Chapter 11: A Riddle Wrapped Inside a Paradox
When Peter left the kitchen, El gave Neal a mug of hot chocolate. "One marshmallow or two?"
"Is that for the number of lumps Peter wants to give me?"
She smiled. "Don't worry. Peter may growl like a grizzly bear but as Satchmo can attest, inside he's a panda."
Peter a panda? He'd take her word on it, but at the moment the grizzly side was front and center. Neal sipped his hot chocolate while he reflected on her comment. A little over an hour ago, he'd been near death on a frozen wasteland. Now he was sitting in the kitchen of people he'd only met a few days earlier—acting like a member of their family, wearing Peter's clothes, petting their dog. If this were a dream, he didn't want to wake up.
"Hey, everything okay?" she asked, concern written in her eyes.
"Yeah, amazingly enough," he said with a smile. "It's better than it's been in a long time."
"There you are!" Mozzie strode into the kitchen, looking frazzled. "I've been searching for you everywhere." When he saw El, he stopped in his tracks, his face melting into glowing admiration. "Hello, what ravishing goddess graces this domicile?"
"This is my wife, Elizabeth," Peter interjected firmly, coming up behind him, "and you'll be well advised to remember it."
He bent low over her hand and kissed it. "Dr. Dante Atwood at your service. You may call me Mozzie." He glanced around the kitchen. "Are you having a party? And you didn't invite me? I'm very fond of brownies. These aren't enhanced by any chance with a little Mary Jane?"
"Elizabeth's a doctor," Neal cautioned.
"Even better. She probably has access to—"
"Let's move this conversation into the living room," El suggested firmly. "Peter, you bring the brownies and the plates. Mozzie, would you like some hot chocolate?"
"Do you have any rum for it?"
"Of course. Peter will be happy to get you some, won't you, hon?"
Heaving a sigh, Peter walked over to the liquor cabinet as Mozzie called out, "I prefer dark, aged a minimum of four years, Guyana preferably, but Jamaican is acceptable."
El was right. Peter's growls did sound like a grizzly.
Mozzie gave him a nudge. "Handsome socks!"
Neal looked down at them: powder-blue with goofy-looking dogs. He grinned and extended one foot to display it. "Thanks! They're Peter's."
"I must find where he acquired them," he said as they walked into the living room. "Mine will need to be adorned with cats. Betelgeuse wouldn't approve of me wearing dog socks."
"I've seen Betelgeuse play with dogs. I bet she'd like Satchmo." When Satchmo heard his name he bounded over to rub against Neal's legs. "Betelgeuse is Mozzie's tabby," Neal explained, stroking him. "You like tabbies, don't you?"
"Not to interrupt, but to what do we owe the good fortune of your visit in the middle of the night?" Peter asked, handing Mozzie his mug.
"Lavinia."
Peter stared at him. "You, too?"
"Wait a minute," Neal jumped in. "You mean Lavinia contacted both of you?"
"That's why I was at the church," Peter confirmed.
Mozzie eyed him curiously. "She called me an hour ago with instructions."
"What'd she say?" Neal asked.
"You know Lavinia. No time for the niceties. Here's the gist:"
— "He's not wearing it."
— "And good evening to you too, Lavinia. Who isn't wearing what?"
— "The amulet, fool."
— "What amulet?" I asked, showing remarkable tolerance for her lack of manners and posing what I believed to be a natural question under the circumstances.
— "Take it to him. Make sure he wears it."
"Then she hung up. Fortunately I'm a master at the cryptic and incomprehensible. You'd mentioned once owning a pendant and I was able to find it in your dresser. After calculating the probability of various locations, I'm pleased to say Peter's address was near the top of my list." Mozzie reached into his pocket and gave Neal the necklace. "Put it on immediately. I don't want Lavinia breathing down my neck." He turned to El. "Could you direct me to your phone? I'd like to call June and tell her Neal's okay."
"There's one in the kitchen you can use."
Peter sat do next to Neal on the couch while he slipped the pendant over his neck. "Why does Mozzie think this is what she meant?"
"It's the only pendant I own, but I never thought of it as an amulet." Neal picked it up and studied it. The disk was suspended from a pewter chain and had acquired a verdigris patina. It was roughly circular in shape and embossed with an intricate interlocking design of rounded coils. In the center of the disc was a small jewel. It resembled a diamond but was greenish-blue. How did Lavinia know about it?
El broke into his thoughts. "Where did you get it?"
"I don't know. This is the necklace I told you about this morning. It was around my neck when I was found. The police thought it was from my family and circulated photos of it, but no one ever came forward. I used to wear it, but then stopped." He paused. He had no desire to revisit those memories tonight. Kids got bullied for many reasons. A little boy wearing a strange pendant was an easy target. "I've always kept it safe. It's the only item I have that's possibly from my life before I was discovered, but it's never glowed in the dark or given me magic powers."
"You should wear it," she advised. "It can't do any harm."
"I agree," Peter seconded. "If Lavinia thinks it's important then it must be."
Neal made an effort to smooth down his hair. He'd towel-dried it but it felt like it was sticking up in spikes. "I used to think Lavinia was just a harmless, if intimidating, eccentric, but is she somehow psychic? Diana asked me if I was. I should have told her about Lavinia."
Mozzie walked back into the room. "Don't question Lavinia. When she feels it's time, she'll tell you more, but until then you're wasting your efforts to understand how she obtains her knowledge. Believe me, I've tried and I can be very persuasive." He took a seat in a chair next to the couch. Neal could smell the aroma of rum wafting from Mozzie's hot chocolate. "Your attire leads me to suspect you haven't been spending the evening discussing ancient languages. What did I miss?"
"I was asking him the same question when you arrived," Peter said. He turned to face Neal. "What possessed you to run off in the middle of the night to a derelict church?"
How was he going to explain that winged creature he'd seen? The more he thought about his actions, the harder it was to justify them, but after putting them through so much, he owed them an explanation. "I was working at home when—"
The ring of the doorbell was a relief, granting him an unexpected reprieve.
Peter gave a slow exhale. "I'll check who it is. It's past midnight. Whoever's at the door better have a good reason."
"I wonder if I should make more hot chocolate," El mused.
"More to the point, how's the supply of brownies holding up?" Mozzie asked.
"Lavinia?" Neal could easily hear Peter's voice from the living room. Why was she here? He'd never seen her away from the library. A moment later she strode into the room. Peter attempted to introduce her to El, but she ignored him and headed straight for Neal.
"Show me," she commanded.
"What? The amulet?" Neal reached inside his sweatshirt and pulled it out.
She sat down beside him and brought her nose to within an inch of the amulet as she scrutinized it for a long moment then without warning jabbed the fingers of her left hand into his right temple. It felt like they were drilling through his flesh into his brain. Neal reeled back onto the cushions, his senses spinning. Dimly he heard El cry out in dismay. A minute later Lavinia withdrew her fingers and the pressure stopped. "You're all right," she said brusquely.
She rose from the couch and took off her tweed coat, tossing it to Mozzie. "Now, who mentioned brandy?"
Peter shrugged as El looked over at him, wide-eyed. "Coming right up."
Lavinia scanned the room and pointed to a chair in the dining room. "That will do." Mozzie leaped up to move the chair over for her. She directed him to place it directly in front of Neal on the other side of the cocktail table. Sitting down, she opened her tapestry satchel and pulled out a small silver flask. "Wine glass," she ordered, snapping her fingers.
Neal viewed the proceedings with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. Did she intend to drink brandy and wine at the same time? Was it absolutely necessary for her to sit so close to him? Satchmo, who'd been sitting quietly at his feet, started to whine.
Lavinia poured out a small amount of emerald-green liquid into the glass and passed it to Neal. "Drink it." It looked like what she'd given him to drink in her office but was darker in color.
"Stop," El ordered. "What is that? Neal's already been through enough of an ordeal."
Lavinia turned to face El. "You need not be concerned. It will do him good."
El appeared ready to raise further objections when Peter pulled her aside and took her into the dining room. They were muffling their voices and Neal couldn't make out the words. It was mainly Peter doing the talking. Lavinia waited impassively. Whatever Peter said must have provided sufficient reassurance because El made no further objection when they returned.
Neal raised the glass and took a sip. The taste was quite different from the one in the library. That one had resembled a Riesling, but this one was much more potent, like a fragrant Chardonnay but resinous and woodsy. It smelled of the forest.
"You will now tell me everything," Lavinia ordered.
And he did. The winged creature circling the church steeple, his mad dash through the streets of Arkham, the church, the ruby crystal, his descent down the staircase into the abyss, the frozen plateau, the priest . . . As he related the sequence of events, he could see them playing out in his mind but they held no terror. He was merely a dispassionate observer watching from the sidelines.
No one interrupted him. For once, even Mozzie was speechless. Lavinia nodded several different times during his account and appeared satisfied. At the conclusion, she refilled his glass with more of the emerald wine and ordered him to drink it.
El was the first one to speak. "Neal was exposed for a much longer time to the starfish this morning than ever before. Could that have a bearing?"
"Yes," Lavinia said emphatically, but refused to elaborate on what specifically. "Describe the circumstances."
As El reviewed the tests, Lavinia displayed an unusual familiarity with the procedures. Where had she acquired all her medical knowledge?
Afterward Lavinia studied her for a moment as a hawk would a mouse to see if it were worthy of being its dinner. "He wasn't injured by anything you did. You merely accelerated the process, but it was inevitable."
"What was inevitable?" Neal asked. A few details would be helpful. Should he now go around in an arctic parka in anticipation of future trips? Carry scuba gear instead of a briefcase?
A ghost of a smile touched Lavinia's lips. It was as if she could read his mind.
"What are we talking about?" Peter demanded. "Visions, travel through space, hallucinations?"
"Obviously, Neal traveled through a wormhole into another universe," Mozzie said. "His senses were being distorted, so what he saw might not have been an accurate depiction."
El shook her head. "A dragon over Arkham? How do you explain that? Trust me, if there had actually been one present, we would be hearing news reports about it. And that box with the ruby he saw in the church? Peter said the dust was undisturbed on the altar, and there was no sign of a box."
"Maybe not in his confined four-dimensional world," Mozzie retorted, "but in the fifth or sixth dimension, it could have existed. You must open yourself up to the possibilities. How do you explain Neal being covered in frost?"
El made no answer, but Peter brought up the question Neal had been wondering about. "That frozen plateau Neal described reminds me of a place I've read about—Leng."
"Where's that?" El asked.
"The Plateau of Leng is a region of ice and desolation mentioned in ancient Sanskrit texts," Neal explained. "Thaddeus told me the Necronomicon also has a passage about it. Supposedly it's the location of an ancient monastery where the High Priest Not To Be Described dwells."
"Do you think that's where you were?" Mozzie asked. "Your figure in the yellow silk mask was that priest?"
Neal looked at Lavinia. Was he on that dreaded plateau? Her face was inscrutable.
"You mentioned the priest talked about someone on a black throne," Peter said. "I've heard that before."
Neal nodded. "The ruler of time and space? Those are references to Azathoth."
"That's the god you mentioned yesterday," Mozzie said excitedly. "The creator of all others—the one who dwelt in the center of the universe in a region of chaos."
Peter looked over at Lavinia. "How concerned should we be about what the priest said?"
She refused to answer.
El scanned the group. "Surely you don't believe any of this actually happened? Neal said he was familiar with the legends. And that's what they are—simply legends."
"What to you is a legend is someone else's reality," Mozzie chided. "Einstein predicted the existence of black holes in his general theory of relativity. Who knows what may lurk in the center of a black hole? The black throne may be another name for a black hole."
And so the debate continued. The viewpoints were not unpredictable. Mozzie was a champion of Neal being capable of viewing unseen dimensions and having traveled into a parallel universe. El believed they'd all been dreams or hallucinations. Peter didn't express an opinion but was skeptical. No one could offer any rational explanation of why Neal had been covered in frost although El hypothesized a sudden drop of atmospheric pressure could have produced the effect.
Lavinia refused to speculate, her face remaining unreadable throughout the discussion. After about fifteen minutes, she stood up abruptly and announced her departure.
Neal walked her to the door and helped her on with her coat. She placed her hand on the doorknob then turned to face him. "Wear the amulet and you needn't fear returning to the plateau."
That was the most explicit Lavinia had ever been. Eager to learn more, Neal pressed her. "The priest in the yellow silk mask—I felt him next to me in the imaging chamber this morning. Is that possible?"
She clamped her lips together in a frown. "Anything is possible. Existence, reality, illusion—those are relative terms. Don't lose yourself in semantics. I seldom advise but I will tell you this. Avoid the imaging chamber." She considered for a moment. "The priest wears a silk mask to disguise his nature. Your amulet also acts as a mask. It will serve you well." With that she departed, leaving him to ponder her words.
When Neal returned to the living room, Mozzie and El were in a heated debate about the injuries he remembered. Mozzie believed that when Neal was transported to a different universe, a ghost image had been left behind that was then used to reformulate his body when he returned. El was forceful in her rebuttal, accusing him of relying on transporter concepts developed for Star Trek. She felt he'd likely ripped his jeans when he was sleepwalking around the church.
When Mozzie left, El urged Neal to go to bed, but his mind was too active for sleep. He helped them carry the dishes into the kitchen. When he offered to help wash, they politely shooed him away.
Did they really think he could sleep after all that had happened? He retreated to their dining room and stood by the glass doors leading outside to their patio. He longed to escape outside but the rain was still falling. No stars in the sky to anchor him.
You will come again when I call, the priest had said. Those words continued to haunt him. Neal shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest. Unbidden, his hand reached for his amulet. He pulled it out from under his sweatshirt and wrapped his fingers around it. It might have been his imagination but he felt a little warmth flow through his body.
An amulet. All these years he'd possessed it, not knowing what it was. How effective would it be against the priest in the yellow silk mask? If he'd worn it this evening, how different would the events have been?
"Can't sleep?"
Neal turned to face Peter who had come up behind him. "Too many emotions," he admitted. "Confusion about what occurred . . . Curiosity about what Lavinia knows."
"Fear?"
"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "That, too. I find myself wishing it was simply a nightmare."
"But you don't believe it was, do you?"
He shook his head. "And Lavinia doesn't seem to think so either. You know the song 'White Rabbit' by Grace Slick? It keeps playing in my head."
"You feel you were like Alice dropping down the rabbit hole?"
"A little, but it was no Wonderland down there. You must have talked about it in the kitchen. Does Elizabeth think I'm schizophrenic?" Neal tried to read his facial expression. "No need to sugarcoat your answer."
Peter gestured for him to take a seat at the dining room table, and he sat down beside Neal. El was still in the kitchen but Neal didn't mind if she overheard. He was intruding on her life, too. "Yes, we discussed it and honestly, El hasn't formed an opinion yet. Schizophrenia can't be diagnosed after a few observations. It takes months of careful observation and analysis. And your case presents too many anomalies that defy any label."
"I'm not sure if I should feel reassured by that or not," Neal admitted.
"Understandable. The events of the past few days are a riddle wrapped inside a paradox. For instance, your visions of ghasts and winged creatures—you freely admit they're difficult to accept. But where did the frost come from that coated you? I saw that and no one is accusing me of hallucinating. Why were there no footprints leading away from the altar? The anomalies in your medical tests are a puzzle. Then there's Lavinia. Who knows what's going on with her? So I'd say the jury's still out."
"Mozzie warned me I'd be considered a psychopath. That you're reserving judgment is a positive and I appreciate it."
"Did Mozzie ever describe how he might be viewed? Or is having far-fetched ideas standard operating procedure for the Karl Jansky Professor of Astrophysics?"
Neal smiled at how his friend would have reacted to Peter's question. "He takes pride in them and laughs at the scoffers."
Peter shrugged. "Not a bad strategy to adopt." He paused for a moment. "I understand why you ran to the church. You wanted documentation."
Neal nodded.
"But you could have done us both a big favor if you'd called me first. I would have gone with you. I could have seen what happened when you approached the altar. Now we'll never know."
Neal eyed him skeptically. "Disturb your evening with a wild tale of a dragon flying over Arkham? You would have thought I was crazy."
"Maybe, but I would have been curious to figure out what you actually were seeing. Do you think you could give me a call next time? Because there will be a next time, of that I'm sure. If I'm not around and it's essential you pull some foolhardy stunt, you could call Mozzie, or even Lavinia if you insist—"
"Please—anything but that!" Neal appreciated Peter's attempt to lighten the mood and tried to match it. "I realize I kinda blew it."
"Yeah, you kinda did. Just think if I'd been present and seen you go poof in the church how different the conversation would be right now."
Neal grinned. "So you're willing to acknowledge the possibility of poofing?"
"I am, though I'm not sure I'm ready to tell Diana yet."
Neal chewed on his words. He'd never for a moment considered calling Peter. He could hear in his head how the conversation would have gone. Despite his disclaimer, Peter would have considered him drunk or crazy or both. And perhaps that was for the best. What right did he have to drag another person into whatever was going on with him?
Peter broke into his musings. "Why do you shut yourself off? I saw those walls going up in the living room. I'll admit it got a little heated but why didn't you jump in and add your voice to the discussion? And this is your turn to be honest."
Peter deserved the truth, but Neal wasn't sure he knew it himself. "I guess I keep asking myself why? A few days ago you didn't know who I was. I sought you out, thinking you could tell me something about the starfish I was dreaming about, and you did. But now you can back away. Don't get me wrong—I'm immensely grateful for all you've done. But you don't need to get involved in this . . . I don't even know what to call it—mystery, insanity?"
Peter paused before replying. "You ask a good question. I don't know if it's fate or maybe Lavinia who brought us together, but something did. Yes, there's a mystery wrapped up in explaining what your visions are, but there's more than that. You're an expert in ancient languages. You must have read passages that hint of a civilization predating all the earliest known ones."
Neal nodded. "Ancient winged beings. An early advanced technology. Tales of sophisticated cities that have yet to be discovered."
"I've found potsherds with curious marks and symbols resembling starfish in some of the most ancient sites on earth. That image in the Moroccan tomb that I consulted with Lavinia about? It was a creature with starfish-like appendages. These starfish-shaped soapstones appear to be central to the mystery that not only affects you but is connected to a string of murders. What if the stones are clues to an unknown civilization? This type of starfish is unique among ancient Egyptian artifacts. The Egyptians didn't begin to use the star as a symbol until the Old Kingdom, and then it was a narrow spindly star, not at all like the artifact I found. What civilization does it come from? The Necronomicon references an early mythic race. It calls them the Elder Ones. What if they're not a myth? The scientist in me can't help but seek answers."
"You're telling me I need to look at the bigger picture."
"Exactly. You, me, Mozzie, El, Cyrus—we all bring different skills to the table. I'm going to put aside, for now, your visions and these creatures you're seeing. That's not to say I don't believe you. It's simply I don't have any way of evaluating their validity. Let's focus on the areas for which we do have tangible evidence." He began ticking off on his fingers. "The starfish. The others may have poofed, but we have mine as well as the photographs. There may be more to be discovered, and you've got your work cut out to decipher them. You also have the sketch of the starfish you dreamed about. How does it relate to the others? Then there's algolnium. What are its properties? Is it truly a new element? Those are all achievable goals."
"And we have the evidence contained in the vault," Neal added. "The crystal manuscript, the early sources, Laban Shrewsbury's notes and journals, the Necronomicon." His words trailed off as he mulled over Peter's words. The opportunity to work on a team to discover lost civilizations was the chance of a lifetime. But what was even more astonishing was that after all that had happened, Peter didn't appear to be concerned that Neal would be more of a liability than an asset. Neal wished he could be as certain.
Peter added quietly, "I know you're scared. Who wouldn't be after what you went through? Would you like to know what Lavinia told me yesterday morning?"
"I thought you were supposed to keep that private."
"Lavinia's advice is subject to reinterpretation. She thought you weren't ready, but after what you experienced tonight, I believe you have the right to know. She told me not to dismiss your visions, your dreams, even those ghasts you were seeing. I challenged her, asking if they were real and she gave a cryptic non-answer about the meaning of the word real. She went on to say that your path forward would be a dangerous one and that you couldn't do it alone. She said you and I are intertwined in some way, and if I turn my back on you, it will be at my peril." Peter shrugged. "In the past, I've found Lavinia's advice to be sound even if difficult to comprehend. This was one of the least ambiguous explanations I've ever heard her make. So, what do you say? You willing to sign up?"
"Shelve the personal questions and focus on the science?" Neal nodded, feeling happier than he had in a long time.
Peter smiled in approval. "But I must warn you this new partnership comes with some rules. The most important is no more shutting me out. You see a dragon, a unicorn, or whatever, you let me know. Otherwise, you'll just drive me crazy and El won't like that."
Neal couldn't resist a snort. "Check. Any unicorns I see, you'll be the first to know. Any other stipulations?"
Peter made a show of stroking his chin. "Just a few," he said, adopting a solemn tone. "In any decision, as senior faculty member, I'm always the tie-breaker. Like right now. You need to hit the sack, and no more excuses. Tomorrow we both have classes to teach and mysteries to investigate." Peter matched his words with action, standing up and pulling Neal's chair away from the table before he had a chance to object.
"Wait a minute? Aren't I the one with the visions? Human Geiger counter and algolnium sniffer? I think those attributes quite possibly trump any seniority privileges."
Peter's eyes crinkled. "Is that so? Getting cocky are you?"
Neal grinned. "Maybe a little."
"Good. I like a challenge."
"Are you two done?" El asked, walking in from the kitchen. Her timing was suspiciously convenient. Neal wagered she'd heard practically the entire discussion. "I hereby declare this evening a wrap."
Notes: To describe the actions of the past few days, Peter modified a quotation by Winston Churchill: "I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest."
The mystery deepens in the next story in the series, The Locked Room.