Dead Waters - Anton Strout [27]
Argyle Quimbley slammed the butt of the cane into the gut of one charging creature, and then slid a hidden blade out of its other end and plunged it into the chest of another. The ghoul roared in pain and Argyle Quimbley raised his boot and kicked it free from his sword. He was a swashbuckling dynamo, but as I watched, I realized the Inspectre had a bigger problem than simply cutting them down. The creature that Quimbley had just stabbed in the heart got back on its feet and started after him once again.
“Could you research a little faster, Mason?” Quimbley shouted as he continued to fend off the swarm. “These ghouls don’t seem to be staying down and it would be advantageous to know their weak points. Judging from that last one, I’d say we can rule out the heart.”
Having just been thrust into the mind and body of a young Argyle Quimbley, I had barely taken notice of Mason Redfield standing there. He stood only a few feet away, flipping through a dark green file folder, but looked far less fashionable than Quimbley did. With elbow pads on his tweed jacket, Mason Redfield almost looked like the modern-day version of the Inspectre. A tiny flashlight floated above his head as he pored over the file. His hair hung down across his forehead in a wild mess and he pushed it out of the way as he thumbed through the file.
“I’m reading as fast as I can, Argyle,” he shouted, “but these damn files are out of order.” Mason’s accent was pure American next to the Inspectre’s English tones, although he sounded as if he were trying to affect a passable Clark Gable. Even so, the man sounded flustered and nervous. “It’s like trying to read an encyclopedia in the dark. By the time I assess the proper ecology of ghouls, I suspect we may be good and dead.”
“Now, now,” Argyle said, slashing at two more off to their right. “We’ll have none of that talk while we’re still breathing. You keep reading and I’ll keep fending.”
“Who has the time for all this paperwork these days, I ask you?” Mason sniped. “If the Fraternal Order of Goodness doesn’t watch out, they’re going to kill their membership by sheer weight of paperwork alone.”
Despite the peril of constant fighting all around them, I couldn’t help but smile at that. It was oddly comforting to hear how little that had changed in the past forty years.
Mason continued thumbing through the contents of the folder.
“Hurry up,” Argyle said. “There are more scrabbling about down below. I can hear the nasty buggers.”
Mason looked up, his face going white. “We’re not venturing down there as well, are we?”
Argyle leaned back to dodge a series of claws slashing at his face before he could answer. He stabbed at the ghoul, driving it back but not killing it. “Are we going into the fissure?” he asked, looking around for the next incoming ghoul. “No. Not intentionally, anyway.”
“Good,” Mason said. “For a second I—”
Argyle watched as a dark shadow flew up and out of the fissure. The creature was heading straight for Mason at breakneck speed. Quimbley sidestepped one of the other creatures already engaging him, slicing it in two across its waist as he went, sending both halves of it tumbling back into the fissure. Now free, he ran to help Mason, but judging from his distance, he wouldn’t make it in time. The charging creature blindsided Mason, wrapping its arms around him and tumbling Argyle’s partner to the ground. The tiny hovering flashlight over Mason’s head fell with him, skittering across the ground. As Mason started