Chapter 48

The ringing of the morning bell woke the dormitory to life. Murmurs of voices and the shuffle of feet sounded in the hallway outside the door. Martala left to get me a clean robe and gather food from the kitchen for our departure, for it was evident that we must flee the Sons of Sirius before the discovery of the corpse. I occupied myself by hiding my bloody robe beneath the mattress and washing all traces of blood from my hands and chest. The water in the basin took on a distinct red tinge. I poured it into the chamber pot, and the piss and shit from the previous evening disguised its color well enough for a casual glance, after I stirred the mixture.

She returned with the robe in her arms, its folds filled with loaves of bread, a piece of salted pork, and dried dates and apricots.

“It was the best food I could steal. I could only stay in the kitchen for a few moments, and was never left alone.”

“It will serve well enough,” I said, putting my arms through the robe and tying its quilted belt. I slid her empty travel wallet and my flat water skin into the front of it through the slit of its neck. The bulge was noticeable, but could be disguised by bending forward and folding my arm across my belly. I regretted the loss of our boots. It would have attracted instant notice to wear anything other than the daily uniform of the order, and in any case, our boots had been taken away shortly after our admittance into the monastery and sold, the money they earned adding to the general coffers.

As expected, the absence of Baruch was noticed in the dining hall, and a young brother dispatched to look for him while the rest of us made a breakfast of fresh bread, boiled eggs, and ham. Toward the end of the meal, the brother returned with an apologetic posture and made his way directly to the head table, where sat Rumius and his fellow elders. I could not hear what question Rumius put to him, but he merely shook his head. Rumius dismissed him with an expression of concern, and bent in council with one of his advisors, who always dined at his elbow. This coming and going was not missed by the monks seated further down the hall. Suddenly Baruch became the focus of conversation at all the tables.

A general search was undertaken shortly before noon, amid growing alarm. Everyone knew that Baruch must still be within the monastery, which made his absence a mystery that verged on a wonder. He had been seen retiring to his room in the dormitory the evening before, or so the general gossip testified. Since the gate was locked at sunset, guarded all night, and not opened until after the morning meal, he could not be outside the walls, yet he had vanished. The initial assumption was that he had fallen into the cistern and drowned, but this was soon disproved by investigation, and the area of the search widened.

The search served my purposes better than I would have hoped. It drew most of the scribes out of the scriptorium, and many of the senior monks from their offices. I was exempt from the search due to my weak mind, and was permitted to carry on with my usual morning duty, sweeping the floors of the library. As soon as I could do so without attracting notice, I worked my way down to the western end of the hall on the third level. The scroll was still where the elder monk had placed it, after scanning over its contents. It would have been safest to steal the scroll and read it at my leisure when safely outside the walls of the monastery, but I dared not trust the words of the monster below. Fingers trembling with eagerness, I unrolled it.

The letters were Hebrew, the language Aramaic, a tongue well-known to Nectanebus, but obscure to most scholars of the present age. It was a work of no great interest that described various holy sites of the world, a kind of traveler’s guide similar to the book of Pausanius the Greek. I let my eyes dance through it with impatience. What I sought was written in another hand at the foot of the main text, a gloss of no great extent. I read it with care, then rolled up the scroll and replaced it.

During my time in the library, I had taken notice of a number of valuable works on the necromantic arts, fixing their places of keeping in my mind. I went to them and gathered several scrolls that could easily fit into the pockets of the wallet. It was with regret that I passed over others too bulky to conceal on my person. Each was worth far more than its weight in gold to those interested in the arcane secrets of death and life.

As I descended to the landing on the second level, I saw that the door to the office where the library strongbox was kept had been left open in the confusion of the search. It was one of the few doors in the monastery with a lock. The temptation was too great for me to resist. The lock on the strongbox did not frustrate my efforts to spring it for more than a few minutes. It was of antique design, difficult to break but easy to pick with a penknife left lying on the desk. I reached in and took a generous handful of dinars, then stuffed them into the wallet with the scrolls. They would pay for the loss of my boots, I reflected, and be some compensation for the weeks spent acting the fool.

“What are you doing here, Idi? Don’t you know this room is forbidden to you?” asked a cultured voice behind my back.

My blood turned to cold spring water, and I remained motionless with my hand still in the neck of my robe. Replacing the habitually foolish expression on my face, I slowly straightened and turned, cursing myself for not bringing the dagger. The blade of the penknife was no longer than my little finger. Still, it was a weapon of sorts. The bearded monk who faced me from the open doorway was of no great age. I recognized him as the youngest of those who carried out the administration of the monastery from these offices. His name came to me after a few seconds during which my mind remained as dense as a block of wood. Brother Adrian. I lolled my tongue at him and wagged my head as though confused.

His clear brown eyes strayed to the open strongbox. I wondered how difficult it would be to kill him with the little knife. Where would I hide the body? With the entire monastery engaged in a search of all the buildings, no corner would long remain safe from discovery, even were I able to drag his corpse down the hallway and stairs unobserved. Would his body fit into the strongbox? I cast my eyes in the same direction as his to measure its dimensions.

“You have been very naughty, Idi.” His voice held a trace of amusement. “What would Brother Baruch think, if he could see you now?”

The use of the missing monk’s name was so unexpected, I forgot myself for an instant and glanced keenly at him.

“Talk to me, Idi,” he said. “Your secret is safe. Only I and Baruch know of it, and Baruch won’t be telling anyone, will he?”

So the love-smitten monk had not kept his discoveries to himself, but had informed his friend. How many others had he told, and if so, why was I still alive? For a few moments I debated in my own thoughts the wisdom of continuing to play the fool, but the expression on the face of the monk was so knowing, I saw that it would be futile. At least I could straighten the curve of my back, and face him like a man.

“What did Baruch tell you?”

He laughed in delight at the change of my posture. I took a small step toward him, the penknife concealed in my left hand.

“He told me nothing. His infatuation with your companion was well-known among the brothers. When I learned of his disappearance, I made the natural assumption that he had discovered your nightly visits beneath the library, and that you had killed him to ensure his silence.”

There was something uncanny about his face, a kind of blankness. When he smiled, the creases at the corners of his lips were not echoed by lines at the corners of his eyes. His face had the stiffness of a living mask, animated by wires from a distance. As if sensing the trend of my thoughts, he nodded. No, it was the thing moving his body like a puppet that nodded to me. I felt sickness mingled with relief. The situation had changed, and I would not have to kill. I forced bravado into my voice.

“So this is the monk whose mind you command at a distance?”

“A very weak mind it is,” the creature said with contempt. “But his mind is of no importance. His eyes and ears serve me, and occasionally, his hands.”

“Why not compel him to deface the signs on the vault and set you free?”

“He is not so clever with locks as you, and I cannot control his hands with the required precision. The brothers never visit me alone, but always in groups of three, for their own security. A wise precaution for them, but frustrating, since Adrian is not permitted to be with me in private, not even for a moment.”

“I have not forgotten our bargain,” I said.

“Are you sure?” The thing eyed me narrowly. “Why were you stealing gold from the box? What is that beneath the folds of your robe?”

“The search for Baruch gave me the opportunity to take what I have long intended to steal.”

“Surely you know the thefts will be discovered? And where is the corpse of the monk hidden? That will be found, also, when it starts to rot.”

“I will come to you tonight, as soon as the monastery is asleep,” I said quickly, to distract the trend of its thoughts. “I have black paint from the workshop. Your release will be the work of a few minutes.”

“No, I do not believe you will,” it said slowly. “You mean to flee from the monastery today, before the corpse of Baruch is found. Why are you in such haste?”

“I swear to you, on the honor of Nyarlathotep, that I will fulfill my pledge to you.”

It laughed until the tears started from the eyes of the entranced monk and coursed down his cheeks.

“Nyarlathotep is without honor. Why do you think he is so universally despised? You are his true servant, of that I have no doubt.”

“If you betray me, I will betray you,” I said in warning. “You will lose the use of this vehicle, and will no longer be able to spy upon the doings of the monks.”

“I could kill you now,” it said, and the fingers of the monk’s hands twitched.

“What would that gain you? Freedom? Brother Adrian might be discovered, and then you would still lose your vehicle.”

“What makes you think he is the only one who serves as my eyes?”

I had made no such assumption, but was merely arguing for my own security.

“Give me the chance to prove the worth of my word,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster. “Let me come to you tonight and set you free.”

It pondered for so long a time, I thought it had lost control of the monk, and expected to see awareness return to Adrian’s eyes.

“Very well, prove the honor of your bond. But know this, I will be watching you. If you try to leave the monastery grounds before you fulfill your vow, I will sound an alarm. You will be taken and tortured, and your little companion as well.”

He watched while I closed and relocked the strongbox, then stepped aside to let me pass out of the office. I felt his gaze burning on my back as I shuffled down the hallway with my arms across my belly to conceal the scrolls. No one passed me on the stairs. I sat on the corner of the bottom step, as was my custom, to wait for the girl.

Martala came for me at the usual time, and we made our way to the dining hall. The noon meal was delayed by the general chaos of the ongoing search. Groups of unfed monks sat at the bare tables, talking in low voices. I saw expressions of fear on the faces of several of the younger brothers. The disappearance of Baruch, because it was inexplicable, seemed unnatural. Others speculated that he had fallen and hit his head in some obscure corner, and would be found before the end of the day. It would not be long before the talk turned to the possibility of murder. When that happened, all of the dormitory rooms would be searched with minute care. We must be long gone before the corpse was discovered.

We ate the delayed meal finally set before us with little appetite and left the dining hall in the midst of the general throng, Martala tugging on the rope around my neck to guide me, for it was her custom to lead me by the rope in any crowded public place. I walked bent over, as though something disagreed with my stomach. None of the monks noticed the bulge of my robes. Their attention was elsewhere.

No, I corrected myself, one monk had his gaze fixed upon us. Brother Adrian watched our exit from the dining hall, and started to follow after us as we approached the front entrance of the dormitory. Martala had not yet sensed his eyes on her back. I was relieved to see him stopped in the entrance hall and taken into earnest conversation by two bearded elders, no doubt concerning details of the search. He cast a glance of frustrated fury at me as I passed through the door, and I could not refrain from giving him my idiot grin.

“Did you get the wheelbarrow?”

“It is waiting,” she murmured without turning to look at my face.

On any ordinary day, it was common for the younger brothers to go into the market square to teach lessons, or to buy meat, fish, vegetables, and other goods from the merchants. I put my faith in the strength of long custom, that Rumius in his preoccupation with the search had not thought to forbid the monks to leave the walls of the monastery, or told the guards to bar the door. As I pushed the wheelbarrow toward the gate, I was relieved to see a clerical monk enter with an armload of scrolls, which he had no doubt purchased from a master of one of the recently arrived riverboats.

Martala spoke to the guard who was about to draw the iron bars across the small door. We had often been outside the gate to the market, so our presence aroused no suspicion. He opened the door.

As we were about to pass through, the other guard put his heavy hand on my bent shoulder. My heart tripped in my chest.

“What’s wrong with your brother?” he asked.

“Poor Idi,” Martala laughed. “I can’t keep him from eating apricots. He steals them from the kitchen. This morning he stuffed his belly with them and now he has cramps.”

They laughed with her at my predicament. I grinned and lolled my tongue from the corner of my mouth, tilting my head to look at each of them.

Their attention was distracted by a monk who came running across the lawn, waving his arms like a madman and calling out to them. I did not need to look to know the voice of Brother Adrian. I had hoped that the thing in the vault would not betray me at the last, since it gained nothing by it, but the satisfaction of causing my discovery must have tempted it beyond endurance. While the guards were distracted, I leaned close to Martala.

“Whatever happens, say nothing and keep going.”

I did not wait for her to respond, but cast my attention inward to Sashi.

Can you control this body of mine, if I leave it? I asked in thought.

Of course, my love.

Keep it moving beside Martala. Go where she leads you.

“Guards! Bolt the gate! I know the murderer of Brother Baruch!”

One of the guards glanced at the open door, then at Adrian, who had the appearance of a madman, stumbling across the lawn with widened eyes and disordered hair hanging from beneath the band of his turban. As the thing in the vault had indicated in the library, its control over the coordination of its host was limited. Perhaps this was the first time it had ever attempted to run.

Focusing my will and murmuring the required words under my breath, I sent my mind outward in the way the monster had taught me, and felt it touch the brain of the staggering monk. My unexpected thrust succeeded. At once, I ceased to inhabit my own body, and became a resident in the flesh of Adrian. Not the sole tenant, for his flesh was filled with the powerful presence of the spawn of the warrior god, whose will is strongest of all the Old Ones. We struggled like two wrestlers, while the body of the monk stopped and swayed, the words gurgling in his throat. He must appear to the approaching guards to be taking some kind of fit, I thought with a corner of my mind. The rest was occupied in a battle for survival. Now that the thing held my mind in its grasp, naked and unprotected, it intended to crush it.

The mind is curious in its ways. Mine was bound by chains of unseen iron. I could not begin to overthrow the will of the spawn, so much more potent than my own, yet my thoughts, which could not move forward or retreat, managed to escape sideways into memory. I found myself reliving the final wrestling match with my brutish foster brother, Yanni. My brother had always been stronger. Yet sometimes I was able to throw him to the ground by using his own force against him, by letting it carry itself past me without resistance and then adding to its momentum with my lesser strength. I did this in my mind against the thrusting, destroying force of the thing in the vault, and felt it lose its equilibrium and tumble out of the brain of the monk. Before it could return, I slammed shut all the gates against it. The brain was mine, and the body it controlled.

“Brother Adrian, what’s wrong? Are you ill?” One of the guards held my arms near the shoulders to keep me from collapsing.

“I know the murderer of Brother Baruch,” I repeated breathlessly, the spittle flying from my lips. “I did it, I killed him. Then I hid the body.”

One of the guards glanced at the gate, uneasy about having left his post. I saw over his shoulder Martala lead Idi, who still pushed the empty wheelbarrow, through the open doorway. She did not look behind.

The other guard laid his hand on my back and studied my frenzied face with concern. I began to grapple with them both, pulling them close, and let madness creep into my voice. They restrained me, the gate momentarily forgotten.

“Do you know what you are saying, Brother Adrian?” the second guard asked, not unkindly.

“It was jealousy. It drove me to madness. Baruch was my lover but he ceased to care about me, so I killed him and hid his body where you’ll never find it. No, I won’t tell you where it is.”

My hold on the mind of the monk began to slip. I felt pressure as the thing in the vault probed the surface of his brain in search of a crack through which to pour itself and resume command. I tried to hold on for as long as possible while the body of the monk slowly collapsed to the grass in the arms of the guards. As the creature cast me out of the monk’s skull, I looked directly into the eyes of the guard who held me close, his face no more than a hand’s breadth away. With a tremendous effort of concentration, I framed the words of power and forced my escaping awareness into the head of the guard.

His mind was not so highly educated as Adrian’s but his will was stronger. I had control for only a few moments, for he almost immediately began to push back against the rushing flood of my will. It was long enough to grasp the hilt of his dagger and thrust its point through Adrian’s chest. The surprise and fury in the face of the dying monk might have made me laugh aloud had I still possessed a mouth, but I was ejected from the brain of the guard before the blade ceased to slide between the monk’s ribs.

I found myself whirled through a roaring cataract of darkness. The impact of my awareness entering my own brain made my body jerk as though stung by a wasp. I drew a gasp and saw that I pushed the wheelbarrow through the market square. My body felt chill beneath my robe, and I tasted the salt of sweat beads on my upper lip. Martala glanced across at me with concern in her wide pale eyes, but gave no other sign that she noticed the violence of my return.

The market was more than usually crowded with new arrivals from the boats. The few monks bargaining at the stalls paid us no attention, since we were a familiar sight. We left the wheelbarrow near the gate and walked quickly toward the corner as though having business at one of the inns on the southern side of the wall. I felt a prickling between my shoulder blades, but refrained from turning to look at the guards on the battlements. The numerous travelers who walked and pushed carts along the road that led through the village made our passage inconspicuous.

We went quickly across the fields and through the trees to the rock where I had concealed the leather wallet containing our precious possessions and my money purse. The weather had done it no great harm, apart from a small patch of mildew on one corner that easily brushed off. The smooth surface of Gor’s skull beneath my fingertips filled me with fondness. I transferred the pilfered gold to the purse, and slung the wallet and my empty water skin on my back, after giving the other wallet with the stolen scrolls and food to Martala. It was a credit to the common sense of the girl that she asked no questions. With a single glance through the trees at the looming wall of the monastery, I led the way toward the rutted track that led west.

As we retraced the road that had brought us to the monastery, I explained how close we had come to betrayal by Adrian, and how I had diverted suspicion upon the monk.

“Was it necessary to kill him?” she asked.

“The spawn of Cthulhu was sure to deny the confession and name us both as murderers. It would have led the elders directly to the corpse, and Rumius would have dispatched horsemen at once to ride us down and capture us.”

“You gained us a few hours, at least,” she said with understanding. “Unless the monster can betray us through another monk.”

“I do not believe it has any other under its power, or it would surely have managed to free itself from its cage. Adrian’s mind was uncommonly weak, and he made the error of visiting the thing in its vault. The spawn was able to forge an enduring link with him.”

She shivered.

“If it ever escapes, it will kill you.”

“It will have to await its turn,” I said lightly.

In early afternoon we left the road and went behind the brow of a low hill to eat some of the food Martala had stolen from the kitchen.

“It is time we changed our identities,” I told her, and used the spell of glamour to disguise the horrors of my face.

“Good. I’ve grown tired of being a boy.”

She stripped off her turban and shook out her long hair, then folded the band of the turban and slid it into the front of her robe, withdrawing from the same place a scarf of blue silk she had somehow obtained and draping it over her head. I attached Gor’s skull and my sword to my belt but left the dagger with the girl. There was little we could do about our plain white linen robes. If we bought different clothing in the fishing village beside the lake, the fishermen would tell the monks when they came searching after us, as they surely would when our absence from the evening meal was observed, and they located the corpse in our room by its smell and the buzzing swarm of flies. It might take them longer to discover the loss of the gold and missing scrolls, but the thefts were the least of the reasons Rumius would seek our return.

We came upon the lake at sunset and made a wide circle around the fishing village, then followed the lakeshore southward in the darkness to gain as much distance from the village as possible before stopping for the night. While we were still on the margin of the lake I filled my water skin, and felt reassured by its heaviness. The weight of water always gave me confidence.

It still hung from its leather strap on my shoulder when I walked down the lee side of an enormous dune in the Empty Space, the sand blowing over my boots and concealing my toes as though I walked through moonlit mist. The dark man walked at my side, and I knew when I saw him that I dreamed.

“What have you learned, my resourceful spy?” he said with a kind of hollow chuckle.

I dug into an inner pocket of my thawb, which I saw was my old cream-colored thawb that I had stolen from the corpse of the Bedouin so long ago, and passed over a packet of parchment sheets. He took them and unfolded them. They were closely written on both sides in the language of the Old Ones. A part of my dreaming mind remembered writing them in my dreams, while another part knew that they did not exist in the material world. It was merely a device by which my mind conveyed its knowledge to Nyarlathotep. He read them as we walked to the bottom of the dune and began to mount toward the crest of the next.

“You have done well,” he murmured, putting the phantom sheets away beneath the folds of his black cloak.

“What is my reward, lord?” I asked, unable to keep a sardonic lilt from my voice.

“You already have your reward, ungrateful wretch.”

“If you mean the location of the well, I discovered that through my own efforts.”

“I mean your life.”

He stepped in front of me and turned, quick as thought, forcing me to stumble to a halt to avoid walking into him. I felt coldness emanate from his dark body in the same way it flows from ice that is brought down from the mountains.

“Do not question my methods. Seek only to obey my commands, and I may allow you to live a little longer.”

“Is that to be my only reward?” I asked with bitterness that overcame my fear. “Only life?”

“Only life,” he echoed. “Yet I promise you this, Alhazred. Your life will be interesting.”