Cthulhu Lives!: An Eldritch Tribute to H. P. Lovecraft Read Online Free PDF

bore little resemblance to the vital, energized pictures in newspapers and posters. It occurred to him that Disraeli’s portrayal in the newssheets had not altered with time. The fellow you could see in the papers today was years past his date, and bore little resemblance to the withered, hunted man before him.
    “May she live forever,” Fisher echoed.
    Disraeli smiled, as if he were pleased to hear him repeat the phrase. “And you would be Officer Martin Fisher. I am glad you could make it at such short notice. Your reputation precedes you. Not many individuals have worked to make the Empire safe as you have.”
    “I do my duty as best I can, sir.”
    “Quite, quite.” Disraeli turned and began to escort Fisher down the gallery. The Prime Minister’s arms were crossed behind his back, shoulders a little slumped. “I presume you were told nothing about why you were called?”
    Fisher shook his head, careful not to look at any of the paintings on either side.
    “Such are the ways of some of our, hm, people. We require a service of you, Mister Fisher. Something beyond your usual remit. Tell me, do you know much about your great-grandmother?”
    That gave him pause. “Do you mean Joanna Fisher?”
    “The very same.”
    “She caused some stir in her day. She hunted ghosts and spirits, sir, and advocated suffrage for women.”
    “She did that, yes. But I’m referring to her marriage.”
    “She was married?” Fisher was surprised enough to stop.
    Disraeli paused. “Why, yes. It was very hush-hush. I believe she thought it would damage her public image as a strong, independent woman, or some such. That it was not common knowledge in your family surprises me, though.” He nodded that they should continue. “Your grandfather was born inside wedlock, Mister Fisher, and that is why we need you.”
    They reached the gallery’s end, and stood before an arched double door. Disraeli twisted the handle one half turn, then paused. “You have not been in the presence of royalty, have you, Mister Fisher? Please try and remain calm.” He twisted, pushed and stepped through.
    The room seemed cramped after the scale of the gallery. Tall windows on the right-hand wall allowed anaemic light to fall in, highlighting the shadows rather than illuminating the room. A hearth, set but unlit, dominated the far wall. A rug of complex patterns and hunting animals covered most of the floor, and in its centre, on a stick-thin chair, sat the Queen.
    She wore her customary black, and faced the windows, showing the door her profile. Her head tilted slightly back, mouth and eyes open and unmoving. Fisher wondered if she had heard their entrance. If she had, there was no sign, but even so Disraeli placed his palms together and gave a short bow.
    “Your Supreme Majesty, may I present Officer Martin Fisher?”
    There was no response.
    Stuttering, Fisher said, “It is an honour, your Majesty.”
    “You are welcome here, Martin Fisher.” The words were cold and layered, and seemed to enter his head without touching his ears.
    He blinked, but her Majesty had not moved, offering only the same still profile. “I... Thank you, Ma’am.”
    “You are confused. That is to be expected. Come stand before us, where we can see you in the light.”
    He looked at Disraeli, who nodded, so he edged around towards the windows.
    Halfway through his circuit he stopped, took a quick breath, and swallowed the scream clawing up his throat.
    He stood obliquely to her, enough to see that she sat as one would expect any other person to sit – straight-backed, hands crossed on her lap. But he could not take another step, save at his sanity’s risk.
    Mottled grey tentacles fingered through the Queen’ hair. One tip protruded from her bun, waving as if it were a snake’s tongue tasting the air. Another was plastered across her forehead, curling around her face, framing it. The narrow end was feeling around inside her open mouth. Within that insane vision, he