Chapter 8: Intruders
Neal joined Peter at the window. A pickup pulled up and parked behind the first vehicle. The two figures who got out both wore black robes. Their heads were concealed within hoods, one of which was yellow. Was he the yellow-masked priest from the Plateau of Leng? The robe looked different but Neal didn't take that as a reassuring sign.
Peter gripped his shoulder. "The front door is unlocked. They may suspect someone's here." Already they could hear footsteps on the staircase. "Our best course will be to bluff our way out." He pulled out his wallet from his pants pocket and began rifling through it.
"What are you doing? The door's jammed. We should be okay."
"I wouldn't count on it. Follow my lead," Peter ordered. "Look official. Take out an ID card to flash. Just make sure your fingers cover most of it."
A key was heard turning in the lock. Neal watched the knob turn. His heart dropped when the door slowly creaked open. Why couldn't Mozzie get it open? Were there other forces at work?
Five men entered. Three looked like dockworkers with pea-jackets, scruffy beards, and stocking caps. The two robed figures had hooded masks completely covering their faces. Now that Neal could see the robes clearly, he could tell they were of inferior quality to the one worn by the priest on the plateau. The robes lacked the intricate calligraphy and the material appeared to be cheap cotton.
The priest with the yellow hood quickly pulled out a gun from a pocket in his robe. "Come here to spy, did you?" His voice was harsh and insolent.
"We have every right to be here," Peter bluffed. "We're with the city inspection department." He flashed his American Archaeological Society card in front of their faces. "What business do you have in a locked up-building?"
Neal followed suit with his Miskatonic ID card and imitated Diana's scowl. They weren't impressed.
The yellow-masked priest ordered them to sit on the floor in the northeast corner of the room with their backs to each other and their hands between their legs. Handing his gun to the other priest, he added, "Shoot them if they so much as twitch." He turned to the others. "You're in luck, boys. It's not many novitiates who are privileged to see the ceremony you're about to witness." He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Peter's back was pressed against Neal's and he could feel Peter taking deep breaths. Was he preparing to make a move? Neal tensed his muscles to follow his lead. But before Peter could do anything, the priest returned.
He was carrying a plain wooden box about two feet long and one foot wide. The box had a four-inch round hole in one side. He set it down next to the book on the table then turned to face the wall on the west side of the room. Chanting in a tongue reminiscent of Semitic, he waved his hand in front of it.
In an instant, the wall was transformed into a ruby crystal similar to the one Neal had seen in the church but of monstrous proportions. The crystal extended from the floor almost to the ceiling. Neal heard Peter choke back an exclamation as the dockworkers also gasped.
Neal stared into the crystal. The same faint sound of that accursed ebony flute came from within the heart of the crystal. In the church, he'd seen shadowy dancing figures. His eyes pierced through layer upon layer of glowing vermilion facets . . .
Peter's back shoved hard into him. Neal realized he'd been leaning forward to the point of collapse. He righted himself and pressed back against Peter.
"You were warned!" barked the black-masked priest and jabbed the gun to Neal's forehead. His voice was pitched low like he was deliberately distorting it.
"Keep 'em alive," the other priest called out. "Their time's coming." He turned to the three men who were now standing huddled together, their mouths gaped open. "Welcome to the world of Azathoth, my brothers. The path of pure enlightenment and riches await you. The world will soon know and fear you as you bask in the glory that is Azathoth. Are you ready to take your place at his side?"
They nodded mutely.
"You'd been asked to choose your new names. Now you must prove your allegiance by signing the Book of Azathoth." He commanded them to come forward and place their writing hand in the box. "No matter what you feel, you must leave your hand inside the box for fifteen seconds. Only then will you be deemed worthy."
The first man stepped up and inserted his hand nervously into the box. A second later he blanched and let out a sharp gasp. The priest was there to hold his arm firmly in place. The man looked frozen with fright, his arm shaking convulsively. At the end of the allotted time, the priest allowed him to retract his hand. Neal could see his index finger was bleeding. The priest squeezed out a pool of blood onto a dish and dipped a quill into it, which he then gave to the novitiate, instructing him to sign his new name in the book. At the end of the ordeal, the novitiate appeared to be dazed but not in pain.
The priest repeated the process with the two other men.
At the end of the ritual, he bowed low before them. "Welcome, novitiates. Now you will experience the full power of Azathoth." He removed his satin sash and walked over to the crystal, where he flung the sash directly at it. The sash gave a sharp pop and exploded into flames. Turning back to the novitiates, he said, "That's what happens with a sash. Guess what happens when a man strikes the crystal." He beckoned to the men to follow him.
Standing in front of Neal and Peter, he ordered them onto their feet.
With the gun directed at them, they had no choice but to comply. Neal kept listening for the sounds of a police siren, but there was nothing. They were prodded to stand immediately in front of the crystal. The black-masked priest whispered something to his fellow priest who nodded in agreement.
He pointed the gun at Neal. "You can go willingly or we toss you in. Your choice."
Peter was staring at him, shaking his head. But Neal had entered the crystal in the church and survived. This time he had the amulet on. If he disappeared, they might be satisfied and release Peter. He shook off the priest's arms and started to walk toward the wall when the priest gave him a hard shove directly into the crystal. As Neal staggered, Peter grabbed him.
"Stop!" Peter shouted.
But he was too late. Like a gigantic magnet, the crystal sucked Neal in and Peter with him.
#
Once more Neal was engulfed in a vortex as the wall dissolved into a dizzying whirlpool of colors beyond space and time. He spun in a nauseating spiral for what seemed to be hours before being ejected onto a hard surface. Wheezing, Neal quickly scrambled to his hands and knees. The cold stone floor underneath him swam and shimmered as if seen through a carnival mirror. The air was so frigid it burned his lungs.
He was not alone.
Peter lay outstretched in the center of the vast chamber. He lay on his back seemingly unconscious. Crouching over him was a creature some ten feet long with huge membranous wings. Its rubbery skin was a ghostly gray. The beast had a long prehensile barbed tail. Was this a dragon? The same creature Neal had seen flying around the spire of St. Jude's?
All the characteristics fit. It appeared unaware of Neal's arrival. As Neal crept forward, it raised its tail high into the air where it hovered for a moment, a cobra poised to strike.
Neal shouted, hoping to startle the creature, and leaped on its back. The dragon made not a sound but writhed and twisted to fling him off. Its tail lashed backward, grazing Peter's neck. Neal wrapped his arms tightly around its neck, but its skin was slick and treacherous. With a swift flap of its wings, the dragon took off and flew toward the ceiling. Neal could feel the muscles in its neck throb as it attempted to jerk free from Neal's grasp.
The ceiling was high overhead. They were in a square tower perhaps a hundred feet high. At the very top, there was a small skylight. The creature was far too large to squeeze through, but that appeared to be exactly its intent. It stretched out its neck, aiming for the skylight. Neal's hands were sliding off. Already he was dangling from its neck, being tossed helplessly back and forth.
No longer able to hold on, Neal's fingers slipped as the dragon crashed through the opening with a loud snap of splintered wood.
This was the end.
Or not.
Instead of plummeting to the ground, Neal was a leaf drifting lazily downward. Or was it that time itself had slowed?
#
Peter gradually became aware of his surroundings. His neck felt on fire. He pressed his hand to the spot and hissed. Burn most likely. The floor felt cold and damp. The sound of flapping wings overhead.
He looked up. What monstrosity was that? A dragon? And dangling from its neck was Neal.
"No!" Peter yelled, staggering up. He stood below the creature, powerless to do anything to stop it. Neal was barely maintaining a grip. He was up far too high. He'd never survive a fall.
Then the unthinkable happened. Neal's hands slipped off the creature's neck. But instead of crashing to the ground, he drifted slowly downward as if he weighed no more than a feather.
What the hell?
Peter stretched out his arms, hoping to break his fall, but Neal was able to twist himself into position and land upright. For a second he simply stared shocked at Peter and then glanced up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open.
Figuring out what happened could wait. Peter crushed him in a hug, and for a long moment they simply clung to each other. Peter realized that he was gripping tighter than he should, not that Neal complained. They were both still alive. They were real. As for the rest . . .
Neal pulled back to examine Peter's neck. "That's an ugly gash. How painful is it?"
"Forget about it. It's unimportant. How did you do that?"
"I don't know." He forced out a tired smile. "Maybe I'm Leafman, not Starman? It could have been the algolnium."
"Or your amulet?"
Neal pulled it out from under his turtleneck. It wasn't glowing. It showed no sign of having helped him survive.
"I'd noticed the time just before we passed through the crystal and it was 9:30." Peter glanced back at his watch to make sure he remembered correctly. "Now it reads 9:00. We've gone back in time. The laws of physics don't seem to work. Are we even on Earth?"
"If we are, it's the North Pole." Neal wrapped his arms around his body, shivering in the frigid air. Peter slapped his own arms in an attempt to maintain heat. "Did you see the dragon?"
"Yeah, was that what it was?" His neck began to throb painfully. He touched it gingerly. It was oozing slightly.
"I don't know what else to call it." Neal studied the wound. "There's no blood, but the skin is inflamed and swollen. Blisters are forming. Do you want me to wrap it?"
"It feels like a burn. Since it's not bleeding, it's better to leave it in the open air." He gave a reassuring smile to calm Neal's anxious look. "The cold will act as an anesthetic."
"Then it's worth freezing. That wound is what the dragon's tail did to you. When I came through the vortex, it was leaning over you. I tried to distract it and jumped on its back to drag it away. That's when it took off."
"I don't remember any of that. The first thing I saw was you dangling by its neck as it approached the skylight."
With the dragon gone, at least for the moment, they had their first real opportunity to examine the chamber. There was no door. The walls were made of massive stone blocks that fit together with no apparent binding to hold them in place. The construction technique was reminiscent of the Machu Picchu culture. On one wall was a round opening about four feet in diameter. It was filled with turbulent gas which occasionally set off crackling sparks of phosphorescence. Peter assumed it was the vortex through which they'd come. The only other openings were one small window on one of the walls and the skylight high overhead.
"There's algolnium around here," Neal muttered. "It's faint but unmistakable." His eyes darted around the space. There was a faint greenish glow given off from the walls, but visibility was poor. Neal headed for one corner of the chamber. "Found it. A soapstone starfish and with all five arms intact!"
This was the first unbroken one Peter had ever seen. He studied it carefully.
"The amount of algolnium is about the same as the ones at the crime scenes," Neal said. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pen. While Peter held the starfish for him, he drew the glyphs.
Afterward, Peter wrapped a handkerchief around it and placed it in his pocket. "Any idea of where we are?"
Neal shook his head. "I've never seen this place in any of my visions." He walked toward the one window and Peter followed him. The window was small, barely wide enough for both of them to look through it at the same time. There was no glass to keep the icy air from entering the tower.
Surrounding them was a cratered world of jagged snow-topped mountains and ash-covered pits. No trees. No buildings. In the distance, a volcano belched plumes of smoke. It was a land of fire and ice unlike any Peter had ever seen. Shooting stars slashed across the dark sky. The moon was visible but loomed at least ten times larger than it should. Peter gasped when he saw a second smaller moon to its right. He'd already suspected it, but here was the confirmation. They were not on Earth.
Neal pointed to a plateau to the right. "I think that may be Leng!"
"And emerging from behind the plateau . . . Are those shantaks?" Peter watched as five birds flapped high into the sky with slow sweeps of their immense wings and began circling the plateau. Their bodies resembled reddish parchment. The wings were so thin, they appeared translucent. The heads seemed disproportionately large for their bodies. They reminded Peter of pterodactyls except that their wings were much wider, more like bats. And even at a distance, they appeared enormous.
The plateau stood by itself on a plain. A vast mountain range extended beyond it in the distance. Neal blinked his eyes repeatedly. The temperature was making his eyes water. Peter's were as well. "You remember I said the monastery was encircled by tall tusk-like pillars? I think I see them."
Peter focused on the top of the plateau. There was a low hump that might be the monastery and encircling it were columns of some sort. Their stark shapes appeared like the ribcage of a leviathan's carcass.
Was this the parallel universe Mozzie had theorized? Despite the arctic conditions, they were riveted to the view. What lay beyond the mountain range? Was the entire world like this?
A faint scratching sound, coming from high overhead, pulled Peter's attention back to the tower. He turned away from the window to look up into the rafters. Out of the skylight were pouring dozens of rats.
No, not rats.
Neal saw them too. "Zoogs!" he exclaimed.
Peter stared at them. Now he could make out the tentacles on their faces. About the size of large squirrels, they were scurrying down the wall, making insane fluttering sounds.
Neal looked around wild-eyed. "We can't stay here! There are too many of them."
"Where do we go? If we reenter the wormhole, we don't know where we'll come out. The next world could be worse." The zoogs were now a seemingly unending tidal surge. Soon they'd be upon them.
"We have no choice. We have to enter the vortex!" Neal grasped his arm. "Hurry! Hold onto me so we don't get separated."
Peter took a deep breath. "All right, Sundance, let's do this."
Neal locked arms with him and they plunged into the vortex.
#
The turbulence was just as bad as the first time. Neal looked to his right where Peter should be. He couldn't see anything but his hands still held onto Peter's arms. Neal attempted to call out but he couldn't force his mouth open. He tried to ignore the gnawing mouths he felt on his limbs. Just an illusion. They weren't real. They couldn't be.
Finally, they were coughed out onto something solid. For a long moment, Neal lay on the ground, just grateful to still be alive. He could feel Peter next to him. There were no sounds. Wherever they were, they appeared to be alone.
He opened his eyes. They were back in the locked room. Peter still had his eyes closed but was conscious. He groaned and moved his arm, his face drained of color. Did Neal look the same?
"Did we make it?" Peter mumbled.
"Yeah, we're back where we started. The thugs are gone. The book too." Peter sat up, rubbing his head. Neal looked at him anxiously. "Do you remember anything of the journey?"
"No, worse luck," he said.
"I wouldn't say that. It's better that way."
Peter cast him a sharp look. "You stayed conscious, didn't you?"
Neal nodded and helped him up. Peter didn't appear to have suffered any ill effects from his ordeal. In fact, just the opposite.
"What are you staring at?" Peter asked uneasily.
"Your neck. The gash has disappeared."
Peter probed the area where the wound had been with his fingers. "There's no pain. It's as if the wound never existed." He shook his head in bewilderment. "How did that happen?"
"I don't know, but I'm glad it did."
Peter reached inside his pocket and pulled out the starfish. When he unwrapped it, he discovered two of its arms were missing.
"It's just like the others," Neal noted. "Something about entering our world may cause fragments to break off."
Peter felt in his pocket. "I can't find any pieces. They must have fallen out."
"That's one possibility," Neal muttered, not caring to speculate on the others. He remembered all too well the sensation of being gnawed.
A crackling sound rent the air. Neal spun around just in time to see the vortex close and vanish.
"If that had happened a couple of minutes earlier . . ." Peter murmured, his face somber.
They stood for a moment simply staring at the blank wall. "You know no one will believe what happened," Neal said. "We traveled to another world."
"Just like you did at the church. And now we're back, uninjured." He looked around. "I wonder if we're once more locked in."
As Neal started for the door, it opened on its own.
Diana and Jones entered the room. "Finally," she said, a look of relief on her face. "This was the last room we checked." She paused, her relief turning to anger. "I should cuff you and read you your rights, but beyond trespassing, I don't have anything to charge you with. I'll settle for a full explanation of what just went on."
Are you serious?
Notes: In this chapter, Diana included many references to the house where Azathoth held Neal and Peter prisoner. They're the subject of my blog post, "Hidden Messages in the Locked Room." One of the most important messages is something that Peter inserted.
Diana also alluded to Klaus's death at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when she had Neal fall from the dragon. Fortunately for Neal, he was in a non-Euclidean world where the rules of physics were distorted. Diana was inspired by Lovecraft's short story, "The Dreams in the Witch House," which also featured a non-Euclidean realm. The hero of that story is Walter Gilman, a student of mathematics at Miskatonic University.