Notes: This story belongs to the Arkham Files series within the Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen. The first part of this chapter includes a brief recap for new readers. Please refer to notes at the end of the chapter for more background information.
Chapter 1: The Nautical Shop
Sharkey's Bar, The Waterfront, Arkham. Wednesday, September 24, 1975.
He leaned against the old brick wall outside the bar and watched the throng pour into Sharkey's. In the fading twilight, the neon bar sign was a beacon to dockworkers and fishermen returning from the day at sea. Easy pickings for future recruits. A heavy fog had rolled in. The air smelled of fish and boat oil—salty and acrid. A tugboat horn blared faintly.
Chad glanced at his watch. He'd been waiting for a half-hour. This was becoming a habit. He shifted his weight and reached into his pocket for another cigarette.
He was on the point of giving up and going inside when a figure in an old pea jacket approached. The damp air made Keller's hair on his forehead look slick with oil. "What took you so long?" Chad grumbled.
"Not your concern, acolyte." Keller's voice rasped like a rusty hinge. "I'm here now, ain't I? All you need to know is it's on."
"When?"
"Two days from now, on Friday. You got a believer ready for the anointing?"
"Rusty volunteered."
Keller nodded. "He'll do. Tell him the ceremony will take place tomorrow evening at seven o'clock."
Chad took a drag on his cigarette. Typical. Keller never supplied more than the bare essentials. Hadn't he already proven his loyalty? He'd brought him more than enough recruits over the past month.
"What's eating you?" Keller's tone sharpened. "Something going on I don't know about?"
"The others I understood, but what's so special about this device? I thought we were supposed to spread chaos and terror. How's stealing some worthless brass contraption gonna accomplish that? Hell, I didn't even know what an armillary sphere was."
He snorted. "You think I did? I had to go to a library. Do you realize how long it's been since I opened a book?" He stopped short, a chuckle erupting. "Well, excluding the book, of course. You remember that job two weeks ago?"
"At Whateley Rare Books? How could I forget? That nearly turned into a disaster."
"But it didn't. We got what we needed, and we were rewarded plenty for it."
Chad nodded. He could still taste the moon-tree wine on his breath.
"Now we hit the Nautical Shop. It's the will of Azathoth. If he wants it, that's good enough for me, and it should be for you."
"It is," he agreed hastily. "I didn't intend to question—"
"I didn't think so. You know better than that."
"The recruiting's gone well. I have several novitiates lined up."
"Good. We'll hold an initiation next Wednesday."
"Same place?"
He nodded. "The house on Birch Street. Nine o'clock."
Neal's loft. Thursday evening.
Beer for Peter in the fridge? Check. Corkscrew for Mozzie? Check.
Neal surveyed the preparations on the counter. The plates were out. Artichoke dip made. He ripped open a bag of potato chips and scattered them on the platter. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone over for dinner, but tonight he felt like celebrating.
It had been two weeks since that fateful day when he decided to reach out to Peter, hoping a man he'd never met could shed light on a starfish he'd seen in his dreams. Although since then the mystery concerning the soapstone carving had only deepened, Neal felt more optimistic than he had in a long time. No longer a prisoner to dreams which made him wonder if he were going mad, he was working with colleagues to unravel the mystery together.
Neal and Peter met frequently to discuss the progress of their research. Mozzie appeared determined to make up for his six-month long absence in India by calling him daily. Mozzie's own class schedule was light. He taught a couple of advanced seminars for grad students but spent the bulk of his time working on a paper on cosmology which he'd present at the next string theory conference.
Peter's focus was on the artifact he'd discovered in an ancient Egyptian tomb in Abydos which was so similar to the one in Neal's dreams. They'd determined that the incised markings on the starfish were an unknown language, hinting of a civilization which predated the tomb where it was found. Peter also suspected the shape was significant. He'd found starfish on potsherds at some of the earliest archaeological sites on earth. Was there a connection?
Cyrus Dexter, head of the chemistry department at Miskatonic University, discovered that the soapstone contained copious amounts of a previously unknown element which they'd dubbed algolnium. Cyrus had written up his findings and they were awaiting a decision from the ruling body on its acceptance. Why Neal was the only person who showed any sensitivity to it remained unknown.
Nor had they been able to explain why since Neal's initial exposure to the artifact, he'd experienced visions of a murder, seen jackal-headed ghasts on the streets of Arkham and unknown winged creatures flying through the night. Neal had visited realms which couldn't exist on earth. Were they visions, hallucinations, or some unknown method of travel to a different universe as Mozzie espoused?
It was only natural that Mozzie, as one of the world's foremost cosmologists, would postulate wormholes into parallel worlds, but it was not a view shared by anyone else. Neal knew Peter's wife Elizabeth was much more concerned he was suffering from attacks of schizophrenia.
Peter reserved his opinion to himself, but he urged Neal to focus on the hard evidence and leave speculation for later. At his request, Neal had prepared a series of detailed drawings of his visions. Documentation of hallucinations or visions of parallel universes? Whatever they were, he'd completed them earlier in the week. Tonight was to be the grand unveiling.
"You're in a good mood. I haven't heard you sing in quite a while."
Neal spun around to see his landlady, June Parker, standing at the doorway, holding a pie in her hands. He hadn't realized he'd been singing 'Let It Be' so loud.
"You're reminding me we haven't sung any duets in a long time," she added with a smile. "We should remedy that at the first opportunity." She handed him the pie. "Here's the dessert I promised."
Neal accepted it gratefully. June had offered to make one of her signature Bourbon pecan pies. Peter was in for a treat. "I'm sorry Elizabeth had to work tonight. Are you sure you can't stay for dinner?"
"Thanks, but the students insisted I join them." June was acting as a coach for a student production of West Side Story. Since the rehearsals took place at night, she was out most evenings. "You're welcome to use the dining room. You'll have much more space."
"We'll be fine here. Peter's not seen the loft, and there will only be three of us. Cyrus couldn't make it either."
"Is that pie I smell?" Peter sniffed the air as he walked in. "I could catch the whiff of Bourbon a floor below." While he and June exchanged greetings, Neal could hear Mozzie downstairs talking to the housekeeper.
Peter had offered to supply the main course. When June saw the size of the sandwiches in his bag, she commented, "You may need to take your dessert home to have with Elizabeth. I doubt you'll have room after eating those."
"How many meatball grinders did you bring?" Neal asked.
Peter smiled as he placed the wrapped loafs on the kitchen counter. "You'll like these so much, you'll wish I'd bought more. The Italian deli on Trinity Avenue makes hands down the best sandwiches anywhere." He glanced around the loft. "You've got a cozy setup." The furniture was old-fashioned but comfortable. The large skylight over the sleeping alcove was one of the best features. Neal could lie in bed and gaze up at the stars.
Peter spotted his drawings on the easel in a corner of the room and walked over to take a closer look.
"No sneak peeks," Mozzie chided as he entered the loft. "We agreed to wait till after dinner." He placed two bottles of Barbera wine on the counter. "To remove ourselves from temptation, we should eat outside. This Indian summer weather can't last. Let's make the most of it."
The glass doors in Neal's loft opened onto a large terrace which occupied the remainder of the roof. June had furnished it with loungers and plants, as well as a wrought-iron table and chairs for dining.
"What a view!" Peter exclaimed when he stepped outside. The familiar buildings of the Miskatonic University campus graced the hills to the north. Derleth Hall where Mozzie had his office had the highest elevation. The observatory on top of the building was clearly visible. Over on the western horizon loomed the steeple of St. Jude's Church on Prospect Hill, a constant reminder of Neal's ill-fated visit to the church.
"When June's husband Byron was alive, they held parties on the terrace," Neal said. "They used to have informal jazz sessions, dance, and play poker. That was before I lived here."
Mozzie sat down at the table and helped himself to a grinder. "My friendship with June and Byron goes back for over fifteen years. I first met them at Cranwell's Wine Shop and we cemented our friendship over poker."
"Mozzie was the one who introduced me to June," Neal said, raising his glass to him.
"When Neal entered Miskatonic University, he was too young to be admitted into a dorm and June offered him the use of the loft. Byron had just passed away and she was rattling around in this big house by herself."
"The friendship between the two of you goes back a long way, I gather." Peter said, reaching for the coleslaw.
"I met Mozzie at an astronomy summer camp held by the university when I was twelve. He was one of the camp instructors."
"Neal won the spot at camp for his entry at the science fair. It was on the effects of light pollution on viewing conditions. I found his research a valuable resource when I spearheaded the campaign to establish a light pollution ordinance for Arkham."
Neal smiled at his friend. His words took him back to when Neal first met him. As a kid he was usually intimidated around adults, but not Mozzie.
"Neal's home life—"
"That's in the past, Mozz," Neal interjected. "No need to dredge it up now."
"You have to grant that it wasn't what it should be," he countered, raising a brow, and turned to Peter. "It didn't take me long to figure that out, and I encouraged him to hang out with me on weekends. Since my research often requires long absences, I introduced him to June so he could have a safe place to go to"—Mozzie paused and tilted his head—"Is that your phone ringing?"
Neal had already risen. "Someone needs to invent answer machines for homes. I'll try to keep it short," and went inside.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Peter took advantage of Neal's absence to consult with Mozzie, hoping he could shed light on a question El had raised.
She'd run tests on Neal for the past couple of weeks. As a neurologist, she was concerned about the effect the soapstone artifact produced on him. Although he no longer became ill, he continued to be able to sense its presence. The probable culprit was a heightened sensitivity to the algolnium contained within the soapstone.
El wondered if there was a connection to the bout of amnesia Neal suffered as a child. How does an eight-year-old kid appear on the streets of Arkham with no knowledge of his life before that moment? El had discovered the tell-tale signs of broken ribs on his x-rays, but Neal refused to discuss them. Peter hoped Mozzie would be more forthcoming.
"Neal told me he'd been raised in a foster home. From what you said, I gather there were problems?"
He nodded. "Apparently, the adults meant well but they were overextended. They had six kids living with them. Neal was the youngest. Some of the others seemed intent on making his life miserable. One boy who was three years older than Neal—I called him Bad News Chad—was the ringleader and incited the others. Neal doesn't like talking about it, but from the number of bruises he had, I suspected he was being used as a punching bag. Several times I wanted to file a report with Child Protective Services, but Neal pleaded with me not to get involved. I think he was worried the little monsters would take their retaliation out on him."
That tallied with what El feared had been the case. "So you spoke to June," he prompted.
"Exactly. I introduced him to June and Byron in the fall after astronomy camp. Neal told me he never felt like the adults in his foster home were his parents. June helped to partially fill that role. He used to come here after school, in the evenings—whenever he needed to escape and I was away." Mozzie's words trailed off as Neal came back out on the patio.
"That was a colleague on the West Coast who's been studying Chinese oracle bones. He had an interesting perspective on the starfish script. As yet I haven't been able to determine if a mark refers to a letter, word, or it could be code for an entire idea." He brushed his hair back with one hand and muttered, "This could take decades."
Detective Diana Briscoe had provided Neal and Peter with photos of the starfish they'd found at the crime scenes. They were remarkable similar to the artifact he'd found in Egypt with one notable exception. The objects had all mysteriously vanished from the evidence rooms within twenty-four hours of being seized. The police were counting on Neal being able to translate the language, but their demands might be unrealistic. It had taken over twenty years for Champollion to unlock the meaning of Egyptian hieroglyphs after the discovery of the Rosetta Stone provided the key. Neal had nothing similar to guide his efforts.
After dinner, they collected their dishes and returned to the interior of the loft. Neal put the kettle on and ground beans for coffee while Mozzie rinsed the plates. Peter's offer to help was rebuffed, and honestly, Neal's kitchenette was too small for three people.
Peter wandered over to Neal's bookcase. It was filled with an assortment of books on linguistics, art, and history. Many of them were in foreign languages. A framed photograph was on one shelf. Peter glanced at it—a young woman sitting under a tree in the quad, smiling into the camera. Neal hadn't mentioned a girlfriend. Peter took a closer look and was surprised to recognize her. "I didn't realize you knew Kate Micheaux."
Neal hesitated a moment before answering. "She was my fiancée," and busied himself with the coffee press.
Peter regretted bringing up what must be a painful topic. "I'm so sorry. I was her advisor."
"I know. Kate spoke highly of you. That's one of the reasons I decided to seek you out."
"Should we have invited Lavinia?" Mozzie asked, interrupting. If he'd wanted to distract Neal from what must have been a painful topic, he couldn't have made a better choice. Lavinia Armitage, the head librarian, was a woman who had more mysteries swirling around her than Neal. "You've told her about your visions. She was the one who insisted you wear an amulet. She needs to see the drawings, too."
Neal, flummoxed, stared at his friend. "Lavinia in the loft? You can't be serious. She'd probably make me drink emerald wine like last time. Besides, she seems to know everything that goes on without being present. The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. While it steeps, let's go ahead and start."
Neal moved the easel in front of his small dining table and Mozzie and Peter take their seats. He'd used colored pencils for his drawings which had the precision of architectural renderings. Neal's style reminded Peter of the technique his brother Tom had used.
"This first series is of my original dream of Abydos," Neal said. "Since I had the same dream for so many months, they show more detail than the others."
Peter recognized the wadi which cut a canyon through steeps cliffs. To Peter's knowledge, Abydos was the only location in Egypt possessing a similar formation. At the foot of the cliffs Neal had drawn a circular stage with a granite altar surrounded by five tall sandstone columns. The columns were in the style of the Old Kingdom. The shafts had been carved from monolithic blocks and were topped with lotus capitals. The shafts themselves were unadorned. Although Peter was familiar with the area in front of the cliffs from having led several excavations there, he was unfamiliar with anything resembling the stage Neal had depicted.
One of the drawings showed a close-up of the altar. Peter stood up to examine it more closely. The massive block of granite was without any carvings. In the exact center was the starfish which Neal had referenced the day they met.
Neal replaced the drawing with the one underneath it. It depicted a stone staircase descending from the flagstone courtyard. The stairs were next to one of the massive columns. "I found the staircase when I was seeking shelter from a sandstorm. In my dreams, the sequence is always the same. I descend the steps to a narrow landing where the stairs make a ninety-degree turn. When I round the corner I see below what looks like a turbulent ocean filled with vague shapes of bioluminescent creatures. That's what I attempted to capture in this next series."
Neal overlapped the next three images and then stepped back. The nightmarish visions of a hellish world were horrific and at the same time strangely beautiful. Peter forced himself to focus on the creatures. The only images that came close to capturing them were the illustrations in theNecronomicon.
Mozzie spoke for them both when he said, "And that's what you were seeing in your initial dreams? It's understandable that you felt you were losing your grasp on reality."
Neal acknowledged the truth of his remarks with a shrug. "The next drawing is of that curiously shaped ruby crystal I saw at St. Jude's Church."
"The shining polyhedron . . . " Mozzie mused. "So this is what drew you into the wormhole."
"We don't know it was a wormhole," Peter protested. "It could have been a vision."
"Or a hallucination," Neal said under his breath.
Peter flashed him a stern look. "Remember, we're not going there. Any discussion of the nature of the visions has to wait until we have concrete evidence. You haven't seen any more ghasts or winged creatures flying through the night, have you?"
"No," he said, easing into a half-smile. "And I haven't experienced any other dreams or visions." He replaced the drawing with frigid plateau sheathed in ice. "This last group is of Leng where I encountered the monastery of ice and the priest with the yellow silk mask."
As Peter looked at the bleak images, he'd expected ice and desolation, but not . . . He turned to Neal. "The architecture of what you call a monastery is remarkably similar to early Egyptian mastabas."
"Explain yourself," Mozzie demanded. "I'm unfamiliar with the term."
"Mastabas were ancient tombs in predynastic and early dynastic Egypt. I've excavated several at Abydos." Peter pointed to the hallway Neal had drawn. "The proportions, the slightly inclined sides—it's as if a mastaba were recreated in ice."
"And that's not the only resemblance to ancient Egypt," Neal added, pulling out another drawing. "In the cell where I found the priest, the walls were covered with writing. It reminded me of Pyramid Texts. The writing appeared to be similar to what is found on the starfish but I could only give a general impression in my drawing."
Mozzie turned to Peter. "You're the expert. What were Pyramid Texts used for?"
Peter picked up the drawing to study it. "They were spells designed to allow the pharaoh to ascend to the afterlife. The trip could be made in a number of ways—ramps, stairs, or a ladder, for instance. Flying was the most popular means. The texts could also be used to call the gods for help."
As Mozzie listened, he nodded thoughtfully. "In other words the texts were used to create a wormhole to travel into another universe. Those Egyptians displayed a level of understanding of our universe more profound than many of our contemporary so-called authorities."
"That's not what I said at all," Peter said adamantly.
"You say tom-ay-to, I say to-mah-to, it's the same thing. You must learn to expand your mind."
Peter knew better than to try to reason with Mozzie. The man was obsessed with wormholes. Instead, he turned to the image of the priest himself. He was as Neal had described the night he'd entered the boarded-up church and traveled through the crystal to the Plateau of Leng. The figure was clothed in black with a yellow hood covering his head. The robe was covered in vermilion calligraphy which resembled the language on the soapstones. Neal said the priest spoke to him, claiming that he served the ruler of time and space, a being who sat on a black throne. The author of the Necronomicon, Abdul Alhazred, identified that ruler as Azathoth. He called him creator of all others—the one who dwelt in the center of the universe in a region of chaos. But who was the priest? Although a few texts mentioned a priest dwelling in a monastery on the Plateau of Leng, he was never named.
Mozzie turned to Neal. "Do you have any more drawings?"
He nodded. "These two are the last. One shows the ghast I encountered at Whateley Rare Books and the other is of the winged creature that was flying around the steeple of St. Jude."
"You said you found the ghast in the Necronomicon," Mozzie said. "Were you able to find your winged creature there as well?"
"Unfortunately not. It was too far away for me to be certain of its features. The book depicts several winged monstrosities. I can't be certain if any of them correspond to the one I saw flying over Arkham."
Peter took the drawings and spread them out on the table and the bed so they could be compared more easily. Mozzie was particularly fascinated by the drawing of the crystal and returned it to the easel. He examined it at length before calling them over. "How exact a diagram do you feel this is?"
"It's as accurate as I could make it," Neal said.
"The shape is highly unusual. What you've drawn is a trapezohedron."
Neal blinked. "I've never heard of that."
"You haven't?" Mozzie appeared staggered that Neal hadn't heard of it, but Peter didn't know what it meant either. Mozzie pulled out a well-worn notebook from his jacket pocket and sketched a shape. "This is a trapezium—four sides, but only two of them are parallel. In a trapezohedron, each face is composed of a trapezium. Neal, your ignorance in this case is a blessing. You couldn't have made this up. It's exceedingly rare to see a gemstone cut into this shape."
Muttering to himself about polyhedrons, pyramids, and the deficiencies of geometry teachers, Mozzie withdrew to the bedroom to study the Leng drawings. Neal appeared fascinated by the construction of a trapezohedron and continued to study the crystal.
Peter picked up his coffee mug and headed to the kitchen for a refill. June's pecan pie on the counter was calling to him. "Hey, Neal, shouldn't we slice the pie?"
When Neal didn't answer, Peter glanced over to see him frozen in place, apparently mesmerized by the drawing. Peter called out again, but Neal was oblivious to him. Striding over, Peter shoved him onto a chair as he began to sway.
Mozzie hurried over. "What's going on?"
"He's having a vision. You haven't experienced this yet. It scares the hell out of me. I worry he won't be able to emerge." Peter turned to Neal and began shaking his shoulder. "C'mon, Neal, snap out of it."
With a gasp, Neal sagged into the chair. Mozzie scurried into the kitchenette, filled a glass with wine, and started to hand it to Neal.
Peter grabbed the glass away from him. "Are you nuts? The kid needs water, not wine."
"St. Bernard dogs don't carry water in their casks," he retorted but returned to the kitchenette for a glass. It made Peter wonder how Neal had managed to survive his teen years with Mozzie as a mentor.
"No murder, at least," Neal muttered. "That's progress."
"What did you see?" Peter demanded.
Neal rubbed his temples. "The Nautical Shop. I was standing in front of a display of instruments when you pulled me out."
"The Nautical Shop on Estes Lane?" Mozzie asked. At Neal's confirmation, he added, "I've visited there often. Their collection of antique navigational instruments and telescopes is without parallel. Did you see any starfish carvings? Ghasts? Winged creatures?"
"No, nothing like that. I didn't see anyone, human or monster. I don't understand what the significance is."
"We should visit the shop," Mozzie declared. "Something there may spark a memory and you'll have another vision. It's unfortunate the shop's already closed for the night. When are you free tomorrow?"
Neal didn't answer immediately but at Mozzie's prodding he suggested the following afternoon. Peter was also available and they agreed to meet on campus to walk over together.
While they had dessert, Mozzie grilled Neal for additional details about his vision. "Are you sure you don't remember anything else?"
"I'm sorry," Neal said helplessly. "That's all there is."
Mozzie turned to Peter. "This is your fault. You extracted him too soon. Who knows what invaluable knowledge he would have otherwise acquired?" Grumbling, he helped himself to a second slice of pie and resumed his study of the drawings.
Neal stood up and excused himself, escaping onto the terrace.
Peter gave him a couple of minutes before following. He found Neal leaning against the wall, looking up at the stars. "Do you want company?"
He glanced over and winced. "Sorry, I'm not being a very good host. I shouldn't have walked out like that."
"There's no need to apologize. It's quite understandable. Mozzie was getting a little carried away."
"He wasn't to blame. I'm upset too. I'd hoped I was done with visions, but I guess not." He pulled out the amulet and huffed. "Some good you are."
"You remember, I told you after your last episode, I expected you'd have more."
"I worked on that drawing for hours and didn't sense anything out of the ordinary. How could it suddenly throw me into a vision?" Neal didn't expect an answer and Peter had none to give him. "Sometimes I feel like I'm a pawn in someone's twisted game. Lavinia may understand what's happening but she won't tell me anything. And why should I see a random scene in a shop? It simply defies logic." Neal eyed him anxiously. "Is schizophrenia the answer?"
"Honestly, I don't think so. I admit I don't know what to make of what you experienced in the church, but your earlier vision of the bookstore was spot on. You should view your visions as a gift, not a millstone. I realize there's a lot of pressure on you. It's your first term to teach. You've got the police after you to decipher the starfish writing. Add to that all the time you spend working in the library vault on the appendices to the Necronomicon . . . If you're not careful, you'll wind up having hallucinations out of sheer exhaustion. You need to learn how to pace yourself, take time out to breathe."
Neal glanced over at him. "Take time for pie?"
"It was delicious. How often do you get Bourbon pecan pie? And you barely touched your slice." He shrugged. "I may need to revise my opinion. Perhaps you are insane."
He chuckled sheepishly. "Point noted. Mozzie may have finished the entire pie in our absence."
Crisis defused, they walked back inside. The evening had been revealing, not simply because of Neal's drawings and his vision. Was he burying himself in his work because of outside pressures or because of Kate? When Peter had experienced a death in the family, he'd acted much the same way.
The Nautical Shop. Friday afternoon.
"Any visions yet?" Mozzie asked eagerly.
Neal shook his head. "I don't know even know what I'm supposed to be looking for." It was frustrating. They'd arrived a half-hour ago and nothing was happening. He was feeling more than a little foolish. When they'd asked the proprietor, Caleb Truxton, if anything unusual had happened in his shop recently, he looked like he suspected them of playing a prank on him.
"It's possible your vision wasn't about an event but some object in the store," Peter speculated.
Peter's idea was a good one, but to hunt through the entire shop could take days. The shop supplied the entire Northeastern Seaboard with navigational instruments, binoculars, and telescopes. In addition to the instruments on display, the storeroom in the back was filled with boxes of equipment.
They decided to concentrate on the antique section of the shop because it bore the closest resemblance to Neal's vision. Neal wandered down the aisles filled with display cases of gleaming brass instruments. Was a starfish laced with algolnium lurking behind a cabinet? Would he be able to detect the presence of a ghast? Peter and Mozzie were equally unsure what they were supposed to do. Mozzie followed him like a squirrel hoping for a handout. This was a bad idea.
Neal stopped at a case which was filled with armillary spheres ranging from the simple to the insanely complex.
"I have a collection of these in my office," Mozzie said. "When I interview a prospective teaching assistant, one of my initial tests is to make them explain how armillary spheres operate. You'd be shocked at how many don't even know the rings represent celestial great circles or that both Copernican and Ptolemaic versions exist."
"About as many as can't read cuneiform," Peter said, surveying the instruments.
One armillary sphere in particular caught Neal's eye. It was one of the most complex instruments with multiple layers of intricately engraved brass rings. Mozzie had tried to explain to Neal once how they were used to model objects in the sky, but Neal didn't have the right kind of head to understand the concept. He was more attracted to the beauty of the instrument. Neal stared at it, his eyes piercing through the rings, down to the inner globe of the sphere.
The brass dissolved into a shimmering golden haze. Gently he blew on the haze to disperse it, and a room was revealed as if at the end of a long brass tunnel. It was the same antique section of the shop he was standing in. Was the sphere acting like a mirror? And yet, it wasn't the same. The shop was dark with only a few security lights on. A vision from the past? Or the future?
Gradually Neal became aware of another presence. A figure emerged from a dark recess in the corner. He wore black clothes and a hood, similar to their assailants in the rare bookstore a couple of weeks ago. Stealthily it approached the display and seized the armillary sphere Neal had been looking at. The thief appeared not to notice Neal but covered the sphere with a cloth and carried it toward the front of the shop. He paused at a display of nautical clocks, set the sphere down on a cabinet, and spun around to face Neal.
His clothes dissolved or Neal saw through them. Impossible to tell. All he knew was that in front of him was no human but a ghast. Its eyes blazed with hatred as it lunged for him.
With a cry Neal sprang backwards but the ghast wrapped its claws around him and drew him close, his jaws opening wide for the kill. Neal struggled. He felt its fangs on his neck—
"Hey, take it easy! That's my arm, you know."
The scene vanished to reveal Peter crouched in front of him. He'd laid a hand on Neal's shoulder to support him. That was Peter's arm Neal was gripping, not the limb of a ghast. "Sorry," he muttered, releasing Peter.
"Who'd you think I was?" he asked with a laugh, shaking his arm. "A ghast?" His smile vanished when he saw Neal's reaction. "I was a ghast."
Neal nodded, catching his breath. From somewhere they'd found a chair and he was sitting in front of the case of armillary spheres. Mozzie was scribbling notes into a notebook. Great. He'd yet again proven his usefulness as a lab rat.
Neal reported what had occurred. "Since nothing out of the ordinary has happened in the shop, if you want to ascribe a meaning to this, I'd have to say that what we're looking at is a future crime scene."
Mozzie closed his notebook. "You're positive this is the sphere the ghast stole?"
At Neal's nod, Mozzie called out to the shop owner, "Caleb, you can wrap this one up. I'm taking it with me."
Neal stared at his friend. "Did you see the price tag?"
Mozzie waved his hand dismissively. "A pittance for such an object of fascination. It will go well with my collection and I can't conduct all the experiments I'm planning for it—and you—in these cramped quarters."
"We need to let Diana know," Peter declared.
"Tell her I had a vision of a ghast? She doesn't know anything about ghasts. She'll think I'm certifiable."
Mozzie peered into the display case at the sphere. "Who's Diana?" he asked absently.
"Detective Diana Briscoe," Peter explained. "She's with the Arkham police. I let Neal talk me into not telling her about his encounter with the ghast in the bookstore, but we can't put it off any longer."
Mozzie turned to study Neal. "You're still looking a little green. I doubt Caleb has brandy around." He shook his head in disapproval. "Never mind, we'll make do with water." He took off for the front of the store.
Peter stood up. "I know this is a big step, but you said it yourself. This is a future crime scene. If we don't say something, a criminal could break into the Nautical Shop. Caleb could be killed. You told me you felt guilty over Seth's murder. How will you feel if history repeats itself and you didn't warn the police?"
Peter was right, but Diana trusted in Neal's ability. She thought he'd be able to decrypt the starfish language. Now what would she think? If she didn't believe he was playing a joke on her, she'd write him off as a nutcase.
Mozzie returned with the glass of water. "Caleb's writing up the invoice now. Soon this beauty will be mine. I'll call Cyrus. He'll want to analyze it."
Neal knew that was only the beginning. Mozzie would want Neal to gaze at the armillary sphere for long hours which could be much better spent in the library vault. Neal gulped down the water as he gloomily contemplated what his future as a lab rat would be like. At Mozzie's insistence, he'd already repeatedly stared at the ruby crystal in his drawing with nothing happening. Apparently visions were a one-time phenomenon. Maybe Mozzie could use a substitute. "How about Travis?" Neal suggested hopefully. "He helps you on your other experiments. I'm sure he'd be a willing volunteer."
"Who's Travis?" Peter asked.
"Travis Mayweather," Mozzie explained. "Assistant Professor of Astrophysics. Bright lad. Yes, he'll do nicely as a control, and his mechanical expertise will be useful." He paused for a moment and jotted down more notes. "But I'll still need you," he warned. "Keep your schedule free."
"I'm heading to the police station," Peter declared. He turned to Neal and raised a brow. "You ready? We'll stop by your place first to pick up your drawing of the ghast. She'll want to photograph it." Neal exhaled and nodded reluctantly. They were supposed to be working with the police. Keeping secrets from them wasn't the way to cooperate. At the worst, Diana would simply laugh in his face. She wouldn't immediately haul him off to the funny farm . . . probably.
Peter slapped him on the back. "You just stared down a ghast. Facing Diana can't compare with that, right? Neal?"
"Don't rush me. I'm thinking."
Notes: Thanks for reading! Please join me next week for Chapter 2: Ghast in the Night. I plan to post weekly on Wednesday. Many thanks to the awesome Penna Nomen, creator of the Caffrey Conversation AU, for providing outstanding beta and cheerleader support.
FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. Most of her characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development. Diana drew inspiration for some of the scenes in The Locked Room from Raphael's Dragon, but it's not necessary to have read that story. Diana's user name is Lomaria and she occasionally posts comments to the Arkham Files stories.
Diana's beta reader is June Ellington. It was at her request that Diana had Neal sing "Let It Be" at the beginning of the chapter. The song has a special significance for June, as those of you who've read Caffrey Flashback may recall.
In this story, Diana's included several references to The Woman in Blue, the story where Azathoth first appeared. I've written about her strategy for our blog in a post called "Echoes of The Woman in Blue."
I'm posting this in the holiday season, but in Neal Carter's timeline it's early fall. Penna is coming to the rescue for all those seeking holiday fare. I'm excited to report that she's writing a multi-chapter story called A Caffrey Christmas Carol which she'll begin posting midmonth. This week she wrote about that story for our blog in a post called Neal and Peter and Regrets. In addition, we have three other stories with holiday themes: Choirboy Caffrey (Christmas 2003), An Evening with Genji (an early Christmas 2004 story set in New York), and Caffrey Aloha (Christmas 2004 in Hawaii).
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
Fanfiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added them to my profile.
Disclaimers: The worlds of White Collar and the Cthulhu Mythos as envisaged by H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth and others are not mine, alas.
