The Lurker at the Threshold : A Horror Mystery by Brandon Berntson (feel good books txt) 📕

under his breath.  “We’re not as young as you, you dangle-headed . . .”

Macky heard enough of this to make him smile.

Capshaw looked wide-eyed and pale-faced behind the doctor, holding onto his bowler hat.

There were roughly five-hundred people in the city.  Music, lutes, lyres, mandolins, and recorders rang in a melody that, Macky admitted, he liked quite a lot.  It wasn’t Count Basie, but what was?

The drinks were flowing.  The revelers were kicking up their feet, wearing chitons, swinging arm in arm, laughing, and having a good time.

Macky looked to the trees.

The eyes had disappeared.

“Did anyone think to bring a weapon besides pocketknives?” Capshaw said.  The man was out of breath.

“Improvisation is how I move,” Macky told him.

“Do you ever plan anything?” Armitage asked, who was right behind Macky.  “Or do you just always go on impulse?”

Macky turned and smiled at the doctor.  “I was never one to exercise patience.  Being rash might be the worst of my failings.”

The world, according to Armitage, was 10,000 years old.  It was hard to imagine.  Did they have music and instruments back then?  Now wasn’t the time to get remiss about the details, but he wondered . . .

Macky looked at the lake again.  Were those boats on the water?  A strange mist gathered, something more than fog.  The moon was partly obscured by the clouds.  Cold stars shone.  If not for the history lesson, it would’ve been beautiful.

“For England, Valhalla, and Saint Joooohhhnnn!” Macky shouted, and stormed the bastille.  Or the city in this case.

“Dear God in heaven,” Armitage said.  “He’s gone completely insane!”

“He does seem a tad reckless,” Capshaw said.

Macky entered a square, what appeared to be the town center.

“I didn’t think he reads,” Capshaw said, referring to Macky quoting Shakespeare.

“He must’ve gotten it from Millie,” Armitage said.

Capshaw and Armitage hung back, surveying the crowd.  People had noticed them already, giving them curious looks.  Armitage and Capshaw straightened their ties, trying to look dignified. Some people looked amused.  Some pointed and laughed at their attire.  Some whispered to their neighbors.  It didn’t stop the celebration, drinking, or dancing.

Macky stopped in the midst and looked around.  Armitage and Capshaw did the same.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Macky said. “Should we split-up?”

“That would make sense, but it could be dangerous,” Armitage said.  “If one of us should be left behind . . .”

“I think you’re just scared,” Macky said, grinning.

“I know how this turns out,” Armitage said.

Capshaw swallowed the lump in his throat.

Torches blazed in the mist on the lake.  The eyes of the forest were visible again.  Some of the people had noticed the fog on the lake, the mist with a thousand eyes.  Some were pointing, shouting.  Macky thought he could hear the sound of drumbeats—a readying for war.

“My guess is she’s probably dressed like some of these people here,” Capshaw said.  “What would a queen be dressed like in Mnar?”

“Green,” Macky said.  “Look for a red-head in green.”

Disruptions were taking place.  The drums were louder. The people had stopped dancing, pointing toward the lake. Some started fleeing, shouting.  The music had stopped.

From the banks of the lake, someone screamed.  Macky, Armitage, and Capshaw turned, eyes wide.

“Splitting up, we’d find her faster,” Macky said.  “We might not have a choice.”

“We’re running out of time,” Capshaw said.

The war drums were at the shores of the lake.  Screams were more constant.  The tribe of Ib was moving into Sarnath.

“Any ideas?” Armitage asked.

“None,” Capshaw said.

A dog barked.  It came from above.  Macky looked.  Armitage and Capshaw did the same.  On a balcony, thirty feet above their heads was a balustrade.  Macky caught a glimpse of long red hair, a green outfit . . . and Mr. Kalabraise.

Macky bolted across the square, hurrying around people who were shouting, looking for places to hide, or grabbing weapons.  He hurried up a curved stairway, puffing air by the time he made it to the top.  He hurried through a large open area to his left, saw a door, and opened it.

Millie stood staring at him, red hair piled on her head.  She had ringlets.  In all actuality, she had never looked more beautiful.  It stopped him in his tracks.  She was wearing a green chiton, a gold leaflet around her head.

“Wow, Millie,” Macky said.  “You have found your element.”

“I beg your pardon!” she said.  “What’s the meaning of this?  Who told you to enter my chambers?  Guards, seize them!”

“Millie, it’s me,” Macky said, moving to one side, out of the way of the guards.  “Dev.  Innsport.  The Necronomicon.  You got a bump on the head or something, sweety.  Don’t you recognize me?  We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“This is outrageous!” she said.  “Guards!  Remove this man at once!”

“Mill, we don’t have time for this. The Tribe of Ib is on their way.  You guys made them mad with all that idol business.  I’m here to rescue you.  Like those old romantic, chivalric novels you love to read.  It’s a dream come true, Mill.  Macky to the rescue!”

“Old, what—?” she said.  For a second, it looked like the old Millie had returned.  Her eyes brightened, then dulled to the same, smoldering fury.

The guards approached from behind and grabbed each of his arms.  Mr. Kalabraise barked but was wagging her tail.  She was happy to see Macky.

He slipped his arms out from the guards, took several steps, and veered out of the way.  They advanced.

“This is most unseemly,” Millie said, waving her hand in the air.  “Off with his head!”

The two men smiled and stepped toward him, swords drawn.  They wore gold helmets.

Capshaw and Armitage entered at the same time, coming to a stop.  Millie screamed at the sight of them.  The guards turned.  Mr. Kalabraise barked,