J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (9)

PGL: "I'll check the doors and windows, make sure we're secure. Jago, you find something to arm yourself with, and prepare for trouble."

HGJ: "A sterling plan, George. Ah... right... now... weapons. Oh, lummie. Need to find something useful, focus Henry. What have we here, a carving knife, lacks a decent range, no. A chair perhaps? I could fend off these fishy frogmen like a lion tamer... too awkward."

*The creatures thump and pound on the glass window. The frame creaks under the pressure.*

HGJ: "Corks! That perilous pane won't hold the coves for long... A-ha! That's just the ticket, a fire poker, perfect. I'm not exactly the swashbuckling type, but I'll have to make do. Engarde!"

*With a thunderous crash, the window gives way.*

HGJ: "Come on then, have at you! Yeah-hah! Stay back, I'm warning you...  I once toured the south of England, in my youth, in a production of Treasure Island. *ugh* It taught me everything I needed to know about swordplay. True, my character was stabbed in the first act, but you get the point..."

*One of the frogmen cries in pain*

HGJ: "Quite literally, in fact. But there are rather a lot of you, aren't there? Oh, where's Litefoot gotten to?"

PGL: "Right behind you, Jago!"

HGJ: "Thank heavens for that! About time you got back here, I... is that...?"

PGL: "My father's old hunting rifle? Indeed. Though it hasn't been used since we took care of the giant rat of Weng Chiang."

HGJ: "Let's hope it still fires then."

*A crack of gunfire*

HGJ: "You missed!"

PGL: "I wasn't aiming for the creatures. There's too many of them anyway. I'm just trying to distract them, make some noise."

HGJ: "It seems to be working!  The creatures aren't advancing."

PGL: "It's unlikely a noise like that will go unnoticed. Our assailants have lost the element of surprise now. Maybe it's enough to force a retreat?"

*Another crash of broken glass echoes through the house, from father away*

PGL: "That sounded like it came..."

HGJ: "From upstairs!"

Both: "Howard!"

HGJ: "They must have scaled the ivy to reach his room, while we were busy defending the dining room."

PGL: "How could we have been so blind?"

HP: "Jago, help!"

HGJ: "We're coming Howie, just hold on!"

PGL: "No! We're too late..."

HGJ: "Those brigands can move sharpish when they need to."

PGL: "They're carrying the boy like he's nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Come on, we've got to hurry, they've already reached the drive."

HGJ: "Hold on Howie, we're coming, don't you worry!"

***

PGL: "Oh, it's no use. We can barely see anything in this gloom, nor can I hear young Howard's cries any longer."

HGJ: "Damn it Litefoot, we can't just give up. A child's life hangs in the balance, and it's all our fault."

PGL: "Oh, Henry... I'm not suggesting we stop our search, merely that we alter our approach. We can't match the blighters in speed, but maybe we can outsmart them."

HGJ: "You have some cunning plan then?"

PGL: "Well, you did manage to stab one of the frogmen in it's torso. I happened to notice it didn't bleed, at least not like a human would. The wound oozed a dark, purple, viscous ichor. Ah, look here! Several droplets of just that substance, fresh upon the cobblestones."

HGJ: "And you think we could track it by following this trail left by the injury?"

PGL: "It depends on a number of factors, the coagulant rate of the fluid for one, and it assumes the injured one remained with the one who took Howard..."

HGJ: "It's still our only hope George. And if it doesn't lead us to Howard directly, I'm sure we'll be led straight to whomever is behind this entire ordeal."

***

HGJ: "This way, I think. Dash it all, the trail is thinning out. It seems to lead into that shop there."

PGL: "I was afraid we'd end up here."

HGJ: "You know the place?"

PGL: "Unfortunately. That establishment, my friend, is owned by none other than Quentin Renwick."

HGJ: "The bounder! What are we waiting for, let's go meet the cad."

PGL: "Henry, wait! It could be... dangerous. And he's already inside. So much for any chance of a stealth approach then."

HGJ: "Mr. Renwick? Come out you monster. Give us back the boy and maybe we won't inform the authorities about your little schemes. I... ugh... that stench... foul and fetid, thick and tangy. It's so thick I can hardly breathe, an odour that fills the throat."

PGL: "That is the cloying smell of death, I'm afraid. Blood and decay if I'm not mistaken, with a hint of incense or some other ritualistic tokens."

HGJ: "Blood? It can't be, surely not..."

PGL: "I don't think so, no. There's a hint of rot in the air. The blood that was spilled here must be a few hours old, I reckon, so it can't be Howard's. But going by the strength of the stench, I fear we shall find rather a lot of it."

HGJ: "Look here! Is that... oh corks! A body!"

PGL: "My word, Quentin?! That's Quentin Renwick, and he's most certainly dead."

HGJ: "So he's not behind all this then? Unless those fish faces turned on him for some reason."

PGL: "I don't know, Jago. I'll see what I can tell from his injuries... Yes, see here, his throat was slit."

HGJ: "I'd rather not, if I'm honest. I'll take your word for it."

PGL: "The flesh isn't torn, so a sharp blade was likely used. Possibly ritualistic in nature. No signs of struggle, or bruising. However it wasn't self inflicted."

HGJ: "Ah, because the knife is missing?"

PGL: "Something more glaring, Jago. There's also no blood. Barely a drop int his clothes or around the wound even."

HGJ: "But it must be around here somewhere. I can smell it."

PGL: "Then I suggest we follow our noses, though I fear what we may uncover."

HGJ: "It seems to be stronger towards that curtained off section at the rear of the shop."

PGL: "Quentin's private collection, where he kept the book pertaining to Valgthoth."

HGJ: "Well then, let's see what we find then. Ahem. You first. You have the stronger stomach when it comes to sickening sights."

PGL: "Very well then. My goodness!"

HGJ: "You were right about the ritual then. Are those..."

PGL: "Human skulls, yes. Arranged in a circle in the middle of the room, surrounded by dribbling candles."

HGJ: "Never mind the candles, I'm more concerned with the arcane symbols adorning the floor, painted in blood!"

PGL: "Someone definitely attempted to perform some dark ritual here."

HGJ: "Followers of Valgthoth? Those frogmen? And to what end? Are we too late to prevent whatever evil end this rite was supposed to cause?"

PGL: "I think the answers are contained in Quentin's book. The book on the lectern at the centre of the circle."

HGJ: "Careful Litefoot."

PGL: "It's just a book Henry. What could possibly..."

*A sudden hum of energy fills the room.*

HGJ: "George? What's going on? I can't see you through the glare!"

PGL: "It's the book Henry. Its emitting a sort of green glow. I can feel it, tugging at me."

HGJ: "Close the book! Close it!"

PGL: "I can't... move... some force is drawing me inwards..."

HGJ: "I feel it too! Oh, corks. I never expected my cause of death to read 'devoured by a dictionary'."

*both men cry out until the humming ends abruptly, and the book slams shut, leaving nothing but a lingering silence*