We left Jody’s former lab before Dr. Wenkmann could press us into service unpacking boxes or hooking up the office sound system. Sheyenne and I headed into the sewers in search of Ah’Chulhu’s main real-estate offices.
As we moved into the dank tunnels, I said, “Told you I’d show you interesting things and exotic places, Spooky.”
Sheyenne’s ethereal form flitted beside me as I sloshed along. “I’m not complaining. And you’re the one getting his feet wet. I should get you a pair of galoshes.”
“Edgy private eyes don’t wear galoshes.”
“No, but people with dry feet do.”
We strolled through the Laboratory District where numerous underground tenants conducted sinister and imaginative experiments with varying degrees of success or disaster. Maniacal chemists worked on immortality formulas, super-strength serums, transformative potions, horrific nerve toxins, and even sentient ambulatory wads of phlegm. Biological specialists occasionally joined forces with their chemistry colleagues to build monsters, transplant heads, clone brains, and mutate naïve volunteers who hadn’t read the fine print before signing their release forms. Engineering mad geniuses tinkered with gadgets and built killer robots, death rays, teleportation rigs, and garage spaceships. According to rumor, there were preserved alien bodies down in one of the sewer labs, but that had turned out to be a false statement used to drive up the property values.
We passed three empty labs with signs on the doors that said, For Rent. Contact Ah’Chulhu Underground Realty, with a phone number. No price was listed. When I tried to call the number, however, I got no cell reception down in the catacombs—and no one seemed to have a landline. Sheyenne found an old pay phone, but it was submerged beneath three feet of murky water, where it could only be used by amphibious creatures. I didn’t have a quarter anyway.
At one of the empty labs, Sheyenne picked up a folded brochure that described the full catalog, with photos, of available laboratory properties and a description of the wonders of the underground. The ad touted, “Phase Two coming soon. Massive expansion expected. Now you can own sewer-front property.”
Creatures skittered along the catacombs. Escaped lab rats with prehensile tails and bat wings swooped low through the tunnels, squeaking. Slithery things gurgled just beneath the surface, minding their own business and paying little attention to a zombie wading past.
Shrieking and chattering, four lime-green rhesus monkeys gamboled along, grabbing pipes in the brick ceiling overhead, as another mad scientist ran out of his lab after them. “You come back here! You’re not done with your tests.”
I wondered how many half-finished experiments had gotten loose and run amok down in the sewers. It was a real melting pot down here . . . or maybe a chamber pot was the better metaphor.
A shrunken troll-like creature hunched in a tiny canoe, paddling along; he passed me by without saying a word. The back of his little boat was filled with groceries.
Perched on a platform at an intersection, four frog demons much like Lurrm wore red-and-white-striped suits and straw boater hats, and sang an eerily harmonious barbershop quartet. They had placed a hat on top of a floating lily pad to appeal for donations, but so far they had raised only a few coins. I peeled a dollar from the soggy mass in my waterlogged wallet and dropped it in the hat.
“We’re looking for the offices of Ah’Chulhu Realty,” I told the frogs. “Do you know where we could find them?”
The four amphibious demons sang out in rising barbershop harmony, “No, no, no, noooo!” Then the tenor gestured with a squishy fingertip. “But you can try over there.”
We thanked the amphibious creatures and moved on. Behind us, a flying mutant lab rat swooped in front of the quartet. Just before they began to sing, one of the frog demons lashed out with a long, sticky tongue, grabbed the creature out of the air, and swallowed it in a big gulp.
We asked several other underdwellers about Ah’Chulhu, but they all seemed too frightened or too stupid to be able to answer (by my guess, the numbers were running about fifty-fifty).
Sheyenne shook her head. “It doesn’t make good business sense for a real-estate agent to hide his office. How does he know we’re not customers looking to rent his lab space?”
“Typical tentacle-faced demon,” I said. “They believe they’re omniscient and omnipotent, and they think everyone else should be, too.”
“I’ll bet that makes them score low on customer-satisfaction surveys,” Sheyenne said.
We passed under an overhang where a misshapen ghoul played a mournful banjo; then we turned down another tunnel that seemed dimmer, more sinister, and homey. The greenish catacomb glow was augmented by flickering lights in ceiling cages.
“Ah’Chulhu!” I yelled out, and my words echoed in the damp air like a succession of diminishing sneezes.
Something stirred in the water around me, which would have been alarming even under normal circumstances—not that there was a normal circumstance in which I would have been wading through the sewers in the dark. Rough, scaly figures drifted close, looking like lumpy logs. They came from three different directions.
Sheyenne hovered next to me. “I don’t like this, Beaux.”
I braced myself, removing my pistol from its holster, where I had managed to keep it dry. “It’s not my favorite thing either.”
Three hideous creatures rose up, standing erect and covered with scales, dripping greenish brown water. They had muscular arms, thick claws, and long snouts that bristled with teeth. Their golden eyes had reptilian slits. I hoped they weren’t muggers.
I faced them. “You look like crocodiles playing dress up.”
The three creatures looked at one another, confused. “Crocodiles?” one said in a deep voice that sounded like a belch forming a word.
“Not stinkin’ crocodiles!” said the second, deeply offended.
“We’re alligators.” The third tapped the extended end of his face. “Note the snout.”
“How can we help you?” Sheyenne asked.
“We hear you’re looking for Ah’Chulhu. We’re his lieutenants.”
“If he’s a real-estate salesman, why does he need lieutenants?” I asked. “Why not additional sales associates?”
“Told you,” muttered one of the gator-guys to his companions.
“Lieutenant sounds better,” said the second one. “And we can’t spell associates.”
“Can you spell lieutenant?” I asked.
“L-O-O . . .” Then the creature gave up and shook his head.
A second tried. “L-U-T.”
“Not right either,” I said.
“Damn this reptilian brain,” said the first gator-guy. I started thinking of them as Moe, Larry, and Curly.
“We’d like to see Mr. Ah’Chulhu about one of his laboratory spaces,” Sheyenne said in a crisp professional manner. “But we can’t seem to find his office.”
“We’ll escort you,” said one of the gator-guys.
“That’s it! We’re escorts. E-S-K-O-R-T-Z.”
“Don’t strain yourselves,” I said.
The indignant gator-guy—Larry—said, “Cut us some slack. We had a hard childhood. All of us were cute little alligator pets with wonderful lives, a nice home, little boys who played with us.”
Moe said, “But we got too big and too hungry, and when the families lost a few pets—”
“And a little sister, in my case,” said the third gator-guy, Curly.
“They decided enough was enough and flushed us down the toilet,” said Moe. “Abandoned us. We were homeless, frightened and alone in the sewers. But Ah’Chulhu took us in, raised us, gave us jobs as sales associates.”
“Lieutenants,” said Larry.
“Escorts,” said Curly.
“He’s a civic-minded demon,” said the first gator-guy. “So many reptiles get flushed down into the sewers that he opened up his own orphanage, where Ah’Chulhu cares for all the innocent scaly creatures. He raises us right.”
“Sounds like a real inhumanitarian,” Sheyenne said. “We can’t wait to meet him. Can you take us?”
“We insist,” said the gator-guys.
Pressing close, they turned at an intersection of underground corridors and led us onward.