Ernst Vielstich lived not far from downtown, on the eighth floor of an older ten-story building. The first thing I saw when he opened the door was solid beams of sunlight hanging in the library-smelling air.
"You are speedy," he said, shuffling the door closed and locking a brand-new brass deadbolt. "I am making some tea. Please take a seat while I finish."
The apartment had the cozy silence of an old reading room. Wooden bookshelves had been installed in a parallel pattern through the main room, and each was full of old books, manuscripts, files and folios. The entire space was the warm color of saddle leather and time-yellowed paper. The dust of ages hanging in the air softened sound and gave an impression of summer afternoons. All it needed was a cat curled up under the desk beneath the window.
I took a padded armless chair beside the desk and waited until Vielstich shuffled back with a well-worn teacup which he set on a napkin instead of a saucer.
"It is herbal," he said. "Ginger and mint. I have enough trouble sleeping that I need no caffeine."
He settled into the leather chair in front of the desk with his own cup. I sipped and continued examining the room.
"This is very impressive," I said.
"Thank you," he said. "Space is the enemy of the archivist. I am too old to consider moving and reorganizing my collection, so I can only rearrange it further and further."
"How did Mueller find the book he was after?"
"He knew what he was looking for." He gestured to the bookcase to the left of us. On a tall shelf at knee level was a conspicuous gap.
I got up and went over to look. The other books on the same shelf were in a variety of languages, only two of which were English. Both titles dealt with demonology. So did the ones I could read on the shelves above and below.
"Mr. Vielstich," I said, "are you some kind of magical practitioner?"
"I am an archivist," he said. "I preserve and protect information."
"A very specific kind of information."
"A very important kind."
I returned to my seat and sipped my tea, tasting the hint of honey.
"Mr. Vielstich," I asked, "why did Hans Mueller want this specific book?"
He took a mouthful of his tea, savoring it well before letting it slide down his throat.
"Do you know the history of the swastika?" he asked. "Before Hitler took it and made in a symbol of great evil."
I nodded. "Some. It's an old Indo-European symbol, I know. A sign of luck or good fortune, wasn't it?"
He nodded. "That, and more. In its oldest, truest uses, it was a ward or protection, a shield against evil. Much like the Christian cross in modern vampire movies, the ancient cross of the swastika was used to ward off or protect from demons, even ones that the bearer of the swastika had summoned himself."
He continued in his precise diction, the faint hint of his German birth only asserting itself infrequently. "It was no accident that the Nazis adopted that symbol, you know. Many of those leaders were interested in the occult. Heinrich Himmler was obsessed with it. He appropriated a medieval castle called Wewelsburg, and he and his hand-picked lieutenants in the SS would retire there whenever opportunity allowed to conduct ceremonies based on mythology and half-forgotten folklore."
Vielstich shook his head. "Himmler was a romantic and little more than a dilettante. But those are sometimes the most dangerous men in the world.
"He was in a position to amass a huge library of ceremonial and occult works at Wewelsburg, including the book in question. To the best of my research, he never attempted to act on any of the knowledge in it. Perhaps he was too wise, or timid, to attempt it. Perhaps he never realized what he had. In any event, this book was still on his shelf when the Third Reich fell, and Castle Wewelsburg was stormed and looted by the people of the nearby town of Paderborn.
"I am from Paderborn."
Vielstich sipped his tea, made a face at the temperature, and set it aside.
"The Nazis were not fools. They were the embodiment of human evil almost beyond imagining, but they were not fools. They knew, most of them, that a weapon one cannot control is a weapon against one's self. They were full of hate and mystical pretensions, but they also knew full well the strength of tactics, of stratagem, of conventional military might, and they desired the spoils of war that all men desire.
"But those who claim to be the Nazis' modern successors – these 'neo-Nazis' like Hans Mueller – are motivated almost entirely by hate and rage. Whatever wisdom or fear it was that prevented Himmler from using the knowledge of this book, I do not believe that Mueller and his kind have it. They are indeed fools. They are angry children who have gotten a weapon they cannot control."
I said, "If the contents of this book are so evil and dangerous, why preserve it? Why not destroy it sometime in the last six decades?"
"The book is a rock," he said. "A rock can be used to build a wall. It can be used to crush the skull of an enemy. The evil is not within the rock, but its holder. Outlawing rocks would mean that no one can make a wall. This book tells of demons and dark gods, of beings who can be summoned at grave peril. But by the same token this book tells of how to protect against such beings, to prevent their encroachment into our world. It was preserved for this purpose."
I set aside my own teacup. "And do you do this on your own? Preserving and keeping these old books – are you a one-man archivist?"
"I have several correspondents, in this country and several others. We are not a 'secret society,' but we do have common goals insofar as retaining and studying these books is concerned. We exchange research regularly through the mail." He smiled lopsidedly. "I am afraid I am too old to learn to use the Internet."
"Well," I said, "it is a lot to swallow, but I've had... experience in extraordinary cases before. In fact, I seem to attract them. For now, I'm willing to proceed on the assumption that this book is fully as dangerous as you describe it. So. What can you tell me that will help me find it? You seem to think that Mueller is the kind of man who intends to use it, instead of keeping it for a rainy day. What are they going to have to do to use it? I need something that I can look for and track down."
The smile faded from Vielstich's face. "You realize, it has been many years since I last examined the book," he said. "But I do know that, to begin the processes of summoning contained in its pages, there will be a sacrifice. A willing, human sacrifice."
