carry on cthulhu 3

 

Count Godley, as it turned out, had an imposing manner as well as an imposing manor. He was waiting for me outside its splendid 18th century facade.

"So you're the young man come to rummage about in my archive, are you?"

"Yes, your excellency, that would be me."

"Well, its been a long time since somebody came to do that. I hope it's not too dusty in there. By the way, I hope you understand if Lady Godley doesn't join us, she's out shooting peasants .. er, I mean pheasants."

"No, you're excellency thats quite alright."

"And drop the excellency pleaaasse, that's only for public functions. Out here in the grounds of my palladian estate I like to believe we're all sons of adam."

"Of course y .. of course. The grounds are delightful by the way, and the building of course."

"Ah yes, built by one my illustrious ancestors the Reverend Godley, to replace the old medieval hall after the fire. Burnt down by some over zealous witch finders would you believe? The reverend made them pay of course .. in the courts I mean .. nothing gruesome or horrible happened to them whatsoever.. but why are we chattering out here, let me show you around."

So I spent a pleasant morning being shown around the manor. I was fascinated by the portraits of his recent ancestors, made by a series of well regarded and not so well regarded artists, and their attempts to capture the 'Godley sneer'. I stopped at one in particular.

"Ah yes, that's the good reverend, painted by the Dutch master Jan Van Glockenmeister."

"Its remarkable. Almost as though he's sneering at me personally. No earlier portraits survived the blaze I suppose."

"All that survived the blaze were the contents of the reverends study. You can count yourself fortunate that these included the kernel of the library - documents and manuscripts going back centuries."

"And how did the study come to escape the flames, exactly?"

"Ah well, thats interesting. The reverend had moved the study to a temporary location on the edge of the grounds - an old hunting lodge - so as not to disturb the household. He was involved in some .. alchemical experiments .. and was known to produce some noxious fumes. Speaking of which .. here is my manservant Grimes, he can show you to the library, isn't that right Grimes?"

"Yes m'lud."

"And if you'll excuse me I have some matters to attend to. Did we manage to catch those poachers Grimes?"

"Oh yes m'lud."

"Ah well then, I suppose I better report them to the proper authorities. On a completely unrelated matter, have you seen my branding iron and pruning shears?"

It sounded like the Count had a busy afternoon planned and I was keen to start my researches, so I let Grimes, who really wasn't quite as squalid as his name would suggest, take me to the library.

The collection was impressive - a small number of modern works, mostly esoteric in nature, then alchemists tracts dating from the 16th to the 19th century: among them I was shocked to see the forbidden Kulten Ghoulies by Comte de Bidet and Rottenkultens by the mad priest Helmut Grosse. All that was missing was a copy of the Woblinoblicon, and I thanked the stars that one of the very few surviving copies was safely ensconced at the Ginantonic university. I had suffered the misfortune to read some of that dreadful text (I imagine you empathise gentle reader) and wonder where it's compiler, the heretical arab Sheik Yabuti had uncovered such forbidden lore. You could say, that it almost sent me on the wrongs tracts!

I turned with relief to more sound historical matter, the Chronich Saxons and a good collection of supporting material, then folios of medieval manuscripts, and lastly the Roman record, on carefully preserved and bound papyrus.

Although these tried to maintain an official tone, between the lines it was apparent that Bran Flakius was a cause of much dread and loathing. Referred to as the great All Bran by his kinsfolk, it was obvious, that although lacking moral fibre, he was effective in clearing out the Romans. Enough so that the regional Leggit had done much to earn his title. Even more dreaded were the Seven Maidens, where it was said, druidesses would lure legionnaires to their grisly end, at the hand .. no, tendrils .. tendrils, of the white bubbly things that crawled out of the ravine. My translation is weak here, my apologies. Which brings us to the resting place of Bran Flakius. for the saxon legends say, that after his fatal wounding at the battle of Upsen Downs, he was not buried but taken down into the ravine and hidden by his blasphemous accomplices.

My work was interrupted by a knock at the door from Grimes and I was suprised to see that many hours had passed and the light was beginning to dim.

"His excellency was worried sir, he thought maybe I should prepare one of the guest rooms, He has a spare set of jim jams and a toothbrush if you failed to anticipate an overnight stay sir."

I looked out of the window. It was getting dark and I fancied not trying to negotiate the tortuous lanes that led back to the camp in darkness.

"Tell his excellency I would be most grateful, thank you Grimes," I said, wondering what other experiences might await me on my visit to the manor house.

carry on cthulhu 2

 

I awoke under canvas in the damp morning chill. The evening mist had crept into my tent and brought with it strange dreams. In these dreams I had awoken, my slumber disturbed by a fitful moaning. When I looked out to determine the source of these disquieting ululations, I saw that the whole field was covered with a spectral fog, and that in the distance, peculiar unnatural lights danced around the standing stones. One of these lights seperated itself from its twirling brethren and floated its way across the field until it landed not nine yards from where I peered out on this absorbing spectacle, upon which it transformed into a ravishing damsel, dressed all about in ancient garb, who beckoned me to leave my tented abode and join the merry throng who pranced and caterwauled around the archaic edifice, revelling in the freedom from sane and moral law (that was a long sentence wasn't it? only apropos for one so guilty of murdering the english language). Well, all that sounded like a bit of a lark, but I didn't want to get my pyjamas wet. At which point the lights and the damsel disappeared, and the fog receded until it was the normal mist you might expect to find hovering over the Upsen Downs.

Over breakfast, I ventured to ask if anyone else had heard strange moaning during the night. Professor Digger and Miss Rutmore exchanged quick glances.

"Oh .. oh, that will be the Professor's lumbago, won't it Professor?"

"What? Oh.. aye, my lumbago. Plagues me something rotten it does. I must have put it out when I was working on Miss Rutmore's trench. The one she dug I mean."

By now, Miss Rutmore was concentrating with excessive seriousness on turning over the bacon. The stove must have been hot because she appeared quite flustered.

"More breakfast anyone" she said abruptly. "Personally I think I could handle one more sausage."

"I don't know about that Gladys," said the Professor. "I expect young Bodkin here ( for that was my name, Ivor Bodkin, did I not say?) .. young Bodkin here is curious to see my trinkets."

Indeed I was! And fortuitously, the Professor had laid them out ready for me to admire. The trinkets were small at first, but gradually worked up to something more impressive. So, there was pottery, then finely crafted hairpins and brooches, and finally bone fragments.

"But look at this," said the Professor. From the box where he'd stored his best finds he pulled out a complete skull. "Look at this fellow, he doesn't seem happy does he?"

"Well, you did disturb him from his slumber, so to speak."

"No, I reckon its just because he's got nobody to hang out with."

"Yes, but maybe that's because he's got no backbone."

"True, but he seems 'armless enough."

"Maybe if we took down to the pub and got him legless too."

"I don't know about that by the look of it he's already out of his skull."

"We need to stop ribbing him."

"Well, enough of that, the important thing is... look here."

He handed me a brooch. It was like no piece of jewellry I'd seen before. With its intricate swirls and complex geometry it reached and surpassed the heights of celtic craftsmanship. And the more you looked at it, the more its patterns began to interlace and twist. It hurt my eyes. And the material.. was not gold or even copper, but a greenish metal that was alien to me, and must have been alien to the celts, from all I'd read.

"So what is it? Not native surely," I asked.

"Native in design . but the material .. and the craftsmanship, only a wizard could have made such a thing surely, maybe even the great Melvin himself, eh?"

"It was found with the skull?"

"That it was, and I reckon there's more hereabouts. The roman records speak of a feared tribal king .. Bran Flakius they called him .. whose druids summoned dreadful creatures to fight off the latin invaders. In the end, the provincial Leggit brought in five whole legions and a priestess from the temple of Hecate Thump, who called upon the goddess to drag all the demons back to the underworld.

"A marvellous legend, but subject to tremendous embellishment surely?"

"Well, that's what youre going to find out. I'm sending you down to the manor house to meet his excellency Count Godley and examine his archive. Its a trove of regional history apparently. "

"And is he a real Count?"

"Oh he's a real Count alright, you can be sure of that."

What an opportunity! Although I was uncertain, if I were more excited to be meeting the local aristocracy or for the chance to immerse myself more in this intriguing story.

carry on cthulhu 1

 

I was yet unproven in the field of archaeology, having only just graduated from the Ginantonic University, where i'd earnestly studied the subject for five years. It's true, i also had some experience in the field, most often with the Professor of Ancient Affairs Miss Wilma Gladcock, but all I'd managed to uncover was a set of outdated relics. Now i was hoping to get the chance of a proper dig, having being invited to assist Professor Emiritus Rusty Digger in his exploration of the Seven Maidens near Gently Bottoms. Apparently, he'd already unearthed some promising material, enough to convince him that there might be a celtic treasure hoard nearby, but some of my more skeptical colleagues had warned me that when it came to this subject, he tended to be all torc.

All the same, it was enough of an opportunity to send me driving out there in my Garland Imp, waving goodbye to the cloistered halls and wending spires that had seen the best of my youth. How i would miss those nights at the Merry Winkle, where we would debate the merits of our respective tools under the watchful eyes of the barmaids. Or afternoons in the dusty library poring over ancient tomes, such as the illicit Woblinoblicon, which you had to get special permission to read.

Nothing could prepare me for quite how isolated Gently Bottoms was, or its location at the end of a particularly treacherous ravine. In fact, the only safe way to approach it was via the rear entrance. So arriving that way it was the manor house I saw first, the official residence of Count Norbert Godley (I had been fortunate enough to notice the sign while attempting to locate the obscure village - N. Godley Manor, 2 miles). It was a fine piece of architecture in the baroque style but the same could not be said for the rest of the village, which expressed a shabby, down at heel countenance. In fact, many of the buildings could be said to be downright decrepid, as looking around, could many of the villagers. They had a surly inbred quality that failed to delight me. Thank heavens Professor Digger was there to greet me, for I welcomed not the prospect of explaining my prescence to these scowling brutes!

The professor reassured me that many were not as forbidding as their dour exterior would suggest. In fact, several had helped him select a location for his encampment and dig the first trenches. All he had to do was heed their warnings not to go near the Maidens themselves, particularly after dark. It was whispered that bad luck befell men who entered their enclosure, and that during the long winter nights, strange whoopings and screechings could be heard that distressed a person to hear them. Although, as it turns out, the same could be said of Ma Whimple's back room once the pub had closed.

"A superstitous bunch to be sure" said the Professor. "It comes of living in such a close knit community. But I concede your point. Some of them do look as though as though their mother dropped a stitch."

I drove the professor back up the encampment, which lay up a winding road somewhere parallel to the ravine. We must risen some distance for here the air was damp and misty. I could only just see the seven standing stones that made up the Maidens but half a mile away. Our encampment consisted of four tents and a small truck stacked with excavation equipment. The working day been done, the dig team had settled around a primus stove and were washing down their meal with tea, I presumed, although often, later, this was replaced with whisky. The team stared at my car as it entered the field and then rose as we got out and approached the camp.

"Thats a motor and no mistake", said one, a portly, garrulous man who Digger introduced as Professor Ernest Spooner.

"Well, it gets me where I want to go." I said modestly

"Ooh, that reminds me. About the time a hitchhiker asked me if I was willing to go all the way .."

"Not now Spooner" the Professor sighed.

I quickly shook hands with the remaining pair - a tall gangly fellow with thick spectacles and an unfortunate twitch, going by the name of Joshua Spadely, and a delightfully buxom filly who was introduced as Gladys Rutmore. Gladys it seemed had also attended the Ginantonic. I was at a loss as to how I might have remained unaware of her existence, even if she was two years my senior. True, our arenas of study were different, with Gladys undertaking a degree in Applied Engineering. Her quite obvious attributes had brought her to Professor Diggers attention and she had the pleasure of working under him for several years, bringing her knowledge to bear on the reconstruction of ancient building techniques. In fact, many was the time she had been called on to help with the erection of an old pillar, or some other such thing.

Alas it was getting too late to examine the Professors nik naks, anxious as I was to see if they were as impressive as described to me in his letters. I had yet to pitch my tent and it seemed that work proper had best wait till morning.