To say the trip to Cuncudgerie was pleasant would be a massive lie. There's nothing pleasant about riding in a cargo car on a train for four hours, in the blistering Australian heat and humidity. At least it wasn't all bad - out the open doorway, we could see a vast rocky outcropping in the very far distance, with three massive-looking birds winging their way around on updrafts. Must have been huge too, because when I pointed them out to the rest, they were astonished.
"Bloody hell," Neville muttered. "Must be 20 foot at the wing, those."
"Are those ostriches?" I asked, half-joking.
"Well, I bloody well hope not," was his response. "Ostriches can't fly."
"My mistake." A mischievous smirk. "Those are emus, aren't they?"
Neville gave me a withering look, and Ludwig snickered. He really hasn't got too much of a sense of humor about these things, does he?
When we arrived, we found our good friend Dodge had left us a gift - two jeeps with enough supplies for six days of travel in the Outback, two drivers from the University, and two camels I'm told are named Lemon and Lime. No idea why, but I guess they're cute enough names for some of the ugliest and ill-tempered creatures on earth. That meant we had everything we needed, save a few supplies like rope and medical kits, which the driver said we could find in Cuncudgerie proper. Aside from that, things had almost seemed to quiet down for a bit, but that proved to be just the calm before a storm of information. Almost all of which, naturally, we happened to obtain from the local bar, the Drunken Roo. Over rounds of drinks and talk with the barkeep, as well as a few overheard murmurings, we managed to ascertain the following:
- There are apparently a large number of venomous snakes in the Outback, so we should definitely be bringing some snakebite kits with us, as well as salt tablets and plenty of drinking water. That shouldn't be a problem, as Dodge back in Darwin saw fit to send us a couple jeeps, plenty of supplies and water, and two camels for the trip.
- There was a huge mining disaster to the East of here, but rumor has it that Mining Outfitter Mortimer Wycroft paid the government off to keep quiet about it. From what I understand, this was a few years or so ago.
- Some “crazy American bloke” named John Carver took about 2 dozen people into the outback, had them dig down exactly 30 ft., then told them to stop digging and gave them huge bonuses before sending them back to Darwin for their paychecks. This was a while ago, according to man I spoke to.
- There were a lot of cattle disappearing along the Canning Stock Route to the East “about a year ago”. Some American named John Carver had also been digging along the Canning Stock Route. Mortimer Wycroft outfitted the dig and may have some information to give.
- The area near somewhere known as Dingo Falls is supposedly haunted by a ghost able to melt the flesh off its bones at will. It can walk straight through a man! However, the guy who said this was a drunkard, so I don't put much stock in it.
- A hunter that Ludwig spoke with said he saw three enormous birds out to the East about a week ago. He swears they must have been about 20 foot at the wing, but he was unable to get a clear shot at them.
- There’s supposedly a tribe of tall, emaciated Aboriginals to the East of here, nobody has ever been able to distinguish their facial features. I don't know how much I believe this one... sounds far-fetched even for what I've seen.
- Rumor has it that there is an underground city somewhere in the desert. About 5-6 years ago, this was seemingly proven true when someone named MacWhirr said they found odd stone blocks that were not of Aboriginal make out in the desert. The storyteller swore it was true – “Bloke bought a round for the whole damn bar to prove it, and no man Jack does that unless he means it.”
Having gathered all the information we could gather, we decided to rest up for the night and purchase materials from the sole mining company in town, Wycroft's Mining Supply Co., the next day. The others were fine sleeping in the boardinghouse, but not me. No way. Chief and I pulled together, having learned that protective spell from Byrd, and decided to mark our jeeps with it and sleep in the back of them instead. Maybe I'm paranoid, but damn it, I'm not interested in encountering that black-eyed, shark-toothed God-In-Man's-Clothing in a hotel or anywhere else ever again. You ask me, the fucker's stalking us. Toying with us, like we're mice and he's a cat. I don't like it one bit, and if this sigil protects like Clayton says it does, it probably does a number on the Sand-Bat, or whatever name he's taking these days.
Next morning, we set to go look into Mortimer Wycroft at his Mining Supply shop, hoping to kit up the rest of the way for the expedition. What we found was a rickety dump of a shop, barely afloat and coated in dust. Out front, three Aboriginals relaxed in the yard, all of them with ill-fitting white man's clothing and bearing, on closer inspection, curious markings on their arms... markings we found rather disturbing.
The inside of the store was not much nicer than the outside, in fact there was a single grave-looking, half-dead-looking man cleaning a perpetually grimy wooden desk in vain with a grey rag. All the shelves and walls were stocked full of mining and outfitting supplies, all of them coated in a fine layer of dust. The man did not respond as we entered, instead merely continuing his cleaning.
"Mortimer Wycroft?" Lucas tentatively asked.
"Yeah, what'll it be for you lot?" replied the corpse of a man, and from there we had our in and were able to speak with him.
Unfortunately, he was not very helpful. Yes, he was Wycroft, owner of the store. The three natives out front were his helpers. No, he knew nothing about a "Huston" or "John Carver" or "Howston", nor had any Americans come through a few years back to purchase supplies from him. Yes, he had outfitted expeditions from the University of Darwin before, but there had been so many he forgot them. All of this, he told us in a grim voice and with a dead stare, giving us the impression that he didn't want us in his store asking him these questions at all.
"I think the man is not right in the head, ja?" Ludwig whispered to me, and I raised an eyebrow in agreement. Wycroft certainly looked like a man who'd seen too much, and if he were my age I'd say he may have even been in the War... but that was impossible, considering he looked to be around 50 or 60. It was creepier than your average thousand yard stare, it was, and I was more than happy to just purchase the supplies we needed and leave. But as we did, those three Aboriginals from the yard watched us, and then entered in after we left. Chief, curious, crept to the window and listened... and what she told us she heard, I was not anywhere near alright with.
"They are speaking to the corpse-man, and he is speaking back to them in their tongue," she said. "I do not know what they are saying, but I saw them glance our direction and point to the door. They are likely speaking about us..."
"Then we're out of here," I replied, but Neville got my attention as we left.
"Now, hold on just a tic here, that bloke were real suspicious-like. He might be hiding something, and if so, we oughta sneak into his place and check it out. I saw a back door in there, behind the counter. It might lead to his housing upstairs, yeah?"
I had to agree there - there was no way Wycroft wasn't hiding something suspicious, maybe even cult ties. He bore looking into.
"Well, if we are going to do that," Chief advised, "We should certainly wait until he is out of the building, and his cohorts are nowhere to be seen. That may take some time. Perhaps a stakeout?"
From there, a plan was formed, and we waited. Soon enough Wycroft and two of his men left, presumably to head to the bar, leaving just one man out front to guard the shop with a single rifle.
"Let's find a back way in," murmured Lucas, and we crept around back to check.
Sadly, no doors, but there was an upper window and a ladder nearby we could use. Talk about a stroke of luck! We ended up climbing up and through the window, stealthily, and soon enough we found ourselves in a sparse, but messy, bedroom. A lone bed with worn sheets, a hat rack, and a single bedside table were all that Wycroft had, but on the desk were his earnings for the store, and a closet was not far from the bed.
We took to snooping immediately. In the closet, we found pretty much nothing, but under the bed we found two odd things. One was a tin of something I thought was shoe polish, but which I sniffed and confirmed was black greasepaint, like the kind those Minstrel show performers use. The other was a very old-looking book, bound in leather, and entitled Wondrous Intelligences. In it was some of the most bizarre smut and Old English accounts of strange, demonic creatures I had ever read, but all the same it caught my interest. Not for the filth, I'm not that kind of man! For the description of the demonic being...
You see, it was described as a cone-like being with crab claws, trumpet-like things, and a three-eyed head, very much like when we'd encountered Roxy in the dream-vision... Had the author switched with one of them, the same way Neville apparently had? Neville certainly thought so, because when I read the passage aloud to him, his eyes grew wide and he seemed to zone out, the way I do when I get those weird flashes of knowledge about things I don't understand.
"This bloke, he did what I did - I really was in the body of one of those things," He murmured, and that was all.
Either way, it proved Wycroft was a loony, and possibly dangerous. We made our leave after that, thankfully the guard didn't hear or see us. All the same, we need to get out of Cuncudgerie tomorrow. I don't like the idea of staying here one more night.
-- Francis McCloud, On Edge Down Under (July 31st, 1928)