Wrath of N'kai

by Josh Reynolds

  “Unofficially?”

  Freeborn looked at her. “Something crushed his throat. The mummy was on the ground behind him, as if it had… fallen off the table we’d placed it on. Its bindings were far too loose. Its hands were…” He trailed off, his own hands twitching at the memory. “We bound it again, tighter this time. Didn’t have any more problems after that. Not until the collapse.” He gave a weak laugh. “We decided to cut the expedition short after that.”

  “Yes. I can see why. Hardly the treasure you promised your investors.”

  Freeborn’s gaze snapped towards her. “Like I said, we promised them bupkis.” He hesitated. “Or at least I didn’t. God knows what Ferdinand said to get Orne on board.” He frowned. “Though… that sounds wrong.”

  Alert now, she leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  Freeborn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just, when Ferdinand came to me, he already had funding. Wouldn’t say who.”

  Alessandra frowned. “He may have told someone else. Professor Walters, for instance. Perhaps I should speak to him.”

  Freeborn gestured absently. “He’s probably over in the library. Practically lives there. Just ask for him, they’ll show you where he’s lurking.”

  “Thank you.” She rose, and then paused. “Were you aware that Ashley was a member of the Silver Twilight Lodge?”

  He looked surprised. “No. But it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “What is your opinion of Carl Sanford?”

  He hesitated before answering. “I think he’s a kook. And his organization is a bunch of kooks, being led by a kook.” He pursed his lips. “But… I know better than to say it where some people might hear me.”

  “Such as who?”

  Freeborn gestured haplessly. “People. The dean, for one. Sanford has his hooks in a large part of this town’s population. Mostly the affluent part, if you get me. Are you planning to talk to him as well?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Want some advice?”

  “Always.”

  “Don’t,” he said, flatly. “Stay away from Sanford. Stay away from the Lodge and all the loonies in it.”

  “You do not believe they are involved.”

  “I didn’t say that. But if they are, best to leave them to it. Sanford is a bad friend to have and a worse enemy.”

  “And what about Mr Orne?”

  Freeborn shook his head. “He’s a very rich man with an abiding interest in history, and a willingness to fund archaeological expeditions. I’ll not say a word against him.” Another hesitation. “But… I will say this – those two have been fencing since Orne turned down Sanford’s invitation. The whole stunt with the mummy? I think Orne came up with that after Sanford set up the lodge exhibits at the museum.” Freeborn shook his head. “The rich make pettiness an art form.”

  “Did Ashley know?”

  “We both did. Everyone knew. That’s just how Arkham works. Orne and Sanford have been divvying up the upper crust for a few months now. Drawing battle lines. Every cocktail party was a skirmish, every barbecue luncheon an assault.”

  “Who is winning?”

  Freeborn shrugged. “Hell if I know. I have enough problems of my own with the academic snake pit.”

  “And you are not curious?”

  “No.” He was silent for a moment, staring past her shoulder. “I mentioned Australia, before. Not the first expeditions I ever took part in, but the one I remember the most. We found things there as well – not mummies, nothing so aggressively out of place, but unexpected nonetheless. Not much, but just enough to… arouse uncertainty.”

  He looked at her. “That’s how that damned mummy made me feel – how all of this makes me feel. As if I were back in the Great Sandy Desert, staring up at those blasted stones again. I don’t ask questions like those any more.” He looked away.

  “I don’t want to know the answers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Harvey Walters

  The Orne Library crouched at the heart of the campus like a watchful hound. It was a blocky building of pale granite, inelegant and sturdy. A set of stairs led up to a set of massive oaken doors. Over the doors was carved a motto in Latin – Lux in obscuro sumus.

  Pepper sounded the words out. “What does that mean?”

  Alessandra knew a little Latin, enough to piece together the meaning. “We are the light in the darkness,” she said, out loud. She smiled. “A good saying. A bit pretentious, perhaps. Then, it is a university after all.”

  “Think this place is named for that Orne guy?”

  “I believe it is, yes.”

  Pepper was silent for a moment. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling about all of this.”

  “Starting to?”

  “Look, I don’t know much about this lodge stuff, but I know people who do, and they say that even guys like McTyre steer clear of Carl Sanford.”

  “Yes, McTyre said something similar last night. Perhaps it is merely coincidence.”

  “You believe that?”

  Alessandra looked at her. “Perhaps you should go wait for me at the diner. I will be along soon. Order lunch. You look hungry.”

  Pepper rubbed her stomach. It had been audibly grumbling for the last few minutes. “Now that you mention it, I am sort of hungry. And this many books in one place gives me hives.” She hesitated. “You’ll be OK?”

  “One old man will not prove too troublesome, I think.” She started up the steps. Once past the doors she entered the main hall. Stained glass windows looked down on large mahogany tables arranged in neat rows. Overhead, a domed glass skylight occupied most of the ceiling. Despite the windows, there was precious little sunlight to be had. Electric lamps burned on every table and in the study carrels.

  Pillars rose along the length of the hall, supporting the upper stories. Stone grotesques clung to them, glaring down at Alessandra as she made her way to the desk where a blond woman organized books for re-shelving.

  “Pardon me, but would you happen to know where one might find a Professor Harvey Walters?” Alessandra asked, inadvertently startling the young woman.

  “Oh!” she said, dropping several of the books she’d been holding. Alessandra helped her pick them up, apologizing as she did so. “No, no, my fault entirely. Head in the clouds, you might say.” She stuck out a hand. “Daisy Walker. And you are?”

  “Alessandra Zorzi.”

  “And you’re looking for Professor Walters?”

  “I was told you might know his location.”

  Daisy laughed. “I might have some idea at that. Come on.”

  The librarian led her through the stacks, towards the back of the building. “Most of these old offices are storage now,” she said. “But a few diehards claimed them for their private use – closer to the books and away from bothersome students, if you get me.”

  Alessandra chuckled. “I believe so.”

  “Only Professor Walters and two or three others lasted. The heating isn’t the best.” Daisy pointed to one of the tables. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if he’s in.” Alessandra took a seat.

  The library was quiet. There were a few students, scattered throughout the main hall, and she could hear others walking around on the floors above. None of them spoke, not even to whisper. The building had an empty, lonesome feel that made her antsy. She wanted to shout, to sing and dance, to fill the silence.

  Instead, she sat and waited, and soon enough Professor Walters stumped into view, followed by Daisy. Alessandra looked up at him. “Hello, professor. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  Walters smiled genially. “Well, it’s not every day a woman such as yourself asks to see me. My days are mostly filled with nervous students and tedious colleagues. You promise at least a chance at something more interesting.”

  “Even so, you have my gratitude.”

  Walters turned and gestured with his cane. “Come, come. Let’s adjourn someplace more private. My study room is this way.” He nodded to th
e librarian. “Thank you, Miss Walker. Would you see that the countess and I aren’t disturbed?”

  His room proved to be an untidy niche situated along the back wall. It was larger than Freeborn’s office, but felt more cramped thanks to the overstuffed bookshelves that lined the walls. Walters’ desk was too large for the space, and an antique. It was topped by white towers of paper, and stacks of books. Wooden masks hung in the gaps between bookcases, and strange idols made from teak, soapstone and obsidian crouched haphazardly on shelves.

  Walters brushed papers from a chair, and then beat dust from a cushion. He indicated it as he circled the desk to his own seat. “Sit, please. You’re not allergic to dust, I hope?”

  “Not that I am aware of.”

  “Well, you’re about to find out. Of late, I prefer this room to my office in the administration building. No one bothers my books down here, and there’s a decided lack of interruptions.” He studied her for a moment. “So, you saw the robbery,” he said. “I assume you’ve spoken to the police.”

  She smiled. “Several times.”

  Walters grunted. “Yes. They’ve been here as well.” He shuffled a stack of papers from one end of his desk to the other. “I heard the shots, but saw very little. Probably for the best.” He eyed her. “Why did you want to speak to me?”

  “Did you know Professor Ashley?”

  Walters sat back. “You aren’t the only one to ask me that.”

  “I am not the police.”

  Walters nodded. “Obviously. So who are you?”

  “A concerned party.”

  Walters grunted. “I do not like having my time wasted, countess. I have few enough years remaining that I can spend them on obfuscating repartee. What is your interest in Ferdinand Ashley?”

  “My apologies. I am unused to American forthrightness. I believe him to be involved in the theft. I thought I should speak to you.”

  Walters blinked. “Oh.” Then he frowned. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve spoken to that young fool, Freeborn, then?”

  “I have had that pleasure, yes.”

  “And he told you that I helped Ashley with his research.”

  “He did.”

  “I’m sure those were the first words out of his mouth. I don’t know where Ashley is, if that is what you’re wondering.” He turned to his books, and ran his fingers across the spines, searching for one in particular. He found it and dropped it onto the desk. Dust billowed, and Alessandra waved a hand in front of her face to disperse it. Walters ignored the dust as he flipped through the crackling, yellowed pages.

  “Over the years I have uncovered a number of… curious commonalities, shall we say. Similarities in symbology, pronunciation, etcetera that indicate a… a communal memory, for lack of a better term. That’s what interested Ashley the most – the commonalities.”

  “Such as many cultures having some form of great flood in their folklore.”

  Walters beamed at her. “Exactly! Yes, that’s it exactly. A sort of shared experience – a primeval occurrence of such intensity that is recalled and filtered through innumerable generations down through uncounted eons.”

  “Very interesting, but what does this have to do with what he found?”

  “I’m getting to that. Ashley noticed similar commonalities in his own research into the prehistory of North America. The stories of the indigenous tribes hinted at an… unwritten history. Ashley was determined to uncover that history. So he came to me.”

  “Freeborn mentioned a book.”

  “Yes.” He tapped the book. “This one here.” The pages were full of tight, cramped script in a language she didn’t immediately recognize. “It is a copy of a copy. A testament by one Panfilo de Zamacona y Nunez.”

  “What?” Alessandra looked up, startled. “Who?”

  “An Asturian explorer of no particular note. One of hundreds of Spaniards who flocked to the American continent in that period, looking for kingdoms of gold.”

  “I thought most of them were confined to Central and South America.”

  “Most being the operative word. Some came further west, farther north. We are a rapacious species, countess. There is very little we will not dare in the name of profit.” Walters turned the pages. “Most of this is just a description of his travels through Mexico, and into North America. Interesting reading, but… it becomes pertinent towards the end. Zamacona impressed a native man into service as a guide. The fellow apparently led him to a secret door set into a high rock mound. A door that led to… Well.” He looked at her.

  “Don’t keep me waiting, professor,” she said. “What did he find?” She asked the question, already knowing the answer.

  “A vast, subterranean empire. A kingdom of shadows, older than any above the surface. At least according to Zamacona.” He closed the book. “It was peopled by a foul folk, fond of sadistic entertainments, including a form of alchemical necromancy I have only read about in certain older Latin texts.”

  “Necromancy?”

  “They enslaved the dead.”

  Alessandra thought of pale, clammy hands grabbing at her, and of milky eyes rolling in their sockets. Of the smell of rotting meat. She said nothing.

  Walters shook his head. “In truth, I’ve always considered this book to be a clever fiction. A literary hoax.”

  “But now?”

  “Now I am not so sure.” Walters tapped the book with his fingers. “That mummy – it was found in roughly the same place as this account. There are masks described herein that greatly resemble the one worn by our desiccated friend. That is why I attended, despite my distaste for such gatherings. I needed to see it for myself. As I said last time, if Ashley was right, it could rewrite the history of this continent.”

  “But what you are implying – it cannot be true. Can it?”

  Walters shook his head. “Truth, like beauty, is a matter of perception. What was once known to be a lie is revealed as the truth. What was held as ironclad truth soon becomes a lie. New information, new contexts. The past is an undiscovered country, and our maps are not the best.”

  She sat back and shook her head. “Why steal such a thing?” It was a question she had been pondering in the back of her mind since the robbery.

  Walters was silent for a moment. “For some individuals, such a remnant might be regarded as a key to ancient knowledge.” Walters sat back, hands clasped on his chest. “Mummies were a sort of currency among certain sects for a time. They were used in various rituals – or eaten.”

  Alessandra blinked. “Eaten?”

  “Oh yes. The Corpse-Eating Cult of Leng, for instance. They supposedly devoured the bodies of mystics and sages, in order to absorb their wisdom. The Dayak people of Borneo have similar rituals. The infamous Hellfire Club was said to have purchased mummies to feast on, in great celebrations. Benjamin Franklin wrote about it. He even claimed to have participated.”

  He laughed and continued. “Then of course there were the witch-cults of Salem and Providence. A fellow named Curwen was supposed to have illicitly purchased no less than one hundred and fifty mummies over the course of a decade, none of which were ever recovered.”

  Alessandra frowned. “And you think such a group is responsible?”

  Walters’ smile faded. “I cannot say with any certainty.”

  “Are there any of these groups active in Arkham?”

  “I should hope not.”

  She paused for a moment. “What about the Silver Twilight Lodge?”

  “What about them?”

  “They are an occult group of some sort, yes?”

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about the occult,” he said.

  “Could they be behind the theft?”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked, softly.

  “Professor Freeborn believes he and Ashley are being followed. Thaddeus Visser believes the same thing. And earlier today I had a run in with one of their members – a man named Chauncey Swann.”

  Walters frowned
, but said nothing. Alessandra read something in his face. “What?” she asked. “Do you know something?”

  “No. Maybe.” He looked at her. “You said they thought that they were being followed? By the same individuals?”

  Alessandra hesitated. “Possibly.”

  Walters’ expression was grave. “Could you come back later? This evening, perhaps?”

  “Not tonight, no. Tomorrow afternoon?”

  “That will have to do,” he said. “I may have something for you then. In the meantime, I suggest you take care.”

  Alessandra rose, feeling inexplicably shaken.

  “Thank you, professor. I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sacrifice

  Visser did not meet her for dinner. Alessandra was not so much concerned as she was annoyed. She was going to be even more annoyed if it turned out that he’d caught an earlier train. Nervous as he was, she wouldn’t have put it past him. Though he could have at least left a note. Still, there was no reason not to enjoy dinner – though she steered clear of the chicken this time.

  She ordered, and watched the other tables. Most were empty. With the exhibition over, many of the guests had scattered to the four winds. Arkham wasn’t much of a tourist destination. At least according to Pepper.

  She’d sent the girl home to get some rest. Tomorrow would be another long day, she suspected. Though she wasn’t yet sure what her next move was going to be. Until she heard from McTyre, she was at a dead end. Unless she could locate Ashley before then. But even that was looking less and less likely.

  She wondered what Walters had to share with her. He’d seemed shaken when she’d left his office – almost as bad as Freeborn. As if they knew something they couldn’t put into words. She paused, a forkful of food halfway to her mouth. The lights overhead flickered and went dim, one by one. She watched them, a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  None of the other diners seemed to notice. She set her fork down and made to rise – but couldn’t. Her limbs felt like lead. The weight in her stomach was unbearable – it shifted and roiled, like a thing alive.