Arkham International: Shadow of the Drowned City – Chapter Four: Arkham

CHAPTER FOUR: ARKHAM

by Josh Reynolds

Archibald Hudson stepped over a dead fish and around the slumped remains of what might once have been a hardware store, careful not to drop the coffee and sandwiches he carried. His partner saw him coming and opened the passenger door of the motor car. “They only had cheese and pickle,” he said, apologetically, as he climbed in.

“I’ll survive,” Valeria Antonova murmured, her cool gaze fixed on the building across the street. “They haven’t come out yet.”

The ‘they’ in question were Roland Banks and Trish Scarborough. One, a federal agent, and the other something else. A spy, maybe. Codebreaker, definitely. Neither was in Arkham officially. Neither had the backing of their respective agencies. Yet here they were.

Hudson couldn’t help but admire such dogged dedication, even as he worked to undermine it. The Foundation couldn’t have people pulling at these particular threads. Things were in a state of flux. The old occult hierarchies were dissolving like sandcastles at high tide. Things were changing, and not for the better, in Hudson’s opinion. Everything was up in the air, and it was anybody’s ballgame.

“Remind me who they’re talking to,” Hudson asked, as he unwrapped the wax paper around his sandwich and took a bite, careful not to get crumbs on his suit. “Is it the reporter?”

“Andrew Van Nortwick,” Antonova supplied.

“Have we chatted with him yet?”

“We have.”

“Was he helpful?”

“Not as such,” Antonova said. She unwrapped her sandwich and frowned. “Does this have pickle on it?”

“I did say.”

Antonova set the sandwich aside. “I am coming to hate this town.”

“Only just now?” Hudson asked. Antonova looked at her fellow field agent.

“There are worse places than Arkham.”

“Name one.”

“Dunwich.”

Hudson grunted. “Yeah. At least Arkham has running water. Had, I mean.” He studied the street around them. It looked like a warzone, even in the weak half-light of the afternoon. Ruptured buildings, piles of loose bricks – dead fish, and worse. There were still dozens of people missing. It would be years before Arkham was what it had been, before the flood. Before– well. That was the question, wasn’t it? What exactly had happened out there, in that blank space on the map?

Commissioner Taylor called it a paradimensional occurrence, like it was nothing more than a bit of bad weather. A hurricane maybe, or a wildfire. But Hudson had seen enough to know better. Something impossible had woken up and taken a leisurely stroll into town, leaving madness and death in its wake. Then, for whatever reason, it had gone away. And no one knew anything – or at least nothing they were admitting.

He looked at Antonova. “So far today, they’ve talked to a Coast Guard captain named Morrison and, weirdly, a stage magician.”

“Drake,” Antonova supplied. “Osborne questioned him, right after the disaster.”

“And?”

Antonova shrugged. “Nothing useful. Though she swears he knows more about the whole business than he’s letting on. Like maybe he knows more about magic than how to get a rabbit out of a hat.”

Hudson sighed. “That’s the problem with this town in a nutshell. There are too many people who know just enough to make trouble, and not enough to keep their noses out of certain books. Starting with that geezer, Armitage, at the university library.”

“He was very polite.”

“That’s all he was.” Hudson finished his sandwich and carefully folded the wax paper and set it aside. “The only secrets should be the ones we keep. But everyone in Arkham has something to hide. I– hold on.” He sat up. “What do we have here?”

“What?” Antonova asked.

“I saw something. Stay here. Watch my back.” Hudson climbed out of the motor car and started across the street. He’d caught a glimpse of something in the murky light. He knew that they weren’t the only people shadowing Scarborough and Banks. They’d attracted the attention of some very nasty individuals, including the remaining membership of the so-called Pilgrims of the Drowned City.

He and Antonova were there to watch Banks and Scarborough, but he didn’t intend to let them get jumped, not if he could help it. They deserved that much consideration, at least. Both he and Antonova were carrying the standard wards, designed to see off most common paradimensional predators. Hopefully it would be enough.

He rounded the corner and stopped. His hand fell automatically to his sidearm. The man was naked; covered in mud and other, less identifiable substances. He crouched in the ruins of a storefront, hunched over something. His hair was wild, and there was a lot of it. Hudson approached him carefully. As he drew close, he detected the unmistakable sound of eating. “Excuse me, sir, do you need assistance?”

The man didn’t turn. “No, thank you, I am quite satisfied,” he growled.

Something about his voice caused the hairs on the back of Hudson’s neck to prickle. “Stand up and turn around, please,” he said. “I won’t ask twice.”

The man grunted in resignation and rose slowly to his feet. He looked almost emaciated, like a half-starved dog. His hands were stained an unpleasant shade of black. As he turned, Hudson caught a flash of yellow. The man’s eyes were like those of an animal. As were his teeth. “What can I do for you, officer?” he asked, politely.

Hudson peered past him, at what he’d clearly been gnawing on, and had to swallow a sudden rush of bile. It had scales, claws. Eyes like lightbulbs, now dark. He’d seen such creatures before and had hoped never to see them again. “What are you?” he whispered.

“Hungry.” The man looked down at his meal in obvious distaste. “Though I am not much for fish, I admit. Dr. Fern says I must learn to broaden my horizons, however. Which is why when the flood inadvertently freed me from my incarceration, I took it as a sign.” He nudged the thing’s body with a toe. “The storm washed quite a few things up. Some of them nastier than others. You should be careful, sir. Arkham is no longer safe for decent folk.”

“Hudson?”

Hudson glanced back to see Antonova hurrying towards him. When he looked back, the nude man was gone – vanished, as if he’d never been. But what was left of his meal was still there, and smelling like the catch of the day. Antonova joined him. “They’ve left. Looks like they’re heading for the docks. We need to follow them. I think– what is that?” Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the dead thing.

“I hate Arkham,” Hudson said.