I watched him for concern, but he nodded. “Better than waiting around for the alarm to go off again.”
“We should decide what we’re looking for,” said Audrey. “With this kind of thing, you want to get in and get out, not poke around and hope you find something important before someone pokes back.”
“The missing books, for a start,” I said.
“Assuming there are missing books,” said Neko.
“There are,” said Trumbull. “The librarians wouldn’t have gone along with any charade on that count.”
We talked further, but that was the gist of it. Get through ordinary locks, overcome whatever defenses Barlow’s team had created, find what we needed, and retreat. When we snuck into the library, I’d been nervous. Now, my mind was ablaze with fears: of capture, of threats to my friends, of a bullet in the back of my head—or worse, Caleb’s. And behind the fear of all the ways this could go wrong, fear of what could happen if we failed or did nothing.
Innsmouth sacrificed fewer sons to the First World War than most towns, but I’d grown up knowing of its horrors. The weapons of the most recent conflict were worse. Now another war loomed, and whatever Barlow learned would be shared with the generals. The horrors would be no less if both sides made use of them. Still worse weapons might well be conceived by science. Those were beyond my control. But the magical ones, and Barlow’s role in creating them, I could perhaps do something to stop.
CHAPTER 23
We joined Spector for dinner at the faculty spa, where we talked of inconsequential things. I attended as well as I could to the conversation at Barlow’s table, but they were similarly discreet. Spector excused himself afterward, and Dawson did not appear on the path as was her usual wont.
“Do you trust him?” Caleb murmured as we walked back to Trumbull’s place.
“To do what?” The day had been relatively warm, and the glitter of renewed ice crusted the walks as night fell. I kept a careful eye on Charlie.
“To keep backing us if we’re caught. This could be awfully convenient for him.”
“Given that he’s sworn we’re trustworthy, it’s only convenient if we’re not caught.” I broke an icicle from a bush as we passed, let it transmute to the comfort of cold water against my tongue. “I think he’s a good man, or at least trying to be good. I think he has a sense of honor. I also think he’s being pulled in more directions than he’d like.” Charlie stumbled, and I jerked in response before I realized he’d caught himself. I hoped Spector would want to protect him, rather than get him out of the way as a potential embarrassment. I thought I knew the man well enough to expect the former, but frightened people do foolish things. “I think we need to do this for our own reasons, not just his.”
Entirely superstitiously, we decided to leave at 1:30 a.m. rather than repeat our timing at the library. As before, we spent the evening together in meditation and preparation—save for Trumbull, who joined us only to help with the anchoring spell that would draw on our connection with Charlie. I felt Dawson dimly through the confluence, and hoped she would consider that connection a deniable sort of knowledge.
The campus lay quiet as we set out. The students were past the rowdy exultation of their reunion, but not yet stressed enough by the semester’s workload to seek late-night outlets. Laughter drifted from distant dorms, but otherwise there was only the quiet crunch of feet over thin ice and the scrape of Charlie’s cane. Trumbull carried a small hand telescope and measuring instruments, intended as an excuse to dismiss casual queries.
On our last visit to the administrative hall, I’d kept my eyes on the ground. The brick edifice was less gothic than the church and library, but still had a looming quality to it, pretending a more ancient vintage than it could actually lay claim to. The college arms were carved in stone blocks on either side of the door: keys crossed over a book, and the motto “QUOD REVELēTUR OCCULTUM EST.” The words implied that the keys would open the book, but in the image they seemed rather to stand as guards, blocking the way.
The building’s windows were all dark. The door, if not ancient, appeared as old as the university, a monument of oak planks and iron bands. The lock appeared promisingly old-fashioned as well. Caleb tried the handle with a shrug (it was indeed locked), then compared options on the key ring. In the distance, one of the university’s guard dogs barked. We stilled, but it did not come closer. Caleb only had to test three of the skeleton keys before one turned. Tumblers clicked softly and the door swung open, well-oiled. Charlie retreated with Trumbull’s scope in hand, promising to wait and assuring us that his coat and gloves kept him shielded from the cold.
We stepped inside and locked the door behind us. Audrey flicked on a small flashlight. Its beam stabbed the dark hallway, making me flinch.
“Can’t you get by without that?” asked Caleb.
“Still can’t see in the dark. I’m sorry, I tried.”
“All right,” I said, “but be careful. Once we’re in a room with windows, we don’t want to attract attention.”
“Teach your grandma to suck eggs?”
I thought of my grandmothers, and forbore response.
Neither Trumbull nor my brother needed reminding of the way to Barlow’s office. We walked swiftly, though I winced at every echo of our footsteps. At the door, I knelt to peer through the crack underneath. All appeared dark save for a faint glimmer from windows beyond, and no sounds emerged to suggest someone working late by moonlight.
Trumbull held her hand before the door, traced sigils as she murmured to herself. The words were old and strange, and folded in on themselves in ways that I could not entirely comprehend. After a moment I was no longer sure whether I heard or felt them. My skin, too, was made of words, or of numbers, endlessly and blindly twining around each other. They fed on each other’s tails, birthed new numbers in carnal equations. The draft from the door prickled against the in-curling geometries that I had become.
“Try the lock,” she said.
Caleb fumbled with the keys, but after a couple of tries found one that fit. Audrey turned off her flashlight. Caleb waited a moment to turn the handle while our eyes adjusted. The still-crawling numbers did not interfere with my vision, and whatever wards Trumbull had detected did not block our entry.