Arkham International: Call of the Cursed Sea – Chapter Four: San Francisco

CHAPTER FOUR: SAN FRANCISCO

by Josh Reynolds

Chinatown hummed. Three blocks down California Street, toward Broadway and the bay, and it was like a city within a city. There were few signs of the fire that had nearly claimed the district almost fifteen years prior, and the streets were filled with strangely decorated and arranged shops.

One shop, in particular, had caught Archibald Hudson’s eye. “This seems awfully familiar,” he murmured, eyeing it from across the street with the air of a man who’d spotted a nest of rattlesnakes. It proclaimed itself a curio shop, but who knew what that meant these days. “Shop is closed. Lights are off. Busy street. Middle of the day. Can you say trap?”

“Trap,” Valeriya Antonova said, drily. They lounged in an alley, watching the shopfront from a convenient angle. No one paid them any attention, though Hudson figured the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association had someone watching them. The Six Companies and the Foundation had an understanding of sorts, one that extended to the San Ho Hui and other fighting tongs. Which was just as well, because Hudson preferred not getting a hatchet in the back while investigating a possible paradimensional incursion.

He and Antonova had come to San Francisco hoping to pick up the trail of a missing agent – one of several, of late. Alexa Roscoe had been running the Chinatown office for the Foundation for years. She knew the area and had a good relationship with the local practitioners. The fact she’d gone missing, and so suddenly, was concerning. There’d been no trail, as such. Just a crumb here and there. Meetings. Names. And finally, a place.

Chi Zhang’s Emporium of Curiosities.

Hudson sighed. He’d expected something called an “emporium” to be bigger. Regardless, they were here now, and there was only one thing left to do. “Definitely a trap. But we still have to go in.”

Antonova nodded. “If you take the front, I will take the back.”

Hudson glanced at her. “How do you know that there’s a back?”

“There is always a back,” Antonova said. She patted his shoulder. “Do not die, eh? I have grown to tolerate you and would hate to have to break in a new partner.”

“You’re all heart, Antonova.”

She laughed softly and started down the street. It was busy and she blended into the Chinatown crowd with ease. Antonova was good at that sort of thing. Better than Hudson. He liked to stand out. Nice clothes, good shoes. A man for the times, his dad might have said.

Hudson frowned. He didn’t like thinking about his old man – or what had happened to him. He took a deep breath and idly tapped the stone ward dangling from his neck on a rawhide thong. It was a standard Foundation-issue ward. Just enough to keep him safe from the smaller varieties of paradimensional predators. Between that and his sidearm, he figured he was prepared for most anything. Then, Roscoe had probably been prepared as well. And where was she now?

“Good question,” he muttered. “Let’s find out.” He squared his shoulders and started across the street, towards the curio shop. Chinatown unfurled around him. Above him was a canopy of painted balconies, hung with wind bells and flowered lanterns. Around him, the street was crowded with people moving one way or another. Few paid him any attention, for which he was thankful.

He stopped at the emporium’s door and tried the handle. Locked, but there were ways around that. He reached into his coat and pulled out a silk handkerchief. Inside the handkerchief was a desiccated human finger that had once belonged to a rather well-known housebreaker. A few words in Latin and the finger twitched like an earthworm. He tapped it against the door’s lock, and heard the bolts slide back with a rattle. A few more words, and the finger stilled. He carefully rewrapped the digit and slid it into his coat. Then he stepped into the shop.

The air inside was musty, as if it hadn’t been disturbed in some time. That didn’t bode well. He carefully closed the door behind him, not wanting to risk something getting out. There was some light coming through the windows, so he could see the shelves of bric-a-brac and the sales counter at the back. But nothing else.

They still didn’t know why Roscoe had been interested in this place. It wasn’t mentioned in any of her reports, not even in a footnote. So what–

The hiss of parting air, and the sudden change of temperature warned him of what was coming, even before his ward started to burn like a red-hot coal against his chest. He spun, going for his sidearm at the same time. He glimpsed long arms and wrinkly flesh emerging as if from thin air directly behind him. The thing had a head like a turnip, and an outsized mouth full of serrated teeth that opened far wider than it ought to have. Claws tore strips from his coat as he drew his pistol and fired.

The thing reared back, flailing limply. It screeched, and all the glassware in the shop quivered in sympathy. Hudson backed away, still firing. The ammunition was Foundation-issue, each one marked with the Elder Sign. Not that it did much good, usually. But sometimes it was just what the doctor ordered.

The thing wavered; vanished. Hudson cursed and reflexively checked his weapon. Only a few shots left. His ward was running hot, and he could feel his skin beginning to blister. The ward was doing something, but he didn’t know what.

Another hiss, from his left. He twisted around, the pistol bucking in his grip. He saw the air ripple and split, the edges furling back like flower petals and behind it – what? Somewhere else. Somewhere awful. The thing emerged, talons wide, reaching for him. If his shots hit home, he couldn’t tell.

It caught him by his lapels and drove him back against the counter, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Eyes like black stones examined him for a moment. Then it turned and began to drag him towards the rip in the air. Realizing its intent, he hammered at its grip with his useless pistol.

Then, a flash of steel. The creature wailed like an injured cat as it reeled back, sans arm. Antonova struck again and again, spilling ichor with every blow. The creature flung itself back through the rip in the air and did not reappear. Panting from effort, Antonova turned to help Hudson to his feet.

“Dimensional Shambler,” she said.

“What was it doing here?” Hudson asked, shakily.

“Trap. Like you said.” She looked at the weapon in her hand – a dao sword, with jade inline. “Found this in the back. It was Roscoe’s.”

“Ah, hell,” Hudson said. He leaned back against the counter. “Any sign of her?”

Antonova grimaced. “She’s in the back, too. Dead. For a few days, at least, from the look of her. Or what’s left of her.” She eyed the ichor still coating the dao blade. “It looks as if she was tortured. If the shambler had done it, we’d never have found the body.”

Hudson frowned. That might mean someone had wanted them to find Roscoe. But why? “We’d better get Taylor on the horn. Something weird is definitely going on and I have a feeling we’re not going to like it when we find out what.”

Read or listen to more of Arkham International Season Two: Call of the Cursed Sea.

Read or listen to Arkham International Season One: Shadow of the Drowned City.