CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

"While You've a Lucifer..."

 

"D'you think it's true then, sir, Jeffries is that bastard Dwyer?" asked Atkins as he jogged to keep up with Everson. He'd promised Porgy he'd save Edith. But what could he do up against someone of the likes of Frederick Dwyer? He was infamous, the Most Evil Man in England according to the Daily Sketch. As a hate figure, he was second only to Kaiser Bill. Half the stories that were in the press you didn't know whether to believe or not, they were so far-fetched. And even though they had been thinking that maybe the Chatts had brought them here to this god-forsaken place, what if it had been Jeffries... Dwyer... whatever, all along? Could he do that? The papers had been full of sensational stories of his past, the adventure magazines doubly so. Had he really made a pact with the devil?

"Well he's as good as admitted it, by all accounts," said Everson. "Even if he isn't, he's still in a hell of a lot of trouble. If those papers are anything to go by that's fraudulent enlistment, impersonating an officer, at the very least. Not that any of that matters a jot against a death sentence. Chap was going to swing before we ever came across him."

"I can't believe it," said Ketch. "He seemed like such an upstanding bloke."

"Well, he would to you," said Atkins. "Man after your own heart by the sound of it."

"Watch your mouth, Atkins, I'm still your NCO and don't you forget it."

"How could I?" muttered Atkins. "You never bloody let me."

Behind him, Atkins heard the rattle of the Lewis gun and the confused squealing of Chatts as Captain Grantham covered their escape.

Everson halted at a junction. Ahead, the passage branched. There was an opening to their left, decorated with some kind of hieroglyphs. After the unadorned, functional nature of the rest of the edifice, this struck him as something important, at least to the Chatts.

"Damn! I think Jeffries has given us the slip."

The excited clicking of alien jaws and joints alerted them to another approaching troop of insect soldiers ahead.

"Heads up, chaps," Everson warned as he backed against the wall, pistol arm extended. Ketch stopped beside him, dropped down on one knee and raised his rifle. Atkins fell in behind him, rifle at the ready. The troops of Chatts skittered round the corner, some carrying lances, others carrying short swords and spears.

"Wait for it," said Everson. "Fire!"

Atkins and Ketch fired and cycled, fired and cycled. The Chatts went down in a hail of bullets.

"Well Jeffries obviously didn't go that way," said Everson, and looked again into the dark opening to his left.

The distant sound of the Grantham's machine gun had stopped. It was replaced by several rifle shots, followed by several high-pitched squeals. There was a brief silence then a defiant shout. "Come on you bastards. I'll show you what backbone is. For the Pennines!" The tunnel echoed to the sound of a roar of rage and, following closely on its heels, a drawn out wail of anguish, pain and terror, punctuated by the explosions of Mills bombs.

"Sir?" said Corporal Ketch, looking at Everson expectantly.

"We can't help him."

A muffled pistol shot rang out from somewhere beyond the ornate doorway.

"This way!" said Everson, reloading his revolver before advancing cautiously. Behind him, the two soldiers slotted fresh magazine cartridges into their rifles.

 

Jeffries strode confidently through the dark high space of the temple, his hand tightly around Edith's wrist, dragging her along like a recalcitrant child. A large scentirrii in a silk scarlet tabard approached him with a spear. Jeffries shot it in the head. In the shadows, he saw dhuyumirrii and acolytes withdraw, melting into the shadows, clicking in agitation. He only had a few rounds left in his pistol but he only had to make it to the chamber where the Khungarrii had deposited their trench equipment. But his main priority was Chandar's little heretical collection.

"Please, stop," said Edith. "Whatever you thinking of doing, please don't!"

"What?" he said distracted. He stormed into the library chamber of niches where he saw again the scriptural jars filled with their holophrastic scents. "Chandar!" he called, waving his pistol and swinging Edith brusquely round in front of him for a shield, like a clumsy dance partner.

The acolyte Chatts backed away. He shot a jar, taking delight in the Chatts' alarmed reaction as it shattered, leaving a sticky sour smelling unguent to drip thickly from its niche. "Chandar!" he bellowed at a cowering insect. "Chan-dar, you arthropodal cretin! Where. Is. He?"

The old, maimed Chatt appeared. "What is this? We had an agreement."

"We did," said Jefferies. "Change of plan. I'm afraid it's off. However, if you want my men they're yours. Keep them, cull them, it's all the same to me."

"This trait of disloyalty is one we know runs through Urman culture, but you took the Rite of GarSuleth. How can you do this?"

"It's called individuality. You should try it sometime," said Jeffries.

He pushed the pistol into the holster of his Sam Brown and flung Bell to the floor before picking up a jar of sacred unguent. He swirled it around and watched particles of aromatic compound dance in a thick suspension of what he surmised was some sort of oil. He pulled the stopper from it and sniffed cautiously.

"It contains a distillation of ancient proverbs," explained Chandar.

"And this?" Jeffries asked, indicating another jar.

"The commentaries of Thradagar."

"And this?"

"The Osmissals of Skarra."

"And this?"

"The Aromathia Colonia."

All Jeffries could smell was rotting plums, pine sap and a hint of motor oil. It was intensely frustrating. All this knowledge and no way to access it. He pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief from his trouser pocket and poured some of the oil onto it, soaking the cloth before stuffing the handkerchief into the neck of the bottle. From his pocket, he withdrew a battered packet of gaspers, put one in his mouth, took out a packet of Lucifer matches and struck one against the box. It flared brightly.

Chandar staggered back, awed by the sight, and watched nervously, its eyes locked on the jar.

"What are you doing?" The pungent smell of phosphor drifted around the room, which seemed to alarm and frighten the other Chatts, who backed up against the wall, all except Chandar.

Jeffries casually lit his cigarette, took a deep draw, and smiled before holding the lit Lucifer to the corner of the oil-soaked cloth. He hurled the improvised petrol bomb down a gallery where it smashed with a splash of flame, catching other containers which quickly combusted. Jeffries watched in satisfaction before making another makeshift bomb, this time ripping a strip of cloth from Bell's already torn dress to use as a wick.

"What have you done?" cried Chandar, his mouth parts slack with horror.

"I've done you a favour," said Jeffries, pulling his pistol from his belt once more. Thick heady smoke coiled against the roof of the Receptory chamber and began to sink down. He grabbed a coughing Bell and a shocked Chandar, bereft at the sudden brutal loss of its precious scent texts. He urged them at gunpoint down the interconnecting passage that led to the Chatt's alchemical work chambers, closely followed by tendrils of smoke.

The smell of the smoke had already alerted the Chatts in the Olfactory, where they worked their strange mixture of theology and alchemy. They were running hither and thither in great agitation as Jeffries shoved Bell and Chandar into the room. Jeffries casually surveyed the space and chose his target.

"No! You can not," wheezed Chandar.

"Dwyer, you're mad!" said Bell. It earned her a vicious slap across the face and she staggered back, stunned.

Taking the lit cigarette from his mouth and touching it to the oil-soaked wick, he watched the flame lick up the cloth before casting the bomb into a workshop beyond. It smashed in a spray of fire amongst the volatile distilling jars, prompting soft whooffs of combustion whose gentle sound belied their ferocity.

Waiting only long enough to watch the fire catch, Jeffries took a last drag and flicked the glowing Woodbine into the strengthening blaze, before pushing his hostages on.

In the chamber beyond, where the Chatts had stored the trench equipment, Jeffries reloaded his pistol and picked up a webbing belt of Mills bombs. Keeping a wary eye on Bell and Chandar he hastily emptied boxes of small arms ammunition into haversacks along with tins of Machonochies, Plum and Apple and bully beef. Using webbing, he tied them together with several rifles and, as gently but hastily as he could, lowered them out of a window opening on a length of rope. He could hear the rifles clatter against the face of the edifice below. Then the rope ran short and he had to drop his load to tumble down onto a midden heap far below. He could only hope it wasn't all damaged beyond use once he retrieved the items.

He noted the trench mortar 'Plum Puddings' and smiled to himself. They should go up nicely. There would be little danger of pursuit after that. And after his sacrilegious arson a state of such enmity should exist between the Khungarrii and the Pennines that there would be no chance of a ceasefire. They would be locked in a cycle of mutual attack and counter attack. Everson and his men would have stepped from one war only to find themselves in another, leaving him free to follow his own path unchallenged. All he needed was that map.

"Take me to your Urman artefacts," he ordered Chandar. Gripping an increasingly dishevelled Bell by the unravelling bun at the nape of her neck he dragged her along impatiently as Chandar led the way, leaving the sounds of explosions and dying Chatts in his wake.

Outside the artefact chamber he beckoned Chandar to open the plant door. Inside, Jeffries swung Bell around and flung her against the wall. She dropped to the floor, dazed by the impact. He jerked his chin and ushered Chandar over against the wall beside her. Bell felt the back of her head and examined her hand, blinking incomprehensibly at the blood she found there.

"You know, until I met you I'd begun to lose all hope," said Jeffries, addressing Chandar, as he glanced around at the priceless archaeological treasures.

He strode straight to the niche containing the map, lifting it from its bark backing where it had been pinned like some entomological specimen. He folded it along well-worn creases and thrust it into his tunic.

Jeffries wheeled about, his eyes sweeping across the niches and exhibits of Chandar's collection. He walked to the wall and swept several items into the open maw of his haversack.

"So you were aware of these things? They do have meaning?" said Chandar.

Jeffries had the feeling the Chatt was learning more about 'Urmen' now than it had done in all its studies and it didn't like what it was seeing.

"Oh yes," said Jeffries. "More than you can ever know. I will be eternally grateful to you. I'm sure you'll be eager to know that you've served your part as an instrument of Croatoan."

"You dare accuse me of heresy! This one serves only GarSuleth."

"Only at the behest of Croatoan," countered Jeffries, grabbing the wrists of the dazed nurse and ushering her out of the chamber. "And as an instrument of Croatoan, I shall spare your life, as it was you who showed me the next step on the road toward communion with Croatoan himself. But that is the only grace you have earned from me."

Once outside the chamber Jeffries pulled the pin from a Mills bomb, before tossing the grenade into the room and ushering Chandar and Edith swiftly away. No one else would have access to the secrets he now possessed. The explosion brought the earthen walls crashing down behind them. Weakened, several chambers above collapsed, leaving a gaping breach in the side of the edifice through which they could just make out the jungle beyond.

A venomous hiss was the only warning Jeffries received before Chandar launched itself at them. Jeffries swung Bell into the creature's path. She screamed as she collided with the Chatt, sending them both careening into the wall. He put the pistol against the bony chitin of Chandar's head.

"Try that again, old thing, and I'll break more than your antennae. I'll blow your bally head off, hmm?"

Chandar hissed again, but this time in impotence, its mouthparts waving in frustration.

 

Dazed, Edith caught sight of the folded parchment peeking out from inside Jeffries' jacket as he bent over the insect. She was sure he would kill her but she wouldn't die quietly like Elspeth and Cissy. She had finally faced her demon - and he was just a man. And what did men want? Power. That parchment had to mean a great deal to him if he'd gone to these lengths to obtain it. So if he wanted it, she wanted it. Maybe it would give her something with which to bargain. Before she even knew what she was doing she slipped her hand into his tunic and snatched the parchment. He lashed out with a howl of fury, grabbing the hem of her torn uniform. She kicked out, ripping it away from him. He stumbled. Edith darted back into the chamber where the trench equipment was held. Perhaps there she could find something with which to defend herself.

"Come back here, you bitch!"

Edith threw herself behind one of the piles of trench equipment, her heart pounding. What was it that was so important about this parchment? Fingers trembling, she unfolded it, desperately hoping its contents might give her more leverage. It was some sort of map but she could make nothing of the symbols and writing. Shaking her head she refolded the map and continued to search for a weapon.

She heard Jeffries enter the chamber. There was a crash as he lashed out at a pile of equipment. "Give me the map, girl. Give me the bloody map."

There was a hiss and chatter. Peering out, Edith watched as Chandar attacked Jeffries again. Jeffries pistol-whipped the old Chatt and send it sprawling against the chamber wall, the last of its strength and anger dissipated. She let out an involuntary gasp. Hearing the sound, Jeffries turned. She ducked back out of sight, but too late. Jeffries strode round the pile, hauled her up by the hair, tore the map from her grasp and shoved it back into his tunic.

"I warned you," he said.

 

As Everson followed the trail of death and destruction through the temple, a screaming, flaming apparition ran towards them. A Chatt ablaze, sheets of fire wrapping themselves about it as it stumbled. Startled, Atkins let off a shot. The screaming stopped and the shape tumbled to the floor.

Next they came upon the burning library and alchemical chambers. Scrolls were crisping, shrivelling and burning while jars cracked and exploded in adjoining galleries, Chatts flinging themselves on the flames in a vain attempt to extinguish them. They were so intent on saving whatever was stored there that they paid no heed to the three Tommies that hurried through their midst.

Racing down a short tunnel, the soldiers heard a scream and burst into a chamber containing large piles of trench equipment to see Edith struggling with Jeffries.

"Halt!" yelled Everson, his pistol aimed squarely at the man's head. "Give yourself up, Jeffries."

"Everson, what a surprise. I might have known it would be you. Ever the boy scout, hmm. However, I'm your commanding officer. You're only a second Lieutenant. I think you'll find I give the orders around here."

"We both know that's not true, don't we?" said Everson. "You signed up as a private under a false name. You're no officer."

Atkins and Ketch covered Jeffries nervously as he held Nurse Bell to his chest, one arm around her throat. The injured Chatt lay crumpled against the wall, one arm seemingly broken, its antennae stumps twitching feebly.

"Let Nurse Bell go," Everson said, calmly.

"No."

"Let her go, Jeffries - or should I say, Dwyer?"

"Ah, so it's come to that has it?"

"Look, we can talk about this."

"Can we? I don't think so. Let's ask Nurse Bell, shall we?" Jeffries tightened his arm around her throat and her face began to turn purple as he applied more pressure.

"You've got nowhere to go, Jeffries."

"That's where you're wrong, though I must admit for a while there, when we first arrived here, I was worried."

Atkins, who had begun to edge along the wall, trying to flank Jeffries, found himself in Jeffries' sights as the man pointed the pistol at him.

"I think you'd better stop right there, Atkins, yes?"

"Sir?"

"Don't move, Atkins," said Everson, taking a step forward. "Jeffries, for God's sake man, give yourself up. It's a court martial. I swear you'll be dealt with fairly."

"If you know who I am then you'll know I'm facing the drop. Call that a fair trial? Besides, if you kill me you'll never get home. You're here because of me. Did you know that? I brought you here. Without me, you'll never get back. Never. It's taken the deaths of thousands of men to achieve this. I worked for years to this end; do you think I'm going to let you stop me now?"

Atkins was shaken. A way home? Flora, oh dear God, please let it be true. But having to deal with a rogue like Jeffries to get back? Atkins began to lower his rifle.

"Don't believe him, Atkins," snapped Everson. "The man's a congenital liar, a fantasist." He appealed to Jeffries again. "Can't we talk about this like rational men?" he asked.

"Talk about what, Everson? Your ignorance, your fear of responsibility? Do you even realise what it is I've accomplished here? Do you realise that you've been party to the greatest occult undertaking of the age?"

"You can't be serious, Jeffries. Listen to yourself. That's utter humbug!"

"Is it? Look around you, Everson. Can your small provincial mind even conceive the scope of what has happened? No, don't bother. Only a handful of people would truly understand my achievement. Magi for centuries have failed where I have succeeded. Only death on a truly industrial scale could have been sufficient to invoke Croatoan. I saw to it that those pointless deaths on the Front weren't wasted. I harnessed them. Used them to charge a pentagram set into the very landscape itself."

"You're mad!"

"That's what that hedonistic mooncalf, Crowley, said and where is he now? Skulking in America, plying his lies to Colonial toadies and lickspittles."

"It's shell-shock. Jeffries, you're not well."

"You want to go home? You want to see Blighty again?" roared Jeffries. "Well I know the way. Kill me and you're stranded forever."

Everson faltered and his pistol arm slowly lowered.

"He's bluffing, sir," said Atkins. "Isn't he?"

"He's got some sort of map," said Nurse Bell. "He's gone to a lot of trouble to get it."

A grin slid onto Jeffries' face as he arched an eyebrow. "Tick, tock, Everson. The Captain's funked it, and you're Commanding Officer now. It's your call. Your responsibility. Do daddy proud. These men that survived? Nothing more than the dregs that Croatoan rejected. I have no more use for them. I commend them into your care. It may be that their deaths can return you the way they brought me!"

"The devil take you, Jeffries!"

"The name, Everson, is Dwyer!" he spat, and with that Jeffries opened his arm, threw Nurse Bell aside and fired.

Everson grunted as the impact of the bullet into his shoulder drove him back and spun him around.

Ketch fired back. Jeffries ducked behind a pile of trench supplies and returned fire.

Behind Jeffries, Bell hoisted up her ripped skirt and swung her foot between Jeffries' legs. It connected with a satisfying thud and he doubled over.

Tears filling his eyes and distorting his vision, Jeffries fired again. Atkins ducked only to hear tiny clangs as metal struck metal. He looked around for the source and saw hissing green gas escaping from two chlorine cylinders, almost buried under a pile of trench supplies.

"Gas! Gas! Gas!" he shouted.

Jeffries grabbed hold of Bell again. "That," he said, pulling her head back with a sharp jerk, "wasn't nice. Just for that you don't get to die quickly." He released her and punched her in the solar plexus, winding her, before flinging her across the floor towards the punctured gas cylinders.