The Curious Quests of Brigadier Ffellowes Read online

  " 'Wha's that, man?' said George, in his thickest Scots accent, which I will not attempt to imitate.

  "The man smiled, not at all unpleasantly, and introduced himself. He had been a professor at some tiny Norwegian university, Stavanger, I think, or was until Quisling, Hitler, etal. had turned him out and into a refugee. His wife was dead, as was one son. The other was in the forces somewhere. Meanwhile, Dr. Hafstad was billeted in this Scottish backwater and pursuing his avocation as a hobby. He was, in fact, a geologist. When he paused, George, who had caught his first odd remark and was brooding over it, returned to the attack.

  " 'Wha's the business about the destruction of Europe?' George had taken just enough to make him argumentative. Not combative, mind you. But he had seized a subject and would not let go.

  " 'What do you know of the geology of Europe?' was the somewhat enigmatic answer. It turned out we neither of us knew anything, so he told us, in a sonorous drone that must have put his students to sleep in buckets in the past.

  "We heard all about varves, thermoclines, Pleistocene recessions, gneiss, schist, continental shelves, faults, the Riss, Mindel and Wurm Glaciations; the man missed nothing. And yet, somehow, he kept us interested. For one thing, he kept interspersing the most peculiar remarks into his lecture. There would be a longish strip on cave faults or something and then, 'If Hitler knew; seven bombers on the right incline.' Now, then, I began to prick up my ears. I had taken a fair load of spirits, but a confused idiot or an Axis sympathizer?

  "The learned rigmarole went on, and so did the baffling interjections. 'If there is a Wakening, what then? Ragnarok?' While I was mulling over this, we were back in cave faults, conterminous flaws in Welsh Sandstone, the unnoticed work of one Sergius of the University of Uppsala, some obscure savant of his acquaintance apparently. The whole thing was at one time a conversation, or rather monologue, from a pedantic bore, and then again a refreshing change from the casual chats with distillery officials, procurators fiscal, Gaelic revivalists and other types with whom George had tried to enliven my leave. Yet ... there was something else. I tried to focus upon it, 'nail it down,' as you chaps say.

  "Suddenly, as these things came upon one after a few glasses, I found my clue. The man was dreadfully in earnest. He was also frightened, and trying to conceal it. Underneath all this learned gibberish, was an appeal. In the only way he could, the retired professor was asking somehow for help, for comfort, for succor in some form or other.

  "George, who had been quite as silent as I for many long minutes, caught it too. He was George, I mean a short, broad Scot, who did not care to discuss his income, or indeed anything, with strangers, save for the iniquities of the firm conviction that Smith was a Scottish name, rudely captured by the Sassenach invaders. He owned, in fee simple, four fishing villages, had twice refused a peerage. He had three sons in the British army. Two others were dead, one of them a pilot in the Battle of Britain. In a locked drawer was his own D.S.C. from the First War. He was, in many ways, a typical Scot. Now he drained his glass and looked fixedly at Hafstad, who had momentarily withdrawn into his tankard. " 'Man, wha's amiss with ye? You're black with fear of somm'at. Do you need help?'

  "The clear blue eyes appeared over the tankard and inspected both of us. 'You do not laugh? You do not think here is a crazy old Norwegian who should be shut in a house for the mad?'

  "I was personally out of this, you understand. I could see that George had got on our strange friend's wavelength, though, and I shut up. The intensity, for want of a better term, that the man projected had touched me, however.

  "His inspection seemed to ease his mind. Abruptly, he stood up, and he was a big chap, over six foot and broad. When he put on his hat, which had a droopy brim, I thought of Odin and wondered if two ravens were hid on the premises.

  " 'Come,' he said. 'I have made calculations for over a year now. I will show you the end of the world, the world as you now know it I will show you the Abomination of Desolation as the Israelites knew it, and as my own ancestors knew it even better. This is why I have come tonight to this place.'

  "We got up, paid our score, collected our hats and coats and went out after him. It was not until I had seen the loch, gleaming in the summer moonlight; no more than a few hundred yards away below us that I realized where we were heading. George was silent, his head bowed, and his hat jammed down on his big head. We simply stumped along, following our leader down the slope from the inn, across the road and through the heather and gorse on the other side, down, down to the shores of the cold lake itself.

  "And all the while Hafstad was talking. The talk was still the same, all about geology, the interconnected, underground linkages through Scandinavia and Great Britain, the Irish lakes, the Swedish lakes, the confluence of currents, the intermeshing of tides, the rocks and their characteristics, the underlying faults. But there was more. In between the other stuff kept coming one word.

  "Appearances. There had been few Appearances in Sweden lately, but many in Scotland. Appearances were down, it seemed in Norway, but the war might have had an effect; reporting might be out. Irish Appearances were well up to the mark, however, so far as one could judge, and realizing that the Free State was neutral. This was mixed up with more of the geology lecture, but I found myself nodding my head gravely, wondering when the next Appearance would occur. It seemed important somehow, since the old visionary who was leading us thought it must be so.

  "No doubt you chaps will think I was naive. Yet I dare swear that until the three of us were standing on a sort of rock shelf at the water's edge, no more, even later, I had no idea what all this was leading up to.

  "Our guide took up his stand at the very lip of the stone and turned now to face us. He was very impressive in his cape and his droopy hat, especially as he gestured toward the glassy mere behind him.

  " 'Watch, you two! You will see something others have seen before, and made themselves the scorn of their equals. But you are the first besides myself to understand!' "

  Ffellowes stopped talking, and there was the silence that falls on all of his stories. I did notice the new member, out of the corner of my eye. His mouth was slightly open and an unlit cigarette was in his hand. The night noises of the winter city, coming through the closed drapes over the windows, sounded far off and in another time.

  "Professor Hafstad reached into his inside pocket and produced a large old-fashioned watch, which he inspected and restored to its recess," the brigadier continued, his even voice leaving every clipped syllable flawless and perfectly clear. "George and I stood, immobile, while he turned and waved at the placid water behind him, whose tiny wavelets lapped almost at his feet. All was still under the moon, and the wisps of cold fog rising off the dark surface did not hide, but rather revealed the far expanse of the loch, though hiding the distant shore.

  "We watched and suddenly there was indeed an Appearance. Without warning, the loch was in motion. Something arose, grew in size and moved. It was not far offshore. What did it resemble? At first blush, something very thick and rather flexible, not unlike hose, garden hose. It waved. There was a thin part, near the tip, then a broadening at the tip itself. It grew larger or perhaps longer, as it extended itself.

  " There! Now you see the peril! Now you at least understand!' It was our new leader and his voice was far louder and more ringing than it had been in the inn. A trifle too loud, I fancy.

  "I have said the Appearance was not far offshore. In fact, it was very close. Too close. In one fluid motion, it bent, like the trunk of some quadruple-magnified and quite improbable elephant. One moment had the professor with us. The next did not. I had a close look, a rather closer look than I needed, at something rippling down upon us.

  "I next saw the loch rippling under the moon and the swirls of mist rising again. The small waves were now much larger and swirled up almost to my boots.

  "George, who like myself had stood in silence during this visitation now looked up, and I saw his face in the moonlight. H
e was nodding his head gravely. 'Ah, Nessie,' he said. 'Ye're a bad, bad gurrl. Why for did ye do that?'

  "I must have made some sort of strangled noise at this point, for he turned and looked calmly at me. 'Donald, man, he called it and it tuk him. Now we'd best awa', you and me. The procurator fiscal in this parish is a devil for asking questions. We'll go the noo, and avoid all the trouble.'

  "Since I was totally blank, had no understanding of what had happened and was in fact stunned, I suffered myself to be led away. We climbed the gentle slope again, found our battered Morris van in front of the inn, which was now dark by the bye, and drove off. We had gone some miles on our way home across the quiet moorland before George took one hand off the wheel and patted my shoulder in a rough way.

  " 'Dinna fash yourself, Sassenach. He was a nice man, but Nessie doesna' ken these fine distinctions. It happens now and again. Saint Columba was the last man to argue wi' her, and he was a very holy man. Puir mortals like us can hardly make the pace.' He resumed driving, and the next morning, when I tried to raise the subject, stared me into silence."

  Ffellowes put down his empty glass and stretched. Then he looked at us. "Having seen that, you will understand why I find drinking a bumper to the dear old Scottish pet rather hard to do."

  The new member stuck his neck out "Excuse me, Sir, but I don't quite get it. Why, other than the obvious, were you so appalled?"

  The brigadier stared past him at the unlit fireplace, as if he were thinking, or perhaps remembering.

  "My dear man. Possibly you suffer from deafness. Perhaps, though I doubt it, I may have been obscure. When the thing, or Appearance, swung down, I saw certain vast circular marks, cicatrices, or what have you, on its surface. Disks, if that makes it plainer. In other words, chum, a single, colossal tentacle. I do not personally care to speculate on its point of origin."

  No one said anything. The new member stared at the empty fireplace. When I looked up, the brigadier had gone.

  -

  THE BRIGADIER IN CHECK AND MATE

  FIRST MOVE

  It was a windy and wild March evening in lower Manhattan. As I went along the canyons of what was once a familiar Greenwich village area, or its western fringe, I looked despairingly for any sign of a vacant taxi. The few that passed were always full and their lights were smudged by the wind-blown dirt and water. I had come from a meeting of major shareholders near 12th St and had tried then to walk to Fifth Ave. It grew very dark quickly and began both to rain and blow together as it did. It was not a part of New York I'd been in for years, and though I had a hat and light raincoat, I soon became half-lost and thoroughly miserable. It was not really cold, being in the mid-forties Fahrenheit, but it was the classic English term for a Winter's day, or "short, dark and dirty."

  As I groped futilely along the sloshy streets, I cursed my own stupidity for not having arranged some kind of a car pick-up. There were few people about and that made me feel a little safer, since this was a known haunt of drug addicts and the nastier lunatic fringe of the once-famous Art World of the old Greenwich Village. I kept well out toward the curb and the running gutters anyway, and avoided the dark alley mouths which gaped like black funnel vents between the dirty and narrow house fronts. I glanced at my wrist watch and saw that it was after 6:30 already. While the dirty rain blew in my face, I wondered if I ought to try one of the local bars, if I could find one, and risk being mugged or poisoned, just to get out of this blowing murk and trying to find out exactly where I was, as well as how to leave it as quickly as possible.

  I skirted a pile of soaked paper bags, crammed with filth and garbage, then almost tripped over what might still be live garbage, a ragged body coiled around the far side of the trash mountain on the wet pavement. Its bearded mouth was open and moved faintly so I guess it was still alive.

  Half a block further on, the blurred light of a passing car suddenly showed me a possible shelter, at least of a sort, quite close to me.

  It was a larger opening, between two narrow houses, each of at least six-story height. This opening was not an alley, though quite dark, but had a smooth pavement with a worn, brick walk running down its center. I had heard that a few, old, set-back houses of the 1840 period, or what the English still call "mews," still existed in lower Manhattan, though I'd never seen one. I turned left into this one, hopefully as well as carefully, keeping my left arm up before my eyes and my body bent as well, in case a blow should come out at me suddenly. The rain still fell steadily but at least I was out of that lousy, gale wind.

  Ahead of me, down the path, I could see a faint light, though it came from one side rather than straight ahead. As I walked slowly and carefully forward, I saw that the little walkway curved to the right around one of the two flanking houses, and that the dim light came from around this corner. Keeping to the exact center of the brick strip, I moved cautiously around the curve, wondering what I would find.

  There before me was a little house! It was about fifty feet away and the light came from a couple of curtained windows on the ground floor, for it had two floors under a low, peaked roof. There was even a minute garden or at least two tiny plots with some plants in them, one on each side of the front step and guarded by wooden fencelets a foot high. I gaped at this refugee from Grim's fairy tales in astonishment. A thing like this buried in the canyons of lower New York City was indeed a thing to gape at.

  My surprise and amusement got a quick ending and a scary one, too. One corner of my right eye suddenly picked up movement and my head swivelled to focus while my knees bent as well. Not ten feet away, in a darker angle of tall building was a metal fence, which I guessed was iron. Against this stood two tall, shrouded figures, silent and yet poised. They made no move, though one must have done so earlier to catch my attention, and simply watched me steadily. They were at least as tall as I am and I'm just under six feet. They made no forward movement, just watched, but in a way that somehow conveyed menace.

  While the water ran down my hat brim and the moaning of the wind yowled far overhead and the faint noises of intermittent traffic barely pierced the noises of the natural world, I stared at the two silent shapes through the rainy gloom and they stared back at me. The only light, that of the shaded windows, made it possible to see only that two dim figures were watching one. At last, my nerve broke, which, in my own defense, is something it had never done under night attacks in Korea.

  "I beg your pardon," I called out "I'm afraid I got lost and came in here looking for a phone and directions." I kept my voice from cracking, but it was an effort. The response was startling. One of the two stepped forward instantly, revealing itself as a man my size and also wearing a slouch hat and belted raincoat, a man who held out his right hand in welcome. When he spoke, my tight control of my nerves almost dissolved at the shock.

  "My dear Parker," said a very familiar voice, "I fear we appeared a bit dangerous. There are folk in your city, and not far off either, whom one would rather not meet at night, eh? Well, Old man, you've found my private digs which is more than anyone else has done, at least so far."

  "By this time, my rather limp hand was being firmly clasped by that of Donald Ffellowes, lately a Brigadier General of the British Army and, at this range, I could see the glitter of his blue eyes and the grin on his smooth face.

  "My God, Sir," I stammered, "I thought you stayed in hotels and we all know you like privacy and I assure you that I never, I mean I really am lost and I ..."

  The Brigadier laughed out loud or rather, gave a deep chuckle. He pointed at the tiny house and said, "I own that place and have for some years. I want your word that you'll tell no one else of it and (here, he paused a second) about anything else, right?" I could do nothing but nod my spinning head in response.

  "Good man. My wife and I were getting a breath of fresh air and then I was going up town to the club. Come and meet her."

  Another jolt to my already dazed brain! "My wife!" None of us at the club had ever known Ffellowes was married! He h
ad never so much as mentioned a wife, past or present, any more than he'd mentioned owning a very old house in the labyrinths of lower Manhattan! I'm not a money-minded person as a rule but I was a bit staggered by another idea. Every surface foot of the Brigadier's property could have been layered in platinum and even then the land itself would have been worth more!

  As we walked forward together, the second figure never moved to meet us but remained tall and silent in the shadows. Tall indeed. In the bad and angled light and through the screen of falling water, I could see her head was bare and the glint of a copper color. She wore a long cloak, of something dark and almost ankle-length. A ray of light caught the shine of ordinary rubbers and a hint of wooly socks, heavy ones.

  Ffellowes' hand stopped us both when we were about six feet away from the lady but I am not sure that had I been alone, I would have come even that close. I saw great eyes, lambent and fiery, which seemed to have a luminescence of their own and broad cheekbones. The mouth too was broad but closed and there was another strange feature. The facial skin was not pale but a strange neutral hue and it was not shining from the rain but somehow, well, dull and sombre. But these thoughts came late. Just then, all I could think of were those great, burning eyes, wide apart and fixed on a level with my own or even above my own, in a steady, unwinking stare that was almost hypnotic. They were not the so-called "cat eyes" and had normal pupils but there was a glowing lambency about them, so that even in the murk and shadow, they seemed to glow with a sort of brown heat. Imagine a mildly luminous, chocolate milk shake and you'll get some idea how it affected me.