Free The Physiognomy by Jeffrey Ford Page A

Arla.”
    We walked for a long time through pitch-black. It is true, he had the torch, but what could it light? For every few yards of night it burned away, there were oceans more that would flood in. This darkness everywhere had me constantly on the verge of screaming. I have no idea how I was able to continue, but continue I did. We seemed to be traveling down to the heart of nothing when, all of a sudden, we turned to the right and stepped into a small cavern that was lit as brightly as day by some luminescent source I could not detect. Sitting in a high-backed chair situated in front of a garden of waist-high stalagmites, legs demurely crossed, smoking a long, thin cigarette, was Drachton Below. Curled up at his feet with its back to me was a very large doglike creature covered with long silver hair.
    â€œCley, good to see you,” he said, and blew a stem-thin trail of smoke from his lips. He wore burgundy silk pants and a lime-green jacket. The pale skin of his hairless chest almost reflected the brilliant light that was everywhere.
    â€œMaster,” I said, bowing slightly.
    â€œAnd how is the investigation going?” he asked, inspecting the back of his right hand.
    â€œSplendidly,” I said.
    â€œReally …” he replied.
    â€œBut are you real?” I asked. “I recently took the beauty, and I am in a jillywix as to the corporeality of this meeting.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by real?” he said, and laughed.
    â€œAre you here?”
    â€œNot only am I here, but, look, I’ve brought along an old friend of yours.” With this, he nudged the creature lying at his feet with the sole of his sandal. “Up,” he commanded. It growled slightly, kicked its back legs spasmodically once, and then began to rise. I was astonished when it did not come to rest on four legs, but continued till it was standing on two like a dog convinced it is human.
    â€œWait …” I said, because something about it began to appear familiar to me. Then it turned and I saw the lupine face of Greta Sykes, the Latrobian werewolf. “Not this,” I said, taking in her form. She was larger than when I had first tracked her down, and there were two rows of metal bolts that pierced both scalp and skull at the crown of her head. Her incisors and claws still appeared as sharp, but now beneath the thick coat I could detect the human breasts of a young woman. Trapped in her eyes was a look of great suffering and sorrow.
    â€œYour little werewolf. I’ve done some work on her, messed around with the brain and added some new pain centers. She doesn’t change into a little girl anymore; now she is an effective agent.”
    â€œYour genius astounds me,” I stammered.
    â€œDown,” he told her, and she lowered herself to the floor, curling up at his feet once again. “Cley, your genius had better astound me at the completion of this case. I want that white fruit.”
    â€œI am about to enact the Twelfth Maneuver,” I said.
    He laughed at me. “Whatever,” he said, waving his hand. “If you fail, I will have Miss Sykes here perform the Last Maneuver on you and the rest of that tedious town.”
    â€œAs you wish, Master,” I said.
    â€œAnd what is this I hear about a certain young lady who is serving as your assistant?”
    â€œJust a secretary, sir. There are a lot of bodies to read down there. I need someone to help me keep track.”
    â€œYou’re a sly one, Cley,” he said. “I don’t care what you do with her. I want the fruit. The Well-Built City needs me to live forever.”
    â€œBut of course,” I said.
    â€œNow,” he said, turning his profile to me and placing the much-diminished cigarette in his mouth, “take that surrogate penis out of your coat pocket and let’s see some of the old scientific exactitude.”
    â€œAm I to shoot?” I asked.
    â€œNo, you are to stand there till