Chapter 6: Stardust and Starlings
Arkham Police Station. October 1, 1975. Wednesday night.
It was a scene Neal had grown accustomed to. He and Peter were sitting across from an infuriated Diana in the interrogation room of the police station while she decided what to do with them.
"Who do you think you are? Batman and Robin? And don't you dare answer that." She crossed her arms and scowled at them for a moment. "Let me paraphrase what you just said. You claim you were trying to spare me embarrassment by not notifying me before you illegally entered private property. Oh, thank you so much. Are you offering to explain to Captain Hughes why I allow lawbreakers to consult on our cases?" She pointed her finger warningly at them. "He's not as tolerant as I am. He doesn't have my sweet, mild-mannered disposition." She fixed her eyes on Neal. "You, I'll deal with later. First I'll try my luck with the more rational member of your gang."
The police had shown up within a few minutes of Neal and Peter being sucked through the crystal. They found two men entering the house and arrested them for trespassing, but there was no sign of the priests or the first three men there. The soapstone starfish she'd dusted for fingerprints. It was now lying on her desk in a plastic evidence bag. It was probably the only thing saving them from being locked up on general principles.
"You claim you found this in the house?"
"That's right," Peter replied smoothly. "It was in a corner of the room." Neal noticed he didn't explain which room. "We suspect it's connected with the ritual the priest was performing."
"You assert they held you prisoner, but then what happened? Don't try to tell me they simply walked off and left you there? Isn't it long overdue that you let me know what's really going on?"
That they poofed into another world? Peter looked at Neal and raised an eyebrow. Neal nodded. It was time. "This may be hard to accept," Peter cautioned.
"I'm not believing you now," she retorted, "so you might as well give it a try."
Together they led her through the sequence of events. Not only in the house, but also Neal's experience at the church a couple of weeks earlier. To Diana's credit, she heard them out. She laid her sarcasm temporarily aside as she listened to the tale. They also discussed algolnium. The only parts they left out by unspoken agreement were any mention of Lavinia or the algolnium within Neal.
At the conclusion, Diana had filled out several pages of notes with her scribbles. "So, to confirm, you disappeared through the wall onto another planet with multiple moons where the laws of physics didn't work. A dragon-like creature attacked you, wounding Peter. Neal found the starfish in a corner after which tentacle-faced rodents called zoogs poured through a skylight. You fled back through the vortex, which closed shortly after you reemerged."
Neal eyed her warily. Did she actually believe them?
"You further described an earlier trip through the same sort of vortex or wormhole. That time Neal was by himself. He'd entered—illegally— the Church of St. Jude after having spotted a similar dragon circling the church steeple. In both instances a ruby crystal apparently acted as a gateway and sucked you into another reality. You now speculate the ghasts, the zoogs, the starfish, and the dragons all come from this other world."
"Or worlds," Peter corrected.
She rolled her eyes. "Thank you. That makes it so much more credible." The sarcasm was reemerging. Neal predicted any moment the volcano seething within her would erupt. "And this new element"—she glanced at her notes—"algolnium. It's somehow tied to the wormhole and space creatures invading our peaceful town."
"We believe the starfish are damaged somehow in transport through the wormhole," Neal added helpfully.
"Whereas you and Peter are miraculously healed by your journeys? Why was that again?"
Peter frowned slightly. "You know we haven't discovered the answer. The explanation may lie in that we originated on Earth whereas the starfish came from who knows where."
"I've already told you I never considered myself a fan of science fiction, but faced with disappearing starfish, a ghast I've seen with my own eyes, and the other reports coming in—"
"What other reports?" Neal demanded.
"Of weird rats or opossums," she admitted. "Jake in animal control has received several calls from citizens who claim to have seen rat-like creatures with worms on their faces. The sizes range from a rat to something about the size of a housecat. Since I've apparently become the de facto expert for anything bizarre happening in Arkham—and you know how thrilled that makes me—Jake brings me the reports. The observers only had brief glimpses. The descriptions vary and I'm sure are colored by the observers' imaginations, but they contain similarities to the zoogs you described."
"When was the earliest report?" Neal asked.
"Three weeks ago. Unfortunately, no one has obtained a photo. The sightings have all been at night under low light conditions. The observers swear they weren't drinking, but . . ." She shrugged. "How dangerous are zoogs?"
"Honestly, we don't know," Neal said. "The only information I've found is from the Necronomicon. The author reported they can be vicious, particularly toward cats."
"Could they have rabies?" she demanded.
"Or something worse?" Peter shrugged. "Until we catch one and examine it, I'd say all bets are off."
"How about the weasel who called me earlier this evening? He reported you two had gotten trapped inside the house. Who was he?"
"Didn't he give you his name?" Neal said, trying his best to look guileless. "We shouted to him and asked him to call you." Close enough to the truth. She'd assume they were calling out through the window, not that he'd entered the house with them. It was a deception Mozzie would approve. Neal was starting to get the hang of being a con man. And he liked the feeling. "Why didn't you ask him?"
"I did, and he refused to answer. Jones already traced the call. Public phone booth, worse luck." She turned to Peter. "The book that Neal saw the ghast carry to the house this afternoon . . . You saw it too?"
He nodded. "I believe it was the same book we later examined in the locked room."
"And the name that's on the cover, Aza . . . tom?" She glanced down at her notes.
"Azathoth," Neal corrected. "That's the name of a deity who's been associated with cult worship. The priest in the monastery at Leng said he was Azathoth's servant."
"And it's not just the name itself which is intriguing," Peter added. "There's a small symbol on the frontispiece that's identical to one of the glyphs in the starfish script. The large illustration of the writhing ball of tentacles matches descriptions of Azathoth in old texts. The book appears to be a registry of cult members."
"You're telling me we may have a cult in twentieth century Arkham that worships an ancient god?" she asked incredulously.
Peter nodded somberly. "That's exactly what we're saying, and it's no laughing matter. That same symbol was found on the armillary sphere that Neal saw in his vision. It's now in the possession of Dr. Dante Atwood. He's a professor of —"
"I've heard of him," she interrupted. "I worked on a security detail for a book signing he held. I was so impressed, I bought his book. It's called The Brane Game. The man's a genius at expressing complicated concepts in simple terms. He was mobbed like a rock star at the store." She paused a moment as she considered their words. "Are you consulting with Professor Atwood on these events?"
Peter nodded. "Professor Dexter, the head of the Chemistry Department at Miskatonic, is also assisting us."
She jotted down an extra note. "These references, particularly Professor Atwood, will be a help when I make my report to Captain Hughes. You speculate Azathoth may be represented by the symbol. What about the starfish carvings? Are they also meant to represent Azathoth?"
"It's certainly possible," Peter agreed.
Diana studied them for a moment. "If you hadn't entered that wormhole or whatever it was, you could have easily been killed by that gang. And, speaking as a member of the police force, that's not something I'm very happy about. Plus, for some unknown reason, I find the two of you rather likeable. So do me the courtesy of alerting me in advance the next time you set off on some harebrained scheme. You have no business dealing with the thugs that are involved in this crime spree."
Diana continued her lecture for several minutes before letting them escape. She promised to share what she learned from interrogating the suspects.
It was close to midnight by the time they'd left the police station. Neal was ready to call it a night and head home. Peter looked equally drained. As they walked down Pine Street, Neal spotted a man lurking in the shadows next to one of the houses.
"What do you see?" Peter asked in an undertone. "Another ghast? A zoog?"
Neal sighed in relief when he saw a familiar shape emerge. "False alarm." He waited for Mozzie to approach. "What are you trying to do? Give us a heart attack?"
"And why weren't you at the police station?" Peter demanded. "We had to cover for you."
"Me, at a police station?" he squeaked. "You must be suffering the after-effects of your ordeal. What happened?"
"If you'd joined us at the police station, you would have known," Peter growled. "El's expecting me. You'll have to wait till morning."
"I'll sit in a corner. You won't even know I'm there." He lifted a canvas bag he was carrying and pointed at it suggestively. "I brought liquid refreshments to loosen your tongues. I'd planned to go to Neal's but your place will do nicely."
Peter groaned. "It's late. El's probably already in bed . . ."
"Think nothing of it. We can dispense with formality and meet in your bedroom. I won't mind. I'm sparing you the bother of repeating your tale. You really should be more appreciative of my thoughtfulness."
Neal did his best to discourage Mozzie, but he'd latched onto a midnight chat like a bull terrier. Mozzie wasn't married. He considered June and Neal his family. Now, he apparently also wished to adopt Peter and El.
"Oh, very well," Peter grudgingly agreed. "But you need to stay on the stoop till I check with her. Neal can come in."
"That's okay," Neal interjected quickly. "I'll keep Mozzie company outside."
When they arrived at Peter's townhouse, Neal and Mozzie waited on the wrought-iron bench outside the front door.
"Any chance you could show me how to pick locks?" Neal asked once Peter had entered the house.
Mozzie looked at him curiously. "Why?"
"I really don't know," he admitted. "It just looked like a cool thing to be able to do."
He nodded in approval. "Good answer. And with your slim fingers, you'll have no difficulty. Our lessons will begin tomorrow. Come to my office after your classes are over for the day."
"Diana was quite complimentary to you. You should change your opinion of the police or at least make an exception for her."
"What? You told them about me?" Mozzie began scanning the bushes as if cops were lurking behind them.
"We feigned ignorance of your name, but later on we referred to you in connection with the armillary sphere. Diana served on a security detail at one of your book signings. She called you a rock star," Neal added enticingly.
"She did?" Mozzie thawed noticeably.
"Not only that. She bought a copy of your latest book and praised it. I bet she'd be thrilled if you'd autograph it for her."
The door swung open as Peter reappeared at the doorway. "You can come in. El apparently is delighted to have our home invaded."
She was standing in the hallway to greet them when they walked in, barefoot and wearing a colorful kimono. Mozzie kissed her hand. "Any more of those delicious brownies?"
She laughed. "I'll check the freezer. There may be some I could thaw."
"Oh, he won't be staying long enough," said Peter hurriedly.
"Tosh, Peter, where are your manners? For El, I'll happily stay all night."
A few minutes later, they were sitting at the dining room table. Mozzie uncorked a bottle of wine. El set out glasses and a plate of cheese and crackers. The brownies were thawing in the oven.
Peter related their experience, with Neal supplementing it at times. No secrets from El was a rule Peter had made early on, so they laid it all out. When Mozzie heard what had happened, he was inconsolable for not having been locked up with them.
"I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode," Neal admitted, "but then I've felt like that a lot once I started having the dreams."
"Rod Serling was unusually prescient, a giant of our times," Mozzie noted. "His death earlier this year was cause for great lamentation. He would have realized that what you experienced was a journey into non-Euclidean space, a realm where our laws of physics don't apply and time itself is bent. Space is curved. Geometry is best represented by fractals." He turned to Peter. "What is your opinion of wormholes now?"
Peter hesitated. "I've made no secret of my skepticism, but in this case, a wormhole seems the only possible explanation."
Mozzie nodded his approval. "Like Sherlock, you agree that when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever's left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. There's no longer any doubt that Neal actually traveled to other worlds that night in the church. Peter has now also witnessed the Plateau of Leng. Both of you saw shantaks, a dragon, and an invasion of zoogs. To have two people experience a simultaneous hallucination of such complexity is simply not possible."
"But we're left with still more questions," El said. "Who locked you in the room? Could it have been the zoog?"
"An intriguing possibility," Mozzie said, reaching for another slice of cheese. "That hypothesis needs to be tested. Are zoogs intelligent beings? What are they capable of?"
"And was that really a dragon we saw or something else?" Peter asked. "We need to research it in the Necronomicon. All the other creatures have been there. Perhaps it is, too. Von Junzt didn't include an illustration of a shantak, but we may find it there as well."
Neal took out his notepad and a pencil. While the others talked, he set to work sketching the dragon and shantaks. When they were done, he passed them to Peter. "Are they how you remembered them?"
Peter nodded. "You should draw as many of the scenes as you can, particularly the view out the window and the ruby crystal. Your sketches will be the only evidence we have."
El rose to reexamine Peter's neck. "What concerns me most is that gash you had. You say it was raw and blistered, yet now there is nothing there. How can that be explained? Do you feel any discomfort?"
"No." Peter rubbed his hand over the location and shook his head. "It feels perfectly normal."
"I still want to x-ray it tomorrow."
"It's similar to the wounds Neal said he experienced when he was drawn inside the crystal at the church," Peter said. "You told us how creatures had gnawed at your flesh, but the injuries disappeared when you were ejected onto the Plateau of Leng as if you'd been miraculously healed."
Mozzie nodded complacently. "That conforms with my hypothesis that when you pass through a wormhole, a ghost image of your physical form remains behind. Upon your return, your essence reunites with this ghost image. In layman's terms you rematerialize."
Peter rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I warned you about applying Star Trek concepts to what's happening."
"I was doing you a favor by ignoring you. I predict that many of the concepts used on Star Trek will become reality in our generation."
Neal pondered Mozzie's words. If he were right, a ghost image of Neal would have had to be present on the plateau. How else could he have been healed? Had Neal traveled to Leng before and now didn't remember it? He had no memory of his early childhood. Had he been at Leng? That was not something he cared to speculate about. Or was there something in the wormhole itself that had the power to heal? That sensation of being gnawed he'd felt . . . What if that wasn't a destructive force?
"Your Star Trek rationale doesn't explain why Neal and Peter were able to access the wormhole in the first place," El objected. "The priest clearly felt you'd be killed when you hit the crystal."
"Like when antimatter collides with ordinary matter," Mozzie interjected.
"I suppose so," El said. "But for some reason they didn't."
"It must have either been the algolnium within Neal or the amulet which saved them."
Peter nodded. "I suspect I entered the wormhole because I was holding onto Neal. When the priest flung him into the crystal, I tried to pull him out. Instead we were both sucked in. We didn't explain the circumstances to Diana but simply said we both entered the wormhole. She knows about algolnium now. Before very long, if the element is officially recognized, the world will know as well."
"Altogether a most fascinating experiment," Mozzie said, refilling his glass with wine. "Such a shame the wormhole closed before I could examine it. I wonder where the next one will appear. As long as there are zoogs in Arkham, we know they must have a portal nearby."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Keller had parked his pickup on a side street off Birch Street where they could keep track of traffic to the house. Like Keller, Chad slouched down in the seat when the cops arrived. Keller was right to cut the ceremony short. Two squad cars arrived shortly after they left. There was no way to warn the late arrivals. Keller cursed when he saw them being led off in handcuffs. Still they'd gotten three recruits. Not bad for one night.
"How come the intruders didn't explode when they hit the crystal?" Chad asked.
"Hell if I know," Keller rasped. "Azathoth must have granted them passage. But why? I was told that the crystal could only be penetrated by those who were from the other side. Zoogs and ghasts can go back and forth but we can't."
"So the Book of Azathoth is from the other side?"
He nodded. "You're my acolyte. It's time you understand more of what's happening. Our charming friends, the ghasts, bring the book with them. They need to be protected from the outside world so reside within the believers we provide. Like Rusty. You can think of him as an anointed vessel to receive a ghast. He died a martyr for the cause."
Finally. Up to now Keller had been stonewalling Chad's questions. "Why can we see ghasts and others can't?"
"It's the gift of the moon-tree wine. The zoogs make it and bring it with them from the other side."
"And those starfish the ghasts carry? What's their purpose?"
"Ghasts have many outstanding qualities, but brainpower ain't one of them. Supposedly they can only execute the simplest of commands. The writing on those rocks carries the instructions of Azathoth and allows them to execute his will."
"Where does the anointed one receive a ghast?"
"Hey, I can't share all my secrets. But you have one to spill. Why were you staring at that kid? You picked him to go first. What gives?"
"I recognized him. He was in the foster home where I grew up."
"So that's why you were disguising your voice?" Keller eyed him appraisingly. "Good thing you wore a mask. It wouldn't do for them to know who we are." Keller considered for a moment. He had an odd look on his face like he was listening to someone. "What's his name?"
"Neal Carter."
"Are you pals?"
"Me and a nerd like him? You gotta be joking."
"Too bad. We need to know more about him and the wise guy who was with him. They bear watching. We're supposed to keep a low profile but I can make an exception in their case."
"Understood. You want me to act friendly?"
"Let me check around first. I'll decide later."
Chad inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't have a clue how he could become pals with Neal. Not after the way he treated that scrawny wimp in the home. And it wasn't like they could meet in the pool hall. The kid had probably never even held a cue stick.
"Now that the cops suspect something's going on in the house, we can't use it again," Keller said. "But that's not a problem. I already have a new place chosen. The old sanitarium will be ideal. Its location is much more convenient than that dump of a house."
"How so?"
Keller smirked. "I've answered more than enough of your questions for now. But don't get me wrong, you did good. Azathoth is pleased." He reached behind the seat and pulled out a bag. "How about some of that moon-tree wine I'd promised you?"
Miskatonic University. October 2, 1975. Thursday afternoon.
Neal was in his office finishing up his notes for his next day's lecture when he heard a knock on his door. It was Peter, and he came bearing a gift.
He handed Neal a manila folder. "I went by to see Diana and she had the photo ready for you."
Neal had checked with Diana earlier in the day and just like all the starfish left at crime scenes, the carving had disappeared in a poof. "Did Cyrus call you, too?"
Peter nodded. "Any idea why he wants to see us?"
"He's playing it close to the vest. All I know is that Mozzie will also be there."
"Perhaps he's heard back about the algolnium." As they descended the stairs of Wingate Hall, Peter told him what Diana had learned from the men they'd apprehended. "They'd spun a tale of a spiritual leader who was guiding them on the path of salvation. Both men had criminal records, but they said they'd been reformed and were about to join a church. The Church of Starry Wisdom they called it."
Neal stopped dead in his tracks. "I've heard of it."
"You have? Where?"
"I'm sure I read about it in the Necronomicon. When we check on the dragon, I'll try to find the reference. Did Diana know anything about the group?"
"This is the first she's heard of it. Think of it. An obscure cult surviving through the centuries, worshiping Azathoth. Who knows how far back they go? Based on the signatures we saw, it may have even existed in ancient Egypt or Sumer."
When they exited the building, Neal heard his name being called out. Sara was striding across the quad. She waved them a greeting.
"I was just on my way to see you," she said when she caught up. She turned to eye Peter inquisitively, clearly in news-ferret mode. "I hear my FBF may have gotten you both in trouble again?"
"That's a new acronym. Care to translate?" Peter asked.
"Fake boyfriend. Didn't Neal explain? I offered to rescue him from the overly zealous overtures of his female students by pretending to be his girlfriend."
"Just for a few days," Neal hastened to explain.
"That's not the way I remembered it," she countered. "I believe I have a long-term contract till the real thing comes along."
Peter bit back the laugh that threatened to erupt. "Neal didn't describe it in quite those terms, but I'm glad you're willing to put up with him. We're looking forward to you joining us for the concert."
"Don't you think my FBF should explain why the two of you were taken by squad car to the police station last night?"
How had Sara found out about that? Did she have a source at the police station? No matter. She was in for a disappointment. "Sorry, FGF, not happening," Neal said as he and Peter continued to walk toward Derleth Hall.
"Oh, come on," she wheedled. "Just a little snippet? I'll never tell where I heard it."
"You're out of luck," Peter said. "Neal and I both signed confidentiality agreements. Diana would not only have our heads—she'd slap us in jail."
She sighed melodramatically. "Just my luck to fake-fall for someone with ethics."
"How's your career as bartender coming?" Neal asked, hoping to change the subject.
"The tips aren't bad." She filled them in on her undercover role. "The gang activity is on the increase in the wharf district. If I can expose who's behind it I could establish my credentials as an investigative journalist."
"I hope you're being careful," Peter commented. "That's a dangerous assignment you've chosen for yourself."
"You sound like my editor. I'll tell you what I told him. There's not much I'm scared of."
"Oh really?" Neal eyed her skeptically. "I remember an encounter with a pet tarantula."
"I'm talking humans, not spiders, Carter. Besides, who wouldn't be a little jittery at a five-inch long furry leviathan crawling up your back?'
"Two inches, tops," Neal scoffed. "Kate thought it was cute. She said you were . . . " Kate's image flashed in front of him and the words died in his throat. "Sorry," he muttered, unable to remember what he'd intended to say.
"That's your subconscious being kind and refusing to talk about spiders," Sara said, linking her arm through his. "I'm fighting two battles now—being a woman and being young. No one takes me seriously, especially my FBF."
She walked with them to the entrance to Derleth Hall before saying goodbye. "Since you insist on being so unhelpful, I'll have to go elsewhere for my news sources."
"I wonder what she'd think of ghasts?" Neal asked Peter as they jogged upstairs.
"She'd probably be unfazed." Peter shrugged. "We all have something that sets us off. For me, it's scorpions. What does it for you?"
"You mean besides Lavinia? Isn't she enough?"
They found Cyrus and Mozzie waiting for them in the chemistry lab.
"It came through this morning!" Cyrus said excitedly. "The U.S. Committee passed algolnium on to the international body with a recommendation to accept its designation as a new element." He waved the letter in front of them.
"I know of someone who'd love writing it up for the Arkham Gazette," Neal said.
Cyrus raked his hand through his hair causing it to stand on end like Einstein's. "No publicity."
"At the federal government's insistence," added Mozzie. "They want to know more about its properties first. Normally I abhor secret government maneuvers, but in this instance they may be right. We don't want to cause a panic about space aliens walking among us."
"We've already told Diana about the new element," Peter said. "Like everything else revolving around the starfish, she'll treat it as confidential."
"I assume there's no problem with that," Cyrus agreed. "I'd informed university officials and they've been in contact with the government. Despite the government's insistence, it will be hard to keep algolnium a secret." He turned to Peter. "I suspect you won't have any difficulty in obtaining a grant for another expedition to Abydos."
"The thought had already been teasing me," Peter admitted. "If I go, I'll have to persuade my algolnium-sniffer to come along."
"We'll need to go as well," Mozzie declared. "I can free my schedule at a minute's notice."
An expedition to Egypt? Explore tombs, gaze upon Pyramid Texts? If Peter could somehow secure the funding to take a linguist along, Neal was ready to start packing today.
Outside the Miskatonic Football Stadium. October 4, 1975. Saturday evening.
"Where's Neal?" El scanned the crowd. "He should have arrived by now. You don't think he got cold feet, do you?" The parking lot in front of the football stadium was almost filled.
"He'll be here," Peter said confidently. "Sara was probably running late."
"It's not always the woman, you know," El protested. "I don't think you appreciate what a big step this is for Neal."
"He's changing, hon." Peter said, slapping a look of regret on his face. "He's not the same deferential scholar who first approached me at the lecture podium."
"Who, Neal?" El looked incredulous. "If he is, it must be your bad influence." She gave a wave. "There they are!"
Sara like El was wearing a peasant dress and headband. Neal's jeans had holes in the knees and his tie-dyed t-shirt displayed a large peace symbol. Aside from being too clean, they would have easily fit in with the Woodstock crowd. Peter had found his old bellbottoms in a bottom drawer and had trotted out his beloved denim jacket for the occasion.
Neal introduced Sara to El and the two quickly bonded over love beads and Indian bedspread skirts. "Love your fringe vest!" Sara said to El. "Did you wear it at Woodstock?"
"No, I didn't make it to the concert but Peter was there."
"Professor Carter!" Peter turned around to see who was calling Neal. A group of female students were waving at him, urging him over.
"They're from Neal's class," Sara said. "I talked with them when I had to stand in line to see him." She gave Neal a shove. "Go ahead. I'll come over and rescue you in five minutes." She turned to Peter. "I so envy you being at Woodstock." She proceeded to ply him for details of the concert with a thoroughness that made him wonder what her intentions were. She'd promised it was off the record, but would this come back to haunt him?
Seizing an opportunity to change the subject, he asked, "Don't you need to go rescue your FBF?" Neal was by now surrounded by ten women and had been casting frantic glances over in their direction for the past couple of minutes.
Peter watched as Sara strolled over and put an arm around Neal. "She's just what he needs. Someone safe."
El shrugged. "I don't know how safe she is, but you're right he needs her."
Sara must have filled Neal in on what she'd gleaned from Peter on the way back because Neal was full of questions. "Do you have any photos of the hippie anthropologist you were dating?" he asked.
"We weren't actually dating," Peter protested. "Our interest in the concert was purely to conduct scientific research."
"A likely story," El scoffed. "I demand to see photos."
Peter crossed his arms. "Those babies are locked away in a vault so secure no one will ever find them."
El winked at Neal. "That sounds like a challenge to me. Next time he's away on a field trip, Sara, you must join Neal and me. You can put your investigative skills to good use as we turn the townhouse upside down."
"Fat lot of good it will do you, " he scoffed. "A word to the wise: you don't want to broadcast your future heist to your mark."
"All part of our devious plan," Neal said, "to lull you into a false sense of security. Those photos will be found."
The concert was as glorious as they'd expected. Afterward no one was ready to go home. Instead they headed to Dorian's Coffeehouse for drinks. As they walked over, Sara attempted to sing "Woodstock." What she lacked in musicality she made up for in enthusiasm. Peter suspected she was deliberately misquoting the lyrics to get a rise out of Neal.
"It's stardust, not starlings," Neal complained for what must have been the fourth time. "Crosby, Stills, and Nash were singing we're all made of stardust, not starlings."
"You sure about that?" she challenged. "I have excellent hearing and I'm positive they sang about starlings. Peter, what's your opinion?"
"You may be made of starlings, but the rest of us are stardust, right Neal?"
Neal grinned back at him. "You'll get no arguments from me."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Dorian's was almost as packed as the concert had been. "How did Sara manage to wrangle us a table?" Peter asked.
"She sweet-talked a couple to share a table with another two others." El smiled as she watched Sara place their order at the bar. "She spun a long yarn about it being our anniversary and that she was trying to get Neal to propose. It's a good thing he didn't overhear her."
"That would have killed her chances for ever going on a fake date again." The would-be fiancé was standing in the corner talking with the owner, Jack Dorian. Neal had mentioned he was a friend as well as a fellow artist. Jack appeared to be about Peter's age.
Sara insisted on buying the first round, claiming she needed to practice serving drinks for her undercover work. A few minutes later she came back with a tray of drinks—wine for El and Neal, beer for Peter and herself.
"A fellow beer-drinker," Peter said, raising his glass to her. "You've risen in my esteem."
"Actually I prefer a martini," she admitted, "but they don't have a license to sell hard liquor."
Neal slid into a chair. "Starting without me?"
Sara passed him his glass. "Jack had you buttonholed for quite a while. What did he want?"
"He'd lined up some musicians for tonight, but a couple canceled. He was trying to convince me to fill in." Neal shook his head firmly. "Not happening."
Sara made a face. "You big wus. I'd sing. Jack should have asked me."
Neal snorted. "You'd sing about starlings and drive all the customers away."
"Okay, so I may not know the lyrics, but—"
"—and you can't sing in tune."
"Yeah, there's that, but it's so noisy, no one will hear me anyway." She pretended to pout. "Some fake date you make. Who'll ever believe us, if you don't grant me this one tiny request? Besides, I bet El and Peter have never heard you sing." She turned to them. "Wouldn't you like to hear him?"
"I'd love it," El agreed. She sighed dramatically. "It's all I need to make my evening complete."
"And mine," Peter added, "but Neal told me once he only sang after a sufficient amount of wine. I estimate two glasses will be adequate."
After a combination of wine and much cajoling, Neal agreed to take the stage. Jack supplied him with a guitar. Neal must have sung here frequently despite his disclaimer since many knew him and were yelling songs for him to sing. "Fire and Rain" by James Taylor seemed the most popular.
"They'll never get him to sing that," Sara whispered to them. "It was Kate's favorite song. He told me he couldn't get through it now."
"How about something from the concert?" someone called out.
"Are you crazy?" he said, wide-eyed, "After hearing them perform?"
"Make a ballad out of it!" Sara shouted over the din. "For me, sweetie?"
Peter had to give Sara credit. She knew how to provoke him just enough to have her way. Peter predicted a brilliant success for her as a journalist.
Neal sang "A Long Time Gone" and the crowd loved it. Peter agreed but in light of the events of the past week, wished he'd chosen something more cheerful.
When Neal got up to leave, he was shouted down for an encore. "I'll need some help for this one," he said, scanning the audience. "Any volunteers?"
A few hands went up, but Neal ignored them. "Is that Peter Gilman over there?" he said with a devilish grin. "Yes, I believe it is. Wouldn't you like to hear him?"
El and Sara, laughing, shoved Peter toward the front where Neal could appreciate the full effect of his glare.
"What's the matter, wus?" Neal asked innocently. "You'll like this, I promise." He started strumming and when Peter recognized the tune he smiled his approval. Together they put on an unforgettable performance of Joe Cocker's version of "A Little Help from My Friends." Perhaps it was just the beer, but Peter felt a strong urge to let his sideburns grow long again.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
On Sunday afternoon Neal arrived at the Faculty Club to find the others already present. They'd settled on meeting on Sundays since it was the only day they could guarantee everyone's schedule was free. El was now a regular member of what Mozzie liked to call the Algolnium Web. He claimed he'd coined the name by linking the element to his theory on the cosmic web, but Neal suspected his inspiration had actually been Star Trek's Tholian Web.
"The beast that attacked us was a nightgaunt," Peter reported. "We found its picture in The Necronomicon. The author, Abdul Alhazred, mentioned he'd seen them flying in the night sky over his hometown of Sana'a, Yemen. He encountered one perched on the roof of an abandoned mosque. The beast Alhazred depicted is similar to a dragon with bat-like wings and a long barbed tail."
"Alhazred wrote that nightgaunts differ from dragons in that their skin is smooth and without scales," Neal added. "That tallies with our observations. Nightgaunts are incapable of producing fire. Their barbed tails are poisonous and can inflect painful wounds, as Peter can attest."
Mozzie rotated his glass of wine in his hands. "You've seen nightgaunts at the church and in that non-Euclidean tower chamber. In both cases the ruby crystal was present. It's tempting to hypothesize a connection."
"Gems and dragons . . ." El mused, turning to Peter. "Isn't there a Chinese myth concerning that?"
He nodded. "The flaming pearl. In fact, Chinese dragons are often depicted holding a fiery pearl in their claws or under their chins."
"You mentioned that several of the pages in the book were written in Chinese," El said. "I've been a skeptic as you know, but now with both Neal and Peter having traveled through an apparent wormhole and witnessed this creature on the other side, it doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility to believe that nightgaunts can enter our reality through another portal. Could the source of Chinese dragon myths be nightgaunts?"
"And not just the Chinese myths," Peter pointed out. "Legends about dragons exist in many ancient cultures—Greece, India, Mesopotamia."
"If we assume the ruby crystal acts as a gateway to a wormhole," El said, "the nightgaunts may provide the transport mechanism to deliver the crystal."
Mozzie nodded agreement. "The ruby crystal could be an alien construct which generates a temporary wormhole. That doesn't preclude the existence of more stable wormholes. But focusing for the moment on the transitory ones Neal and Peter experienced, I doubt a mobile device would be able to generate a wormhole for very long. You two were fortunate yours stayed stable long enough for you to escape. I suspect if you'd dallied on the other side, you would have been permanently trapped."
Cyrus had been listening in silence while he gazed with unfocused eyes through the window. Turning back to the others, he said, "If we postulate Neal has been able to enter wormholes because of the algolnium contained within him, don't we need to consider the possibility that Peter also has algolnium?" He turned to El. "Have you tested him?"
Peter and El exchanged startled looks. "I haven't," she acknowledged, "but I should. Tomorrow morning I'll perform a spinal tap."
"And me too?" Mozzie interjected. "Please? My body is yours to conduct whatever experiments you'd like."
"We should all be tested," El asserted. "I'll have a technician perform the surgery on me. Cyrus, are you free Monday morning?"
While they compared schedules, Neal pondered the possibility that his friends could also possess algolnium. Had he infected them? Could it be transmitted through the skin? Was he a walking plague?
Peter broke into his thoughts. "We've agreed that Abdul Alhazred could have had algolnium within him which enabled him to see these creatures from another universe. But if nightgaunts are the inspiration for dragons, many others must have been able to see them as well."
"I've been wondering about that, too," El admitted. "If we accept algolnium formerly was much more abundant, the percentage of the population who carried it within them could have also been much higher. What do you think, Cyrus?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes, a natural attrition of the element could have taken place. As people died, algolnium may have seeped into the earth. It could mask its appearance, making it very difficult to detect."
"The ancient myths of monsters and demons we've dismissed as mere superstitions, but at least some of them may have had a basis in creatures from this parallel universe," Neal said.
"We should call it the A-Brane," Mozzie declared.
"A for algolnium?" Peter asked.
He shrugged, "A can stand for many things. Algolnium, Alhazred, Algol, Alpha, Azathoth. This brane is the first parallel world we've detected. The letter A is fitting."
"Does the Necronomicon mention anything about the Book of Azathoth?" Cyrus asked.
Neal nodded. "It was used by the Church of Starry Wisdom. Members wrote secret names for themselves in blood."
"It's a shame it's disappeared," Mozzie said. "I suspect it's reentered the A-Brane."
Neal glanced out the bay window. The campus looked peaceful. But at night were ghasts stalking the streets throughout the world? Were nightgaunts patrolling the skies? If nightgaunts, ghasts, and zoogs managed to exist in their reality, was Azathoth out there too?
And what was the connection between the priest in the yellow silk mask and Azathoth? The one in the locked room had been a cheap imitation of the priest Neal met on the Plateau of Leng. That priest had said he served only Azathoth. How long would he wait to make a return?
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
A little over a week ago, Neal had been invited to the Gilmans to discuss his test results. Little had he realized he'd be returning so soon to review yet more tests, but this time the patient was Peter.
El had called Neal at the end of the day on Monday to extend the invitation. She didn't give any hint as to what the results were but suggested Peter and Neal pick up Chinese takeout at the Jade Dragon on the way home. Was that a signal? Peter and Neal joked about the implications on the way over. If she'd wanted them to be nervous about what was to come, she'd succeeded.
"I didn't give you enough credit for the strain you were under," Peter said ruefully. "You've had to endure weeks of tests. After one day, I'm ready to call it quits."
"Perhaps El included me to help celebrate that she discovered no anomalies," Neal suggested, trying to put a positive spin on it. From Peter's expression he didn't believe it, and neither did Neal.
They were now sitting in their living room. Peter had opened up the bar. He raised his glass to El. "The advantages of having your wife be your doctor . . . How many beers should I have before I hear my fate?"
El smiled and hesitated. "You may want to save them for afterward." She was sitting next to Peter on the couch. Neal tried to project reassurance as he perched on the edge of his chair. Had Peter felt this tense when El told Neal the news last week? Even Satchmo looked anxious.
"Then we shouldn't delay," Peter declared. "Tell me straight."
"This is as direct as I can make it. We detected a small amount of algolnium within your spinal fluid." She looked anxiously at him to judge his reaction.
Peter rubbed the side of his face. "I knew it was a possibility, but since the soapstone artifact doesn't have any effect on me, I expected the results would most likely be negative."
"The amount you have is much less—roughly one thousandth of what's present in Neal's system. Mozzie doesn't have any, he'll be sad to hear. Nor do I or Cyrus."
"You're sure of the results, I assume?"
She nodded. "Cyrus has been working on a method to make algolnium easier to detect. He discovered that by adding a reagent—in this case an organosulfur compound— to a liquid, any algolnium present hardens into solid crystals which can then be measured and analyzed." She turned to Neal. "It's thanks to your willingness to be tested that we could make the breakthrough. Now that we have a simple way to analyze fluids, the work is going much faster."
Peter has algolnium. The words played in an endless loop in Neal's head. El was discussing her favorite hypothesis for the cause—leftover trace amounts of a rare mineral deposit. But all Neal could think of was that Peter had the same mysterious element as Neal.
"I'd be more upset about this except that I've spent the past week lecturing Neal on why he should take it in stride," Peter admitted. "I can hardly freak out now."
Neal relaxed at his words. "You realize how envious Mozzie will be, don't you?"
Peter smiled. "That's one of the many possible benefits I see from this. And you know how I like cold weather. Now frostbite won't be an issue."
El's expression lightened as well when she saw Peter's reaction to the news. "Mozzie and I will have to comfort each other over being left out."
"I appreciate no one's called me Starman yet."
Neal raised his glass to him. "That privilege belongs to me. Peter Gilman, Starman, has a nice ring to it. We've visited other worlds. You're Earth's first space archaeologist."
"Careful. If you grin any wider, your face will split. I don't know if algolnium will fix that."
"It's possible you and Neal are related," El said. "As yet we don't know if algolnium can be inherited. That's why I'd like to request your parents also have spinal taps."
"We don't want to alarm them," Peter cautioned.
"I can ask if they'd like to participate in a study of heredity. That shouldn't cause any distress."
"The fact that Neal has so much more than I do may account for his sensitivity to algolnium and his heightened ability to see ghasts."
She nodded. "Cyrus is conducting tests to see if there's any difference on the molecular level of the algolnium in your two systems."
"You mentioned you had another idea on why Peter has algolnium?" Neal prompted.
"That's right. Since it's such a small amount, I wondered if it could have been obtained through some external mechanism. Lavinia told Peter that the two of you were intertwined but she gave no specifics. Was this what she meant and how much does she know about algolnium?"
"I've talked to her about algolnium," Neal said. "I asked if either of my parents was extraterrestrial, and she wouldn't answer."
El winced. "I wish I could test Lavinia."
"Neal and I will make a joint assault on her and see if the team approach doesn't achieve better results."
When they moved into the kitchen to dish out the food, Neal pulled Peter aside. "You seem very relaxed about this. Are you really?"
He nodded. "I am. This result doesn't explain the mystery over algolnium and the experiences we've had. But it may help to solve another one. I knew we had a bond. We may not be related by blood, but algolnium will do just as well."
Notes: DNA profiling was unavailable in 1975 and could not be used to determine a blood relationship between Neal and Peter. In the next Arkham Files story, The Crypt, more will be revealed about their connection, as a dark secret buried underneath Arkham sets them on a new course. There will also be more about ruby crystals, moon-tree wine, and zoogs. Keller and Chad will also be back.
But first Neal and Peter take that long anticipated trip to London and Paris in Echoes of a Violin. The first chapter of that story will be posted on January 25. El and Mozzie will also be along, and Henry drops in as well. Unfortunately Azathoth views those two cities as his playground. His traps have been long in the making and are ready to be sprung.
A few notes about the team's suggestions for this chapter: Mozzie insisted that his counterpart not suffer from lactose intolerance so he can enjoy cheese. He also had Diana include one of his favorite quotes from Sherlock Holmes. Mozzie was in advance of his time when he mentioned the cosmic web. The term was coined in 1996 by Richard Bond and others to describe the large-scale structure of the universe. Mozzie claims the scientists copied the idea from that famous Arkham astrophysicist Dante Atwood. Diana felt an explanation was necessary for her counterpart's attitude toward Mozzie in this chapter and has written a comment.
Neal and Peter were both plying Diana with demands for the coffeehouse scene. Neal agreed to sing one of Peter's favorite Crosby, Stills, and Nash songs in exchange for Peter performing as well. "With a Little Help from My Friends" was the song Peter said he liked to sing in the first Arkham Files story. Joe Cocker made air guitar famous at Woodstock when he performed this song. The video is pinned to the Arkham Files Pinterest board. Peter Burke grew up listening to Woodstock music, which his brother Joe used to blast throughout the house. The Woodstock references are for Joe. He was fifteen when Woodstock was held and his parents refused to let him attend. Peter lived the dream for him.
You can find news and summaries for all of our stories on our blog. I've also added an Arkham Files Bestiary for reference to the weird creatures which have made an appearance in the first two stories.
Thanks to my awesome beta and co-conspirator Penna Nomen. Posting this story while she visited Arkham in A Caffrey Christmas Carol made this an unforgettable experience for me.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed your stay in Arkham. Till next time!
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Arkham Files board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website