Chapter 8: The Shrewsbury Cabinet

The library vault was located down a long corridor off the main reading room. The entrance was protected by massive oak doors reinforced with iron. A guard sat at a small table in front of the doors and maintained a log of all visitors. He greeted Peter with a smile but scanned Neal suspiciously when Neal presented his ID.

"Dr. Armitage just approved him," Peter said smoothly.

He nodded but still looked doubtful. "I got her call but I wasn't expecting someone so young. He's not your TA, is he?"

"No, he's on the linguistics faculty." Peter added in a lower voice, "Shrewsbury was his advisor."

The guard's attitude changed dramatically, his frown dissolving into a smile. "My apologies. I didn't realize. You're welcome to use the vault at any time." He took out a large brass key of intricate construction, inserted it into the lock, and pushed the doors open.

With a flick of the light switch, the leather and gold bindings of thousands of books shone within the small chamber.

So many books. Books he'd heard whispers about, books he'd dreamed about . . . Neal stood at the threshold simply taking in the sight of all the treasures spread out around him. The murder, his anxiety over his visions, all was put aside for the moment.

The bookcases extended some twenty feet to the ceiling. A rolling ladder was provided to access the highest shelves. The lower sections of several of the units consisted of solid wood cabinets. In the center of the vault was a carved oak table with a couple of chairs.

Peter chuckled. "You remind me of what I felt like the first time I gained admittance. I felt like I'd discovered the unknown resting place of a lost pharaoh."

Neal admitted the truth to his words with a small, embarrassed laugh. "I'll try not to make a total idiot out of myself."

Peter shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You can't be a bigger one than I am around these marvels." Peter secured the entrance with a wrought iron gate that could be opened from the interior, noting that the gate was mandatory for visits to the vault.

"Where are you starting?" Neal asked.

"The Necronomicon."

At his words, Neal's pulse quickened. That fabled tome by the half-crazed Arab scholar was the inspiration of so many evil legends that if his advisor hadn't told him about it, he might have wondered if it could truly exist. According to the ancient reports, Abdul Alhazred had written the book in the 700s. Most scholars relied on scattered fragmentary Latin translations which were based on an earlier lost translation in Greek. The book in the Miskatonic library vault was the original. Very few knew of its existence.

Thaddeus told him that Alhazred had worshiped ancient gods and was persecuted for blasphemy. Although Neal wasn't permitted to view the book, Thaddeus had discussed much of its content with him. The tales were ambiguous and sinister. Many of them existed only in that book.

Thaddeus was preparing a translation not only of the main text but also the appendices—over fifty pages of text written in an obscure variant of Classical Arabic unique to the Necronomicon. Because of the difficulty of the language, the appendices had never been translated. The Arabic in the main body of the text presented fewer challenges, but even it contained additional letters. Thaddeus believed that none of the other translations had been accurate. He hoped Neal could translate the appendices, but when Lavinia refused access, that project had been put on hold.

"Lavinia and I had once scanned the Necronomicon together," Peter said. "I'd shown her a drawing in a Moroccan tomb I'd discovered. She thought it bore a resemblance to one of the drawings in the Necronomicon but we weren't able to find it. During my search, I think I may have seen something resembling your sketch. Did you bring it?"

Neal placed his briefcase on the table and opened it to retrieve the sheet of paper. He was torn between wanting to stay with Peter to explore the Necronomicon and checking out what was in the Shrewsbury cabinet.

"I'll call you over as soon as I find something," Peter said, solving his dilemma.

Neal nodded gratefully and moved over to the bookcases to survey the cabinets. They all had brass plates containing identification information. Most of the IDs were meaningless numbers, but the middle cabinet on the south wall was labeled with a single word: Shrewsbury. Neal pulled out his key and inserted it into the lock. The cabinet door swung open to reveal three deep shelves inside filled with manuscripts bound with faded ribbons, journals, ledger books, and boxes of varying sizes. One large steel box filled the entire middle shelf. It was labeled with the name of Thaddeus's father, Laban Shrewsbury.

Neal pulled out Laban's box, reasoning it would likely contain the oldest documents, and placed it on the table opposite Peter. When he opened the hinged lid, he found the box stuffed with papers, archival folders, and several journals.

One of the folders was much thicker than the others and Neal decided to investigate it first. The folder appeared to be filled with something solid but was surprisingly light. When he opened the flaps, he gasped with amazement at the contents. The paper, if you could call it paper, was unlike any he'd ever seen before. It was about two inches thick and transparent with a crystalline clarity. Although the material appeared as hard as quartz, the weight was less than an ordinary sheet of paper.

At Neal's gasp, Peter got up and walked around the table to stand beside him. Together they examined the mysterious manuscript. Roughly ten by six inches, the crystal had seven lines of bronze-colored text in an unknown script that appeared to float within the medium. The script itself was three-dimensional. Each glyph was no thicker than a human hair and yet somehow had been shaped into an arabesque of staggering complexity. What calligraphic tool could have been used to write characters like that?

"A crystal manuscript . . . " Peter's eyes widened as he stared at it. "I've never seen anything like it. Where did you find it?"

"It was in a folder by itself. The label on the folder is written in an unknown script which bears some of the characteristics of the script within the crystal." Neal held up the crystal to view the script from the side and from below.

"No mention of where it came from?"

"Not on the folder."

Peter shook his head in wonderment. "I can't even guess what civilization could have produced this. Laban must have written it up. Try his journals."

Neal settled in to read while Peter returned to the Necronomicon. Laban Shrewsbury had been the preeminent physical anthropologist of his day and conducted expeditions throughout the world. In what far-flung corner of the globe had he found a crystal manuscript?

#

"Found it!"

At Peter's triumphant words, Neal sprinted around the table to stand beside him. "What?"

"Your creature, monster, beast, whatever it was." Peter pointed to a drawing in the Necronomicon. He placed Neal's sketch beside it, and the two were terrifyingly similar. The creature looked vaguely human but was missing important body parts like a nose and a forehead. It stood on its hind limbs which ended in hooves. Its arms were the same length as its legs but ended in claws resembling bird talons. The creature's mouth gaped wide, its jaw filled with razor-sharp teeth like a shark. The emaciated body was hairless. A man had been drawn next to it to give a sense of scale, with the creature appearing about one-and-a-half times as tall.

To Neal, the creature resembled what a prisoner would look like who'd been left for eons to starve in a cell. As it gradually evolved, it was consumed by hunger and hatred into its present horrific shape. Shaking his head to dispel the vision, he read the text accompanying it. "Alhazred calls it —and I'm using his word here—a ghast. Ghasts live in the underworld. They're carnivorous. They live in darkness and hunt in packs. Their senses are unusually acute, especially the sense of smell." Neal looked up at Peter. "Why was I seeing a ghast when the guy attacked me? This makes no sense at all."

Peter stroked his chin. "And how does Alhazred know of them? Supposedly he worshiped strange gods. Obscure cults were prevalent at the time." He turned to Neal. "You're sure Thaddeus never mentioned it to you?"

"I would have remembered, and this is my first time to look at the Necronomicon. What's going on? I've now seen a ghast twice. A being that has only been documented by a madman over a thousand years ago?"

Peter shook his head slowly. "I wish I knew. That you would hallucinate something so remarkably similar to that illustration doesn't seem plausible. Were you having a vision when you saw the ghast? But if so, a vision of what?"

#

How much time had Neal spent in the vault? Whatever it was, it wasn't long enough. He'd only sorted through a tiny fraction of the material in the Shrewsbury cabinet when Peter began grumbling about the need to leave. Neal ignored him. He'd just discovered a folder in yet another language. A completely different system of writing. This brought the total up to ten unknown languages.

"Neal, now!"

"You go on," he muttered. "I'll join you later."

"Wrong answer. Cyrus is expecting us. Don't you want to hear about the starfish?"

"Yeah, but—hey, what are you doing?" Peter seized the paper he was reading and returned it to the folder.

"My hunger bell went off and you don't want to mess with the Gilman hunger bell. Cyrus will wonder what happened to us. Besides, you remember what Lavinia said. You're to avoid prolonged exposure. We've been here over three hours."

"Has it been that long?" It seemed like only a few minutes. Neal didn't have a hunger bell like Peter's, or if he did, it was being suppressed by his desire to research the Shrewsbury papers. Since no materials could leave the vault, he'd now have to wait till Monday evening at the earliest, but Peter was implacable.

On the walk over to the faculty club, Peter asked him if he'd found any reference to the mysterious crystal manuscript.

"I found a comment about archiving a manuscript from a library. The notes were written in haste in a scrawl unlike his normal writing. He didn't explain which library or even which manuscript. He started with the phrase: 'My dreams are haunted by Celaeno.' Celaeno is a Greek word but I'm at a loss to explain what Laban meant."

"Celaeno . . ." Peter paused to consider. "That word can refer to several figures in Greek mythology. Celaeno was one of the Harpies as well as one of the Pleiades. If I remember correctly, the Greeks also refer to an Amazon with that name who was killed by Heracles."

"Perhaps Shrewsbury was investigating a Greek ruin? Do you know of any ancient Greek villages which were named after her?"

"Not offhand," Peter admitted. "But Shrewsbury was a genius in discovering unreported ruins. He may have found something and didn't have time to document it before he died. He didn't elaborate further?"

"No, and to complicate matters, after mentioning the manuscript, he switched to a language I'd never seen before." Neal added ruefully, "I could spend a lifetime trying to decipher the languages contained in that cabinet."

The university faculty club was on the second floor of the student center. Compared with the din on the ground floor, it made a tranquil retreat. The club was as old-fashioned as many of the professors at Miskatonic with leather Chesterfield sofas and armchairs that invited you to linger and read. Faded Persian rugs added warmth to the room which had large mullioned windows overlooking the campus lake. There was always a plentiful supply of coffee as well as other beverages, and members were allowed to bring in food from the cafeteria on the ground floor. Liquor lockers were also available for their use.

He and Peter stopped to pick up sandwiches then headed upstairs. Cyrus was waiting for them in one of the conversation groups next to a large bay window. Someone was sitting next to him in a wing chair. All Neal could see was an arm in a tweed jacket holding a glass of wine. He grinned when he caught a glimpse of a familiar bald head. "Mozzie! I'm not surprised."

"He spent all morning with me," Cyrus said. "I could hardly keep him away now. Peter, have you met Dante Atwood? He's the Karl Jansky Professor of Astrophysics."

Peter shook Mozzie's hand. "We've met briefly, a pleasure."

"You may call me Mozzie," he said regally. "My opinion of you has risen markedly since I learned of the assistance you provided my young friend." Peter appeared amused as Mozzie gestured for them to take seats as if he were the host.

Cyrus shoved aside the papers on the cocktail table to make room for their sandwiches and drinks. "Mozzie came to see me early this morning. He told me of the conversation he had with Neal last night and insisted on seeing the results of my tests."

"As you know spectroscopy is essential in astrophysics," Mozzie added. "Cyrus and I have worked closely on many projects before—groundbreaking experiments and discoveries which have made us both famous—but none, and I repeat, none as exciting as this one." Neal took advantage of Mozzie's pause to assess Peter's reaction. Mozzie's use of hyperbole could be an acquired taste. "Gentlemen, I have no doubt that the substance contained within this soapstone is an element previously unknown to man. I further postulate an extraterrestrial origin to it. As you know, it's theorized that our organic elements arrived on comets. I feel quite comfortable in predicting this element also arrived on an asteroid or comet. What we don't know yet is if the starfish itself originated on earth."

"We're sending our research to the U.S. Committee for the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry," Cyrus said. "If the committee agrees with our determination, it will send the sample to the international body for a final decision." When Cyrus mentioned it the previous day, Neal had remained skeptical. It seemed too incredible to be given credence, but now he was swept away by the implications. "In our application, we need to give the element a provisional name. Peter, you were the one who discovered the soapstone artifact. Would you like to have the honor?"

"But I never would have suspected the element's existence, if it hadn't been for Neal. He should be the one to name it."

Neal tried to convince Peter to reconsider, but he refused. Neal was quickly learning that Peter wasn't easily swayed to change his mind, whether it was for dinner or a life-altering decision.

"Take your time," Cyrus urged. "An element can be named after a person or a location. Sometimes it's based on a property the element exhibits. For instance, you could call it abydonium since Peter found it at Abydos."

Neal gazed out the bay window, weighing options. The sun, partially obscured by clouds shone low in the sky. The soapstone had been found at Abydos, but was that where it had been created? As for its properties, what was true for Neal didn't appear to be valid for anyone else. He turned to face the others. "We suspect this element is somehow connected to the visions I've been experiencing, but we don't know of anyone else who's been similarly affected. That variability gives it a certain kinship to Algol, the Demon Star, winking at us. Peter and I saw Algol in the sky the night of the murder. How about algolnium? You mentioned it may be extraterrestrial in origin."

Mozzie nodded. "Algolnium, very apt. Will it, like its namesake, also be considered demonic? Time will tell. Cyrus, make a note of it." He looked over at Neal's glass. "What are you drinking?"

"Cider."

Mozzie winced, shaking his head in disapproval. "Have I taught you nothing? And you, suit, what about you?"

"Suit? I don't—"

Neal leaned over to mutter. "Just go with the flow. Mozzie works better this way. I'll explain later."

Requesting Neal fetch wine glasses from the service area, Mozzie walked over to his locker and came back with a bottle of St. Emilion. When everyone had a glass, he raised his in a toast. "It's not every day a new element is named. Gentlemen, to algolnium!"

Was algolnium the cause of his visions? He'd begun dreaming of Abydos around the time Peter returned from Egypt with the artifact. Neal had never experienced psychic visions of crimes taking place or seen creatures like that ghast until he was exposed to the starfish in Peter's office. There had to be a connection. Giving the element a name brought Neal a certain sense of control over what up to now had seemed inexplicable.

While he and Peter ate their sandwiches, Cyrus explained the various criteria that needed to be established before formal acceptance could be given. The process was a lengthy one and required a minimum of several months.

"Could you omit any mention of the effect it has on me?" Neal asked.

Cyrus considered a moment. "That shouldn't present a problem. At this point, including a description would only be an unnecessary complication."

"A wise suggestion," Mozzie added. "Supply the minimum of information necessary for them to validate the finding. We don't want to be invaded by a pack of government overlords." He turned to Neal. "Tell me about your research in the vault. Did you gain access? Did you discover any references to those creatures you saw?"

Cyrus gazed at him, startled. "Creatures? What creatures?" Neal and Peter reviewed what had occurred and described the ghast described in the Necronomicon.

"I must look at that book the next time I'm in the vault," Mozzie said with a frown. "That was a lamentable oversight on my part. Simply because I don't speak Arabic is no excuse."

"I'm not familiar with the Necronomicon," Cyrus said.

"It was written by Abdul Alhazred in the mid-eighth century," Peter said. "Alhazred belonged to a cult who worshipped strange beings called Yog-Sothoth and Cthulhu."

"Why haven't I heard of them?" Mozzie demanded.

Peter shrugged. "That's not surprising. The only references to Yog-Sothoth and Cthulhu I've ever found in all my research into ancient civilizations are in the Necronomicon. According to Alhazred, they were spawned by a mysterious entity called Azathoth."

"Azathoth was at the top of the pantheon," Neal added. "He was the progenitor of all the others. Alhazred said he lived in the center of chaos and was too horrific to be described."

Cyrus drained the last of his wine. "And you've been seeing creatures described in an eighth-century book. Amazing. Any ideas on the significance?"

"At first I convinced myself I was hallucinating. No other explanation seemed possible. Now I don't know what to think." Neal drew a breath. He needed to keep a firm grasp on reality. "Most likely it's just a bizarre coincidence that a creature so similar could be in the Necronomicon. I like to think I'm a man of reasonable intellect, not given to hysteria or delusions. This has been a humbling experience."

Mozzie patted him on the arm. "You still are. You simply need to open up your mind to other possibilities. You haven't mentioned my theories. I realize that was because you feared you might not do justice to them." He turned to Cyrus. "One likely hypothesis is that the ghasts are extraterrestrial beings who are capable of transforming their appearance."

Cyrus nodded thoughtfully. "I much prefer a scientific explanation to the monster hypothesis as well."

"I've been researching for several years the theory that there are many more dimensions than the four that are currently accepted—the three spatial dimensions and time, Mozzie continued. "Consider for the moment that our universe may reside within a higher-dimensional space containing, in layman's terms, several different worlds. What if it were possible by means of a wormhole, black hole, or some other mechanism for another universe to leak into ours? That could be the key to understanding several unexplained phenomena that have occurred throughout man's history and to which I now add the ghast sightings."

"I detect your skepticism, Peter," Cyrus said, "but in quantum mechanics, we've learned to accept the fuzziness of wave functions and how subatomic particles can occupy multiple positions. Neal may have the ability to see similar phenomena on the macro atomic level."

Mozzie beamed. "Precisely. And not only see but travel between the dimensions."

Were Mozzie and Cyrus right? Was he traveling between different worlds and dimensions? Suddenly the thought that he was merely psychic or hallucinating seemed much more palatable.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Interesting theories, I grant you, but let's return to the here and now. Cyrus, when will you submit your paperwork to the committee?"

"I hope to have it completed by Tuesday. Given the extraordinary nature of the find, they're going to want to fast-track it. A preliminary finding could be released within a month or two. Did you find out anything about the starfish in the vault?"

"Not yet," Neal said. "I focused on materials belonging to Laban Shrewsbury." He went on to describe the contents of the Shrewsbury cabinet. At his description of the crystal manuscript, both Cyrus and Mozzie plied him with questions, asking for every detail till his head ached from repeating everything multiple times.

Breaking in, Peter asked, "Does the name Celaeno mean anything to you?" and he spelled it out for them.

Mozzie thought for a moment. "There's a star called Celaeno. It's in the Pleiades star cluster. That seems an obscure reference. I've read accounts of Laban's expeditions, but don't remember any mention of an interest in astronomy." Mozzie pointed a finger at Neal. "You must accompany me to the vault. It's vital that I see the crystal for myself."

Peter held up a hand. "He's had enough for one day. Too much time in the vault can do a number to your health. Lavinia warned of the dangers of excessive exposure."

"Why is that?" Neal asked.

"I suspect the ventilation system in the vault isn't very good, and it's a liability concern. Some of the ancient books may release potentially hazardous chemicals to the air."

Cyrus nodded. "You remember the case of Professor Tutledge? Back in the early 1960s, he was researching medieval medicinal plants for a book he was writing. Lavinia had only been the head librarian for a year or two. Supposedly Tutledge used to work all day in the vault and sometimes well in the night. This was before she imposed any time restrictions."

"What happened to him?" Neal asked.

"He was discovered late one evening unconscious on the vault floor. Eventually, he revived, but mentally he was never the same. Became quite unhinged, poor chap. Could no longer teach. Wound up spending the rest of his life in a mental institution. I'd been teaching for only a few years then. We performed tests on the air and didn't find anything harmful. A medieval herbal he was studying contained trace amounts of mandrake. In sufficiently large doses, mandrake could cause Tutledge's symptoms and some concluded it was responsible."

"Vault madness I've heard it called," Mozzie added. "Personally, I don't ascribe to the notion, but many do. The provost has given Lavinia full authority to impose any regulations she deems necessary and Lavinia is one person I never cross."

Notes: Diana pays tribute to several famous characters of the Cthulhu Mythos in this story. In a nod to H.P. Lovecraft, she gave her librarian the same last name as Dr. Henry Armitage, the head librarian in "The Dunwich Horror." In canon, Henry Armitage was born in 1855. There are varying accounts of his death with most saying it occurred sometime between 1925 and 1935. Henry Armitage was the man responsible for accumulating the library's vast resources of occult literature.

Diana was dismayed by the lack of strong female characters in Lovecraft's stories and Lavinia Armitage is one of the ways she's compensating. In naming her character, Diana picked the first name of one of the very few females in Lovecraft's works, Lavinia Whateley. When Diana named her character Lavinia, she chose to ignore Lavinia Whateley's rather deplorable attributes. Lavinia Whateley is described as an albino of slatternly habits with only a rudimentary education. Dr. Lavinia Armitage, on the other hand, is a formidable scholar with the personality and looks of Diana's favorite grandmother.

Laban Shrewsbury was created by August Derleth. His adventures are chronicled in The Trail of Cthulhu series. Diana retained many of his characteristics. In canon, Laban was an anthropologist and professor of philosophy at Miskatonic University. He was born in 1864 and died in the 1930s. Diana invented his son Thaddeus, who served as Neal's advisor until his mysterious illness. She named Thaddeus after Thaddeus Gardner, a character in "The Colour Out of Space," one of Lovecraft's most popular works.