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October 8, 1939
New York City, New York
United States of America
Wilkins set one foot down upon solid ground, then the other. He closed his eyes and savored the moment. His body still wanted to move to compensate for the rolling surface beneath him. A wave of dizziness struck him, and he opened his eyes to get his bearings. He was surrounded by dull concrete, steel rails, and a crowd surging around him. Still, he was simply happy to be off that accursed train.
“Are you coming or not?” Richard asked. He and Louis were standing in front of him, and to say they were waiting patiently would be to give them far too much credit.
“I am simply getting my land-legs back,” Wilkins said with a wry grin.
“Oh, just wait until we’re on a boat.” Richard nudged Louis with an elbow. “You think he’s green now? He’ll spend half the trip leaning over the railing.”
Louis shot a surprised look over his shoulder as Wilkins hurried to catch up. He gave the fisherman’s son a weak smile; he could not argue with the veracity of Richard’s claim.
They left the concrete and steel of the train platforms behind as they entered the main terminal of Grand Central Station. Broad square columns of cut stone rose to either side of the long open hall, and above them the barrel-arched green ceiling glowed with the light of dozens of electric lamps. People hurried to and fro, some just arriving to the city and others taking commuter rails around the city itself. Altogether, it was a scene of chaos, but everybody seemed to have a purpose and moved with haste toward seeing it done.
“Where to now?” Louis asked. His eyes rose to the tall ceiling, seemingly taking in the enormity of the building.
“I’ll call for someone to pick us up and take us to my home on Staten Island,” Richard said. “We can stay there, and I’ll have passage arranged on the next ship bound for Spain, if that’s still where we’re going?”
“I can’t think of a better option.” Wilkins set his bags down next to a concierge desk. “I’ll send a telegram to Benjamin and let him know what we’re up to. I’d like him to join us there as well. We could figure things out much more efficiently if we were able to put our heads together rather than corresponding like this.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Richard asked as he flagged down the concierge. “It’s probably going to be another crazy trip, and the old bookworm might just get in the way.”
Wilkins set about scrawling a missive on a telegram card, though he reserved enough attention to respond. “He’ll stay in the city, I’m sure. At the very least, we should be able to compile what we’ve each learned before traipsing off into the mountains. I would imagine that, since my first parcel, he’s had plenty of time to dig more into this mystery than we have.”
* * *
October 20, 1939
San Sebastian, Spain
After an uneventful night spent at Richard’s home in New York, they boarded a passenger ship leaving the next day, bound for Spain. The journey itself was without consequence. True to Richard’s predictions, Wilkins spent most of it bent over the railings of the ship’s upper decks, expelling the contents of his stomach into the sea.
Louis fared better on the trip. While unused to ocean voyages, he had spent his entire life in boats in the bayou. However, he never saw one as large as the passenger liner, nor as opulent. If the gaudiness of Richard’s home surprised him, the exquisite appointments of the passenger ship had utterly amazed him. The young man wanted to see the world, and he was learning quickly that he hadn’t any idea of what he was getting himself into. He seemed to enjoy the journey thus far, and Wilkins was happy for that. With any luck, they would have the unpleasant business of the idols dealt with soon, and they could consider a more mundane expedition for their next adventure.
“Maybe Rome,” Wilkins muttered as he stepped off the boarding ramp of the ship onto solid ground.
“Did you say sometin’?” Louis asked. The young man was burdened with an assortment of luggage, most of it extra clothing Richard insisted on bringing for the trip.
“Oh, simply talking to myself. Pondering our next adventure.”
Richard lit a cigarette as he stepped onto the pier next to them. “I’d think you’d be ready to sequester yourself away in a library after this.”
Wilkins considered this a moment. “As appealing as it sounds, there’s still too much out there left to be discovered. If nothing else, this expedition has shown that to be true.”
“Maybe some dings should stay buried,” Louis said as they walked along the pier.
They were silent after that, most likely pondering the weight of the young man’s words as Wilkins was. The search for knowledge about humanity’s past had always driven him, but it had driven them into their current, dire circumstances. Maybe Louis was right. Maybe too much knowledge was a dangerous thing. On the other hand, there were nefarious individuals like Henri, who were seeking the same knowledge for less noble purposes. Perhaps to shield the world from these dangerous truths, they should be sought out by those who would protect such knowledge?
Wilkins shook the thoughts from his head and took in their surroundings. Green mountains rose in the distance, providing an idyllic backdrop to the city. Yellow stone buildings rose about them, some with narrow spires. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the structures, each with a small wrought-iron banister curving upward from the base. Flowering trees lined the brick streets and iron benches sat before most of the buildings. Compared to the hustle and bustle of New York, San Sebastian was a drastically different sort of city. The locals seemed to lack any sense of urgency at all, instead taking time to enjoy the fresh salt air as they went about their business.
“It’s a paradise,” Louis said as they walked down the narrow street, awe filling his voice and his eyes.
Richard nodded. “Just about as close as you’ll ever come to it, at least.” His eyes wandered to take in some of the local scenery. A shapely woman with straight, raven-black hair met his gaze and smiled at the roguish American.
Wilkins surmised his friend wasn’t appreciating the architecture, and this soundly confirmed his suspicions.
Before long, they reached the hotel where they would be staying. It was a three-story building that didn’t stand out from among its neighbors, but still had an air of an exotic retreat with flowering plants lining the sidewalk in front of it. They passed through wide-open double doors into a large lobby. The heels of Wilkins’s shoes clicked on the terracotta tiled floor. Potted plants lined the interior, and between the open doors and numerous windows allowing the sea breeze to waft through the space, it felt as if they were still outside. Several ceiling fans turned lazy circles overhead, their wide wicker blades mimicking the broad leaves adorning the flora below them.
Richard handled the business of checking them into their rooms, and Louis went with the houseman to take the luggage upstairs, mentioning that he wanted to get some rest.
Wilkins turned his attention to the attendant at the front desk, a slender young man with short, dark hair and a clean-shaven face. He had a charming smile, and Wilkins found him not at all unattractive, which made his current state stand out to the Englishman all that much more. The man moved sluggishly and was stood stooped, as if pushed past the point of exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark skin which bespoke of a lack of sleep.
“You look rather tired, my friend,” Wilkins said as the man handed Richard their room keys.
“Ah. Lo siento, seniors,” the attendant said. “We have had troubling times of late.”
“Oh? What’s the matter?” Wilkins asked. Richard cast a sideways glance at him. He wasn’t normally the type to make small talk with strangers, but he was pursuing a suspicion.
“Many things. You have chosen an unfortunate time to visit us, I am sorry to say.” The man leaned against the counter and rubbed his tired eyes. “I fear my own concerns are but una pequeña preocupación compared to the troubles of others. You would hardly believe me if I told you, in any case.”
“Try us,” Richard said with a wry grin. “You might be surprised what we’ll believe these days.”
The attendant let out a deep sigh, as if relieved at the opportunity to share his woes. “Very well. There are many strange tales being told lately. People disappearing, strange things in the shadows of the night, and some even speak of monsters in the countryside. My own curse is that of the pesanta.”
“What’s this?” Wilkins asked, intrigued as he found his suspicions being confirmed. He theorized perhaps the same trail which had led them to Spain may have led Henri there. If he was in possession of one of the idols—or more terrifying, both—then one could expect strange events to be following him, much as they had for himself and Richard on their journey from Peru to America.
“It is an old Catalan legend of a large dog who lies on one’s chest at night so they cannot sleep or causes them to be haunted by nightmares. I have the misfortune of suffering the latter, as any time I sleep, the most horrid visions fill my mind.”
“And you’ve seen this... dog?” Richard asked.
“No, but he haunts my nightmares, to be sure,” the man said with the vigor of one who held the utmost confidence in his conviction.
Richard was about to say something else, but Wilkins laid a hand on his arm and spoke in his stead. “I’m sorry for your troubled dreams. I’ll bother you with only one more question. Has a mister Benjamin Mathers checked into the hotel recently?”
“Un momento,” the young man said as he searched the guest book. “Ah, here he is. Si, señior. He checked in two days ago. Shall I inform him of your arrival?”
“Please do,” Wilkins said with a broad smile. “And could you ask him to meet us on the veranda?”
