Chapter 4: Sornoth

On Merope

Under different circumstances Peter would have rejoiced at exploring a wilderness of such beauty. As he trekked through a forest of ancient moss-covered trees with Phineas, he caught glimpses of the friendly chittaks. Birds continued to be widespread. Notably lacking was the presence of large ground-dwelling animals. Phineas explained that the ghasts had wreaked havoc on many species.

In daylight they had no reason to fear the allies of the Ymar. The creatures of Azathoth's world haunted the darkness.

Peter resolved to take advantage of their journey to learn more about the beings who'd invaded Earth. "You said the Ymar conquered Earth eleven thousand years ago. That was during the Neolithic when humans had only formed primitive settlements."

"That's what you believe to be the case, but your knowledge is incomplete. Our information is not much better. What little we know is based on reports from the Celaenians. They recorded that in approximately 12,000 BC your planet was colonized by a race of aliens called the Elnath. You may be familiar with the term Elder Thing?"

"I've seen them mentioned in the Necronomicon. Alhazred described them as monsters which roamed Earth at the dawn of time."

Phineas snorted, as he held up a vine for Peter to pass under. "Don't believe everything you read in that book. The Elnath weren't monsters but an advanced species. The star which was at the center of the planetary system they inhabited was dying. They sent out spaceships to discover a new home. Your planet was chosen. There may have been additional planets they colonized, but the Celaenians didn't mention any others. At that time your race was still in a primitive state, illiterate with no social structure. The Elnath established several city-states throughout the globe and were slowly educating the indigenous peoples as their capacity to learn permitted."

"This was the culture the Ymar destroyed?"

"That's correct. When the Ymar invaded, they obliterated the Elnath city-states. They built their own empire using Earth's inhabitants as slave labor."

"Was there any particular reason they chose Earth?"

"That I do not know, but you weren't alone in suffering their brutality. The Ymar were a plague on the entire galaxy, living as parasites on the worlds they conquered. The Celaenians were alarmed at their destructive force and sought to render them impotent."

"They must have emerged victorious." Peter paused to wipe the sweat off his face with his sleeve. "Or we wouldn't be here."

Phineas handed him a flask of water. "In circa 5,800 BC Celaenians succeeded in banishing the last remnants of the Ymar to the A-Brane."

"The disk in the crypt that we used to close the wormhole was dated to approximately the same time. Was it created by them?"

Phineas nodded. "They used wormholes to send the Ymar into exile. The disks were left as safeguard mechanisms in case the wormholes reopened. They believed they had eliminated the Ymar from the galaxy. On Earth, they erased all the evidence they could find of alien cultures. Their hope was that you would be able to develop freely without any extraterrestrial influence."

"But that wasn't to be, was it?"

He shook his head. "The Elnath were the first we know of to make use of wormhole technology. When the Ymar conquered them, they enslaved their scientists. The Celaenians discovered to their dismay that already by the Old Kingdom in Egypt the Ymar were creating wormholes to link their world to yours. Elnath slaves working for the Ymar may have been responsible. At first the wormholes only lasted for a few minutes, but gradually the Ymar have refined their ability to keep wormholes open for longer periods of time."

"If Celaenians cared enough to help Earth in the beginning, why didn't they return to finish the job?"

"They did," Phineas said. "At least two times that we know of. Since the Ymar themselves weren't entering your world and the wormholes were of short duration, the Celaenians didn't perceive you be at high risk. You have to remember your planet is only one of many they were attempting to keep safe. On a few occasions they dispatched an emissary to instruct a representative of your species to act as a guardian of sorts. The first time we know occurred in Damascus in the 700s."

"Alhazred!" Peter exclaimed.

He nodded. "The emissary attempted to use the author of the Necronomicon as a conduit for their warnings, but he quickly realized it was futile. Your species simply hadn't developed enough to understand the advanced concepts they wished to teach. Alhazred became convinced the Ymar were gods and began worshiping them. He was branded a lunatic and heretic. After that disaster, for many hundreds of years no additional attempt was made. In 1520, an emissary was sent to Heinrich Agrippa. By then the Celaenians had learned to be more circumspect, but Agrippa still wasn't able to divorce himself from the superstitions of his time. They concluded that humans simply weren't ready to undertake the challenge."

"When did your race first have contact with Celaenians?"

"About five hundred of your years ago when our world was attacked. Afterward, we formed an alliance to do what we could to help others. Now we work alone."

Alone. That word sent a chill through Peter despite the steamy conditions. Neal was alone. The prisoner of Sornoth. Phineas thought Azathoth wanted him alive. If he knew why the alien wanted Neal, he didn't reveal it.

They trekked another two hours before Phineas called a halt. He stated the obvious when he said, "You need to rest."

Peter wasn't about to argue with him. His injuries didn't bother him, but he was bone-weary. As the suns rose higher in the sky, the heat also increased. He appropriated a fallen log to sit on. Phineas pulled out more of the blue apples from his knapsack. Peter was beginning to think of them as the Meropian equivalent to C-Rations.

"After we rescue Neal, I assume you have a plan to return to Earth. Will we return the same way you came here?"

"That's not possible. My device isn't designed for your physiognomy. The Celaenians built a permanent wormhole with flexible parameters. We deployed it for large-scale evacuations to our new home. I intend to use it to send you to Earth."

"Have you ever tested it with a human?" Peter didn't know why he was being so cautious. Staying on Merope was not a viable option.

Although Phineas asserted the wormhole had been employed before to travel to Earth, the news was not as reassuring as it should be. His normal confident manner had been replaced by a more guarded expression which was disquieting.

"What aren't you telling me?" Peter demanded. "Don't I deserve to understand what we face?"

"You would have found out eventually," conceded Phineas reluctantly. "It might as well be now. I tested the wormhole on Thaddeus Shrewsbury."

"Neal's advisor was here?" Peter's mouth dropped open in his astonishment. "When?"

"Thaddeus was abducted from the library vault in 1974."

That was shortly before he fell into a coma. Peter's stomach plummeted to the ground. Was the abduction the cause of his illness or his return trip?

"At the time we didn't realize how Thaddeus had been taken," Phineas explained, keeping his eyes fixed on Peter as if monitoring his reaction. "We now believe the crystal manuscript provided the mechanism. If we'd known of its involvement, we would have destroyed it then and there. I came to Merope to rescue him like I did for you. Thaddeus had also been seized by Sornoth." Phineas fell silent for a few moments. "His wounds were serious, but I believed if he could survive till we reached the wormhole he would be healed."

"Mozzie has a theory that when we enter a wormhole, ghost images remain on Earth. They enable our molecular structure to be reconstituted."

"A provocative concept," said Phineas noncommittally.

"It was the only semi-rational explanation any of us could think of for why the injuries we suffered off-world vanished without a trace once we returned to Earth." Peter hoped that Phineas would either confirm the concept or offer a better explanation.

"I accompanied Thaddeus on his voyage home," Phineas said, dashing Peter's hopes for enlightenment. "At first all appeared well. His wounds were healed. He was unconscious when we arrived, but that was not initially a concern. You, too, have blacked out every time you've gone through a wormhole."

Peter nodded agreement. Unlike him, Neal retained consciousness. Peter suspected it was because he had much more algolnium.

"Unfortunately, Thaddeus never awoke. Your doctors called it a coma, and perhaps that's what it was."

"Was his coma caused by his injuries or the wormhole?" Peter demanded. His voice sounded harsh to his ears.

"We can't be certain," Phineas admitted. "Perhaps a combination of the two. His injuries were life-threatening. I had no choice but to make the attempt."

"If the wormhole provoked Thaddeus's coma, what makes you think our fate won't be the same?"

"I'm counting on Neal," he said impassively.

"I don't understand. Is it because he has more algolnium?"

"No." He glanced up at the sky. "We must move on if we're to arrive at H'nir by midday."

"I've had enough rest," Peter said, standing up. He debated pressing Phineas for details, but sensed it would be futile. Phineas was more congenial than Lavinia but he too appeared to have preconceptions of how much to divulge. Peter wondered how much of that reticence was because of the Celaenian failures.

Phineas shot him a quick look as if he'd read his thoughts. "I know it's frustrating. I'd hoped we'd be able to discuss your questions on Earth. Neal should be present. You've been very patient and I ask for you to hold off a little while longer."

They'd only walked a few paces when a chittak dropped down on Phineas's shoulder and chittered in his ear. Phineas listened intently, responding with similar sounds. Afterward he turned to Peter. "We must hasten our pace."

"Has the chittak seen Neal?"

"No, but several of our scouts did. They're with him now."

"Scouts? You mean the chittaks?"

"No, they're too large to escape undetected. Our scouts are much smaller. They passed word to the chittaks. Neal received serious injuries during the ghast attack. Sornoth was away when Neal arrived in H'nir but the scouts have now detected his presence in the ruins. We must attempt to free him before Sornoth comes for him."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

When Neal became aware of his surroundings again, it didn't take long to realize he wasn't actually awake. Mozzie's cat Betelgeuse couldn't be there. That wasn't his warm raspy tongue on his face. But it was a good dream.

Betelgeuse was giving Neal a thorough grooming, and he didn't attempt to open his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being tossed onto the floor by a ghast. This was paradise in comparison. Absolutely no need to return to reality.

Betelgeuse felt different. A tiny ribbon of a tongue. Had Betelgeuse shrunk in his dream? Gradually he became aware Betelgeuse wasn't alone. He'd brought kittens along and they were all licking him.

Neal attempted to lift a hand to stroke one of them, but he couldn't lift it. What kind of lousy dream includes the sensation of ropes cutting into your wrists? This was just a dream, Neal reminded himself firmly. He could will those bounds to disappear.

But after a couple of minutes of focused concentration, they were as tight as ever. His dream was turning into a nightmare. There was a leaden ache in his stomach which showed no signs of disappearing either.

Neal slowly pieced together the fragments of his memory. The interminable trek through the rainforest. Had Peter managed to elude the ghasts? Neal hadn't seen him since the attack. Maybe Peter had found a wormhole and was able to escape. He was already back in Arkham, safe with El. Neal let his mind rest on that thought. What happened to him didn't seem so important now . . .

The gash on his forehead didn't hurt as much. That was a positive. He supposed eventually he should wake up. If he opened his eyes, Betelgeuse and the kittens would vanish and he'd be left with a pack of ghasts. Not the most pleasant sight, but it had to be done. Neal roused his sluggish eyelids and cracked a peek.

He blinked again. This was no ghast in front of him. Plainly he was still dreaming.

On the ground next to his head was a mouse-sized creature staring at him with enormous eyes. It looked more like a lemur than a rodent with ginger-colored fur and a minuscule button nose. It jumped onto Neal's face and began licking industriously at a cut under his eye. He could feel the paws of a second one on his forehead, also licking a wound. Neal decided to relax and enjoy the moment. It could be worse. He could be having nightmares about nightgaunts. The tongue action of the lemurs was incredibly soothing.

He counted five animals but there might be more. They weren't just licking his head. He could see others working on his other injuries. Neal let his eyes drift over his surroundings. He was lying on his right side, still trussed. No windows but the stone walls appeared to be covered in a green slimy substance that glowed faintly. It did little to dispel the murky gloom of his prison but Neal could make out the details well enough.

The stone floor was littered with bones. Large, small, all picked clean.

"Those are ghast bones. The remains of Sornoth's feasts."

"Who said that?" Neal scanned his cell as much as he was able. He appeared to be alone except for the lemurs.

One of them jumped down on the floor and peered into his eyes. "I did."

Neal didn't think it was polite to argue, but the lemur's lips weren't moving. Somehow the words just formed inside Neal's mind. Was he dreaming or hallucinating? He felt like he'd landed inside a Walt Disney movie. The lemurs resembled Cinderella's mice. Was Neal in a campy version of The Jungle Book where he was Mowgli and Cinderella had sent her mice to help him? The lemurs were scampering about but instead of making a dress, they were working on him. He must be in worse shape than he thought to be comforted by that.

"You're going too fast." The lemur licked his nose in an apparent bid for attention. "I can't follow your thoughts."

Neal started to drift off again but the lemur wouldn't stop licking his nose. "Are you inside my head?" Neal asked.

"That's right!" The lemur rubbed its nose against his cheek. "We can read each other's thoughts."

That proved it. He was definitely hallucinating. Still, the lemurs were a lot better than the terrifying visions of the abyss he used to dream about over the summer or the grim reality of ghasts. Neal decided to play along for as long as his hallucination would let him. "Where am I?"

The lemur told him about an ancient city called H'nir and the planet they were on, Merope. Amazing what stories his imagination was inventing. He'd been reading about Merope in the vault. That must have been the inspiration of his dream. The lemur called itself a shilka. The bushbabies Neal had seen where chittaks. The chittaks had contacted the shilkas to help him. Since his nose-licking friend seemed to know so much, Neal asked him about Peter. The shilka informed him that Peter was with Phineas, and they were coming to get him. Phineas, of course. He would dream of Phineas. Neal had seen the poster about him on the bulletin board.

Neal tried to picture his loft, his office, but the memories were fading. A distant world that no longer existed. The pain in his stomach was lessening. It too was hollow. Without meaning. Like his head. He no longer felt anxious. Just sleepy. The shilka was telling him about how Peter and Phineas were coming to rescue him.

"Good. 'Cause you know . . . I insist on a . . . happy ending."

When next he awoke he was dumbfounded to see the shilkas still there. Only now there were fewer of them. A recurring hallucination? Was this how his mind coped? Neal no longer ached as much but he had no energy, not even to flex his wrists.

The shilkas continued their ministrations. As hallucinations go, they were the most entertaining he'd had in quite a while.

"Where's Peter? I thought you said he and Phineas would rescue me? I don't want to complain, but I'm ready. Any time now would be good."

One of them peered anxiously at him. "Soon. You mustn't give up hope."

"You don't seem scared of me. Don't you think I'm awfully big?"

"You're not the first of your kind we've seen."

"You're referring to Phineas?"

The shilka gave a series of high-pitched squeaks. Was that laughter? "He doesn't look like you at all." It flashed an image into Neal's mind.

"Thaddeus?" Neal blurted incredulously. "You know Thaddeus?"

"Is that what you call him? He didn't seem to understand us, but he was here for three sunrises before Phineas rescued him. Did he tell you about us?"

Neal shook his head. "Thaddeus is dead now," he whispered.

"Did Sornoth kill him?"

"Who is Sornoth?" Another image flashed into his mind. A huge black leopard. It was gnawing on a ghast in between low rumbles. When it lifted his head Neal saw vicious fangs like on a saber-toothed tiger. Was there such a thing as a saber-toothed leopard? In his dreamworld there was. The leopard opened his mouth and let out a roar. It was the same roar that Neal had heard in the forest, but now deafeningly loud. Neal shook with fear. He longed to hide, run, anything to get away.

"You understand now. That is Sornoth. The evil that haunts Merope. From him no one is safe."

"But this can't be right. I'm dreaming of The Jungle Book. In the movie, the leopard is my friend. He's my protector, my mentor. He wouldn't hurt me. You must be referring to the tiger, Shere Khan, not Bagheera."

The shilka approached closer till its nose almost touched Neal's. Its dark eyes bored into his. "I see your images. My thoughts are being translated into something you can understand. You are not dreaming. This is a not a fantasy. It's real and Sornoth will come for you. We wish we could keep him away but we cannot. You'll have to face him alone."

Another roar blasted Neal, much louder than ever before. Its rumbling aftershocks reverberated off the walls of the cell. Frantic to muffle the sound, Neal struggled to shield his ears with his hands, but he was still bound. The frightened squeaks of the shilkas were an alarm call. They scurried off to dart into a chink in the stone wall.

One lingered at the crack and turned back to look at him. "Don't give up. We'll be back!" Then it too vanished.

It had to be bad if even your hallucinations fled. Neal strained anxiously to hear any sounds, but his cell had grown quiet. Too quiet. Was this to be his fate? Dinner for a leopard? He could hear Mozzie's voice in his head. "Take careful notes of all your experiences." Sorry, Mozz, you really don't want to know.

His heart hammering, he attempted to twist his head behind him. A dark opening led into a narrow corridor. Neal tried in vain to flop onto his other side to face the entrance, but he was too weak.

A low rumble in the corridor. Two incandescent golden eyes shone in the darkness. Soft thuds of massive paws.

Sornoth.

His shaggy black fur was streaked with gray. As he stalked into the cell, he emitted a roar so guttural, it hurt Neal's ears. His fangs glinted like sabers in the obscurity of the cell.

Sornoth slunk toward him, his ears flattened against his head. The heavy dark sound of his breathing robbed Neal of any will to resist. Nightmare, hallucination, delirium? Neal was beyond terror with a fear that previously he'd only experienced in the abyss.

Sornoth approached within inches of him, sniffing Neal's head, his back. The beast smelled of decay.

With a snarl he leaped over Neal to crouch directly in front of him. Pausing only for an instant, he seized Neal's left side in his jaws and clamped down.

Razor-sharp stabs sliced through him. Then nothing. No pain. Was this shock? Neal's breathing slowed as he stared into the face of Sornoth. An icy paralysis froze his limbs. It couldn't end like this. Not with Sornoth.

The shilkas said Peter and Phineas were coming. Into Sornoth's trap? Neal fought the encroaching darkness to focus his thoughts. Peter wouldn't be able to hear them, but it was all he could do. Peter . . . Stay away . . .

Gilman Townhouse. November 15, 1975. Saturday morning.

"Do you believe Lavinia?" Sara asked. Elizabeth and Mozzie knew Lavinia better than her. She was willing to rely on their judgment.

Sara had no basis to contradict Lavinia's claim that Neal and Peter had been stranded on the planet Merope. Apparently the only person who could save them was a shapeshifter named Phineas Dittlesworth. El knew who he was—an ornithologist at Oxford University. He was scheduled to give a lecture next week at Miskatonic University. First a librarian, now an Oxford professor. Just how many shapeshifters were walking among them? Did Meropians have a particular fondness for academic settings? Should a test be given to all faculty members to determine their genetic makeup? What test would work?

Mozzie had been uncharacteristically silent during Lavinia's explanation. As for herself, she'd just had her brain probed, then been told her friends had been abducted to an alien planet, all the while sipping emerald-colored wine. Sara prided herself on maintaining her cool no matter what, but this was testing her fortitude to the limit.

El was plainly shaken. She tried to put a positive spin to Lavinia's incredible tale, saying it was better than hearing Peter and Neal had been run over by a truck.

"I've never known Lavinia to be wrong," Mozzie declared. "Cryptic as quantum field theory? Of course. Mysterious as a black hole? Obviously. But to my knowledge she's never lied. And what little she divulges has invariably been proven correct."

"But she didn't say Professor Dittlesworth would be able to rescue them," El pointed out. "Simply that he was their best hope. When we grilled her for more information, her uncertainty became apparent. She kept referring to Thaddeus and what happened to him. That doesn't inspire me with any sense of relief."

"Did anyone else find it curious that she referred to Neal's former advisor?" Sara asked. "Lavinia seemed to be implying that she hoped Neal didn't wind up in a coma like him. Does that mean Thaddeus was spirited away to Merope too?"

"I hadn't considered that," El said. "There were rumors that Thaddeus had succumbed to vault madness. Peter told me Lavinia had also mentioned that as the probable cause."

"Do you believe in vault madness?" Mozzie asked.

"No," said El firmly. "I examined the evidence and studied the autopsy results for all the suspected cases. There has to be a physiological cause. We simply haven't uncovered it yet. In Thaddeus's case I'm concerned what role algolnium may have had in his coma."

Thaddeus, like Neal and Peter, was a carrier of the rare element. No one brought up the possibility that Neal and Peter might fall into a similar state, but the possibility was real. Sara thought about all the hours Neal and Peter spent in the vault.

"Lavinia was probably using vault madness as a smokescreen," Mozzie said, taking off his glasses to polish the lenses with his handkerchief. "It's evident that she has no intention of disclosing anything more than what she views to be absolutely essential. It's what we've all grown to expect from her." He sighed heavily. Was there a touch of the would-be Romeo in his expression? Neal had told her that Mozzie was attempting to date Lavinia. Now that he knew she was a shapeshifting alien, she must be more alluring than ever.

"Still, we should be buoyed by the amount of information she bestowed upon us," he said, rousing himself. "Neal and Peter aren't facing the challenges alone. The forces at work are not all evil. We've been privileged to become the confidants of a species from another world. Let us pause for a moment and reflect on that. How can we help but feel confident this will end well?"

Hyperbole aside, Mozzie did provide Sara with a measure of optimism. Even El was smiling wistfully at his words. But Sara was not the sort to sit quietly and let others assume command. She had work to do.

"I have a meeting scheduled with Diana later this morning," she told them. "Originally I'd planned to discuss the circumstances surrounding Laban Shrewsbury's death. How much, if any, of this should I tell her? Shouldn't we let her know what we suspect? She's been told about the previous wormholes. I realize I can't mention anything about Lavinia or Merope, but should I inform her we suspect Neal and Peter were sucked into a wormhole?"

"Diana doesn't know anything about the algolnium Neal and Peter have," El reminded her. "Even if you told her about Lavinia, I doubt she'd believe you. I saw her turn into my colleague in front of my eyes and still doubt it really happened. You should consider your career. You don't want to lose your standing with the police department." She chuckled wearily. "I sound exactly like Neal did a couple of months ago when he was seeing ghasts but no one else was. He feared he was schizophrenic. I now have much more sympathy for why he was so reticent to share his experiences."

Sara nodded sympathetically. She hadn't given Neal enough credit for opening up to her. He must have been concerned she'd brand him a lunatic.

"In any case, what help can the police provide?" Mozzie asked. "It's not like they can fly off to Merope."

"No, but they can keep searching for them," El said sharply. Her raw emotions were reflected in her voice. "I'm doing my best to believe that Lavinia's right. Dittlesworth will somehow manage to bring them home. But what condition will they be in? Where will they arrive? When we asked Lavinia, all she would say was that she expected it to be soon. Don't we want the police to be on the alert, actively looking for them? They could rematerialize on a highway or in the Miskatonic River." When her voice began to quaver, she stopped to swallow and take a breath.

Sara reached out and grasped her hand. "Leave it to me. I'll make sure Diana gets the message."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Diana was in a meeting with Captain Hughes when Sara arrived at the police station. By now everyone knew her. The sympathetic desk sergeant allowed her to sit by Diana's desk to wait.

There weren't many detectives around. Jones was out on patrol. With no one to talk to, Sara's thoughts kept returning to Neal. What was he doing? She longed to be with him and Peter, no matter how dangerous it was. She and Mozzie should form a club. Fate was squeezing them out of the action and it needed to stop now.

It was so unfair. She was the adventurer, not Neal. He was no Clint Eastwood or Bruce Lee. He might charm a princess with his good lucks and understated wit, but he'd never star in a western or take down the bad guys with rapid karate chops. He needed her.

Which raised the question, what kind of movie would Neal be in? She looked around. The captain's door was still closed. No telling how much longer Diana would be. To distract herself, Sara began to sort through appropriate movies for Neal. She was an expert on movies, after all. She often filled in for the movie critic at the paper when he was on vacation.

Neal was a natural for Dustin Hoffman's role in The Graduate or perhaps Jimmy Stewart in Arsenic and Old Lace. A romantic lead? Definitely. With those blue eyes and disarming smile, he'd have the women lined up just like his students. Let's see . . . Ryan O'Neal in Love Story. Neal would have been so much better in that part. Robert Redford's role in The Great Gatsby? He could have played either Gatsby or Nick Carraway. Perhaps James Bond. The female spies would find him irresistible. Of course, he'd have to let her dispatch all the villains.

Because clearly they were meant to be together. He was the cerebral John Steed. She was Emma Peel. He wasn't supposed to be off on a distant planet with her grounded on Earth.

Sara sniffed and reached into her bag for a tissue. Diana couldn't see her like this. She'd misunderstand. Sara was the tough reporter who'd been aced out of an assignment, not an emotional wreck worrying about her—

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Diana said, striding over.

Sara quickly stashed her tissue in her bag and composed herself. Sara Pabodie, hard-nosed journalist, was once more present and in control of the situation. "I assume there's no news to report?"

"That's right. Have you discovered anything?"

Sara fed her the agreed-upon account that Mozzie and El feared the men had been sucked into another wormhole.

Diana wasn't surprised. She must have already suspected as much. Sara didn't reveal where the wormhole had formed and before Diana could question her further, changed the subject to the Shrewsburys.

Diana had been true to her word and had researched the circumstances surrounding Laban Shrewsbury's death in June of 1931. "The fire was believed to have been deliberately set because the blaze took hold so quickly. Shrewsbury was the only one home at the time. In 1925, his son Thaddeus was a graduate student at Harvard." Diana paused and pursed her lips. "The investigating team believes that Laban may have set the blaze himself as an act of suicide."

"Why would he have killed himself?" The possibility added a new wrinkle to the line Sara was pursuing.

"Laban's wife died in 1929 from pneumonia when he was away on an expedition. Thaddeus admitted that at the time of Laban's death he was estranged from his father. The investigator made a note that Thaddeus faulted Laban for having neglected his wife. The police interviewed several of Laban's colleagues who corroborated that the deceased had minimal contact with his wife for several years. It was a classic case of abandonment to pursue his career. A couple of them expressed the opinion that Laban might have been overwhelmed with remorse and decided to end his life."

"Who identified the body?"

"A fellow archaeologist at the university."

"Was there anything unusual in the personal effects?"

Diana checked the file in front of her. "There was a note that his journals had been transferred to the university library vault in 1929 when he returned from his last expedition. Laban was wearing a pendant at the time of the fire. That proved helpful to the colleague who identified him. Laban had been so badly burned, his features were almost unrecognizable. The colleague remembered having seen the pendant on him."

Sara's breath quickened. "Do you have a photo of it?"

"Documentation back then was not up to our standards." Diana frowned as she scanned the file. "There's no photo. The pendant was described as a small bronze disk. One of the detectives questioned the colleague about it because it looked ancient. He thought it might be valuable and wondered if a botched robbery had been the cause of the fire."

"It sounds a little like the pendant that Neal was wearing when he was found on the streets of Arkham as a child," Sara said, musing aloud. "I wonder if it was Thaddeus who gave it to him."

"It's possible," Diana agreed. "All of Laban's personal effects were turned over to Thaddeus. Do you know if he ever commented about the pendant to Neal?"

"I'm sure he didn't," Sara said, "but there is one link. Neal had given me a photograph to research which Thaddeus had left him in his will. In the photograph a young man is shown wearing Neal's pendant. I've been able to identify him as Laban's assistant, Andrew Phelan. The photograph was taken in the early 1930s. It shows Andrew with a little girl who is probably his daughter. We've speculated that Andrew could be Neal's grandfather and the little girl his mother."

Diana was rapidly jotting down notes. "Thaddeus could have given Andrew the pendant . . . perhaps as a memento of Laban. These cold cases are such a challenge," she added, her tone softening. "With so many of the people now deceased, discovering the truth about Neal's parents will be difficult. He's lucky to have your help."

"I wish I could give him better news. You'd mentioned you've been digging through old records too. Did you have any luck in finding other starfish-related cases?"

Diana nodded, looking pleased at the question. "I've been able to find records for a similar crime wave. In 1931, Boston experienced a rash of murders. A serial killer was suspected to be present, with carved starfish left at the crime scenes."

"That sounds just like what happened in Arkham!"

"It's almost an exact parallel. The starfish disappeared from the evidence room like ours did. The police tried to cover up the mysterious circumstances. In our case we were able to use surveillance cameras to prove the starfish simply vanished. They didn't have the ability back then. The Boston chief of police believed that the killer might have an accomplice within the police ranks who was stealing the starfish. The killer was never found but after a string of seven murders, there were no more incidents."

Sara pondered for a moment. "1931 was the year Laban died. If an open wormhole was letting ghasts enter Boston, there may have been one in Arkham as well. Could ghasts be involved with the fire which killed Laban?"

"It's tempting to think there is a link," Diana agreed. "How does this square with what you're finding out about Andrew Phelan?"

"His wife gave birth in March of that year. In June Laban was killed. That same month Andrew quit his job at Harvard, and vanished from public records."

She and Diana spun possibilities for a few minutes, but they would have to remain mere speculation until there was more evidence unearthed. Sara hadn't asked Lavinia about the Shrewsburys. Now that Sara had submitted to her bizarre test, Lavinia might be more receptive.

Sara decided to visit her in the library. She had to keep busy doing something. Were there ghasts on Merope? Lavinia hadn't specified what dangers they faced. The high priest at Leng had told Neal he'd call for him. Was that what had happened? Still more questions for Lavinia.

"He's tougher than he looks." Sara looked up to see Diana watching her, sympathy in her eyes.

"He's an academic not a warrior." Sara pointed out. It was disconcerting to see that El's stress was rubbing off on her. Neal was a friend and a colleague, but there was no need to become emotional.

"Don't sell him short," Diana retorted.

"That wasn't my—" Sara said, dismayed she'd been misunderstood.

"I've seen him tackle ghasts and emerge victorious," Diana said, cutting short Sara's fumbled response. "Peter served in the Navy. Call it luck, call it skill—hell, call it Neal's psychic powers—but they'll be okay. They've gone through two wormholes that I know of and returned unscathed. My hunch is that they'll be all right." Diana's expression implied that she suspected Sara knew more than she'd revealed but she didn't press her.

What did Diana really think was going on? Sara wished she had her confidence. Hers was evaporating by the moment.

Diana glanced at her watch. "It's almost lunchtime. I could use a break. You free?"

"How about the coffeehouse?" Sara asked, grateful for the suggestion. "It's close. Jack's added some new sandwiches to the menu." Maybe something positive could come out of the day. She had yet to speak to Diana about Jack. This would give her the opening she needed.

Neal and Peter were beyond her help. They were forced to confront whatever dangers existed on Merope with only an unproven shapeshifter to assist them. Lavinia had transformed herself into one of El's colleagues. Sara hoped Phineas had a more useful trick up his sleeve.

Neal and Peter needed a protector. Someone the size of King Kong with the heart and skill of Superman. Was Phineas up to the task?

Notes: When Mozzie first dubbed an unknown cybercriminal Azathoth, he linked him to the Outer Gods of Cthulhu Mythos mythology—amorphous, omnipotent beings. The Arkham Round Table decided it was time for a demotion. No longer gods, the Ymar are a hostile race of aliens. They're the subject of my blog post this week: "Messages to Azathoth: Gods No Longer."

In this chapter a new species is introduced—the shilkas. There's a pin of what they look like on the Pinterest board. They join chittaks as animals friendly to humans and their allies. You can read about all the creatures in Arkham Files in my blog post, "Arkham Files Bestiary." The alien races are described in "Alien Worlds and Races in Arkham Files." The posts have been updated through this chapter.

Next week's chapter is set entirely on Merope as Peter and Phineas arrive at the fortress of H'nir and attempt to rescue Neal. Shilkas will also play a role.

Thanks for reading and your comments!

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board at the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website