Part 56 (1/2)
”Ah, Smada,” he intoned. ”No need for transcripts here. We rather pride ouselves on a certain informality.”
Claude could hardly approve of that, but he held his tongue. Haste, as he had often observed, made waste.
The Dean picked up a quill pen, dipped it in some dark fluid, and scratched his initials on an official-looking parchment sheet: HPL. ”Take this doc.u.ment to my a.s.sistant, whom you will find in the next chamber. He will be overjoyed to show you about. We receive few fresh students these cheerless days. Besides, it is his job.”
Claude bowed. It would not do to push this informality craze too far. He made his exit.
It was then, in the ominous silence, that he first heard the Noise. It was a tap-taptapping, distant and vague. As of someone rapping? No, it was more of a clicking sound...
The man in the next room proved to be a bit of an enigma. He was as big as an ox, barrel-chested and wire-haired, and he had the ma.s.sive leathery hands of a wrestler. However, his voice was astoundingly pleasant and cultured, enhanced by a slight lisp. ”You are the Dean's a.s.sistant?” Claude asked.
The man nodded. ”To be more exact,” he said, conspiratorially, ”I'm a good deal more than that.
The old boy loves his craft, but he wouldn't be where he is today, in fact, without yours truly.”
”You are Dr.--”
”Nameless,” the man said, scanning the parchment. ”A new student?” He grinned toothily. ”Why, we haven't had one for over a year! Perhaps you would like to examine a course schedule?”
”I would,” Claude said. One must play the role. ”But first I would be grateful to learn about that Noise I hear. It seems to be coming from below.”
The giant man frowned. ”You mean a sort of tap-tap-tapping?”
”Yes, that's it.”
”I hear nothing.” Dr. Nameless picked Claude up by the s.h.i.+rt and held him a bare inch from his, Nameless's, face. ”There is no Noise,” he said, not without meaning.”But,” Claude swallowed. ”But--well, come to think of it, you're right.”
Dr. Nameless put Claude down. ”Now, just you take a gander at the course schedule. Then I think we ought to visit the stadium.” He winked. ”I know about you lads. All is not dry scholarly book work here at Miskatonic U., you may be sure. We have our share of hearty outdoor activities.”
”Hearty, eh?” Claude responded with feigned enthusiasm.
He studied the course schedule. It was not without a certain fascination. It listed all of the courses offered at Miskatonic, and named all the department chairmen.
His keen eye was caught by the t.i.tle of a biology cla.s.s, Serological Genetics. It was taught by a count, no less. He was also intrigued by the copy concerning the Student Health Center. It read: ”Dr.
Jekyll, MWF. Mr. Hyde, TT.”
And then there was Professor Monk Lewis, of the Department of Anthropology. A chap named Hodgson, a.s.sociate Professor of Marine Fungi. A mathematics cla.s.s restricted to very young girls, taught by a Professor Carroll. A course in monstrous electrodes, of all things, offered by an a.s.sistant professor with the curious name of Dr. Frank N. Stein.
Claude's attention strayed. He had but scant interest in academics. ”Onward to the stadium!” he cried with youthful vigor.
”Yes, indeed,” said Dr. Nameless agreeably. ”Boys will be boys, and all that. I believe that Cleve will join us about now. Can't get enough of it.”
”Cleve?”
”You will share a room with Cleve. Lots of fun. Been with us several semesters, you know.”
Sure enough, Cleve appeared on cue. Cleve was completely cloaked in a rather garish robe adorned with purple ta.s.sels. A soph.o.m.ore, at least.
”Pleasedtameetcha,” Cleve intoned.
”Likewise, I'm sure,” Claude said.
Cleve? The diminutive of Cleveland, no doubt. Well, no matter.
They strolled to a large, though rickety, grandstand at the far end of the weedchoked campus. It was jammed with students, most of them bearing waxen expressions.
Claude could no longer hear the tap-tap-tapping. Somehow, he was glad.
”Nice turnout,” he ventured, slapping at a low-flying bat with his beanie. ”I confess that I like school spirit.”
”We have them,” Cleve said.
Claude edged along a slat and sat down next to a sallow youth who was munching candy skulls.
On the greensward there were four spindle-shanked men, all well advanced in years. They held olive branches. Otherwise, the gridiron was deserted.
”Are we early,” Claude asked of his increasingly taciturn guides, ”or are we late?”
”Neither,” said Dr. Nameless. He was slowly crus.h.i.+ng a cloth effigy with his thumbs. ”The game is about to begin.”
”Yay,” said Cleve. ”Hoo, boy.”
There was a surging wail from the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude.
”The mascots!” Dr. Nameles screamed.
From a manger at one end of the field an immense number of kids appeared. They were led by a maternal looking nanny.
”Don't tell me,” Claude sighed. ”The Goat with a Thousand Young.”
”_Ygdrsll! Ia, ia, ia!_” cried Dr. Nameless, losing control. ”Now look!”
Claude looked. A cloud of diaphanous girls drifted out and took their stations. They gyrated.
”Virgins,” Dr. Nameless hissed. ”We require them for our matriculation ceremonies.”
”Cheerleaders,” Cleve explained.
”Watch!” yelled the giant Dr. Nameless. He shook Claude until his, Claude's, teeth rattled.
Really, the man was positively beside himself.
Claude watched. The four old men clutched one another, fanning the air with their olive branches.
Then, through an arch at one end of the stadium, four more figures charged onto the field.They were dressed all in black. They had hoods. They also had battle-axes in their hands.
A red fire truck roared across the arena, bells clanging.
”What's that?” Claude whispered.