Ch.126Ch.8 – And Then There Was Nothing (11)

# June 25, 1929, 10:00 AM

Crayfield Detective Agency

Pollard Island

Aurora and I returned to Pollard at dawn today. We ended up spending an extra day in Arkham, but there was no helping it. She was confused, anxious, and refused to leave my side.

“Just until I’m okay.” How many times our eyes met. How many embraces and words of comfort followed. Only God and the bed and sofa of our hideaway know how many conversations we had.

Still, when we left Arkham and boarded the barge, she seemed a bit more at ease. We made love once more in the car on the barge. I can only hope that helped her feel better.

As soon as we returned, I collapsed into sleep. After sunrise and a shower, I arrived at the office at 9 and told Crayfield everything that had happened.

From my rather unpleasant first meeting with Emma to our conversation at the Arkham café. I only omitted the details about Aurora.

Crayfield kept smoking cigarettes and asking questions about parts he didn’t quite understand, like “Wait, something grew from the Comorium?” but otherwise said little.

How should I put it? His attitude felt like a debt to me. That’s why I added unnecessary explanations that might have sounded like excuses.

I told him that I couldn’t understand or organize the story about Emma and the Fire Breath, so I couldn’t explain it even to Crayfield.

Thankfully, Crayfield didn’t awkwardly say things like “It’s okay, buddy” or “Hey, what kind of relationship do we have that you’re still not telling me these things!” Instead, grinding his cigarette butt in the ashtray, he said:

“It’s a one-sided claim.”

“We’re just licensed private detectives. Detectives generally rely on testimony, but crucially need physical evidence. Whatever’s growing in your chest is a secondary issue. I’m not saying I’m not interested, but from my perspective, that’s just a side matter.”

I didn’t quite understand what he meant. Crayfield smiled broadly.

“See? You still have a long way to go. What’s our job? The stone tablets, right? We should start with what’s easiest, most intuitive, and most certain. The facts are: ‘One tablet is at Pollard Island’s temporary Natural History Museum, and the other is with Emma Scully.’ Isn’t that right?”

He was correct. Crayfield jumped up and began writing on the blackboard.

“Let’s see. Emma Scully needs both pieces. Whether she’s putting them into Hyperborea or a stew pot is beside the point. So the first question: will she put them in separately, or will each person put in one? Didn’t she tell you about that?”

I was embarrassed. I hadn’t thought deeply about this issue. I had simply accepted Emma’s words at face value, without questioning them.

“Don’t be intimidated! That way you won’t see what you should see. In fact, the first question is secondary compared to the second. Whether she puts them in together or separately, she eventually has to come to Pollard. But there’s still no word about when she’s coming, let alone any news at all.

She’s either dead or busy enough to be dying, neither of which is a beautiful situation. And the most likely reason she’s too busy to contact us is that ‘she’s being pursued,’ wouldn’t you say?”

I asked if that meant we should go look for Emma. Crayfield shook his head.

“No. We can’t find her. Where would we look? And that would be a waste of time. There are things we can do without her.”

Crayfield underlined “Temporary Natural History Museum” on the board.

“The first tablet problem. If you’re right, this tablet can’t be stolen. It curses its owner. The good news is that this tablet isn’t going anywhere, right? It’s still at the temporary Natural History Museum.

And thanks to your efforts, I understand where this item came from and how it was smuggled out. It was purchased at the Arkham auction house, smuggled using various aliases, and ultimately bought by the city. Correct? At least there’s no story about the tablet being donated.”

That was also correct.

“Wait a minute.”

Crayfield erased the blackboard. Then he hastily wrote letters with white chalk. I could read what was written on the board.

“1. The tablet curses its owner”

The next sentence read:

“2. The city hall owns the tablet…ultimately. By paying taxes. With Pollard City’s budget.”

As he wrote the final sentence, Crayfield’s hand was trembling slightly.

“Therefore, the tablet curses Pollard City.”

“Snakes. That’s it, assistant. Because Pollard City owns the tablet, snakes have started appearing on the island. Didn’t you say Annette Cole was behind this?”

Emma had indeed said so. Crayfield concluded:

“It’s clear. Annette Cole is trying to offer Pollard Island to Yig. Just like Innsmouth sank. She plans to do the same to Pollard.”

Crayfield and I stared at each other for a long time.

* * * * *

June 25, 1929, 2:43 PM

Southern Cathedral

Pollard Island

Father Michael downed his liquor. He offered me a glass, but I declined. Crayfield eagerly accepted and asked for another.

“They’re insane.”

That was rather a polite assessment, considering Crayfield had been spewing all sorts of profanities. Father Michael chewed on pieces of jerky he had brought as a snack. Crayfield emptied another glass.

“Father. My assistant and I didn’t come here just to drink. You know that.”

“I know. I know.”

Michael’s tongue was already quite twisted.

“I can’t stand to see Pollard turned upside down. And I especially can’t bear to see this liquor storage destroyed. You know how to avoid Yig’s curse, don’t you?”

“Yig is simple. As simple as he is direct, and as persistent as he is direct. He may seem cunning in that he doesn’t discriminate in his methods, but ultimately his sense of purpose is singular.”

Michael’s glass emptied quickly.

“Blood for blood. An eye for an eye. That’s all.”

“How do we stop it?”

“Let me give you an analogy. A thug lives in an alley. He rushes to fight anyone who makes eye contact with him. How can you drive that thug away?”

“With greater force.”

“Exactly. Mr. Crayfield. Let’s have another drink.”

The glasses clinked together.

“What I can do is consecration. Purifying that tablet. We would need to perform an exorcism ritual, and Yig would rage at having his possession taken away before his eyes, but once the ritual is complete, his curse loses its power.”

“The part about Yig raging already makes it unappealing.”

“As a second-best option.” Michael poured another glass of port wine.

“We could use the smuggler’s method. Buying items under various aliases. But we can’t use this method. Even if Emma Scully has one tablet, the other is already owned by the temporary Natural History Museum. The least desirable method would be for someone to ‘steal’ it. But you know what would happen then, don’t you?”

Crayfield nodded.

“Being chased by thousands upon thousands of snakes.”

“Exactly. That would ultimately create an innocent victim. With so many other options available, there’s no need to choose that one. So if possible, I think this Emma Scully woman’s method is better. If she can throw it into another dimension.”

A strange idea occurred to me. One I couldn’t speak of in front of Crayfield and Father Michael. No, one I couldn’t speak of in front of anyone who knows me.

What if I could communicate with the Fire Breath in my chest? What if the Fire Breath could take that tablet? Could Yig reach Mars? Could the Fire Breath suppress Yig?

But I quickly shook my head. Not a good idea. Not only would it be unnecessary sacrifice if there might be other ways, but bringing together two destructive outer gods didn’t seem right either.

Just then, as if he had heard something, Father Michael looked at me.

“Even an ordinary person’s faith can break that curse.”

“Pardon?”

“Yig is merely an old god. And gods survive on faith. And there are few faiths in the world that as many people believe in as the church. No matter how strong Yig may be, he is no match for the root-like faith of countless people.”

“But isn’t it ordinary people who believe in God? Those who believe in Yig are evil priests.”

Crayfield asked. Michael closed his eyes. Now his voice sounded like he was giving a sermon.

“Yig’s priests commit unimaginable crimes. They believe that’s how Yig will notice them. In other words, Yig is essentially outside of them. Yig’s priests are like abandoned children.

But what about God? The god of every proper religion in the world teaches us to listen to the light within ourselves. In Mr. Crayfield’s heart, in your heart too. God dwells there. So, consider this. Between one who carries God in their heart and one who has been abandoned by God, whose power is stronger?”

Michael poured another drink.

“Don’t lose your light. Evil people are those who have erased the light in their hearts. They hate and despise those who still live with light in their hearts. So they try somehow to erase the light in others. Just like Yig’s priests do.”

“But Father, I don’t believe in God.”

Crayfield’s eyes were wavering. Michael patted his shoulder. It seemed like encouragement.

“Then believe in your conscience.”

* * * * *

We got into Crayfield’s car. Driving was my responsibility again, since Crayfield was quite drunk.

“Do you believe in God?”

I said I wasn’t sure. But I do know about beings called gods. Most of them are not good gods. Fire Breath. Cthulhu. Yig…

“Then do you believe in your conscience? I mean, do you have enough conscience to break the curse tied to Yig’s tablet? Because I don’t think I do.”

Smiling, I told Crayfield that I was probably similar to him in that regard.

“Look. I don’t really believe in God. Or myself. Or my conscience. What I believe in is how fucking awful this town is. And you. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

The sudden compliment was embarrassing. But I wondered why he was saying this. Whenever he made such obvious statements, a sudden development always followed.

“We can’t wait.”

Crayfield glared ahead.

“There’s still no word from Emma Scully. If she’s been captured or killed, the tablet has already changed hands. Maybe the tablet is already crossing the Atlantic. So we need to make a decision. First, contact Catherine Scully. She’ll surely come running if it’s about her sister. And then, we need to break into that damn natural history museum.”

Both the first and second tasks were difficult. Catherine Scully had changed her contact information again, and there was no way to reach her.

And breaking into the natural history museum? I asked what that meant exactly.

“Let me address the second point first. Let’s steal it. And I’ll tell you in advance, you won’t get a penny. I’ll take it. Why are you looking at me like that? You think I can’t dodge a few snakes? No. I’m not saying this because I’m drunk, buddy. And as for the first point, we can solve that right away. Look behind that tree. No, not there. The tree next to the streetlight.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing. I saw a man in a caramel-colored coat with a fedora pulled down.

Henry Payne. Federal Bureau of Investigation special agent.