Haggopian and Other Stories

“The name of Cindy Patterson’s publishing house. So no motive there—or if there is, it’s not yet apparent. And anyway, you can strike the Americans because they missed the Berne convention. There were problems back in the US of A, apparently, that needed sorting out. They only just got back in time for Rheims.”

“How do you know all of this?” Paynter ordered more drinks. “I mean, who’s your informant? You obviously didn’t speak to anyone who might be involved, for you’d tip their hand. So who gave you all of this stuff?”

Slater grinned, said: “Elementary, my dear Andrew. If you want to know the state of the church’s rafters, don’t ask the bellringer, ask the deathwatch beetle! The people on the inside. So who to speak to on the inside? Someone who wasn’t at any of the foreign conventions. Karl P. Ferd, is who.”

“Who?”

“Ferd, the editor and publisher of Dugong. The entire scene is an open book to him. You know, Dugong is one of as many as eighty fanzines—in this country alone! Anyway, Karl seems a genuine young guy, and he knows just about everyone in or on the fringe of the game—or games. Fans and pros alike. I’ve talked to him and I like him, so much in fact that I felt something of a shit laying my scam on him. I told him I was doing some research for someone who’s doing a book on the whole gaming thing. It would mean a lot of publicity for Dugong and a couple of the better amateur ’zines.”

Paynter nodded. “So you’re building up a stack of background information here,” he said, “but as yet nothing solid on the case itself. And yet I sense you’re onto something. Something you haven’t told me?”

Slater grinned, nodded. “Ferd tells me there’s a certain nut name of Kevin Blacker who’s a kind of gamer’s guru. He’s full of shit about the Tootle-tootle Mythos, attends all the cons—can’t play worth a bent penny but talks a good fight—and talks, and talks, and talks. And apparently he’s a true believer.”

“A what?”

“He thinks it’s all real. Or at least, that’s how he makes it sound. The Mythos is real! Cthul—who do you say it?—is real, existing between the spaces we know, waiting to take over the world again, and—”

“Hold it!” Paynter cut in. “Surely Cthulhu’s dreaming in his house in R’lyeh?”

“OK, his minions, then,” Slater shrugged. “The rest of the gang. They’re ex-directory, sort of, but they keep in touch. And when the stars are right and the cult is big enough—”

“What cult?” Paynter was trying hard, but Slater could move fast when he wanted to.

Slater sighed. “The Cthulhu cult, obviously! Like I said, this ding-dong Blacker thinks the stories—the original Lovecraft, Smith, Howard and etc. you name it, stories—were based on the real thing. Facts which only a handful of people were privy to. The guy’s crazy! So says Karl P. Ferd.”

Paynter was thoughtful. “Crazy enough to kidnap people, or at least make them disappear—maybe even kill them? And the motive?”

Slater inclined his head, opened his slitted eyes wide and said: “Ah!”

“Was he on the convention lists?” Paynter pressed. “Did he attend?”

“No to the first; yes, probably, to the second. See, Ferd says he doesn’t operate like that. He’s a guru, likes to appear mysteriously and vanish the same way. He just shows up, stays a couple of hours or maybe a day, expounds to his followers and anyone else credulous enough to listen, then moves on. So while it’s unlikely he’d appear on the official lists, it’s just as unlikely that he’d miss a con. He goes to all of them! He was in Milan, I’ve learned that much. And I’m betting he was at Berne and Rheims, too.”

“You didn’t mention the motive.” Paynter wanted to pin Slater down. “Ah! isn’t a motive.”

“Guttmeier is or was the world champion player. He knew the stories, books and rules backwards. Gaming-wise, he went where angels fear to tread because he had the measure of Old Tentacle-face and the rest of the starspawn. But Blacker says it’s not just a game. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, eh? He’s convinced himself, so now he has to convince the others. Don’t mess with Tootle-tootle, ’cos he’ll get you! Same goes for Tony Minatelli: he’s crazy keen on the game and one day could be a challenge. Blacker can’t stand people who look like they might steal his glory. He has to be the centre of Cthulhoid attention, and—”

“Cthulhoid?”

“Pertaining to Cthulhu. See, even I can say it now! Anyway, you get my point.”

“So…it seems you have a lead.” Paynter seemed disappointed.

“Oh, hey!” Slater said, with exaggerated gaity. “Oh, joy, let’s all be happy-happy! Jimbo has a lead!” He stopped mincing about on his barstool and turned his half-shuttered eyes on Paynter again. “So what’s eating you?”

“Well, actually,” Paynter began—and broke off. “Hell, I suppose it did sound like that, didn’t it?”

“It’s OK,” Slater nodded. He smiled with one side of his mouth. “I get the feeling I’ve popped your bubble. So what was your theory?”