CARNACKI: The New Adventures (24 page)

Dodgson.
I don’t know.

Carnacki.
The slightest thing. Anything that gave you pause.

Dodgson.
Well . . .

Carnacki.
Yes?

Dodgson.
How do you explain the creature, the bird, I mean, still being able to detect Miss Allenby despite the electric pentacle? That shouldn’t have been possible.

Carnacki.
Quite right. Quite right. Perhaps . . . perhaps it’s like hiding under a sheet in an empty room? One is concealed, but the hiding place is obvious?

The electric pentacle flickers.

Dodgson.
Are you quite sure nothing’s—

Carnacki.
Let me worry about the apparatus. Keep going.

Dodgson.
Well, I still don’t understand how this so-called family curse comes to affect you at all.

Carnacki.
Yes. Good. That’s the part that seems strangest to me, too. I suspect if we can discover why the behaviour of the phenomenon has changed now, after generations of consistency, we shall find the key to the whole business.

Dodgson.
Then there’s the matter of the charm.

Carnacki.
No, Dodgson, I think we’ve found the right line of enquiry, if we can just focus.

Dodgson.
It’s not like you, that’s all.

Carnacki.
What’s not?

Dodgson.
Do you trust it to protect you? I suppose you must. We’ve established that the pentacle can’t hide you.

Carnacki.
Hang on. Slow down. Why wouldn’t I trust the charm?

Dodgson.
Let’s see. Provenance unknown. Hasn’t worked in living memory. Testing inconclusive. Why would you trust it?

The electric pentacle begins a constant flickering. The sound of wings begins to draw closer.

Carnacki.
It would have saved Miss Allenby if she’d kept her head and kept it on.

Dodgson.
Funny how everyone seems to believe that. You, Miss Allenby, sceptics both, supposedly. If keeping it on’s going to save you, why are we even having this conversation? Why didn’t you simply ask me to, I don’t know, tie you up and sit on you until morning?

Carnacki.
I . . .

Dodgson.
May I see the note?

Carnacki.
Pardon me?

Dodgson.
The note that came with the charm. It’s in your pocket, there. May I see it?

Carnacki.
Whatever for?

Dodgson.
Indulge me.

Carnacki.
If you insist.
Hands it over.

Dodgson.
What language is this supposed to be?

Carnacki.
English.

Dodgson.
Don’t be absurd.

Carnacki.
“Whosoever of my kin doth find himself in need of more than earthly protection . . .”

Dodgson.
That’s not what it says, Carnacki.

Carnacki.
Of course it is. Read it.

Dodgson.
I can’t. What is this script? Arabic? Hieroglyphs?

Carnacki.
Are you quite in control of your senses?

Dodgson.
Are you?

One candle goes out.

Dodgson.
Give me the charm.

Carnacki.
What?

Dodgson.
The charm and the note are handed down together, you said.

Carnacki.
What of it?

The second candle goes out.

Dodgson.
Hiding under a sheet, in an empty room, and—and holding up a lantern.

Carnacki.
You’re supposed to make sure I keep it on!

Dodgson.
Give it to me. Give it to me, Carnacki.

The third candle goes out.

Carnacki.
It’s got to you. You’re mad.

Dodgson.
What happened to the power of my mundane existence?

The fourth candle goes out.

Dodgson.
Seizes
Carnacki
’s left wrist and wrestles the charm from it.

Carnacki.
Draws his revolver.

Dodgson.
Wraps the charm in the note and sets both alight at the fifth candle.

Carnacki.
Aims the revolver at roughly where he last heard
Dodgson
speak.
Confound it, Dodgson!

Dodgson.
Tosses the burning note and charm out of the Pentacle.

Carnacki.
What’s got into you, man?

The fifth and final candle goes out. The glow of the ele
ctric pentacle steadies. The sound of wingbeats recedes.

Carnacki.
Lowers his revolver.

Dodgson.
Has that done it?

Carnacki.
I can’t hear it any more.

Dodgson.
Hear what?

Carnacki.
The herald. I don’t see it overhead either.

Dodgson.
Then I was right? The curse was nothing to do with the Allenby family. It was something in the charm.

Carnacki.
What one might term a haunted or cursed artefact, masquerading as a hereditary spiritual entanglement or family curse. Of course the victims tore the thing off, the moment they realised it was guiding the herald towards them, but the realisation always came too late. And if the charm were of the herald’s own being, as it were, a part of the creature itself, then of course it would remain uninsulated by the electric pentacle.

Dodgson.
You’re yourself once again, I see.

Carnacki.
Myself, yes. I think so. But not yet whole.

Dodgson.
You see the chasm still?

Carnacki.
Yes. Though as long as the pentacle holds, without the charm to give me away, I should knit back together quite naturally. I may yet write that monograph.

The cry of a monstrous carrion bird. The sound of mo
nstrous, frantic wingbeats. Wind.

The electric pentacle flares bright, then goes out with a pop and a spray of sparks.

Darkness.

Dodgson.
What in heaven’s name was that?

Carnacki.
Dodgson, take my gun. Where are you, Dodgson?

Dodgson.
Why? What for? What’s happening?

Carnacki.
I can’t see. I may miss. I may hit you.

Dodgson.
I heard it, Carnacki. Is it coming for me, now, too?

Carnacki.
No. Perhaps. I doubt it can discriminate. Take my gun.

Dodgson.
But what for?

Carnacki.
It’s coming here, Dodgson. It’s lost track of me in the abyss so it means to manifest itself on the physical plane. Death is preferable to whatever it has in mind. Where are you?

Dodgson.
I won’t do it.

Carnacki.
You must. I’m not afraid. I’ve seen beyond the veil. There’s nothing there.

Dodgson.
I refuse.

Carnacki.
Puts the gun to his temple and cocks it.

A sound like many voices whispering in an unknown la
nguage becomes audible over the sound of wings.

The electric pentacle lights back up. The chalk lines of the
Water Circle glow. So do the signs of the Saaamaaa Ritual which
Carnacki
drew on the floor with water. And so does a new series of lines, which combine with those of the Water Circle to form a new, more intricate pentacle. Signs of the Saaamaaa Ritual appear, glowing, on
Carnacki
’s and
Dodgson
’s foreheads.

Carnacki.
Drops the gun.
Dodgson.

Dodgson.
Is this it?

Carnacki.
The centre, Dodgson.

Dodgson.
Goes for the gun.

Carnacki.
Manhandles
Dodgson
into the centre of the circle, by the trunk.
Back to back, now. We have to ride it out.

The wind gains strength.

The whispering overpowers the wingbeats.

The cry of a monstrous carrion bird in pain.

Stillness. Silence. Darkness.

Dodgson.
Did you see? Ghostly faces in the dark. Watching.

Carnacki.
I saw.

Pause.

Carnacki.
I’ve said before there are entities that sometimes intervene when a human spirit is threatened by the Outer Monstrosities. Of course it doesn’t do to count on these things, but . . .

Dodgson.
Carnacki.

Carnacki.
I suppose the whole business with stranding spirits in the Outer Circle was a way to circumvent the notice of those powers.

Dodgson.
Tom.

Carnacki.
William.

Dodgson.
Must you?

Carnacki.
Must I what?

Dodgson.
We’re alive, aren’t we? Can’t you leave it at that, just this once?

Carnacki.
Perhaps I’d better.

Pause.

Dodgson.
You’re working it out in your head. I can tell.

Carnacki.
I’ll need an explanation ready for Arkright. You know what he’s like.

Beat.

Dodgson.
Laughs.

Carnacki.
Laughs.

Morning.

Carnacki.
Is dismantling the electric pentacle and scrubbing out the Water Circle.

Florence
.
The first time I got lost. When I was just a little girl. We were by the sea. I was exploring the rock pools and I must have gotten carried away. When I looked back it was dark and I couldn’t see Mother. The tide was in and nothing around me looked familiar any more. I thought I might be out there among the rocks all night, alone. It still makes my heart jump just thinking about it.

Carnacki.
I know the feeling.

Florence
.
Well, it’s like that. Only more. Imagine not being able to see home even as a distant star.

Carnacki.
I doubt I can even begin to.

Florence
.
Are you envious?

Beat.

Florence.
Where did it all start?

Carnacki.
We’ll never know.

Florence
.
But you have a theory. You can’t not have theories about things.

Carnacki.
I don’t know. Perhaps some ancestor of yours got on the wrong side of some shaman or mystic with knowledge of the Unseen World.

Florence
.
Someone like you?

Carnacki.
Or perhaps it was meant for someone else entirely, and your ancestor just happened to fall afoul of it. The one responsible may not have foreseen how it would come to be passed down through the generations. Though if that part was deliberate . . .

Beat.

Florence.
You are envious. I can tell. Is that why you lured it back?

Carnacki.
That is not what I was trying to do.

Florence
.
Still. I know where home is now. Everything looks familiar again. I’ve seen such horrors and such wonders. Would you like to hear about them before I go?

Beat.

Florence.
Will you visit once in a while?

Beat.

Carnacki.
I’m sorry you went through what you did. I ought to have seen what was happening.

Dodgson.
Don’t feel badly, old chap. You had a far worse night than I.

Carnacki.
Hm? Sorry, Dodgson. I was miles and miles away.

Dodgson.
Are you quite all right?

Carnacki.
I’m alive, am I not?

Dodgson.
And in one piece again.

Carnacki.
Just about.

Beat.

Dodgson.
Thank you.

Carnacki.
Thank me? Why?

Dodgson.
It’s thanks to your precautions that I’m safe.

Carnacki.
I suppose you’re right. That’s something, at least. Help me with this, would you?
Hefts one end of the trunk.