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

spotted a pallid inflation at the other side of her head, something slickly damp, which rose and fell like a breathing sack. Nothing on Earth could have compelled him to move even one inch further, but he forced himself to stand his ground.
    “Do not be alarmed, Martin Fisher. We are aware of how we appear, but we are in no discomfort.”
    “I am –” he glanced at Disraeli, who nodded “– gladdened to hear so, Ma’am.”
    “You are a good subject, Martin Fisher. You do much which promotes the stability of our Empire. We ask of you another task.”
    “Of course, your Majesty.”
    “Benjamin Disraeli?”
    “Your Majesty.” Disraeli walked over with another bow. “What Her Most Ancient and Imperial Majesty requires, Mister Fisher, is an envoy to France. Since the misunderstanding with our last ambassador, France has refused to meet with anyone of royal blood. Their reactions to our attempts at contact range from hostile to downright violent. However, we believe they would accept you as a messenger for the crown.”
    “Me?”
    “Indeed. You see, your great-grandfather was French, a gentleman by the name of Michele Doriole, the younger son of a landowner from Anjou. The marriage was performed and consummated in France. However, your great-grandmother returned to England pregnant with your grandfather while Monsieur Doriole, for reasons unknown to the crown, remained in France and slipped beyond reach of our records.”
    “This would allow me entry to the country?”
    “Yes. Your heritage gives you a favourable light in the eyes of the Directorate. We have already made enquiries in that regard.”
    Fisher’s eye’s flicked between Disraeli and the Queen. Did he dare entertain the thoughts threatening to creep into his mind? Would they be able to hear them? His gaze shifted to the thing attached to Victoria’s face. He could not think of it and her as a single being, the way Disraeli apparently could. He could almost feet it extending those tentacles towards him, invisible and knowing, reaching into his mind.
    He closed off the thought before it could take root. “I would be honoured, your Majesty.”
    “We are pleased to hear so, Martin Fisher.” The layered voice was all around him. He desperately fought an urge to look behind himself.
    “Excellent.” Disraeli clapped his hands together. “Travel arrangements are already in place, Mister Fisher. You will depart tonight. An airship has been refurbished for this purpose. The speed is beneficial, and it will show our neighbours that we are more willing to be adaptable than they give us credit for.”
    An airship! Fisher suppressed a smile. He would be out of the country in a day. He could run, vanish, never be heard of again.
    The door he’d entered through opened up. In came a servant in the royal livery, holding a silver tray. “We have a range of proposals we wish you to deliver to the French Directorate,” the Prime Minister said. The servant approached. The tray bore a bulging folder tied with a red ribbon, and a small, wooden box. “You won’t be negotiating, simply delivering the package to their hands. You will find a top sheet with a brief description of the salient points, so you can converse over the main topics if need be, but you are not to promise anything beyond what is laid out in the documents. And there is this.” Disraeli took the box, holding it at the corners by his fingertips, and, almost reverentially, lifted it up to the light.
    An inch and a half square, it resembled a thruppenny snuff box. It looked a little odd, however. The wood was dark brown, almost black, with a smoothness which suggested age rather than polish. There were no discernible grooves to hint at a lid.
    “What is it?”
    “You will be staying in the Paris Residence with Monsieur Eugène Spuller, the minister for foreign affairs. At some point in your stay, you must deposit this in his chamber.”
    Fisher looked closer at the box. “Why?”
    “That is