He Who Walks in Shadow (11 page)

I just shook my head. “There’s nothing ‘unknown’ in what you want to do, nor is there anything altogether unique about it. It’s been tried before. Dozens, even hundreds of times. Throughout history. Stupid, foolish men such as yourself who seek to control things they do not understand.”

Zann grimaced. “You misjudge me, doctor,” he said, false hurt dripping from his voice. “I am neither stupid nor a fool. I seek only what all great men seek—a brighter, better day.”

“Then perhaps you are simply insane.”

Now Zann laughed, and, yes, there was a touch of madness in it.

“Tell me, professor, you are a Christian, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Ah, and what does your faith seek? What is its purpose, its goal?”

“The salvation of mankind. Quite the opposite of yours.”

“Ah, perhaps, perhaps.” Zann leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, the smirk still in place. “But I would argue your premise, professor. The salvation of mankind? No, the destruction of mankind. That is what your god offers. The salvation of a select few, yes. The ones that follow him. And when your Christ returns? What is it that he has promised?”

“‘But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night,’” I quoted, “‘in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.’ Yes, Dr. Zann, I know my scripture.”

“Then you know that we are not different, you and I. Except I do not seek the destruction of the earth; I seek its fulfillment. I do not seek the promise of eternal life, but its reality. Here, at the side of this world’s true masters, those who ruled in the long ago, and those who will rule again.”

“And how many would you kill to make it so? How many have you killed already? So that you and a chosen few can have your salvation?”

“Dr. Weston,” Zann said, his smile quivering at the edge of his mouth, “you and I both know that the world is made of means and ends, of those who rule and those who serve. Salvation, after all, is for the elect. For men such as you, and me. To resist is a useless gesture. They will return. You know it as well as I. The only question is whether we will share in the cup of their victory, or whether it will be our blood that fills it.”

“I wonder what your father would say about that.”

Zann laughed again, but this time, it was genuine. It was probably the first honest emotion I’d seen him express.

“My father? What would you know of him?”

“I’ve heard enough,” I said. “Enough to know that he was a great man.”

“A great man,” Zann spat. “Yes, I suppose you would think that. Let me tell you something about my father. One of my more vivid memories of him…I must have been five years old, if that. He was sitting in an upstairs room of our house, staring out the window. Our home, it sat on the banks of the Rhine River. Beautiful country. And he was gazing over the waters. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I was only a child, but even at that tender age I knew well not to disturb my father when he was working. So I stood on the threshold of the room, hidden behind the door. But I could see him. He had his Stradivarius in his arms.
Mein
Gott
, that violin was worth a fortune. It was two hundred years old if it was a day. He had it there, one hand on its neck, the other on his bow. Of course I thought nothing of it at the time but looking back—if Runge had been there, what a painting he could have made. The genius at work. The artist, deep in thought. That’s what my father was, you know? A musical force of nature. And there he was, ready to play. That’s how I would like to remember him. Yet, I don’t even have that, do I?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? Do you know
why
I remember that image of my father so well? Because he left, the next day. He took his violin—and nothing else—and just went. Abandoned us, my mother and me. It didn’t take us long to burn through the savings we had, substantial though they were. My mother, foolishly, tried to keep the house. She just couldn’t accept that he wasn’t coming back. That what we had was all we would ever have. From the Rhine to the slums of Berlin. That was the path I took. And I swore then that I would know what happened to him. I swore that I would track him down. I’m not sure what would have happened if I had found him. I’m not sure what I would have done.”

“But you didn’t find him.”

Zann smiled mirthlessly, and for a moment, I felt sorry for him.

“No, no, I never found him. Which is not to say that I didn’t come as close as any man ever will. I tracked his every step. From the train station in Mainz, where he bought a ticket to Paris. And from there to the neighborhood of Rue d’Auseil—which, I tell you, is impossible to find even with a good guide and the best map of the city one can buy.”

“I know,” I said, astonished. “I have looked for it myself, but never successfully.”

“Yes, well, perhaps destiny led me there. I even located the peaked garret that he lived in until his disappearance. I stood where he must have stood, and I stared out over the city of Paris from his window, over the high wall that marks the border of Rue d’Auseil, and I must have looked to anyone watching like my father did, all those years ago.”

I saw it then, as Zann’s eyes were locked on some memory in the long ago. I saw the pain he had suffered, and even then, in that underground dungeon, I wondered if I might be able to reach him yet.

“But, doctor,” I said, “you must know what your father did? You must know what he accomplished?”

“Oh, I’ve heard the story. I found him, the French student, the one who published the tale of my father’s last days.”

“Then you know that he stood in the breech, that it was only his music that kept the Old Ones at bay?”

“I know that he played, and I know that he dueled with another, one who would have opened the gate with his song, one who would have restored the Old Ones to their glory. Yes, professor, I know that. And it was then, when I discovered the truth, that I vowed that I would undo what my father had done. That I would throw open the door. That I would be restored to my rightful place in this world. Not a servant. But the master.”

“So you would sacrifice the innocent, millions of them, for power?”

Zann’s demeanor changed; his smile grew wider, his eyes, more fierce. It was as if he had caught me in something, as if I had said something that was to my own detriment. I shuddered, wondering what I had given him.

“Yes, you know something of sacrifice, don’t you, doctor? And you know something of the power that sacrifice brings. The power that
only
sacrifice can bring?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I had meant to state it boldly, to defy him, and yet, somehow it came out only as a whisper.

“Oh, I think you do, Dr. Weston. I think you know precisely what I mean. Yes, doctor. The Old Ones have sought a return before.
He
has sought it, the messenger, the harbinger of the doom of all things. And he almost had it. But you stood in the way. As you always do, it seems. But how to defeat him without the Oculus? How to stand against the crawling chaos with nothing to arm yourself? It must have taken quite a sacrifice to have banished him, if only for a time. Quite a sacrifice indeed.”

I stayed silent, refusing to give him the dignity of an answer. Or perhaps fearing to do so. Zann’s grin grew so wide that it threatened to split his face in half.

“Tell me, professor, when you killed your son-in-law, when you murdered William Jones, how much power did you feel then?”

From somewhere behind and above echoed a shriek, a pitiful “No!” as filled with sorrow and despair as any I have ever heard. And my heart sank to the pit of my stomach, for I recognized that voice.

Journal of Henry Armitage

July 24, 1933

I should have acted more quickly. I should have seen it coming. But even as Zann set the trap, and even as Carter walked headlong into it, I did not think. Not until I heard Rachel scream. Carter spun around, and in his face I saw that the joy he should have had in seeing us, his liberators, was instead bitter sorrow. And then there was Zann, his eyes aglow with feverish light, with madness and hatred mixed into one.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “I see we have company.”

A sickening thud echoed through the room. The fire in Zann’s eyes went out, and he collapsed to the ground at Guillaume’s feet. If only he had reached him a few moments earlier.

“Let’s go!” Guillaume whispered, as loudly as he dared. But his caution was in vain. The sound of hurried footsteps was already close. The soldiers had heard Rachel’s cry, and they were coming.

“Rachel,” I said, but she did not hear me. She and her father were in their own world. She, staring into the pit where he stood. He, gazing up to her with a look that had transformed from shock to resignation, an acknowledgement of guilt. But this was not the time.

“Rachel! We have to go.”

I grabbed her arm and jerked her forward, veritably dragging her down the rough stairs of the temple into the pit below.

“This way!” Guillaume gestured to the tunnel opposite the one through which we had passed earlier. “They are coming. We have to find another way out.”

We ran, and I was glad that Carter and Rachel had seemed to snap out of their trance, at least temporarily. We dashed out of the temple just as the Germans entered it behind us. It would take only a moment for them to figure out what had happened, so that was the time we would have for our escape.

Guillaume led, and I hoped that whatever sense of direction he was using to guide us was true, though I feared that we were running blindly. Who could know how far these tunnels extended or to where they would eventually lead? I had read once of explorers in the catacombs of Paris losing their way, desperately trying to conserve light as they wandered through endless chambers of ivory white bones. Some of them never emerged. Would that be our fate as well?

We’d been running for only a couple of minutes when we were undone. A soldier stepped from behind a wall and pointed his rifle at us. “
Stoppen! Hände hoch
!” he shouted, gesturing at us with the barrel of his gun. We threw up our hands, and I saw in my mind’s eye an execution, bullets to the back of the head, all of us dead in a dark and desolate cavern.

Then something inexplicable happened. It seems that sometimes, Heaven shines on those that would do its bidding; and this time a small miracle was worked in our favor. The rocks above the soldier must have been loose, for his shouts seemed to shake them onto his head. He collapsed beneath their weight. It was a lucky break indeed.

Still, we could hear pursuit behind us, and I thought that perhaps our luck truly was about to run out. Fortunately, the tunnel ran out first. In the darkness and in our haste, we did not even notice when it ended in a short—but sharp—drop into the River Spree.

Down we plunged into its icy depths. Were it not for the adrenaline that burned through our veins, I have no doubt that we would have frozen to death that night. We made our way to the shore with no small amount of difficulty, fortunate to discover that we were not far from Margot’s apartment. We found her waiting there, worried to distraction, having been forced to flee from her position outside the building when a garrison of soldiers arrived. She threw her arms around Guillaume and kissed him with a passion I have rarely seen. From his reaction, he had rarely seen it either. But yet again, there was little time for such revelry.

“I can’t be sure that I wasn’t seen,” Margot said as we warmed ourselves in front of her hearth. “And while I doubt anyone would have recognized me—why would they, after all?—I would put nothing beyond the power of the SA.”

“No,” Carter said, “and in the end it doesn’t matter. We have to go. We can’t stay here.”

“I’m coming with you,” Guillaume said.

“So am I,” Margot added. Guillaume started to protest, but Margot shot him a look that silenced him before he had said even a word.

Carter shook his head. “We’ve put you in too much danger already. I owe you my life. All of you.” Carter’s eyes met Rachel’s, but she quickly looked away. A moment of truth would come. I hoped that she kept her head about her long enough for us to get out of Berlin.

“This is bigger than you,” said Margot. “Bigger than all of us. Whatever this Dr. Zann is planning, it must be stopped. And with the resources he has, you need all the help you can get.”

Carter sighed. “I’m afraid you don’t know the half of it. Zann’s only a small part of whatever is going on. I don’t think Zann ever thought I would leave Berlin, at least not alive. He told me things during the interrogation. Or more often he just let them slip. Zann was looking for something. Two things actually. The Staff of Dzyan, and the Oculus.”

Margot’s eyes clouded with understandable confusion, but I knew all too well what this meant.

“Dzyan,” I muttered.

Carter nodded. “It takes more than the Oculus to stop Nyarlathotep. The staff and the stone are one. Together, they can send him back to the void. That’s why Zann wants them.”

“Nyarlathotep?” Margot muttered, stumbling over the strange word. Carter waved it off.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Just trust me when I say that he is bad news.”

Margot shook her head. “But you said there was more to it than Zann?”

“It seemed that time was of the essence to him. Apparently, the devotees of Nyarlathotep are hard at work in Paris, trying to find the staff in the last place it was rumored to be.”

“The catacombs…”

Carter looked at me and nodded. “Exactly.”

Now Guillaume interrupted. “So you don’t know where the staff is?”

Carter shook his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t. But I know where we have to look.”

“Paris.”

“Exactly.”

“And if someone else finds it first?”

Carter didn’t answer. There was no point. I’m not even sure why I asked the question.

“Then we should rest,” Margot said. “There’s a train to Paris that leaves at 6 a.m. That’s less than an hour.”