Weirder Shadows Over Innsmouth

We were dwarfed, Henry and I, made minuscule by the gigantic scale of everything; and screwing up his face, shielding his eyes as he peered up into reaches that receded sickeningly into skyscraper heights and vast balconied levels, Henry said, “That must be where the life is: Bgg’ha’s throne room, cages to house his prisoners, dwelling areas for them that serve him. The monster himself will sit high above all that, dreaming his dreams, doing what he does, probably unaware that he’s any sort of monster at all! To him it’s how things are, that’s all.

“But as for his underlings—the flying creatures, and Deep Ones, and Shoggoths that build and fashion for him, varnishing their works with a slime that hardens to glass hard as steel—I have to believe that a majority of them… well, perhaps not the Shoggoths, who are more like machines, however nightmarishly organic—but by far the great majority of them, know full well what they are about.”

“I think you’re right,” I told him. “But you know, Henry, we’re not too small to be noticed. And I can’t imagine that we would be welcome here; certainly not you, suitcase and all! You need to be about your revenge, Henry, and should it work—to however small or enormous an effect—then, while you will have paid the ultimate price, at least your physicist friends may be aware of your success and will carry on your work, assuming they survive it. So why are we waiting here? And why is that awesome weapon you’re carrying also waiting, if only to be put to its intended use?”

It was as if he had been asleep, or hypnotised by his alien surroundings, or maybe fully aware for the first time that this was it—the end of the long last night. For him, anyway—or so he thought.

And he was right: it was the end of the road for him, but not as he thought. “Yes,” he finally answered, straightening up and no longer whispering. “The others who helped me put it all together, they will surely know. They’ll see the result from the skeletal roof of the museum. When the explosion takes this leg out, the entire tower may rock a little… why, it could even topple! Bgg’ha’s house, brought crashing down on the city that he has destroyed! And that, my friend, would be acceptable as a real and very genuine revenge! By no means an eye-for-an-eye—for who has lost more than me?—but as much as I could hope for, certainly.”

“The roof of the museum?” I repeated him as he headed for a recess (an outcrop, stanchion, corner or nook?) in the seemingly restless wall. “What, the Victoria & Albert’s roof, whose cellar was your home?”

“Eh?” He stared at me for long, hard moments… then shook his head. And: “No, no,” he said. “Not the Victoria & Albert, but the Science Museum next door, behind that great pile of rubble that used to be the Natural History Museum.”

“Ahh!” For at last I understood. “So that is where and how you and your team built it, eh? You used materials and apparatus rescued from the ruins of the Science Museum, and you put it all together… where?”

“In the museum’s basement,” he replied, as the wall seemed to enclose us in a leadenly glistening fold. “Those massive old buildings, and their cellars, were built to last. We had to work hard at it for a long time, but we turned the Science Museum’s basement into our workshop. And after tonight, when they’ve seen the result of my work, they’ll make the next bomb much bigger—big enough to melt the entire city, what’s left of it…”

And that was that. Now I had all that I needed from the old man, all that I’d been ordered to extract from him. Wherefore:

You can come for him now, I told the Tower’s creatures—or certain of them—fully aware that the nearest ones would hear me, because I knew they would have been listening out for me. But meanwhile: