The Adventures of Andrew Doran: Box Set

by Matthew Davenport

  Entering the pub, I was immediately engulfed in smoke and the smell of alcohol. It invaded my every sense, and I found myself craving a large glass of bourbon. Unfortunately, requesting a bourbon in this establishment would certainly grab someone's notice. Instead, I ordered a beer. The glass came within moments of my asking and I paid, but left no tip. I wished to remain anonymous and bourbon and money were not the way to do it.

  I had finished most of my beer and seen nothing of suspicious nature throughout the bar before I happened upon my first piece of useful information.

  The bartender returned, and in heavily accented French asked me if I would like another drink. I hadn't noticed when he had come around the first time to ask me my order, but he never asked me if I spoke French, he had only assumed. I was suddenly concerned that I wasn't blending in as well as I had been. I let none of this new concern show on my face and nodded an affirmative to the drink.

  After he brought me the drink, he began to wipe up a spill from a previous customer who had been sitting near me. As he leaned further over the bar with his rag his long shirt sleeve shifted up his forearm ever so slightly. It was only a fast peek, but it was long enough for me to recognize the tattoo on his wrist.

  My personal history in the hands on approach to studying cultures gave me a fair understanding of inking and the symbolism represented within it. As I gazed upon the man's arm, I didn't recognize the symbol from any sort of tattoo-using cultures. Instead, I recognized it from the quarry in my mission. East Indian tribes as well as Native American tribes from southern half of the United States had used that symbol in their darker rituals. It was a symbol of worship to a perverse and darker god. The Necronomicon referred to it as Yig, the Snake Demon.

  Yig was similar to the deity Dagon. They were monsters from the void and had convinced more than a few people to worship them as gods. Both shared a common interest in that they had an unhealthy appetite for becoming romantic with human women. They wanted offspring. Children gave them the means to work and have a presence in the surface world. The stars had long ago aligned against them and forced them all into exile but their children that the monsters created would act on their parent's call without hesitation.

  This bartender had no snake eyed look or skin condition, not like the tribes I'd been in contact with before. I had to assume that he was only a worshiper of Yig and not an offspring. Either way, this was a man who I could force to work with me. I decided that, being my first real lead, I had to attempt to bring him to my aid without scaring him away.

  "Gsssash flsaah trisss?" I said under my breath. It meant "What is your nest?" in the language of the children of Yig. If he was of the brotherhood than my words would be more than the mumbling of a drunk foreigner.

  His reaction was to stop wiping the bar and eye me. I attempted not to notice and he only continued to stare. It went on like that for a moment before he replied.

  "Kassahh, aelem Bissss." Nest of the Dark Sands.

  I nodded thoughtfully. Or, at least I looked thoughtful. I had never heard of the Nest of the Dark Sands, yet today I could not show a lack of knowledge. I was not Andrew Doran.Today I was a disciple of Yig speaking to a distant cousin.

  With his secret suddenly outed, I decided to press my advantage. "Are there many of the Brethren in Andorra?" I asked in French.

  He shook his head. "My brethren remain with their nest." He meant some desert or swamp climate. Not Andorra.

  "What brought you to the Andorra then?"

  The bartender shrugged. "I praise Yig, but he does not pay the dues."

  I nodded at that and sipped my beer. We spent the next hour discussing the migrations of other followers of Yig, the increased demand for offspring, and the horrible effect of the war on the local economies. I learned that when he wasn't using his name given to him by Yig, the bartender went by Stephan.

  "I had to flee my home in Paris just to keep my job." He said when I asked what he did before coming to Andorra.

  "Keep your job?" I pressed. "How would the war effect a barkeep?"

  His eyes darted across the bar then, scanning for some unseen threat. I knew then that I'd made the right choice in questioning Stephan. He brought his attention back to me once he was satisfied that there was no threat of being overheard. "The Germans are not leaving the brethren alone." "What?" I exclaimed. I was genuinely surprised. What could the Germans want with a bunch of snake worshipers?

  He looked at me confused. "How could you not have heard of this, brother? They are adding our families to their ranks. He waved his hands around in a tight circle, not drawing attention but getting his point across. "Not only the brotherhood, either, but also the fellows of Cthulhu and Dagon."

  I hushed him then, whispering, "Kta Cthet." Protect us.

  Brothers of Yig, or any of the followers of void-beings, did not say those names lightly. They believed that saying them would only hurry along the rising of them into our world, and even the followers weren't yet ready for that.

  "The brethren, like you and I, are only to shore up their ranks, possibly to add a new element to the war. What the Nazis really want is control over the masters."

  I wasn't surprised. This was right in line with them taking the book, but I pressed Stephan anyway. ""The Masters?" I begged.

  The bartender nodded. "That is what I hear." He shrugged. They want brothers for their soldiers and shoggoths for their guns."

  I laughed, almost too loudly for Stephan's comfort. It was just another group who thought that they could compel shoggoths. It was the same old story to a different tune. Just as quickly as I had laughed, I stopped. I was laughing because the British had tried the same thing with shoggoths during the American Revolution and that didn't go well for them. Entire battalions were consumed by the soul devouring monsters as they turned on those who had summoned them. Just recently, I had even witnessed Dean Brandon Smythe attempting the same damned thing and it had almost ended exactly the same way. He had learned to compel shoggoths from the copy of the book I was currently trying to get into Germany to retrieve. The Dean was only a low-level practitioner. He couldn't fully force his will over the beast and it had broken free.

  My laughter had stopped because the Germans now had that very same book, and the Traum Kult were anything but low-level practitioners. As a matter of fact, I was fairly certain that no level yet existed for how well they knew their magics. I was suddenly afraid. If anyone could successfully compel shoggoths it was the Traum Kult.

  "Are the brethren doing anything about it?" I asked.

  Stephan shrugged. "We hide and help when we can." He thumped his chest. "We are servants only to Yig!"

  Help? I thought. Bingo.

  "How are you helping?" I pressed.

  He eyed me then, suspiciously. I was suddenly worried that I had pushed too far. I began to think of what I could say to back pedal when he nodded, deciding to trust me. "I help the French Resistance by giving them a place to meet that is free from Nazis." He nodded again, this time in the direction of a newly filled table.

  "French Resistance?" I asked, sounding confused, but knowing full well that I'd hit the jackpot.

  "Yes," he scooped up the rag that he had been using and looked from it to me. "If you are looking at

  staying, I could put you to work in the bar. There are worse places than Andorra for the Brethren."

  "Thank you. I will think on it." I was looked again at the resistance members. "Would you mind introducing me to them?"

  He shook his head. "I cannot do that. They do not take well to...our kind. I help, but they prefer me helping quietly and from a distance." He frowned.

  "Oh, that..." I pulled up my own sleeves, showing my lack of tattoo. "...will not be a problem. I appreciate your help, Stephan."

  Before he could pull himself together at the revelation I had just dropped on him, I stepped away from the bar without my drink and approached the table.

  Sitting at the table were three people, dressed in the wear o
f the common folk of Andorra. Two of them were men, one large with suspenders and the other smaller and in a gray cap. The third of their party was a woman.

  And a woman she most definitely was, in every sense of the word. Her hair was brown and her eyes were the most beautiful shade of hazel. I was taken by her looks, but even more so by her gaze. I had no doubt that the gaze she held had commanded armies. I ignored the two men and walked directly to the real power at the table.

  I thrust my hand toward her, "My name is Dr. Andrew Doran, and I'm an-"

  "American." She interrupted me with a thick French accent. "Yes, you are an American, and you know who we are." It wasn't a question and she eyed the bartender angrily.

  Suddenly, I noticed that she was aiming a gun at me that I hadn't seen her drawn, and I had been watching.

  Closely.

  I raised both of my hands slowly and set my bag on the floor. "I'm not a threat. Actually, I need your help." I pointed at the gun. "Why don't you put the gun down and hear what I have to say?"

  She rested the gun on the table but didn't take her hand off of it.

  "Much better," I said, smiling. "I'm going to try this again." I stuck out my hand slowly this time. "I'm Dr. Andrew Doran. I'm an archaeologist."

  "And why do you need our help?"

  "Have you ever heard of Miskatonic University?" I was taking a shot in the dark, but with a brother of Yig only ten feet away, I assumed that it wasn't a completely blind shot.

  I hadn't completed saying "University," when her eyes revealed to me that she knew of the place. "The Nazis took the Necronomicon. I have the knowledge and ability to get it back, but I need to get into France. That is something that I can't do without your help."

  She didn't move, but I could sense the emotions pouring off of her. She was conflicted with anger and some sort of low level fear. Both were more than justified. I was demanding aid and had shown her a possible threat.

  The smaller of the men at the table, the one in the hat and with a mustache that was almost as thick as mine, spoke up. "We only get people out of France. We are not in the business of getting people into France."

  The bigger man added, "The Germans would take notice of us."

  I remained quiet. It wasn't to my benefit to speak with them. The decision was resting in the lovely woman's hands.

  The French goddess across from them eyed her gun again before looking at the hatted man. "We have to help him."

  He began to open his mouth, but stopped at her look. "Without our help, the war is lost." She said, plainly. "No," she sighed. "The entire world would be lost."

  ***

  As the night went on, we sat there at the table and discussed what exactly it was that I needed.

  Once a week, a large truck would arrive with supplies for the city taverns. There was a winery near the eastern border of Andorra that would deliver crates of wine to the various taverns through out Andorra. Several of those taverns were in Andorra la Vella. In each of those trucks were also workers for unloading the alcohol. Those workers were actually downed pilots of the French Resistance. At each tavern one or two of the workers would unload the crates, and none of them would get back onto the truck.

  Except this time.

  My benefactors were quick to introduce themselves after I gave my complete story and showed the magical weapons in my bag for proof of my validity. The man in the cap was Felix. He was an alternating truck driver and claimed that, before the war, he had owned the greatest winery in Andorra. His large friend was Robert. Robert didn't speak much, he seemed more content to drink whatever Felix ordered for him and keep to himself. The little bit of dialog that I did gleam from the giant led me to believe that he had been part of the French military before the Nazi move into France. Some point after the invasion he was injured and joined up with the invasion. While he didn't elaborate on his injury, I noticed a limp in his step when he stood to collect drinks from Stephan.

  My angel and savior for the evening was the beautiful Olivia. She was hell-bent on keeping it strictly business, so I didn't get much about her background other than what my observation could detect.

  Even with my keen observation skills, I was left with little information. I knew that she carried two knives on her: one at the base of her back (I noticed from the angle at which she sat) and the other tucked inside her boot. The one in her boot I noticed only because of the bulge it produced. By the way she held herself she was either military trained or had seen much combat since her joining with the Resistance.

  The other thing that I noticed, and was pleased to do so, was that she was also noticing me. Her eyes had examined my own boots and my bag before taking a seriously detailed path up the entire length of my body.

  I wish that I could have found it flattering, but I had already pegged her as a combatant. She was conducting the same analysis as I had.

  It was her idea to have me ride with the trucks on the return.

  The reason that the trucks worked so well for shuttling the pilots out of France was because of the wine. Nothing worked quite as well for a bribe as a truck full of wine. For this same reason, the return trip, which was what I planned on taking, would be difficult because all of the wine would have been delivered.

  I asked only once if we could keep some of the wine on the truck, just in case, and she made it very clear that we could not. Almost violently, she said, "I will not risk the lives of French heroes for any American. Not even one with a mission as vital as yours. You will deal with Nazi entanglements yourself." I thought her scolding done but then she raised her hand, jabbing her finger at me. "If we get discovered, you will have worse to deal with than Nazis, I promise you."

  "We?" I demanded. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but this isn't a caravan." I crossed my arms. "The more of us in the truck, the more they will notice us."

  Felix shook his head. "No, Olivia must come. We will need her to speak for us. The Nazis do not control Andorra, but no one polices the roads. If we get caught on the roads, Olivia might be our only salvation." "Why's that?"

  "I own the winery that delivers to Andorra la Vella." Olivia answered.

  I calmed myself down and apologized for my outburst. "When do we leave?" I asked.

  Olivia stood, "We go now."

  I was surprised. "Now?" I had not expected them to be ready so quickly. "It's late in the evening. They will know something is up."

  She slammed her hands down on the table. "Listen, American. Every second we delay is another second that the Germans hold on to your book. There is only one threat at this time of night, and that is the garrison on the Eastern side of the city. Once we get past that, it should be simple to get you into France."

  I decided that angering this goddess any further was something that would not bring me benefit and I stood. Shouldering my bag, I bowed and waved her toward the door. "After you, Madame." She cast me a glare and walked past me at a clipped pace.

  Felix laughed but I earned a very hard stare from Robert. I straightened when I noticed his look and left the bar on the heels of Olivia and Felix, leaving Robert to follow and stare at the back of my head.

  The truck was a simple shipping truck. Robert and I sat in the opened back where the wine would usually rest, while Olivia rode shotgun to Felix driving.

  Crossing Andorra la Vella on foot had taken me about an hour, but in the truck we made the same journey in a quarter of the time. We slowed as we came to the garrison. Soldiers were standing all over the road between the old hotel and where I had observed them from across the street previously.

  Much to my surprise, the garrison soldiers mostly ignored us. They glanced at the truck, but felt no need to approach it.

  This was what I had thought, anyway. Then I saw the fellow with the turban and mittens. As his cold eyes met mine, I felt him lash out at me with his mind. I was unprepared and couldn't bring my defenses up in time. I knew then that we had been caught. He had sensed something from me, as I too had sensed that he had something differ
ent about him. It was subtle at first. I felt as thought I were looking at a man, but it was a man in a shell. He wasn't quite himself. I was confused by this, but had no time to investigate it. As soon as I sensed his difference, his own senses alerted him to myself. He raised his mittened hands and shouted something that I was too far away to hear.

  Unfortunately, the soldiers near to me were not too far away to hear it. Their guns shot up toward us and they began to bark that we stop. Before Felix had full stopped the truck, Olivia was violently pulled from it and soon joined by the rest of us.

  As we were on our knees beside the truck, guns aimed at us, the Indian in mittens stepped up to us and eyed me specifically.

  "You are seeking the book."

  It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "If you could please direct me to the library, my friends and I seem to have gotten lost." I spoke in English.

  He answered me in English as well. "You must be Dr. Doran." He touched my face with his mittened hand, and what I felt underneath were not fingers. "I was warned that you might be gracing us with your presence."

  "Oh?" I asked. "Did my agent call ahead? I wasn't supposed to be booking shows this week."

  "Your laughter hides your fear, Doctor. You know that I have the ability to make your life hell."

  In all seriousness, I answered. "I've been to hell, asshole. Do your worst."

  He backhanded me then and I blacked out.

  ***

  I awoke in a dimly lit hotel room. The bed and dresser had been removed and I sat on the floor. I was the only occupant and I had no idea where they had taken Olivia, Felix, or Robert. My hands were bound behind me and I was tied to the radiator. I couldn't see my bag anywhere, but I decided to push that concern aside for the moment.

  I knew spells that might break my bindings, but they involved fire and being able to see my target. I wasn't going to blindly soot flame at my wrists unless I ran out of other options.

  Twisting my binds against the radiator, I tested their strength and quickly decided that I had been tied by