“Very well put,” agreed Vincent. He closed his eyes for a bit, then looked at me again. “As you said, it is difficult to speak of her. I loved her in my own way, and miss her. We shared some rancorous debates as teenagers.”
He thought for a moment, then smiled.
“You wanted me to tell you something about her? How about this as an example? She fully believed in the existence of the Devil. Satan. Mephistopheles. Choose whichever name you like, but she felt that he walked the Earth even to this day, spreading misery. For my own part, I have to admit that I shared that opinion. But I would never agree with her aloud. Instead, I would take an opposing viewpoint, or come nearly to agree with her, but then veer off. Sometimes, I would sway her with my own arguments. I could tell that she would change her position slightly. But what I enjoyed most was that she was so open-minded. I could speak to her about anything, and she would never retreat to hide behind the Bible, or science, or societal norms. She simply analyzed the facts as best she could, and spoke her mind.”
The sincerity in his voice was evident. Finally, I had been given a glimpse, not only into Elizabeth, but also their relationship. I recognized in her some of what he had described, though she and I had never had discussions on that particular subject. Perhaps she had chosen to not challenge my beliefs at the time. Regardless, just being able to coax even more information out of Vincent qualified as another small victory.
The following morning, I immersed myself in the science of numbers for the first time in months. I searched my memories for those unused formulae and concepts, dredging them up from the bowels of my mind. More than an hour was required for me just to retrace the steps that Professor Josephson had taken. As I worked through the various equations, the clearer it became. I reflected again over the truth of what Professor Josephson and Andrew had both said: Magic is indeed as much a science as mathematics. It may use a different set of symbols and concepts, but experiments conducted in the same manner consistently produced the same result. Mr. Hunt had demonstrated that much to me by recording the results of his research in his journals. Of the two, magic was definitely the more exciting, but I was grateful as at no other time for the depth of my college education.
After verifying the results twice more through different analytical methods, I had the answer in hand. All told, it had only taken a few hours. I found Vincent in the laboratory with Albert. The two of them had carried down some cushions and blankets, which formed a comfortable bed to be used during the ceremony. After Albert left, Vincent became my attentive pupil, as I tried my best to describe the meaning behind the numbers I had calculated. After lecturing him in the rudiments of theoretical mathematics, I showed him Professor Josephson’s equations, and walked him through each of the steps to the final result. To my surprise, he grasped the concepts readily. His intellect was truly phenomenal. It was barely more than an hour before I was convinced he understood what I had taught him. With that new knowledge in place, he sat down, and studied a notebook for a short while.
It was obvious to me when he was ready to begin. Weeks of study with Andrew and Vincent had allowed me to develop an extra sense. An invisible aura seemed to emanate from within him. It overlapped into my other senses as an odor of decay, but with an undertone of sweetness, as in fermentation. I steeled myself for the coming events, and took a seat at the table.
The ceremony unfolded much as it had on the night of Andrew’s death. Vincent sat on the cushions, and cast the first spell, which would cause him to speak the summoning spell as he slept. Finished with the first portion, he stretched out on the cushions and cast the second spell, forcing him into a deep sleep. With Vincent now unconscious, I found myself effectively alone in the dim light of the laboratory. Having time to reflect, I recalled those early days with Andrew, the time I first assisted him in the magical arts—my pinning of the rat in the cage. That was my first intervention point, my first chance to walk away. This would be my last.
Soon afterwards—still sleeping soundly—Vincent repeated the words he had spoken previously. When he had finished, an eerie silence returned to our underground room. This was the point at which Andrew had begun to twitch, as he dreamt the special nightmare to be offered in sacrifice to the Servitor. But Vincent’s reaction was remarkably different. Instead of worry and fear on his sleeping face, I saw contentment—in fact, almost a suppressed glee. The horror of Andrew’s experience was nowhere to be seen in Vincent’s features.
The dream-spell lasted for ten minutes. In all that time, Vincent lay still, with only the occasional twitch. As the time wore on, I found myself becoming increasingly nervous. Vincent had still not awakened when the hellish throbbing first began. The memories of my first encounter with the creature came rushing back. I relived Andrew’s death as I waited for those tentacles to materialize.
“It is here,” said Vincent, sitting up. Having been concentrating on the unearthly sound of the Servitor, just his voice was enough to nearly make me jump. Thankfully, I was able to control myself.
“I know,” I said, swallowing hard. “I know that sound.”
As before, my efforts to find it, or even guess its location, were futile. The Servitor was unseen, of course, wholly concealed in another dimension. The sound was everywhere at once.
“I’m ready,” said Vincent, standing up. He removed the shard of the Crystal from his vest pocket, placed it on the table, and meditated for a short while. The aura he emitted seemed to grow stronger. Unsettled by the presence of the Servitor, I could think of no advice to offer. Even the simple words Good Luck refused to emerge from my lips.
After taking a deep breath, he spoke a string of alien syllables. I shuddered at the sounds. To say that he was fluent in that God-forsaken language was an understatement. If my eyes had been closed, I would have been forced to imagine a gibbering monstrosity from some alien dimension standing before me. But as they remained open, I watched as he vanished, without a noise, without a trace, just as Andrew had. A few seconds later, the shard also disappeared from the table. I tried my best to stay calm. At that point, I could do nothing but wait, and listen to the horrid throbbing of the Servitor.
I did not have to wait long. Perhaps only two minutes went by before the shard reappeared on the table, just as silently as it had gone. I walked closer, and blinked. Was it the same stone? Instead of oblong and grey, the object on the table was flat and round, about three inches in diameter, and glossy black. Initially, it appeared to be perfectly circular; in reality it was not. The edge was not smooth, but jagged—covered in tiny, triangular formations, not unlike the blade of a saw. The shape was actually difficult to make out. For some reason, my eyes would blur and water when I tried to focus on the edge. It was much easier to look at the center of it.
“I’m back,” announced a voice from behind me.
I turned to see Vincent standing there, glowing with triumph. The strange aura of magical energy, if indeed it had ever been real, was gone. Also gone—confusing me utterly—was the alien heartbeat of the Servitor.
“Wait!” I whispered, as if it might hear us. “Where is it? The sound is gone.”
“I commanded it to return me here, then depart from whence it came.”
I listened again, but still heard nothing. At that point I was able to truly relax.
“You should have seen the true structure of the shard Outside,” said Vincent excitedly. “It isn’t large, but the facets must be nearly infinite. And the colors are indescribable. It looks like a…”
He started to move his hand and arm as if to draw a diagram in the air, then stopped as soon as he realized that—lacking a dimension—he couldn’t.
“Well, never mind. I suppose that you’ll just have to go out there and take a look for yourself.”
“May I never be that curious,” I said, laughing nervously. “If I am, you can consider it proof of my insanity, and you have my permission to shoot me.”
“As you wish,” he replied with a snicker. “I’ll be s
ure to let Albert know.”
“But is that the same stone?” I asked, pointing at the table. It appeared—at least to me—to be something entirely new.
“It is indeed,” he said. “Merely a different facet.”
Captivated by it, he walked over to the table. After studying it for a few seconds, he shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
“How strange,” he muttered. Cautiously, he picked it up, but dropped it almost instantly. A look of utter surprise crossed his face.
“What happened?”
“Try to pick it up,” he said. When I looked at him uncertainly, he giggled with an almost childlike glee. “Go on. It won’t bite. I’m fairly certain, anyway.”
I touched the glossy surface. It felt as smooth and polished as I thought it might. When I glanced at Vincent, he gave me a nod of reassurance. I tried to pick it up. It weighed an ounce or two, just as might be expected from an object that size. But just as before, it fell almost immediately back to the tabletop. There was no shock or sting. It simply felt as if it had been yanked from my hand. And oddly enough, despite having been dropped twice, the stone had somehow managed both times to land back in the original spot.
I grasped the shard solidly once again, and attempted to lift it straight up above the table. It worked. But when I tried to move it around, it again snapped back down to its home on the table. It seemed that the stone could only be moved vertically, and its orientation could not be changed in the least degree. I moved it up and down a few times, then set it down, and invited Vincent to try.
He lifted it up and moved it the same as I had.
“Amazing,” he remarked. “And notice the gyroscopic effect? It can’t be tilted in any direction. Lucky for us that we had already planned to perform the ceremony down here. We can’t move this thing anywhere without help from our friend.”
Despite my fear of the “friend” he referred to, I managed a light chuckle. Vincent’s posture slumped right then, and I had to reach out with both hands to steady him.
“Sorry,” he said. “That took more out of me than I expected.”
I guided him into a chair.
“Have you calculated the next favorable alignment of the stars?” he asked.
“Not yet, but it shouldn’t take long.”
I sat down, and sorted through my papers. Vincent laid his head down on the table as I worked. The process of calculating the next favorable date was very easy. All I had to do was find the next date in the future when the final equation yielded an answer of zero. The best analogy for it would be a trigonometric sine function, except that it was not predictably periodic. Far from it, the equation had no detectable rhythm to it at all. In that respect, it more closely resembled a polynomial with an infinite number of terms.
The answer I received was shocking. Without saying anything, I checked again. The result was still the same.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Vincent lifted his head and looked at me.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, blinking.
“As unbelievable as it sounds, yes. The stars will be properly aligned for Sothoth Pnath tomorrow.”
Speaking the words aloud, I was overcome with a wave of satisfaction. All of the accumulated knowledge from the months of study in these arcane fields of science would finally be put to use. All of the grief I suffered would at last be avenged.
“Can you be ready for your part by then?” The excitement energized him, erasing any exhaustion he felt.
I answered without hesitation.
“Yes.”
“Just think,” he said. “By this time tomorrow, the world shall be rid of Sothoth Pnath, once and for all. It shall be a memorable day!”
In retrospect, I cannot disagree.
It certainly was a memorable day.
Twenty-Two
I practiced the ceremony for the rest of that afternoon and through the evening, until I was certain that I could perform it flawlessly. At the last, I rehearsed in front of Vincent, as he checked every gesture and syllable against his notes. He was pleased with my hand movements, but coached me mercilessly on my pronunciation. By the end of the night, we were both satisfied with my efforts.
I awoke the next morning with a nervous energy, one I had known only a few times in my life. Most memorable of them was the day I had asked Elizabeth for her hand in marriage. As I dressed, I could not help but relive the events of that anxious morning, that joyous afternoon, that terrible evening. Only hours remained until the madness would finally end. At least, that is what I believed.
And cleansed of my obsession, would I be ready to return to a normal life? Possibly redirect my energies back to a more mundane goal, such as finishing my degree? The idea of regaining the trust and friendship of Professor Josephson was appealing, but returning to Arkham meant delivering myself into the hands of the police. Could I assume a new identity in a different city? Vincent had numerous contacts. Perhaps I could take advantage of them—or even Vincent himself. Could I stay in this house, and work with him? Magic was much more exciting than mathematics, after all…
There were too many thoughts, too many possibilities. I worked to push them all aside. There was no point in thinking about the future, when the needs of the present were so pressing.
It was still early when Vincent and I met downstairs in the dining room. I could tell he was as excited as I, but he kept the conversation to a minimum, avoiding the subject of the forthcoming ceremony almost completely. After we finished breakfast, he excused himself, saying he would be downstairs making necessary preparations. When I offered to help, he walked behind my chair, and placed his right hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything. You rest.”
I acquiesced, and tried to relax, but it proved to be a difficult proposition. I needed a distraction. Making my way to the den, I chose a section of bookshelves at random, and began to browse. One book after the other attracted my attention, but I passed them by, and continued my search. My patience was rewarded, and minutes later, I pulled a volume of Poe off the shelf—the same one I had discovered in Andrew’s bookstore only a few months before. I had always enjoyed The Cask of Amontillado. The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. On that fateful day, the storyline rang with a certain relevance. As I write this, I admit that I was not incorrect. But not for the reasons I had hoped.
I had only read a few pages when a commotion reached my ears. Listening carefully, it sounded as if Albert was having some trouble at the front door. The angry voice grew louder as I crept toward the foyer—until all at once, I recognized it.
It was Thomas Wentworth, Elizabeth’s uncle. He was demanding entrance to the house.
In the anteroom, Albert stood in front of the partially open door, blocking the way. I walked up behind him and motioned for him to let me through. He moved aside, and I opened the door completely.
“Good God, Higgins!” Wentworth exclaimed as I became wholly visible. “You were right.”
Hearing that name had the same effect as a well-placed blow to my midsection. I wondered briefly if I had misheard him, but no. He stood off to the left, just behind Wentworth’s shoulder. Jebediah Higgins. He moved closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with the older man. For a moment there was complete silence, as the three of us just looked at each other. Then, he smiled, and my initial shock was replaced by the familiar hatred. I stared at him with contempt.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “Is there something I can do for you today?”
I asked the question with as much politeness as I could muster, purely out of respect for Thomas Wentworth and the hospitality he had shown me.
“There are several questions I need answered, Mr. Adderly,” said Wentworth. “But first—where is that scoundrel Vincent?”
He spoke to me more calmly than he had Albert, but his anger was only thinly disguised.
“Unfortunately, Vincent is una
vailable,” I said simply.
Wentworth accepted this without fuss.
“Then perhaps you can answer my questions,” he said. “Who is that man? The one who answered the door? Where is Gregory, the man who has faithfully served this family for decades? And why is the anteroom devoid of decorations? Only a few months ago, there was a nearly priceless vase sitting upon an equally valuable table just inside the door, there.”
He pointed behind me. I wished I had plausible answers to those questions. I remembered the explanation Vincent had given me regarding my similar query, and was trying to find the right words, but did not get a chance to voice any of them.
“Fine. A simpler question, then,” he said to my silence. “Why are you here, Mr. Adderly?”
He looked at me expectantly. Indeed, all considered, we were a curious cast of characters: The uncle of my tragically deceased fiancée, flanked on one side by my former mentor’s sinister colleague, while lurking below was my childhood best friend, the nephew of the man who stood before me, and cousin to my lost beloved. And I in the middle, mouth hanging slightly open, trying desperately to think.
“Research,” I finally said. “For my doctoral thesis. I knew Vincent as a boy. He invited me to stay here with him.”
That last sentence was absolutely true, and I spoke it with indisputable confidence.
“May I ask what the two of you are doing here today?” I continued, bolstered by the truth I had uttered. “Surely not to visit the butler, and take an accounting of the bric-a-brac?”
With my offhanded remark, Thomas Wentworth lost all vestiges of constraint.
“Mr. Higgins and I have figured out your little scheme, Adderly,” he said, the volume of his voice increasing. “You and Vincent have conspired to attack my family, and steal our fortune! From the first, untimely deaths of the twins, I knew that something was up. Denial and disbelief made me too angry to see the truth. But Mr. Higgins has helped me put the pieces together. You are through, Adderly! And Vincent as well! At the very least, I shall drive both of you out of here! At best, I will see you behind bars!”
The Shadow Beyond Page 26
