A gust of even more fishy air: he felt the hair rise on his neck. He knew what was required of him and walked slowly to the altar, keeping his gaze averted, then got to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. He looked up, straight ahead, feeling his heart rate increase.

“Father.”

A huge figure grew out of the darkness, seeming to rise up from behind the altar stone. The Father was over seven feet tall, wearing a cowl pulled up to conceal a large head, and a dark cassock over a lumpy misshapen frame. Like the priest on the way down, the Father seemed to glide rather than walk, and was always face-on, never turning his back, as though there was only ever one side to the being.

“Charles.” The voice was ocean deep and guttural. It had a bubbling quality as if the man had fluid in the back of his throat and was struggling to form words around a sluggish tongue.

“Yes, my Father. You called and your servant came.”

The voice bubbled for a moment, before words formed. “The Al-Azif, the hidden Necronomicon, will be found. It is, as we suspected all along, in the land of the Egyptian kings.” The Father paused as if to catch his breath or rest a strange tongue in a strange mouth. “Charles, there is a man, a Hussein ben Albadi, in Syria, who has access to the first copy made – it is quite detailed. He is talking to the Americans now, sharing what he knows. They are already there.”

Drummond looked up. “Do you want me to intercept them?” He knew if he could recover the Book, his reward would be substantial.

“Not yet.” There was wet wheezing for a few seconds. “Go to Syria first. But let the Americans recover it. Then take it from them.”

Drummond bowed. “It shall be as you wish.”

The Father glided closer, his arm reached forward. Something that felt like soft, cold fingers caressed Drummond’s chin, tilting his face upward. “The last seals will be broken; the Necronomicon will show us how. You will speak the words, Charles.” The hand caressed his face. “Bring it to us, and you shall be rewarded like no other human on this world. You will be the king of the kings. The Old One will rise, and we must all be ready.”

Drummond’s eyes were glassy in his pleasure, but as the Father continued to lean over him, he needed to hold his breath from the stench. The tall being shifted, and Drummond caught a glimpse of the structure within the dark folds of the cowl. He felt his testicles shrivel. Things moved in there where the face should have been, coiling over each other, writhing and twisting softly, like some many-legged sea creature moving in excited agitation.

The head leaned back, and the image disappeared in the folds of the heavy material. “Charles, they must never learn to read the book. Even those who see its fragments must be…silenced. Nothing must stop our work. Nothing must stop the final seals being broken. Nothing.” The hand moved to clasp his shoulder – it was viscid soft, at first. He felt the cold through his jacket, but then also felt pressure, and then pain. “They must not learn.”