“Followed?” asked Andrew, alarmed. He gazed through the front windows into the impenetrable whiteness beyond. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. There was nobody there.”
He still looked concerned, so I tried to downplay the whole affair.
“The fog is unusually thick,” I said. “Sounds echoed very oddly, got distorted. It just played with my imagination.”
He looked through the front windows once more. With a harrumph, he stood up, and motioned for me to follow. We went into the backroom, now much brighter than it had been. On the wall above the table was mounted a new light fixture.
“I took some time yesterday to rig this up for you,” he said. “It will be much easier on your eyes.”
There were four books lined up on the table. I recognized one as the first notebook I had examined the week before.
“These are just a few of the general reference volumes I have on magic; you should probably start there. This one’s a Latin to English dictionary. I have German and French upstairs; I’ll get them for you shortly.”
He pointed at a notebook sitting unopened, directly in front of the chair.
“And here is your first assignment,” he said with a smirk. “There will be a test at the end of the week.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, flashing him a mock salute.
“I’ll get those dictionaries.”
“Andrew?” I stopped him before he could leave. “What about the notebook that mentions Sothoth Pnath? Shouldn’t I start there?”
“Your primary goal is to learn,” he explained. “You need to start at the beginning. No more random browsing—for either of us. We both need to proceed in order.”
He exited the room, then returned soon after, dictionaries in hand.
“As usual,” he said, “if you need help, just ask.”
The hours drifted by as I tried to fill my head with new information. My goal was simply to read and comprehend Mr. Hunt’s notebook. More often than not, though, I would find myself paging through the reference to find a symbol in a table; or reading an entire chapter from one of the books on magic that Andrew provided. He was right; it was slow going. When at last my hunger persuaded me to break for lunch, I emerged from my study room to find a gorgeous spring day awaiting me. The sun had burned off every trace of fog. I walked the four blocks to the marketplace, purchased some fresh fruit, and enjoyed my simple meal on a park bench under the clear blue sky. After relaxing in the sun for a few moments, my energy restored, I returned to the bookstore and shut myself in the back room again.
By late afternoon, I began to feel I was actually learning something. I still needed to search the reference books to translate nine-tenths of the information that I was attempting to read, but the one-tenth that I retained was an encouraging sign. By the end of the afternoon, I still had not learned anything truly practical, but my understanding of the material had begun to clear up some questions.
Nearing dinnertime, my hunger pangs overwhelmed my thirst for knowledge. As I readied myself to leave, Andrew cracked open the door and stuck his head in.
“Do you realize what time it is?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” I said, turning off the light. “I’m finished for the day. I’m starving.”
“See you first thing in the morning again, then?” he asked as we made our way to the front door.
“Actually,” I said, “I won’t be in until a bit later tomorrow. I have a meeting. With the director of the Library.
“Doctor Trautmann?”
“Do you know him?”
Andrew placed his hand on the doorknob, barring my exit.
“We’ve never been introduced,” he said. “But as one of the only men in the world with unlimited access to these volumes…”
“What is it?” I pressed.
“As you have undoubtedly learned, knowledge of the true nature of the universe—it can do strange things to people. Warp their minds.”
“Are you saying that—”
“Just be mindful answering any questions. Granted, the probability is small, but there is always a chance he could be the enemy.”
“Enemy?”
“A worshiper of the Ancient Ones,” he said quietly. “If not a member of the cult, then possibly an ally.”
“The thought had never occurred to me. Can you not be more trusting?”
Andrew ignored my question.
“You will need to be very careful with what you say,” he continued. “If you are too vague, he may assume that you are intending to read the entire volume. Too specific, and you may frighten him with your knowledge. You just need to impress upon him that we—that you—have the definite goal of simply being able to confirm some important theories, and that the entire process will not take all that long.”
He paused again and shook his head.
“Never mind. I probably needn’t have told you that. I trust you’ll be up to the task.”
I walked the blocks back to the boarding house in silent contemplation. The appointment with the director of the library had seemed like just a formality, but Andrew’s concern had inflated it into something much more. Because of his paranoia, I was suddenly worried that speaking with the man might put my life in danger. My dreams that night were of the forthcoming encounter with the ominous Doctor Trautmann, a hulking monster of a man who dripped slime and reeked of blood. Reality turned out to be far different.
Twelve
At eleven o’clock the next morning, I arrived at the desk of Doctor Trautmann’s secretary. Beyond her, same as last time, the doors to the conference room on the left were wide open; the doors on the right were closed. I stood there while she continued her work. She finally looked up.
“Can I help you?”
Although her tone of voice was pleasant enough, I could tell that she clearly did not wish to help me.
“Yes,” I replied, trying to be my most polite. “I have an appointment with Doctor Trautmann. My name is Robert Adderly.”
She consulted a notebook on her left.
“Yes, Mr. Adderly. Doctor Trautmann’s current meeting is taking longer than expected. Please, have a seat.”
She pointed to a line of chairs on my right, then returned to her work. I sat down and waited. And waited. Twenty minutes passed while I sat there patiently, trying to not fidget. The thought occurred to me that Doctor Trautmann may not even be in. Or, that he may be, but had no intention of seeing me. Just as I started to despair, the doors on the right opened and a well-dressed man emerged—and not just any man, either: Jebediah Higgins. The chair in which I was seated was out in the open, and he spotted me right away.
“Mr. Adderly, isn’t it?”
I stood as he approached. He held onto his hat with both hands behind his back, and though he smiled in greeting, he did not offer a handshake. I was not offended. Frankly, I did not wish to shake his hand.
“Yes, hello, Mr. Carter,” I said, feigning geniality as well as I could. “Does this day find you well?”
“It does. And yourself?”
The secretary caught my attention and pointed to the open doors. I nodded to her.
“I would love to stay and talk, Mr. Carter, but I have a meeting right now with Doctor Trautmann.”
“Yes, I’m sure that you do,” he said in a manner that puzzled me slightly. As he turned to leave, I thought I heard him chuckle.
Despite Higgins’ rude nature, he was fighting against the Ancient Ones, therefore Doctor Trautmann could not possibly be a member of the cult, or even allied with them. My monstrous dream-image of Doctor Trautmann was shrinking fast as I walked toward the door of his office. It vanished completely when I entered the room, and laid eyes upon the Director of the Library.
He was only a few inches more than five feet tall, and sported a completely bald pate. Large, thick glasses obscured much of his clean-shaven face. His small, thin frame produced an appropriately mousy voice.
“Good morning, Mr. Adderly. Please close th
e doors and have a seat.”
He indicated the single, undersized chair in front of his expansive, but mostly empty, desk.
“Good morning, Doctor Trautmann.”
I started to extend my hand, but he was already seating himself, paying no attention to me.
“What can I do for you today?” he asked without looking up.
I took a seat while he made some notations in ledger before him.
“Doctor Trautmann,” I began. “You are undoubtedly a very busy man, and I do not wish to take up too much of your time today. I was told that I would need permission from either Doctor Gardiner or yourself in order to access a very ancient volume in the library: The Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazred. I am aware that Doctor Gardiner is currently away in South America, and so—”
“Mr. Adderly, please forgive me for interrupting you,” he said, holding up one hand, and finally making eye contact with me. “But it would be best if neither of us wasted our time.”
I could feel my heart starting to sink.
“You are aware of the status of Doctor Gardiner, are you not?”
“I believe I saw something in the paper, yes.”
“Then you are aware,” he said, “that he is not ‘away’ in South America, as you have said. He is missing.”
“Well, I try not to put too much stock in everything I read in the papers.”
I could feel the conversation slipping from my control.
“It is precisely because of that situation,” he said, “that we have decided to restrict access to the Necronomicon, as well as the other volumes of similar ilk stored here at the Library. For the time being, no one will be granted access to study them—for any reason. If you return again in six months or so, I will be glad to meet with you again, and listen to your petition.”
By the time he finished, I was crestfallen, but tried my best to conceal it.
“This will set my research back months,” I said, trying to sound as if I was on the verge of discovering something Earth shattering. “Is it possible that you can make an exception?”
“I’m sorry, but no,” he said flatly. “Please be patient. Come back in a few months.”
The pleasantness in his voice that I detected upon my arrival was gone.
“Please,” he said as I rose, “close the doors on your way out.”
Upon emerging from the Library into the afternoon sun, disappointed and upset, I was only mildly surprised to once again see Jebediah Higgins. He was standing beside a statue in the courtyard at the front of the library, waiting for me. There was no way to avoid him.
“How did your meeting go, Mr. Adderly?” he asked with a smirk.
“You should know,” I replied venomously.
“Indeed,” he said. “How fortuitous that I managed to convince Doctor Trautmann to see my point of view only minutes before your arrival. Don’t you agree?”
When I remained silent, he became upset. He kept the tone of his voice low, but the irritation was evident.
“Listen, boy,” he hissed. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. You should be grateful I stood in your way. I’ve probably saved your life.”
On each of the last two words, his finger thudded against my chest for emphasis. He reached into his coat, took out his billfold, and removed a twenty-dollar bill.
“Here,” he said with a smile, his voice returning to normal. He held the money out to me. “Go buy yourself a bottle of whiskey and a clean whore. Forget your problems for a while.”
I was furious. Never in my life was I challenged to such a degree to control my temper. I took the bill in one hand, crumpled it into a ball, and dropped it to the ground. All the while, my eyes never left his. The smile that he wore disappeared, as his nostrils flared, and his teeth clenched. For a moment, I thought it would come to blows, and I readied myself.
His reaction surprised me. He bit his lip, dropped his gaze, and took a deep breath.
“Foolish child,” he said. “Never forget that I tried to help you.”
And with that, he turned and walked away.
The anger had dissipated by the time I made it to Professor Josephson’s office, but it had not been replaced with anything positive. My attitude still sour, I wanted to get this meeting out of the way as quickly as possible. A knock on the door and call of his name received no answer. That crumpled twenty may still be on the ground, I thought, and the idea of drinking myself into a stupor was appealing…but no. I needed to see this through.
Since he was typically in his office at that time each day, I assumed he had just stepped away for a short time. I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so I entered, and took a seat in my familiar spot in front of the desk. The clock in the corner indicated that I was a little early, despite having wasted the time waiting to see Doctor Trautmann.
I revisited the series of framed certificates on his wall. Soon, with patience and perseverance, another one of those would be added to my own collection. But a lot of patience, I remember thinking. And what would happen after receiving that piece of paper? Would I get an office in this building? Work with the professor? Those thoughts gave me comfort while Elizabeth was still alive; now, they were bland, unexciting. I sighed, pondering my options.
As if in answer, Fate intervened, as I focused upon the safe behind his desk. My thoughts—may God forgive me—turned to the ancient parchment within. As before, the door to the safe was ajar. Access to those ancient volumes had been thwarted by Higgins, but that single sheet of paper in the safe represented the potential to discover what was needed.
The temptation was too great. Only seconds later, I found myself kneeling in front of the safe, briefcase in hand. I swung the door open. There it sat, squarely atop the pile of objects within. I grabbed my prize, shoved it into my briefcase, and closed the safe to the same degree to which it had been open when I arrived. Heart pounding in my ears, I knew there would be no way to conceal my guilt. I had to flee the scene—if only I could.
I opened the door a crack, and listened. Silence. Pressing my eye to the opening, I peeked out. There was no one there to be seen. Stepping out as nonchalantly as I could, I closed the office door behind me, and walked quietly down the hall. With the semester having ended a few weeks prior, the campus was only sparsely occupied. My odds of running into anyone were slim. But it wasn’t anyone that I feared. I had no idea what I would do if the professor were to suddenly emerge from behind one of the many closed doors that I passed. Muted sounds of typewriters and conversations leaked into the hallway, increasing my nervousness. When at last I made it through my gauntlet to the top of the stairs, I stopped to gather my composure. With some measure of calm achieved, I started down the stairs, the last few taken in a bounding leap. Then out the door. Success. I had done it. I actually made it out of the building without passing a single person.
Once outside, I did my best to act normally. But my sin, weighing heavily upon me, made me feel very conspicuous. I took a long route from the campus to the bookstore, one that would avoid the most congested areas. I had crossed a boundary; there was no disputing that. But could it still be justified by my attempt to fight for the greater good? There are degrees of evil. My petty theft would be put to good use; we would prevail. By the time I arrived at Andrew’s store, having made the trip while only passing random strangers, my mind was more at ease. More at ease, but not entirely comfortable.
Given a choice, I would have preferred to not steal from the professor. The man had guided my education, trusted me, acted as an authority figure for the past few years. Before the theft, I had been musing about the possibility of working with him. With enough effort, I might have even elevated myself to a point where I could have taken over his position when he eventually retires. All of those years of trust were gone now, as well as that potential future, erased by my bold act. There was regret on my part, and it could convincingly be argued that I did have a choice. I could have chosen to force my eyes past the safe, cultivated patience, and let m
y future unfold in a more Christian way.
But as I saw it, there had been no choice. By my calculations, events had conspired to present me with an answer. The answer was to steal. Despite that transgression, I was still doing good; it was just that a slightly different perspective was needed to fully appreciate it. It could take some time, but I determined to realign my moral compass moving forward.
Andrew was assisting an older gentleman when I entered the shop, so I browsed through some books in the back of the store while I waited for him to finish up. I skipped past the section on mathematics, and moved on to mythology and anthropology. A full set of the third edition of Frazer’s The Golden Bough was displayed prominently at eye level on one shelf. Both Andrew and Mr. Hunt had made random mentions of it, and I wondered how much enthusiasm was needed to plow through all twelve of the thick volumes.
“I didn’t expect to see you here so early,” said Andrew from behind me. “Is that good or bad?”
“Both,” I replied. “My meeting with Doctor Trautmann did not go well. A gentleman with whom I have had the displeasure of meeting in the past—apparently, he convinced Doctor Trautmann to deny all access to those hidden books for the next six months.”
His face fell visibly.
“Six months,” he muttered.
“There is some good news, however,” I said with a nervous smile.
I unbuckled the straps on my briefcase, opened it, and removed the ancient parchment mounted in its frame. Andrew gasped as I handed it to him. He studied it for a moment.
“What is this—Spanish?”
“Portuguese.”
He gave me an odd look, and handed the artifact back to me.
“What exactly are we going to do with that?”
“That is going to require some explanation,” I said, returning it to my briefcase. “Do you have time now?”
He poked his head up over the bookshelves, and looked around. Except for us, the store was empty.
“There’s usually a lull this time of day,” he said. “We can talk between customers.”
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