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.
Chapter 16
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
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.
Chapter 16
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
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