Miskatonic University

The date on the newspaper was August 30, 1925.

Before the article began was an enormous university crest:

It was a round emblem, with words running around its outer edge in two sections. Hope couldn't read the words at the top, but they were probably the name of the university. The words at the bottom were two sentences written in New Federation:

From ignorance to wisdom

From light to darkness

Inside the ring of words were several images:

At the center was an open book, with three stars above it and a burning feather below. Beneath these three images was the year the university was founded: 1690.

Hope wasn't in a hurry to read. He took out his pocket watch. It was twelve thirty, and the potion was nearly ready.

Hope returned to the roof with the newspaper, set it aside for the moment, and lifted the lid off the pot.

Everything inside had completely blended together.

It was to be expected that the paper would dissolve after being boiled for so long.

But the Star Hemp and Tricolor Rose petals had vanished, too. Hope stirred the pale green, slightly viscous solution with a wooden stick, but couldn't find the slightest trace of plant fibers.

The solution was clear and even, letting some light through. It reminded him of blades of grass glistening with morning dew, except they had no veins.

The pale green color didn't belong to any of the four ingredients, either. Of the three primary colors Hope knew, blue and yellow made green. Even if the white rose, Star Hemp, and paper counted as colorless, the solution should have been orange from red and yellow.

Only the supernatural power of the occult could explain the change in color.

At any rate, it didn't look unpleasant. When he sniffed it, there was no smell at all, and it didn't seem like it would be hard to swallow.

Hope had already decided to drink it, so he didn't hesitate now. He poured the potion from the iron pot into his cup.

He tentatively opened his mouth to taste it. Finding that it was neither bitter nor astringent nor sour, and had no strange flavor, he gulped it down in a few swallows.

It had a faint sweetness afterward, with a hint of rose fragrance. It tasted better than the coffee at Whateley House.

A cool sensation spread from Hope's stomach throughout his body, then gathered in his head, dispelling the last traces of sleepiness.

He had a ready-made test subject right there. Hope picked up the newspaper again and looked at the article about Miskatonic University's anniversary celebration...

Hope had learned for the first time what it truly meant to read ten lines at a glance.

It was hard to describe the feeling. The information on the page paid no heed to him at all, practically leaping one piece after another from his eyes straight into his brain.

He couldn't think about anything else. Every brain cell that had been resting sprang to life, trying to make sense of the words pouring into his mind at incredible speed.

...The newspaper slipped from Hope's hands. He stood there, stunned, for a few seconds, then opened his pocket watch and saw that only a little over ten seconds had passed.

In barely more than ten seconds, he had read the entire article.

The article went on at length, devoting a great deal of space to praising Miskatonic University's teaching standards. It was about fifteen hundred words in New Federation, which would amount to three or four thousand Chinese characters. Reading it should have taken at least five minutes.

Five minutes. Three hundred seconds.

But Hope had just finished reading it in less than twenty seconds, and had grasped most of its contents.

The price was that Hope now felt utterly drained. He lay there like a dead fish, staring up at the sky. Barely more than ten seconds had left him feeling as mentally exhausted as after an afternoon of studying hard in high school.

...The best university... Its archaeology, history, psychology, and other departments had reached the highest level in the world... The school attracted large numbers of students every year... A vast library... Beautiful scenery and outstanding people... The first choice for respectable people... The best drill in the world...

Hope took a deep breath, then let it out, calming his mind.

In short, according to the article, Miskatonic University might not be the "best"—that claim was just there to attract readers—but it certainly wasn't inferior to any university in the world.

To back up that claim, the article even mentioned that the university's engineering professor had made the best drill in the world for geological exploration.

It seemed Elizabeth was actually a top student from a prestigious university. Her field, however, appeared to be literature, which wasn't among the article's "world-leading disciplines."

The article also mentioned Paul's North Oak University in passing:

"...And North Oak University has no advantage over Miskatonic University in any field except sports..."

Since the article had praised Miskatonic University as "world-class," even if it was only to provide a contrast, that still amounted to an endorsement of North Oak University's standing... Probably.

Hope shook his head, then measured out the ingredients he needed.

Five grams of Star Hemp, ten grams each of the dried Tricolor Rose petals, and five hundred grams of water...

Then came the most important step: a sheet of paper with Russian written on it.

Hope took out the blank sheet he had prepared and the silver Steel Pen that belonged to Robert. He uncapped it; there was still ink inside, so Robert had probably been using it until he abandoned it.

Hope didn't know how to write Russian, so he got a sheet with Russian on it by taking out Number Four Hope's message and copying it stroke by stroke, as though he were drawing the words.

Old Williams's recipe didn't specify how much writing the paper needed, so to avoid failure, Hope decided to copy an entire sheet.

He hadn't used a fountain pen in a long time, but this one felt exceptionally comfortable. Its size, weight, and thickness were nearly perfect, and he hardly had to readjust to writing with a fountain pen. In fact, it felt even more familiar than a gel pen or ballpoint.

By the time he finished the sheet, it was one in the morning. He had to put everything in the pot and bring it to a boil; the whole process would take another half hour.

Hope could only look for some interesting articles in the newspaper to pass the time. This time, he didn't have to search for long.

Perhaps it was fate. When he returned to the storeroom, a gust blew in through the hole Great Night Hawk had torn in the wall. It was stronger than any of the earlier gusts, and it sent the other newspaper pages rustling.

Then a newspaper page blew down by Hope's feet. He picked it up. It was a copy of Arkham GG-Man, a rare find among this pile of newspapers.

The wind had folded the page somewhat, bringing a small corner of it into view. The print was too small, so Hope leaned closer. Moonlight fell faintly across the page:

"The Whateleys—A Snapshot of the Declining Physical Condition of Dunwich's Young Adults"

Despite the tiny column, there was a photograph beside it. In the blurry image, a boy stared awkwardly at the camera. He looked about fourteen or fifteen, and seemed to have a ring of hair around his mouth. His face was terribly ugly.

A line of small print beneath the photo read: The youngest son of Whateley House, Wilbur Whateley.

The newspaper was dated May 11, 1915.

Paul had said Hope was a year younger than him, so Hope should have been seventeen. Wilbur was Hope's younger brother... Perhaps they were fraternal twins, which would make them the same age.

It was 1928.

The boy in the photo had been only four or five years old.