This choice: Get Gordon to go with you • Go Back...Chapter #37The Professor's House, and What Happened There-1 by: Seuzz   It seems best to keep Gordon in the loop, so you call him. "I think I found a lead on the book," you say, and tell him about this "former owner."
"Pretty freaking weird that he'd let it get away from him," he says when you're done. "But let's talk to him. Now. I got nothing better to do." You give him the address off the card.
* * * * *
It proves to be a villa on the outskirts of town, near where farm country starts. It's a big, two-story affair surrounded by a whitewashed stone wall. The grounds are extensively landscaped, but utterly dead; there isn't even any grass, and the only plant life is a yew tree by the corner of the house, near a stone shed. You and your friend--who is still dressed out like Justin--exchange an uneasy glance when you see the doorbell: It's sitting inside the mouth of a ravening wolf. Justin just raps sharply at the door.
It is opened a few minutes later by a portly gentleman. He is middle-aged and dressed in polyester slacks and a tight, black pullover. He has a moustache and a goatee, and a bad combover trails limply over his broad scalp. His smile is thin and quizzical. "Professor Blackwell?" you ask. He nods. "Ted Arnholm gave us your card. We were asking him about a book we bought at his shop."
A gleam comes into the professor's eyes and his smile widens without growing any warmer. "Ah, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that. Do come in, gentlemen." He lets you into the foyer and closes the door behind you.
You introduce yourself and Justin. "Mr. Arnholm told us you were interested in buying the book back--"
"Let us be clear," he interrupts. "We are speaking of the Libra Personae?" His smile fades a little as you just stare back at him. "A leather-bound book about this big--" He gestures with his hands. "Illustrated on its title page by some rather cunning drawings?"
"That's it," Justin says. "The name is a little hard to read."
"Do you have it with you?"
"No. Actually, we came out because we wanted to ask you about it. We're a little curious about it."
"Are you?" he muses quietly. "Well, I can tell you something of its provenance, but the most important detail is the price I would pay to retrieve it. Six hundred dollars? After such a transaction, I would be most happy to discuss it at length with you."
"It's that valuable?" Justin says after the ensuing pause has become awkward.
"Not in itself," he says. "The book itself is merely a curiosity, but it was part of an extensive collection that I am endeavoring to reassemble for Keyserling's museum. I am afraid I am having to pay a steep price for my carelessness in accidentally parting with it."
You and Justin exchange a glance. Bullshit, you silently agree.
Blackwell reads your glance. "Mm," he says. "Perhaps if you joined me in the library, I could answer any questions you might have."
He gestures you down a short hall and through an arched doorway. The library is extremely large. Three of its walls are dominated by bookshelves rising to a high ceiling--so tall that a wheeled ladder must be used to reach the top shelves. The fourth wall has tall windows and French doors looking westward. A discordant ticking comes from one corner: two grandfather clocks, set at right angles to each other, are ticking out of phase with each other. Stuffed animals sit in various alcoves. Your eye is caught by one in particular: It looks like a hairless monkey baring fanged teeth. It has a single eyeball in the center of its forehead, which glares back at you with an expression of frothing, gleeful malice.
There are several large desks in the middle of the room, and Blackwell gestures you and Justin to sit at one. He sits opposite you, and from a drawer takes out a silver pen, which he twiddles absent-mindedly between his fingers. "You'd much prefer to have the money to the book, wouldn't you, boys?" he says softly. "Think of what you could buy if you split six hundred dollars. The book is just an antique. Just an antique."
"It may be an antique," says Justin, "but it can do some interesting things."
"Pshaw," says Blackwell. "Some funny drawings and interesting designs. It's not even written in real Latin, just a mongrel approximation scribbled out by a madman." The pen flashes between his fingers.
"Yeah, but you can make these masks," Justin says.
"Not even proper Halloween masks," Blackwell softly insists.
"And some other things."
You have to work to tear your eyes off the pen. What is your friend up to, babbling away about the book? Your head feels cottony, and you wonder if you missed that part of the conversation where Blackwell asked about the book. "Trinkets," Blackwell says dismissively, and your eye is again caught by the glittering pen.
"Golems," Justin says.
The pen stops moving. "What is a golem?" Blackwell asks, and sets the pen in motion again.
"A fake person. An automaton. And if you put a mask on it--"
The pen stops again, and the library--which you now realize had been fading away--comes flooding vividly back. You look up sharply to see Blackwell staring at Justin. "You've made a mask and a golem?" he asks.
"Yeah," Justin says in a low growl. "And we put the mask on the golem. So don't bullshit us about how the book is just a 'curiosity'."
"I see," says Blackwell. "You are rather clever boys, aren't you," he continues in a faint sneer. "Or you think you are. And yet you came looking for me. Pumping me in an extraordinarily unsubtle fashion, for information." His beard bristles as he smiles nastily. "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourselves into?"
"Who says we're in trouble?"
"You have," says Blackwell. "Just by coming here."
You look around the library, and the sense of unease that had settled on you suddenly crystalizes into fear. You put your hand on Justin's arm. "Let's get out of here."
"It's a dangerous book," Blackwell says, and starts to twiddle the pen again. "Very dangerous. You don't want to hang on to it. You want to get rid of it. You want to give it back to me."
"We want you to tell us about golems," Justin insists. "And how to control them."
"Control them?" he asks. "If you're clever enough to have made one, you're certainly clever enough to--"
"We got one, but it's kind of recalcitrant," Justin says. "Acts kind of funny. Doesn't always do what we want it to do."
"We?" Blackwell laughs softly. "Perhaps you've confused it. It will only obey one person." Your attention settles again on the pen. You have the impression that you were trying to say something or do something, but can't quite place what it was.
"This one says it's supposed to obey us," Justin says. "But it doesn't. Not really, and not always."
"Which of you crafted it?"
Justin shifts in his seat. "A friend of ours. He's got the book."
"Ah," says Blackwell. "Has he noticed anything-- But perhaps he should come out himself to discuss things. And bring the book with him."
You smile to yourself. You like the suggestion, but you make no move to take out your phone. The clocks tick, and you find yourself counting their strokes. You have to invent some new numbers to keep track of them ...
* * * * *
You're sitting in the library, feeling very peaceful. You're not staring at anything in particular. A few times you glance over at Justin. He's also sitting there with a faint smile on his face. Your attention returns to the far wall, where that monkey is sitting. Dimly, you realize that Blackwell is no longer sitting opposite you. Well, it's his house and he can move around it as he likes. You yourself are content to just sit here and let its air of learning settle about you, silting up around your feet and legs and chest and--
The monkey's single eye flashes, and it's like a shuriken to your eyeball. You sit bolt upright and turn with a gasp toward Justin. He's halfway out of his chair and clutches at your arm. His mouth is a perfect circle. "You didn't fucking call Roth, did you?" you demand.
"You think I'm stupid? I called--"
A scream rents the air, a shrill, inhuman sound that tears at your eardrums. You jog the table hard as you leap to your feet and scramble from the library.
Blackwell is standing in the front doorway, gazing out. But at the sound of your approach he swings around and slams the door, twisting the lock in place. You grab at him, but he holds firm. "Stay where you are!" he says in a terrible voice, and his face is white. "For the love of all that's--"
The scream rises again. You try thrusting him out of the way, but he is very heavy and has his feet planted firmly, and he sags back against the door. "Get out of the way, you--"
"You can't go out there!" he cries. "It'll get you too!"
"The fuck is--?"
"You don't comprehend the force at play," he shouts over the screams. "This house and its grounds--"
The scream trails off into a weak wail, and a dreadful silence falls. Blackwell grasps the knob tightly, his knuckles whitening. He shakes his head frantically and motions you to be silent. His face has turned an unnatural color.
Something scratches at the door, and there's a thump. Then something sounding heavy and sharp, like an iron claw, drags slowly across it.
You and Justin stare at the professor, while he stares past your shoulders with a stricken expression on his face. After a very long minute, he turns and slowly unlocks the door. He opens it a crack and peers out.
You push him aside. Will Prescott is laying on the walk, halfway between the door and the gate. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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