by Trevor Hopkins

The Old One drew back his head, his eyes never leaving me for a moment. I don't believe that anybody can hold the gaze of an Old One for more than an instant. Certainly, I couldn't. I quickly turned and made my way to the centre of the circle where Rosie and Gumshoe were already standing, all the way resisting the urge to run.

I had just reached the others when the marked circle on the ground began to move. It rose with impressive smoothness, a perfect disc of solid rock supported on nothing that I could see. I did take a look to make sure, scurrying right over to the edge, leaning out and peering down. There might have been a column of stone emerging effortlessly from the floor of the Old One's abode but, by the time I peered over as far as I could manage without actually toppling off, we were already so high up that I could make out almost nothing below.

The other two were terrified, of course, although Gumshoe did his best to hide it. Few humans are truly comfortable in high places. Both of them stood petrified in the very centre of the disk, clinging to each other. Meanwhile, I tried looking down from the other side of the disk, but there was nothing to be seen there either. A sudden gasp from Rosie made me spin around. Both were staring upwards, their faces a picture of horror. For a split second, perhaps, we all thought we would be squashed like bugs against the roof. Then, above us, the ceiling of the vast cavern opened and we were swallowed up.

The dim red light still emerged from the platform, its feeble light enough to make out each other’s position. I got the impression we were moving sideways as well as upwards. Although the rock walls were glassily smooth, there was just enough contrast to give an impression of considerable speed. It wasn't really a tunnel, of course, just the application of the Old One's magic which allowed solid objects - like the three of us and the disk of stone upon which we stood - to pass though the miles of solid rock between the caverns of the Old Ones and the cities of the surface world.

It could not have been more than a minute later that we arrived at the surface. We were unceremoniously deposited at a street-lit corner in New York, the faintly-glowing rock that supported us merging imperceptibly into the sidewalk. There were a few people about, but none of them seemed to be looking in our direction at the point of our sudden arrival. Just another example of the omniscience of the Old Ones, I expect.

"Where are we?" I asked.

Gumshoe glanced around and spoke immediately. I guess his claim that he knew the streets of this city like the back of his hand was true enough.

"My office is six blocks that way," he added, waving a hand, "And my car's parked up even closer than that."

Rosie had reverted to a near-catatonic state, probably in shock, as well as being tired and hungry. To be honest, I was flagging a bit too. I must have been running on adrenalin the entire time we were being interviewed by one of the Old Ones. Gumshoe had noticed Rosie's condition, too. I'm not sure he was paying any attention to mine. Perhaps he thought I was able to look after myself.

"I'm going to have to take Rosie home," he said, supporting the lady in question with an arm around her waist.

"But she can't go to the bar," I said quickly, without thinking, "It's not safe, and is probably fire-damaged, too."

Gumshoe snorted disparagingly.

"I'll take her to my home," he said, adding quickly in response to my curious glance, "She can have the bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

I knew Gumshoe wasn't referring to the apartment he rented in one of the shabbier parts of New York City. He meant his family home, the old homestead upstate. It wasn't a bad idea. Few people knew much of Gumshoe's history. Short of booking into a hotel, there was nowhere more anonymous we could go right now.

Part 78 Part 80