Chapter 7: Azathoth’s Court

Enchanted with this mortal that he’d found. All the years of being found, and searching, and he had finally found one that took the time to try and understand, to talk to him, and—this was rather important—not worship him as a god. That had been the last query, in Cthulhu’s mind, with this one—not because of anything the human had done, but simply out of experience with human beings so far. This one, this Many Named, was different. He seemed to understand not simply the idea that people spoke in different patterns of sounds, but the idea that communication need not be sound at all, but could be many other things, things which Cthulhu had assumed humans simply were not capable of.

It seemed that he had only been around a very specific and violent type of human. This location, the Fertile Crescent as the humans called it, had been the birthplace of many cultures, but most of them were those of Taking, and so saw the world that way. If only Cthulhu had settled down on the other side of the world, where the cultures of Sustaining had been the majority, on the continent his human knew two names for—the Colony name of North America and the True Name of Turtle Island—things may not have taken this long.

This human had learned so fast how mind-to-mind—what the human called ‘Dreamfasting’—worked! Humans had a story, had many stories, about it, though humans were not people who did it among one another, except in individuals who were seen to have god-bestowed powers. Seers, Oracles, they had many names, and were apparently unable to control their adjustment of how they experienced time and space, or perhaps it was controlled by these gods of theirs. It seemed to depend on the human—there were so many kinds! So very many kinds. Even when they knew of numbers and stars and physics, they could still believe in gods, and still needed stories.

‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they? The stars. It’s been so long since I’ve just looked at them, but they really are quite beautiful…’

We’re not Homo sapiens, the Thinking Ape. We’re Homo narrans, the Storytelling Ape….

It was so interesting to know that humans, indeed, were aware of having relation to the other animals of their planet, that they were cognizant that they had become, not simply been created as they currently were. And Cthulhu’s human (it was easy to start thinking of him that way) seemed quite proud of this fact, that humans were merely a kind of animal that was good at certain things, and that he viewed Cthulhu that way, quite naturally.

‘I am a person, so you must be as well. I can hurt, and so must you be able to hurt, and so you are my Cousin, because I can see you, and so I cannot but try and help.’

It was thought in such a purposely simple way, a child-like way, angrily so, in anger at those who would decry simplicity and the wisdom easily understood as worthless.

Though the human was unpractised, his mind was powerful and had already taught itself so much about telepathy, as expert as an older youth of Cthulhu’s species, though still as leaky, unintentionally sharing thoughts and ideas along with those intended: Cthulhu knew of his pain, his suffering at the hands of others and his own body, endured and fought and survived in ways that beggared belief.

Humans were sturdier than Cthulhu had thought; this one was certainly sturdier than all the others he’d ever encountered, responding to Dreamfasting not with screaming and panic but curiosity, eagerness, the loneliness necessary to reach out and say, Hello, Friend!

And this, apparently, was the True Nature Of Humanity: to see a stranger from another world and perk up and say, ‘Hello, Friend!’.

This seemed to bear out, when Cthulhu had found the baby. The baby that had been stolen from their home, newly-hatched, and had been intended for great harm.

Mommy, who other humans called after a flower. Mommy, who was seen by other humans as of inferior intellect and therefore no worth. Mommy, who in the panic and fear of being attacked by other humans, himself, had seen a monster and thought only, ‘A baby that needs help!’ and had simply done so, without a second thought to the chaos, the danger, or the fear he had felt, or the weakness he had against the humans that had stolen the baby. He understood these things, but they did not matter, because That Is A Baby, and Babies Need A Mommy, and I Can See You, So I Must Help.

And the Storyteller had emphasised that despite the Current State Of The World, the True Nature Of Humanity was this, that anything contrary had to be taught, that anything contrary required the human to not see a Person, because as soon as they saw a Person, they were ‘hard-wired’ to Help. That was what made them, that was how they had become—they had sacrificed all natural weapons, they had sacrificed natural armour, for Help Each Other—and it was so acute, so strong an instinct, that they applied it to other species, even to objects.

Cthulhu had much more to occupy him now, and amended Azathoth on his progress, and shared what he had learned, knowing it was far different, and more, than anyone else so far, even Shob-Zhiggurath, who had been so incredibly successful in his studies. As soon as the information spread, Cthulhu felt the focus come to bear on this planet again.

Hst’rr: You have to admit, the idea that one species can be so varied when residing on the same planet is difficult to countenance.

Sh’b-Zhig’r’th: Excuse me, which of us has the title of Master Of Knowledge of this planet? It is me. Which of us actually successfully bred with the natives? Also me.

Az’th’t: You have been told all of this, and yet there has been no play, Cthlh’?

Cthlh’: We are negotiating. My human understands I want to play, and he wishes to play, but he is… careful. Play like this has done him ill before, with other humans; and he is yet fragile in a way I have never seen a creature survive so long, and is (logically, I think) cautious of the logistics of playing with someone larger and stronger. But humans survive such genetic… I believe they are called “glitches”, in the language of my human.

Sh’b-Zhig’r’th: What a beautiful word! I like it. Glitch. It sounds very like our language, how curious. I have never heard a language of theirs that sounds anything like ours. They only have the one muscular hydrostat, they have to rely on all the open tones so much.

Sh’b-Zhig’r’th: Are you ‘god’ to him, Cthlh’? That is their name for us, or so I thought, until you shared all you have learnt with us. I did not know they thought me such a thing! Does this invalidate my earning, Master Az’th’t?

Az’th’t: You are no longer Master of Knowledge, for the knowledge has grown, and you must grow with awareness. What of the babe, Cthlh’?

Cthlh’: I do not know, because my human does not know, only that he is safe, and with the family that the human that used to care for him belonged to. They still care for him, generation to generation, even though they do not understand him. He is still seen as their child. He reaches not to me, his being has been wholly changed by being raised by humans.

Az’th’t: Then they are far more advanced than we had first observed, despite their short lives.

‘Hey,’ Virginia said, when Aix opened their eyes again. ‘Welcome back to the world of the living.’

‘He can stay,’ said a smooth, slightly nasal voice, and Aix turned their head to see. ‘What,’ said the Cat, ‘never seen a Jellicle Cat in person, before?’

An annoyed ear-flick. ‘We prefer to be called half-Pards, but I don’t know anybody that minds “Jellicle”. You can call me Felix, for now.’ He helped Aix sit up. ‘Lady Victoria is making tea. Do you have anything new, any new vision disturbance or pain?’

Aix took a moment to take stock of everything, appreciating that Felix understood that you had to specify new symptoms, with a chronically ill person. ‘I’m a little bruised, but I managed to get on the floor before I entirely lost consciousness—I’m used to fainting,’ Aix answered, before returning to the more attractive notion of food. ‘What kind of meat?’ Aix asked Virginia.

‘What we have on hand is a little exotic; we eat mostly game at home, so the most familiar we have is lamb.’

‘Oh!’ Virginia said. ‘Well, in that case… we have venison, pheasant, duck, and I think there’s some wild boar left in sausage… oh wait. Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. You’re Muslim.’

‘I’m not exactly Muslim, but I am allergic to pig, so it’s the same outcome. Also allergic to shellfish and a couple other things. Meat’s the safest food group, honestly.’

‘Sorta. I don’t process any kinds of sugars very well, and meat is the only food group without any sugars. I’m the opposite of vegan—meat and butterfat are actually the best and safest foods for me. I can eat bread though, thank gods.’

‘Do you cook?’ Virginia asked, by now knowing how to gracefully work around complex diets. The best solution was to just place the person as Head Chef, for the meal, and have fun helping them execute a meal. Virginia knew that most of the stress came from the effort involved in planning and execution; and that, a professional cook had in spades.

‘I do—if I have a sous chef and a rolly task stool. I’ve always wanted to try venison heart seasoned with just a touch of juniper and lots of rosemary. Almost tartare, really. Ooh, or maybe cinnamon? People don’t use cinnamon enough. I’m such a cinnamon fiend, I love all the varieties and I’ll put it in everything.’

Aix found out that by ‘making tea’, they didn’t mean Victoria was in the kitchen of the apartment Aix had been touring, and had woken up in; they meant she was down the hall, in Warren and Virginia’s larger apartment. Felix left them in the hallway, not wanting anything to do with ‘the dogs’.

‘We do have dogs, but they don’t feel the need to bark,’ Virginia had said before keying in, ‘one of the advantages to living with a half-wolf.’

And indeed, even when she opened the door, there was no chorus of ear-splitting barks, like Aix was used to hearing when entering a dog-owners home. There was no mess, either—the place wasn’t nobody-lives-here clean, but it wasn’t nobody-here-likes-to-do-housework messy, either. It was decorated all in foresty greens and deep rich browns, with splashes of blood red here and there, and not overly lit with harsh cold LED light. The furniture was surprisingly intricate and almost—but not quite—Louis XVI looking.

They were also greeted by four large dogs—a harlequin great dane, a red retriever, a standard poodle, and a husky. They came up with wagging tails and whining, but no barks. Not a single bark of any sort, not even from the husky; and no jumping either. It let Aix actually enjoy their enthusiasm, and after offering their hands to sniff, they were happy to pet everybody.

‘Awurrrhhh,’ said the husky, very quietly, in a low pitch. Well! Aix did not expect a husky to stay quiet for long.

‘Yeah? What’s your name?’ Aix replied, speaking quietly to encourage the dogs to mirror the low volume.

‘This is Ticky, Folderol is the poodle, Motown is the dane, and this is The Scotsman,’ Virginia said, petting the retriever.

‘Ap! Hp.’ Ticky said, and went a direction then stopped and looked at Virginia hopefully, wagging her tail. ‘Boorfph.’

‘Show me,’ Virginia said, and Motown joined in, ears up and a low worried-sounding moan not quite making it out of her chest. Aix followed, mostly out of curiosity, and Folderol kept pace with a poodle’s feline nonchalance, with the Scotsman having the clueless sort of agreeable amble after them, as though he had not a clue what was happening, but was ready to just follow along what everyone else was doing.

‘Wuoh,’ Ticky said, stopping dead at the very threshold of the kitchen. Victoria was there, pouring water into a teapot.

‘That’s Victoria, you know Victoria,’ Virginia said, patiently. Aix giggled, perching on one of the bar stools, which were still the same very roomy and comfortable padded sort there had been in the unoccupied apartment.

‘Oh, Folly likes you,’ Virginia said, as Folderol followed Aix and Aix scratched behind his ears.

‘I like poodles,’ Aix said. ‘They’re kind of a favourite. Not sure I’d give one enough to do, though. You’ve really got the full spectrum of dog intelligence, huh? From way too smart and full of crimes,’ they petted Folderol, ‘to just happy to be included,’ this was said to the Scotsman, who panted and wagged his tail happily.

‘I’m not a people person either, but everyone says I’m a fucking delight,’ Aix said, shrugging. ‘Just because I don’t find the effort rewarding enough to seek it out doesn’t mean I can’t perform. Also doesn’t mean I’m not an Animals Person. There’s nuance.’

‘Fair enough,’ Virginia said. ‘So, visiting well-behaved dogs, but not having dogs.’

‘Or dog training, or being saddled with other people’s poorly-behaved dogs, or small dogs,’ Aix added, raising a brow. ‘You have proper-size dogs, and they’re polite.’

‘Hear that, Ticky?’ Victoria said cheerfully, as she removed the tea strainer from the teapot, ‘You’re polite.’

‘Huf!’ Ticky said, wagging her tail and dancing foot to foot at the doorway of the kitchen. ‘Ap!’

‘Gin, be a dear and put a sample plate together,’ Victoria said, and Virginia went into the kitchen, starting to get down a proliferance of airtight containers that one expected to use for rice or flour, but these were full of cookies. Virginia even got a flat one out that was clearly vintage Tupperware, and that one had baklava in it.

‘Are cookies okay?’ Virginia asked Aix, ‘Warren doesn’t make them very sweet.’

‘Well then yes, absolutely. I love cookies,’ Aix said. They hadn’t eaten much lately, and Dmitri, like Warren, didn’t make his pastries too sweet either.

‘So, we do have juniper berries and lots of spices,’ Virginia said conversationally, as she started plating cookies. ‘And we do have venison heart, as it happens.’

‘Are you implying your husband is a serial killer. I’m… not sure I’m okay with that.’

‘…Oh. Oh, okay. That kind of serial killer….’ Aix hadn’t really joined up the two ideas, yet. Vampires resided in a totally different part of the mental library than serial killers….

‘Yeah,’ Aix said. ‘Uh, I suppose he could have killed me anytime this week, and so he didn’t, and that… means something.’

‘He’s more well-behaved than to prey on minorities, these days, not when there’s perfectly virginal fascists about,’ Victoria said, with a kind of pride in her tone that implied she had taught him better. ‘Though that is one of the reasons I wanted you to look at units in this building,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to live in the same building as Dmitri, after what you told me about your experiences in Baltimore.’

Aix recalled having told her about the a-few-bodies-short-of-a-serial-killer host in Baltimore, and appreciated that she’d been paying attention, even as they were surprised she’d been… paying attention. ‘I appreciate that,’ Aix said, not sure if that was the right thing to say, not used to being given such respect.

‘So, let’s talk cooking,’ Virginia said, sliding the tray of pastries and cookies in front of Aix. ‘While you eat.’ She washed her hands at the sink in a way that said she was proper food service trained, and then went to another cabinet to get treats for the dogs, so they wouldn’t feel left out, and then, while they were busy, carried the tray of tea things over to the dining table. Aix followed with the cookie tray, and settled down with Victoria.

‘The particular species of venison being from Turtle Island, I think it’s the most appropriate to serve it with this land’s native vegetables—roast squash, sweet potato, and properly roasted corn are my favourites, and proper veg doesn’t need much seasoning, just a little salt and butter. Rosemary and juniper for the venison, I almost want to say possibly doing something with gin—maybe a sauce?—would be good, simply because gin has juniper in it, but I’ve never tried that.’

Virginia wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but a font of very clear and complete ideas was not it. Victoria only smiled as she poured the tea, having been privy to Aix and Dmitri having involved conversation about baking, the night that they had arrived back from Sleepy Hollow on a delayed train; it had excited Dmitri, who rarely got to talk about any of his hobbies with someone who could keep up or present truly delicious ideas.

They were still talking about how to dress and season the venison, and the cookie plate was thoroughly demolished, when the dogs abruptly got up and went, with a chorus of clicking claws and quiet but excited whines, to the front door, which clearly had someone keying in.

‘Hang on,’ Virginia said, noticing Aix starting to tense up and brace; she got up and met Warren at the door. ‘No big noise, we’ve got a bunny.’¹

‘Oh! Okay. Who is it?’ Warren said, still playing with Ticky, who had, of course, jumped up on Daddy as soon as she could. By now, the dogs understood the nuance of You Can Jump Up On Daddy But Nobody Else, mostly due to the daddy in question being able to communicate with them in their own language.

‘It’s Victoria’s new Seer, the one looking at the apartment next door. They talk loud enough, don’t worry about that; but barking is upsetting.’ The nuance was important—Warren was something of a clownish, puppyish sort—very enthusiastic and loud even when just talking. But Aix had been similarly so, even if theirs felt more cattish than canid. Virginia smiled, kissing Warren. ‘But you should meet them, you’re gonna love them. They asked if I would help them cook venison heart, when I offered to help them with dinner.’

Warren muffled a howl of excitement, kissing Virginia again—and then a third time, just for good measure, before gambolling into the kitchen, the dogs following, everyone’s tails high and wagging in excitement—including his. By the time Virginia made it back into the kitchen, Warren and Aix were talking much more excitedly—and loudly—about seasonings, and spices, and cooking techniques, and food pairings.

‘Do you want to continue this up on the roof?’ Warren asked. ‘There’s a park up there, the elves made it for us.’

‘Oh wow, an elfwood,’ Aix said, and pushed to their feet. ‘Are there benches?’

‘Of course! This isn’t some kind of Castle of the Evil Queen or something!’ Warren’s dismissal was as melodramatic as anything he said, but Aix liked it; and it had the sort of tone that said he was fully aware of Hostile Architecture and, furthermore, saw it for what it was.

Aix opened their mouth to answer, and paused as black started eating their visual field at the edges; but it faded, after a moment, with a kind of feeling like someone had just apologised to them. Aix smiled, taking a deep breath, used to the dizziness.

‘Yeah, I… I think we just had a successful lesson on boundaries. He didn’t know what sleep meant, and I think he… just checked if I was asleep? And when I wasn’t he pulled back.’

① “Bunny” was the term Warren and other people from Eglenor had decided to use for those who startled easily from various mental disorders—there was a stubborn disinclination to adopt clinical language among them, even that which had become part of the modern lexicon. Fairy tale beings, Virginia had observed, were almost allergic to speaking literally.

Chapter 7

Azathoth’s Court

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