The Library of Forbidden Books (Order of the Black Sun Book 8)

by P. W. Child

  “What are you looking for?” Nina asked, peeking to see what his light was revealing, but there was nothing she could see.

  “I wonder if it is really here,” he remarked casually, more interested in what he sought than to answer Dr. Gould. Over the rippling black water, Richard Philips spread his light, moving it in circles, from side to side. Nina frowned at Gretchen, who just shrugged in response.

  From somewhere in the house a strange scratching sounded, but the ladies thought they were mistaken. After this amount of wine, along with tales of monsters, Nazis, and creepy wells there was no telling what their imaginations would conjure.

  But the sound persisted without relent. Above them a tapping ensued, then the sound of scuffling, but in the presence of the mouth all other sounds were subdued. Richard seemed to be in a world of his own, looking for God knows what.

  “Listen,” Nina said, holding onto her friend. Again the sound came from overhead. “Footsteps? Are those footsteps, Gretch?” she asked.

  Gretchen nodded slowly, listening carefully and pointing with her index finger where the sound moved to. It crossed the floor above them, but with the planks of the wooden floor so closely fitted, there were no spaces to see if anyone was crossing the floor. With every footfall a tuft of dust would feather down from the wood onto their heads.

  “Richard,” Gretchen whispered.

  “Just a minute. I have to know if it is real,” he replied, having no idea that something else was going on behind him. Nina snuck up behind him and grabbed his white shirt, motioning for him to listen.

  “There it is again!” she whispered.

  Richard listened and nodded, confirming that he heard it too. But he kept turning to examine the water of the well. From above, they heard a woman’s voice say, “Find her. Now. She has to be here.”

  “Does that sound like the estate agent to you?” Nina asked Gretchen.

  “No doubt it’s her. Should we go up and say hello?”

  “If she is in my house without me letting her in, what do you think, Gretch?” Nina frowned, amazed at how naïve her friend was. “Besides, I did let her out rather unceremoniously.”

  “Maybe she is pissed off?” Gretchen winced, aware of her silly remark.

  “I would think so, aye!” the feisty brunette affirmed, shaking her head.

  “Sorry, doll, I’m not used to being threatened. Don’t know what it’s like to have people trying to kill me all the time, you know?”

  “Consider yourself lucky,” Nina said under her breath. “Richard! Richard, what the fuck is so interesting? We are being stalked, I’ll have you know.”

  Nina’s whispers were very urgent, but Richard had a method to his madness.

  “There! I see it! It exists! By God, it is real!” he marveled in his quiet realization. Nina had to know what he was talking about. She peeked around him and saw something a few feet below the surface of the water. It was a gigantic thing, moving from side to side like a squid. It equally slimy. gray, and hard, it rose from beyond the blackness of the well, massive and shiny under Richard’s light.

  Nina’s heart filled with terror at the sight of it. Words eluded her and all she could do was to claw at Richard’s shirt. Catching her breath at the unholy sight before her, she sank to her knees, numb with fear at the enormous object in the water. Gretchen stood staring at the floor above them, following the footsteps with her hearing. She looked at Nina, alarmed at her friend’s reaction. Racing to her side, she held Nina tightly.

  “What did you see?”

  “Go look.”

  Gretchen looked over the brim of the mouth and felt her knees buckle.

  “Oh, my God,” she whimpered, placing her hand over her mouth. “What is it?”

  The trapdoor sprang open with a hellish crunch, its violent thump thundering through the underside of the old house like an ominous announcement of doom. Nina saw the beam of white light from the kitchen above streak into the basement. Shadows played on the stairs of three figures trying to ascertain what kind of place it was, but soon the stench became too much for them and they retreated again.

  “She wouldn’t be down there, Angus,” they heard McLaughlin bite. “No-one can breathe down there. Besides, anyone who knows what’s down there wouldn’t even consider it.” Nina and Gretchen looked at Richard, wide-eyed and puzzled. “Just park outside the house and call me when she comes back. I don’t have time to sit around here. There are things to be done.”

  McLaughlin’s high heels clicked on the rocky floor of the kitchen as she made for the front door.

  “I hope she doesn’t find the books in the attic,” Nina whispered. Richard nodded in agreement. From what Nina deducted, those books were the reason he came in the first place. Obviously, as estate agent she had a spare set of keys in her possession and could therefore enter the premises at any time—a thought that made Nina very uncomfortable. In the bowels of the house they sat silent and unmoving in the dark with something big and menacing in the water of the well, hiding from what was clearly a hostile visit.

  “Richard, what is in the well?” Gretchen asked with a quiver in her voice.

  “Water,” he said absentmindedly. Nina gave him a deadly scowl, one of those she normally gave Sam when he said something daft.

  With the front door slamming shut, they heard the other two intruders walk around the house.

  “If you are here, Dr. Gould, please come out. There is no reason to hide,” one of the men said loudly.

  Gretchen looked at Nina and shook her head. It would be suicide to reveal herself, she knew.

  “Dr. Gould! You can’t hide forever, you know! This entire town knows what you look like, as do they know your cursed property. You have no friends in Oban, lady. No friends at all!”

  His words ripped through Nina like daggers. It was the past few years all over again. Now that she had finally found peace, she was once more being threatened.

  “Ex-boyfriend?” Richard asked, attempting a jest, but his first stab at humor was horribly out of timing. Nina’s eyes gave her away. Richard could see that the threats from above were not something new to her. Her demeanor appeared to sway between fear and hostility at the man’s words. In her expression he could detect disappointment, deep disappointment.

  You have no friends in Oban.

  The statement echoed continuously in her mind, hurting more every time she replayed it. The one place she recognized as home, as safe, was now compromised. Not only was it compromised, but it was the very center of the bull’s eye.

  Of course it is. The books upstairs kind of give it away, doesn’t it? she thought to herself, feeling a severe sense of dread and unhappiness gripping her. Like waking from a nightmare to enjoy the light of day, only to be kidnapped by a serial killer—that is how her life suddenly felt to her. Gretchen’s hand gently fell on her shoulder to reassure her, but nothing helped alleviate the sorrow Nina felt at being the prey again.

  Two pairs of footsteps traversed the floor, paced across the planks above the farther corner of the basement where the living room was and then casually patrolled down the corridor. So it went for what felt like an eternity to the three down in the pitch dark, smelly home of the thing that lived in the mouth. But something was different when they heard the back door open. The footsteps were more rapid now, crossing the floor with more force as if they were rushing toward something.

  “There are more,” Richard whispered, his eyes closed to heighten his hearing. His index finger pointed upward as if pinpointing the position of the new feet. A mighty ruckus ensued above them, hammering down on the wooden beams above them as if to shatter them with force. Richard sheltered the two ladies with him, all three of them crouched against one of the rusty cabinets as all hell broke loose in the house. The sound of breaking glass, groans, and definite clobbering sounded from the top, followed by bodies hitting the floor.

  “Good God, it’s like a feeding frenzy,” Nina told the others. “Did the sharks just attack the cr
ocodiles? Am I that wanted?”

  “Maybe it is the police,” Richard suggested.

  “No, I don’t think so. Who would have called them?” Nina argued, shaking her head.

  “Listen, they are moving toward the back of the house. Now is the time to make a run for it,” Gretchen urged frantically, “before they come back. We can’t sit down here for the next God knows how long!”

  “I concur,” Nina nodded, grabbing the tall man by his collar. “Come, Richard.”

  The three of them crept toward the wooden staircase, the moist and saline air having eroded it and carpeted it with mossy growth over the years. They waited directly beneath the trapdoor and waited for the footsteps to disappear.

  “Now!” Nina yelped, and they stormed free from the subterranean hole. But the footsteps they had heard belonged to only one man, while the other remained in the kitchen to guard the door. They rushed right into him and before they knew it, he had his arms outstretched, his hands clasped expertly around a Beretta’s butt. His sharp, dark eyes looked down the top of the barrel at Nina. Her jaw dropped.

  “Sam?”

  Chapter 18

  Francois Debaux was in charge of the council membership’s medical arrangements. Being of the mature age they were, the gentlemen of the council had to keep medical records at all times, so that any terminal or severe conditions could be assessed immediately and arrangements could be made for successors, if need be. It was an archaic procedure, but with such old organization, tradition was seldom altered.

  Apart from basic medical care, the council members were of course subjected to another practice courtesy of Alfred Meiner, third-generation doctor, geneticist in particular, and all-round mad scientist—in the true sense of the word. A genius who did not waste time with petty things like finishing high school, at least until his fourteenth year, Alfred was a virtuoso since his teenage years and it went straight to his head. Needless to say, the narcissistic doctor quickly reverted to the underground where his work would be admired, instead of the mundane praise of grateful families.

  But what society viewed as personal and psychological flaws, the Order of the Black Sun naturally saw as potential and he was soon brought into the fold, even in the earlier years. His special work started when he was enlisted to maintain the monstrous Nazi superweapon, Lita Røderic, lapdog godchild of Himmler himself. Needless to say, when Purdue, Sam, and Nina toppled her empire and she disappeared without a trace, Alfred was given another task. Serving the council, the silent high command over the management of the Black Sun was an honor and a much higher calling, he felt.

  Francois Debaux was one of his patients and also in charge of Meiner’s schedule and permissions, therefore he was Meiner’s superior. They worked together very well. The old French gentleman had a love for the more refined and avant-garde, so the twisted genius of Alfred Meiner suited his company swimmingly. He fed the mad doctor’s depravities and vanity with unflinching compliments, gifting him with praise every chance he got.

  Debaux enjoyed the company of freaks. He loved the mindset of the mentally grotesque, the immorally rabid; and being a medical superintendent at one of the best sanitariums in Paris held his public mask beautifully in place. A man of honor, compassion, and great medical knowledge, Francois Debaux was held in high esteem by society and most of the benefactors of his hospice institution regarded him as a saint. They knew nothing of his past affiliations with Hitler’s legacy or the powerful underground realm of kings and demons where the rules of the modern world held no sway.

  It was good to be back in lively old Paris again, the place he promised his heart to, leaving his soul for the devil. This was where he was born and raised for the first twenty years of his life before trailing a young charismatic man he was obsessed with in the 1950s. His pursuit failed and he married a loose, heroin-addicted actress from Berlin instead.

  Now he was a widower, by his own doing but not so that anyone would know.

  On his barge he poured himself a drink and kicked off his shoes. After the heavy business in Rotterdam the past few days he was happy to just be Francois, not keeping any capacity or looked to for orders. The only orders and decisions he had to deal with for now was his small crew, but he was going to let the men have some time off as soon as they reached Pont de Sully. From there he would drive his own barge up the Seine toward Bassin de l’Arsenal to dock and just spend the next few days relaxing, while Jaap Roodt took care of the council’s obstacle before moving on to the next step.

  The river was bustling with boats and smaller craft, probably tourists and tour groups, mostly. Francois wished he could take a swim, but it was not allowed here and he would have to wait until he could get to the home of a friend and his wife in the 16th arrondissement. They had a lunch appointment in a few days, as soon as his friends returned from business in China, and Francois fully intended to fit in a few hours in their massive azure pool.

  He stood on the deck as the sun deigned to color the horizon one last time, challenging the little balls of light that lit up here and there all over Paris as the night dawned. The sky was clear and pale purple in the last light of the day, birds floating past occasionally to bring some movement to the otherwise vast and still canvas above. His crooked fingers clasped around a glass of Chivas Regal as he watched the young people engage in their senseless pursuits of romance and doing their best to impress the objects of their affection. Debaux just shook his head, not because he did not understand their modern mating games, but because he knew what was coming.

  It astonished him how obtuse the new generations of the era had become. Of course that was the end to the means of the New World Order that organizations like his served, but they never thought it would be so easy to implement television and manipulate media to effectively brainwash the masses. Herr Kamler and his colleagues at the French arm of the Thule Society always talked about this, when Debaux was still a bit skeptical that this magnitude of cerebral regression was possible on cogent, basically intelligent beings.

  Now he saw the harvest of their work. Looking at the reckless and ignorant way in which civilians conducted their business, and their pleasure, it was almost comical. Not since the Roman Empire forced the Christian Bible on the world to stage the biggest mass subjugation of mind and manner had Debaux seen such a successful deposition.

  “Monsieur,” a lady spoke behind him. Francois turned and saw that it was his cook, Antoinette, a middle-aged, single mother with a plump body and attractive face. Her smile always lit up the room and Francois sometimes kept her on for trips abroad simply because she had such a pleasant way about her.

  “Oui, Antoinette?” he smiled.

  “While you were shopping a small parcel came for you,” she replied and handed him an envelope with a small box like that used by prominent jewelers.

  “Merci,” he said slowly, scrutinizing the black envelope with his name written in silver on the flat square. “Who delivered it?”

  “I don’t know. When I came out of the galley it was on the bar fridge. Nobody other than the usual staff was aboard, not that we know of,” she informed him in a concerned tone. “Please, don’t open it.”

  “Why?” he asked, cocking his head in interest at her protest. Did she know something?

  “Because we don’t know who put it there, Monsieur Debaux. I would not trust anything like this if I were you,” she warned with a suspicious eye on the pretty black and red box while he opened the envelope. On the small card, written in elegant writing slanted in old ink and quill, no doubt, the words lay spread evenly over the length of the space. Francois smiled.

  “I know who this is from, Antoinette,” he reassured. “And I promise you it is not only harmless, but quite a lovely surprise.”

  She sighed, her eyes rolling back in her head, “Oh, thank goodness. I was almost too worried to give it to you.”

  “No, all is in order; thank you, my dear. You can return to your station with ease. It’s not too much farther up the riv
er before you and the others will be relieved of all my homosexual appetites,” he winked mischievously and evoked a giggle from the humorous lady. She always enjoyed her employer’s jests.

  They all knew Francois Debaux was bisexual, but he so enjoyed rubbing it in when he landed men of good status or financial potency. They were like trophies to his charm and the crew had on more than one occasion been forced to play audience to the muffled moans that came from Debaux’s chamber below deck.

  “Marcel,” Debaux said under his breath, running his thumb gracefully over the fancy lettering in the card with amour.

  Would you like to come below? was all it said. Short, but powerful in its sexual innuendo. Typical of Marcel, there was always a catch or a trick involved with their meetings. Somehow the opera performer had managed to slip aboard unnoticed again, fashioning himself some handsome prowler. It was one of his favorite roles to play when he was in town and it had been at least three months since their last encounter. The old man sighed. His lover was of the insatiable variety and Francois was hardly prepared for a night with him, but it would be so good to see him again.

  In the small box he found a magnificent piece of jewelry, a bracelet crafted in what looked like marcasite and silver, inlaid with a beautiful bronze colored mineral that formed the name of Francois’ zodiac sign, Sagittarius. It was flawless, presenting his own reflection in its pristine clarity.

  From the clasp to the edges, the bracelet was engraved with numbers significant to Francois, his birthday, Marcel’s birthday, Marcel’s cell number, and what looked like his finger print.

  “I must say, very romantic,” Francois whispered and he slipped it over his hand, securing the piece by locking the clasp in place. He descended the steps to his cabin and sure as the sun, there Marcel was, grinning like a horny stag.

  “You are too kind,” Francois smirked.