Fathomless (31 page)

“Nothing, really. It's freaky, out by itself in the deep water. I never saw anything like it.”

“That's because it's artificial.”

“A piece of old breakwater?”

“No, more like a giant doorstep. The Deep Ones built it above the opening to the abyss that harbors Y'ha-nthlei. That was thousands of years before Europeans came and proved they couldn't curb their curiosity as the Massachusetts and Wampanoags had. Pirates and smugglers tried to hide booty there. After enough of them disappeared off the reef, they gave it up as cursed, and ‘cursed' remained its safeguard until people stopped believing in such things. Later Innsmouth patrolled the reef. It still does, to keep off the sport boaters and divers who want to explore the place. It's posted as private property—officially, the Marshes own it. Also, since the Order intervened, the state and federal governments are aware of the situation in Innsmouth. They back up the Marshes if anyone wants access to the reef, scientists included. You know, people with submarines and sonar.”

“So the abyss doesn't show up on any charts?”

“None the public can access. Devil Reef appears as a small seamount with nothing interesting at its base. The Deep Ones do their part, of course. Marsh tells me there are extremely strong wards around the city entrances. Including organic ones.”

“You mean live wards?”

“Shoggoths. They block the ways in like corks and simulate the ocean floor around them, perfect camouflage. I'm assuming that if a diver were to poke the floor and find out it was protoplasmic, not rock—” Orne made a hand-puppet maw and snapped it shut on his index finger. “It's not likely a diver would get that close, though.”

And if he did, one gulp, gone. “They really have shoggoths?”

“Since the Elder Race of Antarctica declined, Deep Ones are the only species on Earth that keeps them. They communicate with the shoggoths through telepathy, use them for construction, transport, hunting, defense, same as the Elder Race did. But the Deep Ones obviously have superior control over the creatures. Otherwise, the whole world would know about them, whatever was left of it.”

The coolest thing was how Orne discussed crazy stuff (telepathy-operated shoggoths!) as if it were normal. “I hope they don't let shoggoths up on the reef.”

“Oh no. The Deep Ones guard the upper reef themselves.”

“Nobody notices?”

“They go illusioned as any sea creatures about their own size.”

“Like the porpoises at the jetty. Did Raphael see them?”

“It did, and I through it.”

“Marsh said two of them were anti-Order Deep Ones. The others were real porpoises. I couldn't tell the difference.”

“Nor I, at that distance. If you go out to the reef, remember that any porpoises or sea turtles swimming around your boat might not be porpoises or turtles. Same for seals pulled out on the rocks. What's more, any
real
animals of that sort could be Deep One allies.”

So say a kayaker came along and thought, screw the
KEEP OFF
signs, he was stopping at Devil Reef to hunt for pirate treasure. What was there to be afraid of? Porpoises were playing around his bow, and gray seals were lolling on the reef, all sleepy and peaceful. So he tied up his kayak and climbed the slick rocks, only to have the seals stampede him into the water and the porpoises grow webbed hands to pull him under. “Then we should forget about going to the reef. I mean, if it's suicide.”

“It's far from that. The Deep Ones realize disappearances would draw exactly the attention they want to avoid. And they're much less prone to homicide—or human sacrifices—than we are, truth be told. If the reef watchers can't drive off trespassers, they alert the Innsmouth patrol boat, which can also call in Coast Guard support. Marsh say it's never had to.”

If the patrollers looked like the Changers in New Church Green, it was easy to believe they didn't need backup. “Okay, but if the Deep Ones don't stop us, the patrol boat will. Either way, we don't get to the reef.”

Orne rocked steady as a metronome. “Just you and Eddy, you'd get turned back. Daniel would complicate things. Since he's a hybrid of Y'ha-nthlei stock, most Deep Ones would be reluctant to bar him. But this other group you mention?”

“The anti-Order guys. It sounds like they're against any interference with Innsmouth, and the way Geldman's helping Daniel is the last straw. They don't want Daniel around unless he decides to Change.”

“Then they certainly wouldn't want him out on the reef.”

Sean caught the rocking bug from Orne. “What would they do to stop us?”

“Well, I doubt they'd intentionally hurt any of you. Daniel's of their blood, and you and Eddy are his friends. But they might try an intervention.”

“Like, sit in a circle and guilt-trip him out of his humanity addiction?”

Low laughter. “There's an image. But I doubt they'd just talk. I'm afraid they might try to kidnap Daniel.”

“And duck him in seawater and force him to Change?”

“I'm afraid so.”

While Orne gazed at the river, Sean snuck a closer look at him. For sure, his pale blue eyes were like Mom's. His nose was like Grandpa Stewie's, medium length with a convex curve, and his hair was the same pale blond. Mom's hair had been a darker blond, while Sean's was plain brown. So really, their fingers were the only things Sean and Orne had totally in common: extra-long and thinnish. Pianist fingers, Mom used to say, though Sean was more a kazoo guy. Maybe magicians needed long fingers as well, the better to wrap around a staff or wand.

Orne stopped rocking and angled his chair toward Sean's. “We could talk all night, but talk won't solve Daniel's immediate problem. The safest thing would be to wait for Marsh to pave your way. I'm tempted to say that's all you can do.”

“But?”

“But Daniel might be able to get to the reef and talk to his mother, if you and Eddy stand by him.”

“We'll stand by, all right. Not screwing up is going to be the hard part for me.
You
know that.”

Orne smiled, with the quirk. “I know your potential, too, and I've brought something to help you with any Deep Ones you meet. I've also got you a boat, which we'd better look at before it gets dark.”

*   *   *

In
the farthest berth on the last dock was a Boston Whaler Montauk, the 170. “My uncle Gus has a 190,” Sean said. Click. “Or maybe you knew that?”

“Yes, Raphael went with you to Harwichport this spring. I heard you were always out on the water, and at the wheel.”

“Gus has been teaching me and Eddy.”

“A former navy man, that's reassuring, and good to know Eddy can drive, too. So you think you could handle this particular boat?”

Sean climbed aboard and checked out the console and the outboard, a Mercury four-stroke so spotless, it had to be right out of the box. In fact, the whole boat looked brand new. “It's pretty much the same.”

“The draft's a little shallower. Useful what with the shoals around Plum Island.”

The shiny newness continued in the boat's safety gear: ring and throw bags and three life vests. There were also two long-handled fishnets and two gaffs. The gaffs were the only used-looking items, but they had sturdy shafts and rustless hooks, wickedly sharp. From the dock, Orne remarked, “For defense, but only in extremity. If things turn ugly, run—this boat will go faster than even Deep Ones can swim.”

“How about their patrol boat?”

“You won't outrun that, but Marsh runs the patrol—the worst his people will do is turn you back. Look in the equipment locker, in case I've forgotten something.”

Sean found repellent for mosquitoes and midges, which they'd sure as hell need coasting through the marshlands at night, and greenhead repellent, which they wouldn't need unless they were still out at daybreak. If they were AWOL that long, poor Helen would freak. They'd already miss curfew unless they canceled the reef trip. He pushed the thought away and cataloged the rest of the locker. Binoculars. Bottled water. Cheese, crackers, and Oreos. First aid kit. Flashlights. Batteries. Flares. A spare key for the Montauk in a floatable box. And a navigational chart showing Plum Island Sound and Innsmouth Bay.

“The marina owner marked that for me,” Orne said. “It shows the deepest channels through the sound. He wrote down the tide times, too. You'll have the least trouble with shoals if you're traveling up to two hours on either side of high tide. Which means you'll want to start no later than an hour and a half from now.”

“Okay. Is it costing you a ton to rent the boat overnight?”

“I'm not renting it. I've bought it, and I've paid for summer docking and winter storage here at the marina. I'll have uses for the boat as well, but the keys on the console are yours, and you're welcome to take the boat out whenever it's idle.”

Sean jumped back onto the dock. If Grandpa Stewie or Uncle Gus had given him part ownership in a boat, he'd have hugged the crap out of them. Hugging Orne wasn't an option. How about shaking hands? Or just saying thank you, except even then, what did he call Orne? Grandpa Redemption? Nope. Grandfather? Too Victorian. Stumped, Sean settled for plain and awkward: “Thanks. It'll be great, when we can go out for fun.”

“Which tonight won't be, I'm afraid, if you do decide to go.”

“I guess we have to, now you've done all this.”

Orne sat atop a piling. “Having the means doesn't require you to use it.”

“Well, do you think we can manage it without anyone getting hurt?”

“Hurt to the body, hurt to the mind, hurt to the heart. Too many kinds of hurt to calculate, whether you take Daniel to the reef or you tell him I couldn't help after all.”

“I don't want to lie.”

“What do you want, then? Why is it important for you to help Daniel?”

Orne looked at him with such urgent expectation that Sean had to put his back to it. He wrapped his fingers around the cool steel railing of the Montauk. “He's my friend. He's more than that to Eddy. Or it was getting that way before all this Deep One stuff. And his father's an asshole, and Marvell's an asshole for going along with him. They don't understand. It'll kill Daniel not to see his mom now he knows she's alive.”

“And you understand that as Marvell can't. As even Mr. Glass can't.”

He leaned into the railing, and the whole hull shifted toward the opposite side of the berth. That put dark water under him, water that flowed toward the sound without taking along the livid reflection of his face. “Well, what if I found out Mom was alive? I know she can't be, that's the difference between me and Daniel. But what if
somehow.
I'd get to her no matter what.”

Orne remained silent so long that Sean turned to see if he'd crept away. He still sat on the piling, gazing downstream. “You were about a month old when I determined you were magical. The next day I left for a long trip. Very long, in fact.” Orne raised a hand before Sean got his mouth open. “I don't mean to entice you about my destination. I only want you to know it wasn't lack of interest that kept me from checking in on you and Kate. Also, why would I need to check in? You were well, and well protected. Anyhow. I didn't come back for six years, and then it was to learn that Kate was very ill. Terminal cancer. I went to Providence at once, and I took Solomon Geldman with me.”

The dock lamps had flickered on, and their orange light gave Orne's face a drawn and jaundiced look. Sean wasn't immune—his hands and arms had turned a matching saffron. “To treat her?”

“He'd agreed to try. He examined her, but we'd come too late. She'd passed the point of intervention, even magical.”

“But I've seen what Geldman can do, like with Daniel!”

“Daniel isn't dying, Sean. When death has seeped soul-deep, there's no saving a mortal, and if anyone can detect that irreversible turn from living into dying, it's Geldman. I couldn't doubt him or waste any more time. I knew the only solution for Kate was immortality, and the Communion of Nyarlathotep was the only way she could achieve it.”

Orne's statement punched through muscle and guts to the curve of Sean's spine. “Then why didn't you tell her about it? Why didn't you give her a chance?”

Unflinching, Orne said, “I did, Sean.”

“You couldn't have, or she'd be alive. No way she'd have left if she didn't have to.”

“Left you.”

“Me and Dad and everyone.”

“Would it have done any good if she'd stayed with you but left herself behind?”

“What's that even mean?”

The air between them sparked—Orne had charged his voice with magic: “Stop talking. Listen.”

Coercive warmth flooded the knotted muscles in Sean's shoulders and arms, making them slacken. He could fight the mental manipulation, yell for Orne to stop, as he'd done in the seed world, but to accept, to relax—

“Listen. You want to know how it was.”

He let his arms hang at his sides, pleasantly heavy.

“Your father had taken you out for the day,” Orne said. “There was a hospice volunteer, an older woman, staying with Kate.”

Sean remembered casseroles covered with triple layers of foil, small patting hands, and lilac perfume. “Mrs. Amati.”

“She opened the door for us. Kate recognized me as her old mentor Samuel Grimsby, I introduced Geldman as a colleague, and we talked until Mrs. Amati, with a bit of persuasion, fell asleep. Then I returned to Kate the memories I'd expunged, the ones about our true relationship and the magic in her. I said I'd heard how sick she was, and so I'd brought Geldman, the most capable healer I knew. She let him touch her hands, look in her eyes, sample the force and scent of her breath. He needed do no more before he bowed his head and left the room. I understood. So, without explanation, did Kate. There was no cure, she said. I contradicted. I told her about Nyarlathotep and his Communion. It took hours to answer her questions because I had to make her understand exactly what the Master would give her and exactly what he would demand in return; how taking the Communion would preserve her, but it would also change her and ally her with forces even I couldn't explain in full. She weighed her options, finely, to the point of exhaustion.”