absorbed by the lake itself, drawn in so. that what was hidden before could now be viewed . . .
. . . There are monsters beneath us, Halloran . . .' He could see the shapes moving around, sluggish, lumbering patches of greater darkness, and it seemed to him—it was insinuated to him—that these were grotesques who knew nothing of light, nothing of sun, creatures who slumbered in the depths, close to the earth's core. Among them were sleeker denizens, whose very tissue-like structures prevented pulverisation under such pressure; they glided between their cumbersome companions, two opposite natures co-existing in a nocturnal underworld. There were others with them, but these were less than fleeting shadows.
Halloran sensed their yearning, the desire to ascend and make themselves known to the world above, weary of perpetual gloom but imprisoned by their own form. Yet if they could not rise, perhaps something of what they sought could be lured down to them . . .
The boat tilted as Halloran leaned further over the side.
'Touch the water,' he was softly urged. 'Feel its coldness . . .' Halloran stretched his hand towards the lake that had become a huge liquid umbra, and there was a stirring below at his approach, a kind of quivering expectancy.
'. . . sink your fingers into it . . .
He felt the wetness and its chill numbed more than his flesh .
. . . deeper, let it taste you . . .
The water was up to his wrist, soaking his shirtsleeve .
. . . reach down, Halloran, reach down and . . .' He heard laughter.
'. . . touch the nether-region . . .
Halloran saw the shapes rising towards him, mutations that should only exist in the depths, mouths-were they mouths? They were openings, but were they mouths?—gaping, ready to swallow him in . . . to absorb him . . .
The laughter was sharper, startling him to his senses. Halloran pulled his hand clear, standing in the boat as if to push himself as far away from those rearing, avaricious gullets as possible.
Still they surged upwards, climbing as a single gusher, an almost solid stream of misshapen beings, terrible unearthly things without eyes but which had limbs that were stunted and as solid as their bodies, while others were only tenuous substances housed around jagged needle-teeth . . ~. coming closer, rushing as if to shoot above the surface itself . . .
. . . Until they began to disintegrate, to shatter, to implode, for they were never meant for the fine atmosphere of the upper reaches.
He heard their anguished screams though there were no sounds—their torment was in his mind only. All around the boat the water was bubbling, white foam spouting upwards as if the lake were boiling. Here and there geysers appeared, jetting into the air and carrying with them—or so Halloran imagined remnants of flesh, all that was left of the abyssal creatures.
The boat pitched in the ferment and Halloran quickly sat, both hands gripping the sides for support, staying that way until the turbulence began to subside, the lake becoming peaceful once more.
The two men were in an area of clarity, for the mist had been driven back to form a wide circle around the boat. Everything was still within that clear area, the boat now barely drifting.
The only sound was Kline's low chuckling.
22 FOOD FOR DOGS
Charles Mather was kneeling among his shrubs when his wife called him from the terrace steps. Always used to rising early, he had found the habit hard to break after leaving military service. So nowadays, rather than disturb Agnes, who did not share his fondness for early-morning activity, he would creep from their bedroom, dress in the bathroom, take tea in the kitchen, then wander out into the garden, which had become his second love (Agnes would always be his first). Whatever the season, there was always work to be done out there, and for him there was no better way to start the day than with lungs full of sharp—and at that time of the morning, reasonably untainted—air. The only negative factor was that the chill (always a chill first thing, be it winter, spring or summer) played silly-buggers with the metal in his leg.
He looked up from the bed he had been turning over with a short fork. 'What's that, m' dear?'
'The telephone, Charles. Mr Halloran is on the telephone. He says it's important that he speaks to you.'
Agnes was a trifle irritated because she'd had to climb from a bath to answer the phone, knowing that her husband would never hear its ringing in the garden. Here she stood shivering with the morning freshness and catching pneumonia by the second.
Mather pushed himself up from the padded kneeler and, the tip of his cane sinking into the soft earth. he hobbled towards the terrace.
'I should get back inside if I were you, Aggie,' he said as he awkwardly climbed the steps. 'You'll catch your death of cold standing around like that.'
'Thank you for your concern, Charles, but I'm sure poking around in the damp grass for a couple of hours hasn't done much for your leg either,' she replied more tartly than she felt. 'I think you'd better take a bath right after me.'
'Mother knows best,' he agreed with a smile. 'Now you get yourself back indoors before I whip off your dressing-gown and chase you naked around the garden.' She quickly turned to hide her own smile and walked to the patio doors. 'That might give the neighbours a breakfast thrill,' she said over her shoulder.
'Y'know,' he murmured, limping after her and admiring her rear with almost as much enthusiasm as when they were younger, 'I really believe it would.' He took the call in his study, settling down into an easy chair first and waiting for the click that signalled Agnes had replaced the upstairs receiver. 'Liam, Charles here. I hadn't expected to hear from you today.' There was no urgency in Halloran's voice. 'I've been trying to contact Dieter Stuhr since eight this morning, but had no luck.'
'As we have an ongoing operation he'll be at Shield all weekend,' said Mather. 'I assume you've already tried to reach him there though.'
'I thought I'd probably catch him at home earlier, then I< rang the office. No answer from there either.'
Mather checked his wristwatch. 'H'mn, just after nine. He'd have one other coordinator with him today and she should have arrived by now.'
'Only Stuhr would have a key.'
'Then she might be waiting outside at this moment. It“s not like Dieter to be late, but perhaps he's on his way. That could be why you missed him.'
'I rang his apartment over an hour ago.'
'Well, he could have been delayed. Look, I'll get on to Snaith—don't see why his Saturday shouldn't be disrupted—and between us we'll see what we can find out. No doubt it'll prove to be something trivial—his car's probably had an upset.' With his free hand, Mather rubbed his aching knee. 'D'you have a problem there at Neatly Liam?'
'I wanted to arrange for extra patrols outside, that's all. And I think our men should be armed. Security here is virtually nil.' There was a pause, but Mather sensed that Halloran wanted to say more. When no further words came, the older man spoke up: 'Anything else bothering you, Liam?' The question was put mildly, but Mather knew his operative well enough to understand something was wrong.
More silence, then, 'No, nothing else. Our client is unusual, but he can be handled.'
'If there's a problem between you two, we can switch. No need for added complications, y'know.'