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November 1, 1939
Oxford University, Faculty of History
Oxford, England, United Kingdom
Wilkins swirled the snifter of brandy and grimaced as pain shot up his arm. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. Then, with a trembling hand, he set it down on the table beside him. Bandages lined his arms, and he checked them to be sure he would not bleed on the ornate armchair in which he sat. Benjamin’s personal space in the university looked more like a gentleman’s study in a country cottage than an office. It was lined with shelves filled with books, interspersed with historical curiosities. A low fire crackled to one side of the room beneath a marble mantle, likewise covered in artifacts from around the world.
Louis groaned as he sat opposite Wilkins, his bandaged shoulder hidden below a cream-colored suit jacket. Richard strode from the bar set along one side of the room and offered the him a glass. Louis held up a hand and shook his head.
With a sigh, Richard set it on the low table in the center of the arrangement of chairs, then filled another glass and set it in front of Benjamin. The old professor nodded in thanks and lifted the glass to his lips, his bushy mustache twitching over his pointed beard.
“Well,” Richard said as he lowered himself into a chair next to Wilkins, “seems we screwed the pooch, eh?”
Wilkins pulled the wire-framed glasses from his face and raised a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Pain shot along his arm and he halted mid-gesture. The torn flesh beneath the bandages was just starting to heal—even a week later—and his range of motion was severely limited. Giving up on the intended goal, he instead tossed the glasses onto the table and slumped in the chair.
“It wasn’t a total loss,” Benjamin said. “At least you recovered two of the idols.” He gestured to an oak chest in the corner of the office, securely fastened with an iron lock.
Wilkins himself had placed the idols inside the day before, when they arrived from Spain. The screaming figure and the half-man half-octopus lay ensconced in fabric wrappings, and hopefully they would remain there for some time. He would be happier to see them cast into the sea—as Richard had suggested aboard the Sun Angel—but they all agreed the safest place for them would be under Benjamin’s own watchful eyes.
“But we did not stop de Frenchie,” Louis said. “Dere be all kinda crazy goin’ on down dere now.”
He referred to the south of France, which had become filled with tales of terror about strange creatures prowling the countryside, and even stranger things occurring as the very laws of reality seem to come undone.
“Why now? That’s what I don’t get,” Richard said as he thumbed through a stack of newspapers, all with similar reports of wild stories from around the globe. Removing the idols from their resting places, gathering them together, or both seemed to have weakened parts of the veil—as Benjamin called it.
“He seemed to dink he done won before he vanished. You dink he did what he come by dere to do?” Louis asked.
“I do,” Wilkins said. “I’m not sure what his goal was, but apparently he achieved it. Retrieving the idols as he fled likely changed nothing. His ritual, as he called it, was completed. Needless to say, he did something in the ruin which he considered a victory.”
“He parted the veil,” Benjamin muttered, lost in his own thoughts as he scratched his beard. “Now, creatures of the most haunting myths roam the French countryside and beyond. But why? What did he hope to gain from it?”
“He said whatever was on the other side wanted to be let out,” Richard said. “Maybe he just wanted to help it.”
“No.” Wilkins shook his head. “That makes no sense. He had to stand to gain something from it all.”
Benjamin took another sip of bourbon. “Or if not him, then this cult who’s been protecting the secret of the beyond for all this time?”
Wilkins blew out his mustaches in consternation. “That seems unlikely. Why hide them all this time, just to reveal them now? No, I think some other force is at work here.”
It made little sense. It wasn’t the end of the world scenario they had feared, yet people were living in fear at best, and at worst dying, because of what Henri unleashed. And despite all the chaos in southern France, troops were gathering along the Maginot Line on the eastern border in anticipation of an invasion from the Germans.
“The timing can’t be a coincidence,” Wilkins said.
“What’s that?” Richard asked.
Benjamin shook his head and lit a cigar. “He’s right. The timing is too convenient to be happenstance.”
Richard looked from one man to the other, impatiently awaiting an explanation.
“The war,” Wilkins explained. “Germany invades Poland while Henri is hunting down these idols. Everybody expects France will be their next target, and now their southern territory is in chaos because of the rift he opened. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Oh, hell.” Richard eyed the glass in his hands, then raised it up in a toast. “Well, here’s to the end of the world.”
