Work Text:
I am tired, dear one.
I have run far and hard today. I should have run further still but I am weary beyond measure and must favor caution over haste tonight. The slightest misstep at this juncture would cost me more than any miles I might yet force myself to cover; I would not lightly squander the distraction you wrought, nor the sacrifice of Jefferson Hope, who has already suffered much at the hands of the servants of He Who Presides Over the New World.
However, I shall allow myself a few minutes to write. Forgive me this indulgence: you of all people know that I am not given over to sentiment but we have been together so long, you and I, and I have grown accustomed to turning to you for every little thing. You have a habit of downplaying your part—and I am, perhaps, at fault for being so sparing in expressing my own earnest admiration—but you have your own remarkable characteristics upon which I have come to rely. I trust you implicitly, as you trust me. Though I fear I have not proven worthy of your faith in me.
Innsmouth was a mistake, my love. You were right to remind me of Norbury.
I am not often wrong. You know it is no empty boast when I say this. It has taken me years to develop the science of deduction so that I may apply it to my benefit in all practical situations; it is through careful scientific reasoning that I have preserved us for so long in the pursuit of a task that flies in the face of all that is strange and eldritch and beyond the comprehension of man. For us, a mistake may mean death, or worse than that if we were to be captured. I have no illusions as to the quality of mercy practiced by the monsters we hunt.
If you were here, I would apologize for the hubris that drove me to attempt such an undertaking in such a place. You counseled caution. I thought myself cautious enough but the prudent thing would have been to wait, to be patient as we have been for so long. I reckoned without Their numbers. I underestimated the extent of the spiderweb woven by our friend in London.
I am paying for it now. I feel your absence more keenly than I feel the wounds inflicted by the creature’s whip-like filaments. (You must not worry yourself: you have drilled me enough on field medicine that my first act upon reaching cover was to take steps to keep them from festering. I must, after all, keep myself whole if I am to once more hear you chiding me for my lack of self-preservation.)
But was it worth it?
Yes. Yes, of course, of that I have no doubt. The death of Black Peter removes a significant player. Unlike Franz Drago, who was content to lay waste to human lives and minds in his idleness, he was more active in his role as heir to the White Lady of the Antarctic Fastness—cunning, cruel, and a significant threat upon the seas as captain of The Sea Unicorn. You know this, of course. We discussed this thoroughly and often as we crossed this vast continent, and we went over it again on that final night in Newburyport before we made our way to dreadful Innsmouth. On that score at least, my reasoning was sound. It says something that you agreed with me, dissenting only when I insisted we strike when and where we did.
There was a trap waiting for us in Boston. You know that was why I made us abandon our train and our luggage at the last minute (among all the other things for which I must beg your forgiveness is the loss of your excellent new suit-case). I suspect you had an inkling that this was because I ensured it. I expected—no, intended—to be foiled on our first attempt to catch The Sea Unicorn in Nantucket, and I hoped that if we appeared to concentrate all our energies on one final strike in the larger city, our enemies would believe we had no other recourse, least of all a little-known port town where the vessel was only making the briefest of stops.
Our friend in London, alas, think like I do. Doubtless he would have done the same in my situation, just as I would have set the tracker Ted Baldwin on our trail as we were trying to shake the incompetent Porlock had our positions been reversed. I cannot say I mislike this trans-continental game of chess but it shames me to have come off poorer in this round. I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if we were to meet again, without the burden of a disguise, without the safety afforded by distance; only his mind and mine pitted against each other in the purest and most essential of contests...
Again, I must beg your forgiveness for this digression. It is at once terrifying and exhilarating to have such an enemy, one who is a worthier opponent than any dread creature from beyond the Pit. You must think me foolish—though you have been too good to say as much—for allowing my mind to wander so far afield when we had our work more than cut out for us with Black Peter.
It was a terrible struggle, was it not? Till now, I am amazed that we were able, between the two of us, to pin the foul thing to the wall of his hotel room. Jefferson Hope’s skill as a chemist helped us there, although—as you rightly observed—it would have been folly to rely solely on his little pearly grey pills, untested as they were against the Blood Royal. Still, they weakened him enough that overpowering him became surpassingly difficult instead of impossible, and allowed us to accomplish the deed before the denizens of Innsmouth began to beat at the door with their long, clammy paws.
I confess I feared for myself then, exhausted and battered as I was. And I feared for you.
That fear weighed on me as we fled through the rooms of the Gilman House, as we dropped into the reeking warehouse in the next lot. It sang in me, high and clear, as it became increasingly obvious that the only way to escape was to part ways.
Oh, my dear one.
The pursuit of the Restoration is a choice I make every day. I have pledged my life to this cause. I do not doubt its necessity. I am convinced of its rightness. And I count myself fortunate beyond words to have found a companion who believes as I do, who will not meekly stand by as Those who would place themselves above us exact their price for this so-called peace and prosperity.
Your choices are your own, of course. I know better than to think I am solely to blame for your conversion. You have endured things during your campaign that I can scarce imagine, and you would likely have found your way to the cause, one way or another. And yet I feel somewhat responsible for drawing you into this life from which there is no return. Your fortunes would have been very different had it not been for our chance encounter: you would have had a private practice, perhaps a doting wife, maybe even a bull terrier. Above all, you would have been safe—or as safe as one can be in this world of monsters and old gods, safer than you are tonight, with black ichor on your hands and a vengeful horde pursuing you. I would not be able to forgive myself if any harm were to befall you, if the last I ever saw of you was your silhouette dark against the red moonlight, if the last I heard of your voice was your urging me to go and quickly. I would not forgive them, and my vengeance would be terrible.
In all this, you are the one thing I am afraid to lose.
This is a poor quality in a revolutionary. In my weariness, in your absence, I find myself questioning my part in all this. What worth are two insignificant scions of Royal lines when the monsters who sit the thrones are seemingly immortal, entrenched in their power by their own might and, worse, by that part of humanity who believe that Their ruling us is as right as a crimson moon in the sky?
Dear one, I know you understand my episodes of melancholy. Forgive me, once more, for my low spirits, and keep yourself safe so that I may once again have occasion to hear you calling me foolish for indulging such dark thoughts.
Or perhaps you would not. You are far too kind to me.
You must tell me how you started the fire in the warehouse. I have my deductions, but I am certain, even as I write, that you are making notes of your own for our next meeting.
For my part, it will please you to know that Altamont is no more. That name is no longer safe on any continent: I would sooner be able to resurrect Sherry Vernet, goatee or no goatee. Captain Basil, I am afraid, must also be abandoned. I had hoped to use him for a few months more but it seems I must take up and discard a few more names before the year is out if I am to stay ahead of our friend in London. Your guise as a lone salesman of agricultural implements will, I hope, serve you better. They will be looking for two men after all, and you have become fairly convincing on the subject of artesian wells during our rehearsals.
I have no way of conveying this to you safely, nor indeed of knowing where to address it, which is all to the good. You will, I trust, make for our European rendezvous at R----------h and I will be making my own way there with all haste as soon as I am able. For now, I will keep this letter hidden in the lining of my coat against the day when I will be able to put it—and myself—into your capable hands.
Until then I remain very sincerely yours,
S.H.
Arkham, The New World, 1883