“Well, think of him. He was just a fantasy writer back then, but he wrote about submarines and airships and airplanes, all before those things came true. Now a rational man would say that what he wrote helped those things come true. Or if you’re inclined to believe in the supernatural, then maybe you’d say he predicted those things.”
“You have a point there,” Glory replied. “I guess plenty of people believe in predictions and prophecies. The Bible’s full of it, after all.” ,
Lovecraft looked pleased to be compared, even indirectly, to a classic writer and the biblical prophets. “We are all in agreement that many weird phenomena have been following us. Correct?”
“Yes,” said Glory.
“Then even though I am inclined to be skeptical, let us view these things the way Charles Fort views such things as rains of fishes or strange lights in the sky-with an open mind. And let us proceed pragmatically from there. I myself have adopted the outlook of Sherlock Holmes: Once the impossible has been ruled out, then what remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” He sounded very pleased with himself.
“Fine,” said Glory. “But I would still rather not be with you two. You can consider me a hostage of circumstances beyond my control. The ride to Vegas was plenty for me.”
That ended conversation for a while. Howard attended to the road, and Lovecraft scribbled furiously in his journal. Glory gazed out of the window at the soothingly real landscape.
SHORTLY AFTER NOON, having driven through the night, they passed through the old part of Auburn, still hanging on from the days of the Gold Rush. A mile or so farther on, they crossed the railroad tracks that Smith had identified as the best landmark for finding the road to his house.
“Here,” said Lovecraft. “Turn here.”
“You sure this is the right road?” said Howard. “It don’t look like more than a trail.”
“This is it, Bob. There’s no other turn. Klarkash-Ton was very clear.”
Howard turned onto the rutted trail, up the forested hill, driving very slowly to avoid the loose rocks and pits. It was pleasant and quiet, the air punctuated only occasionally by the sound of a bird. “I’m glad we fixed the damned suspension,” he mumbled as he was jostled up and down. The forest on either side of the road seemed to converge as they continued uphill around a blind curve, and as they came around, the trees approached almost into the road itself, looming up on either side; where there were large branches, they laced together to form a tunnel of shade. Howard stopped momentarily, looking down the dark green throat under the trees. “I don’t see no road ahead,” he said.
Lovecraft and Glory squinted forward. They, too, were suddenly suspicious and uncomfortable. “I believe the road bends,” Lovecraft concluded after a moment’s hesitation. “It only appears to come to an end.”
Howard eased slowly forward. “Well, we either go all the way forward, or we back outta this place. Ain’t no room to turn around.”
They had all expected a house on some side street of town, and after their recent misadventures, they found it difficult to relax despite the idyllic surroundings. The air was dry, having already taken on the afternoon heat, and there was a thick, somnolent silence everywhere, almost eerie.
Just before Howard’s patience had expired, they saw the weathered old sign, lettered rather roughly in faded paint: Timeus Smith. Howard recognized the name, and for an instant he thought they had come upon the grave of Clark’s father. He was still slightly disoriented when they came through the weave of trees into a dry, grassy clearing, where they could see an old cabin.
Howard honked the horn after they got out, and Smith appeared at the door, looking weary. He was neatly though casually dressed, probably because he was expecting them; his dark hair combed wide over his broad forehead gave him an especially intellectual air, and his heavy brows and slightly sunken eyes added a touch of the suffering artist. To Howard, Smith looked too feminine—like a lady’s man, but to Glory his asymmetrical features conveyed empathy, sensitivity, and soulfulness. She found him instantly attractive.
Smith gave a broad, crooked smile and walked down the slope to greet them. “Welcome to my humble abode!” he called. “Always refuge for weary travelers here.”
Howard and Lovecraft staggered up to the house, finally realizing how exhausted they were. Glory, feeling bloated and wretched from having slept in the heat, grudgingly followed them up the pathway.
Smith said his manly hellos to his friends with much shaking of ‘ hands and patting of shoulders. At first Glory thought it had been a long while since they had all seen each other, but there was a strange awkwardness about the way they looked at each other, as if they were comparing the man before them to some former image. It was almost a kind °f suspicion, or disbelief, or maybe just simple disillusionment.
She realized that this was the first time they had actually seen each other; though they had been corresponding for years, this was their first meeting in the flesh.
“And who might this be?” Smith asked Lovecraft. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Ah,” said Lovecraft. “Clark Ashton Smith, this is Miss Glory McKenna. And vice versa if you please.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss McKenna,” said Smith. He took her hand and planted a mock chivalric kiss on its back. “I hope Bob’s wild driving wasn’t too taxing on your nerves?”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith,” Glory replied. “I’ve enjoyed your poetry for years. And no, the driving wasn’t as wretched as you’d expect.”
“Please call me Clark,” said Smith. “If HP had told me he’d be bringing a lady friend, I would have made better preparations.”
“She ain’t no lady friend,” said Howard. “We were givin’ her a ride to Vegas, but now she’s in over her head.”
Smith gave Howard a sidelong glance, then turned back to Glory. “Please, let’s go inside. You may want to freshen up before you join us for”-he pulled a watch out of his pocket-“ah, lunch. Miss McKenna?” Smith held the door open and motioned her in.
“Thank you. Call me Glory.” She stepped into the cool shade of the cabin. “Clark?” she said.
“Yes?”
“Would you mind terribly if I called my sister first? She’s in the hospital and—”
“Ah, I’m terribly sorry, but as you can see, we’re rather isolated and rustic out here. I’m afraid we have no telephone. Or electricity or running water for that matter.”
“Goodness, how do you get by?”
“We do fine. How did people get by before all the cluttered inventions of the modern age?” While Glory went into the kitchen, Smith ushered the others back outside to unload the car. He was surprised by how little they were carrying.
“You’re hittin’ it off purty quick,” observed Howard. “I didn’t know you were such a skirt chaser.”
Smith smiled. “Who is she? And do you mind my asking?”
“She ain’t neither of our girlfriends, if that’s what you’re askin’,” said Howard. “I’ll leave it at that.”
“It slipped my mind,” said Lovecraft.
“Eh?” said Smith.
“I forgot to mention that she was accompanying us. But let me assure you, she is now an important member of our party.”
“Well, then, I’ll not compromise your professional relationship,” Smith said with a smile. “And by the way, you boys look like the cat dragged you in. And speaking of cats, perhaps you’d like a nap after lunch?”
“Tell ya the truth, I wouldn’t mind hittin’ the sack right now,” said Howard. “You, HP?”
“My energies are a bit more flexible, but I, too, would welcome a chance to visit the Land of Nod.”