Weird Shadows Over Innsmouth

“Ben Keeler,” the sailor said. His spotless winter blues bore the eagle-and-chevron insignia of a petty officer. He shook Marston’s hand. “We’ve been hearing about you for weeks now, sir. I’m so pleased that you could finally make it to a meeting.”

Charlie Einstein set out to fetch beverages for Marston and Aurelia Blenheim. Keeler pointed out the others in the room, giving their names. Marston nodded to each.

One of them was a thirty-ish woman whose mouse-brown sweater was a perfect match for her stringy hair. She was sitting next to the fireplace, where a log smouldered fitfully. “This is Bernice,” Keeler announced. “Bernice Sanderson.”

The woman looked up at Marston and Aurelia Blenheim. It was obvious that she knew Blenheim; they exchanged silent nods. “So you’re the famous professor.” She glared at Marston. “The sceptic who doesn’t believe in anything he can’t see for himself. You’ve got a lot to learn, Professor.”

She turned away.

Keeler took Marston by the elbow and steered him away. “Sorry about that, sir.”

Marston interrupted. “Please just call me Del.”

“Fine.” The sailor grinned. “You know, I was an undergrad at Cal until we got into this war. I’m accustomed to calling professors, Sir.” He reddened. “Or, Ma’am, Professor Bleinheim.”

“Aurie.”

“Yes.” Keeler turned a brighter shade of red. “Anyway, once the war is over I plan to go back and finish up my degree.”

Marston nodded. He saw that Keeler wore an engineer’s rating on his uniform sleeve. “Good for you,” he said. “There will be plenty of need for good engineers in the post-war world.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Keeler. “In fact—”

He was interrupted by Charlie Einstein carrying a tray with two steaming cups on it. “I know Aurie likes these things and she told me that you did, too, Professor.”

“Del.”

“Right. Hot rum toddies. Good for a night like this.”

When Einstein went on his way, Ben Keeler resumed. “I’d hoped to have you as my faculty adviser when I get to grad school. If I’m not being too pushy, that is.”

Marston shook his head. “I’m flattered. Sure, come and see me when the war’s over. I envy you, Ben, serving in the Navy. You just went down and enlisted when Pearl Harbor was attacked?”

“I thought it was the right thing to do. In fact, I’d have thought that a man with your credentials would have a commission. If you don’t mind my saying so, Professor. Del.”

Marston sipped at his rum toddy. “They turned me down. Said I couldn’t march right, and besides, they wanted me to hang around and lend my expertise when they had problems for me to play with. Said I was more valuable as a civilian than I would be in the Navy.”

Keeler nodded sympathetically.

Marston breathed a sigh of relief. The rum couldn’t be that strong and fast-acting, it was just careless of him to mention not being able to march right. He’d been born with minor deformities of both feet. They’d never kept him from normal activities, in fact he felt that they helped him as a swimmer. But the Navy doctors had taken one look at his feet and told him to go home and find a way to contribute to the war effort as a civilian.

Still, the Navy had accepted him as a consultant, calling upon his expertise as a marine geologist and hydrologist. He’d received a high security clearance and worked with naval personnel whenever he wasn’t busy teaching. He looked around, observing that nearly everyone in the room was young. Aurelia Blenheim had persuaded Marston to attend a meeting, but this looked more like a party. There were plates of snack food scattered around the room and bottles of soft drinks. There was a low, steady hum of conversation. Marston spotted only two girls among the crowd, discounting the acerbic Miss Sanderson. Outnumbered as they were by males, they were twin centres of constant attention and manoeuvring.

A fireplace dominated one end of the room. A young man of neurasthenic appearance wearing a baggy suit and hand-painted necktie had stationed himself in front of it. He held a brass bell and miniature hammer above his head and sounded the bell.

“The twelfth regular meeting of the New Deep Ones Society of the Pacific will come to order.” He looked around, clearly pleased with himself. Conversation had ceased and he was the target of all eyes. “We have a distinguished guest with us tonight, Professor Marston of the University of California. If anyone can shed light on the problem of the Deep Ones, I’m sure Professor Marston can.”

Now attention shifted from the young man to Del Marston. What a farce this was turning into. Marston mulled over suitable forms of revenge against Aurelia Blenheim.

“Professor Marston,” the young man was babbling on, “perhaps you’ll be willing to address our little group?”

Marston was holding a thick sandwich in one hand and a soft drink in the other. He put them on a table and said, “I’m afraid I’m not quite prepared for that. Maybe you’ll tell me a little bit about your group, starting with your name.”