Half a dozen locals were tying our plane to the dock. It was late afternoon on January 1, 1934, with the sun gilding the water. Stan toggled off our engines, which were, I suspected, ready to cough to cessation anyhow. We’d cut the mileage of our hop very fine.
“All the more reason why we have to get to Leng soon,” said Stan expanding on Leon’s remarks. “We’ll save Urxula and her cuke race while there’s time. They’re definitely the underdogs on this card. We’ll even things up. Kill off the cukes’ enemies. The shoggoths, right? Those slugs the size of subway trains.”
“Just one slug now, as I understand it,” put in Leon.
“The great shoggoth,” said Vivi. “A formidable foe. But there’s a third party as well. The ones that the man in the Pabodie party talked about. The man who went crazy fro
