyes, a more direct and forceful gaze. The one on the right had pinched features, the skin on the top of his hairless head pulled downward, forming slight horizontal wrinkles. They were dressed in similar fashion: a simple gray tunic of medium-weight cloth, with a shiny surface and pointed gray shoes. It struck Leeds how the color of their clothes matched their skin, but it bothered him how the clothes seemed...wrong..
Murchison could see the trio floating at a slight angle to his left. He watched as the little man closest to him kept opening and closing his left…hand. He noticed it had three long, thick fingers, and an opposable thumb nearly as long as the fingers. He could see no nails and wondered if they could be wearing gloves.
The three little men floated out of view and within seconds, the light changed hue, becoming less intense. Moving carefully but quickly, Leeds and Murchison reached the edge and looked down: the windows’ shutters were wide open and mumbling could be heard from below.
“Now?” whispered Murchison, more gesture than sound.
An emphatic shake. Wait, mouthed Leeds. Murchison clearly disliked this tactic, but limited his motion to pulling the Colt from its hiding place.
Suddenly, the light changed hue again and the three little men floated into view. This time, the floating figure of Lady M— was joining them, her pale ivory nightgown hanging well below her feet as she floated behind them.
Murchison tensed to leap, but stopped all movement when Leeds clutched his arm. His angry stare conveyed the need to do something, and as the quartet passed the halfway point, he knew what he was going to do.
The next few instants were forever branded in Leeds’ memory. Everything happened at once, and yet there was a definite sequence: Murchison leaped to his feet, pulling Leeds up and almost tossing him over the edge. As they rose, the light expanded, as if to pin them where they were. Murchison gripped Leeds by the arm with feral strength and launched himself, with Leeds as added weight, into the blue beam. The three little men turned as one, all of them to the right, Leeds noticed, as he and his partner fell swooningly, stomach lurching gasping wrenching at the emptiness below…
….and then stopped. Caught within the beam, floating just like Lady M—, trapped in the waking slumber of her nightmare.
Chapter V
Seconds or hours later, Leeds opened his eyes. He was lying on his left side, in a box, made of something clear, like glass, but it was shimmering. The walls of the box distorted very little, and with roving eyes, Leeds took in as much as he could, starting methodically from left to right.
Whatever light there was in this room was from an unseen source. It was dim, tenuous, with a quality of coldness that jangled the nerves. The room was strangely-shaped, with curved lines and uneven surfaces. Directly across from Leeds was a large panel, covered with different items, some of which glowed. One in particular caught his eye: it showed Windale as if in a photograph, but with much greater clarity. And Leeds almost panicked when he saw the door in the photograph slowly close in response to what could only have been the wind, for there was no one in the photograph. His mind noted how terror arose so swiftly from such a tiny source…
As his eyes adjusted to the light, in front of him he saw a table, with…a woman on it. Nude. His eyes darted right, mortification clawing at his throat. Murchison!
Seated at the other end of the narrow box, he saw his partner staring at him and then at the nude woman. Leeds tried to speak, but found to his amazement that couldn't do so! He then tried to lock eyes with Murchison, to try to communicate with him, but failed. Murchison was taking in the room as well, his dark eyes flashing angrily. Leeds could see that behind Murchison there were a series of narrow doorways, two lit, two darkened. And in the darkened ones, things were moving…
Leeds tried to raise his arms, then tried to kick out his legs, but they wouldn’t budge. Nothing was visibly restraining him: he simply could not move. He looked over at Murchison, who was looking back at him. Murchison blinked quickly three times. I know.
Murchison glanced down, then up at Leeds, then down again and up. Leeds wondered what he meant and followed his eyes down to: the Colt. It was still in Murchison’s hand, his finger just inside the trigger. As he watched, the gun twitched. Looking into his partner’s eyes, to the strain rippling across his face, he could see the effort being made. Leeds suddenly felt very tired and closed his eyes to rest, snapping them open when he heard a keening wail.
It was a horrible sound, wracked with despair, humiliation, pain and panic. One of the little men was apparently pushing something into Lady M—‘s… Dear God! Leeds could barely contain the fury he felt, every muscle clenched against the unseen hands holding him. His body, convulsing with rage, suddenly flopped a couple of inches, turning him fully in the direction of the lady’s tormentors. The three little men turned as one, again, and stared at Leeds. By measures, his rage rose, then fell melting like a thin icicle beneath the incandescent glare of complete indifference the three little men were giving him. One would look that way at an insect—nay!—at the dried carapace of a long-dead insect. The void of rage became an icy-hot cauldron of fear. Abilene, he thought, maybe for the last time.
The keening wail resumed and Leeds felt his fear deepen. These were not little green men in the forest, where Nature preserved freedom. These were little gray men in their ship, and Nature no longer held sway. His thumping heart shivered in response.
Murchison kept his eyes on the little men, the woman’s pitiful cry a goading thorn in his mind. Agonizing, he forced his hand to move, aiming the gun away from Leeds in pathetic twitches, until the large-bore barrel was pointed at the tormentors. No thought did he spare to the wonders of science that surrounded him, nor to the puzzle of their capture and imprisonment. One thought and one thought alone roared in his brain: Pull the bloody trigger.
He saw it in his mind’s eye, the simple action of inward pressure that would launch a lead slug across this stinking room and maybe amputate one of the little bastards legs. Just one. Anything to stop them from hurting the poor young lady any more. He grunted with the strain of making his useless arm muscles work. His jaw was savagely clenched, teeth grinding fit to wake the dead. Eventually, like the rising of dawn on a feverish night, his finger closed on the trigger.
Leeds refocused his mind on the panel. Whatever showed the house in the murky night wasn’t a window, for the house appeared far too small. Had the ship moved away while they were unconscious? Yet the angle of the ship to the window was unaltered, or at least as far as Leeds could discern. Wouldn’t it make more sense to have taken the ship high up into the clouds? A light flashed blue, then winked out.
Leeds noticed that the cry had stopped. The three little men moved away from the table and began chattering in a series of clicks, snaps and the occasional hiss. Leeds watched them closely, trying to determine who their leader was. He noticed how they would ever so often stop their noises and glance at the lady, then turn back and continue. They are trying to figure out how to kill her, thought Leeds, his whole body clenching in desperation. They look like guards at the scaffold…His mind turned over. They look like…like…A rivulet of sweat ran down his neck as he put forth every effort possible into watching them, their moves synchronized frightfully as they once again looked at the woman, walked over to her, then moved away, as if a marching squad upon the parade ground, chattering like…What the bloody hell were they doing?
Merchants! Godblasted merchants! That’s what they looked like! Arguing price and quality and value… The little man with the penetrating eyes was trying to buy Lady M—! That had to be it!
Leeds drank in their every move, every gesture, every nuance he could from their hairless faces to their spindly shoulders and their cruelly thin mouths. He knew he was right: their hands flashed fingers in different sequences. They may be from Mars, he thought, but fingers are always at hand. He actually wanted to chuckle at that, but the horror of the moment weighed on him like a sodden blanket. Stop them! They had to be stopped!
With uncanny precision, the little men moved to the panel and with a quick gesture, one of them pushed some part of the panel's frame and the photograph of the house changed again. Like peering through a telescope, the view of the house slid left, until another window appeared. A three-fingered hand reached over and tapped the blue spot that winked on and off earlier and the blue light began to shine on the window, just as earlier that…night? The window popped open by force unseen, and there, as if awaiting the moment, were two women, one in a nightgown, the other in a heavy dress.
Murchison had rolled his eyes right to follow the little gray bastards as they moved to the panel. Now they were out of gunsight and that anger also became fuel. A powerful surge became a measly twitch and now the gun pointed between the table and the panel. If they returned to that spot for another clackety-clack session, they would be in range.
A ridge along the panel was stroked and the panel faded. A blue tunnel appeared that again linked the ship to the house. The house was only thirty feet or so away, making the difference between the tiny image and their view of it through the blue tunnel even more disconcerting. Focusing beyond the little men, who moved into the beam without moving their feet, Murchison yelled deep inside his soul when he saw who they were approaching.
Abilene! She was in the room with Elizabeth! Why? Why? Leeds had no other thought now but to move, move, MOVE!
MOVE! Murchison grunted with the strain of his desperation. Pull the goddamned trig—
The blast was enormous in the confined space. The heavy lead slug tore across the cabin, slammed into the wall some three feet beyond Lady M—‘s bare feet and ricocheted back into one of the darkened doorways. In a second, a shattering screeching jagged noise was drowned by a low droning whoop, like that of a deranged loon.
The three little men in the blue tunnel turned, each in his own fashion. Their forward motion stopped, and at a clacked command, they floated back into the ship.
Murchison was the first to discover his release, his arm rising of its own accord and pointing the gun at the returning bastards. He pulled the trigger once, twice and then again, aiming down their feet to keep the bullets from flying across through the tunnel and into the bedroom.
Each bullet spanged on a different surface, a spark or two flying off in odd directions. Murchison’s arm trembled spastically, his aim so aberrant he was in danger of shooting everyone but his intended targets. With a curse, he got to his feet and swayed badly, almost falling over on his face with pure exhaustion.
Leeds sprang up without the numbing fatigue and raced over to prop Murchison up. The taller man slumped heavily on him, mumbling one word. It sounded very much like “Abilene,” but Leeds dismissed it as his own fevered desire to save his wife.
Clutching Murchison as best he could, he glanced at the little men as they frantically tried to do three different things at once. The whooping loon was joined by a harsh buzz, a sound that froze the little men as if they had become statues in Leeds’ parlor. Again as one, they looked towards the doorways, and this time, Leeds did the same.
A nightmare entered what had dwindled to simply a bad dream. A massive beast, its hide jagged and cracked, lumbered into the room with menacing stealth on four powerful legs. Its head, low-slung just above the floor, was deep with fangs and rending canines, slobber dripping between its front claws and hissing softly as it hit the floor. The legs were long, separated into two joints of equal length, and covered with thick scales that separated to reveal a dark oozing flesh. The eyes were pale orange, glowing embers of otherworldly menace. Where there should have been a nose was a quivering, moist hole, with tendrils that flicked out and waved mindlessly, slithering in and out with a sibilant rasp. Claws longer than a man’s fingers extended and contracted and along the hideous beast’s back were…maggots, large worm-like slugs that waved blindly to and fro, dipping beneath crusted scales only to emerge again bathed in pus-like ooze.
The beast glided directly at the three little men, its jaws opening and closing with obvious zeal.
Leeds yanked the gun from Murchison’s hand and fired. His aim was true. The heavy bullet blasted the pale orange eye, a geyser of ichor erupting amidst the frantic spasms of a beast gone mad with pain and impending death. Claws flashed and teeth gnashed furiously, maggots pulsing in sympathetic agony as the scales that protected them became bludgeons to tender flesh.
“Only…one—left,” gasped Murchison. Leeds grunted and dragged his friend across the room, away from the death throes of a sight he would never forget and over to M—. She was still unconscious, praise heaven. The maddened beast threw itself back and to the sides, jaws snapping and slobbering. The three gray men twitched, barely moving, obviously confused and terrorized. Murchison spared a moment to feel a sliver of fierce joy as he saw the little men's terror.
Leeds leaned his partner on the table and was gratified to see him brace his body on unsteady but functional arms. Whipping off his canvas coat, Leeds wrapped the young woman in it and picked her up. He lumbered under her limp weight and yelled at Murchison over the roars of the thrashing beast “Can you make it?”
A shaky nod, a push away from the table and its alien instruments of torture and Murchison seemed ready to collapse.
When Leeds turned, horror and bile almost burst from his throat. The beast, its skull shattered, one eye socket empty and burned from the bullet’s blast, was back on its clawed feet and advancing upon them. Leeds tried to raise the gun, but with the woman in his arms he could barely do so. The beast gathered itself for a fatal final lunge…
Murchison swept the instruments off the table towards the beast, striking it with several. Falling forward, he yanked Leeds back onto the table, tilting him back enough to bring the Colt to bear. “Fire!” he bellowed, his chest shredded with the effort.
Leeds pulled the trigger just as the beast recovered from the distraction. The bullet tore into its shattered skull, chunks of flesh and bone and sinew stained with bile exploding backward across its body, a shriek that would raise the dead in Hell ripping into ears that shrank from even the memory of that grotesque deathscream.
“Run!” croaked Murchison, pushing Leeds upright and staggering himself towards the blue light tunnel. Leeds managed to twist his body and bring the pistol to point it at the little men, who shrank back in unison. Even as escape made itself felt as a possibility, Leeds couldn’t help but notice that in their eyes was a measure of—gratitude?
They lumbered into the tunnel of blue light as the beast spasmed then lay still. Unseen in all the motions were the writhing maggots that, propelled by the fatal bullets, had landed on the edge of the tunnel, rolling and slithering into the light. And from one of the darkened doorways, up along the wall and roof, a silent creature, patient in its years of captivity, made its careful trek on high, until it too was poised at the border of ship and light, feeling the motions of its captors and of the strange new creatures that had killed the evilest one of all.
To Leeds, the short dash to the window was a marathon, a frenzied race of hours over a road that would disappear at any second and made every step a desperate negation of gravity’s fatal grasp. The window never arrived, came closer as if in the worst of dreams, where the future one hungers for never comes, each step less an approach than a leap away from the angst-filled goal.
Murchison’s eyes sought the rope, the shrubs far below, anything that might help when the fall came. He was but a step behind Leeds and actually had time to think. When the light goes, I will lunge and push them. It was a futile thought born of chivalry and deep love, never to be spoken of out loud.
Days, weeks later, Leeds stumbled on the sill and pitched forward, his cry of alarm unheard by the three women. He barely managed to twist his body so that Lady M— would not harm herself, falling so that she landed atop him. A bright flash of pain in Leeds’ chest was clear indication that his maneuver had left him injured.
Murchison grasped the sill and slumped over it, his feet passing from solid perch to air in that very instant. With a gasp, he pulled himself into the room and turned in time to see the eerily quiet ship, its exterior as smoothly gray as ever, float swiftly up into the clouds.
Below it all, maggots fell. They plopped and writhed, their pugnacious teeth digging immediately into the turf. Above them, floating lightly, a gelid mass felt the touch of freedom for the first time in the century and in its throes of joy, the hunger burst forth and took over. It raced away, flowing through the dark night's cold air. Behind it, other objects, not alive, tumbled, scattered to the ground...
Murchison saw Elizabeth and Abilene standing, asleep. They were breathing softly, their heads slumped in peaceful slumber. Glancing back at Leeds, Murchison saw his friend lying on the thick woven carpet, his face a mask of agony as he struggled to set Lady M— gently on the floor. With as quick a move as he could make, Murchison went to Abilene, standing motionless and asleep and cupped her face gently in his hands. She slumped forward, almost knocking him down. With tenderness, he placed her in the large chair at the foot of the bed. He briefly squeezed her hand and turned to Elizabeth.
She too slumped into his arms at his touch. He carried her to the bed, then collapsed to his knees in utter exhaustion.
Leeds groaned. Somehow, Murchison found the strength to rise and help Leeds lift Lady M— one more time. She too was placed on Elizabeth’s bed. He stumbled back and asked Leeds how he felt.
“Thrashed, and I have broken a rib or two.” His breath was fast and very shallow. “How is Abilene?”
Murchison looked over at her, sleeping quietly, her face a marvel of strength, character and above all, beauty. “She’s safe,” he said, and their sighs, so much alike, were so different in meaning.
Leeds sat gently on the floor and passed out, the pain in his chest overwhelming his senses. Murchison lay down to rest, gasping for breath every time a new pain made itself known. His mind went over the events, disjointed and without much real thought. And yet, an idea emerged.
Pulling himself upright, his agony bringing nausea, he went over to Lady M— and whispered in her ear: “The elves have left forever. And you are pure.”
To Elizabeth, he whispered closely: “Your missus is safe. You can help her now.”
What he whispered to Abilene wasn’t very clear, but she smiled in the soft moonlight.
Chapter VI
Off the office in Leeds’ manse was a covered terrace, where on warm spring days and cool summer nights, tea and cordials were delightfully enjoyed. Today was a winter day, but none of the three diners was willing to stay indoors, in any room, no matter its size.
Leeds had his chest tightly wrapped and thus sat stiffly on the long wooden lawn chair. Murchison was huddled beneath a heavy coat, his body wracked with cramps and spasms. Abilene refrained from being too cheery, happy that her plan had worked and that her husband and dear friend (though she would deny how dear ‘til Kingdom come) were safe, and that their mission had been a success.
“Did Lady M— say anything about her ordeal?” asked Leeds.
“Not a word. She was bright and cheerful and as good as rain.” She glanced at Murchison. “How did you think of that?”
He started to shrug then thought better of it. “They seemed mesmerized. I thought it could help.”
She frowned prettily. “Did you put any good thoughts in my head while you had the chance?” She blushed slightly, to neither man’s notice.
Murchison harrumphed, a decidedly unpleasant sound. “And have it die crushed by your own petty nastiness? I should think not.”
Leeds smiled. Abilene shot back, “I shall stop tending to you, you ungrateful beast.”
Murchison shot a glance at Leeds, his eyebrow arching. “Oh pray that be true so that I may be freed of your watery broths!”
“'Watery'?! How dare you! I hope you starve to death, you wretch!” She snorted, very much like Murchison. “Beast.”
“To your Beauty,” mumbled Murchison, to himself.
“What do you think was in that ship?” asked Leeds.
The day grew suddenly colder, though the sun and wind remained mild. Murchison barely shrugged. “I don’t know. A zoo, perhaps?”
“A zoo? You mean Lady M— was to be placed like an animal in a cage?” Abilene’s face reflected a horror the men took pains to conceal.
Murchison went on. “I have thought of something else.”
Leeds nodded. “Slaves.” It was Murchison’s turn to nod.
“What do you mean?” asked Abilene in a pained voice.
“Dear,” said Leeds, “slavery would explain the examinations and haggling about as well as the idea that the ship was part of a zoo’s procurement. Then again,” he said slowly, “it could be something else entirely. Something we’ll never think of.”
The silence descended amongst them, their thoughts matched in darkness as the day faded to black.
SIGNALS AND MESSAGES
Chapter I
Little Billy Mayfair made his entrance into the office in his accustomed manner: slamming the huge door open with one off-handed heave.
The resulting explosion caused Leeds to drop the volume on African species he was so gingerly perusing and made Murchison stuff his unlit pipe into a pocket and reach for the Syrian scimitar hanging above his chair.
“Bloody hell!” choked Leeds. “You’ll be the death of us yet!”
“Fellow explorers!” boomed Little Billy from atop his six and a half feet and nineteen stone. “I have a pretty poser for the both of ye.”
Murchison was daintily removing long-cut from his coat pocket and dropping it into an elephant’s foot waste basket. “No, we don’t do necromancy.”
Little Billy actually blushed. “Aw, that was me mum and her notions. This, this is science!” He waved a battered notebook, its leather cover stained almost black from use.
Leeds replaced the volume on the lower north shelf of the extensive library and sat at his desk. He waved Little Billy to a chair, and as usual, he sat on the floor, disdaining any thought for his clothing or demeanor. A true man of science…