Maelstrom (15 page)

She gave me a shrewd look. “I won’t. And
neither will Kander. His father was a diplomat, if you recall. He
knows all about treading lightly and watching his words.”

I smiled ruefully. “I’m glad.”

Christine peered at me. “You look awful,”
she said bluntly.

“Thank you,” I muttered. A frown appeared on
her face when I told her of the ketoi waiting for us on the beach,
growing deeper and deeper as I spoke of the dead man. When I
finished, she said, “Has the poor fellow been identified yet?”

“Not that I’m aware. Griffin was going to
visit the morgue and the police station this morning.” I pushed the
map toward her. “I’ve marked the locations of the standing
stones—the ones we know of, anyway—and of the reef where the body
was thrown into the sea.”

She inspected it. “Any thoughts as to why
the murderer has suddenly turned to sacrificing people at sea?”

“No.”
Was
there a connection with the
ketoi? “I’d hoped the method of the murders might shed some light,
but there’s nothing. Maybe if I could read this blasted codex it
would help.”

“Hmm. Well, good luck.” She rose to her
feet. “I have to go and have my wedding dress fitted this morning.
It seems a lot of expense and nonsense, if you ask me, but I
suppose it makes Kander happy. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

I spent the next hour or so catching up on
my actual work—in this case translating a cuneiform tablet, which
proved to be a fragment from the Epic of Gilgamesh. Peter Jensen
had published a German translation last year, and I located my copy
and thumbed through it, until I came to the scene where Gilgamesh
dreamed of the coming of his great friend Enkidu.

Or perhaps more than
friends.
“
I
pressed myself upon him like a wife
,” was
Jensen’s translation of Gilgamesh’s dream.

My thoughts wandered for a while, circling
between verb forms and meanings, and tales echoing down the ages,
until a knock on the door interrupted me. “Dr. Whyborne?” Miss
Parkhurst said. “There’s a telegram for you.”

Puzzled, I took it from her. It proved to be
from the Reverend Scarrow.

Suspect involvement of a cult called the
Fideles Stop They seek what they call the Restoration Stop Have
connections to Nyarlathotep and other Beings from the Outside Stop
Exceedingly dangerous Stop Have heard of fragmentary copies of the
codex you describe but never a complete volume Stop Longer letter
to follow Stop

“Fideles. The faithful.” I murmured. “But
Faithful to what?”

My voice sounded very quiet in the emptiness
of my office. Whatever this Restoration might be, I doubt it would
do us any good. Did they seek to spread the worship of
Nyarlathotep, as had happened in Egypt and other places throughout
history? Or did they have some other goal?

The distant sound of gunfire echoed through
the museum.

Whyborne

I bolted out of my office, chair falling to
the floor in my haste. Miss Parkhurst stood at her desk, face pale.
Distant screams sounded, accompanied by another shot.

“Dr. Whyborne!” Miss Parkhurst ran toward
me. “Something terrible is happening!”

I caught her by the upper arms and pushed
her in the direction of my office. “Go inside and lock the door
behind you.”

“But what about you?”

“I’m going to see what’s happening.” Perhaps
I could be of help. Explode the gun with my fire spell, if nothing
else.

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “B-be
careful, please.”

“I will,” I assured her. “Now hide, and
don’t come out until I return.”

She nodded. I hurried on my way, breaking
into a run as I reached the main corridor. The babble of frightened
voices sounded all around me, accompanied by the slamming of office
doors as various colleagues barricaded themselves inside.

I rounded a corner and nearly collided with
Dr. Gerritson. His face was flushed, sweat standing out across his
brow. “Durfree’s gone mad. Started shooting at Mr. Farr in the
colonial art gallery. I’m going to fetch Mr. Rockwell.”

The animosity between Mr. Durfree and Mr.
Farr was long-standing, and Christine and I had joked more than
once that they’d end up dueling in one of the galleries. I’d never
thought they would actually go so far, however.

“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll try to talk sense
into them, or...or something.”

He clapped me on the arm and hurried on his
way.

I let myself in through the staff door onto
the gallery floor and immediately froze. Several visitors crouched
behind display cases of colonial silverware, clutching at purses
and handkerchiefs. Bullet holes showed in the wall, as well as the
center of the portrait of Theron Blackbyrne. Mr. Durfree must truly
be out of his mind; given his dedication I’d have sooner believed
he’d set himself on fire than do injury to anything in his beloved
collection.

The man himself stood in the center of the
room, gun held loosely by his side. “Come out, Farr!” he called.
“You’ve thwarted me far too many times. Since the day you were
hired, you’ve been nothing but a millstone around my neck,
challenging my every word. It ends here!”

I caught sight of Mr. Farr, tears streaming
down his face as he hid behind a plinth supporting a magnificent
silver punch bowl. My heart pounded in my throat, and I hesitated.
Durfree might have lost his senses, but he was a colleague. Anyone
else, I would have set fire to the powder in the gun without a
second thought. But I knew this man—perhaps not well, but we’d sat
in the same all-staff meetings and attended the same excruciating
galas.

Where were the blasted guards?

“
Stop!” I shouted. “You
don’t wish to do this, Mr. Durfree. Put the gun down.”

He turned, his contemptuous expression
transmuting to one of rage. For a moment, I thought he might shoot
me instead. “Go away, Dr. Whyborne. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Of course it does,” I said, hoping to waste
time until the damned guards appeared. “You’re frightening the
visitors. If you’d just put away the gun, I’m sure the director
would be happy to hear out whatever grievance you have against Mr.
Farr.”

“Jacob, please!” Farr called, his voice
thick with tears. “This isn’t you! I don’t—I don’t understand
what’s happening.”

There came the pounding of boots against the
marble, and two guards skidded to a halt at the gallery entrance.
“Put down the gun, Mr. Durfree!” one ordered as he leveled his own
weapon.

A strange, ugly smile touched Durfree’s
face. He meant to shoot them, or try. Someone was about to die,
either him or the guards, or both.

I reached for the maelstrom, and it reached
back, like a lover taking my hand. Fire sizzled on my tongue, but I
let the old, familiar spell slip past and reached for something
else.

The air around the gun went cold as an
Alaskan night. Frost raced across the iron barrel, down onto the
grip, adhering to skin. Durfree cried out in pain and dropped the
gun in reaction.

And stood blinking, staring down at his hand
with a bewildered expression. “What happened? Where—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his
thought before one of the guards wrenched his arms behind his
back.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, and the
very real fear and confusion on his face turned my blood colder
than the iron of the pistol. “How did I get here? What’s going on?
Why are you putting me in handcuffs?”

I started forward, intending to question
him. But before I could, Miss Parkhurst ran through the staff door,
her face a terrified mask.

“Dr. Whyborne!” she cried, and threw herself
into my arms.

Her timing was atrocious. I patted her
awkwardly on the back. “There, there,” I said. “It’s all right. Mr.
Durfree is quite contained. I just need to speak to—”

“There was a—a creature in your office!” she
sobbed. “It came in through the window and stole the book from your
desk!”

Whyborne

“This is unacceptable,” Dr. Hart thundered.
“Unacceptable, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I said in the direction of the
blotter on his desk. Miss Parkhurst echoed the sentiment from the
chair beside me.

I felt like a schoolboy dragged before the
headmaster. Dr. Hart’s day had already been ruined by one of his
staff going mad and damaging a valuable work of art. Now I’d come
to tell him the Wisborg Codex had been stolen from inside my own
office.

Impatience warred with embarrassment. I had
to get out of here and let Griffin know what had happened. The way
Mr. Durfree had behaved, his sudden confusion, seemed far too
similar to Lambert’s experience.

“It isn’t Dr. Whyborne’s fault, sir,” Miss
Parkhurst offered tentatively.

“It is entirely Dr. Whyborne’s fault!” I
risked a glance up; Dr. Hart’s round face had gone red with anger.
I lowered my gaze hurriedly again. “Keeping a valuable artifact
like the Wisborg Codex just lying about in your office was utterly
irresponsible. That is doubly true, given there was already one
attempt to steal it!”

“I usually locked it in the safe,” I
protested. “The only reason it was out was because I was distracted
by the gunshots.”

“It shouldn’t have been in your office at
all,” he countered. “Mr. Quinn should never have allowed you to
remove it from the library. I shall be having words with him
next.”

I hunched my shoulders. Now I’d not only
lost the codex, but managed to get Mr. Quinn in trouble as well. I
didn’t want to contemplate what sort of revenge he might exact.
Hopefully it would restrict itself to journals becoming
mysteriously misplaced when I asked for them, rather than anything
more...exciting.

“Dr. Whyborne couldn’t have known some sort
of—of creature would climb in the window!” Miss Parkhurst shuddered
at the memory. “I thought at first it was a large rat, but then I
saw its face...” she trailed off, all the color draining from her
skin.

I could only imagine her horror at
confronting the rat familiar. “What’s important is that you’re
safe, Miss Parkhurst.” I patted her shoulder uncertainly, and she
cast me a grateful look.

Dr. Hart shook his head. “Rats, stealing
books? Forgive me if I find your explanation a bit
far-fetched.”

“It wasn’t a rat!” She stared unhappily at
her hands, bunched in her skirts. “I don’t know what it was.”

I did...or had an idea, at least. But even
given what the director had seen that night two years ago, I could
hardly start raving about sorcery and sacrifices and monsters from
the Outside. Not without sounding like a lunatic.

“It was a frightening situation,” I said.
“First the gunshots, then a large animal coming into the office
where Miss Parkhurst was hiding. Whatever the creature might have
been, I believe she is telling the truth.”

The director gave me a narrow look. He
appeared to guess I was leaving a great deal unsaid. “I see. As
much as it pains me to remind you, Dr. Whyborne, this museum has a
certain reputation to uphold. These sorts of debacles cannot be
tolerated.”

In other words, keep sorcery away from the
Ladysmith. I wanted to protest that I hadn’t brought it here—not
intentionally, at least. But one look at his face told me he
wouldn’t appreciate an argument.

“Yes, sir,” I told the blotter.

Dismissed, we slunk past the director’s
secretary. Once we were safely in the hall, I said, “I’m sorry,
Miss Parkhurst.”

“Don’t be—you stood up for me.” She offered
me a tremulous smile. “And you tried to keep me safe, while rushing
off to stop Mr. Durfree, no matter the danger to yourself. You’re
so brave.”

I flushed. I certainly hadn’t felt brave at
the time. “That’s very kind of you, Miss Parkhurst. I—”

“Barking up the wrong tree there, Maggie,”
Bradley said.

God. I was going to strangle him.

I turned slowly, moving in time with the
distant heart of the maelstrom. A breeze ruffled my hair, and my
tongue tasted of burnt iron. Bradley stood before me, smirking.
“Percy here is nothing special.”

“And where were you?” I asked, swallowing
back the words of power I longed to speak instead. “Cowering in
your office?”

To my surprise, he didn’t flinch. “Not at
all. I had an important meeting elsewhere, away from the museum.”
He looked about disdainfully. “I’ve found these little halls a bit
too confining. Though I expect you’ll be here until you die.”

“Excellent news,” I said. “I wish you well
somewhere far away from here.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Percy. I’m sure I’ll stay
close.” He gave Miss Parkhurst a final leer and strode off, humming
brightly to himself. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the churn
of rage in my blood.

“He’s just jealous,” Miss
Parkhurst said unexpectedly. At my startled look, she said, “Well,
you
do
things,
don’t you? You retrieved the stolen scroll from the Nephren-ka
exhibit, and went to Egypt and Alaska with Dr. Putnam, and ran to
help today, and saved everyone when, er...well, your brother.” She
looked at me apologetically. “Dr. Osborne hasn’t done any of that.
In fact, I bet he
was
hiding in his office today!”

Her fierce defense brought a smile to my
face and drained the last of my anger. “I thank you, Miss
Parkhurst. Although I hope you’re wrong about the latter. Just
between the two of us, I’d much prefer Dr. Osborne found employment
elsewhere.”

Griffin

Whyborne and I followed Detective Tilton
through the police station to the jail.

It was my second trip to the police station
in one day. I’d come around that morning to find out if anyone had
identified the corpse pulled from the ocean last night. No one had,
although tattoos on his body suggested he might have been a sailor.
If so, we’d be lucky to ever discover his name. Widdershins was a
port town, and ships crewed by men from all over the world put in
at our docks. Unless the fellow had a particular friend aboard who
might remain behind to search for him, his captain would probably
assume he’d passed out drunk somewhere, hire a replacement, and
sail off again.