“Sir,” I had asked in his stifling office. “What exactly will I be assisting you with, this semester?”
“Anything I need help with, of course,” he grumbled. “Not that you’ll have the languages to be truly useful.”
How did he think I’d won a place here? “Sir, I know Latin, Greek…”
He snorted. “Mr. Cheshire, I would expect any graduate to have mastered those languages.”
I pressed on. “I can also read Sanskrit, Hebrew, Arabic, and decipher basic Akkadian and Sumerian cuneiform.” Hadn’t he read my vita at all?
“We’ll see, I suppose. Go to the library and find these books for me. Tomorrow morning.” He handed me a list with three titles on it.
But I’d been looking five hours and found nothing. The Library would be closing, soon. I wondered if I could just stow away here and finish. If I wandered upstairs and said I’d lost track of time, what could they do? It would be awkward, but I’d have finished the job. I already knew he wasn’t bluffing about having me dismissed.
“Dr. Matheson…” I had begun.
“I do not hold a Ph. D,” he said in freezing tones.
“Mr. Matheson, sorry…”
“I do have a title, however, and it is Master of Arts.”
Then how did he hold a professorship at all? I’d come here hoping to study with Ward or Carter. Who was Matheson? And did he actually expect me to call him ‘Master?’
That’s when the dark woman had walked in and said, “A moment, please, Master.”
Her sarcasm was as cool as the air she’d let in. Cool, damp, and smelling of old plants. Oblivious to the summer heat, she wore a long, blue trenchcoat. Under it, sleeves and leggings covered her from wrists to ankles. She wore sunglasses and a headscarf as well. Muslim? But no, her hair flowed out from under it in shining, black waves.
Matheson sat upright. “What do you want?” His jaw clenched tight.
“I wanted a look at that book,” she’d said. “Rittenhouse’s Notes on Kadath. I do hope I’m not bothering you.”
“You have no appointment,” he’d chanted, almost like a warding ritual. “No place here: get out!” But she’d advanced, passing inches from me, her long hair glistening. Was it oiled?
“Surely you can spare me a little glance at it.” She stared at him.
“I dismissed you! Last year! You have no right to be here.” He snatched up the old black phone on his desk. “I’ll call campus security!”
She smirked at that. “Of course you will. I’ll find it elsewhere.” She turned, and looked at me. “Hope you last longer than I did,” she said. Then she was gone.
I’d turned back to Matheson. “Was she really...?”
“It’s none of your business!” he snarled. “Now get those books. They’re in the Special Collections Stacks.”
“Sir, will they let me…?”
“Here’s a pass!” He shoved a yellowing card into my hand. “Now go! I have work to do!” He glanced furtively at the door.
I sneezed and cursed, gazing again at the books. Other Ancient Languages libraries would have killed for them. I was in research heaven. Around me were texts on Akkadian, Hittite, even Archaic Sumerian! And was it possible Matheson really had a copy of Notes on Kadath? Half the field thought it had never existed! I wanted Matheson – needed him – as my advisor. So why had he turned heaven into my personal hell?
The soft chime of the elevator sounded. Shit. I was going to be thrown out. The rats skittered frantically away, not from the footsteps I’d expected, but from an electric whine. A pushcart? It came closer.
A girl in a motorized wheelchair emerged from the bookshelves and turned. “Oh,” she said, in a soft voice. “I hadn’t expected anyone here.”
“Neither had I,” I said. I couldn’t help it; I stared.
She wore a loose, pink shirt with a huge collar. She wasn’t bald, but her hair was buzz-cut to the point I couldn’t tell its color. And she wore ear gauges, not huge, but noticeable. Her legs were stuffed in baggy jeans, and they bent in the wrong places. Her feet were hidden by a pair of boots that lay in the footrests like afterthoughts. Her left arm curled up in her lap, hidden by her sleeve. Only her right hand, gripping the chair’s joystick, looked normal, and she smiled up at me with big, almost bulging, green eyes. Despite her disability, she wasn’t ugly, only… strange.
Then why did I feel like I should recognize her?
“I thought you were the library staff coming to kick me out,” I babbled, trying to stop staring. “It’s almost closing time.”
“Hm. What keeps you here so late?”
“Books. My professor wants them, but they aren’t on the shelves. I think they’re in there.” I gestured to the chaos along the wall.
“What are the titles?”
“The Glyphs of Sarnath, The Grammar of Leng, and Akkadian-Iremic Structures.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Ancient languages?”
It was my turn to be surprised. Most people wouldn’t have made the connection. “Yes. My professor wants them. Tomorrow. Or else. But I have to admit I was hoping to look at them, too. Are you a linguist?”
She nodded. “Thea Waite.” She offered her hand. Her grip was not weak. “Proto-Indo-European languages, though. I think I’ve seen your books.”
“Really?”
“Yes, this way.” She spun her chair and led the way through the shelves to an alcove I’d missed, behind the elevator.
“These are on reserve. They’re already claimed by professors.” She threaded her way between the narrow shelves. “I can’t turn around,” she said, craning her neck. “But if you look behind me…”
And there they were, stacked neatly, above a label: Dr. H. Armitage.
“So what do I do now?” I asked, hopes sinking.
“Go back to your professor and tell him to fight it out with Dr. Armitage.”
I sighed with relief. “You may have just saved my fellowship.”
“That sounds extreme. Could you help me with something?”
“Sure.”
“That book just above your head, Unaussprechlichen Kulten. Can you reach it for me?”
I took it down; it was small, but thick.
“Okay. Don’t get weirded out by this.” Her left arm came up out of her sleeve. A white, articulated, plastic chain reached up. It resembled a tentacle, of all things.
I gaped. She chuckled. “I know. Put it about in the middle of my arm.”
I did, and the segments contracted, gripping the book firmly. She put the book in her lap.
“Now let me back out.”
Out of the shelves, she rotated to face me. “Now, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I am the library staff coming to kick you out.”
I blushed furiously. Of course she was. I’d just assumed she couldn’t be. Which made me an ass.
“Don’t worry about it; you saved me calling a more mobile colleague. I still have a lot of work tonight. But do you want to get coffee sometime?”
I was not going to act like an asshole again. It was just coffee, right? I met her bulging, green eyes. “Love to.”
*
But my relief was premature. I’d heard the phrase “white with rage.” I’d never seen it.
“Is it possible, Mr. Cheshire, that you cannot understand simple English? I told you to get those books. I didn’t tell you to ask permission.”
“Sir, they were reserved to…”
“I heard you the first time! Your job as an assistant is to assist. Me. And if you cannot do that, then you can find another job! Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. But how could I have taken them in front of the librarian?”
“By walking out with them! You let me worry about the academic pecking order. Now get those books and I mean now!”
I left. Halfway there, I realized I’d never make coffee. I texted Thea:
Hey.Profs mad about books. Can’t make coffee. Another time?
I was almost to the library when I g
ot the response.
Sure.
A period. Not a good sign. Well, it was my career on the line, here, not hers. I made my way down to the Special Collection Stacks. Matheson wanted the books? Fine. Not worth my job. If anyone wanted to stop me, they could call Campus Security on my ass. I’d give them Matheson’s name and welcome.
But they were gone.
I was looking right at the same shelf. Same professor. H. Armitage. But they were gone. Except one. The Grammar of Leng. A slim volume. Published 1824, the cloth cover frayed and peeling. It just fit in my pocket. At least I wouldn’t be totally empty-handed.
*
“This was the only one left. No one in circulation knew where they were. I let them think Dr. Armitage had taken it with the others. They didn’t seem upset.”
Well, the undergrad clerk hadn’t been. The real librarians were still gone.
“Oh, they will be,” growled Matheson. Then he fixed me with a stare.
“It wasn’t her, was it?”
“Wasn’t who?”
“You know who I mean! The woman who walked in yesterday; the intruder!”
“No, sir. I’d have remembered her.”
“Yes, you would have,” he muttered.
“The last person at the library I know saw them was one of the assistants. Her name’s Thea, but I don’t know her last name. Uses a wheelchair, and is studying P.I.E.”
He looked up. For the first time, he didn’t look angry, but worried. Then he smiled, and it was ugly.
“Very well. If you’d done as I said at first, I’d have the books. But I’ll discuss the matter with Dr. Armitage. In the meantime, I have a task for you. Read that book.”
“Me, sir?” I said, stupidly.
“Yes, you. Be prepared to discuss it by the end of the week. Then I’ll know a bit more about what you’re good for.”
I picked it up. “Very well, sir.”
I walked out. Well, afternoon coffee was shot. Then I had an idea.
Got away from Attila the Prof. Getting a little late for coffee. Free for dinner? Spagnuolos off campus does good calzones.7:00?
I didn’t have to wait long.
Sure
*
The restaurant was dark and cozy. I hadn’t even checked whether it was accessible. Fortunately, it was.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “Matheson ordered me back to the library.”
“Thank you for dinner. When you cancelled I thought… perhaps you were only being polite, last night.”
“Are you kidding? Who else would even understand what I was complaining about?”
The wine arrived. Her odd prosthesis wrapped neatly around the stem of her glass.
“Bad professors? Every research assistant who ever lived. Cheers.”
“But none of them would understand why a book of ancient spells – from Leng, allegedly – is so fascinating.”
She coughed. “Excuse me. Did Matheson get Armitage to release the books?”
“No, he ordered me to take them.” I explained what happened, and about the book he gave me to read. “Admittedly, I was expecting an overview of the language. A book of spells isn’t as exciting, but even so, do you realize what that means? There’s been no more work on Leng than there has been on Kadath or Aratta. I didn’t know any of the language had survived, and here’s a whole book. I don’t know why the author called it a grammar, though.”
I hoped I wasn’t getting too excited for her. But Miskatonic was a long way away from Pepperdine, and I didn’t know anyone here, yet. It was good to talk.
“A book of spells is a grimoire,” she supplied. “The author may have meant that.”
“The language is nothing like I’ve ever seen,” I said. “I can’t even be sure I’m pronouncing it right.”
“You’ve been reading it?” She sounded worried. “You know, Raymond, Matheson’s order violates University rules. It may even be a crime. I won’t turn you in. But it’s very odd.”
“Odder than having me dismissed for not finding books, or fighting with mysterious ex-students?” The food arrived as I explained about the dark woman. When I finished talking, Thea’s eyes were dark with concern.
“That’s not… right. I’d speak to Dr. Ward, if I were you. He’s head of the department.”
I checked myself. “I’ve been doing all the talking, though. Tell me about your work.”
She smiled, and her face lit up. She described her work on the origins of P.I.E., and I learned more than I had in any number of seminars. No one outside the field would understand, but I found myself relaxing. I’d still have to deal with Matheson and the looming future, but having a friend to talk to made it less frightening.
“Walk you home?” I said, after paying.
“Please,” she said, backing up. I blinked. Somehow, I’d forgotten she was even disabled.
“Is it rude to ask how you came to use a wheelchair?”
“Everyone does,” she sighed. “But it’s not interesting. It’s a birth defect. Osteogenesis imperfecta. It means my bones break easily. Even standing up will do it. My arm was crushed in childbirth and had to be amputated at the elbow. This prosthesis is much better than those blunted hooks that don’t quite look like hands, but people do stare. More.”
“Sorry.” I reddened.
She simply smiled. “It’s my life.”
Suddenly, an old man lurched in front of us. We pulled up short. He was grizzled and unshaven, in a stained coat. “Sennie,” he said in a too-loud voice. “Haven’t seen ye aboot.” He kicked one of her tires. “What’s this, then? Ye look worse’n I do, Sennie.”
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Talkin’ t’ Sennie,” he grunted. “Mind y’r business.”
I was about to do something when Thea touched my hand with her prosthesis. “It’s just old Zeke,” she said. “I’m not Sennie, Zeke. I’m Thea. Remember? We’ve talked before.”
He sniffed. “Not Sennie? Hah. I warned ye, girl. Tried t’ stop ye. Why wouldn’t ye listen to Zeke?”
“I don’t know why she wouldn’t listen, Zeke. But we have to be going, now.”
She gunned the chair around him, and we went on.
“Zeke’s harmless,” she said. “He used to know my great-aunt Sennie. She was odd. I think he might have been in love with her.” She shrugged. “Arkham’s a small town, and Zeke’s a little crazy.”
At her apartment, she said, “I had a nice time. Thanks for dinner.”
“I hope we’ll do it again,” I answered.
Walking back home, I texted a meeting request to Dr. Ward.
And then my phone was knocked out of my hand.
I got a glimpse of Zeke’s stubbled face and yellow teeth before he tackled me. For a terrible moment I choked on the odor of unwashed hobo laced with wine.
“Stay back from ‘er, hear? She’s mine!”
“Get off me!” With the energy of panic, I slammed a fist into his ear. He rolled off me, clutching the side of his face. Levering himself to his feet, he charged.
Anger flooded me; I waded in, caught his punch on my left arm and threw a straight right. He stumbled back, clutching a lamppost. “She’s mine, I tell ye. She’s been mine fer years,” he sobbed. “I was the one who held ‘er back from the brink o’ the Call! I… I…” he collapsed.
I lowered my fists. I almost felt sorry for him. Sennie was long dead, and he didn’t even know; he could only chase after her niece. “Get out of here before I have you arrested.”
“Caged, eh? You’ll have me caged?” he called, as I backed away. “You’re a’sniffin’ at the door of a cage ye can’t even see! But I’ll tell ye sumthin’, boy. You might be safe while she sits that chair. But if ye ever see her walking? Oh, if ye see her walk in the moonlight, ye best be able to flee.” He stumbled off into the night, muttering.
Wiping a cold sweat from my forehead, I went home.
*
I wandered the tunnels of a city carved into a mountain.
It explored it for years, my only light the windows: head-sized holes in the tunnel walls, miles apart. And though I chose only up-sloping passages, each window was lower than the last, bringing me closer to the seething surface of an ichor-black sea. The sea spoke to me, in the language of Leng. And I understood it.
I woke to the chirping of my phone, feeling dizzy and sick. The text that had awoken me was from Dr. Ward. It read: MY OFFICE. NOW.
*
The Grammar bulged in my pocket, now. Dr. Ward opened his door and gestured me in.
“Cheshire, I’ll get right to the point. I’m hearing disturbing things about you. Master Matheson has said you are disrespectful and difficult to work with, and I understand you are responsible for taking books out of the Special Collections Stacks without authorization.”
I gaped. “Sir, that’s… Dr. Matheson told me to take those books.”
“To check them out, yes. But to take four very valuable Library books – on reserve – without even leaving a record? Mr. Cheshire, you have the scholarly background to know better. Miskatonic demands better. Is that clear?”
“Four books?” I echoed, dumbly. “It was only three!”
“So you admit to it?”
“No!” I was shaking. “Sir. Dr. Matheson told me to fetch him the books. Three books. And when I told him they were reserved, he screamed at me to get them no matter what! He said …”
“Mr. Cheshire. Master Matheson is an old and valued member of this faculty. I am surprised that you, or any student on this campus, would accuse a professor – your designated mentor, no less – of such an ethical breach. Perhaps of a crime. Do you still have the books?”
I could see that he was going to have me arrested if I didn’t.
“Yes,” I croaked. It was stupid, but I just wanted out. Maybe I could find them. Maybe Thea would help me.
It was obvious no one else would. I drew the Grammar out of my pocket.
Dr. Ward exhaled. “Good. I want those books back in the library by tomorrow, and there will be no further questions asked. And Mr. Cheshire, I would hate to see your promising future damaged, but any more such behavior, and we will have to re-examine your relationship with this department.”
Miskatonic Nightmares Page 17