Harbor Troubles

The voyage over to Mexico was a tiresome affair. Moira Baker spent many long hours mending wounds of her compatriots. On the evening before they were scheduled to arrive at Campeche, most patients were feeling much better, and thus she told her former patients to go fuck themselves as she made a sombrero out of a dried grass basket, downed all the alcohol from her big medicine bag, and started using two pill jars as maracas.

From the diary of Franz Alter:

Campeche seems to be teeming with revolutionaries of every political color. S/S William Alexander was not being unloaded, and the longshoremen of Campeche were holding a political meeting on the evening of Sunday, June 14. Mackie, Felix, and myself decided to pay them a visit, and it turned out that the longshoremen were praising Leo Trotsky and spreading rumors of Yankees coming to dump wages and use their own labor. We spoke to the chairman of the longshoremen's union, a wiry young man named Felipe Augustin, who simply adores Trotsky and all that he stands for, global revolution and all. We had quite an argument, but eventually we decided to meet next morning to negotiate a mutually beneficial solution to our disagreements. Interestingly enough, it seemed as if nobody could find the origins of the rumors about Yankees. Is this the result simple slander, or is there some other force behind these rumors?

A strange incident happened later that day, only hours after the longshoremen started unloading the William Alexander. I was schvitzing quite a bit in the Mexican sun, and I looked up as I removed my hat to wipe to wipe my brow. It was then I saw a large crate filled with tools coming loose from a crane and almost crushing Mackie and Felix. I yelled, and they dodged the crate, but by the narrowest of margins. Upon examination it turned out that someone had tampered with the ropes attaching the crate to the crane. I can't say I feel too welcome to Campeche. We decided to place guards by the Willaim Alexander as well as by the warehouse we were using as a staging area. The Cormoran was left under guard by the other members of our party and Captain Sharkey.

From the diary of Dr. MacNamara:

When we found out that the longshoremen were refusing to unload the William Alexander, we managed to find out the whereabouts of their foreman, a certain Ramon Sotomayor. He was sitting in front of a puddle of cheap beer at a harbor bar called Primavera Bar, and he was both rude and not very interested in helping us, not to mention large and loud. He went on about Communists, conspiracies and what the Guardia Civil should do with them, but he was of little help.

Ramon Sotomayor

Although Dr. Evan Sinclair has been most helpful and efficient in organizing the expedition, there's still so much to be done. It seems as if we'll have to stay at the Bristol for a week or so before everything is offloaded, checked, and assembled. We also had dozens of graduate students milling about, and it was a good thing that we established a guard schedule, since these young men and women need something to do. However, we still need to find out who harbors ill will to us! I do not know what to think, but I may have spotted one of the men who were staking us out outside the Santa Anna Hospital in Havana. What is going on?    

From the diary of Felix Jeremiah:

So, I was teamed up with this strange guy Franz to do the midnight shift guarding the warehouse where we were stashing the stuff for that expedition. Franz Alter is an odd bird. Clearly a kike from the Lower East Side, he seems to be really skilled in the use of all kinds of chemicals. But I'm, telling you those hands. They are creepy. It seems as if could strangle a squid with those hands. And then, let me tell you about his mother! That guy Freud would have one or two things to say about their relationship. Anyway. Perfesserdocter MacNamara had the shift before ours, and she was sitting smack in the middle of the warehouse under one of the two dim ceiling lamps reading something about Egypt, like the dirty secrets of Cleopatra or something similar. She was smoking a cigarette, and I decided to play a trick on her a surprise and sneak up behind me. My plan didn't really work out the way I wanted to, since I stepped in a pile or really stinky shit, fresh from something's butthole. Not that I'm a poopologist, but the turds didn't seem to come from a human. Mackie MacNamara was laughing her breeches off, while Franz simply looked uncomfortable. This was when we heard a really throaty growl that ended Mackie's bout of mirth. She walked up to the door, but the fucker was locked from the outside!

Something was stalking us in the shadows of the warehouse, and fortunately, Franz had brought a flashlight, and both Franz and I were packing. I was planning on climbing up on a pallet of boxes to get a better view of things when an ear-splitting roar was heard, and an enormous panther leapt over me and down on to Mackie, who was holding Franz's flashlight and a chair. She managed to get the chair between her and the panther just before the light went out, and the darkness was only illuminated by the flailing flashlight and muzzle flashes from our guns. After what seemed like an eternity, the panther was shot dead and Mackie pretty badly mauled. Moira and some of the members of the expedition were breaking up the lock, and later on we found a large cage that had been pushed up against the other end of the warehouse. According to Foreman Sotomayor, this was the work of Commies and Anarchists, but I dunno.

Tracking the Medicine Man

 Sunday, May 10, and thee Three Amigos were finally preparing to leave for Carizo Mountain, hopefully to find the whereabouts of Old Horse Medah Mitchell and what he was up to with that dreaded ancient cult of Yig. Cannon, McCloud and Ashford were however pleasantly surprised when a visitor showed up in the early morning hour. It was Chief Ruiz of the Antahueca Apache, and he declared that he was coming along to Carizo Mountain. He had also managed to find what seemed to be a drawing of some kind in Old Horse’s small house, and by simply flipping the drawing upside down, it turned out be a crude map of Carizo Mountain with several locations marked with stars and circles. The map was definitely going to make things easier for Ashford, Cannon and McCloud, while having Chief Ruiz along would be a most welcome addition to the expedition. They had all come to respect and like the Apache chief, and even come to appreciate his dry humor. As extra precaution, the Three Amigos also included Nurse Pettenkoffer, the abominable serpentine baby from the reservation, and Esteban, one of Ashford’s most trusty ranch hands, who had been part of the original confrontation with Otto Argo. His friend, Daniel, had suffered a horrible death at the hands of the Mi-Go, hos brain being carved out of his skull by the alien physician-monsters.

The Map. Red lines indicate distances covered by bus, while green dashed lines indicate hiking.

They also decided to bring along a mule in a horse cart behind the bus, and with full stomachs after one of chef Thibaude’s amazing breakfasts, they were off. The weather was promising, and they reached the mountain late that Sunday. A camp fire was lit, guard details worked out, and nature reminded the small party of its ferocity when an enormous black bear approached the camp in the middle of the night. Fortunately, some extra food managed to distract the bear, and the power of fresh bacon led the bear out into the night again.

 

They decided to leave for the first location in a wide gorge on the west side of the mountain, and although the terrain was reasonably easily traversed, it was still a tough hike. McCloud and Chief Ruiz led Cannon, Ashford and the mule along narrow and winding paths, while the rest of the party stayed by the bus. The very end of the gorge contained a strange figure composed of sticks, feathers, odd stones and some beads. It seemed to be fairly old, but nothing else was noticed, so the party trekked back to the bus.

The next day saw another excursion up towards the actual peak of Carizo Mountain. The going was much harder, and although the small party didn’t have to climb the peak itself, they were sweaty, hungry, and exhausted in general when they came back to the bus late that Tuesday afternoon. They had, with the help of McCloud’s and Chief Ruiz’s amazing tracking skills, encountered an abandoned hut on stilts. Chief Ruiz assured the Three Amigos that this was built by Old Horse, and they also found a small skeletal figurine in the messy remnants of the hut. Chief Ruiz examined the figurine, squinting his eyes and weighing the figurine in his left hand. “This is a Death Stalker. It is a totem of significant power. It will take away one death from the person possessing it.” Frank Cannon wasn’t really sure what to believe, but he took the little figurine and placed it in his shirt pocket. As the party started back towards the bus. Bill McCloud was convinced of one thing: they were not the only hikers on Carizo Mountain. Someone wearing size seven boots was also scouting out the mountain trails. The tracks were no more than a day old.

The Death Stalker.

Wednesday turned out to be a remarkably foggy day. The dense swirls of mist seemed to absorb much of the sounds of nature, but the party nevertheless pressed on. The southeast side of the mountain had a weird old totem pole of pre-Apache design, but no other items of interest. They then travelled further north until the expedition encountered a fairly wide stream, and they all came to the conclusion that this was the final stop for the bus. The next leg would be on foot, so to say.

It was decided that nurse Pettenkoffer, the supposed brood of Yig, and Esteban would stay by the bus, while the other members of the expedition continued up towards the remaining sites. This was the most difficult hike so far, but whoever wore the size seven boots seemed to have the agility of a mountain goat. Even McCloud would have hesitated to take some of the paths that were negotiated by the unseen fellow outdoorsman. As they pressed onwards and upwards, the small party became aware of the typical sounds of the mountain becoming increasingly muted, and eventually being replaced by an eerie quiet. Then they noticed signs, symbols and wards, as well as one of the white prehistoric snakes that seemed to be associated with all kinds of ill portents. One of the signs, a painted animal skull, was also adorned by a chord with a symbol that seemed oddly out of place in the native American designs. Frank Cannon, being a consumer of all kinds of pulp and esoteric fiction, recognized the symbol as the seal of Justified and Ancient Mu, a symbol that was oddly out of place here in New Mexico. But what was it that Father Bose had mentioned about Justified and Ancient Mu and their battles against the snake people of hoary Valusia?

 

All of these discussions came to an end when a large stone, seemingly out of nowhere, almost crushed Frank Cannon and Chief Ruiz as it landed in the middle of the small party. The stone turned out to be the calling card of an old nemesis, the monster assembled by parts of corpses that was created by Old Horse to fight off the ranchers of Otto Argo. The monster bellowed furiously and attacked the terrified investigators, swatting Chief Ruiz and Frank Cannon to the side and lifting up Bill McCloud in an attempt to tear off his arms and legs. Lotus Ashford opened fire with a shotgun on the grotesque monstrosity, but to little avail, while Bill McCloud kept on chopping at the abomination with his Bowie knife. Fortunately, Frank Cannon lit a dynamite stick, and as the monstrosity nailed McCloud to the ground in an attempt to once and for all dispatch of him, Cannon jammed the dynamite stick into one of the cavities created by Ashford’s shotgun shells. The ensuing explosion threw lumps of fetid flesh all over the mountain side and doused the members of the party in putrification.

The seal of Ancient and Justified Mu.

Several of the party members were battered and bruised, but they decided to follow the path to the final point on Old Horse’s map after trying to do some cleaning up. An hour, Bill McCloud did find a small hut, and inside the hut, the body of Old Horse. He seemed to be comatose, and Chief Ruiz explained that he was surrounded by powerful glyphs and symbols to ward off anyone who might interfere with the ancient medicine man. A pipe and a tobacco pouch was lying at his side, and Chief Ruiz expaliend that this might be the way to travel to wherever Old Horse might be, and to finally confront him and his wrongdoings. It was decided that Lotus Ashford and Frank Cannon would smoke the hallucinogenic substance, while Chief Ruiz and Bill McCloud guarded their mortal bodies. Cannon and Ashford were in for a blood-curdling surprise

Newspaper Clippings at Sea

Dr. MacKenzie MacNamara from the Miskatonic University's Department of Egyptology believed in being prepared, as long as she herself didn't have to deal with the actual practicalities of being prepared. In this case, however, she had decided to use her Spanish language skills to read up on Mexico in general and Campeche in particular. She ordered several stacks of news clippings before leaving Havana, and they were promptly delivered at the concierge's desk at the hotel she was staying at. Now, she had been busy for the first couple of days of their sea journey, after the interlude at Punto Aguirre she could comfortably stretch out in the aft section of the Cormoran and start going through the clippings:

- Local politics? Boring.

- Financial news? For twats.

- Fine arts and culture? Interesting as such, but nothing relevant to this expedition.

- Strange criminal cases, catastrophes, and general gossip? Now, this seems promising!

Mackie spent several hours going through clipping after clipping, carefully sorting them in three piles: irrelevant, background information, and special interest. The latter pile only held three articles, and she had already read them twice. She was smiling gleefully as she carefully arranged and re-arranged the articles. Just wait until she could tell her comrades about this, and just embellish the stories a little, little bit...

EL INVESTIGADOR

Campeche, March 1, 1925

Fire Engulfs Workshop of Suspected Molester, Killing Twelve

Last night saw horrific scenes unfold in downtown Campeche as suspected molester Guillermo Ruiz, 47, set alight to his workshop where a dozen young boys were working as cobbler's apprentices. Early last evening, Guardia Civil had surrounded the workshop, demanding that senor Ruiz give himself up. Senor Ruiz has been suspected for quite some time to force the young apprentices to engage in truly unnatural practices, both with each other and with senor Ruiz. As the Guardia Civil closed in, Senor Ruiz did not surrender, but instead blockaded the entrance and set the entire workshop aflame. There were no survivors.

Senor Ruiz

El Pelicano

Periodico politico y mercantil de Campeche

April 22, 1925

The half-ruined mansion of the late socialite Vera Varroquin has apparently acquired new denizens. Several late-night workers have seen strange, winged creatures skulking around the mansion at night, and sometimes these apparitions seem to have made weird, unearthly sounds and even threatened terrified by-passers with some form of hellish damnation. To The Pelicano, this seems more like the fruits of vivid imagination fueled by mescal, but then, one cannot be too sure.

Drawing of the Villa Varroquin

EL INVESTIGADOR

Campeche, November 26, 1924

Mad Clergyman Shot, Killed and Drowned

Father Jean Victor de Galba, also known as "Frenchie" was pronounced dead this morning after his body had been dragged up from the Campeche harbor. He had been shot several times before throwing himself into the water. Father de Galba, or "Frenchie" was fleeing from the law when the Guardia Civil caught up with him and opened fire.

This was the culmination of a long and disturbing investigation. Over the course of the last eighteen months, Guardia Civil had found at least six victims, two men and four women, who had been violently strangled to death and at some point had had their eyes gouged out, supposedly so they "wouldn't be able to see God". Initial investigations pointed towards Ernest de Galba, a local eccentric artist and the brother of Father Jean de Galba. The priest had apparently framed his brother for reasons unknown to El Investigador, and it was only through the superior and persistent detective work of Locotenente Eduardo Alvarez that he found the true villain. Father Jean de Galba was apparently arrested on November 24, but he managed to escape after brutally strangling a member of the Guardia Civil. A wild chase followed, and Father de Galba was eventually and repeatedly shot by members of the Guardia Civil.   

Father de Galba.

Moira Baker's in-laws

From the diary of Mackie MacNamara

I am not really sure of myself, nor my surroundings. We had encountered these weird fish people, the “Deep Ones” of myth and legend, at Martin’s Beach, in Los Angeles, and now Punta Aguirre in Cuba. We had seen and read several references to the cult of Dagon as well as the Esoteric Order of Dagon, but I had never really conceptualized Dagon as a real physical entity. On the other hand, I may have been hallucinating. I recall all of a sudden having my mind abandoning me, like having a rug pulled away under one’s feet. Can I trust reality? What is reality? Why did I carry a fisherman’s net with me all the way back to the Cormoran?

 

From the diary of Jules Pollack

 

I may enjoy my antiques, my knick-knacks, and my odd items, but this shooting business is immensely satisfying, especially when firing at fish-men. Well, that is until that awful monstrosity broke a significant portion of my ribs when it grabbed me and seemingly wanted to devour me. I was disconcerting to see even dear but jaded and cynical Mackie shriek “Dagon” before dancing off away from our desperate struggle with that being. And what a being! Man, it must have been more than a hundred feet tall, although we only saw the upper body. It made awful, unearthly noises, perhaps a bit like high-preassured steam leaving steam engine, and its foul smell made me think of brine and rot, of the deepest chasms of the ocean, and of watery decay. Have we seen too many of the true horrors that are kept from mankind on this little island of false serenity that we call Earth?

The reflection in the roof of the cavern.

 

From the diary of Felix Jeremiah

 

I have absolutely no fucking clue of what just happened. I think I will have to keep a diary, or at least notes, to write down what the hell actually is going on with this insane group of people. Worth noting: they work really well together, even that professor broad Mackie.

 

From the diary of Howard Lake

The storm was raging over Punta Aguirre as we went up to the Faro Navidad lighthouse. The lighthouse itself seemed to be working, albeit with some form of glitch, but the living quarters were dark and seeming abandoned. The lighthouse keepers seemed to have been cooking rice and beans, judging by the somewhat stale scent of cooking, and it seemed as if their dinner plans had been interrupted by a struggle that had wrecked much of the furniture and left a pool of slime on the table. Mackie and I went up the spiral staircase to the actual lighthouse, while Jules started a fire in the potbelly stove to keep us warm during the night. Felix Jeremiah, that curious lad, decided to go through the loft, and he was soon preoccupied with, well, lard.

 

Up in the lighthouse we made a gruesome discovery: three men, hanged by the neck and mutilated in a most gruesome fashion. This was the glitch in the lighthouse beam as the reflector was interrupted by the bodies as it rotated through the stormy night. But the bodies would have to wait, as we all of a sudden heard Jules yelling “I’ll be damned if it isn’t Moira’s in-laws” before firing his .38 revolver. We did indeed have company of beings similar to the fish-men of Martin’s Beach and Los Angeles, although these ones seemed to be larger but slower. They also seemed to be overrunning Punto Aguirre, and the reflections from the lighthouse’s beam of light revealed. We barricaded the living quarters and shut the storm shutters, and yet we had to descend down that other staircase that led down into an abyss of despair.

 

It was a large cavern or grotto, clearly connected to the sea and with a lagoon covering a third or so of its surface, and with unearthly reflections from the pool lighting up the cavern in particularly unhealthy nuances of green, blue and taupe. A cliff projection jutted out over the lagoon, almost like a leaning tower, and three horrifying fish-men were dragging a shrieking elderly woman up this cliff. The remaining population of Punto Aguirre, perhaps some 40 men, women and children, were fettered to the side of the cavern by a mass of bulging tentacles, and seeming incapacitated. 

Several fish-men were seen celebrating some weird and inhumane with weird dances, hopping around like madmen. It was time to act. Jules starting laying down a barrage of particularly well-aimed gunfire, and several fish-men fell to his bullets as well as to fire from my trusty Luger. However, four or five of these monsters came close enough to engage us in fisticuffs, but being fine Americans, we were up to the task. We disposed of the creatures with our makeshift weapons (harpoons, fire bottles, etcetera), while Felix ran towards the fettered villagers at a most impressive speed followed by myself at a slightly more lumbering pace. Dodging fish-men, we started cutting away yard upon yard of slimy tentacle when we saw a hideous creature rising from the lagoon. 

Mackie shrieked “Dagon”, before dancing away from the scene, and we tried to dodge the enormous claws of the monstrosity while freeing the last villagers. That I remain sane after this encounter is truly wondrous, because this was being well beyond anything I have encountered so far. It radiated so much alien power, and the size was indescribable.

It was a close call, but we made it out of the cavern. That Dagon-creature may actually have wrecked the entrance to the cave with its fists, and I hope it remains closed forever. The fish-men and their master do indeed seem intent on acquiring those mysterious eggs that I found on the Santa Ana, but they seem to be safe on the Cormoran, perhaps due to the Elder Signs placed by Mackie.

The storm passed without further incident, but it was fortunate that Jules had made a fire in the stove up in the living quarters. Next morning, the sky was clear and the sea relatively calm. The Cormoran had survived as well. As for Punto Aguirre, the inhabitants were most grateful to be alive, but they had a difficult time taking in what had really happened. Was it perhaps a mass psychosis prompted by a particularly fierce storm? I’ll leave that to the villagers to decide.

 

Cursed Births

 It was still Friday, May 8, and the Three Amigos decided that they had some more questions for the Antahueca Apache and Chief Nascha Alonzo Ruiz. By now, the tribe was somewhat used to Cannon, Ashford and McCloud, and they had graciously accepted the plentiful gifts that Ashford had bestowed on their impoverished community. Chief Ruiz invited the Three Amigos into his back yard, and they were just going to have some coffee when a horrifying wail echoed through the small Apache settlement. They all rushed to a house, where Chief Ruiz said that Johanna Fast Bear was giving birth, although the terrifying cries seemed to reach far beyond even the rigors of natural childbirth. As they all stepped in, Johanna seemed to have passed out splattered with blood, and a child was bundled up by a terrified midwife. Frank Cannon demanded to see the offspring, and both he and his friends where horrified to see an abominable half-serpentine creature, a mix between infant and snake, writhing about in a wicker bascinet. It had rudimentary scales, a split tongue, and pearly white incisors that snapped after Cannon's fingers.

Contents to horrible to envision!

The abomination - for this creature truly deserved the term abomination - was secured in a papoose as Fran Cannon and Lotus Ashford started questioning the dumbstruck family. McCloud was sent to find Nurse Pettenkoffer, who'd recently returned from Arkham, so that the poor Johanna might get proper care. However, Johanna and her family seemed to live perfectly ordinary, if impoverished, lives, and they were also known as loving parents with two older children welcomed into their family. This entire situation did not match any of the more current items in the verbal legends handed down by the Antahueca Apace, but Chief Ruiz whispered that he could not help thinking of the myths of Yig and the decadent tribe that lived in the region before being vanquished by the brave Apache and that worshipped the serpent god named Ha-Yonig, Yiagath, or just Yik. Chief Ruiz and the Three Amigos subsequently decided to take a peek at the medicine man, Medah Old Horse's, cottage, and Chief Ruiz gave them each medicine bags to help then on whatever endeavor may come.

Then, finally, Nurse Pettenkoffer arrived with much of her medical equipment, and after a thorough examination it was determined that Johanna would live, although she would have to be taken to the small hospital in Carrazozo for further care. The Three Amigos realized that there was little more that could be done in the Apache settlement, but they decided to have a conversation with Father Bose. Perhaps he would have some other insights to contribute? 

The drab weather had turned even worse as the Three Amigos rode up to St. Mary's church. The church bells were ringing, which was odd for a Friday late afternoon, and as Ashford, McCloud and Cannon entered the small church they realized that a funeral service was taking place. Two caskets, one very small, and one standard-sized, were displayed by the altar, and all Three Amigos felt an inescapable sensation of unrelenting dread. They waited for the mourning and bereaved to leave St. Mary's before they approached Father Bose. Their worst fears were confirmed. This was case of an aberration being born, although neither the mother nor the offspring survived the gruesome and gory birth. father Bose actually did not mind opening the smaller casket, This infant/serpent hybrid was even more deformed than Johanna Fast Bear's offspring. It had a fully developed tail, fangs, and slit-like pupils similar to the eyes of a snake. Father Bose quietly closed the lid to the casket and led the Three Amigos to the rectory. Many questions were asked, and although Father Bose himself had not experienced anything even remotely similar to the horrifying events of this accursed Saturday, he explained that there were myths of almost forgotten serpentine gods that predated the Bible, and he mentioned in a hushed voice the surviving fragments about the mythical snake-people of Valusia and how the justified and ancient inhabitants of Mu had struggled to defeat the Valusian snake people and their god, often mentioned as Yik, Jig, or Yig. Mention of snake-people could be found all over the world: in Asia, Africa, Australia, Europe, and both of the Americas.  

The Three Amigos were still struggling to figure out what was going on. Why were there so many signs of serpents everywhere? Did this have any connection with the solar or lunar cycle? Yet, one feature seemed to feature prominently: the Carrizo Mountain itself. This was one of the sites that the Antahueca Apache medicine man, Medah Mitchell Old Horse, preferred to seek out. This is where the Tabernacle Church of God was heading, and this is where they found the tomb of the man with the red right hand (and where Frank Cannon found the strange necklace around the neck of the corpse). Now, who could follow the cold tracks of Medah Mitchell Old Horse up Carrizo Mountain? The Three Amigos were planning on leaving that Sunday, May 10.

But first, the communication with Arkham had to continue:

 

The Tempest. A Short Story.

It was Sunday, June 7, and the battered M/S Cormoran sailed into Havana harbor. Captain Feargal Sharkey realized that repairs had to be made, and no questions asked, so he made for the mechanical shop of a certain Ricardo Villamonte, and old contact and fence. Villamonte did not not mind tensing to the Cormoran, especially if dollars were involved, and he told Sharkey that the Cormoran would be ready on Monday. The intrepid investigators were now the exhausted investigators, and there were wounds to tend to. Also, the fate of Irwin Bowers was a cause of great concern, and the investigators were increasingly convinced that something truly dreadful had happened. 

However, Mackie and Howard felt somewhat rested after a surprisingly good night's sleep: no night terrors, no spasms, no strange sounds in the middle of the night, just solid sleep. They went to check on the Cormoran before heading to the St. Agnes hospital with a sample of the mysterious egg-like things they had found in the ancient chest in the wreck of the Santa Ana. Mackie had carefully sliced off a sample and exposed it to Karen, but the hen was not impressed in any way. Mackie and Howard did leave for Villamonte's shop, and as they were gathering some personal items from the Cormoran they were approached by a young man, or possibly an older child. The youngster introduced himself with a New York accent, stating that his name was Felix Jeremiah, and adding that he was looking for a Henry Chester. Both Mackie and Howard were dumbfounded. What was youngster doing here looking for their disappeared friend? This required further inquiry, and they proceeded to the Bristol Hotel for refreshments despite Mackie being more than  a little wary of the young man, and taunting him incessantly. Once they were comfortably seated at the bar, Felix surprised everyone by ordering a whisky and soda. The waiter demanded some proof of age, and it turned out that Felix really wasn't a young man at all, despite his youthful looks.

Felix Jeremiah

Felix story was quite checkered, but he had clearly known Henry Chester. He finally convinced Mackie and Howard to let him join the MacNamara Expedition, if only as a tryout. He was told to report at Villamonte's shop on Monday morning. Mackie and Howard spent the rest of the Sunday at the St. Agnes Hospital as a lab technician analyzed the egg sample. It turned out that the lab technician couldn't properly identify the sample at all, but also that it was quite inert.

The Cormoran left Havana just after 9 am, and the seas seemed favorable. Captain Sharkey set course due west, and the intrepid adventurers relaxed on or below deck. After a couple of hours, Captain Sharkey noticed two things: there seemed to be a storm on the horizon, and the fuel gauge was showing a precariously low amount of fuel. Was the the fuel tank leaking, or was there some other issue? Captain Sharkey told the intrepid adventurers that he would be changing course to the small fishing village of Punto Aquirre, where he hoped to be able to repair or refuel the Cormoran.

Punto Aguirre was sighted just after 4.30 pm, and the village looked quite quaint in the distance. A lanky dog could be seen crossing the street, but as the adventurers came closer to Punto Aguirre, they could not help notice the entire village, including the church and the Faro Navidad lighthouse, seemed quite deserted. It might have been that the villagers had sought refuge from the approaching storm, but the situation still seemed a bit weird.  

Faro Navidad

Meanwhile, the winds preceding the storm was already making sizeable ways, and securing the Cormoran to the jetty at Punto Aguirre was rather difficult. Lake, MacNamara and Jeremiah ventured ashore, and the village was indeed deserted. Yet, Lake, MacNamara and Jeremiah could not shake off the feeling that they were being watched. There also seemed to be traces of fighting and struggling in several of the buildings, but as they were looking trough the village, they heard the engine of the Cormoran roar into life. The three compatriots rushed back along the jetty, but it only seemed as if Feargal Sharkey was taking the precaution to arrange for a storm anchor to avoid smashing his vessel against the jetty in the increasingly bad weather. Back on board the Cormoran, Jules Pollack was starting to feel both worried and a bit queasy. He managed to jump from the Cormoran to the jetty just before it was too late as Captain Sharkey pulled out to sea. This left Captain Sharkey on the Cormoran together with Johnny and Dorothy Gale, a worried Moira Baker, and Franz Alter, who was missing his mother quite a bit.

The four compatriots continued searching through Punto Aguirre, and they were examining the church and its surroundings when they saw a dark figure dash across the main village street. A wild chase proceeded in between gusts of wind and the first rain drops, but the compatriots eventually cornered a disheveled and insane-looking elderly individual in a clergyman's robes. The person seemed terrified, and almost entirely incoherent as he babbled:    

-        "They came. Just like that showed up... they have a healthy appetite. The young go first. The young! The young! All sizes. So small! So big...  They took them all... the tower! The tower with the all-seeing eye. -        Deep caverns, deep under the all-seeing eye...

-        You! It is you! You have something they have wanted for a long time. A very long time...t hey watched the undersea boat for soooooooo long. How funny (insane laughter). We are just bait! Like worms, we are like worms. Or breadcrumbs. Wormy bread…. I have seen God, and he is dead..."

Mackie was getting quite wet from the rain, and she seemed rather unhappy as she looked at Howard Lake and Felix Jeremiah: "Fuck. We might as well go up to the fucking lighthouse." 

nn  

From the diary of Dr. Evan Sinclair, Deputy Head of the Department of Archaeology and de facto organizer of the MacNamara Expedition.

Dr. Evan Sinclair

I received a telegram from Professor Armitage on Sunday, May 10. It was indeed strange to receive a telegram on a Sunday, but once I read it, the urgency became obvious. I was to arrange the practical aspects of the MacNamara Expedition to the jungles between Guatemala and Mexico, the exact location to be revealed. Professor Armitage was going to send detailed instructions by regular mail, but that Monday I proceeded to hire a small steamer with crew, since the expedition seemed to require a significant amount of equipment and several qualified expedition members. I mentally went through the profiles of several graduate students and placed a few telephone calls to ensure availability for some potential members of the expedition as well as inquiring about certain key pieces of equipment. 

It was hard work, but on May 31 we were ready to load in Boston harbor. I had been in intermittent communication with Dr. MacNamara, as she had travelled in advance via Cuba and Jamaica to Mexico, and although there seemed to be hints at some odd events occurring, I trusted that Dr. MacNamara would be able to handle most, if not all, issues. We rented the small steamer S/S William Alexander, which is captained by Paul Hardee, a native of Kingsport. Captain Hardee is a hard-working man, and quite amusing. He runs a tight ship, though, and the Billy Alex (William Alexander) is in pretty good shape.

S/S William Alexander

Captain Hardee

We were not able to leave until after lunch on June 4, though, Loading and coaling took more time than anticipated, and it was really difficult to find longshoremen who were willing to work for us. Strange indeed, since Captain Hardee seemed to enjoy a good reputation in the port of Boston. There was some talk about political agitation ashore, but there was no way for me to ascertain this. Nevertheless, we left Boston harbor on a fantastic Thursday afternoon, and the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean soon surrounded us as we steered first east, then south. I had a very small cabin, and although it was comfortable, I preferred to spend time on deck, enjoying the warm spring air and the many impressions of the ocean itself. I had a stack of relevant books, and the first days gave me ample amounts of time to read and prepare for the tasks ahead of us when we'd reach Mexico. I was often up late was well, since we were indeed enjoying great weather, and I was fascinated by the lights from seaside communities and various cities that we passed, not to mention the probing and blinking lights from lighthouses and other navigational markers. 

It was on the evening of the third day at sea, on Saturday, June 6, that I started noticing the signaler of the Billy Alex, young Georg Koszlowski, a lanky, blonde man of Polish extraction. He was undeniably a hard worker, but did the radio sets of the Billy Alex require such an amount of constant upkeep? He was tinkering with the switches and dials for hours on end! Since I have had some interest in radio waves and such after having taken classes with Dr. Emmett Brown, I could not help knocking on the signal cabin to ask him about the receivers and transmitters, but although Koszlowski answered my questions with some degree of patience, true conversation did not spring forth. I left him to his own devices after half an hour so, and he immediately returned to his receiver set. For some reason, the transmitter did not seem to be as interesting to young Koszlowski, which was odd. 

Besides this awkward attempt at conversation, the trip proceeded gently with calm seas that made the preparations for the MacNamara Expedition so much easier. We studied maps, checked equipment, and read about both Egyptian and pre-Columbian history and archaeology. Miss Amanda Bowman was particularly helpful, as she had studied with Dr. MacNamara previously and had a very decent knowledge of hieroglyphs, and, as I found out, Spanish.

However, the following night, as I went outside to smoke my pipe and look at the constellations, at around 11 pm, I heard strange sounds from the signal cabin. It was a dirge-like and unpleasant mix of static and undulating, bizarre, sounds switching between high-pitched treble and low, rumbling staccato. It was most unpleasant to listen to, but yet I could not help myself as I looked towards the faint light from the signal cabin. It was almost hypnotic, and at times it almost seemed as if one could discern syllables of gibberish in the strange transmission. I ended abruptly after ten or so minutes, and I eventually made it back to my small cabin.

Next evening, being the evening of June 8, I once again went out on deck to enjoy some tobacco and my fine Brinkmann briar pipe. It was a gift from my dear wife Catherine, and she had ordered it all the way from Bremen some years previously. I almost dropped it when I all of a sudden heard a very loud burst of static from the signaler's cabin followed by a lash of what almost seemed like lightning. Rushing in to the captain, I found Georg Koszlowski lying with his back to the floor, convulsing heavily and frothing from the corner's of his mouth. The radio set was smoking, but not burning, and I assumed that Koszlowski had been electrocuted, suffered a seizure, or both. I pinned him down and forced a notepad in between Koszlowski's gnashing teeth, while several other members of the crew joined me to secure Koszlowski and take care of the smoking radio set. Koszlowski did seem to relax after a couple of minutes, and I leaned over him to remove the notepad from his mouth and provide some comfort. He seemed to whisper something, and as I leaned closer, and without any warning, Koszlowski suffered a massive spasm that arched his back in a most unnatural position. The paroxysm only lasted for mere seconds, but he was quite dead afterwards. Doctor Ricci, the nearly deaf ship's doctor, could not do a single thing to save poor Koszlowski.

The funeral was held at sea next morning, just as we were off the tip of southern Florida. The sea was steel grey, a fitting accompaniment to the somber affair. Captain Hardee said a couple of words that were supposed to be uplifting, but they only seemed to contribute to the ominous mood on board the William Alexander. I was not even sure I really could take in what had happened last evening. It may be a product of my own at times admittedly vivid imagination, but I could have sworn that Kozlowski's last whisper before suffering the spasm was identical to the dirge-like staticky gibberish I had heard two nights ago.  
  

The Snake Handlers of Tennessee.

Lotus Ashford was in pain, and whereas fine cognac was a partial cure, nurse Pettenkoffer was escorting Sergeant Edgar Broome up to Arkham. The flying beast had managed to cause several deep lacerations and abrasions, all of which were felt, especially when lying down. Frank Cannon had not suffered at the talons and jaws of the flying beast, but it was nevertheless decided to relax for a couple of days while Bill McCloud took care of day-to-day issues at the Ashford Ranch. They all spent many hours on the front porch with bottomless cups of coffee trying to put together what was going on in Lincoln County. Why had the medicine man, Medah Mitchell Old Horse, disappeared after building the "flesh monster" that had attacked Otto Argo's men? How was Medah Old Horse connected to the Yig cult that had flourished in the area before the Apache banished them? Why had Gardiner looked for a "Yeeg" as a passage to "The Dreamlands"? The Man with the Red Right Hand that was killed in 1858, what was up with that? Then, What was the deal with the Mi-Go, Kobolttorium-G and Don Dixon's supposed observatory? What about the Gnospelius sisters and The Collector? So much to ponder...

Just after breakfast on on a cloudy and windy Thursday, May 6, 1925, Sheriff Magruder came riding up to the Ashford Ranch. He joined the Three Amigos for coffee, and explained that a church, the Tabernacle Church of God, were on their way west, and they wanted to camp on a remote part of Ashford's property for a day or two. Ashford agreed to this, and Cannon, McCloud and Ashford decided to pay the church a visit. Horses were saddled, a modicum of handguns were loaded, and the Three Amigos enjoyed a leisurely ride down towards the encampment, which consisted of three small tents, one bigger tent, three wagons, some horses and several dozen rather scrawny-looking folks from down south. A young man by the name of Clive took the visitors to the main tent, where they met Orville Sturgeon, the pastor of the Tabernacle Church of God and his cataract-ridden blind wife Mary Beth Sturgeon, al from LaFolette, Tennessee. The members of the church seemed to consist of three or four extended families, and Pastor Orville Sturgeon and his wife were eager and curious to welcome the three strangers. Orville and Mary Beth explained their faith amongst a generous sprinkling of "Hallelujah!", "Praise the Lord", "Repent!", "Jesus is my friend" and "Renounce Satan", and they also told Ashford, Cannon and McCloud that Mary Beth had received a vision on Christmas Day 1924. It was Jesus that spoke to her, and she was told to lead her congregation members west to the New Jerusalem. They were fervent, but friendly, and the Three Amigos were invited to attend their daily service at 5pm. 

Cannon, McCloud and Ashford enjoyed a splendid late lunch prepared by chef Michel Thibaud, and then they rode to the afternoon service.   The main tent was filled with 35 or so congregants, and McCloud and Ashford sat down on various boxes and makeshift chairs, while Frank Cannon pushed down his bowler hat and remained in the entranceway to the tent. The congregants were keen on touching the visitors, calling upon Jesus and the Lord to bless them, as Orville and Mary Beth Sturgeon launched their sermon from the very plain altar. The crowd became increasingly frenzied, and to further enthuse the congregants (and cast out Satan), Mary Beth and Orville opened two boxes and brought out handfuls of snakes. The snakes were instantly recognized by the Three Amigos as the white vicious serpents that had appeared in the boxed paintings that the Gnospelius sisters had asked the Three Amigos to bring to Albuquerque! Ashford and McCloud backed away from the snakes, but the writhing serpents seemed to have no interest in attacking the congregants, despite being handled rather forcefully.

Orville (left) and Mary Beth Sturgeon

Following the service, McCloud, Ashford and Cannon spoke to Pastor Orville and Mary Beth, and they were proud to share that the white snakes were part of Mary Beth's Christmas Day miracle: the septents they had used to challenge Satan had all been changed into these white serpents, perhaps a way for Jeegus to impart purity onto Lucifer (Mary Beth seemed to have some form speech impediment, she kept on saying "Jeegus" instead of "Jesus"). All of this was quite strange to the Three Amigos. What is really the significance of all these strange snakes that seem to be found everywhere? That evening, it was decided to head to the Apache reservation to ask some more questions about Medah Old Horse and his connections to the old snake cult that used to be found in and around today's Lincoln County, and also to see off the Tabernacle Church with some restocking of their meagre food supplies.

The morning of Friday, May 7 was much sunnier than the previous morning, and Lotus Ashford was woken up by a ranch hand handing Lotus a telegram: 

 

A reply was drafted over morning coffee:

The Three Amigos them stocked their bus and departed for the church encampment. Pastor Orville Sturgeon, Mary Beth and the congregants were most grateful for the generous gifts, and they revealed that Mary Beth had had a new vision: they were now really close to the New Jerusalem, and it was to be located at a solitary mountain not too far from Lincoln. The Three Amigos looked at each other and at the distant Carrizo Peak. 

Gazing at the Carrizo Peak

 

 

The Wreck of the Santa Ana, and the Death of a Great Actor

From the diary of Irwin Bowers:

- Pages empty.

From the diary of Jules Pollack:

Johnny Gale did come to his senses on board the Cormoran, and we were all happy about that, but none greater than his sister, Dorothy. He was most talkative, and he insisted on us going to Havana, as in Havana, Cuba. He explained that Digby Leighton and David Shaw went to Havana to search for the maps belonging to Tales from the Sea, the very book I had purchased by pure chance in a decrepit store in Kingston, Jamaica. The Leighton-Shaw expedition had been in the small coastal town of Oaxtaca on their way back from their jungle excursion, and they found out about Tales from the Sea and the connection between the Santa Ana and the odd Egypto-Mesoamerican finds in an old church ledger. The expedition split up, with Johnny Gale taking the stela to Kingston, and Leighton and Shaw travelling to Havana where they were hoping to find more information at the church of the Santissima Virga and the local archivist, Dr. Francesco Varga. Thus, it was decided to sail east and around Cuba to reach Havana, a city that had quite the reputation as a vacation spot for rich and famous Americans. We arrived on Tuesday, June 2, and Havana was quite the sight, especially if one compares to Kingston. Captain Feargal Sharkey would be taking care of the Cormoran as we headed to the Bristol Hotel. However, the Bristol did not accept blacks as guests, so we had to settle for a large and sparsely furnished apartment on the Calle Primavera, but oh how the Bristol, with all of its amenities, beckoned! We also realized that we had to find more suitable garments. Our maritime explorer's clothing was definitely not the attire to be worn if one wants to enjoy beautiful Havana. 

From the prescription pad of Franz Alter:

Despite some difficulties with the local police, we did find out that Leighton and Shaw were held in a comatose state at the St. Agnes hospital, a modern and well-equipped facility. They had been admitted to the hospital after being found unconscious in an alleyway by the police almost a month ago. They were both in stable condition, but they did not react to any stimuli. Miss Baker and myself proceeded to examine some blood samples from the two scientists, and after many hours of hard work examining the blood samples and comparing our findings to various references in the remarkable St. Agnes medical library, it seemed more than likely that Leighton and Shaw had been poisoned by Kiriltonium, a vicious drug used by the Okhrana of the Russian Empire. This drug was invented by a monk, Kirill of Minsk, back in 1882, and it was also known as Harpy's Breath. Many enemies of the Tsar had been killed by this vicious poison.

We also found a receipt from Sloppy Joe's Bar that matched the date on which Leighton and Shaw were admitted to St. Agnes. However, our investigation did not seem to go unnoticed, as we noted at least one person observing the entrance to St. Agnes Hospital while pretending to read a newspaper or feeding pigeons. Odd, indeed! Were we about to tangle with the Russkies, and perhaps even the shadowy organization Proletkult?

We finally managed to wake up Shaw after a round of dialysis, and he was moved to our apartment together with a nurse. He was in rather poor shape, but both Ms. Baker and myself are confident that he will be able to be moved back to Arkham through the auspices of the U.S. Consulate.

From the diary of Howard Lake:

Sloppy Joe's! What a place! Women, champagne, and much merriment! My main memory will be that fantastic broad that joined me for the evening, but yes, we did inquire about Leighton and Shaw. We managed to get hold of the main bartender, a guy by the name of Serge. He did indeed recall that evening, how two Americans, a mister Laggtone and mister Cho, were joined a by a burly-looking Slavic gentleman and a dashing young Latina by the name of Miranda. They had left together after enjoying cocktails. After that, I was off to enjoy an entirely different piece of tail.

Serge sports a most unusual an unkempt hairstyle, but he is an excellent bartender. He also makes espresso, with a lemon twist. You should try it!

From the diary of Dr. Mackenzie MacNamara:

There are many things I simply cannot stand: smacking while eating, gardening at odd hours, children, and white shoes after Labor Day. But one thing stands out, and that is incompetence. The clowns we hired as body guards seem to regard all of our important work as a mere pleasure cruise. Sergeant George Washington, Wilbur Fisch, Mattias Meara and Henry Dobson decided to leave the apartment without giving any notice, and I am most displeased. Buffoons! I would almost prefer the services of the local police, even if they treated us like commoners and even gave us the opportunity to enjoy their hospitality in their dreary jail cells. Lake claims all of that was my fault, but I am certain that is NOT the case.

From the diary of Jules Pollack:

That Thursday, June 4, led me to the church of the Santissima Virga, and hopefully to an archivist by the name of Dr. Francesco Varga. I found him in a unremarkable office outside the church itself, and he was quite helpful. Mackie and I spent many hours looking through manuscripts and books, and we did find the following addition to the map in Varga's copy of Tales from the Sea:

A Caribbean Observation

Up By Santa Maria

Behind the parrot plot

Naught and seven sevens

To your left

A Battle of Saintes

The docks of the Arsenal

And half of a quarter O and one

This riddle required the minds of all of my companions, and we sat down in one of our rooms at the Bristol Hotel (Sergeant Washington and our little guard squad were installed in a basic but comfortable apartment downtown where Mackie had been sulking while we visited Sloppy Joe's). As it were, there was a parrot headstone up by the Santa Maria church in Old Havana, and it had a number, 2321, on the back of it. Naught and seven sevens makes 049. The Battle of the Saintes happened in (17)82, there are ten docks in the Havana Arsenal, while half of a quarter and one leads to 451. This led to a string of numbers, 2321049821045, and with a left, or west divider, we found a position in latitude and longitude to the southeast of Havana:

23°21'04.9"N 82°10'45.1"W

We had all reason to believe this to be the location of the wreck of the Santa Ana, and therefore also the location of whatever antediluvian artifact that was carried by the unfortunate vessel! We would hopefully not follow in the footsteps of that brave mariner, Captain Henrique Diaz de Zaragoza. As it was written in Strange Tales from the Sea: "The cargo was rumored to be strange finds, apparently indicating some form of early connection between the Pharaohs and the Native American kings of old, and how they shared dark heretical secrets that were only intended for the eyes of God himself." Good thing I had already practiced in my diving suit.

Dr. Francesco Varga

From the diary of Moira Baker:

It was decided that Irwin Bowers would rent a speedboat to make sure that our diving expedition didn't attract unwelcome visitors. Whether they were Russians or not, our antagonists were a cause of significant concern, and we were glad to have Sergeant Washington's guard detail around - at least initially. That Saturday, June 6, we started heading out on the Cormoran with Captain Feargal Sharkey towards the position we had decoded. Bowers and Mattias Meara were in the speedboat, and we were all eager to find out what treasures and secrets could be found at the wreck of the Santa Ana. The weather was as gorgeous as only the Caribbean in early summer can be, with a slight breeze providing soothing relief from the sunshine. The Cormoran was followed by various birds as we left Havana, and we were checking our various pieces of equipment, and especially the diving gear. Dorothy Gale was up front and halfway up the little mast, an adorable lookout for our venture. 

After a couple of hours we reached what Captain Sharkey assured us was the exact location. We decided that Lake would actually be the one doing the diving, and he was cocky enough, ensuring everyone that he was a really good diver. We were all quite excited as Lake was lowered into the warm waters.

Captain Feargal Sharkey

The  Wreck of the Santa Ana

Irwin Bowers was scanning the horizon while Mattias Meara held their speedboat at a steady course. He thought he'd noticed something just over the horizon, and he was quite correct. It was not a smudge on the lenses of his binoculars, but smoke, possibly indicating a vessel sailing at high speed in their direction. There were no other boats around this rather remote part of the Caribbean, so Bowers ordered Meara to set course for the unidentified vessel.

Hello, Howard!

Meanwhile, Howard Lake was being lowered into the deep blue sea. He noticed that the seafloor ended in a steep decline, almost like a continental shelf, and the vista made Lake suffer a brief bout of undersea vertigo. It was unnerving to stare straight down into a dark blue, and eventually black, abyss. He turned around slowly in the heavy diver's suit, and noticed what had to be the wreck of the Santa Ana, which had settled just on the edge of the precipice. There seemed to be an unobstructed entrance through what might have been the cargo hatch, and Lake proceeded slowly towards the opening, his lead-booted feet stirring up sand and silt from the seabed. He also noticed a pattern of sizeable stones that were inlayed in the hull of the Santa Ana, and he recognized the glyphs on the stones as being similar to the ones inscribed by Mackie in their New York hotel to warn against intruders. Surely, these glyphs cannot be active after half a millennia? Lake continued towards the wreck. The Santa Ana did show several scars from what must have been a fierce fight with the Dread Pirate Roberts, and Lake had to be extremely careful not to get entangled in the various pieces of rotting nautica that abounded on the deck. 

The cargo hold was a mess, but among the remnants of provisions Lake noticed a sizeable chest or coffer, perhaps some six by four feet, and still sealed with the Royal Spanish Seal. This must be the prize, and Lake starting securing the coffer with rope. He did think he noticed a shadow passing by a gun port, and he was somewhat concerned that he would run into sharks while working with the heavy coffer. What he saw next was not even remotely related to sharks, or any other kind of fish, for that matter.

On board the Cormoran, Jules Pollack, Moira Baker, Mackie MacNamara, Franz Alter, as well as Johnny and Dorothy Gale were staring intently at where the air hose and the line met the surface of the sea. The three remaining guards were pumping air to Lake, while Feargal Sharkey worked on some piece of machinery. All of a sudden there was a tug at the line. Had Lake finally found something of value? The intrepid investigators barely noticed a vague shudder that seemed to move the boat ever so slightly, but Captain Sharkey put down his wrench and approached the railing.

Lake had just finished securing the coffer to be winched up when he once again noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He gave three tugs on the line to make sure that the crew of the Cormoran started winching up the Cormoran. and he then turned around as fast as the diving suit allowed. Lake was utterly terrified to see several thick, scaly tentacles pushing themselves in through portholes, gun ports and general holes and cracks in the hull. The tentacles varied in color, from a repugnant mauve to mucus-y green, and they were clearly intent on dragging the Santa Ana over the edge of the precipice, and also grabbing hold of the horrified Lake. He started tugging the line to the Cormoran as much as he could, while flailing at the tentacles with the axe he had brought down with him, his shrieks of terror muffled by his diving helmet and many feet of seawater. Had Howard Lake broken through the protective glyphs of the Santa Ana to release some eldritch horror that was intent on using the artifacts in the cargo hold for some heretical purpose?

The investigators on board the Cormoran started winching up the coffer, but they also noticed that the tugs at the line became more intent. They also noticed an unwholesome stench erupting, as if Lake had managed to release an enormous pocket of methane from the seabed. Johnny Gale suddenly yelled out as he noticed what seemed like a huge patch of boiling water next to the Cormoran, but the bubbles soon turned into tentacles similar to the ones attacking Lake. They seemed to be everywhere, with one grabbing Dorothy Gale up by the bow, while several others reached for the intrepid investigators to the aft of the boat. A wild melee erupted while Captain Sharkey started the engine. There was also a coffer to winch up, and Howard Lake to recover. Mackie darted front to help Dorothy Gale, while Johnny fired off several rounds at the tentacles from a handgun. Franz Alter was wielding a boat hook against the repulsively slick tentacles, while the other crew members continued pumping air to Lake while hauling the coffer on board the Cormoran. Mackie managed to sever the tentacle with a fire axe and drag Dorothy out of the stranglehold of the tentacle, although Dorothy's leg was a mess. Dorothy was helped by Mackie down below, so that Moira Baker could tend to her wounds. As the boat gathered speed, Howard Lake noticed the line being drawn taught, and he started moving away from the wreck of the Santa Ana just as the tattered remains of the ship was pulled into the seemingly bottomless chasm by what seemed to be dozens of tentacles. 

Lake had to remove his lead shoes to gain buoyancy, or he'd be dragged along the seabed and turned into a bloody pulp. He struggled with much difficulty, and just as he started bobbing against the seabed, he managed to finally remove the shoes. An arduous ascent awaited, but at least he was heading in the right way. As the Cormoran broke free of the tentacles, the crew could join forces and pull up a badly shaken Howard Lake. It was then that Johnny Gale noticed a pillar of black smoke east of the Cormoran, and within minutes it became obvious that an armed steamer was heading straight towards the intrepid investigators. Closer examination revealed the crew to be what seemed to be heavily armed savages, and as the Cormoran picked up speed, the steamer unfurled a strange flag.

Irwin Bowers was, of course, intent on making sure that the steamer wouldn't catch the Cormoran, so he asked Mattias Meara for full speed ahead. He was quite astonished when Mattias Meara instead pulled up a gun and pointed it at Bowers, telling him that he'd be getting off here. The remaining guardsmen pulled up their guns at more or less the same time, surprising everyone aboard the Cormoran. Sergeant Washington explained that they'd take it from here, and that the company of the intrepid investigators wasn't required anymore. For Franz Alter, having a gun pointed at him was just too much. Too much! Without emitting a single sound, his long fingers lashed out at Sergeant Washington, securing a chokehold that not even the strong sergeant could break. This became a signal for everyone to engage the traitors on board. 

Irwin Bowers was also trying to use the movements of the speedboat to gain an advantage over Meara, and his lithe body was ready to give Mattias Meara a solid kick. However, Irwin Bowers seemed to bang his head against the low ceiling of the boat. He fell down, amazed that hitting his head would produce so much blood. Seeing Mattias Meara standing in front of him with a smoking .45 seemed to indicate that there were other issues afoot.

The brawl on the Cormoran was less one-sided. Alter strangled Washington with silent and methodical efficiency, while Wilbur Fisch was killed by several rounds from a Browning Automatic Rifle. Henry Dobson was left standing, and he promptly surrendered to the intrepid investigators and their fearsome arsenal of guns, axes, stilettos and boat hooks. This scene was interrupted by Captain Sharkey calling attention to shots being fired from the rapidly approaching steamer. The intrepid investigators returned fire, but both the shells and the steamer itself were gaining on the Cormoran. A plan was made: the investigators were to roll an oil drum full of gasoline overboard and fire upon it, hoping that the gasoline would explode. This was a cockamamie plan at best, but worth a try, according to Lake who set up a BAR against the railing of the boat. Waiting for the steamer to get really close to the oil drum, Lake aimed carefully before firing off the last ten rounds of the magazine. The result was way beyond expectation. The gasoline exploded in a spectacular fashion, with flames engulfing the bow of the steamer, and shrieks from wounded and burning savages being heard across the water. The Cormoran would not share the fate of the Santa Ana!

As the boat set course back to Havana, it was time to open the coffer. It was a plain wooden box, still sealed as mentioned with the royal seal of Spain. The wood was porous, and it required little effort to unveil the contents, in this case a beautiful box of Egyptian design, only slightly smaller than coffer itself. The artwork was damaged by the sea water, but it seemed to display some form of building construction on a vast scale. Certain aspects of the work seemed to be intentionally blotted out, though, which seemed curious to Mackie in particular. The box was closed with a simple clasp, but sealed remarkably tight. Nevertheless, after some prying, the lid opened to show six egg-like organic items. each standing a full two feet in height. Four seemed to be opened, with the egg like containers being pale and dried out. Two were in much better shape, and unopened. But what were these things? 

 

By now, it was time for Franz Alter to give his full attention to Henry Dobson. Alter pulled out a case of very sharp and nasty-looking surgical instruments from his medical bag, and he proceeded to slice off wafer-thin parts of the screaming Dobson. The slices were unceremoniously thrown overboard, although some pieces were snapped up by the birds that once again trailed the Cormoran. It was not long before Dobson confessed that the treason was only for gain, and that they had been given very generous checks by a woman named Irene Polack, a middle aged woman with a mean face. Alter sliced off another couple of slices of Dobson before the bleeding captive fainted. However, the fish would feast tonight. 

Epilogue:

Irwin Bowers was in no pain, but merely semi-conscious at best. He really wanted to extinguish the fire that was threatening to engulf the speedboat, but he could not motivate himself, nor move his limbs. On the other hand, the boat was settling into the sea, stern first, so that should take care of the flames. Bowers' field of vision was narrowing rapidly as the speedboat slid in under the waves, but he still saw a large group  of what seemed to be divers that were swimming up to him as he went under. As they divers came closer, he could not fail to notice the gills, fangs and claws of his entourage before darkness engulfed him.