Dr. Hughes, without a word, passed over a black-and-white photograph that had been taken of his mutilated hand. He had disturbed the hospital photographic unit to have it printed up specially. Lieutenant Marino examined it without emotion and then passed it back.
"What do you think could have caused damage like that?" asked Dr. Hughes. "Those are sharp, narrow teethmarks. A lion? A leopard? An alligator?"
Lieutenant Marino looked up.
Dr. Hughes said: "It could have been any of those. But how many lions and alligators are there in midtown Manhattan?"
Lieutenant Marino shook his head. "I don't know, doctor, and I don't really care. I'm very sorry about your hand. Believe me, I'm very sorry. But I'm a whole lot sorrier about eleven dead cops, and I want to do something about it. Redfern!"
A slight, bright-eyed young cop put his head through the door. "Yes, sir?"
"Any sign of those reinforcements yet?"
"I've had a call from them, sir, on the r/t. They say they're having some trouble getting into the building."
"They're what?"
"It was Lieutenant Geoghegan, sir, from the 17th. He said they would probably have to break down the doors. They can't get them open."
Singing Rock and I exchanged glances. It looked as if Misquamacus had sealed the hospital off from the outside world. If there was one thing I didn't want to be, it was trapped in a hospital when the Great Old One made his appearance. Preferably, I wanted to be in New Jersey, or even Ohio. I shook my last cigarette out of its pack, and lit it with shaking hands. Again, the floor swelled, and the lights went so low that the elements fizzed.
"Call 'em again," snapped Marino. "Tell 'em we're desperate, and they better get their asses in here before the whole shooting match goes up."
"Yes, sir."
Lieutenant Marino turned back to the meeting. He wasn't enjoying this job, and he wasn't making any pretense that he did. He picked up the bottle of bourbon, poured himself a heavy dose of it, and drank it with his eyes challenging everyone to say it wasn't for medicinal purposes only. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said: "Right. I want to know every way there is of destroying the Great Old One. All the legends, all the bunkum, everything."
Singing Rock shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because there's nothing to tell. There is no way of destroying the Great Old One. If there was, he would have been annihilated centuries ago, by those wonder-workers who were far more skillful than us. As it was, they only managed to close the gateway through which he came into the physical world."
"And you say this guy Misquamacus is opening that gateway up again?"
Singing Rock shrugged. "Can't you feel these ripples? Do you know what it is?"
"Earthquake?" suggested Marino.
Singing Rock said: "No, lieutenant. It's not an earthquake. It's the beginning of a huge build up of astral energy. I imagine that, by now, the Star Beast has negotiated terms between Misquamacus and the Great Old One, and the nexus, the gateway, is being made ready. The gateway is made out of extraordinary energy, and only remains open for a short while. It takes an equivalent amount of energy to send the Great Old One back to where he came from. Even more, actually, because the Great Old One would be very reluctant to leave."
"Sounds hopeful," said Marino, sarcastically.
Singing Rock said: "We can't give up hope yet. There has to be a way of containing the situation, even if we can't totally destroy Misquamacus."
I crushed out my cigarette. A thought had occurred to me. I said: "That typewriter I threw at the Star Beast — did you see that?"
"Sure," said Singing Rock. "It saved your life."
"Well — when it exploded — when it actually touched the Star Beast's outline — I'm sure that I sensed something. It wasn't actually a face or anything as dear as that. It was more like a disembodied expression."
Singing Rock nodded. He said: "What you thought you saw was the spirit of the machine, the typewriter's own manitou. In its conflict with the Star Beast manitou, it became momentarily visible while it expended whatever energy it had. You can rest assured that the Star Beast thoroughly destroyed it."
I frowned. "The typewriter had a manitou?"
"Of course," said Singing Rock. "Everything does. A pen, a cup, a piece of paper. There is a greater or lesser spirit in everything."
"I think we're getting away from the point," said Lieutenant Marino testily. "What we want to know is — how can we get rid of this Great Old One?"
"Wait," I put in. "This may be relevant. Why did the manitou of the typewriter come into conflict with the Star Beast? What did they have to fight about?"
Singing Rock pulled a face. "I don't really know. The spirits are as much in conflict with each other as human beings. The spirits of the rocks are in conflict with the spirits of the winds and the trees. I guess it could have been something to do with ancient sorcery against technology."
"What do you mean?" asked Jack Hughes, leaning forward.
"Simply that the Star Beast is a very ancient manitou, from times unknown," explained Singing Rock. "The manitou of the typewriter is part of the manitou of human electrical technology. They are bound to come into conflict. The spirit world mirrors the physical world to a remarkable degree."
I thought for a while. Then I said: "Supposing we had the technological manitous on our side? Wouldn't they help us? I mean — they'd be more inclined to support us than Misquamacus, wouldn't they?"
"I guess so," said Singing Rock. "But what are you getting at?"
"Look — if there's a manitou in every piece of machinery and human technological creation — we must be able to find a manitou that's able to assist us. The typewriter manitou was small and weak, but supposing we found one that was powerful and strong? Couldn't that defeat the Great Old One?"
Lieutenant Marino rubbed his eyes. "This is too much for me," he said tiredly. "If I hadn't seen eleven of my own men killed and frozen in front of my eyes, I'd run you straight round to the nuthouse."
Jack Hughes said: "What you want is a machine with tremendous power. Something overwhelming."
"A hydraulic power station?" I suggested.
Singing Rock shook his head. "Too risky. The Water spirits would obey the command of the Great Old One, and hold back your power."
"How about an airplane? Or a ship?"
"Same problem," said Singing Rock.
We pondered for a few more minutes. The floor began to sway even more violently, and pens and paper dips skated off Jack Hughes' desk on to the floor. The lights dimmed, paused, and struggled on again. The floor heaved some more, and Dr. Hughes' single Valentine card tipped over and fluttered under Lieutenant Marino's chair. I began to hear that monotonous wind noise even more distinctly, and there was a denseness, a closeness about the air that made me feel we were all going to suffocate. The heating system may not have worked too well in this office before, but now the place began to grow insufferably hot.
Officer Redfern came to the door. He said tensely: "They're still trying to break in, sir. They came on the radio and they're still trying. Lieutenant Geoghegan said the building looks as if it's swaying or something. He says we got strange blue lights on the ninth or tenth floor. Shall I tell the rest of the men to evacuate, sir?"
"Evacuate?" snarled Marino. "What for?"