What Goes Around, Comes Around Part 2-8 - Resolution
Posted by Max_Writer , in Call of Cthulhu 22 May 2014 · 5,771 views
* * *
He just outright told her, McKeefe thought as he went in search of Bertelli.
He found that Bertelli was no longer at the Charing Cross Inn so he returned to his own hotel and saw Bertelli and Bernardo and Babydoll getting out of the taxicab at his hotel. They had luggage with them.
“Hey, yo, Bertelli!” he called.
Bernardo looked towards him and then got the luggage out of the taxi and took it into the hotel. Babydoll gave him a look and then followed Bernardo.
“Hey, so, I’m to understand that you told Miss Holland about how you stole the book, the little fancy book that I had borrowed, and you told her it was a legitimate sale,” McKeefe said.
“I bought the book from you,” Bertelli said.
“No, technically I gave you the address.”
“If you want to argument semantics, either of us could be correct.”
“I’m not going to try to argue semantics but the problem is that she wants the book back and … I guess you already talked to her about this.”
“Now, what she thinks is the correct way is that I give you back a thousand dollars. Now, I happen to have that thousand dollars sitting in a couple of stocks. So, I’d be inclined to suggest that, instead of paying you a thousand dollars, because … eh. I could. But I think I might be able to interest you a little more. I’ve got a ring that we found in correlation with that book. Now, I don’t personally know that it has any special powers, but I know that, in the past, there have been certain strange happenings. So, I would be inclined to suggest that we could come to a little deal about this. Maybe instead of a thousand dollars, I could hand you this ring and maybe five hundred dollars or so. Or … or, I could hand you this ring and, maybe if you wanted, I could send some good deals or bargains that I might find your way in the future.”
“Your proposition is pretty nice. If this ring is of any occult value, I would actually like to run it by Miss Holland too, so I could get her opinion, just to make sure we’re not doing any sales of hers.”
“No, but this one I pried off the hand of a corpse myself.”
“I … I like the way your work. But … again, yes, that sounds like a deal. I would like to run it past her. Because, again, I’m a little weaker on the magic side. I’ve not been able to do a successful spell of any kind. But, yes. I would be interested in that.”
“But she does want this book back ASAP so would I be able to say, come to a deal with you first, and then we happen to deal with the exchange.”
“Yes, I can grab the book and do my part. Because you said you are a man of your word, right?”
“I am a man of my word as much as my word is.”
“And … uh … if nothing else, I can always get a favor from you.”
“Yes, precisely. So, do we have a deal of, say, maybe five hundred and the ring and one or two favors here or there?”
“Um … sounds good to me. But you don’t have to touch the money or the ring quite yet. We can iron out your side … but I can get her hers so she’s not as distraught.
* * *
Miss Holland returned to her hotel room and started working on researching the book they’d found.
* * *
On Tuesday, August 4, 1925, at breakfast at their new hotel, Bertelli told Bernardo that he wanted him to get acquainted with Miss Holland and Mr. McKeefe.
“Why?” Bernardo asked.
“Because the guy owes me something,” Bertelli said.
“All right,” Bernardo replied, unhappy.
Bertelli took the train back to Providence that day to retrieve Miss Holland’s book and his automobile.
* * *
A knock came from McKeefe’s hotel room door. True to form, he moved to one side of the door.
“Who is it?” he called.
There was no answer but the knock came again.
“Who is it?” he said again.
Then there came another knock.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Mr. McKeefe?” a rough male voice came through the door.
“Oh, yes, this is he.”
“Yes, I am here to meet you.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Mr. Capelli.”
“Mr. Capelli? Are you the−”
“I’m supposed to meet you. Mr. Bertelli sent me.”
“Oh, are you Mr. Bertelli’s manservant, Bernardo?”
McKeefe couldn’t see Bernardo, on the other side of the door, lean his head to one side and then the other in frustration.
“Manservant doesn’t quite describe−” the voice on the other side of the door finally said.
“Ah right, sorry,” McKeefe said. “Man’s man Bernardo.”
There was another long bout of silence from the other side of the door, where Bernardo winced and frowned as if he’d been physically struck.
“I’m his driver,” Bernardo said. “Driver. Okay? Can you open the door? I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to beat me up like last time?” McKeefe said
“Unless you told me to again.”
McKeefe opened the door. Bernardo Capelli was a solid man who stood about six feet tall. He was roughly handsome with an olive complexion and wore his hair dark slicked back with plenty of pomade. He dressed nicely.
“Bernardo Capelli,” he said, holding out his hand for McKeefe to shake.
“John McKeefe,” McKeefe said.
“Mr. Bertelli would like me to get to know you better.”
“Oh, because we both have similar sorts of … obligations to him now.”
Capelli looked at him.
“Sure,” he finally said.
“Why not?” McKeefe said.
“So, why don’t we have breakfast to start?” Capelli said.
“Wonderful,” McKeefe replied. “I’ll have some toast.”
“Mr. Bertelli caught the early train this morning and he will be back in a couple of days,” Capelli said. “Which room is Miss Holland’s?”
“Ah … I believe that is privileged information unless she decides to give it up,” McKeefe said.
“Well, can you ask her if she will have breakfast with us this morning?”
“I will happen to find her and see if she will have some breakfast with us.”
“I will be waiting in the dining room. With bells on.”
He sounded very irritated. He turned and walked away.
McKeefe walked to the door next to his and knocked on it.
“Who is it?” Miss Holland called.
“Hey!” McKeefe said. “It’s me. McKeefe.”
It was very quiet from inside the room. Then the door opened a little bit. She looked very tired.
“Did you get my book back?” she asked.
“I actually do have it secured.”
“Secured? What does that really mean?”
“I’m guessing that Mr. Bertelli will be handing it to you once we see him again. Apparently, he’s had to go back home on business. But, Mr. Bernardo, I don’t remember his last name, Cappuccino or something, wants to have breakfast with us to get to know us.”
“Don’t ask me, it’s what he said,” McKeefe said.
“Fine, I’ll be down in a minute,” she replied. “The dining room, right?”
She slammed the door in his face.
McKeefe headed down to the dining room and found Bernardo at a table. They waited for what felt like a long time. Every time the waitress came over, Bernardo told her they were waiting for someone. It was 20 minutes before Miss Holland joined them. When she arrived, Bernardo stood up and held her chair for her to sit at the table.
“Why thank you,” she said.
He was very polite and made some small talk. He found out what she wanted from the menu and then ordered for her. He continued to make small talk and polite conversation, noting that Mr. Bertelli wanted him to get to know both of them better. He said that he was Mr. Bertelli’s driver. She realized that he was the man who entered McKeefe’s apartment that night and guessed that he was the one who punched McKeefe in the face. She was unsure how to take all of that.
They all had a nice breakfast.
* * *
Bryan arrived back at Charing Cross and eventually found the hotel that McKeefe, Holland, and Bertelli were staying at. There was no answer at Bertelli’s door.
He found McKeefe and they went to the college to look for Professor Carlson’s paper again. They searched the shelves where it was supposed to be but it was not in the correct place. However, one of them noticed that there was space behind the shelves and found where it had fallen.
It was entitled “Towards a New Theory of Calculating Pi” and was dated 1918.
They were allowed to check it out and spent the rest of that day, and the next, studying it.
* * *
Silversmith had been spending his nights in the park ever since he’d been arrested. He didn’t want to get thrown in jail again and was fearful of the law in the town. He knew what hotel the others were staying in but still went to the park as he needed some booze. He was hopeful that the vagrants at the park had some alcohol and was disappointed that he couldn’t find anyone with something to drink.
A few days later, he went to the warehouse to get his stuff and so contacted Marty Smith. While Smith was getting his items out of a bin, Silversmith wandered into the building.
“Hey, where are you going?” Smith said to him.
He kept walking.
“Hey!” Smith said. “Hey!”
He set off in pursuit of the man. He caught Silversmith’s arm before he could see anything of interest.
“Hey!” Smith said again. “Hey buddy. You can’t be in here.”
“Oh,” Silversmith said.
“C’mon,” Smith said. “C’mon.”
“You got the shakes like crazy.”
“Yeah. I’m in a bad place right now.”
“It seems like. C’mon, you can’t stay here. I’m sorry.”
Smith gave him back the items that had been confiscated when he’d been jailed. The men left the warehouse and Smith locked it back up again.
* * *
Miss Holland was still reading the book they’d found in the underground temple the next day.
McKeefe and Bryan had finished taking the paper apart by then. What they learned turned out to be simply … math.
The rather dry and focused mathematical book contained information about the potential for calculating pi out several decimal points. The Middle East, exposed to an influx of ideas from India, was the focal point of mathematical progress during the middle ages. Carlson was particularly interested in al Kashi, d. 1436, a prominent Arab mathematician. Al Kashi wrote a treatise in which he calculated pi out to 16 places, a few years before his death. Al Kashi utilized the Archimedean method of pi calculation, which involved approximating the circumference of a circle by circumscribing a polygon into a circle and calculating the circumference of the polygon. The more sides to the polygon, the closer one came to the true value of pi. A six-sided hexagon, for example, only yielded a value of 3. Al Kashi painstakingly used a polygon with over eight billion sides to calculate pi out to 16 places. In 1596, Ludolph van Ceulen, a mathematician from Leiden, used this method to calculate pi out to 35 places. When van Ceulen died in 1610, he had three further places inscribed on his tombstone.
The modern method (as of the time of Carlson’s paper) was to calculate pi by means of an infinite equation. One simple equation, known as Gregory’s equation, equating pi to 4 - 4/3 + 4/5 - 4/7 + 4/9 - 4/11 … A variation on Gregory’s equation, devised by Machin, was the state of the art method for calculating pi circa 1920.
Carlson was seeking to improve on Machin’s equation by finding one that would calculate pi out to more places without having to make as many calculations. Carlson posited that the answer lay in non-Euclidean geometry. Much of the rest of Carlson’s paper discussed non-Euclidean geometric principles and models. Carlson’s paper reached no particular conclusions, but suggested that a reexamination of medieval Islamic mathematical technique, integrating it with non-Euclidean theory, might have held the key.
They also realized that calculating pi beyond 16 places or so had no practically scientific or engineering application and they wondered why someone would bother calculating it out any further.
* * *
Bryan was also curious as to what had happened to the Arabic book that Miss Luckey had mentioned Professor Carlson had apparently borrowed. He went to the man’s classroom but found nothing. He wondered where it could be. He checked at the post office but they didn’t have any packages for Professor Carlson.
He realized that if Carlson sent the book back and it was returned after he died, it might have been dropped off at a neighbor’s house nearby. He headed out to the Dunne’s house in the local taxi. He asked Mr. Dunne if any packages had been dropped off after Carlson died.
“Oh,” Dunne said. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Yep.”
“Mind if I take a look at it?” Bryan said.
“Yep,” Dunne replied.
“Yes, you mind?”
“You won’t let me look at it?”
“No. No. That belonged to Mr. Carlson and you don’t represent him, so …”
Bryan returned to town and informed Mr. Black of the book that was at the Dunne farm. Over the next couple of days, he and Bryan retrieved it from the Dunnes. The book was apparently left on their stoop and they put it in a closet or somewhere and forgot about it. It was roughly the size of a breadbox, insured for $100, and addressed to a Dr. Faisal Hamadi in Alexandria, Egypt, c/o The University. Scrawled across the face of the package were the words “Insufficient Address—Return to Sender.”
Black opened it and found a letter and an old, crumbling book in poor condition, both written in Arabic. Black noted that he’d have to have it appraised and potentially it could be sold. Bryan mentioned that he knew someone who could speak and read Arabic. Black was willing to lend him the book, once a receipt had been written. He noted that if it was not returned, he would have it appraised and Bryan would have to pay him the value of the book.
Bryan signed the receipt and then found Miss Luckey, who was still in the town. He asked her if she could translate the book and the letter.
* * *
Bertelli returned to Charing Cross on Thursday, August 6, 1925. He gave Douglas Timmons’ book to Miss Holland. He also apologized for the misunderstanding. She gave him a dagger that had a black stone blade and a stone or perhaps petrified wood handle.
* * *
It took several days for Miss Holland to translate, read, and understand the book they’d found in the strange room under Bertelli’s house.
The untitled manuscript told the tale of John Hafnirsson, son of a Saxon Earl who, in the Year of Our Lord 1302, found himself outlawed by a petty Norman baron who coveted Hafnirsson’s daughter: Guillaume de Pont-Voisy. Fleeing England for France aboard his vessel, the Stag, Hafnirsson and his crew were blown off course by a freak storm and, after a year of wandering, starvation, mutinies, and attacks by sea monsters, ended up (with only his first mate still accompanying him) in an equatorial jungle inhabited by a degenerate people calling themselves the Shabbiths. Hafnirsson told of hideous rituals (one involving the sacrifice of his first mate to a horrible monster named Shabbith-Ka) and joining the Shabbith tribe. Hafnirsson likened the fearsome Shabbith-Ka to “dauncing wicche-fyr, purple-hued, yes poss’d of Spirit most Foul.” Hafnirsson related that after his sacrifice to Shabbith-Ka, his first mate, Erik, was little more than purplish dust.
Hafnirsson finally escaped from the Shabbiths only by creating and concealing a strange symbol in his robes, and thrusting it forward at a ritual sacrifice to Shabbith-Ka. The “dauncing wicche-fyr” turned on the Shabbiths, slaying hundreds before shooting into the sky and allowing Hafnirsson to escape in the confusion. Hafnirsson returned to England and turned his “wicche-fyr” loose on M. de Pont-Voisy and his followers, and ended his tale by proclaiming himself avenged.
There were also, allegedly, two spells in the book. One of them claimed it created a protective symbol. The other was titled “Summon the Purple God.”
* * *
Miss Luckey returned to them several days later, on August 15, having read the book and the letter. She told them that the letter read:
My dear Dr. Hamadi,
Enclosed please find the volume by ibn Abbas. My sincerest apologies for not returning
it by the date we had agreed to. It seems that my Arabic has deteriorated worse than I had
discovered during my recent sojourn to your country. It took me longer than anticipated to
study. Alas, it proved of little use in my studies. Again, my apologies for the delay.
The book, titled Dreams of the Circle, had disturbed her greatly to read. She told them it was in medieval Arabic and was dated 1456, authored by Hassan ibn Abbas, who described himself as a mathematician and student of al Kashi. Hassan told of a journey along the east coast of the Arabian peninsula. Beset by bandits, he escaped by fleeing out into the desert. Short of supplies, Hassan became disoriented and delirious. Hassan beheld strange visions while desperately searching for water, lost in the middle of the Arabian peninsula. Hassan wrote of inhuman voices whispering secrets to him on the wind, and of half-glimpsed figures peering at him over the dunes. Near death, Hassan underwent a fantastic nightmare involving an ancient, ruined city with towering pillars of basalt. In this nightmare, all the voices Hassan half-heard while searching for water joined together, whispering dark secrets from the tallest tower in the black-pillared city. Hassan related several of these secrets, and alluded to others too blasphemous to relate. Included was a discussion of space-time, other dimensions, and how, as Hassan put it, “paths unseen to places unknown and times undreamt of exist, and can be found by those willing to sacrifice their soul for such knowledge.” Hassan lost consciousness but revived to inexplicably find himself at the feet of the Sphinx. The book concluded with a calculation of pi out to one thousand places. Hassan’s method of calculation involved casting a spell and getting some hints.
The spell he used to get his hints was some sort of spell to contact “The Black Man.” Another alleged spell, that would allow the creation of some kind of dimensional circle, required the use of special blue chalk and what it was supposed to do was make gates and portals work better. There was a possibility that someone might have made one of the circles and that might be causing the troubles in Charing Cross.
An excerpt from the book read: “And faintly, far more subdued than the cacophony from the highest tower of ebon basalt, came a sibilant hiss from the dunes, like the voice of an adder expelled from Paradise by the Prophet (bless his holy name). Beware the approach of the Star with One Red Eye, it hissed, for its light shines most brightly, and can be seen by Hidden Things Most Foul. From beyond the dreadful veil shall they tread, their malevolence manifest. So too can the river of light flood its banks at such times, when no dam is there to shape it. And then I wondered, in my delirium, what that light might bring forth from the Circle’s hidden face, and where the river might flow if not bound. All circles have two faces, and some, the unseen adder hissed, have many more.”
“The missing blackboard,” Bryan said.
Miss Luckey noted that she’d talked to some of the mathematicians and astronomers at the college and found out that the dates of the missing and mangled people coincided with dates that Jupiter was in opposition to the Earth. That night would have another alignment.
She also said she never wanted to see them again in her life. The book had been terribly disturbing and she wanted to put Charing Cross and what had happened behind her and never think about such things again.
“Good luck,” she said. “If you ever read that book, you’re a fool.”
“So, we’re looking for a blue circle of chalk,” Bryan said.
They realized they needed to get into the warehouse.
* * *
That evening, McKeefe, Bryan, Silversmith, Bertelli, and Miss Holland crept to the shadowy side of the warehouse that faced the park. They had hacksaws and crowbars that they’d purchased that day. They set to work removing one of the three bars that secured the window. They thought Bertelli was small enough to get through if they removed at least one bar.
It took them about 10 minutes to cut the bar free. They had just gotten the bar cut and were getting ready to boost Bertelli up when people approached from the shadows behind them. It was Fetz and the other two Charing Cross officers. Fetz already had a gun in his hand. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head and he seemed terribly angry.
“I knew you were agents of that purple thing all along!” he shrieked. “I finally caught you red-handed!”
“Fetz!” Bryan said. “We’re not actually agents of the thing.”
“No! You are!” Fetz shrieked. “You are!”
“I know you are! Each and every one of you!”
Fetz pointed his gun at all of them in turn, his hand shaking.
“I know what’s causing it!” Bryan said.
“Shut up!” Fetz screamed. “Just shut up!”
“I know what’s causing the problem,” Bryan said.
“NO!” Fetz screamed again. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know this! I’m not listening to you!”
He pointed his gun at Miss Holland, who had moved her hand towards her purse.
“Watch it lady!” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. “I know what you’re up to.”
Silversmith was shaking. Officer Nelson looked at Fetz uneasily.
“You are under arrest,” he said calmly. “If you have any weapons, you need to drop them right now.”
“Yeah! Yeah!” Fetz screamed. “Do as he says! Do as he says!”
As the sound of his yelling died away, the smell of ozone filled the air all around them. Fetz’s hair, what there was of it, started to stand on end and little crackles of static charge ran along his hair. As they watched, he began to oddly curve and distort.
McKeefe backed away slowly.
The sound of discharging static grew louder and Fetz screamed for help. Bryan jumped to one side and to the ground as the other police officer bravely grabbed Fetz by the seat of his pant. Then, the back half of Fetz came into proper focus as the front half of him continued to distort. There was a loud pop. The lower half of Fetz’s body, from the belt down, flopped in a bloody mess to the ground along with the officer. The upper half of his body was gone.
The police officer who’d fallen with the lower half of Fetz’s body leapt up, shrieking. Officer Reynolds joined him in his ululations and both of the men fled, screaming, into the night.
The others took a moment and then helped Bertelli climb up into the window.
* * *
Bertelli found the blackboard in the light of his dim flashlight. There were strange figures written upon it and he saw an eraser on the tray and picked it up to erase it. Then he hesitated. He took out his notebook and wrote down some of what he saw on the chalkboard. He definitely copied what was within the circle. Then he erased the circle and what was in it, leaving the rest on the chalkboard.
He climbed up through the window and they helped him climb out.
“You erased the thing, right?” Silversmith said.
“We need to get out of here,” Bryan said.
“Yes,” Bertelli said to Silversmith. “Most of it.”
They went back to the hotel to get their items and then piled into Bertelli’s car, driving back to Providence. It took them two days to get back home.
* * *
Bertelli telephoned the Charing Cross Trumpet the week after he returned to Providence. He learned from Nick Richards that Fetz’s death was reported to the newspaper as being either the work of a pack of wild dogs or a crazy man. There was no mention of any of their names.