Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 Canadian
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"LOST ELYSIUM" by EDMOND HAMILTON w JANUARY i & flB^^^^U r»^B ^^■F % ' * *M wm k ; Jk: 1 1 III 5 * ill BLOCH DERLETH HARDING : . .; ■-:[[ .'■ 'THE CRANBERRY GOBLET'
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ALL STORIES NEW JANUARY, 1946 NO REPRINTS NOVELETTES LOST ELYSIUM . Edmond Hamilton 4 There is a world congruent with earth but existing on a different plane of vibration. a world of unearthly beauty — and horror! THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL . Allison V. Harding 44 A big steam shovel is stronger than any bull elephant, got a better memory — and more kilter in 'im! THE MAD DANCERS --*--- Roger S. Vreeland 58 .... Some were prone to delegate the new plague to one of the sub-sciences beneath the dignity of medicine. SHORT STORIES MRS, LANNISFREE ».**■«*,- August Derleth 26 By and by you'll see a figure, white in the moonlight, walking rchndessly toward the sea. THE CRANBERRY GOBLET «--,-- Harold Lawlor 33 There are all kinds of macabre secrets in this world' — goblins and goblets! THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO ----- Jim Kjelgaard 76 The air tvas charged with hate and viciousnesa in its most primitive and elemental form. SOUL PROPRIETOR -_-...-- Robert Bloch 87 "One human soul, in reasonable condition, to highest bidder. . . . Owner must dispose of same at once!" THE MIRROR --.„„-„»- Charles King 95 See. it was quite evident! The mirror was actually defying him! RIDE THE EL TO DOOM -- * * - - Alice B. Harcraft 101 They said the iron horse on stilts had to come down — but there are singular forces beyond our ken that mttst be reckoned with first! VERSE MIDNIGHT MOON - ~ * « * - Stanton A. Coblentz 43 HOMECOMING m m » . » - « « « *■ H. P. Lovccraft 56 WEIRD TALES— Issued bi-monthly by The American News Company. Limited, 474 Wellington Street West. Toronto. Ontario, by arrangement with Weird Tales. Inc., 9 Rockefeller Plaza, New York. New York. Copyrighted 1944, by Weird Tales. Inc. Authorized by the Postofflce De- partment, Ottawa, at second class matter. Manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by self -addressed stamped envelopes and are submitted at the author's risk. Names of all characters used In story and semi-fiction articles are fictitious. If the name of any real person or existing Institution Is used. It Is a coincidence. This magazine was produced In Canada, oa "anndlan paper, by Canadians, Vol. 38, No. S>
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The Shining Land Found Again ALTHOUGH "Lost Elysium" in this number is a sequel to "The Shining Land" (Weird Tales, July, 1945 ) author Edmond Hamilton writes us that he had no thought of a follow-up yarn when he wrote that first novelette. "But after it appeared," Hamilton says, "I began to realiae how many interesting possibilities there were for a second yarn." Herewith are some further notes on the story, forwarded by Edmond Hamil- ton: "Lost Elysium/' like "The Shining Land," had its source in my long inter- est in Celtic mythology. ' Years ago I stumbled on Roleston's "Myths and Le- gends of the Celtic Race," in my estima- tion still the best popular account, and ever since then have read everything I could find on this fascinating subject. It has always seemed to me that the Celtic talcs have more imaginative splen- dor than any other mythology. They do not have the graceful perfection of the Greek legends, nor the dark, grim power of the great Norse saga of the doomed Aesir, but in sheer, magic beauty they are incomparable. Terhaps the most remarkable and dis- tinctive feature of Celtic mythology is the predominance of their strange conception of an Otherworld or Elysium, distinct from the ordinary Earth. It was called Tir Sorcha, or the Shining Land, but was also called Tir nan Og, the I.and of Youth, or Tir n'Ailt, the Other World. It was not primarily, like the Greek Elysium, an ahode of the dead. Rather it was conceived as a realm of wondrous, golden beauty that existed somewhere in- the Western Ocean but could not be seen by ordinary eyes because it was detached magically from our Earth. It was persis- tently pictured as consisting of many is- lands, and the Celts believed that more than one adventurer had managed to en- ter it and wander through the enchanted archipelago. "The Voyage of Bran" and the ,fVoyage of Maledune" are accounts of such adventures, the latter having been turned into a fine poem by Tennyson. The great Cttdralain, hero of the later LTltonian myths, also entered this Elysium and there met and loved Fand, one of the great figures of the superhuman Tuatha race. But the Tuatha, more correctly the Tuatha de Dannan, had themselves pre- viously invaded Earth in the fourth of the five great invasions listed by Celtic chronology, and had here fought and de- feated the dark and evil Fomorians who were the most hated and dreaded of pre- human races. From all this dramatic material, which I must emphasize is here only briefly summarized and has many variant ver- sions, I tried to select those incidents and characters which could be woven into a story that would illustrate the richness of the old Celtic lore without doing too much violence to its traditions. It may be of interest to note that one of the most famous of 20th Century (Continued on Page 32)
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Lost Elysium STORM gathered orrinnusly over the mid -Atlantic. Black clouds were boiling up across the western sky, and already the screaming wind was pil- ing up great waves that battered at the little auxiliary yawl. Brian Cullan, sole occupant of the little yawl, stood at its wheel and watched the gathering tempest in ax agony of inde- cision and dread. Not dread for his per- sonal safety, but fear that the storm might end the wtird quest that had brought him to this ionely ocean waste. "This storm will sink me unless I run before it," he muttered. "But if I stay, it might open the way to the Shining Land as it did before!" Cullan's dark, lean young face was haggard as he looked down with tense hope at the ring on his finger. It was a strange ring, a worn, massive hoop of gold set with a curious prismatic crystal. But what he prayed for had not hap- pened. The jewel was still dull, dead. The storm was coming on with giant strides Even under bare spars, the stout motor of the yawl could hardly keep it from swinging broadside to the climbing waves. He must flee at once if he were to escape the full fury of the tempest. But Cullan's agony of indecision sud- denly ended in desperate resolve. "I'll take the gamble! It's my only chance of entering Tir Sorcha again.
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By EDMOND HAMILTON I've tried everything else and failed." And boldly he opened the Diesel's power and kept the little craft bucking directly into the storm, to maintain his position. Brian Cullan had been cruising around this position in the lonely mid-Atlantic for days. Vainly he had been trying to force entrance back into the strange, alien world that by chance he had entered two years before. The other time, just after the war ended, he had been flying back across the Atlantic to America and home. He had flown into a raging thunderstorm and a strange thing had happened. The crystal, of the old ring upon his finger hi.d begun to glow weirdly with sparkling force. The ring was an ancient heirloom in Brian Cullan's family. For his descent was supposed to be from the great Cuchu- lain, the legendary Celtic warrior-hero of two thousand years ago. And from Cuchulain had come down that strange ring which had always been called "The Unlocker." The ring was a key, that under certain circumstances could unlock the gateway into an alien world. A world congruent with Earth but existing on a different plane of vibration, a world of unearthly Somewhere tvas that lost, golden land and a love worth the hideous danger of returning
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LOST ELYSIUM beauty and horror that long ago Cuchulain and others had entered and had called Tir Serena, the Shining Land. Finns into that weirdly different world, Brian Cuilan had found that time in it was different. A year on Earth was but a da\ in the Shining Land. So that the twenty centuries since Cuchulain visited to those who dwelt on it. that other world seemed but a few years And the dwellers in Tir Sorcha were those whom the ancient Celts had wor- shiped as gods! The Tuatha De, the great race whose chieftains, Lugh and Dagda and others, had been deified long ago by men of Earth, and who still lived and reigned in that other world of far slower time. And among them — Cullan's heart yearned at the memory — was that Prin- cess Fand, whom the great race had made guardian of the Gateway between worlds Long ago, Fand had loved Cuchulain but hiid let him return u> Earth. And when Brian Cuilan came, to her he was Cuchu- lain returned for a trick of inheritance had made him the double of his long- dead ancestor. Cullan's eyes filled with tears that the howling wind and spray of the storm whipped from his cheeks. "Fand, I swore to come back to you or die trying !" he cried into the roar of wind and waves. "And it's one or the other, now !" For he had loved Fand, as he had loved no woman of Earth. In her faery-beauti- ful city Ethne, he had fought for her against her estranged husband Mannanan when that traitorous lord of the great race had sought to seize the Gateway to Earth for his own evil purposes. He had fought and won, for Man- nanan had died in the battle that wrecked his plot. But Cuilan had lost too, had been exiled from the Shining Land and thrust back to his own world by the great Tuatha rulers who had decreed that none should come and go between the worlds. He had come back to the drab, war- wearied Earth, but haunted by memory of that lost, golden elysium and the love he had left there. He had sworn to return to Fand despite the stern decree of the Tuatha lords. TVTOW, after two years of preparation, Brian Cuilan had come in the yawl to that spot in mid-ocean whence former- ly his plane had been snatched into the other world. For days, he had vainly tried by the scientific means he had pre- pared to open that strange channel be- tween the worlds of varying vibration. And all his attempts had failed. This, now, was his last gamble. The way had been opened that other time by the unleashed electric forces of storm. It might happen again. If it did, the subtle scientific powers of the ancient ring upon his finger would take him through. Cuilan, clinging to the wheel of the bucking yawl, peered tensely at the crystal on his finger. "It must happen again !" But the crystal of the Unlocker re- mained dead, mocking him. The jewel itself was not a door between worlds. It was only a talisman which could take him through if the door were opened. The sky was now night-black, the howling gale raising mountainous waves that tossed the struggling yawl like a toy on their raving crests. Lightning had be- gun to spear blindingly across the heavens. Blinded by flying spray, deafened by
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LOST ELYSIUM the roar of tempest, Brian Cullan fought fiercely to keep the yawl against the storm. Despair closed icy fingers around his heart, for now that the full power of ihe gale was unleashed, the little craft could not long survive. Each time it dropped dizzyingly into the trough of the great waves, he man- aged miraculously to keep it from swing- ing broadside and foundering. Eut mir- acles could not go on forever. Cullan's hair bristled as he saw huger waves pil- ing blackly and leaning forward lo crush him. Colossal hands seemed to snatch the yawl skyward, and as it hung for a mo- ment on the crest with screw racing wild- ly, he knew this was the end. The whole heavens flared in that moment with daz- zling lightning — "The sign !" yelled Brian Cullan wild- ly. "The sign of the Gateway !" The lightnings had whirled into a flam- ing, blinding circle in the sky over his head. A circle that seemed whirling down upon him. And the crystal of the Unlocker on his finger was suddenly flaming ! Scintillat- ing with blazing rays of force that spun in a circle which was miniature match to the descending hoop of lightning above him. Storm-lightning had momentarily opened the Gateway between the worlds of varying vibration, and the Unlocker's subtle aura of force would take him and his craft through if — Crash! The yawl had dropped from the towering wave-crest to the surface of the sea, with a smashing shock that wenched its beams to shrieking proLesL, and that flung Brian Cullan hard against the rail. He was half stunned, but he struggled to his knees. Then he froze, looking around him with wild surmise on his haggard face. Golden, glowing mists were about him, a strange, sprawling haze. The yawl floated placidly on a smooth yellow sea, amid that unearthly radiance. Black sky, howling storm, raving waves, had all vanished. Wild joy, exultation in hope long- deferred but now at last fulfilled, ham- mered in Brian Cullan's heart. "Tir Sorclia! The Shining Land!" CHAPTER II i"* OLDEN, dreamy stretched the mists around him, stirred by the soft, warm wind into little twists of shining vapor that slowly swirled above the yel- low sea. Forever hidden above the aureate haze was whatever sun lit this world. But through the sparkling, shrouding vapors there dimly bulked the outline of a dis- tant island. Brian Cullan felt a singing joy that thrilled his every nerve. He had fought fate and death and storm to return to ihis world, and his wild attempt had suc- ceeded. "Fand ! Fand!" he whispered, and the name was like a jubilant prayer upon his lips. He steered the yawl, its motor throb- bing, toward the dim shape of the distant island. This was a world of islands, he re- membered. A strange, ocean world whose golden mists shrouded countless scat- tered isles that held wonders of beauty and terror unknown to Earth save in legend. Cullan soon perceived that over the island ahead vast-winged shadows hov-
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LOST ELYSIUM ered. Then he saw them more clearly as incredible, roc-like birds that were plan- ing to a landing on the low green land. "The island of Great Birds !" he ex- claimed, "I remember, now. And over there — " Over there farther in the shining haze showed another isle that seemed covered by tall trees. But the trees were flowers, colossal blooms nodding and waving gently in the breeze. The two remembered isles gave him his bearings. He turned the yawl and sent it throbbing away in a direction thai was north by his gyro-compass. It was the way to the isle of the Waterspout where was Fand's city, Ethne, whose beauty had haunted his memory these two years. "Two years?" thought Cullan. "But only two days have passed in this world, since Lugh forced me back to Earth." Bitter had been that memory of the hour when he had been exiled from this world and from Fand by stern decree of Lugh, lord of the Tuatha. But now the bitterness was dissolved in the joy of return. No: even his knowledge that he was re- turning into Tir Sorcha in direct defiance of the warning of mighty Lugh, not even the penalty of doom he risked, could tem- per his joy. Somewhere here he and Fand would find chance for happiness, however brief. Cullan could not measure the passage of time as the yawl sped north and north. It might be near nightfall but he had no means of guessing. Almost tremulously, his eyes strained into the mists ahead. Then at last the island of bis hopes took slow shape. It was the Isle of the Waterspout, a low green hill rising from the yellow sea. A deep bay indented its southern coast, and above that bay climbed the shimmer- ing structures of the faery city, Ethne. Most wonderful was the giant geyser of water that gave this isle its name. It was a colossal waterspout that sprang perpetually from a pit on the north shore and curved obliquely across the whole island to thunder down in a ceaseless cataract into the bay below the city. "Ethne at last ! And Father there, hoping and waiting for me — '* Brian Cullan's pulse hammered as he sent the yawl speeding into the bay. Loud in his ears now was the unending, boom- ing thunder of the falling waterspout, whose maelstrom of currents he gave wide berth. The battered little yawl glided into the bay on throttled motor. Ahead lay the an- cient yellow stone docks of Ethne, and from them climbed the streets and elfin buildings of Fand's City. Cullan saw that remembered beauty through blurred eyes. Poised beneath the rushing rainbow of water that arched the sky, Ethne was a city of dream. Its buildings were shimmering spheres like iridescent bubbles, rising in breathtaking loveliness to the highest cluster of bubble- domes that was Fand's palace. Suddenly, Cullan's wild elation check- ed a little. The city was strangely still, strangely silent There was no sound but the distant boom of the falling water- sprout, and no figures moved in the streets of shimmering spheres. He could see none of the fair-haired Tuatha lords and ladies, none of the dark slaves who had served them. Fear grew swiftly in Brian Cullan's heart as he brought the yawl to the docks of worn yellow stone. He moored it hastily between the slim, burnished metal
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LOST ELYSIUM boats that floated here. Then he leaped quickly up onto the dock. "Good God!" His exclamation came from lips stiffened by horror. *■ VHE dock was Uttered with slain men. ■*■ Most of them were Tuatha warriors, tall, fair-haired men in silver mail and helmets, lying with their glittering flame- swords still shining in their hands, their bodies blasted and blackened where enemy swords had touched them. But among them lay also many of those enemy warriors who had died fighting them. These were dark, stocky, brutal- looking men in black armor, men like the dark slaves whom the Tuatha had owned. There had been an Invasion and battle here in Ethne ! "Fand !" cried Cullan agonized. He ran up the sloping streets toward the highest bubble-palace. Lost now on him were the beauty of shimmering domes and gorgeous gardens. Faery Ethne was a silent city of the dead. There were corpses everywhere in the streets, mostly Tuatha but no small num- ber of the dark warriors. Cullan remembered as he ran what Fand had mentioned, fliat their slaves were prisoners taken in war with the dark, deadly enemies of the Tuatha, the Fomorians who dwelled far northward in this world. The Fomorians? The mysterious, malign race whose memory lived in Celtic legend as lords of evil who strug- gled against the Tuatha gods? They had been here in Ethne, had slain every soul. But Fand? Wild with dread, Brian Cullan reach- ed the palace and burst inside. In here, in the great central hall that was like the interior of a white pearl, the dead Tuatha warriors were thickest. And out on the terrace where Fand and he had declared their love, and in the wondrous gardens below it, other dead bodies of the handsome Tuatha folk lay sprawled. Cullan searched frantically through the silent halls of death, but could not find Fand's body. He stood, wild with doubt and dread, feeling a ghastly loneliness in this still city of death. Cullan whispered through dry lips. "If those dark devils killed Fand — " He stopped and whirled. A slight sound had reached his ears. Were there still some of the Fomorians here ? Cullan stooped quickly aid snatched up a flame-sword from a dead warrior. He knew the weapon from previous use. As his fingers closed on its hilt, its slim blade glowed with shining force — force released from the condenser-chamber in the hilt, that would blast any living thing touched by the blade. He listened again, standing ready with the flaring sword in his hand, his lean, dark face taut and terrible. Then he went toward the heap of dead on the great stair, From there had come the sound. A man in that heap of corpses was stirring feebly. It was a tall Tuatha warrior, whose face was on one side blackened and scorched by the grazing touch of a flame-sword. Brian Cullan knew this man. It was Goban, captain of Fand's guards, a man at whose side he had fought against Mannanan's plotters two years — two days, here! — ago. With fierce impatience, he raised Goban to sitting position and sought to revive him. The Tuathan, he saw, had been stunned by the glancing touch Of a flame-sword and left for dead. Now, he opened his eves.
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LOST ELYSIUM "Cuchulain !" cried Goban looking wildly up into Cullan's face, and calling him by the name all the Tuatha had call- ed him because of his resemblance lo his long-dead ancestor. "Cuchulain, you've come back ! But too late !" He choked the last words out in a groan, looking around the corpse-littered palace. "Goban, what has happened here?" cried Cullan hoarsely. "Where is Fand?" He spoke in the Tuatha language, so like the ancient Gaelic, that he had learned here before time. "The Fomorians have her — Tethra's dark warriors have taken her to black Mruun in the north !" groaned Goban. "They slew all here but me, and I should have died, too." Cullan's blood iced with dread. Fand a prisoner of the dealiest enemies of the Tuatha, the dark Fomorians whose evil had been legend even in Earth for ages? "It was that traitor Mannanan's do- ing," said Goban thickly. "The cursed one who was once Fand's husband." "Mannanan ?" cried Cullan. "But he was killed two years ago — two days ago, by your time — when we smashed his plot to seize the Gateway." "Aye," said Goban, "but it seems now that Mannanan's plot was not really his own. He was but a pawn in the hands of the Fomorians. Those black devils were the ones who really coveted the Gateway, so that they could go through into your Earth. "And when Mannanan's plot failed, Tethra's black horde acted quickly. They came to seize the Gateway mechanism and Fand, who is its guardian and knows the secret of its opening. They poured into Ethne last night from hundreds of boats and slew all in the city. They pressed the last of us into the palace as we sought to defend Fand.'* Goban/s eyes lighted fiercely. "You should have seen her, wielding sword with us like a tigress against the swarm- ing dark ones. And as she fought, she cried, "If Cuchulain were but with us still !" That was all I heard before a sword grazed my face, and I fell stun- ned.'' Brian Cullan's heart was bursting with wild emotion. And from his lips there broke a sound of rage that was almost a snarl. fPHAT strange resurgence of ancestral personality, of ancestral memory, that once before had made him Cuchulain re- born, was waking in him again. "We'll not stay here wailing her loss !" he cried. "We'll follow northward after them, even to Mruun !" The red rage was creeping ever- stronger across his brain, the terrible personality of the ancient Hound be- ginning again to dominate his maddening mind. To have lost Fand, by merely hours ! To have spent those long months of toil and danger and deadly risk to win back to the Shining Land and her, only to find himself too late! "Wait, Cuchulain !" pleaded Goban. '"'We two could do nothing against all the Fomorians in black Mruun. The Tuatha of all the isles must be told of this. 1 must call, Lugh, lord of the Tuatha.'' "Why didn't you call when danger first threatened?" Cullan demanded savagely. "There was no lime !" Goban protested. "The Fomorians burst in upon Ethne like a flood, a wave of death that rolled upon Ui in moments." Goban rose unsteadily to his feet with
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LOST ELYSIUM Cullan's help, and staggered unsteadily across the hall to a pedestal on which was mounted a nest of coenceiitiic crystal globes. He peered intently into the globes. Light grew inside the coencentric crys- tals. Cullan knew he was witnessing some of the alien science of the Tua- thans, Sfi ancient science transcending the younger one of Earth. "My thought is reaching through now to Lugh and Dagda," Goban whispered. "They will use the shape-sending to come here at once." Suddenly, magically, two men appeared there m the death-Uttered hall beside them. Two tall Tuathan lords, one of them a giant. The older man was Lugh, king of the Tuathar race, he whom the Celts of old had deemed greatest of gods — a man grave and gray with age. with somber, wrinkled face and piercing eyes. The other man., a huge, ficrce-eyed giant, was burly Daerda, warrior-lord of the race. Cullan knew that he was not really see- ing the two Tuatha lords. These were but images of them, hurled across distance by the "shape-sending" science of Lugh, images that could see and speak and wield certain powers. "What reason for this urgent call — * Lugh began to Goban, and then checked himself as he saw Rrian Cullan. His face grew stem with wrath. "You have re- turned, outworlder? Did I not warn you the penalty was death i£ you violated my decree and came back into this world?" "Lord Lugh, look at these dead !" boomed the startled voice of giant Dagda, who had glanced across the corpse-strewn hall. Goban spoke hastily. "The Fomorians have been here! They have taken the princess Fand and slain all others here but myself." Lugli's face stiffened, almost as though in dread, as he heard Goban's swift tale. He cried, "What of the Gateway mech- anism?" "I do not know but I fear they have taken it also," stammered Goban. "I was struck down here, and Cuchulain revived me when he came." Lugh and Dagda — or their images — glided swiftly up the stair to the roo£ of the bubble palace. Cullan followed hastily with Goban. He had been up here before. In the recess on this roof, he remembered, was situated that strange mechanism of other- world science which could be used to open the Gateway to Earth at will, and of which Fand was guardian. DUT the mechanism was gone. That ■"-^ wonderful device of spinning crys- tals had been lifted from its bed, which now gaped empty. "The Gateway in the hands of Teihra's Fomorians !" whispered Lugh. "It is what we have always feared and guarded against." "They cannot operate it without know- ing its secret," pointed out big Dagda. "And only Fand, beside yoursel f , knows that secret." "Aye, but they have Fand," Lugh said somberly. "And Tethra's craft and tor- tures will surely win it from her in time." He brooded for a moment. Then he told Goban, "Come at once to our citadel in Thandara. Great things impend, for now I think our long struggle with the dark ones of the north is rushing toward its climax." He added, looking sternly at Brian
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LOST ELYSIUM Cullan, "Come you too, outworider. It may be that fate itself has brought you back to this world against my decree, to play a part in oar final war with dark- ness." "Hell talte all your war3 and orders !" blazed Cullan. "I'm going after Fand !" Lugh's eyes fixed him freezingly. "It may be that you will go, but it will be as I direct. Obey me, outworlder !" He and Dagda, or their images, abrupt- ly vanished. Cullan stood torn with in- decision as Goban begged him to obey the order. "Alone you could not even find black Mruun of the north," Goban insisted. "The lord Lugh's power only can recover Fand now." ^ That consideration was what impelled Brian Cullan finally to obey, despite his wild impatience. He followed Goban out of the palace and down through the silent deathly city to the docks. He was moving toward the yawl, when Goban objected. "That outwodd craft of yours looks far too slow. Wc go in one of our own boats." Cullan knew the tremendous speed of the slim, undecked metal boats of the Tuatha. He dropped into one after Goban, who went to the stern and touch- ed the controls of the box-like generator of atomic power. White fire jetted back under water from the stern, and the slim craft leap- ed out through the harbor like a fright- ened horse. Avoiding the thunderous fall- ing water-spout by a swift turn of the tiller, Goban sent the boat skimming the yellow swells due westward through the golden mists. The Tuathan captain seemed feverish with excitement over Lugh's promise ot final war. But Cullan's mind could hold only one thought — memory of Fand in that last moment when she had clung to him and he had promised to return. He had no eyes, in his agony of spirit, for the islands that took form in the golden mists and dropped behind them. The Isle of Silver with its argent rocks and burnished beaches, the strange Isle of Fire whose uprushing red flames glowed infernal through the haze, the other, farther isles that he vaguely recog- nized— he was blind now to their wonder. The golden mists darkened as night be- gan to tall. The slim boat rushed on and on over the smooth yellow swells. Then far ahead in the dusking mists there loomed a larger island" The bubble-like domes of its city surrounded the shim- mering, lofty spires of a mighty citadel. Lights were shining there, many boats moving, in feverish activity. "Thandara, citadel of the Tuatha lords and heartland of our race !" Goban was crying to him. "It wdces for the last war with the Fomorians." Thandara, fabled citadel of bae old Celtic gods ! Cullan, crushed by his dread, could feel only a numbed wonder as they rushed toward it, CHAPTER III fflUATHAN warriors were already coming from other islands, as was evidenced by the many boats speeding into the harbor of the dry. But Goban steered their own racing craft past the harbor, directly toward the point where the sheer, shimmering outer wall of the great citadel rose from the water edge. There in the face of the wall was a water-gate opening directly into the cita- del. In the deepening dusk, Goban deftly
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LOST ELYSIUM maneuvered their craft through the open- ing and down a water tunnel into a little interior harbor beneath the great struc- ture. Here a sourceless yellow light il- luminated a dozen other metal boats chained to a stone quay. On the quay waited a giant figure in silver mail and helmet. Cullan instantly recognized Dagda's craggy, massive face and fierce eyes. "The lord Lugh awaits you/' he boomed. "Already word has gone out to every island of our folk, and soon all will have gathered here." "To go after Fand V Cullan asked with feverish hope. Dagd? looked at him solemnlj'. "You may sec her sooner than )-ou think, out- worlder/' They followed the bttrly giant up coil- ing silver stairs through shining irides- cent corridors and chambers of soft, sonrcelr.Sis light. Kverywhere in the cita- del they heard running feet, babel of ex- cited voices, stir of intense activity. The Tuathan giant led them at last into a high chamber that was not large. Around its pale rose-tinged walls stood implements and instruments of the Tua- than science, their purpose unguessable to Cullan. And here stood Lugh, straight and spare in his mail, his somber face darker than ever as he listened to Goban's quick elaboration of his tale. "Aye, it is plain enough," Lugh said, finally. "Tethra has long coveted the Gateway. And when his plot to gain it through Mannanan failed, he struck directly and took both it and its guar- dian." "What will they do with her? They'll not kill her ?" Cullan asked tensely. "Not until they haye wrung the secret of the Gateway from her/' Lugh said darkly. "And then — then at last Tethra and his evil horde will be free to go through^into your Earth.'' His voice deepened as he continued. "It is why we Tuatha long ago closed the way between worlds. Your people would be defenseless against the dark science of the Fomorians. Once before, ages ago in your time, they broke through into Earth under Tethra and began conquer- ing your primitive races. "We Tuatha forced the Fomorians that time to return to this world. And soon after, when the men of Earth revolted against our own wise rule, we returned ourselves into this world and closed the Gateway so that the Fomorians could not again invade your world." Lugh's face was heavy with memory. "Since then, for many years of our time and for many ages of yours, we have kept the Gateway closed. Only a few times, when the forces of nature, hap- pened to open the Gateway momentarily, have any from Earth come through. Your ancestor Cuchulain was one such, and it was because Fand gave him that ring you wear that you in turn were drawn into our world by such a chance opening of the way. ''But now the mechanism of the Gate- way is in Tethra's hands. And when he forces its secret from Fand, he and his evil race will invade your world. I tell you that your folk of Earth will be de- fenseless before them I Your weapons of crude material science will be in vain, and the Fomorians will fasten an evil and hideous tyranny on all your race (" Brian Cullan was chilled. He felt a fear such as he had not felt on that former occasion when Mannanan had plotted for; the Gateway.
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14 LOST ELYSIUM "fc/|"ANNANAN'S traitorous followers -'-*•*■ had been few, and whatever their powers he had not felt that so few could represent real danger to Earth. But these dark hordes of whom Ltigh spoke, armed with inhuman powers and sciences, pour- ing through into an Earth already bat- tered by war — "Then the only means of averting that disaster is to get Fand away from Teth- ra's grasp before he can secure her sec- ret!" he argued. Lugh looked at him steadily. "You love Fand. do you not? It is why you returned to this world against my de- cree r" Cullan answered boldly. "I do love her, and it is why I returned. You can kill me, I know, but I'll not go back again to Earth !" Dagda, the giant, uttered booming ap- preciation. "This outworlder has courage, Lugh! Let him stay, we can use him in this fight." Lugh was looking strvngely at Cullan. "Yes, we can use him," he said slowly. "Fate itself has brought him back to use against Tethra. But let him not complain later when he learns all the tricks of fate." To Brian Cullan there seemed some- thing hidden, something ominous, in Lugh's words. But he was past caring for premonitions now. "I'll complain at no risk or danger, if a can stay and fight my way to Fanr] !" he cried. "We are going to Fand now," Lugh said unexpectedly. "In a few minutes you shall see and speak to her again, aye and to Tethra too in his castle in dark Mruiin." Cullan was astounded. "In a few min- utes? But Goben says that Mruun lies far in the cold mists of , the north?" "We snail not go by ordinary means, this time," Lugh said. "You go with me, for I have a reason. But first, put on Tuathan mail." Mystified, Brian Cullan discarded his clothes and donned the silver mail and helmet that were ready. When he had done so, he glimpsed himself in a mirror. His helmeted, dark head and mailed fig- ure looked strangely different to him, from his former self. "It is well," muttered Lugh, eyeing him. "You are indeed exact counterpart of your ancestor Cuchulain." He led Cullan toward a looming de- vice in a corner, a hollow copper tube atop which were mounted queer, shielded instruments. Cullan began to understand. "Then only our imnges are to go? As you and Dagda came to Ethne?" Lugh nodded. "Yes, we go by the shape-sending. This machine can fling a simulacrum of our physical bodies far and fast across any distance, and so we shall enter Mruun. And then — we shall see." Cullan sensed again that hidden pur- pose in the Tuathan king's words, that mysterious purpose that somehow con- cerned himself. But he was too desperate- ly anxious to sec Fand again to ques- tion. He followed Lugh inside the hollow copper tube. The Tuathan king touched and turned a gnurled knob upon the wall. Then from walls and floor and roof of the cube, blinding light seemed to ex- plode upon them. Brian Cullan reeled. He no longer felt the floor under his feet, but felt as though he were being hurled headlong through
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LOST ELYSIUM 15 howling darkness. Vaguely, he felt Lugh's arm steadying him. "We approach Mruun !" Lugh's voice reached him. "Now keep close behind me, and speak not until I have spoken." Cullan seemed to himself to be hurt- ling behind Lugh swifter than thought, through cold, mist-shrouded night over heaving ocean. He knew that it was only his image ' that was so traveling, only a simulacrum of himself flung out by the Tuathan's deep mastery of atomic science. Yet it seemed he, the real Brian Cul- lan, who was thus rushing at nightmare speed over the night-shrouded sea. And ahead of them, looming up with incred- ible swiftness, towered a great island. CHROUDED in cold northern mists, **-* the stupendous crags of this island rose like black battlements of giants. Up there on the heights was a squat, dark, . ancient city of vast extent, dominated by the massive, ebon castle that perched on the highest cliffs. "Black Mrunn, the chief isle of the Fo- morian race," came Lugh's voice. "Re- member, keep behind me as we enier Tethra's castle." They were rushing up through mist and night toward the black and massive pile. Cullan glimpsed dark, mailed For- mnrian warriors on its walls, warriors who cried out and pointed at them. Then he and Lugh were rushing through the thick stone walls of the castle, as though they did not exist. He had flashing glimpses of a labyrinth of dusky corridors and levels, as they drove through them. Then, suddenly, their rush slowed and stopped as he and Lugh entered a vast, vaulted black room filled with strange, ochre light. "The throne-chamber of Tethra," whis- pered Lugh, from in front of Cullan, "Aye, and there is he, and Fand." At the far end of the room upon a throne of carven black stone flanked by mailed guards, sat Tethra. He was a man past middle age, dark like all the Formorians but handsome and with something in his mocking face that seem- ed vaguely familiar to Cullan. Facing the taunting gaze of the Fo- morian ruler stood a slim, erect white figure at sight of whom Brain Cullan's heart jumped. "Fand I" he whispered chokingly. It was Fand as he remembered her, slender in her starwoven white gown, her dark hair bare. Her green eyes were bril- liant with defiance, her dynamic white face stiff with loathing, as she faced Tethra. But a moment that tableau held for Cullan to witness, before it w"as inter- rupted. Into the throne-chamber raced Fo- morian guards. "Lugh and another have come! Their images rushed through the wall into the castle — " But Tethra was on his feet before they could finish, glaring swiftly around the thr one -chamber. He became rigid as he glimpsed Lugh gliding forward with Cullan close behind him. "Lugh's shape-sending science !" ex- claimed the Fomorian king. "Fear not, my men! I expected it and have pre- pared against it." As he spoke, Lugh was swiftly moving his hand. From a heavy bracelet- instru- ment on his wrist, bolts of shining force like living lightning darted toward Teth- ra. But those dazzling bolts withered,
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LOST ELYSIUM faded and vanished in the strange ochre radiance that filled the room. And Teth- ra laughed, his dark, mocking face tri- umphant;. "Said I not I was prepared?" he taunt- ed. "Not thus easily do you catch me, Lugh. The shape-sending trick will not avail you now." "The Tuatha know other tricks," Lugh said ominously. "You hover on the brink of an abyss. Tethra. Send Fand and the Gateway back to us or it is war between Tuathans and Formorians that means your death." rpETHRA laughed mockingly. "Will -*• threats win that war for you? You are already defeated and you know it, Lugh. Long have you kept us barred out of that Earth from which you drove us. Now we go back there, for now we have the Gateway and soon we will have its secret." Fand spoke softly in her silver voice. "They will never have it, lord Lugh! Fear not that any torture can force it from me." "There are tortures of the mind that can transcend the terrors of the flesh," Tethra said smootlily. "And I know how lo wield them, Fand." "Aye," said Lugh darkly, "there are tortures of the mind. But two can play at using them, Tethra." "Bring on your forces and weapons if you so dare," Tethra challenged con- temptuously. "My warriors have long de- sired to slay you and your lords, including that hulking Dagda who now skulks be- hind you." "It is not Dagda who is behind me," said Lugh quietly. "It is one who is not of the Tuatha at all." And Lugh's image suddenly moved aside, revealing Brian Cullan's mailed figure to their gaze. Tethra leaped up like a man stricken by appalling force. For a moment, as he stared at Cullan, his face was livid. "Cuchulain !" he cried hoarsely. "Cuchulain, here from the outerworld !" And from Fand came a glad, silver cry. "Cuchulain returned! I Atww,, you would come back !" She ran forward with wild gladness in her face, as Tethra still stood rigidly, stunnedly staring at Cullan's image. Lugh made a sudden movement. To Cullan, the whole throne-room seemed suddenly to vanish as he was withdrawn from it with incredible swiftness. He felt himself whirled back through darkness, and suddenly was standing again in the copper cube in Lugh's chamber at Thandara. He stood unsteadily, still wild with emotion at his glimpse of Fand ano-l**'^ peril, as Lugh briefly told Dagda and the other of their glimpse of her. Cullan interrupted, his voice hoarse. "We've got to do something to get her out of there, quickly !" "We will," Lugh said quietly. "Tethra knows now that I have weapons against him." "That devil didn't fear your weapons," Cullan said harshly. He added, puzzlcdly, "Though Tethra seemed almost to fear when he saw me, seemed to know mc Yet he has never seen me before." "He mistook you for your ancestor Cuchulain — and he knew Cuchulain loug ago when he and his Fomorians invaded Earth," said Lugh. The Tuatha king add- ed, broodingly, "And seeing you made Tethra fear, indeed." Cullan was too agonized by apprehen- sion for Fand to ponder the dark mystery 3—1
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LOST ELYSIUM that be sensed again behind Lugh's words. "We go to Mruun at once, physically and with weapons?" he cried tensely. Lugh shook his head. "Not yet. The hosts of the Tuatha are not yet gathered. And I have still a weapon to use against Tethra before we join final battle. But it will take time." "Time? There is no time!" Cullan re- torted passionately. "If you and your warriors won't go, I'm going to Mruun alone!" He turned to leave the chamber. But giant Dagda grasped him, and held him like a child despite his raging resistance. "Lock him up," Lugh ordered curtly. "And you guard him, Goban. He is valu- able to us for he is part of my plan against Tethra." Struggling furiously, Cullan was car- ried bodily out of the chamber and down a cnrridor. Dagda tossed him into a small room, not unkindly. "Be not so impatient, outworlder," boomed the giant as he shut and locked the door. "There'll be battle enough for all of us, soon." Brian Cullan heard the huge Tuathan stride away, leaving Goban on guard out- side the locked door. He stood in the small, yellow-lit room, trembling with frustrated rage and dread. There was a tiny window. He went to it looked out feverishly into the night. Diffused silver radiance now streamed down through the mists, from moons somewhere above the haze. The unreal light washed the gardens and bubble- buildings below this high citadel of Thandara. Out in the harbor of the city he could see slim boats streaming in through the haze, in numbers. The Tuathan warriors 3-2 were gathering from all their isles for war. Cullan gained no hope from the sight. By the time this host was ready to go northward, it would be too late to save Fand from torture and death. CHAPTER IV /TJLLAN turned back from the win- ^"* dow, his fists clenched and his dark face savage in the soft yellow light. "I'll not be locked here like a child while Lugh spins mysterious plots. If they won't go to Mruun, I will !" But how? How escape from this room, from the citadel ? T4e window was too small, the door locked. There was only one possibility. He went to the door and called through it, "Goban, I want you to come inside. I give my word not to try to overpower you." Goban's voice came doubtfully. "I do no doubt your word, Cuchulain. But—" "Man, the princess Fand's life hinges on it !" Cullan cried. That swept aside Goban's doubts, as he had known it would. The captain of Fand's guards, like all her warriors, had been fanatically devoted to her. Goban unlocked the door and entered the room. Cullan spoke rapidly. "Lugh told you that we had seen Fand a prisoner in Mruun. But he did not tell you of all her peril." Goban's face blanched as he listened to Cullan's tale of hearing Tethra threaten the Tuathan princess with imminent tor- ture. "The devils of Fomoria!" raged the captain. "If they do that before we get there — " "They will have done it before your host arrives," pressed Brian Cullan.
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18 LOST ELYSIUM "Unless a few men, unless you and I, go ahead with all speed to Mruun and snatch Fand away from them first." Goban gasped. "You and I go alone to black Mrmm? It would be useless, mad." "We would have a chance," Cullan in- sisted. "Tethra was startled, shaken, when he saw me. I think he fears me, or rather, Cuchulain. And I think we could secretly enter his castle. I saw all its interior ways as I went through it with Lugh in image." The Tuathan captain hesitated, torn by his throbbing loyalty to Fand and his larger fealty to Lugh. "The lord Lugh would slay me for breaking his command," Goban muttered. "But I will do it, Cuchulain ! Better that than to let the princess die without at- tempt to save her !" His decision made, Goban planned swiftly. "We can leave the citadel only by the way wc came — the boats below. Wait, while I see if the road is clear. Brian Cullan waited in tense impatience for minutes before Goban returned. The Tauthan captain handed him a flame- sword. Sheathing the weapon, Cullan followed the other out of the room. Goban had chosen a way down narrow, little-used stairs *nd passages. As they hastened downward, they could hear from else- where in the citadel the echo of excited voices, of hasty preparations. Without chailenge they reached the quay of the little inner harbor beneath the citadel, in which yellow light glistened off the dozen swift metal boats moored here. "Dagda's craft is the fastest by far, but it is chained and locked," whispered Goban. "We must take the one in which we came.'1 The Tuathan again took the helm, starting the atomic mechanism purring and steering the slim boat quickly out the water-tunnel. They emerged from the citadel into the silver mists. At once, Goban swung their craft in a wide circle to avoid the en- trance to the main harbor of Thandara. Looking back toward that harbor^ Brian Cullan saw in it many boats gath- ered along the massive docks. Under the flare of brilliant lights, Tuathan war- riors were loading heavy, spouted mech- anisms into the boats. "They prepare the instruments of our science that will loose destruction," said Goban "The battle that comes will be terrible." IVTOW they were clear of the island and " the Tuathan swung then craft north- ward. At its highest speed it skimmed over the smooth swells of the sea, Cu&af?" peering tautly from its bows. Silver mists as of dreamlike moonlight shrouded all the world. Wisps and curls of the whitely radiant haze caught at their faces as their craft rushed on. Like dim ghost-ianrls vaguely bulked the islands through which they were passing. Cullan felt an ever-fiercer impatience, born of his dread for Fan<L That dread, and the rage against the Fomorians it engendered, brought stronger into his mind that wild, ruthless battle-passion that he believed was inheritance from long-dead Cuchulain. He told himself desperately that he must keep his head clear, must be Brian Cullan, not Cuchu- lain. Goban was feeling something of that same fierce excitement. For the Tuathan called to him above the rush of the wind, his voice high.
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LOST ELYSIUM "I am glad, now! I was the only Ivar- rior in Eihne who did not die fighting for tlic princess, and now I redeem that shame." Silver moon-mists and vague islands rushed past, as they sped on and on toward the north. Soon there were no more islands to be glimpsed, only the spectral sea over whose low wave-crests the slim boat ran headlong. Hours passed, Cullan saw the Tuathan constantly consult instruments in the stern and guessed that Goban was correct- ing and checking their course toward Mruun. They had already come a great distance, he knew. The mists began to grow thicker, dark- er, colder. A chill that he had not be- fore experienced on this world entered Brian Chilian's flesh from the wind. And ever darker, heavier, became the shroud- . ing haze. "We draw near toward Mruun !" Go- ban called finally. "Soon we may glimpse the cursed island." Cullan's hopes flared up exultant. But the Tuathan added warning. "By now, they'll have missed us at the citadel. And Lugh can follow swiftly." A bare few minntes later, there came such a sharp and startled cry from Goban, that Cullan whirled quickly around. Tall and somber in his silver mail and helmet, staring at them in stern accusa- tion, Lugh stood in the speeding boat with them. Cullan suddenly understood. "Lugh's image ! The shape-sending — " "Aye, it is how I have followed you," Lugh said harshly. He threateningly raised his arm, on which glittered the bracelei-sliaped weapon that could loose lightning destruction. "Turn back at once toward fhandara!" "I'll not turn back!" flamed Brian Cul- lan. "You can kill me, but while I live, I'm going on to Fand." Lugh slowly lowered his arm. "I shall not kill you, for you are valuable in our struggle against Tethra in a way you do not know." He added sternly, "But you shall not reach Mruun. I thought you would defy mc, and so when we missed you T sent Dagda after you." The image of Lugh vanished abruptly with that ominous warning, withdrawn by that shape-sending science he had used to overtake them. Goban's voice was appalled. "Dagda and his warriors pursuing us? And their craft is far faster than this one!" "They'll not dare pursue us into Mrnun itself," Cullan encouraged. "If we can reach the Fomorian city in time—" npi-IFJR Tuathan boat could not go ■*■ faster, since already it was racing over the sea at its highest speed. Anxi- ously each few minutes now they peered back into the darkening mists, but saw no pursuers. Another hour passed thus, and another, Then far and high in the cold, dark mists ahead, Cullan descried gleams of dull ocher light. Beneath those lights bullrad vaguely the black battlements of lofty cliffs. "Black Mruun at last!" he exulted. "We'll steal in below the cliffs and then — " "Dagda comes!" yelled Goban, point- ing backward. Out of the mists behind them was emerging the spectral shape of a rushing
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20 LOST ELYSIUM Tuathan boat larger than their own. It held half a dozen warriors, with giant Dagda himself crouched at its prow, "Turn and try to lose tliem in the misls r" cried Brian Cullan, desperate at the last-minute menace to his hopes. Goban obeyed, swerving their racing craft so sharply that its gunwhalc dip- ped up sen. But turn and twist as they might, rhe other craft and Dagda's angry, booming voice hung close behind them. "No use, Cuchulain !" cried Go-ban hopelessly. "They'll board us in a mo- ment. And we cannot fight our own—" He suddenly stopped, his face for a moment wild and startled as he peered through the mist beyond Cullaii. "The Fomorians !" A dozen sharklike metal craft were rushing out of the mists upon them from the direction of Mruun. Cullan glimpsed them, loaded with dark Fomorian war- riors in black helmets and mall, yelling now in savage joy. There was no chance for either Cullan's nor Dagda's craft to escape the ring that suddenly closed upon them. Flame- swords flared and clashed, men screamed and died in the mist, as the boats came together. Cullan had his own sword out, trigger- ing the deadly force into its blade as he struck across the gunwales at the wolfish, brutal figures looming through the mist. He «aw Fomorian faces twist in agony as his blade touched bodies and loosed the destroying force on them. "Slay not the outworlder Cuchulain !" 3Telled a captain in the Fomorian boat at- tacking them. "Remember Tethra's or- ders.'" Take him alive to torture with Fand? Cullan struck fiercely at the dark war- riors who now were piling into his boat He glimpsed Dagda's craft rammed and sinking, the bellowing TuaLhan giant pitched into the sea. Then, from his un- guarded side, a Fomorian sword-hilt crashed against the base of his neck. And Brian Cullan felt himself sliding into blackness. He awoke, his head aching violently; to a silence that seemed amazing transi- tion from the roar and shock of battle. Cullan opened his eyes. He was in a dark stone chamber, windowless but chill with icy mists, lighted by a pulsing ocher radiance. "Goban, what happened?" he stammer- ed to the man supporting him. Then he saw that it was not Goban but huge Dagda, his shock head bare. "Goban died a warrior's death in the fight," boomed the giant. "So did my men — but the cursed Fomorians picked me out of the water like a helpless fish as I sank in my mail." Brian Cullen felt a pang, at the news of the brave Tuatha captain's death. Then he looked wonderingly around the dank room. "We're in the castle of Tethra?" he husked. "Aye, that we are," said Dagda grim- ly. His massive face was black with rage. "Captured like children by Tethra's dark devils ! Outworlder, your crazy expedi- tion hither has led us into a trap where I'll die without ever fighting in the last grand battle." He strode the room furiously. "See how this ocher radiance shrouds all the castle? It is no more light, but a shield of force that Tethra's science has flung forth to ward the lightning-loosing weapons of my people. Yes, the struggle will be bitter. And I to take no part in itr
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LOST ELYSIUM He was still growling curses when the door was unlocked. Black-mailed Fomor- ian guards with flame-swords entered the room. "You go before Tethra now," snap- ped their officer. And as Dagda started ominously toward him, he added, "Resist, and you die here." Brian Cullan made no resistance. He walked amid the alert guards with the swearing giant, with desperate hope that at least each stride might take him nearer Fand. Dank and cold, flooded with the weird ocher radiance, were the black stone corridors of the castle Mruun. They came finally into a vast, vaulted room that Cullan well remembered — Tethra's throne-room. Tethra himself stood by his throne, amid guards and captains, but Cullan gave mm bo second glance. For running towaru him flashed the slim white figure of Fand. "Cuchulain, you've thrown your life away by following me here !" she cried, in his arms. Tears blurred her brilliant green eyes and wet her white face. As he crushed her close he felt the shiver of dread in her pliant body, and knew that it was dread for him. But Cullan felt an incredible, soaring joy. He had won back to her through the dangers of two worlds, and somehow he would hold her. "Fand! Fand!" "They have us both, now," she whis- pered. "And they have the Gateway mechanism, down in the lowest level of this castle. And now — " Cullan turned his head, and felt the raw red anger creep back into his mind as he met Te'thra's gaze. The Fomorian king stood, tall and dark in his black mail, eyeing Cullan's face with strange intentness. Again, it seemed to Cullan there was something vaguely familiar in Tethra's dark, strong, aging face. "Cuchulain, in very trudi !" whispered Tethra, incredulously. "But how can it be? Long ages have passed in the out- world since Cuchulain was born there." Cullan answered harshly, fearlessly. "I am not the Hound. But he was my an- cestor, long ago." A strange, throbbing emotion showed in Tethra's eyes. His dark, sardonic face was not mocking now. It was yearning, glad. "Now I understand !" he exclaimed. "Yes, you are Cuchulain reborn. In your veins flows his blood — and mine." "Your blood?" Cullan cried, astound- ed. "Do you mean — " "I was Cuchulain's father, long ago on Earth," said the Fomorian king. "Your forefather, my son!" CHAPTER V /^ULLAN was stunned, numbed. He ^^^ saw shock and horror in Fand's white face as she looked up at him. He strove to open his mouth to deny. But Tethra was speaking quickly, al- most eagerly, his burning eyes clinging to Cullan's face as he spoke. "It was half my lifetime ago, centuries ago in your time, that I led my Fomor- ians to invasion and conquest in your Earth. There I loved an Earth maiden and to us was born a son, that Setanta who later won for himself the name Cuchulain. "When Lugh and his Tuathans drove
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LOST ELYSIUM us back into this world, my son was left on Earth. But I yearned for him, and left command for him to seek me in this world when he reached manhood. And Cuchulain came, hut he never found me. For he tarried with Fand until Lugh discovered his presence and forced him to return to Earth. "For Lugh knew that he was my son ! And Lugh knew when he saw you that you are the son of my blood reborn. That is why the Tuathan king showed you to me, by the shape- sending. Lugh meant to bargain with me, to exchange you to me for Fand." Fand had shrunk out of Cullan's arms and the shade of horror and loathing on her face was stronger as she looked at him. And giant Dagda was glaring at him. "It can't be true!" Cullan exclaimed. "I've no Fomorian blood, none of Tcth- ra's blood, in me!" "It is true !" Tethra affirmed. "Lugh returned later in image to offer me the exchange. He kept you ignorant of it all, of course." Fatal conviction gripped Cullan, as he remembered Lugh's mysterious hints. And now, too, Brian Cullan realized why it was that Tethra's dark face was vaguely familiar. It was a mirror of his own face! Tethra uttered a ringing laugh. "And now Lugh has been tricked for all his wily ways. I have Fand and the Gateway, and also I have you, the son I longed for." He raised his voice. "Captains of Fomoria, hail my son Cuchulain. reborn and returned to me !" From the black-mailed Fomorian lords came a roar of welcoming shouts. But Cullan was deaf to them as he turned wildly to the girl. "Fand, this has not changed me! Even if I have Tethra's blood, my heart u with the Tuatha and with you!" Clouded by the horror of a deep and ancient racial hate, Fand's white face looked up at him. Then that cloud van- ished, and her green eyes flamed love and loyalty, as she stepped back toward him. "I believe you, Cuchulain!" she whis- pered. Angry murmurs rose from the Fomor- ian captains. And Tethra strode forward, astounded. "You know not what you say, Cuchu- lain ! You are my son, heir now to my power. Not only power over Fomoria 's misty isles but power also soon over that Earth from which you ranie." TTIS dark eyes glowed and burned. ■*■-*- "Once we pour through the Gate- way, our science will crush all there who resist us. The battle will be great, but with a world as stakes. Surely such battle, such empire, must allure you if you have blood of mine." Cullan, despite himself, did feel that tempting strike a strange, responsive chord within him. A chord of that sav- age ancestral personality that more than once had dominated him, he knew k to be. Wild, dark blood of long-dead Cuchu- lain, blood of this ruthless king before him, running strong in his own veins, — that was what he had to fight against. "No, Tethra!" he said harshly. "My loyalty is to Earth and to the Tuatha who protects it from you." Tethra's dark eyes blazed anger. "Ha« this white witch-girl made you a milk-
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LOST ELYSIUM 23 sop? Will you turn against me when — " Terrible interruption prevented him from finishing. A thunderous shock and roar shook the castle M rutin to its foundations. Outside the windows flared blinding light that dimmed the ocher radiance within to dullness. Again and again came the flashes and rocking shocks. Cries were raised, and Tethra spun around wiLh sword flaming in his hand as a Fomorian warrior rnsh- ed into the thronechamber. "The Tuatlia fleet has come ! Lugh's weapons loose their forces against the castle !" Tethra's strong, undaunted voice rose to dominate the uproar. "To the defense, all! Lugh's warriors cannot enter here unless his weapons shatter our shield of force, and that they cannot do." Answering with fierce yells, the Fomonao captains raced out of the throne-room. Tethra delayed to shout an order to the guards of the room. "Bind them to the pillars, all three of them !" he ordered, pointing to Cullan and Fand and Dagda. "But see that none harms them.'' As the order was hastily obeyed, as the three were bound to three of the pillars along the wall of the vaulted chamber, the alert flame-swords of the guards pre- vented possibility of resistance. Tethra lingered a moment, his power- ful face dark with unguessable emotions as he looked into Cullan's eyes. "You should be standing by my side in this battle, Cuchulain," he said. "But when we have beaten the Tuatha back, we will talk again of that." He hastened out, a martial, mail-clad figure, followed by all but a few of the guards. Again, and again, the terrific lightning- flares of released forces blazed outside trie castle and rocked it wildly. But Cullan saw that the shielding ocher radiance now was burning stronger all through and around the castle. And other outleapmg flares of force outside the windows told that the Fomorians were striking back at the Tuathan attackers. Dagda, wild with fury, strained at his bonds. "To be tied here like a calf while the fate of all is decided !" bellowed the giant. Fand, princess of a warrior race, cried tu Cullan unafraid. "Cuchulain, if Lugh's great powers can force a way, all may yet be saved !" Hell of other-world combat was raging now on the cliffs of Mruun, Cullan knew. Thunder and flare of titanic weapons seemed to set all the island shuddering as it reached terrible intensity. And strongly, strongly, within him stirred that dark, wild battle-passion that was inheritance from the Hound. Why was he not out there in thai mad fight? "The shield of Mruun is failing \" Fand cried, her silver voice exultant. "See, the radiance dies !" TT WAS true. The other glow of subtle force that had protected the castle was dimming, going out. Crash on crash of thunderous, blazing force now smote unopposed into the mas- sive pile. Walls began to crack and crumble, great blocks of stone to hurtle down into the quaning throne-room. Cullan heard wild, exultant shouting somewhere out on the fringes of that stunning conflict. And Dagda's pale eyes flared. "The Tuatha sweep into Mruun ! Lugh's powers have breached a way for them '"-
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LOST ELYSIUM Into the throne-room nqw eerily lit by the continuous flares outside, canie pour- ing a battered, disorganized remnant of the Fomorians. Tethra, dusty, bloody and disheveled but with hou-courage blazing in his face, strode toward Cullan. "The battle here is lost to Lugh's secret science-weapons, my son I But our plan is not yet lost if we can escape. And the only escape now for us and our warriors is through the Gateway to Earth. The mechanism of the Gateway is below, and ivith it are the boats and weapons we pre- pared. This girl can operate it to take us through. "Tell her to do it, Cuchulain ! She loves you and will obey. Once in Earth, we can soon find way to bring through all the rest of our Fomorians, and so we will have snatched victor)' from Lug'n." Cullan, bound to the pillar, shook Ins head. 'No! Do not do what they ask, Fand ! They must not go through into Earth." A Fomorian captain sprang raging for- ward with shining sword uplifted to strike a* Cullan, "This Cuchulain the king calls son is traitor to us f he roared. "He dies with the other two now." Tefhra whirled and stabbed, his sword like a living brand of light. Its point ripped into the throat of the charging Fomorian and the man staggered and fell with his whole head blasted and black- ened. "No man kills the son of my blood, even though he fights against us !" flamed Tethra to the furious Fomorians. "Then you can die with him !" howled voices, and his followers rushed with up- lifted swords toward him. Tethra's sword flashed with incredible speed, to cut through the bonds that held Cullan to the pillar. And then that ter- rible blade sang to blast down the two foremost of his attackers. Brian Cullan, freed, swiftly stooped and snatched up the sword of the dead Fomorian at his feet. Triggering its force into its blade he sprang to Tethra's side to hold back the attackers from Dagda and Fand. Tethra, striking and stabbing at the black-mailed onrush, shouted with fierce voice. "We two are match enough for these snarling wolves of mine, Cuchu- lain I" /CUCHULAIN? Yes, Cullan felt be ^-* was all Cuchulain in this red moment as he fought beside the tall Fomorian king. For the last and most terrible time, as he fought to protect Fand, there domi- nated him the wild, dark spirit of the ancient Hound. Brutal faces went down, blasted before the shining, stabbing blades of Tethra and himself. Fomorians maddened by rage tripped over their fellows' bodies and could not rise again before death smote them. Mad battle-passion of a dark and ancient blood roared out in the fierce war-sltout that Cullan could not recognize as his own voice. Tethra staggered suddenly, his whole side blasted where r. sword had finally touched him. But as he toppled, the ex- ultant wolf-cry of the maddened Fo- morians changed to shouts of fear. "The Tuatha !" They were bursting into the throne- room, silver-mailed Tuatha warriors whose flame-swords cut into the dark Fo- morians. In moments, there were no black-mail- ed wairiors left standing in that bloody.
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LOST ELYSIUM 25 shattered room. And a great silence seemed suddenly to descend upon cap- tured Mruun. Brian Cullan had stumbled to the pil- lars, to free Fand and Dagda, The girl clung sobbing to him. He turned, as Lugh entered the throne-room with more of his silver host. But it was toward prostrate Tethra that Cullan turned. He bent over the Fo- morian king, whose strong face looked up at him dark and proud even as it stiffen- ed with the approach of death. Tethra whispered, "You fought beside me as I dreamed once of my son fight- ing. Blood answers the call of its own, Cuchulain." He was dead, with the whisper. Queerly, Cullan felt a stinging in his eyes. And he rose to see Giant Dagda make a gesture of salute toward the dead, black-mailed figure. "Whatever else Tethra was, he was a warrioi !" boomed the big Tuatha. Lugh, his face still somber, was speak- ing to Cullan. "You proved this day that you were no enemy to our race despite your blood, outworlder. You can stay now in this world, if you wish." If he wished? To stay here in this world of wonder and of beauty with Fand ? Cullan took her in his arms for answer. Golden mists, golden day, glowed warmly over the smiling yellow ocean as the fleet of Tuatha boats neared the end of its long journey homeward. Lugh's craft drove beside that in which Brian Cullan sat with Fand. The Tuatha lord called to them across the water. "We go to Thandara. But you will to Hthne, for there is Fand's home as guardian of the Gateway. It has been cleared of its dead and others of my folk wili re-people it." Thus the fleet split, the smaller portion bearing Fand and Cullan and the re- covered Gateway eastward through the remembered islands. Through the golden mists, Ethne rose in all its bubble beauty beneath that eternal rainbow of water across the sky. Cullan, with Fand in his arms, looked raptly. He had found his lost elysium, had awakened from the drab dream of Earth. He was coming home at last. Invest Your Dollars In Canada's Future — Buy War Savings Certificates and Bonds — as many and as often as possible
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32 MRS. LANNISFREE come, and he didn't come, and then I went into his room at last, after he didn't answer to my knocks, I found him just the way he was when the sheriff got there — dead in his bed, with Lhat long black hair wound around his neck to choke him to death! That was just six hours after I saw Mrs. Lsnnisfree. And that is why I don't believe it when they say that Mr. Lannisfree took his wife out off the coast of Maine that day almost a month ago and pushed her into the water and drowned her because he was jealous of that other man they say Mrs. Lannisfree liked, even if her bod}' was recovered, because I saw her just as plain as I see you now, with the moon- light white on her face and hands, walk- ing through the woods toward the sea. THE EYRIE (Continued from Page 2) British composers, Arnold Bax, composed a beautiful symphonic tone-poem which pictures the golden Elysium of the Celts. Il is called "The Garden of Fand." I should also add, perhaps, for those who may wish to explore this fascinat- ing subject further, that beside Rolles- ton's fine popular book there are stand- ard works by Rhys, Leahy, Joyce and many others- There is also a vast deal of material on every aspect of this subject in the standard encyclopediae of religion and folk-lore. Edmond Hamilton. Word from Stanton Coblentz \Y/E WERE interested to receive an " announcement from Stanton A. Cob- lentz the other day concerning a new book of his scheduled for publication this fall. The title is "When Th* Birds Fly South" and it is put out by The Wings Press. Stanton Coblentz, well-known as a poet, critic and author whose work has appeared both here and in England, is an old friend of ours and of Weird Tales readers. He was kind enough to give us this little peck into his forthcoming book. This novel, "When The Birds Fly South." scheduled for publication in Sep- tember, is one for the reader who has tired of modern realism, and wishes a story of romance, mystery and wonder, a story that only a poet could have writ- ten. It is a tale of love and adventure among the mountains of Afghanistan, a tale dominated by the weird and inscru- table forces of the eas:, and by an over- towering destiny personified in Yulada. the great stone woman on the peak. It is also the tale of Dan Prescott, a lost mem- ber of an American geological expedition, who crosses "The Mountain of Vanished Men" to pass his days among the Iban- dru, a quaint mountain people that dis- appear mysteriously each year "when the bird3 fly south." And it is likewise the tale of the love of Prescott and dark-eyed, auburn-haired Yasma, an impetuous young daughter of the tribe. Stan ton A. Coblentz. READERS' VOTE **$. LOST ELYSIUM THE NUBDEBOUS STEAM SHfVEL THE HAD DAMCERI MRS. LANNISFREE THE CRANBEBIY GOBLET THE FAHCS 0F TSAfl-Lt MIL PROPRIETOR THE MIKfidH HIDE THE EL TO DOOM ,i. Here's a list uf nine stones in tills issue. Won't X you lei us knuw which three you consider the £ best? Just place the numbers: 1, 2, w;u 3 re- X spectlvely against your three favorite tales — i then clip It out and send It to us. * WEIRD TALES A 9 Rockefeller ftoza New York City 20, N.Y.
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3fie Cranberry Goblet Doom comes in many guises, each one sure and deadly .... By HAROLD LAWLOR IT LOOKS as innocent as Coralie her- self— that cranberry goblet. It has been in Michael's family for many years — the last of a set once owned, per- haps, by his grandparents. But no one really knows. Micliael himself doesn't know. It has just been around for as long as he can remember. Square at the tup, slightly convex at- the sides, its bowl is the color of ripe cranberries — a live glowing scarlet, deepening sometimes to ruby; its stem and base are of rock crystal, clear and. beautifully cut. The first time I ever saw Michael's sister, Coralie, she held it in her hand. It was early morning and she was in bed, propped up among a number of tiny, lacy pillows. The sun was stream- ing brilliantly through the white Venetian blinds, and Coralie was holding the goblet between herself and the light, regarding the effect in the mirror opposite her bed. "Look, Michael !" she cried as we came in. The goblet threw a roseate glow over her pallor. "Look how disgustingly pink and healthy I've grown while you've been Away !'" Coralie's laughter was as crystal clear as the stem of the cranberry goblet. Michael grimicd, and I was smiling as he drew me nearer the bed. "This is Ann, Coralie," he said. Her swift turquoise glance took in aH 3—3 Jt that there was of me to see in one brief instant — brown hair, brown eyes, the plain blue suit I'd been married in. Then she held wide her arms like a child, and cried, "Ann, dear!" I was quite prepared to love her. In the hectic week I'd known Michael at the lake, there'd been room only for this wonderful thing that had happened so suddenly. Our falling in love. It wasn't until we'd made our hasty decision to marry, and were driving in Michael's car to the nearest justice of the peace, that he'd turned to me and said, "I have a sister, Ann. An invalid since she was a child. She'll have to live with us." The wind had feathered his brown hair down over his tanned forehead. His dark blue eyes were worried. I never loved him so much as at that moment. "Where else would she live?" I smiled. He gave a sigh of relief at that, but the little furrow still remained between his brows. "You see, she's badly spoiled, I'm afraid.1* So that was it He thought she'd be jealous of me. But, "I'll spoil her, too (" I promised recklessly. And now here she was, not at all alarmed, kissing my cheek with cool lips, seeming not to resent me at all. Looking like a fragile angel among her pillows, with her turquoise eyes and pale gold hair.
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34 THE CRANBERRY GOBLET Michael was beaming suddenly, too, and looking oddly relieved. It was only then I realized he'd been wearing a wor- ried frown ever since sending the tele- gram to Coralie announcing our sudden marriage. Men! I thought in fond despair. What had he expected us to do — claw each other's eyes out? It was absurd. As if I could help feeling fond at first sight of this sister of his — so child-like, so appealing. 'T'HERE was some mix-up about our ■** luggage. Before attending to it, Michael stayed until Coralie had filled the cranberry goblet with water from a silver carafe on the bedside table, dropped in a capsule which dissolved instantly, and swallowed the colorless mixture. Something wrong with her heart, Michael had said. From where I was standing I could see the box from which she'd taken the capsule, could even read the under- scored warning, printed in red One capsule only, mornings. I went with Michael to the door, and when he was gone I turned back to the bed. To Coralie. To shocked surprise. Gone were the soft eyes, the dimples, the child-like air. She lay back among her pillows, and over her face was a blank expresslonlessness, infintely cold. "We can talk now, without pretend- ing," she said. "Pretending?" "You heard me." Stiff-armed, she thrust herself up to a sitting position. "You're not so naive as to think I intend to share Michael with you? He's my brother. In the past, all his attention has been for me. It's going to continue that way. You don't count at all." She was a child, after all, I thought. Smiling. I went over-'Und sac on the edge of the bed. "Coralie, listen to me. There's room for both of us — " But she wasn't listening. Her eyes held that blank look of an ego turned In upon itself, and her voice was hot with resentment. "No doubt you think you'll have an easy time of it, winning him away from me. But you won't. Maybe I'm helpless, but I'm clever, too. I'll never rest till I drive you out." An infantile threat, surely. I don't know why I took it seriously. Yet her anger was contagious. I found myself losing my temper, "And do you think I'll stand by, doing nothing, if you try it? I started for the door, determined to get out before I made an exhibition of my- self. "You won't do anything, you won't do anything," she taunted in a chant that followed me across the room. "No mat- ter what you do, I'll win. Because — " Her voice fluttered uncertainly. "Be- cause— '' Curious, I looked back. Her eyes were fixed, not on me, but upon the cranberry goblet. Slowly, as I watched, they turned to me. And surely that was fear lurking in their depths? "Because," she said in a whisper now, "even if I lose I'll win." A strange thing for her to say. It's only now that I know just how strange. But certainly, for a minute there, she must have seen the fate of the three of us in the cranberry goblet? rTTrlERE were weeks, then, in which I ■*■ learned just how clever Coralie could be. And it took me weeks to learn. I don't know how I could have been so stupid, so blind. By the time I saw the way_ things were going, it was too late for
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET ordinary measures. The damage was done. In the beginning, every morning after Michael had left for the office, 1 would knock at Coralie's door eager to make amends, to try to get off on the right foot with her. But I was never permitted to enter. Mrs. Dunnigan, our housekeeper (and Coralie's willing slave), would open the door the merest slit. And her thin- lipped mouth would open the merest slit, too, in her hard, set face. Miss Coralie was resting. Miss Coralie didn't feel well enough this morning for visitors. No, there was nothing you could do. Yes, Mrs. Whirtington, I'll let you know if she asks for you. Days of this. Until, after a time, I stopped trying to be friendly. Perhaps she'd get over it faster if I left her alone. Then Michael, one morning at break- fast, said mildly. "Why don't yon ever go in to see Coralie?" I looked at him in blank amazement. Surely he must know how Coralie felt about me? "But, Michael dear, I've tried. She doesn't want to see me. I can never get in." Mrs. Dunnigan, pouring coffee, sniffed audibly. And her narrow, black hack somehow managed to convey eloquent disbelief for Michael's "benefit. Before I could say anything, Mrs. Dunnigan was asking Michael's advice about something, so that her insinuation that I was lying was left dangling in the air until it be- came, somehow, truth. What Michael believed I do not know. But he must have said something to Coralie. And always, after that, I visited her room with him in the morning before he went to work. True, between Coralie and me there was nothing more than an exchange of polite insincerities. But she didn't dare deny me entrance — not with Michael at my side. Nor could she any longer accuse me to him of neglect. But Coralie wasn't finished. It wen'., on. Michael's friends, who'd welcomed me so gladly at first, slowly began to withdraw, and to eye me with suspicion and dislike when we did meet. It hurt me, at first, and bewildered me, but gradually I began to understand. Their coldness always seemed to coincide with their visits to Coralie. Whai was she saying to them about me? That I was mean, cold, heartless? Perhaps that I'd married Michael only for his money, and wanted to drive Coralie out? However she was knifing me, she was gaining her effect. She was ill, lovely, pathetic ; I was well, presum- ably at an advantage. It's only natural that the sympathies of Michael's friends go to her. Even by the time I grew morally cer- tain of just how she was accomplishing her ends, it was too late to do any tiling. I couldn't go to Michael's friends and ask theni, for they would only deny it strenu- ously, misguidedly thinking that in so doing they were only protecting Coralie from further abuse. I most certainly wouldn't go to Coralie and tax her with what she was doing. Accuse her, and know that all the while, behind her bland surprise and pitying denial, she'd be laughing at me delightedly. She wanted me to suspect what she was doing. She just didn't want me to get any proof. My only defense was to withdraw more and more into the shell of pretend- ed indifference. Then Coralie for days would be gay and kind and friendly, until I began to doubt my own suspicions. Eagerly I'd make friendly overtures in
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET return, only to be rebuffed. It was all nicely calculated to drive a sensitive per- son to the verge of insanity. Tt was all done so subtly that even now I despair of making anyone see just how she gain- ed her ends. And Michael ? What did he see ? What was he thinking? It was impossible for me to guess. His face was blank most of the time, his manner that of a polite stranger. Gradually a rift appeared be- tween us. Gradually it widened. I couldn't be sure what Coralie was say- ing to him. I grew more and more un- certain of myself, more and more with- drawn. While I watched in a sort of sick de- spair, I saw him grow first wary, then cold, then indifferent to me. I still retain- ed enough reason to blame Coralie for what was happening. But I had no proof. For she was never crude, or careless, or even explicit. There'd be a sly insinuation here, a subtle suggestion there. To Michael. About me. Anything to create doubt. But Michael, I thought, would never understand this, never blame Coralie for what was happening. Men, they say, are by nature more open, more direct If I went to him, telling him what I suspected, I felt he'd only regard Coralie as misunderstood, and myself as jealous, suspicious — at best, a whining martyr. Coralie, I knew, was relying on this. My hands were hopelessly tied. It was impossible to combat her tactics. 1%JY DECISION to kill Coralie was -*-*- not a sudden thing. I think it had been growing on me for weeks. Perhaps in the beginning my mind had rejected the idea in horror, but in the end I grew to accept it. I don't think I was entirely sane by that time, living as I had been in an atmosphere of suspicion, intrigue, and distrust. But perhaps I was sane enough. Perhaps I'm only trying, now, to rationalize my guilt. I remember the night my purpose crys- tallized. It was after a climactic quarrel with Michael. We'd been quarreling frequently, our nerves rubbed raw. But tonight we shouted like drunken tene- ment dwellers, and at the last I slapped him stingingly. Strange that I can't re- member the source of our quarrel. It was like that, those days. We were fight- ing about nothing at all. But I can remember thinking how glad Coralie was going to be when she learn- ed of it, as I knew she very shortly would. Mrs. Dunnigan always went to her immediately, I was sure, carrying stories. Michael slammed out of the house finally, and I dragged myself to the bed- room, and threw myself across one of the twin beds, sobbing stormily. Until at last I grew quieter, and my emotions played themselves out, and I could think. Was this the way it was going to end? The marriage I'd entered with such high hope? Once I'd loved Michael, and he'd loved me. Somewhere still, I felt the seed of that love yet existed. But unless I did something, soon, even that would be gone. And I thought, I must kill Coralie. Now. Before it is too late. TT LOOKS so dreadfully melodramatic as I set it down. / must kill C-erolie. But I felt calm, even happy, at the time. I rationalized. Coralie had been an in- valid for years. It would be a mercy- death, really, not murder. I was only sacrificing one for the happiness of two.
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET I knew just how I must go about it. The capsule Coralie took every morning. One capsule only. I could see those red letters plainly, here on the wall of my darkened bedroom. Every morning Michael and I were in Coralie's room as she took her capsule. It would be so easy for me to drop two of them before- hand into the cranberry goblet. And they left no betraying trace. "TJOCTOR HADDON— Peter Haddon, ■*-"^ Michael's good friend — was not sus- picious. He straightened up from where he'd been bending over Coralie's body, lying there so still among the laces and ruffles of the bed-covering. He stood there a moment, looking down at her, and his dark eyes seemed sad. Coralie once again looked like the fragile angel I'd first seen upon coming to this house. Except for a thin line of dried saliva running from mouthto chin, she was lovely as a bit of Venetian glass. I felt no pity. I had no regrets. Dr. Haddon turned to Michael, who was looking so stricken. (Oh, I'd make it up to him! I would!) "I'm sorry, Michael," Peter said gently. "I know there's nothing I can say, but — she hadn't much of a life, you know, chained to this bed as she was." Michael mumbled something. Then, "Will you show Peter out. Ami? I'd like to he alone — with her — for a while." Out in the ball, Peter drew me away from the door we'd closed behind us. "I'm not saying any tiling to Michael, Ann, but there's something — " He was suspicious ! My heart lurched sickeningly. My hand trembled as it went to my lips. Peter's face softened. "I know this has been a shock for you, too. But I thought I'd better tell you. Coralie took an overdose of those capsules." I breathed again. "Over-dose ?" He patted my shoulder. "Deliberately, I'm afraid. But no one need ever know. And I thought it was kinder not to tell Michael- We can avoid an inquest — I'll take care of everything. Poor Coralie—" Luckily, Peter had been away for months, Coralie had never poisoned his mind against me. But when he was gone, and all during that time until the funeral, I watched Michael walking around like a man in a daze, and wondered if I'd only made everything worse. But once the funeral was over, I knew that I had not. It was as if a miasma were suddenly lifted from the apartment and both of us in it. Only Mrs. Dunni- gan walked around numbly, watching me covertly. I'll always remember those two days after the funeral. The happiest days I've ever known. Once more, Michael and I were as we had been that first week we'd met at the lake. All the bitterness and distrust had gone with C«ralie. And then, on the third morning, hap- pened the first of those weird occurrences that were to follow so frighteningly. T'D DECIDED, and Michael agreed, that we should dismantle Coralie's bedroom and turn it into a game room. The day before I'd gone in there to see what needed to be done, and the first thing that met my eyes was the cran- berry jjoblet. It seemed to hit me with the force of a blow, glowing there so redly in the sun- light. I didn't want to touch it. I didn't want to remember those two capsules sliding so stealthily from my hand into
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38 THE CRANBERRY GOBLET its bowl. I didn't want to be reminded of Coralie, and the goblet was a symbol of her. Perhaps I was being fanciful, but to me the goblet was Coralie. Outwardly she appeared like its stem, pure and white and crystal-clear; but at the core, I'd always believe, she was scarlet as its bowl. I didn't touch the thing. I called Mrs. Dunnigan and I pointed to it. "Wash that, please, then put it away. We shan't be using it ever again." I thought the woman looked at me queerly, but she only said, "Yes, Mrs. Whittington," and bore it away. But now, on this third morning after the funeral, as I went into the room with the man who'd come to measure for the new linoleum floor, 1 saw the cranberry goblet glowing at me again from its place on the bedside table. I waited till the man had done his measuring and gone before I called Mrs. Dunnigan. "I wanted you to put the gob- let away," I said mildly. "Not return it to where it was." She frowned at it. "But I did, Mrs. Whittington. I put it in the pantry, and I'm sure I don't know — " She picked it up. "Why, it's full of water!" She brought it to me so that I could see the clear liquid lapping gently against the square sides of the glass. That was the way it had looked the morning Coralie died. When I'd dropped those capsules — I turned away, feeling a little sick. "Empty it and lock it in the court cabinet m the dining room." Michael kept his liquors in the cabinet and always locked the door — though this was a gesture, merely, since the key re- mained in the lock. The men came just then to remove the furniture from Coralie's room and I busied myself with other things, forget- ting about the goblet OUT the next morning, when I awoke, -*-^ I was angry. And, I thought, en- lightened. For the first thing I saw was the cran- berry goblet on my bedside table. I didn't get up, but by stretching I could see that it was full of colorless liquid. I thought I had the explanation right away. Mrs. Dunnigan was doing this. I didn't knew what she suspected, or what she hoped to gain, but it seemed obvious she was leaving this reminder constantly about. I rang for the housekeeper. *'I thought I told you to lock that in the cabinet," I said, when she was stand- ing before me. She seemed genuinely surprised when she saw the goblet. I hadn't thought she'd be so good an actress. "I did put it away, Mrs, Whittington. And locked the door." "You're lying to me," I said flatly. She opened her mouth, perhaps to deny the charge, then closed it, trap-like. Her eyes seemed to be appraising me shrewdly, and I didn't like the calculating look that flitted across her hard face. I'd had enough of the woman. There had always been veiled insolence in her manner to me. "I'm giving you two weeks' notice," I said, "With the help shortage what it is, you should be able to find something else by then." She drew Herself up. "If you'll give me two weeks' salary, I'll leave today. I've not been satisfied here since Miss Coralie — " I nodded, j
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET Mrs. Dunnigan went out. "I did lock that goblet away." "I don't believe you.'* She continued. "But why does the goblet bother you so much, Mrs. Whit- tington? Do you think it's strange that it's always full of liquid? / do." "Keep still !" "Perhaps Miss Coralie is putting it there," she said hastily. "Perhaps she wants you to drink — " "Get out!" I cried, infuriated. The woman shrugged, and turned to leave. But at the door she faced me a^ain, with a sly smile. "Are you afraid, Mrs. Whittington?" I was, suddenly. I think for the first Time I really realized what I'd done. And it must have showed in my face. For Mrs. Dunnigan burst into satisfied, hys- terical laughter. T WAS furious with myself for letting the woman bait me so successfully. It was not only stupid of me, it was danger- ous. I couldn't afford to be rousing any- one's suspicions. In the future, I must be more careful. I dressed, emptied the contents of the goblet down the lavatory drain, and this time locked it away myself in the court cabinet. Then, taking the key, went to drive Michael to the station. He had to go to St. Louis on business for two days. "Mrs. Dunnigan is leaving," I said casually, as we drove along. I was a little nervous as I didn't know just how attached he might he to the housekeeper, or if he would resent my dismissing her. Luckily, Michael was preoccupied and asked no questions. "Get somebody else," be suggested shortly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Evidently her going meant notliing to him. At the station I gave him the key to the court cabinet, and asked him to put it on his*key-chain with the others. This roused him. "What 7" he laughed. "Are you a secret drinker? Are you locking temptation away?" "Exactly!" I agreed demurely, lifting my face for his kiss. So that was that. The cranberry goblet would stay where it was for awhile. Theie'd be no more Mrs. Dunnigan in the apartment, playing tricks. Just as there was no more Coralie. I shivered suddenly, and for the first time since her death felt a vague de- pression. TT WASN'T until the next morning -*■ that I really began to know what fear could be like. I remember lying there with my eyes still closed, feeling, even at the moment of awakening, a slight uneasiness. Sens- ing something wrong in the empty apart- ment, in the bedroom enrply save for myself. The uneasiness increased. And slowlv the conviction grew upon me that I had only to turn my head open my eyts, to find it there on my bedside table. The cranberry goblet. It was ages before I could nerve my- self to turn my head, inch by cautious inch, on the pillow. Eons, surely, before my reluctant eyelids opened, and — Yes, it was there ! Its contents lapping softly against the sides of the bowl, as if the glass had just been set down. A sharp intake of breath, the startled leap of my heart. There was someone in the room ! I ielt the presence strongly, though I could see no one. I drew myself up slowly until my back was resting against the headboard
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET of the bed, My eyes ranged the room warily. Was that a shadow, deeper than the other shadows, over in the corner? Was that my voice calling, "Coralie?" No answer. "It is you, Coralie." My head nodded wisely, my voice echoed eerily in the quiet bedroom. "You're trying to play on my .nerves, aren't you? Trying to fright- en me into confession." I smiled cun- ningly. "Well, you won't succeed. You'll never succeed." Bravado crept into my voice. "I'm not so easily frightened." I don't know how long I crouched there against the tufted satin headboard. But reason came back abruptly. I was like one roused sharply from a bad dream, who duubts the dream. Surely I had been dreaming? But no. The goblet was there, its con- tents making a gurgling, contented sound in the stillness. It didn't frighten me now. Mrs. Dunnigan, of course ! Some- how she had crept back. I opened the Venetian blinds so the sunlight might pour in, and dressed swiftly. My spirits lifted with the sun, and I could scarcely credit my supersti- tious terror of the moment before. Coralie was dead. It was in a spirit of defiance then that I emptied the goblet and hid it on the highest shelf of one of the cabinets in the kitchen. To make the hiding place doubly secure, I first buried the glass deep in a canister full of flour. There. Let Mrs. Dunnigan sneak into the apartment again and try to find it. Let Mrs. Dunnigan try — My smile of satisfaction slowly faded! But I'd locked the door of the court cabinet ! And the key — the key was with Michael, in St. Louis ! A cold draught from nowhere played against my back. The apartment was quiet, dreadfully quiet. I was afraid. T ATE that afternoon I had a curious conversation with Dr. Peter Had- don, who'd dropped in thinking to find Michael at home. A conversation that should have been enlightening, but wasn't — plunging me instead into deepest be- wilderment. It must have been Peter who first spoke of Coralie's death. Heaven knows I wouldn't have introduced the subject myself. But as he spoke of her I found myself wondering — had Coralie known, just before the end, that her medicine had been tampered with? I found myself hoping vindictively that this was so — that she'd suffered bit- terly, helplessly in the knowledge, as she had made me suffer. Had there been a moment, just before death came so swiftly, when she had known from the taste of the drink that I must have given her an over-dose? Or had the stronger solution tasted no dif- ferent than her usual dose? So strong was my sudden desire to know that I heard myself saying, "I don't see how she coold have forced her- self to drink that overdose. Surely those three capsules must have made the drink so unpalatable — " B«£ I found out something else. Some- thing totally unexpected. "Three capsules?" Peter questioned. "Three capsules wouldn't have killed her." That startled me. "But she died ! Three must have—" "How do you know there were three?*' Careful! I'd nearly betrayed myself.
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET I looked up to find Peter watching me strangely. "Why," I faltered. "The box said one capsule only. It seems reasonable to sup- pose thai a person bent on suicide would put two in the glass, doubling the dose, then add a third to make certain." But Peter shook his head. "Three would have made her very ill, but they wouldn't have killed her. She must have taken more." I couldn't understand it. Peter was very emphatic that three wouldn't have killed her. When he had left, I kept thinking, "But there were only three! The one capsule Coralie had put in the glass herself, and the two that I — " I shut off my thoughts. I didn't want to remember those two capsules sliding from my hand, dissolving immediately as they struck the water in the goblet. Neverdieless, Peter's revelation dis- turbed me. For what had caused Coralie's death, if I had not killed her? T SPRANG out of bed the next morn- ing humming. Michael would be home late that afternoon, in time for dinner. I opened the blinds, and then I was standing rooted, the song dead on my lips. Slowly I retreated until the edge of the dresser was hurtful, but sharply reassuring, against my back. My eyes never left the bedside table, never left the brimming cranberry goblet standing upon it. My heart, that had plunged, began pumping wildly. My horrified gaze wav- ered with the gently lapping liquid in the goblet's bowl. First one side, then the other. Gently, but with a mesmeric in- sistence that was hideous to behold. My thoughts circled wildly, like hunt- ed things seeking escape. Why? Oh, why? And how did it get here again? But I knew. Again I sensed that in- visible presence in the apparently empty room. And again I called out softly. "Coralie?" The liquid in the goblet lapped still more insistently against the convex sides. I was sure, then. Certain the goblet con- tained the same lethal dose it had held the last time Coralie had lifted it to hei lips. "You want me to drink?" I whispered. "Is that h, Coralie? You want me to drink?" Slowly my trembling legs gave way, and I sank to the carpet. I wouldn't drink. I never, never would. Ah, God, why did she punish me so? I hadn't kill- ed her. Peter said so. I crouched there sobbing, but presently my courage returned sufficiently so that I could get on my feet and approach the cranberry goblet. I dreaded to touch the thing, but gingerly I took it, and again emptied its contents. I knew I must get rid of it, quickly, before Michael came back. It was wear- ing me down. One of these mornings, fear might even force me to tell Michael what I had done. I shuddered. I tottered down the hall, and clawed through the closet impatiently until I found an empty carton. Placing the gob- let within, I wrapped the package secure- ly with trembling hands and addressed it to a fictitious name and street number in Los Angeles. And I placed no return ad- dress on the wrapper. I hurried with it to the postoffice and my depression didn't lift until I'd pushed it through the slot marked "Parcels." I was safe. All that afternoon, in my
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET relief, I was almost feverishly excited. It wasn't until I met Michael at the sta- tion that my spirits died. For Michael seemed preoccupied still, and his greeting lacked the warmth I expected it to have. Business, I thought. "Didn't Findlay sign the contract?" I asked. "What: Oh. Oh, yes, he signed it." Michael returned to gazing moodily out the window of the, coupe at the pass- ing shops. "Aren't you glad to be back?" I per- sisted. "Sure, I'm glad," he said listlessly. His lethargy bothered me. "What's the matter? Don't you feel well?" "Oh, for God's sake, Ann ! Cut out the nagging!" he snapped irritably. But when I'd subsided into hurt silence, he reached over and covered my hand on the wheel with his. "I'm sorry. Guess I'm tired." But there was something wrong. I knew it. While he showered, I put the dinner on the table. I still hadn't replaced Mrs. Dunnigan with someone else, and I was doing the work myself — badly enough. But it was fun, in a way. My mistakes made me feel very inefficient and bride- like. DY A miracle, the dinner was surpris- ingly good. Under its influence the lines of strain slowly became erased from Michael's face. And I relaxed for the first time in days. Surely I had nothing to fear, now that Michael was with mc again. We were Lalking and laughing, almost on the old footing when it hap- pened. Michael lifted his glass to drink. I saw him lift it. One instant my breath held in disbelief. Then I was screaming hysterically, 'Tut it down ! Put it down !" That wasn't the plain crystal water glass I'd placed on the table ! There, just two inches from Michael's lips, was the cranberry goblet! Michael's startled eyes went from me to the goblet, and when he saw what it was that he held in his hand, he swore softly. With his face turning a leaden gray, he set the thing back on the table with a hand that shook. "The goblet!" he muttered. MI cannot escape it. It was there, even in St. Louis." Oh, I hadn't thought she'd strike at me through Michael, whom I loved ! I could'nt— I dare not fight her any more. I was standing, half-swaying. **I didn't kill her, Michael ! I put those two capsules in the goblet, but Peter said — " Michael's face was grim, stony. "Don't look at me like that !" I pleaded. "Three weren't enough to kill her, but — " "She died," Michael said strangely. "Died, because I, too, dropped two cap- sules in Coralie's glass that last morn- ing." My breath caught. I couldn't under- stand. Michael had loved Coralie ! What was he saying? "Don't you think I saw what she'd been doing all along, working to destroy our marriage?" His face was cold, im- placable. "I knew what Coralie was capable of. Why, when a child — " He broke off. "It doesn't matter now. But she never fooled me. Never. I had a right to some happiness. And that was why I killed her." Why ive killed her. Five capsules, I thought dully. Five had been enough. Michael picked up the cranberry gob- let. Looking around for some place to throw its contents, he finally poured the
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THE CRANBERRY GOBLET liquid into the bowl of zinnias on the table. "Come," he said then, the goblet still in his hand. "We'll make an end of it." We were turning away from the table when I whispered, "Look t" The zinnias were wilting, turning to gray ash that drifted on the daina>k cloth. In the living room, Michael threw the goblet into the empty fireplace, where it shattered. With the poker he pulverized the remaining fragments. It was done. He came to me then, and caught me in his arms. And I found myself shrinking. Shrinking from his embrace, even though 1 knew he was no worse than myself. But I could hear Coralie's voice again, saying, "Even if I lose, I'll win." Clever Coralie, cruel Coralie. Together we had killed her, and together we had killed whatever future we might have had for ourselves. There is no love without trust, and there'll be no trust, ever, be- tween Michael and me. There'll be no children now, for Michael and me — chil- dren whose parents were murderers. Slowly we went back to the dining room. And it was there, glowing evilly red on the table, its contents lapping inviting- ly, insistently. We stood there looking at it, feeling no surprise. Only an infinite weariness. We can never destroy it. It will be with us always. You'll never give up, will you, Coralie? I know that now. Know it as certainly as I know that the day will finally come when Michael and I, goaded beyond en- durance, will drink as you desire — from the cranberry goblet. Midnight Moon THIS ghostly rider of the sky that spills Pallid quicksilver over field and shore. May be herself the home of ghosts that pour Over her town plateaux and pockmarked hills. Here, we may think, the lover's shade fulfills Its tryst with some dear phantom lost before; And throneless kings, and warriors slain may soar Where the faint moonlight seeps in spectral rill3. And this perhaps is why when, cold and clear. Slow radiance floats across a midnight wall. We seem to feel a Presence standing near, A formless Something where the shadows falk And sadness moves us, and an eerie fear While the low winds, like astral voices, call. — Stanton A. CobWaftfc
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3$e Murderous Steam Shovel By ALLISON V. HARDING YOU know those stories — you've read them — where people set things down for the record in notebooks. I don't do that. This story is in my mind. I go over it detail by detail and I can re- member the whole business. And the re- membering assures me that I am not crazy, that all this did happen. People who have seen things and had things happen that other folks don't experience are called crazy. It's the easiest way — and the most reassuring! So I go over and over the story in my mind, and I say, Vilma — that's my name — here's just what has happened to you from the beginning, and because it's all so clear and distinct — you're not crazy ! It all started with that construction job just above the Northville Valley country, or maybe it all started when I married Ed Meglund. Ed had always been in construction. He had the build for it, big hands, big frame, two hundred pounds of muscle and sinew on it, not so much between the ears. But you know the song, "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" ! Even I, Vilma, and his wife, wouldn't exactly have ever called Ed good. The outfit he'd worked for was Greene Construction and as Ed had never had much educa- tion, they gave him the jobs you could tell he could do just by looking at him, driving a ballast truck or digging or shoveling or using his strength and weight somehow. He made a fair salary and we lived in Northville pretty comfortably. But I remember the night he came home and said they had a shovel on the job now, a big new tractor steam shovel, he told me. Ed's haftf blue eyes lit up and I could tell the way a wife can without any speak- ing that what Ed Meglund wanted to do more than anything in the world was to run that shovel. That's a better job, of course, with more money and getting looked up to. I never asked very many questions of Ed because he doesn't answer unless it pleases him, but I could tell from his face at home nights that he wasn't get- ting any closer to that old steam shovel. One Sunday when we were driving around up in the Northville Valley country, he toured me past the construc- tion site and pointed. "There he is, Vilma." Well, one steam shovel looks about the same to me as another with those cater- pillar feet and the operator's house and then the scoop that comes out so, you know. A woman never sees the same in them as a man does. Ed fas just bub- bling over. "Isn't he a beaut 1" I read the letters that ran across the coping near the roof. Greene Construc- tion Company, I made out. "We call him Big Mike." "That's a name for a derrick," I sniffed. "Howdya get that?" "Oh, I dunno," replied Ed. "But isn't that a beautj" he sighed.
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That there steam shovel's built to dig. Brother— dig graves I
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL "If you like 'era," I murmured. It wasn't very many weeks after that that Ed came into our little place in Norlhville and announced suddenly we were going to move up toward the valley. "Huh?" was all I got out. He tuld me he had a cottage that he'd found for rent not far from the con- struction site. "But most of the rest of the crowd lives around here," I protested, thinking that my afternoons of gossip with the construction wives would be hard to come by if I was set down up in some shack in the woods. But there's Ed for you. He had an idea in that thick skull and he was off after it. I said, "Why?" He said noth- ing. I said, "Why?" After twice that was enough. Ed had his reasons. The cottage was all one floor, a big living-dining room, bedroom, porch, and a little garage sticking out like something they'd pasted on as an afterthought. It was lonely and ihe nearest neighbors' house was God knows how far away and I wasn't so keen about that. The ground was low here making the atmosphere dampish and the earth rich and soft We were only a mite or so from the construc- tion site and the convenience of its near- ness was, I thought, the main reason for our moving. But instead of being pleased by the change, Ed seemed to grow more uncom- municative and moody. His dissatisfac- tion centred around someone who'd come in to run the steam shovel. "Guy named Ronsford. Got some high and mighty college education so they put him operating Big Mike instead of giving me the job." I could see the current state of affairs and this man Ronsford were eating away at my husband. Time passed and the path of construc- tion widened and headed toward us so that during the day when I sat on the porch reading or listening to the radio, I could hear the sounds from the crew and I came to know the noise Big Mike made. There was nothing else up there, tractors or trucks, that had the heavy, deep- throated rumbling and vibrating of the huge steam shovel. On Sundays we often drove past the excavations. "He keeps Big Mike all polished up," Ed growled, and even I could notice how shiny the steamshovel was, its cab where the operator sat on the left side resplen- dent under a new coat of red paint. Ed Mumbled a lot under his breath those days and what I could mainly make out was the word "Ronsford." He hated the shovel's operator, swore there was an unholy allegiance between the man and machine. It was along about the first week in June that Ronsford disappeared. There was a lot of noise and investigation but no clews. Nobody'd known too much about him beforehand except that he had a mechanical engineering degree and some good references. The construction boss just figured he'd skipped out all of a sudden. There was no evidence of foul play, and it wasn't too much latei thai Ed came home and told me of a conversation he had with the boss. His big, broad face lit up, "So he says to me, Vilma, he says, 'Meglund, you been watchin' that steam shovel and fuss- in' around with it for quite a while now. Think you can take on the job?' " Ed clapped his hands together almost like a kid. "Whaddya think of that, Vilma?"
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL 47 Yeah, what I thought ! I can also re- member that almost directly Ed began to run Big Mike there were funny things went on over at the construction site, and I don't mean humorous ! Ed would come home and tell me, "That shovel's a devil, Vilma. A big tough baby, and he's got a mind of his own. I was standing under him this morning and that shovel started to come down right on top. If the boss hadn't looked up, we would' ve both been smashed like that," and he plunked the flat of his hand down on the table hard. "Course the motor was idling but the cables were locked. I dunno how it hap- pened." This and other things. Big Mike stut- tred and stalled when they were trying to push ahead the fastest. Once it used its teeth on one of the diggers, breaking two ribs and a shoulder, and of course, Ed took the blame. All his elation was going and I secretly was sorry Big Mike had ever rumbled and trundled onto the scene. But it was evident to me that Ed wouldn't be running the shovel very much longer the way tilings were hap- pening. ~V7\ES, it sure was a bad day Big Mike -*- had turned up! Just how bad I didn't realize until an evening a month after Ronsford had disappeared. We'd gone to bed early and I was lying there listening to the night noises, those things, whatever you call them, that chirp and squeak outside as though they never got any sleep. I could tell from his breathing that Ed was awake, too, and I guessed he was worrying how much longer they'd let him have his shovel. Or maybe he was worrying about other things. T don't know which one of us heard the noise first but it didn't mean so much to me. Just a rumbling far off in the distance like a freight train makes cross- ing a distant bridge at night. Then Ed said — I remember his exact words — "Vilma, you awake?" "Sure," I answered. "Funny noise," he went on, and we both listened. The rumbling continued, off in the dis- tance. Then it seemed a little louder, or maybe the wind had shifted. We both lay there in the dark listening. Certainly, whatever it was, it was getting louder and it came to have a familiarity, but it was Ed who said, "Vilma, that's construction equipment. It's Big Mike !" And I remember as he said it there was wonder in his voice, no more than that — just . . . wonder. I asked, "What are they doing up there? Working any sort of night shift?" "Naw. I'd know if they were." Then in a few more seconds, "That noise is getting louder, isn't it, Vilma ?" "Yes," I agreed. "Somebody's running the damned ma- chine." hM started to get out of bed. "It's coming this way. What's this? Some kind of joke?" Suddenly something flashed through my mind. I'm not superstitious. I've never believed in ghosts or such, leaving that for the backwoods folks. But my thoughts tumbled out abruptly the way crazy ideas do at night. "Ed, you don't suppose its Ronsford running that machine, that he's come back all of a sudden?" My husband laughed then, and it was unpleasant with an undertone of mean- ing. "Not Ronsford," he replied, and al- most boisterously, "Ronsford's not com- ing back. Old Girl. Maybe somebody's
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43 THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL playing some kind of dumb joke ; but it isn't Ronsford !" Still the sound bore down on us and the rumbling became a vibrating in the darkness. The crickets and insects and other night noises were swallowed up in it. Our bedroom was south and the con- struction spot was north. "I'm gonna investigate," Ed had said, pulling on overshoes and a long coat. He took a flashlight from the closet and clumped into the living room. I was annoyed by the vibration now. There was an ominous heaviness about it, and as it came closer, the vibrating became a throbbing that dug into your temples al- most like a blow. I heard the porch screen door slam and then it was that something made me decide to get up myself. I hastily got on some clothes and went out onto the porch. There was a flicker of light somewhere outside. That would be Ed. And beyond through the night came this bellowing, throbbing sound. There was an eerie awfulness about it. I realiz- ed I was shaking although the night was warm. There Was a rim of. thin woods some ways across the field that stretched in front of the coLtage. I could hear timber cracking in the wake of the rumbling. Ed's flashlight beamed forward, and al- though I expected it, it was a shock to see the giant outline of the steam shovel emerge like some prehistoric monster from the trees at the field's edge. It was too far away and too dark to make out the details, but I was sure it was Big Mike. The red operator's cab told me that. The steam shovel continued forward, Ed's flashlight upon it, until it reached a spot halfway between the woods and our piace. It stopped there and amazingly the shovel arm reached down and for- ward, the jagged bitting teeth ripping into the earth. I heard my husband curse and yell then above the noise of the motor. The shovel's scoop came up full of earth and the trap under the scoop opened and dirt fell, only there was some- thing else. Something that caught for a moment and then dropped like a- long full sack ... or a human body J My husband screamed again, only in- stead of anger, the sound of his voice was now filled with animal fear. The beam of his flash flicked away from the steam shovel and the bobbing light told me he was racing toward the house. Big Mike's motor roared as it too came forward, a black hulk moving at incredible speed. T WRENCHED myself free from the bands of fear that were tied around my throat and legs pinning me to the porch and ran through the cottage to the back door. I stumbled over something and went down hard. I threw the care- lessly left rake aside and got up, my ankle paining. I heard the screen door on the other side of the house jerk open and my husband's screaming voice. I was on my feet by now and hobbling away as fast as my injured ankle would let me. Behind, the screams of fear con- tinued and then came a sudden shock- ing splintering of wood as though the house were being torn up by its very roots. The rumbling sounds were fused with the splintering and crashing of timbers. There was one more terrible cry from my husband and then silence except for the splintering and crashing of the machine that was running amuck in our cottage. The pain from my ankle made me feel faint and I was glad for the cool rain that
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL 49 began to fall. I looked behind once more and saw that the destructive rampage of the metal monster had started a fire in the remains of the cottage. Against the red flickering light I saw the bulk of Big Mike standing there. Pieces of painted wood and beaverboard from the wreckage festooned on its sides and broken over its shovel, and the conflagra- tion, as it flamed up in the remains of the house, showed me more. The shovel came to rumbling life, circling around the house to return the way it had come. As it did, the operator's cab was thrown in strong relief against the flames and in the cab — I swear it, I am very sure of this — there was no one! No one, I tell you. The cab was empty ! | GUESS I fainted then for I re- member no more until I came to in a neighbor's house where I had been brought by the volunteer firemen who had been summoned to the blaze. It was hours afterward and no one would listen to my story. A doctor kept forc- ing sedatives on me. Although nobody would tell me at the time, I found out later that no trace of my husband had been found. The cheap wooden house had burned completely and only the tor- rential rain that had come up luckily right afterward had prevented the fire from spreading to the surrounding trees and woods. I tried to tell them about Big Mike but everybody looked very stern and dis- believing. The more I tried, the more medicine I was given. Finally, I was taken to the Northville Hospital. Gradually it dawned on me no one believed my story. The construction boss himself came to see me, and tear- fully I begged him to listen to me but he shook his head and turned away. 3—* "That's absurd, Vilma. You've just been through a terrible experience. Big Mike was right wfiere he always is the next morning and certainly there would've been tractor marks around your place." Of course there would have, I thought. "Weren't there?" I asked. "No," he replied definitely. Then the explanation came to me. The unusually heavy rainfall in that soft earth. That would obliterate the marks of treads. But he set his lips in a thin stern line, shook his head, and just said, "I'd better go now." There were police officers who came, and I was glad the nurse never gave them more than a few minutes with me. They asked me endless questions about my husband and about Ronsford- It seems the body of the missing steam- shovel operator had been found lying out in the rain-filled field. It was ob- vious from his condition that the man had been dead for at least a month and that he had met his end violently. I knew then, of course, without too great surprise, that my husband had murdered Ronsford. But that seemed to me so trivial beside the living menace of Big Mike. After a while a doctor came in to talk to me. A psychologist or something, I was told he was. I tried again desper- ately to tell him what had happened thai night, to try and make him believe. But I realized the more I talked, the more that set, decided expression came over his face. I was struck with a new fear then. Let them think me crazy. I didn't care. But I had to get out of Northville or somehow Big Mike would come down here. Kven in the village hospital I didn't feel safe Why, we were barely nine
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so THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL miles from the construction site. I had m get out, somewhere, anywhere. So several days later when the hospital doctor and the psychologist asked me to sign a paper agreeing to go to a. "sani- tarium," I complied happily. I knew this was a — well, to put it bluntly — an insane asylum but I also knew that I wasn't crazy. But if I stayed here, that rum- bling metal monster would get me. The place to which I allowed myself to be committed voluntarily was no state booby hatch. We'd had a little money put away upon which I now felt free to draw. And the semi-private sanitarium was thankfully out at the other side of the state several hundred miles away. T REMEMBER the day I left North- A ville. The day had been hot, the sky was suffused with mistiness, and as we went out into the street to get into the taxi that would go to the station, I noticed that one of those sudden summer storms was coming up. My traveling companion was a male nurse, or maybe I should say, attendant. As we trundled away from the hospital, the beginnings of a feeling of relief stole over me. The streets grew darker suddenly, and then in the distance there was a rumbling. At first, like on that horrendous night, I could not identi- fy the sound, but suddenly the fear came to me, catching me by the throat, that it was Big Mike, that he was after me, that he'd never let mc leave Northville. I guess maybe I leaned forward a bit on the taxi seat, for when there was a flash of lightning, big fat droplets of water exploded against the taxi window and I sank back with relief, I noticed that the attendant was looking at me closely. Of course, the rumbling had been thun- der. Probably Big Mike was up beyond the other end of town shovelling away busily, all thoughts of me gone from his metal mind. Still I was glad to get on the express, glad with every mile that clicked off as we headed across the state. The male nurse — his name was Simpson, I learned — was a nice enough fellow, but he was always eyeing me as though he half ex- pected me to do something strange. The joke, of course, was on them, for I was escaping from something or someone who had had it in for the Meglunds, whether Rons ford's ghost or not, I didn't know or care. I just knew there was some ter- rible menace back in Northville. It had gotten Ed and I didn't want it to get me. Also, my "condition" had cut short the noisy police questioning. I can say with a clear conscience that I had nothing di- rectly to do with the death of Ronsford. Oh, I suppose I knew what was going to happen, my husband being the kind of man he was, brooding; around about wanting to operate that damn shovel, and nights he'd skulk around outside in the woods between the little rented cottage and the construction site. But honest to God, I never knew the real story. Ed didn't last long enough to tell me. Sure, I heard him digging out there one night in the soft earth and it was the next day that Ronsford was just gone. Btrt Vil- ma not the one to stick her nose into other people's business. That steamshovel job brought more money, too, and that was okay my me. You think a girl wanLs to grow old and never have any of the nice things? You're crazy. Let Ed be the big shot and run the steam shovel, 1 thought. I'll take the extra dough, and if he keeps his mouth shirt, I'll keep my mouth shut. So I couldn't be implicated
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL in anything as unpleasant as murder, could I? Five hours across the state and out at Belfast, a dozing little village consider- ably smaller than Northville. We climbed off the railroad coach and I stood on the platform watching the train puff away into the soft summer evening, leaving behind a plume of lightish brown smoke that dispersed slowly in the heavy air. Simpson had engaged a cab and we and my luggage distributed ourselves around the interior. I remember that drive with crystal clearness. The country in this part of the state is flatter, but in spite of it, the land is beautiful. I looked around with greater interest than I had shown in any- thing for weeks and Simpson seemed pleased with my remarks about the beau- tiful trees and flowers. T>YERLY HOME was a scant fifteen- minute ride from the depot, and as we wound up its dirt driveway, the thought came to me that after all life such as the one I had embarked on since that fateful night had its advantages. There were no responsibilities, no decisions to make, no personal crises, just a regular schedule, care, relaxation. As though to second my unspoken thoughts, when we drew up at the white- board main building, we were met by two people, a man and woman, the woman dressed in ordinary clothes and the man having about him no hint of the medical except for the peeping end of a stethoscope in his coat pocket. Simpson got out first with my lug- gage, and the woman, who was intro- duced to me as Miss Meadows, took me by the arm very kindly and led me up onto the porch and inside. "You must- be tired," she said in a soothing voice. My room, I found, was at the ex- treme end of the house on the second floor and over the deep porch that spread three quarters of the way around the wooden building. I remember that first night at Byerly Home, I'd had supper down in the main dining room, and as far as I could see, it was much like the dining room of any country inn or hotel. To be sure, a woman at one of the tables in the corner had started to cry. Convulsive sobs that were not pretty to hear, but Miss Mead- ows and another woman had gone over and helped her out of the room. Nobody else seemed to pay much attention. I remember my dominant thought that night. Here I was, perfectly safe. The others there might be worried about how they could get out. I patted myself on the back for being at a place where no- body, nothing, could get in — nosy police officers, or anything else. I had several sessions with Dr. Blake. I told him what had happened that night back at Northville, the night Big Mike stampeded after us, killed Ed, and tried to get mc too, and I could sec the same thinly veiled look of incredulity on Blake's face that I had seen on the phy- sician's face back at Northville. The patients didn't mingle very much, but I took long walks in the surrounding country with Miss Meadows and I had what they called an occupational therapy class where I did some kind of silly weaving. I remember my third session with Blake. I was trying to tell him about Big Mike, persisting against questions which seemed to me to have nothing to do witti that night The physician was asking ms
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52 THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL about my previous life, about my child- hood, school days, living with Ed, tilings that as far as I could see, had no bear- ing on anything. I stubbornly insisted on talking about Big Mike. I saw Blake's lip curl almost in scorn and I realized in a flash the contempt most of these people felt toward anyone deranged. For of course I knew full well that I was not. I think then I felt a bit sorry for the other patients who were really mentally sick. Well — as sorry as I've ever felt for anyone outside of Vilma. It definitely seemed to make Blake angry to have me continue to talk about the steam-shovel episode. His parting remark to me as he ushered me out of his upstairs office was, "You know, Mrs. Meglund, you have to help us— help you !" 'TTHAT night I did some long and deep A thinking. You're still young, Vilma, I told myself. After all, you are in a nut house now. You don't want to stay here all the rest of your years, do you, Kid? I realized Byerly Home had had a purpose. It had been the right thing for me to do to come here, but from now on my ticket was to cut out the Big Mike talk. Nobody believed it. The biggest joke of all — and I swear this wasn't wishful thinking — I began to wonder, myself. That experience in the recent past had been so horrible that my mind — under the shock of Ed's death and the Rons- ford business — had kind of thought up a lot of things that, well, maybe weren't so. I'd poked here and there in my mind for the memory of the official explana- tion of that night as given me in the Northville Hospital by the solicitous doc- tor when I'd come to. Ed had died in the fire. Somehow I'd gotten out, and that was that. I suited my conduct to my plan of action, I said no more about Big Mike. I was myself completely, except for putting on a bit of palaver with the nurses and doctors. I think I was beginning to fool them. I knew I was the day Dr. Blake called me and said : "Mrs. Meglund, it seems to us that your condition has taken a turn for the better. You had a very great shock, a shock of the sort that can temporarily, shall we say, affect one's mind, but we feel you've weathered the storm rather well. I think the time is coming when you will be able to* go back out into the world. "Oh, perhaps there will be relapses. You will have fears and anxiety, and I should certainly suggest that you keep in occasional touch with someone who understands your problem, at least for a while. But on the whole your picture looks quite rosy, Mrs. Meglund." He beamed, obviously taking the full credit himself. As I left his office, turn- ing over in my mind the words I would have Hked to have said to him, telling him what a stupid little man he was, tell- ing him how I'd fooled them all, and now when I chose it, they thought I'd gone from sickness to wellness, I realized I was no longer afraid of anything out- side, even of Big Mike. That much of Blake's explanations probably was true. I'd built up this thing, and of course it was impossible. It was absurd ! I sat in my room feeling very satisfied, drumming my fingers against the ledge and looking out. It was very early fall now, and the trees and shrubbery were beginning to lose some of. their lush greenness. I hadn't
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL 53 wanted to seem eager to Blake. I hadn't wanted to say, "Doctor, when can I get out of this joint and the sooner the better." It would fit the whole picture better if I continued to let him play the big shot, to let him think he'd guided me along. Three days later in the morning Blake sent for me. "Mrs. Meglund," he greeted me, "I feel you can go home anytime now. Have you plans ? Perhaps you'll return to Northville." T TOLD him, no, I didn't think I'd do A that. There was a little money left from my husband's insurance, I mention- ed candidly, and I thought I'd travel a bit. "Good," he nodded sagely. "When would you like to leave?" I bit my lip and kept "Today, as soon as possible," from popping out. "Oh, sometime tomorrow afternoon," I suggested with an airy wave of my hand as though I really didn't care to leave at all. Vilma's smart don't you think? "Tomorrow afternoon ? Splendid ? !" echoed Dr. Blake, He talked to me further then for well over an hour, I'd say, and I struggled to keep any trace of boredom from my ex- pression. He wrung my hand. "I'll make all the necessary arrange- in en Is." I left his office, for the last time I knew, and with my head turned away, I could feel the smirk of satisfaction ooze across my face. As I walked through the corridor to- ward the wing, I contemplated with what I thought was justifiable glee, the life that lay ahead of me. And not having Ed holding me back was more advantage than disadvantage. I'd get by and more ! T CLIMBED the one flight to my room. I supposed I'd better start getting some of my things together, but it was nearly lunchtime. I'd wait until after- ward. I went to the window, looked out idly — and something hit me in the pit of the stomach. For there, the top of its upper structure almost on a level with my eyes, was Big Mike ! I'd know that steam shovel anywhere! The red op- erator's cab on the left side, the rest of it drab-painted, the big bucket shovel — everything came back to me then. The memory, the hysterical fear, the knowledge, yes, the definite knowledge that this was not something of dead steel and iron but an inspired, thinking mur- derous monster ! "Miss Meadows !" I tried to take the edge of screaming out of my voice. "Miss Meadows !" I heard the nurse's heavy steps on the stairs outside my room. My nails bit into the palm of my hands as I fought for control. Miss Meadows came into the room. "What's the matter, dear?" I pointed out the window. "What's that doing out there?" I tried to keep my voice steady. The nurse looked. "Oh, didn't you know? We're going to excavate to build onto this wing. It's just a steamshovel, my dear. I knew she was taking in my white face and I put my hands behind my back to hide their trembling. But despite my efforts, fear ran away with me. I sat down suddenly on my bed because of the weakness in my knees. "Mis* Meadows/' I gasped, "I've got
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL to get out of here quickly, as soon as possible? Dr. Blake is letting me go. We decided on tomorrow, but I want to get out of here today. I want to leave now ! Please, oh, please !" Miss Meadows had the usual answer, a pat on the shoulder, the same "Now just take it easy, dear. You stay here and I'll talk to Dr. Blake." I sat there and the minutes ticked away. I didn't want to get up and look again. I didn't want to see Big Mike, ever. I'd thought I never would see him again and here he was, and with him, the fear that choked me at the throat. Finally, I heard two pairs of steps com- ing up the stairs of the wing. Dr. Blake came in followed by Miss Meadows. "What's all this about, Mrs. Meg- lund?" I made a mighty effort. "I ... I just decided I wanted to leave today, Doctor." I realized the danger of my position as Miss Meadows murmured, "The steam shovel outside seems to upset her, Doc- tor." Blake looked out the window. He managed a hearty laugh. "Is that true, Mrs. Meglund? Does that metal eyesore out there worry you V He answered his own question. "Of course not. There's an unpleasant as- sociation, I dare say, but these are the things you must control." I gripped the edge of the bed tightly. "Can't I please leave today, Doctor?" He frowned a bit impatiently. "I've made all the arrangements for tomorrow, Mrs. Meglund. You've been with us quite a few weeks, you know. Certainly you can put up with us one more day." 'It's just that I , today I" , that I have to go T"*HEY were both looking at me sharp- ly and I lowered my head. I could feel the hysterical tears course down my cheeks now. The doctor crossed to the bed and gripped me firmly by the shoul- der; "Now this is absurd," his voice was stern. "You've got to get hold of your- self. I have just certified you as on the road to recovery. You're not going to make me reverse my prognosis, are you? Please stand up." I did, and he led me to the window. "Face this thing and understand what it is." J looked. I looked at the cables and the machinery and the huge tub of a shovel, the cruel teeth that were slack, waiting — and by my side, Dr. Blake's voice droned on — "Don't you see it's all association . , . that unpleasant night . . . the death of your husband . . . shock. . . ." The monster, Big Mike, down there had a face and the face was looking at me grinning. The shovel was its mouth, the cab a red, baleful eye fixed on my window. I screamed then, whirled and ran for the door. I had to get away. That was all that mattered. I had to! I had to! The shock of Miss Meadows' heavy body brought me back to reality some- what as the nurse stepped in front of me just before I reached the door, and threw her strong arms expertly around me. I realized then that I could never convince these people, or anyone else, about Big Mike, for to convince them of that would be to convince them of my insanity. One wu so and one was
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL 55 not so, only I knew that. I had to get away now. I struggled and writhed in the nurse's arms. My nails raked the square uni- maginative face in front of my own. Meadow's grunted in pain and stepped away momentarily but Dr. Blake had me by the arm and was calling down the stairs. I twisted desperately and jerked myself free. But crowding up the stairs now were two more nurses and a male attendant. I believe then I was out of my head for I threw myself down the stairs at them. The women went down under my weight with sh rill cries of alarm and pain, but the male attendant caught me and held my arms to my sides as though I were a child. I kicked but it did no good. I was taken back into my room, Dr. Blake discreetly shutting the door be- hind us. Then I was put to bed in a restraining sheet. Do you know what they are? I'd seen them used for other patients, never guessing, never thinking — You can hardly move once you are in one. You can't get away and your bed is the trap. You can wiggle and struggle and thresh and fight but you're held as though in a sack. Your head is out and you can move it but your arms and legs are securely imprisoned. • Dr. Blake forced me to take a sedative then, and after a while, one by one the attendant, Blake, and the three nurses left the room. I would go to sleep now, I understood from their talk. Miss Meadows was the last to go, her bovine indifferent face looking back at me from the door. In a drowsy way — for the sedative was beginning to work — I was glad for the nail marks on her cheek. A black pit of unconsciousness opened up for me then as I slipped off into drugged sleep. I don't know how long it was before I woke up. It must have been quite a few hours, for darkness had fallen. I finally figured that it had to be fairly late be- cause the small sounds of the sanitarium kept up during the early evening were now all absent. I struggled briefly but the restraining sheet was still my complete master. I was thirsty, cramped, and very uncomfortable. I had to get out of this thing. I called. I screamed, and after an eternity I heard steps upon the stairs. My door opened and someone lit the light at my bedside. It was Miss Meadows. I swore at her, I cried, I pleaded, and she just looked at me silently. I could see her gaze was professional, to ascertain whether I was still snug and safe — safe, that was a good one — in the restraining sheet. Satisfied, she m lapped out the light and without answering any of my pleas to be let up, went out the door. I heard her steps descending the long stairs, and then there was the deep silence of late night. T FOUGHT with myself then, using the A weapons Dr. Blake had given me, things I had laughed at once but used now against my fear of the steam shovel. So what if Big Mike had come across the state for this job. There were reasons, logical reasons probably. It had nothing to do with me or the steam shovel. The Greene Construction Company was pretty big. Maybe Big Mike was the only kind of shovel that could do this particular kind of job at Byerly Home. That last thought had an ominous significance. Big Mike was the only kind of steam shovel that could do this jobl_
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THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL Then came what I had been waiting for, what I knew would come, what I knew deep down I'd hear again ever since that first night I'd heard it in Northville. The tractor motor of Big Mike starting up, rumbling into life, vibrating and throbbing! The first sounds of the treads turning over as they scraped and bruised the earth, coming toward my window. Sounds no less horrible be- cause I denied them and at the same time tried to drown them out with my own screams. The deep-throated combustion of Big Mike's engine was deafening now. It reverberated beneath me on the porch ceiling, which was also my own floor. Then a new sound, a tautening of cables, the winch crying, steel against steel as the shovel part extended delicate- ly and felt, felt through the darkness for what it wanted. I prayed for unconsciousness and per- haps my prayers or my mad, frenzied struggles to get loose from the restrain- ing sheet that held me caused me to become suddenly light-headed and faint. As I lay limp with a deeper blackness than of night exploding inside my eye- balls and head, there was still the last edge of consciousness, of life that reg- istered crystal clear the thunderous sounds of Big Mike. The tearing, rip- ping shock of the shovel teeth at the wood under my bed, the close-by growl and the snarl of this immortal monster, the sudden sickening feeling of crashing impact ... of being scooped upward at great speed . . . and men . . . nothing I Homecoming HE Daemon said that he would take me home To the pale, shadowy land I half-recalled As a high place of stair and terrace, walled With marble balustrades that sky-winds comb, While miles below a maze of dome on dome And tower on tower beside a sea lies sprawled. Once more, he told me. I would stand enthralled On those old heights, and hear the far-off foam. All this he promised, and through sunset's gate He swept me, past the lapping lakes of flame. And red-gold thrones of gods without a name Who shriek in fear at some impending fate. Then a black gulf with sea-sounds in the night: *'Here was your home," he mocked, "when you had sight!** -H. P. Lomonlt
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<&fe Mad Dancers "The effects of the Black Plague had not yet subsided, and the graves of millions of its victims were scarce- ly closed, when a strange delusion arose in Germany . . . called the dancing mania."'— Epidemics of the Middle Ages. ~/. F. C. Hecker. THOUGH it was early of an eve- ning in June, the horizontal rays of the sun stiil caught the cupola of the Octagonal Chapel in Aix-la- Chapelle. It was the eve of St. John's, 1374, and in the streets preparations for the festival were under way. Deserted, however, was the interior of the chapel, except for Christian and Mina, holding hands and standing quietly in the center, the boy gazing at the floor, die girl look- ing upward.
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The plague swept on across the land ivith a dread meaning surely known only to the Devil. A beam from the sun had struck through one of the little windows above the gallery, caught a portion of the great chandelier of gilded copper, presentation of Frederick Barbarossa more than 200 years before, and the reflections had spread through the whole structure so that it caught and dazzled the wondering eyes of Mina. But it was the slab at their feet upon which Christian was reflecting. It bore the simple inscription, Carlo Magno. By the strict measure of time, Giristoplier Columbus is less remote to us of 1915 than Charlemagne was to Christian NoM's generation. To this young student, however, Charlemagne was very real. Christian knew more about Charlemagne than did anyone else in Aix-la-Chapelle, but that was natural for one whose thirst for knowledge was so great. These, how- ever, were the Dark Ages, and it was not entirely respectable to extend one's ROGER S. VREELAND
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60 THE MAD DANCERS knowledge beyond the dogmas of the church. Christian wanted to be, of all things, a physician. So it was gossiped about, though his friends and relatives tried to hush it. Since the papal bull of Boniface VIII forbidding the boiling of human bones, physiology was rather at a stand- still. Christian's mother's brother, how- ever, was head of the medical faculty at the University of Paris, which being 200 years old had a good reputation; and it was known that Christian's uncle desired him as a pupil. But, so great a man was Charlemagne, thought Christian. "If only the things he had stood for had survived," he said aloud. "Yes," replied Mina abstractedly, still enraptured by the chandelier. "What pity," he went on dreamily, "that it all died here with him. He knew what glory there was in knowledge, and he wanted every one to share in it. And he had faith in the science of healing. What he started could have done so much for us, had there not been some power opposed to man's rising. Mina" — he tightened his hand about hers as he al- ways did when enthusiastic — '"there are ways of working with nature. I so want to learn the art of healing, I hope that Dr. Planquette will accept me." "But come, Christian. We must go or we'll be scolded for tarrying until after dark." Out they went into the cobblestone court. Pretty Mina's yellow flowing hair lay smooth to her head under a light coronet. Her linen robe, sleeveless and tight- fitting to the hips, spread into a loose full skirt. Christian, also blond, and a few inches taller, was attired typically for his day — a slim tunic ending at his knees, broad ornamented waist- belt and long hose. His low shoes, with long up-pointed toes, were fastened over the instep with silver clasps. They were not alone in the court, for other young people, carrying wood and paraphernalia, were coming from many direction, noisy with laughter. Already one fire was burning. In another place a dried out tree was being set up and a group of boys supervised by a man was having a time with a large squirming sack. It contained all the cats that could be found in the neighborhood. pHRISTIAN and Mina walked slowly ^** by, watching with interest, but with no plan to join. The bag of cats was tied to the tree and the tree set afire.* As it blazed up, hilarious screams of the young people rose throughout the court Mina was morbidly fascinated, but Christian drew her away. They strolled on toward their homes, until they came to another square. Here a bonfire was blazing full and the festivities were well under way. This being their own neighborhood, friends spied them and shouted to them — "Christian ! — Mina ! Our Johannisfeur. is started ! Come and jump with us !" "Oh, come, Christian — let us do it," *An authentic St. John's Eve custom oi the times. said Mina tugging at his sleeve. "Are you afraid to jump with me?" "But I will jump with her !" said a husky young lad they knew, and snatch- ing Mina he ran with her toward the fire. They clasped arms and in their turn leaped through the Johannisfeur. But in their frenzy to avoid being scorch- ed their arms unlinked and they fell sprawlingly apart on the other side. Someone called jeeringly: "Too bad, Hans, but you cannot snatch a girt so
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THE MAD DANCERS 61 roughly and hope to keep her ! A bachelor you be for another year !" With the next couple the boy fell on his seat in the fire amid howls of his friends and howls of his own, though he was quickly pulled out. Mina, who had now fully caught the spirit and was laughing gayly, was rejoined by Christian who led her back to the point whence the running started. "Christian is going to jump with Mina!" shouted one. Another: "We all know they're in love !" And : "Of course they will marry within a year, so this will prove or disprove the legend !" They started to run, but Mina with all her laughing and blushing could hardly go. As they approached the fire Chris- tian swept Mina in his anus and holding her tightly leaped high through the blaze — only to slip as he landed. But still he held her. A circle quickly formed and danced around them. In a cacophony of voices they threw prophecies as to when they would be married and how many children they would have. All good-na- tured fun, just as had been for genera- tions before them. Later some people with strange faces infiltrated, a little older than the major- ity. Their clothes were tattered and soiled. But of course they were welcomed. It made no difference. These unknowns, however, were not only strange of face, but strange in manner. Their enthusiasm was wild, lacking the buoyancy of the others. Coarseness crept into their hila- rity; grimness was set on their faces. These newcomers infused a changed spirit that spread through the entire group like some potent and unwholesome drug. Vulgarity invaded their bacchanal- ian antics. Contortions of body and face were unnatural, vocalizings were dis- gusting. Entranced by its own excite- ment, the crowd was oblivious of the degree to which it was being carried away. In the vernacular of another age and another country, it would be said that the party was getting rough. One of the few who sensed the condi- tion rationally was Christian, and he slowly worked his way to the outer edge of the crowd. Mina stayed with him, though she protested — until she looked in- to his face by the light of the fires that were crackling high, and saw the fright in his eyes. "Come, Mina," he said. "This is not good, and I don't understand it. The crowd is no longer merry, but crazy. It makes mc want to run away." He guided her into a shadow, and they hurried along a narrow street to- ward their home. Amid steep slate roofs, where the houses were all joined together, and gables nearly rubbed noses across the narrow cobblestones, they stopped in front of Mina's house which was but a few doors from Christian's. After whispered goodnights he kissed her and she ran in. He waited until her door was closed tightly, and turned thoughtfully toward his own door. Little did he suspect the reception awaiting for him. His mother threw her arms about his neck, and his father and brothers and sisters stood in the corners with mixed expressions. "In the name of every saint, what is the matter?" he asked upon catching his breath. "Prom your faces I can't tell whether you're joyful or anguished!" Finally his mother held up something small and white. "A letter from your Uncle Henri!" she announced with sustained excitement. A few moments later Christian was back at Mina's house.
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THE MAD DANCERS "My uncle has accepted me !" he told her with trembling enthusiasm. "I am to be one of his pupils in the summer class at the University of Paris. A foot messenger brought the letter today. I am to leave by saddle at dawn tomorrow for Saint-Vith. There I will meet other students with whom I will travel to Paris." Disappointment spread on Mina's face until she hid it in his tunic. "I am glad for you," she said. "But sorry for myself. How soon will you return ?" Christian took her in his arms. "That I cannot tell," he replied softly. "It depends, perhaps, on how well Henri Planquette is pleased with me." "In that case, Christian, I hope you are very stupid I" T ATE the following August, in a gray- •^ stoned room whose one side was an arcade opening into a court, a small bui solid old man was the central figure among a handful of younger men seated on rough stools and benches. Wearing a hoodlike gugel of soft leather which fell loosely behind his head, the old man was straight and alert for his age. His face, small and square, bearded with a thick curly mat through which he habitu- ally ran his bony fingers, was bright, his eyes1 snappy. Dr. Henri Planquette was addressing his students at the University of Paris. One of them had just asked for "the most modern remedy for the stone." Dr. Planquette replied that there was nothing known better than the method of the late John Gaddesden, whose manu- script Rosa Anglic* at the Montpellier Medical School he had had the good •First printed in 1492. Gr.CdesUtn iived lrom 1280 to 134L fortune to peruse. "The prescription, he said, "calls for the collection of some of those beetles found in the dung of oxen; also some crickets. Of the latter, cut off their heads and wings. Deposit the beetles and crickets in a vessel of oil and boil them. Pound the residue and apply to the ailing part. Several of the students assiduously were scratching notes. "If there arc no more questions for discussion," said the teacher, "this will complete our studies for the day." But another student arose, one with an uncommonly earnest face. "So you, too, Christian Nohl, must tax your old uncle on an unpleasantly hot day in order to cram one mite more of knowledge into your head! Well, leL us hear." "I am eager to know if you euterta!*i any theory with regard to this new plague which is spreading out of the Empire from the east." "You mean the dancers?" "Yes, the dancers." All students were attemive, for stories about this new plague were disturbing everyone. Furrowing his brow. Dr. Plan- quette said : "I am of the opinion, and it is a very strong one, that this is not entirely a medical matter. I am prone to delegate it to one of the sub-sciences beneath the dignity of medicine. . . ." An anaemic youth of Slavic accent, named Hynek Zero tin, who was habitu- ally aggressive, interrupted : "You don't think it might be a nervous disorder of some kind?" Dr. Planquette shook his head. "Early in the year I was visiting Dresden," he said, "Where through a remarkable chance I had a most unusual encounter. But I shall not go into it at this time." ''But Doctor," insisted Hynek impetu-
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THE MAD DANCERS ously, "don't you think it important that you tell us what you saw? This, after all, primarily is a medical matter if it cencerns the health of the people." Several students voiced agreement, but annoyance crossed the aged teacher's face. "You think your judgment is sounder than mine? Is that what you are saying?'' Hynek quavered with embarrassment. "I beg your pardon. But I was hopeful I might throw some light on this prob- lem. You see I have connections in Dres- den and have spent a good deal of time there. As you suggest, there is a source of influence there that could be connect- ed to this terror." "In that case," replied Planquette, "might the name Zcertiebok of the Wends mean something to you?" Hynek looked startled. He hesitated. "That's it ! You know, then !" he said tensely. Turning to his student mates : "This evil disease can be exterminated I am sure. If the doctor thinks so too, I for one shall volunteer to cooperate in whatever manner he deems best." /CHRISTIAN arose again: "I know ^* something of what a terror this epidemic can create," he said, "though what I saw in Aix-la-Chapellc last St. John's Eve was before it had advanced to this state. I too would cooperate." The others arose as a body. So it was that only two months after he had left Aix-1 a- Chapel le, Christian was on his way back to Germany. But now he was one of a band. Dr. Planquette and seven students were on their way, mounted knights from a court of learn- ing, pledged to destroy the Dancing Mania at its source. Through the influence of Planquette the University secretly had underwritten the expedition and provided the steeds. Planquette had* discussed his plans but meagerly, asking only for confidence in the preliminary stages of the mission. He left his students with no doubt, however, as to whether he knew what he was doing. He provided them with pellets which he compounded in secret, with instructions that they were to be taken only if symptoms of the mania were certain. Through St. Denis and Soissons their journey was uneventful, but at Reims they encountered the first spectacle of Mad Dancers. The streets were crowded with" men and women of all ranks and ages danc- ing in a wild and frantic manner. Most seemed to have lost complete control of themselves. Some frothing at the mouth had dropped to the street. Others were dashing their heads against walls and buildings — killing themselves. Here and there were stomachs (mostly of women) repulsively extended, and the desperate souls were trying hysterically to bind their midriffs tight with long strips of cloth. The students discovered later that the victims had brought the swathing with them in expectation of the need. Some groups formed circles. A few stood about by themselves looking heavenward, wildeyed, describing with extravagance the visions they beheld. Before a church the travelers saw a party of priests conducting the rite of exorcism.* But a band of the delirious •Exorcism, the act of conjuring evil spirits in the name of God out of the person possessed, is a rite of the Catholic Church. Its use in cases of possessions, commonly practised in the earlier centuries, now is extreme- ly rare and in many diseases is pro- hibited except with special permission of the bishop. (New International En- cyclopedia.)
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THE MAD DANCERS approached them with curses and drove them into the church — where the priests hurriedly barred the doors. Those unaffected remained indoors frightened nearly out of their wits. Many of those who ventured forth out of neces- sity were encumbered with all manner of talismanical paraphernalia for protec- tion. And when the band from Paris reached the cathedra) they were admitted only after guards ascertained that they were free of the disease. The great edi- fice was serving as a refuge. Groups were praying. Not until after their admittance did Dr. Planquette learn with shock that one of their own number had joined the dancers, even though a pair of his com- panions did everything in their power to stop him. Choosing a citizen of good ap- pearance, Dr. Planquette approached him and queried : "We have just entered the city and are appalled by the sights. What do you make of it?" "They are demoniacs," replied the citi- zen. "Their misfortune is due to un- worthy priests whose baptism had not sufficient validity to expel the demons. You see, most of the dancers when first possesstd, attempt to invoke St John the Baptist, It is the prevailing opinion." Planquette and his students rested at the cathedral, and started their journey anew the next dawn. It was one hundred miles to the next city, Dinant, and they were weary when they arrived, but the doctor had a friend here in whose home they rested. There were demonstrations in Dinant, too, and another of the party was lost to the dancers. TT WAS the same story at Huy, Liege, and Maestrucht. By the time they reached Aix-la-Chapelle Planquette, Christian and Hynek Zerotin were the only survivors of the band. When they entered Christian's native city throngs were reaching the peak of dissolute orgy. The horrors here were worse than any- thing they had yet seen. Bloody garments littered the gutters. Men and women were rending their clothes. Many were naked and bleeding. Profligacy was rampant. They leaped into the air shrieking invoca- tions which only the Devil could under- stand. Their contortions were lascivious and gruesome. Exhausted victims lay about trampled upon while unmolested criminals went about looting and ravish- ing. Christian, his uncle, and Hynek be- came separated, but they had prepared for this contingency by planning to meet at the cathedral. Intent now only upon finding Mina and his home, Christian evaded the congestion, slipping through the side streets of which he was familiar. Suddenly in one of these narrow ways a figure on horseback swung from around a corner, approached and passed him at a terrific pace. The rider wa3 attired in a flowing black cape with a heavy hood. A white encircled swastika was patterned on the breast of the cape.* As he passed Christian the rider ducked his head as though to avoid being seen, but Christian caught one fleeting glimpse of the face. What a face it was! It was a visage that never would leave Christian's memory. It was blacker than charcoal and the eyes were solid crim- son. The mouth, a round puckered hole without lips. The nose, a mere ridge separating the nostrils, like that of a skull His breath taken by sheer awe, Christian stopped for a moment. Then, •The swastika Is an ancient symbol, even as old as the Bronze Age, and has been used in many countries.
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THE MAD DANCERS 65 his heart still beating from the encounter, he went on, approaching the square near his home. The macabre bacchanal was there too. But suddenly he stopped as he beheld a familiar figure : Mina ! He caught his breath, fear and joy contest- ing in his heart. But no, she was not dancing. He thanked the saints for that. She was merely standing. Someone was talking to her. Christian hurried. He could not run fast enough. She should nut be out, he was thinking; not even out of the house at a time like this! The man talking to Mina was making gestures. Now he was taking her hands. Mina was swaying. Now he held her by the shouldt.s — was looking forcefully into her eyes. Christian shouted. Then he recognized the man — to his amazement, Hynek Zerotin. He had both her hands now, and they were swirling. In an instant Christian reached them and with all the power of his arm his fist crashed into Ilynek's jaw. The student fell to the ground senseless. Christian seized Mina and half dragged her until she stumbled and then he carried her to her home. Mlna's mother, her face blank, saw then coming. She opened the door and quickly bolted it again after they enter- ed. Christian carried his senseless Mina to a cot and tenderly placed her on it while others of the family came gaping about. He pressed his Iip3 on hers, and spoke, and finally her blue eyes opened slowly hut she didn't reply. "Why did you let her out?" demanded Christian, arising suddenly. "She all at once became possessed," said her mother, "and we couldn't con- trol her." "Give her these pellets. Keep her in bed. I will return within the hour — *-5 after I have seen my family. But even then my visit wjll be brief, for I am with others on a mission to destroy this scourge." After greeting his family and explain- ing, Christian returned to Mina. Restored, she was sitting up, her face, prim and sweet, nestled in a wealth of golden tresses. "Oh, I am glad to see you, my Chris- tian. They told me you kissed me before. But I didn't know it!" Christian leaned over. "Then, my love, here is one for you to remember. But now listen, sweetest Mina. My time I count in minutes. With my famous uncle I am en route to seek out and destroy the source of this evil. More on that later. Tell me first and quickly how you knew this Hynek — the man I found seeking liberty with you." "Pray, believe me, Christian. Until this minute I didn't know his name. I can relate only this much, that a passion to go out into the street seized and over- powered me. Every nerve in me tingled to go out and dance. And yet, I am sure that I was not fully taken by the mad- ness. No, not fully. The lad you called Hynek approached me most abruptly. He paid me what I at first took to be a compliment, but a moment later recog- nized it as an insult. As he took me in his arms I felt a power in his eyes. Then I saw you, and remember little else until I awoke here." "That is strange — very strange in- deed," said Christian. He sat by her pillow and took her slowly in his arms until he held her. "But we shan't let it bother us now," he whispered. Then he related swiftly the events with which he had been connected, concluding; "But Dr. Planquette knows more than Ik has told us." He made her promise
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THE MAD DANCERS not to go out of the house again at least until he returned, and with fina' as- surances he left. \T THE cathedral Dr. Planquette ■^ and Hynek were waiting. An ugly bruise disfigured Hynek's jaw. "Our comrade became entangled wiih the dancers," said Dr. Planquette. "But be seems lo be all right. I found him unconscious on the street." "I am sure the mania was not affect- ing me," said Hynek, "But one of them must have struck me a solid blow." Sensing that Hynek had not recognized Ins assailant, Christian affected surprise. "We must waste no time," said Dr. Planquette, after inquiring of Christian's relatives, "Dresden is a long way." "But first," said Christian, "let me tell you about the strange figure I saw shortly after we became separated," and he described the black-faced horseman. "He was surely a demon — and I would judge one that has something to do with the plague." Dr. Planquette was excited. "You have seen Zcerneboh.1" he exclaimed. "Yes, Christian — I saw him too- A frightening creature, is he not ? A demon indeed! More than that." The old doctor stroked his coarsely matted beard as if contemplating a decision. "Yes, I think I should tell you now of what I saw near Dresden last winter. "On the wild banks of the Elbe north of the city," he began, "is an ancient groLto. As you know, this city is of Slavic origin. Now there was a tribe ot the Wends called the Obotritians, and they, like the rest of the Wends were in constant battle with the Teutons. These early Wends had a religion of their own, and they worshipped gods that only they knew. One of the Obotrittan gods was invested with great evil power. It might be supposed that the gods died with the Obotritians when they were beaten and killed in a great battle with Albert the Bear. But I am not sure. Unknowingly I happened to be near this grotto in my search for certain rare insects valuable to medicine, and which I had learned were to be found in this vicinity. "Several thick bushes separated me from the unexpected voices that startled me. Peering through the leaves I saw three men emerge from a foliage-hidden gap among the caves. Two of them were ordinary men, so far as I could see, but the third was covered from head to feet in black garments. They addressed this character as Zcerneboh, but the sounds he made in reply were unintelligible to me, at least. "One of the men said: 'Zcerneboh, O mighy and ancient one, god and friend of our tribes of old and we their sur- vivors, to you we turn now for revenge against these Teutons who have tried so mercilessly to destroy us. The gods of our brother tribes have failed. But you, Zcerneboh, with your potent evil will curse the Teutons with a plague from which they shall never recover. Go forth again, commit more as you have done, and as before we shall await your return and reward you.' "Zcerneboh uttered queer sounds in reply, and turned. Then I saw that hor- rible face which Christian has just de- scribed. I went to several of the priests in Dresden, but they were inclined to take little stock of what I told them. They knew vaguely of the grotto, and said they might send someone to investigate, but 1 doubted that they would. "So it is that grotto outside of Dres- den that we must seek to await the return
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THE MAD DANCERS 67 of Zcerneboh, and then, if wc can, find some means to destroy him. Now, Hy- nek, you seemed to have known some- thing about Zcerneboh, too. It is your turn to talk." "AH I can say," said Hynek, "is that some of the young people with whom I used to consort in Dresden have referred at times to Zcerneboh. They had some vague idea of a strange deformed her- mit of magical power who lived in a cave somewhere along the wilJ banks of the Elbe. However, I attached little signifi- cance to the story until you mentioned the name at the University." "Then," said Christian, "let us hurry to this place with all the speed our steeds can spare. And during our rests at night we can discuss means to destroy this Zcerneboh." THHROUGH the plague-ridden country they rode. It was a five-day journey. Some of the communities they passed through seemed to have escaped the mania entirely. Others had been, or still were, in sieges as terrible as at Aix-la- Chapelle. The dancers, losing all control of their movements, continued whirling in wild delirium until they fell in extreme exhaustion, and groaned as in the agonies of death ; some dashed out their brains against the walls. While dancing, they were insensible to external impressions, but were haunted by visions, such as be- ing immersed in a sea of blood or of see- ing the heavens open up and the Saviour enthroned with the Virgin Mary. Troops of dancers, inflamed by intoxicating music and followed by crowds who caught the mental infection, went from place to place, taking possession of reli- gious houses and pouring imprecations against the priests. When they came close under windows householders would throw pails of cold water on them. It was September 3, 1374, when the trio from Paris reached Dresden, home of the margraves of Meissen. They found it a quaint and lovable city, devoid of the mania (hardly the center it was destined to become in another pair of centuries). After arming themselves with swords they crossed the Augustus Bridge to the northeast side of the Elbe and traveled several miles down the bank until they came to the area Planquette had de- scribed. It was a long search through an exten- sive thicket before they came upon a trail. They followed it until it descended to the shore of the Elbe. Cleverly concealed among the reeds and watergrowth was a tiny harbor where a group of light skiffs was tied to willows. "We are on the trail," said Dr. Plan- quette. "This must be their point of ac- cess to the ancient grotto." "Then," suggested Christian, "we'll retrace our steps and follow the path to its other end." Soon after passing the point where they had found the trail its course be- came winding and rugged. It led them between boulders, through dense gullies for several thousand feet. At last they came to a division and chose the branch to the right. This made a series of left turns and finally com- pleted a loop, returning them to the di- vision. "I think I understand," said Dr. Plan- quette, "let us follow this loop around once more." After several paces he stop- ped. "This spot looks familiar," he said, parting the bushes on the left side — re- vealing a yawning split in the rocks. "The grotto !" exclaimed Dr. Plan-
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68 THE MAD DANCERS quette, and the three peered eagerly through the parted foliage. "Here," said the Doctor, "is the sacred rendezvous of the Wends. Here, I think, we shall find the source of their evil. We must be on our keenest guard. They — not we — must be the surprised ones." He reached into a pouch which he car- ried under his cloak. Handing Christian and Hynek each a small object, he said: "Fasitn this silver cross about your neck. It may serve as a protection." Christian took his, but Hynek, with- drawing, said, "I am not superstitious, Doctor. I should rather trust my sword, if you don't mind," and he declined the amulet. "Wiser to trust in both," admonished the leader. "This is no time to show your stubbornness, Hynek, but I will not argue with you. Come! We enter!" Into the cave they went. The Doctor would have gone first, but Christian seized precedence. The floor dropped away so fast that they were forced to wait until their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then they discerned a passage curving downward. The floor was sandy. As they progressed the sides closed completely above them until it became a veritable tunnel. As such it continued for three hundred feet, widen- ing suddenly into a chamber of uncertain dimensions. "The terminus," said Dr. Planquette. "But it is light in here," puzzled Hynek. ' ' Thei e are crevices in the ceiling," said the Doctor. "The light must pene- trate indirectly." They continued their inspection in silence, but at last the Doctor shrugged and said they may as well go back. "But no," declared Christian. "I huve made a discovery 1" TTE WAS pointing toward the ceiling. ■*- The others looked closely and saw a small irregular opening ten feet from the floor. With the aid of ledges and projections that seemed to be just in the right places, Christian climbed to it — and through it In a moment his face reappeared beckoning for them to follow- and in another moment the three were reunited in an inner chamber where a small lamp burned in a corner. "At last !" whispered Planqueue. "But no Wends are here, which is probably lucky for us. It's unfortunate we lost so many of our number. We will go back outdoors to hide in the thicket and await their return. Already I have devised a plan. The first chamber, you noted, had crevices in the ceiling whereby light seep- ed in. We will seek the outlet on one of those crevices from above, then await the Wends' return. I will obtain some potent liquid from an alchemist in Dres- den. When they are in the chamber we'll pour the chemical through the crevice. It will create immediately a venomous gas which will destroy their, at once." Christian and Hynek commended the plan. They climbed back into the first chamber and started up the passage. But as they neared the entrance they heard the sound of men approaching. "Quick!" said Planquette. "If found here we are lost. Let us dash out and into the hushes before they round the curve and see us." Action followed. Action in the nick of time, for they had barely gotten out of sight when a party of men rounded the curve. In the lead was the horrible figure called Zcerneboh, followed in single file by seven or eight men. The last one was taller and heavier than the others. Over his shoulder lie bore a fig-
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THE MAD DANCERS 69 urc, soon seen to be that of a young woman. TVTOW came the unexpected, the treach- ■*■ erous bolt that left Planquelte and Christian abashed and defeated before their plans were started. For Hynek sud- denly left their sides and strode out to face tiie Wends. With sheer amazement they heard Hynek cry out in a loud voice: "Zcerneboh! Lonctt huh - nesccnl Zcerneboh/ seyb'n vend'dahnzi!" Holding forth an iron swastika which lie had torn out from his undergarments, Hynek dropped to his knees as if in obeisance. Planqun'tie clutched his nephew's arm. "Hynek is a Wend! We has betrayed US I" he exclaimed with a hushed voice. "Come Christian — into the bushes — escape !" The Wends, all but Zcerneboh, had stopped on beholding Hynek, though they registered no alarm. The monster Zcerneboh had continued alone into the grotto. But at this instant Hynek had risen and was pointing to his erstwhile confederates in the bushes. Now was Planquerte's plotting of a moment before, in fact the whole venture, ruined. This was not Christian's concern, however ; he had no desire to escapes — for he saw that the female captive was the girl he loved. "Mina!" he cried, dashing impulsively toward the small but stocky man who bore her, and drawing his sword. Mina's answer was a semi-smile of hopelessness. These Wends seemed to respect Hynek. They spoke little themselves, but were quick to respond to his words. Christian and Flanquette were overpowered easily. When their hands were bound Hynek faced them: "Yes, my colleagues — my fools! I am a Wend and a proud one. Too proud to have relished such dirt as pretended col- leagues ! The Wends yet will destroy the Teutons and avenge the atrocities of the past. Charlemagne vainly tried to subdue us, Henry I exacted tribute from us, Ot- to I divided our country, and Albert the Bear drove, subjugated, and humiliat- ed us. "But now, uiy dear old tutor," he con- tinued sarcastically, "perhaps it is well that I joined your class in Paris. Strange that I should have met up with you — you who probably are the only person in all Europe who knows too much about the Wends — and Zcerneboh. Strange fate!" The anaemic, scowling Hynek now turned to his fellow Wends : "This is the Planquette I warned you of. I trust you received my messages. This fellow and his nephew played into my hands easily after I saw that they meant business. Both will serve as sacrifices. Ah, and my good Enoch — I see that you obtained the comely wench as requested. Zcerneboh will be pleased with her. He likes always the delicate blonde — and so do I ! As she was betrothed to this Christian Nohl, who struck me down when I tried to seize her at Aix-Ia-Chapelle, I shall feel that my score is even with him. Now ! how goes the work?" It was Enoch who replied. He had set Mina on her feet. "It goes well," he said. "But Zcerneboh must not relinquish even slightly. His power has not yet reached the full extent that it must to annihilate the Teutons. We have, however, the com- plete support and obedience of the Wends throughout the land, wherever they are; and they pray to Zcerneboh faithfully and provide the sacrifices."
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70 THE MAD DANCERS "Good," answered Hynek. "Come now, all. We must to Zcerneboh. It is time for the rites." Down into the grotto they filed, the three captives cautiously guarded. Through to the second chamber they climbed where the lamp burned and swastikas adorned the walls. Zcerneboh was not in sight. Speaking always in Wendish they squatted along the sides of the chamber, forcing the captives to stand in the middle. Finally Hynek revealed the topic of their talk : "Dr. Planquette," he said, "you are not one of the hated Teutons. Therefore you will not be satisfactory to Zcerneboh as a sacrifice. Nevertheless, we cannot, with your knowledge of us, permit you to live. I am reluctant of this, for as a scholar you are to be admired. However, Nohl and the wench will give themselves to Zcerneboh." Hynek now gestured to his stocky, squared-jawed lieutenant : "Enoch, take Planquette, and take my sword. Blood such as this must not be spilled in this sacred place. Destroy Planquette outside the grotto, destroy him in the name of Mighty Zcerneboh and his crusade of madness against the Teutons; and re- turn here for the rites. And take care, for though Planquette is an old man, he is strong. We shall prepare for the rites." Christian and Mina pleaded to the Wends for mercy in behalf of old Plan- quette, for which they were struck across the mouth and ordered silent. Enoch shoved Planquette brutally through the difficult entrance and clambered after him with zest to fulfil Hynek's order. rpwo men lifted a slab from the floor -*■ — secret entrance to the ritual cham- Christian held Mina in his arms. "Do not fear," he whispered. "If we must die we will do it together. But there is still a ray of hope. Surely the God of the Christians is stronger than this god of evil." "I am praying, Christian," she answer- ed. "And that I shall keep on doing until the end." All the remaining Wends except Hy- nek had descended steps beneath the slab. Now, Hynek, a sickening leer on his pallid face, approached Christian and Mina — tore them apart — seized Mina in his arms. "A pretty snatch of a damsel, Teuton wench that you are !" he said thickly, and digging his finger into her arms he de- manded : "A kiss for me ! — before you go to Zcerneboh!" But craftily watching Christian from the corners of his eyes, he saw the lover bracing for attack. With subtle swiftness Hynek lashed out his arm, throwing Christian off bal- ance. "You did it once before, you filthy Teuton !" rasped Hynek, "but not again !" Scratching and twisting, Mina released herself. The Wend, panting and nervous with rage, cackled : "Down to Zcerneboh — both of you/* and maniacally he pushed them with his feet into the opening where the slab had been. Down the cold hard steps they rolled, Mina first Though bruised badly, Christian got to his feet quickly. Looking for Mina, he saw her yellow tresses in a corner near the foot of the rock-hewn steps — and dimly he saw the outline of her body, her garments torn, her limbs bleeding. With a madness that made his head whirl he shouted an oath that struck back from the rock walls to split his own ears. He dropped to her side.
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THE MAD DANCERS 71 The Wends, who were going about lighting their lamps, stopped momentarily at his outburst, then went on, unmoved, with their preparations. Christian sat against the wall after lifting the girl gently to his side. Though overwhelmed with hopelessness, he look- ed about at the ceremony chamber and began to take in details. It was by far the largest room of the series — fully fifty feet square. The walls were dec- orated crudely though symbolically, the swastika again in predominance, Mina had opened her eyes and was taking things in with him. Now the room was brighter. Simul- taneously they looked to the far side. There was the god Zcerneboh. He stood close against the wall upon a stone dais. Christian, however, was puzzled. This was a small god, only four-and-a-half feet high, and as motionless as stone. But the same repugnant countenance — utterly black — red eyes — small round mouth — and skull-like nostrils. In his hands he held a brass receptacle which a Wend was touching with fire. Incense. Wends were busy lighting lamps and incense burners and the chamber was growing brilliant. All were chanting in a low monotonous unison: "Lon buh-nesccn — Zcerneboh — Zcyb'n vendi-lahnzi. Lon bu-nescen — Zcerneboh — zcyb'n vendi- lahnsi." For a few moments Christian and Mina were unmolested, for the Wends were very busy. Enoch returned, wiped his bloody sword, and joined the others. SUDDENLY Hynelc m and another *^ seized Mina. A second pair seized Christian. Both were bound with long strips of tape from feet to neck, then, amid sudden crescendo in the chanting, were picked up and laid on the dais at the feet of Zcerneboh. Currents of air coming from some- where kept the lamps flickering. This caused shadows to dance about Zcerneboh and the illusion of distorted movements in his body until he seemed weirdly to be dancing. And, the crimson of Zcerneboh's eyes became aglow. But Christian, lying at the hlack god's feet, saw plainly that he was not moving; that he was a very material god carved out of black marMV. He too saw a dark vapor issuing from his disgusting mouth. Dispersed about, the Wends now were swaying rhythmically on their knees. Their chant continued, growing in volume and pitch. One by one they arose and joined the rhythm of contortions. Now their chant was shrill and noisy intensi- fied by the close rock walls. Through their sinister designs and evil worship they were the manikins of dark and primitive powers. They danced with a fervor, a mania, while a million others throughout Europe stepped to the same measure, unaware that the disease of their minds was en- gendered from a secret grotto near Dres- den. Now came the rite's climax, the god's moment. He was moving from his erst- while fixed position, gliding sidewards. The helpless Christian saw him move, saw the black hand from in back that was pushing the statue aside. Black fin- gers, seemingly from out of the rock, grasped the panel, slid the whole con- traption to the side exposing a wide opening. Now the jetty hand joined by its mate reached out and grabbed the feet of the bound youth — pulled him through the opening; then Mina. It was she who saw the living Zcerneboh first. She fainted.
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72 THE MAD DANCERS Then Christian sav,' the terrorizing features of the man, or creature, he had seen twice before — once in Aix-la- Chapelle and again outside the grotto. It was still cloaked and hooded in black, and its skin was like burnt paper. Zcerne- boh now slid the idol which he resembled back in its place, sealing off again the opening into the ritual room where the worshipers still were dancing. A recess in the back of the idol containing glow- ing embers which provided the reddened eyes and smoke from the mouth. The inner sanctum of the black God Zcemeboh, from what the bound and prone Christian could see, was but a cavernous recess in the rock. Light from an ill-burning lamp, and ventilation, were poor. The foul odor from the creature called a god, was moist and warm, like the freshly spilled blood of a beast. Zcernebch made some sounds, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak ; his mouth had no lips. Despite the turmoil of his mind, Christian gathered his faculties to ad- dress him : "Zcerneboh, you are a great and powerful god; I, a weak and humble mortal. I beseech only that you free this damsel. For that I will serve you in any way — bargain my soul, if I must. Will Zcerneboh hear?" The god did not answer; only looked at him with his crimson globs and made a disgusting sucking noise through the hole that formed his mouth. His face was like a charred and withered mask. Suddenly Zcerneboh emitted a muffled welp, threw back his hood revealing the whole of his ugly skull. He tore open the top of his cloak, letting it fall to the waist. His ribbed and inky torso swelled as he inhaled. Then he turned toward Mina. Dropped to his knees. He grabbed the unconscious girl in his arms and held her for a moment as though contemplat- ing her throat. The agonized Christian sensed in a flash what this god was — basically a vampire. The sacrifices to Zcernboh were for him to vampirize; the hideous mouth was to suck blood from the throats of humans ! Holding Mina, Zcerneboh was trem- bling as though in profound ecstasy. Then with a madlike impulse he buried his face in the girl's throat. Christian, straining at his binding, felt himself on the brink of madness. As though dulled by a stupor, Zcerne- boh stopped. But it was not a stupor. No one had ever dared move the statue of Zcerneboh but himself. However, the rear of the idol had been moved — and someone was entering. Zcerneboh was abashed and enraged. Never before had any one other than the god entered the inner sanctum of his own volition. It was Enoch. W/"ITH a terrible sound, Zcerneboh rose — fumbled under his garment for his sword — and drew it. But Enoch was the quicker. His sword already un- sheathed, he lunged forward and drove it through the chest of the awed god, who trembled and fell. Enoch stared for a moment at his deed, then cast off his hood. Christian shouted with joy — for there stood Dr. Planquette! In a moment he had Christian and Mina unbound. The girl was coming to. "This Enoch was too slow," said the doctor. "He lies dead outside the grotto. What happened else you'll soon see." Carrying Mina, they returned to the ritual chamber. To Christian's amaze- ment all the Wends were lying flat on their stomachs — all except one who was struggling in his bindings. Hynek Zerotin.
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THE MAD DANCERS "You see," said the doctor, "When I returned disguised in Enoch's robes, I kept m the shadows and no one discover- ed me. When they started their ritual I imitated them, still keeping in the back. Then when I saw you and Mina drawn behind the idol, I knew the time for ac- tion had come. But these Wends by then were in such a state of ecstasy that they never noticed me. I stabbed them, one by one, from the rear. It was like cut- ting the strings of puppets — they fell that neatly. When there were but two or three still standing, these became conscious that something was wrong. It was funny to see them try to gather their faculties; but were not quick enough for old Planquette. One of these last was our famous friend Hynek. Well, I decided not to kill him — not for any love of him, of course. So I gently butted his skull with the handle of my sword, then bound htm, I fear perhaps not too well for I was in haste to find you and Mina." "Not a moment, thankfully, too soon to save our lives," said Christian. Mina was rising and Christian em- braced her. "But where is the frightful Zceme- boh?" asked the girL "It will be a pleasure to reply," said Planquette with calm humor. "I believe I can claim the unique distinction of hav- ing just murdered a god." A voice came from behind them. It was the stilt struggling Hynek. "No mortal can kill a god," he sneered. "Then perhaps you would like to join us, to see if he is really dead," replied the doctor. They bound Hynek's hands securely behind him, released the other bonds so he could walk, and escorted him to the inner sanctum. There the body of Zcerneboh, unmis- takably dead, lay with his blood still oozing. i"iNE look and Hynek swung his head ^-^ away, paling to whiteness. His voice trembled as he said : "But the Wends yet are strong. There are still other Wend gods eager and ready to avenge our people." "Then you will admit that Zcerneboh is dead?" asked Planquette. Hynek was stolid, stunned. Finally he answered: "Zcerneboh is not dead. There is the real Zcerneboh I" He pointed to the back of the statue. "There reposes the spirit of Zcerneboh — as he has for ages past, immortal, indomitable!" "I do not believe in your heathen wor- ship," said Planquette. "Howbeit, should there be any truth to what you say, it will be a simple matter for us to destroy that antique carving. "That would doom you forever!" hiss- ed Hynek. "Never !" returned Planquette. "But I have another question, in case you are inclined to answer. This Zcerneboh whom I have just stabbed, who and zvhat is he?" Hynek deliberated. "For an answer to that I will bargain with you," he replied cautiously. "How?" "I'll give you the information in re- turn for your solemn pledge not to de- stroy the statue." "Since I do not believe in him any- how, good enough. You have my pledge." "And your's, Christian?" "My pledge not to destroy the statue," said Christian. "Not to destroy it, nor remove it, nor mar it in the least?" Both of you?" per- sisted the Wend. They assented. "Very well, it is this. Zcerneboh, for
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74 THE MAD DANCERS all his black power, has served the Slavs from the dimmest ages of the past. His idol has been preserved faithfully and worshipped devoutly for countless gen- erations. Even this very grotto has been guarded for several centuries. But the spirit of Zcerneboh, unlike that of our other gods, prefers to exist in the body of a living person. That is, if you would consider a vampire* a living person in the exact sense. It has been the tradition for as long as any Wend can remember £or a vampire to volunteer for the role, for contrary to belief, no vampire is im- mortal. How his skin is blackened, his eves reddened, his feautres altered to re- semble the black marble statue, that is a secret kept between our priests and Zcerneboh. Now, you see, a new vampire will volunteer and the spirit of Zcerne- boh will emerge from the statue to live ajjain in him. That is the sum and sub- siance of the matter, and answers your question. "In that case," said Planquette, "I have made a poor bargain. "It would have been better to destroy the statue and remained in ignorance." "Perhaps for you," said Hynek, "but I took your pledge on your honor." "What counts my honor against the lives and happiness of millions? But, no! I still do not believe that gods can live in stone. Your pledge is safe." Suddenly Hynek seemed inspired. The muscles of his face worked, his fists through tied behind him clenched, and his eyes glowed. "There are still other gods of the Wends! There are our mili- tary gods, eager to avenge the Wends. You stupid Teutons do not know enough lo be beaten ! If Zcerneboh has failed, there are the others — Baba Yaga, the female hagfiend; Gore, the god of woe and destruction; Koshchei, of the Death- less Snake ; Lyeshy, the Malicious who haunts the forests ; Great Pcrun ; Mora ; Sventovit, the four-headed. Sky-god of the Elbe, and Triglav, the three-headed ruler of the Three Realms. "You Teutons," he raved on, "know not what potent powers you provoke when you cross the Wends. Our gods of war are waiting — waiting, and their patience wears. They are waiting to fill you with such craving for war and blood- shed that finally other nations shall arise mighty and with vengeance to destroy you. And then you . . ." Hynek did not finish. A sound came from the rear of the recess, where the corpse of the Vampire Zcerneboh lay still bleeding. "Wugh-g-h-gh-gh !" and a scraping sound against the stone. With horror, they saw Zcerneboh arising— staggering to feet — lunging toward them. "He isn't dead!" screamed Mina. Hynek voiced an exultant cry. "He has his sword!" cried Christian, gathering Mina into his arms. Realizing they lacked the vital moment to gird for defense, and uncertain as to Zcerneboh's strength they retreated out to the ritual chamber. Here, if necessary, they would have room to battle. Hynek followed. Stum- bling over the Wend corpses they turned in time to face the monstrous deity as he staggered through the opening. Christian directed Mina up the steps to the chamber above, and returned quick- ly to Planquette's side to defend them- selves and see if possible to the final ending of the vampirish god. Hynek might have capitalized on the opportunity were not his hands still bound. Zcerneboh straightened. His ghastly head and naked bleeding torso caused even Hynek to shudder. The crimson eyes swept the room, taking in the array
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THE MAD DANCERS of Wendish corpses. But when he moved instead of approaching Christian and Planquette, Zcerneboh went toward an opposite wall. He picked up a five-foot log, one of several used by the Wends to sit on. He thrust it over his shoulder and turned around. "He will try to kill us/' warned Plan- quette. "A move from you, Hynek, and you are dead. Draw your sword, Chris- tian, we must beat him to the attack— I from in back — you from the front for you are more agile!" Zcerneboh, however, was not coming toward them, but was staggering toward the idol. The trio stood with amazement to be- hold an unexpected spectacle, for with a mighty heave Zcerneboh swung the log against the sacred statue. It tottered — crashed with an awesome noise and the chips skidded across the floor in all di- rections. With a terrified yell, Hynek Zerotin fell to his knees and dropped his head. Zcerneboh dropped the log, surveyed the fragments, and slumped to the floor. The grotto, all the rocks around them, seemed to tremble, and for a prolonged momejit weird cries came out from the walls. For awhile Christian and Planquette were as if transfixed. Then Planquette went to Zcerneboh and stooping, examined him. "Now," he pronounced, "Zcerneboh is really dead." * * * /^iNCE again the horizontal rays of ^ the sun were striking the cupola of the Octagonal Chapel at Aix-la- Chapelle, and once again Christian Nohl was standing beneath the Earbarossa chandelier. Though not many months had passed, he was a much older look- ing Christian. This time, however, he stood alone. But it was not long before someone else entered the chapel, the figure of an old man. It was, in fact, old Henri Plan- quette. "So sober at a time like this, my nephew?" he questioned cheerily as he came to Christian's side. "Ah, my good uncle, but Charlemagne was truly a great man." "Indeed. But listen to mc. I have most conclusive news. Reports have just come in from five other cities confirming unanimously that the Dancing Mania ceased all at once on the night of Sep- tember 3." Christian looked up with keen interest. "Wonderful !" he exclaimed, and grasped the old man's hand. A door to the chapel from another part of the cathedral opened, and they were interrupted as a woman's voice called out: "Christian, why didn't you tell us the Doctor had come? The Father and all of us are waiting !" "I am sory, Frau . . .** "Now ! now ! No more 'Frau.' From now on it's 'Mamma' to ine. But wait until you see Mina! Her gown, if I did make it myself, is beautiful — gorgeous! And Mina, if she is my own daughter, is the loveliest bride ever to take nuptial vows at Aix-la-Chapelle !" But suddenly she hushed, and they entered, for music from the Charlemagne organ was rising.
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3fie Fangs of Tsan-Lo OF COURSE I do not know about the unknown. But I am sure that there is more to this world than any living man has even dreamed. Silly? Talking through my hat? Per- haps, but my Erst /ear of Tsan-Lo came to me the day I read the letter about him. And yet it was just an ordinary letter, like hundreds I've received. Dear Mr. Roberls : As per our previous agreement, I am tliis day shipping Tsan-Lo from Wind city. He should arrive the 27th of May. I am depending on you to see that he receives proper care. To be perfectly frank, I do not expect miracles from him. He is big, strong, and able, but obstinate, and" possibly you will have to undo the harm wrought by my amateurish ef- forts. I have experimented with Tsan-Lo myself. Please keep me informed of his progress. Sincerely, Dr. Ibellius Grut. I stared across the desk. But sweat stood on my forehead and cold chills chased each other up and down my spin. I tried to shake the feeling off, and could not, and I read the letter again. There By JIM KJELGAARD was nothing even a little bit strange about it, unless you'd call Tsan-Lo a strange name for a Chesapeake retriever and wonder a little bit about anyone named Dr. Ibellius Grut. I tried to shrug it away. "Get hold of yourself, Clint," I said. "First thing you know you'll be crazy as a drunken pigeon." "Drunken pigeons don't talk to them- selves," a voice said. I turned around and saw Sally stand- ing in the open door. She's Sally Evers, daughter of John Evers, and I wouldn't do a darned tiling for her — except any- thing she asked me to. Yes, I'm in love with her. In fact to put it mildly, she's the sun, the moon, the stars, and the air I breath all rolled into one. But I'd never told her about it because, though you wouldn't call them exactly filthy rich, her folks have plenty of what it takes. And her mother made up Sally's mind that she's going to marry Harris H. Har- ris, who's social register, Harvard, and the Harris Company. Nobody knows why she wants to spend any of her time with an ordinary trainer of retrievers — but I'm awfully grateful for small favors as long as she's part of them. " 'Smatter, Frank Buck?" she asked What possible connection could there be between a prehistoric lizard and a Chesapeake dog?
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO 77 me. "You look as though you'd seen a ghost." "Only a vision, sweetheart," I told her. "Come on in." That was spoken very lightly, but boy how it felt deep down inside! Sally's about five feet three, and beautiful from any angle. Her coppery hair frames a small face, and I think it's her eyes that get me most. They're big and brown, and half the time they're full of the devil. But the other half they're so serious that Sally could be a thousand years old. She has the darndest ideas, especially about animals and animal training, and she spouts them out on the slightest provoca- tion. "What'd you have for breakfast?" she wanted to know. "A little girl about your size. Too bad you weren't around. I could have eaten another one." "Clint Roberts, the great humorist!" she said scathingly. "But you do look terrible, and no wonder. Look at this house! The only things in place are the
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78 THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO pictures of your dogs ! I declare ! Men would still be savages if women hadn't been around to civilize 'em !" "Yes," I said drily, "the earth would probably be overrun with uncivilized men if there'd never been any women." But the little cold fingers were still plucking at my spine, and I didn't want her to notice it. I, a professional trainer of re- trievers, was frightened because I had another one to train ! "Why don't you come around once in a while? Buck's been lying on the ground with his head between his paws, moaning to himself since you left yesterday afternoon. And, if it's any satisfaction to you, he refused his dinner last night" "Oh, poor Buck 1" "She's like that, loves to pretend that she's tougher than a baby-killer most of the time. But the minute anything suf- fers, or she thinks it's suffering, she melts all over the place. She scooted out the back door, threaded her way among dog crates, and stopped in front of Buck's run. He had been lying under his kennel on the ground. But the minute she came in sight he jumped out, started leaping in the air and yelling his fool head off. I stayed on the porch a minute to enjoy the sight. T HAVE thirty-seven dogs. Five belong A to me, and Buck's one of them. He's a big, black Labrador with a sleek, shiny coat, and muscled like a Hon, arid is the best retriever I ever saw. I'm grooming him for the National field trials, and will win them as soon as I can correct a few minor faults. He, too, adores Sally, and when I got to the run he was pushing his nose through the wire so she would scratch it. Sally looked at me. "Clint Roberts I" she scolded. "Let this poor dog out of that dinky little pen!" It isn't a dinky little pen. it's twenty by twenty, but I let Buck out and made him stt. He obeyed, looking at Sally in- stead of me. It's she he loves best, and I guess he'd do anything in the world for her. Sally picked up a stick and threw it. "Fetch !" she said. Buck unleashed all the power in his mighty body, and flew after the stick as though he'd been shot from a gun. At the edge of the mud hole he paused, leap- ed a quarter of the way across it, strug- gled through the mucky slime, climbed out on the other side, and got the stick. He jumped right back into the mud, crossed it, and put the stick in Sally's hand. His coat wasn't black any more, but mud-colored. "Fine thing," I said, "making my dog swim across the mud !" She tickled Buck's ears. "Oh, Buck can take it. Why don't you fill that awful place in, anyway?" "I've dumped two hundred tons of ashes and gravel into it." The mud hole was on the place when I got it. It's a pit, I think an old quarry hole, and I don't know how deep it is be- cause I've never been able to sound the bottom. It's fed by subterranean springs that carry a lot of gooey mud from some- where. On top it's soupy stuff, but the mud get thicker the farther down you go. About all a man can do is push a fifteen-foot pole down into it — any deeper than that the mud's so thick you can't push. We wandered down to the lake, and I watched Sally put Buck through his paces. He jumped in, and swimming so
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO 79 smoothly that scarcely a ripple flowed behind him, brought back a stick she cast. Then she pointed a floating stick out to him and he got thai. He seemed eager to obey her, and if only he'd work that way for me I'd as soon enter him against any competition anywhere. I looked at my watch. "Well, I'm glad somebody can play. But I'm a working man. I have to pick up a new dog." "Can we take Buck?** "Nope." "Gee, you're mean." But it's one of my rules that a new dog must come in as easily as possible. They're usually nervous anyway, after a long train ride and new surroundings, and taking another dog when I pick them up at the station only makes them more so. But I knew Sally couldn't resist hav- ing a look at a new dog any more than she can stop breathing. We locked Buck back in his run, and left him moaning while we climbed into the pickup. "What is the new dog?" Sally asked. "A Chesapeake. His name's Tsan-Lo." Sally settled back in the seat and away we went. "TTHE train was just pulling out when we got to the station. We walked around ft> the express platform, and sure enough, there was my dog in his crate. I whi;*Jrtd. Whoever crated the dog either had a lot of money to waste or else want- ed to be absolutely sure that Tsau-Lo ■ikki't get out. He was in a tubular steel crate, reinforced at the corners with steel blocks and the door had a double padlock on it. Dimly through the slats I made out the dog, lying down, and there was a big white sign riveted to the crate. "For Mr. Clinton Roberts. From Dr. Ibellius Grut." And again, for some unknown reason, the hair at the nape of my neck bristled and cold chills ran up my spine. Even as he stood crated on the station platform, there was something about Tsan-Lo like nothing in any dog I'd ever seen. It wasn't what he did, for he did nothing except lie in the straw on the floor of his crate. But what came out of that crate — . I couldn't see it but I could feel it. It was as though this dog was directing at everything cl.se some invisible aura, some mysterious waves. And it was at that mo- ment, for the first time in my life, that I felt hate. I do not mean that I hated. But I sensed that the air was charged with hate, viciousness, brutality, and concen- tra:ed fury in its most primitive and ele- mental form. It was emanating from the crate that housed Tsan-Lo. I shook my head, trying to shake such notions from it. Sober thought told me that the whole thing was silly, no dog was capable of the attributes with which I was crediting this one. But I could not shake it off, and unaccountably there rose before me a mental image of a papier tncche crea- ture I had seen in a museum. Tyrannos- aurus, they had called it, a reconstruction of a monstrous prehistoric reptile with huge jaws and immense teeth. As I stood before it my imagination had given it life, and I clearly remembered experienc- ing the same sensations I felt now. But it was still silly. What possible connection could there be between a prehistoric lizard and a Chesapeake dog? The one had become extinct long before man ever trod the earth, the other was a product of man. I had never seen the dog I could not handle, and I'd handle
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO this one. I took a step forward, and was halted by the pressure of Sally's hand on my arm. "Clint, don't!" I looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, and the little pulse in her temple throbbed furiously. I shivered. Sally is soft as a marshmallow when anything's hurt or needs her help. But I had never known her to shrink from a problem or lack some way of solving it. She's no coward, but her staring eyes and taut mouth revealed that now she was very much afraid. "Don't accept that dog!" she whisper- ed. "Send it right back!" "Nonsense!" I forced a laugh. "It— It's not a dog, it's a monster !" she breathed. "It hates me, and would like to kill me! Can't you feeHt?" Again the cold shivers ran up and down my spine and my lips were sudden- ly dry. So she felt it too, and perhaps more strongly than I since the dog's hate emanations seemed to be directed at her. But I still told myself that it was nonsense. Tsan-Lo might be a vicious dog, with a certain something about him that made his viciousness felt. He could be nothing else and I had handled vic- ious dogs before. Sometimes, if they're carefully trained and watched, they make the best hunters. "What have you been eating?" I joked. "Clint!" her fingers dug into my arms. "Do you know Ibellius Grut?" "Why — He's a doctor." "He's more than that, Clint ! He'» been in two insane asylums, and de- nounced by the Humane Society a dozen times for his cruel experiments on ani- mals. He's been experimenting on Tsan- Lo. You'll be sorry if you take him!" "But I can't refuse him. I make mjr living training dogs. The least I can do is accept this one, and tell Dr. Grut whether or not he's any good. After all, he's paying me fifty dollars a month to find that out." She shook her head, "You're going to take him?" "I must, Sally." "Put him in a good strong' run." "Never fear. He won't get away from me." I walked over to the crate and looked down at Tsan-Lo. He was a big yellow brute with a massive, strong-jawed head and bigger than a Chesapeake ordinarily is. In fact, he was so big that he looked even a little malformed. His eyes were wide and yellow, and when he swung his head to look at me I had to look away. For a moment I was a little bit nauseated, and again I thought back to the papier mache tyrranosaurus. But aside from looking at me there was no response whatever from Tsan-Lo, no wag of the tail, no whine, none of the eager littie manifestations with which crated dogs usually greet anyone who comes near them. I said : "Hi, San!" But still there was no response. The dog swung his great head to focus his baliskisk eyes on Sally, and for one split second I was almost tempted to take her advice and return him to Grut If only I had— - But I didn't. I backed the pick-up to the crate, swung it on, and put the tail- board up. OALLY was silent beside me as we ^ drove home. It was not the silence she had affected on the way to the sta- tion, when she hadn't wanted to talk be- cause talking would have spoiled .he
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO symphony of a spring morning. Now she was moody, thoughtful, and I could tell bv her eyes that she was still afraid. Ant! I could still feel the weird aura Tsan-Lo cast. But the first cold impact of that had worn off, and I was more than ever convinced that here was only an unusual dog which, no doubt, would have to be approached and trained by un- usual methods. I drove the pick-up into the yard and backed up to a run. Sally got out beside me, speculative, but said suddenly: "Look at Buck!" I looked. Buck was standing in front of his kennel, feet braced and head down. His ruff was bristled, his lip curled back over white fangs. The dogs nearest Tsan- Lo were walking stiff-leggedly about. "Clint, you still have time to take that dog out of here," Sally said, forcefully. '"Uh !" I scoffed. "It's only a dog." Just the same I opened the run, lift- ed the crate down, sat it inside the gate, took the two keys that were wired to the padlocks, unlocked the door, and open- ed the crate. Tsan-Lo walked out, and without exposing myself at all to him 1 withdrew the crate to close the run. Buck went crazy, leaping against the wire and snarling. He began to bark, and his eyes rolled whitely as foam dipped from his jaws. I called : "Buck, sit!" He continued to rage and claw at the wire, so overcome by fury — or fear? — that at first he did not hear me. A couple of the other dogs tuned in with him, and a little Golden retriever slunk fearfully into her kennel. I called, more impera- tively : "Buck, sit!" He sat. But his head was still hunched between his shoulder = and his lips drawn 3- back in a snarl. I turned to look at Tsan- Lo. He betrayed no interest whatever in his new surroundings, merely walked to the center of the run, sat down, and turn- ed his opaque eyes on Sally. She shrank from them, and put both hands to her mouth. "Clint, I can't stand that dog! He'll kill me if he gets the chance!" "Don't worry. He won't get the chance !" I was scarcely conscious that my own voice trembled as I spoke, and at that second I wished mightily that I had taken her advice and returned Tsan-Lo to Dr. Ibellius Grut. Sally had called him a monster, and she had not miscalled him. She walked down to Buck's ran, and the big Labrador sidled over to be near her. But he did not beg for her caresses or leap 'against the wire. He merely sat, as though he was protecting her, and con- tinued to watch Tsan-Lo. "I must be going," Sally said. "Okeh. Come back day after tomorrow and I'll show you a dog that's learned something." "Ugh ! I hope so. Be careful when you go into the run with that thing." "Don't worry." T WAS glad when she'd gone. Not be- cause I didn't want her around — my wildest and fondest dream was that some day I'd have her around all the time- but because there did seem to be some- thing that menaced her in that big Chesa- peake. After she'd gone, Tsan-Lo stretch- ed out with his head on his paws. But he didn't sleep. His colorless eyes remain- ed wide open. And he did not even lie, or move, like another dog. There was something about him very cold, and very far removed from anything I had ever
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO seen or sensed. He seemed an atavistic thing, and again I thought of the mu- seum's dinosaur. But it was still only another dog, I assured myself stubbornly as I went into the house, and if I couldn't handle him I'd have no business calling myself a dog trainer. Of course I couldn't guarantee to make a hunter out of him, some dogs are no more capable of discharging the duties for which they've been created than are some men. But if I failed I could always send him back to Ibellius Grut. I mixed the daily feed, and the first thing I noticed when I pushed the feed cart outside was Buck. He hadn't moved from the edge of his run, was still sitting with his eyes glued on Tsan- Lo, I made a mental note never to let them get together, one or -the other would be killed if I did- But when I gave Tsan- Lo his allotted feed, again I turned away from his fathomless eyes. There was something about his stare that I just couldn't stand. That night Sally's roadster stopped in front of the house. She'd changed her slacks and denim shirt for a white blouse and a blue skirt, and my heart came into my throat. She looked — . Imagine how an angel looks and you'll have it. "How's it going?" she asked. .. "Good. It always goes good.** "That—. That Tsan-Lo too?" "Oh him," I laughed, and lied. "I went in his run tftiis afternoon and pull- ed his ears, The only thing the matter with him' is laziness." She looked sharply at me, "Well, I could be wrong. Just the same here's a book I want you to read." I tucked the book under my arm, it would be a desecration to look at any- thing else when Sally's around. "Where are you going?'"' I asked. "Oh, Harris is coining in and 1 must pick him up at the station." "Well — that's fine." "I'll be seeing you." She drove off, and I stood for a mo- ment wishing I'd inherited a million or so from my father instead of having been brought up in an orphanage. Then maybe Sally Evers would have been wearing my ring instead of Harris H. Harris's. But some things you just can't change, and this was one of them. I looked Idly at the book she'd given mc. It was The Perfect World, by Dr. Ibelliiis Grut, and because I hadn:t any- thing else to do I sat down to read it. TT WAS a strange-looking book — old, tattered, and musty. It was delicated to "The Quest for Perfection," was pri- vately printed by Dr. Grut, and began: "Since time began the world in which we live has never been either perfectly balanced or perfectly adjusted. The his- tory of that world is the history of seek- ing such balance and adjustment. It has not been achieved in man and man's pos- sessions. They are but a passing phase of infinitely greater plan, the ultimate aim of which is absolute perfection. There followed a discussion of the earth's creation, and the little, mouselike creature which was the first mamma! to come out of the steaming seas to run about on the land. There were a whole lot of formulas and equations that I had never seen before, and which I judged to be original with Dr. Grut. Then : "There can be no doubt that a fum- bling and far from perfect intelligence has thus far dictated everything which has occurred. It is a striving, restless brain that does not know bow to proceed
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO 83 but must work on the trial and error method. It eradicates its own mistakes, and thus we see the passing of the giant reptiles. But sometimes it approaches that which it desires, and for an example of this we have only to consider the dog. "Ample evidence paints to the fact that the dog, as we know it today, is the descendent of some giant creatures which, except for its size, was very much like our present-day house pets and hunt- ing companions. The size of these ancient dogs surpasses human imagination. How long they roved the earth no man knows. But the restless brain which created them perceived at last that, as they were, they did not fit into the general scheme and eradicated them — or rather — let them eradicate themselves. "That was accomplished by a simple, natural process. In the first place, the appetites of things so huge must have been enormous. There was just not enough food for them, Then, too, there was nothing save hunger to challenge them or keep them alert, and as a conse- quence their brains deteriorated to the point where they could no longer adapt themselves to changing conditions. Such a dog, accustomed to living within a cer- tain area, would not possess even the in- telligence to forage into another district when its food supply ran out, Thus it died of starvation, and thus the other great dogs died. "Though this applied generally, it did not apply completely. Some dogs, doubt- less the smaller and more adaptable, sur- vived. They, and their descendants, had to compete for the available food with predators more nearly their own size. Thus their brains were sharpened and their adaptability developed. Gradually the dog as we know it today has evolved. True, man has taken that dog and by selective breeding has produced half a hundred forms and sizes which never would have been present had their de- velopment been unimpeded and uninter- rupted. But there is within every dog an immutable something which man can never change ! The smallest and most effete poodle bears within itself the same germ that its giant ancestor bore. "Do not think that the great dogs were merely a passing phase, or that the crea- tures which once inhabited the earth are forever gone ! The intelligence that created them can at any time bring them back. It would merely be, as 1 have proven to my own satisfaction, a matter of applying certain hormosones and hor- mosone products. Tsan-Lo, the Chinese scientist; originated such applications, "We can go backward as far as we care to go. Now, can we discover the secret of going forward? Can we" rpHE book went on to discuss other *■ animals and to say that this vast intelligence, this thing that ruled the earth, and perhaps the universe, was capable of adapting itself to various forms and some day might even appear as a human being. You couldn't help getting the impression, in the closing paragraphs, that that man had already been born in the person of one Ibellius Grut Whew ! No wonder they'd had him in two insane asylums ! The miracle was that they'd ever let him out of either. But he was in Wind City and I was here, and if he suddenly took it in his head to alter the universe he'd probably start on subjects within reach. Besides it was not up to me to question a man's sanity or his morals, but to train his dog.
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO The next morning I went out to work Tsan-Lo. Nothing, as far as I could see, had changed. Tsan-Lo, his steady yellow eyes unblinking, lay on the ground. Buck watched him, maintaining a steady vigil where the big Chesapeake was at no time out of his sight. Except that they were a little quieter than usual, the other dogs were normal. With the training collar in my hand, I stood for a moment before the door of Tsan-Lo's run. And then I left it, ran away with the collar in my hand to some place where I could on longer see that yellow sphinx. I told myself that it was too early to be- gin, the dog should have time to adjust itself to its new home. But I knew the real reason. I was afraid, very much afraid. There was something about that immovable hellion to inspire fear. It was early evening before I screwed my courage up to the point where I could return. And, in addition to the training collar, I carried a baseball bat. I knew that I had to go in that cage, or I would never again dare call myself a dog train- er. But I was going to be prepared which I did. I opened the door and stepped in. Without seeming to move at all Tsan- Lo hurled himself up and out in a springing, savage leap straight at my throat. But luck was on my side. The swung bat collided suddenly with die side of his head and he dropped to lie twitching on the ground. I left him there and walked away. T WAS awakened the next morning by an eerie sense of something unreal and terrible. I fought to adjust myself, and rose on the bed to peer out. I could see nothing except a yellow mass of something plastered against the window, and I fell back on the bed. Strangely, at the same time, I had a curious sensa- tion of being both awake and in full pos- session of my senses, and in the grip of some awful nightmare. I was vaguely aware of a noise outside, and finally identified it positively as Buck's raging voice. There was a heavy, nauseous scent in my nostrils, but finally I shook my- self awake and leaped out of bed. Just at that moment the window shattered and the terrible, complete reality of what was outside burst upon me with all the sharp- ness of a stinging whip lash. I tried to run, to escape from the bed- room into the kitchen and get my hands on the revolver I kept there. But the great jaws that were thrust through the open window opened and closed on my pajamas. I was dragged back through the window and dropped to the grass be- neath it. I lay motionless there, unable to cry out, or move, or do anything except stare. Tsan-Lo stood over me, and even my most horrible nightmares had never painted a picture so terrible. As he squat- ted there, the top of his head touched the top of the second-story window. His yellow, expressionless eyes were big as saucers. He panted slightly, and the fangs over which his lips were curled were a full six inches long. His paws were the size of elephant's feet, and still all I could do was lie and stare. It had happened, as Ibcllius Grut's book had said it could I Something — ! Some- how— ! My shocked brain began to function, and for some reason I remembered an excerpt from Grut's letter. "I have ex- perimented on Tsan-Lo myself." He had! Indeed he had ! And the tap on the head I had given Tsan-Lo last night had set in active motion all the hellish things
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THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO 85 with which Grut had been working. Tsan-Lo, with the brain of a killer, was bigger tnan tne biggest Percheron stal- lion! Desperately I gauged my chances of doing anything at all. And then the dog moved. He reached down to rip my pa jama coat from me, and a scrape of his im- mense paw carried away the trousers. I lay stark naked, and he dipped his head to gather me in his jaws. I felt his hot tongue on my belly, the roof of his mouth gritted on my back. I was to Tsan-Lo what a rabbit is to an ordinary Springer or Labrador. Had he so de- sired he might have bitten me in half and swallowed me in six gulps. But he didn't. He hardly more than pinched, and it was not difficult to under- stand the reason for that. He was a re- triever, undoubtedly one which had had some training', and they are taught to be lender mouthed. Even though this one had reverted four hundred thousand years, he still was unable to forget the training that had been drummed into his brain. With my head, shoulders, and arms dangling from one side of his jaws, and my thighs and legs from the other, Tsan- Lo began to trot away. I was half numb with terror, but still noticed hazily what went on about me. There was Buck, leaping against his run and trying to tear it down as he strove to close with this monstrous thing. A half dozen of the other dogs, the braver ones, were likewise snarling and barking. But most of them cowered in their kennels. I saw Tsan- Lo's shattered run. Paying not the least attention to the other dogs, Tsan-Lo threaded his way among the kennels and started for the lake. Si; ill only half -conscious, but think- ing with the detached clarity that a numbed man sometimes will achieve, I tried to fathom his design. Tsan-Lo entered the lake, waded out far beyond the depth where an ordinary dog would have been swimming, and struck across the deep water. It was then that I knew his intent. There was a woods on the other side of the lake. Tsan-Lo was a wild thing, and like all such wanted to eat his captured prey in solitude. We were three-quarters of the way across the lake when he suddenly opened his jaws to drop me. I heard a high-pitched, excited voice : "Buck, fetch!" T SWAM groggily, trying to keep my -"- head above water, and turned to gaze at the shore. My blood froze in my veins. Standing on the shore, trim and slender and unafraid was Sally. Tsan-Lo swam toward her with his head high, churning the water and leaving a curling wake behind. I screamed : "Sally, run ! For God's sake, run !" Buck's silky black coat shone like a pol- ished mirror as he sprang into the lake, I saw Tsan-Lo gain the bank, bear down on Sally. I tried, with all the strength I had left, to swim toward them, to reach her side before that horror did. But even as I swam I knew that it was hopeless. And something seemed to have hold of me now, something that gripped my limbs and dragged me back into the water. The bright morning faded into night. . . . When I awakened I was lying on the lake shore, with my head pillowed on Sally's lap. I looked up into her eyes, and saw tears there. "Clint! Darling!" she moaned. I moved then. I think that word from
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86 THE FANGS OP TSAN-LO Sally would have brought me back from the dead. "I_ What happened?" "Clint!" she kissed me then. "You're alive !" "What'd you call me?" "Darling," her eyes were shining. "What about Harris H. Harris?" "He told me last night that he's going to marry Lucy Stanner, of the banking Stanners. But I like dogs — and dog trainers. "Tsan-Lo?" "He fell in the mudhole, Gint. I ran down this morning when I heard Buck raising the fuss. I saw that Tsan-Lo had broken out of his pen, and that you'd broken your bedroom window when, in the grip of a nightmare, you left your bed. I sent Buck to bring you out of the lake. Tsan-Lo attacked me. But I was on the other side of the mudhole, and he tried to cross it. But he went down." "He — . He was big as a horse," I murmured. "Clint, darling, you're still dreaming. I always knew you needed a woman to take care of you." "I — . I need some clothes," I said. Sally smiled. "The care's already started, Clint I got some trousers from the house and put them on you." That's about all, except that when I wrote to tell Dr. IbelHus Grut of Tsan- Lo's death I received word that Grut had been found dead in his office. That was three years ago, and Sally's Mrs. Roberts now. We live here, and train retrievers, and we're doing all right too. Little Sally — she's the image of her mother and I hardly know which one to love the most. Of course there is one other item worth mentioning, and you have to re- member that there was never yet a situ- ation with which Sally was unable to cope. For instance, if she could pos- sibly arrange it, her husband would look back on some things as just a terrible fantasy, and never as reality. After all. I have to work with dogs. But I finally had the mudhole drained. They took a skeleton out of there, a skeleton of a huge dog that scientists said was at least a quarter of a million years old. It made quite a stir in the papers. Then, too, I'd always been of the opinion that any ordinary dog could easily have crossed that mudhole. But if something weighing three thousand pounds ever fell into it — . I didn't say anything. There are times when it's just as well not to.
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3ge oTVtirror IT . . . IT'S impossible." His concentration was so great that he didn't know he had spoken aloud. He closed one eye entirely, then opened it, slowly, Hoping against hope, he then worked his tongue into a corner of his cheek and rotated it about. He watched. Stared. A pulse was drumming fiercely in his forehead as he backed away from ihe mirror. He had first noticed it a short time ago ; seven days to be exact. It is logical to suppose that he would have known of it sooner if he had been a vainer man. Most certainly, then, he would have look- ed into mirrors a great deal oftener. But Jay Swarz was a mild man; a meek man; a man completely devoid of ego. He wore his habits the way he wore his clothes . . . soberly. He did not sin ; he would not. He did not cheat ; he could not. Three drinks before dinner and his reactions unmistakably informed him that he'd had enough. . He was like that. Once again he shot a covert glance at the miiror. There it was . . . plain to see . . . Jay Swarz had been brought up proper- ly. But that is an expression that has lost its true meaning. To speak with exactitude, it is better to say that he had been brought up primly. It was only a week ago that his reflection had abruptly rebelled. H By CHARLES KING In an era where modesty was consider- ably more than a fetish; an era where the most innocuous words called down condemnation upon the luckless user. Jay Swarz' family proudly outdid themselves in righteous self-effacement. Completely cloaked with the mantle of selflessness ... or so they insisted . . . they balanced themselves with practiced step upon the tightrope of virtue. No matter the season, their bodies were swathed in layer upon layer of raiment. Indoors, their comportment was such as to assure them frontrow seats in the heavenly orchestra of harpists ... or so they insisted. Jay had never been one to rebel. He was the sort born to accept orders un- questioning!)'. . If, even in the privacy of one's room, it was immodest and wrong to undress before dousing the lights, he carefully put out the lights before removing his breeches. His parents had instructed him. He obeyed them. It he had to go to the lavatory it would never do to say so. That would have been grievously shocking. Any simple excuse to leave the room was acceptable under those conditions . . . but never the immodest truth. But all these bugaboos paled before the one strict immutable rule that per- vaded the Swarz household. Serving the
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THE MIRROR interests of virtue, one might do every- thing in one's power . . . and then fail. How ? By looking, smiling at, daring to admire one's reflected form in a mirror. The human form was a debased thing of evil that only served to lead its owner off the garden path. Thus, logically, it was a thing to remain unseen; avoided. Jay's Father used it for shaving. That was its purpose. i~\NE of Jay's most memorable rccol- ^^ lections was the time that he had been caught. He'd lost a tooth, as boys will, and was entirely engrossed in ex- ploring the bloody cavity with an in- quisitive finger. The mirror helped a great deal as he probed and poked . . . until . . . "Jar!" He swerved, nearly upsetting himself, and paled. "Yes, Father?" "Ungodly brat ! You were lasciviously admiring yourself !" "I ... I don't understand, Father." "Do not trifle with' me. I have ex- plained the sin often enough," "It was the big word I didn't under- stand. And, honest, I was just fool- ing .. . " Which is as far as Jay got. His gasp was cut off as a gnarled hand jerked at the back of his collar. The shaving strop was seized, raised aloft, then brought down with a singing swish. Jay's cry of pain suffered the same brief span that his gasp had lasted. The steadily flailing strip of leather effectively stifled everything but an agonized wish for death. Again and again it rose and fell. The regularity was monotonous. The pain eventually indescribable. Things, after a while resolved into a v. hiding world of unbeheved torture. Again and again rose the leather flail . . . down and down it beat against the semi-conscious jerking form that was Jay Swarz. Jay finally fainted . . . A graphic experience is forever etched upon the consciousness of a child. Jay never forgot that beating. It bad the constant impact of a sledge-hammer swung against a huge brazen gong. The reverberations went on and on and on. . . . Jay grew older and finally left home to establish his own way in the world. He trod in minor paths. Luckier than most men, he never was troubled by au all-consuming ambition. The highways for others — the byways for him. A small job; a small room; these quite comfort- ably fitted his small desires. His position with a large insurance company was safe and steady. Nobody resents a man who doesn't covet positions that aren't better than his ; nobody wields an economic knife against a man who is supremely satisfied to trudge a tuneless treadmill. He was accepted with the same care- less complacence that is usually associ- ated with a slightly worn piece of office furniture; and he was considered very much as devoid of personality or hidden depth. But they would have been surprised. He did have a secret. Jay Swars was stiU afraid of mirrors. Psychologically conditioned by the ul- tra-stem conditions of his youth, his fear never diminished. To the contrary, it fed upon itself and grew constantly. Morbidly. A man incapable of making living enemies, he found himself in the anomalous position of having an inani- mate foe. He used mirrors as sparingly as k was humanly possible. Brushing
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THE MIRROR bis teeth and washing his face were easy. No ordeal there. But shaving was a shuddering time of terror that had to be agonized through every morning. And now . . . "It's impossible !" But it was possible. It was there . . . plain to see . . . plain to see. Even as his eyes clung to the mirror, and his mouth was drawn thin with hor- ror, his reflection was laughing at him. His hand stole to his face ... his re- flected hand didn't. There were new lines in his face, but his mirrored face was full and untroubled. His eyelids twitch- ed uncontrollably, but not so in the like- ness that was flung back at him. Hor- ribly, silently, the face in the mirror kept laughing and laughing. Tt had been a week ago that he had first noticed. A week ago that his re- flection had rebelled. A week ago that his mirrored personality had begun de- fying him. It might have begun sooner, He hadn't noticed . . . until . . . Until one morning it had winked ob- scenely at him. And ever since . . . TTE REMEMBERED, now, me an- *■*• cient Germanic legend of the man who had met his double. It had been wringing its hands. Death. He fought himself, but his eyes shot toward his reflection. It was grinning . . . wringing its hands. . . . The psychiatrist wielded his pen with sure, broad strokes. A man untroubled by personal ghosts. A man who slew the morbid fancies and terrorizing thoughts of others. He scratched a last notation, his lips forming the inaudible words ''psychosis . . . aattHsaggestiotf. . . ." Jay squirmed forward in his chair as 3— the psychiatrist leaned bark and studied him. "Does . %- does it mean I am crazy?" The other's full, rich carefully prac- ticed tones fell upon Jay Swarz like a protective benediction: "No. Absolutely not. You are as sane as . . . well, as I am." This last accompanied by a reson- ant chuckle. "Then the thing I see can't hurt mc?" "It is impossible for it to hurt you. Impossible, because you do not see it." "But Doctor — " "Please. A moment." Well-manicured fingers interlaced themselves across a well-padded stomach. "From what you hare -told me, you are a man pursued by phantoms. It is not you fault, Mr. Swarz. You have related how your boyhood was completely dominated by a thorough ab- negation of healthy emotion. No out- lets. No outlets at all. Well, sir, what is the result?" "What?'' "As you grew older, Mr. Swarz, you cast of? the narrow outlook with which you were most effectively swaddled. You didn't know it, but you did. And, due to the inexorable law of nature, you began to think for yourself. That, of course, brought its . . . er . . . problems. I . . . don't understand." "Let us put it this way. A man who has been perishing of thirst will not allow logic to stand in his way when he is confronted with plenteous water. He will drink and drink until he is uncom- fortably sated. If undeterred he will become rather sick. You, Mr. Swarz, are that thirsty man." "I . . , see. . . ." "Exactly. You had a thirst for nor- malcy. It was, during your childhood, consistently denied to you. You left
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98 THE MIRROR home and found yourself with an all- consuming thirst for being a healthy ego . , for being natural. You follow me." It wasn't a question, but Jay Swarz frit constrained to answer "Yess." It was gutting- so clear now, so normally explain- able, that he had to show his improve- ment b> joining in, and approving of, the logical explanaliun. "Well, sir, you overdid yourself. The abrupt change to a normal way of living, and acting, stirred up half-forgotten vistas of your unfortunate youth. Sub- consciously, that is. Once again you were being threatened with unfair punish- ment. Inwardly, of course. You prob- ably never even perceived . . . suspected. The first sign was the product of an overworked — though, to you, unsuspected — imagination. The fear complex. The worry over being hideously punished — as you told me you were — because you were doing something that is unalterably natural." "But, Doctor, my remaining fear of mirrors . . ." "You are not afraid," 'T , . ." "Mr. Swarz. Believe me. You only think you arc afraid. That is why you have been avoiding mirrors with such careful conscientiousness these past few years. As the snake struggles to shed its skin, so are you struggling. And — for- give the comparison — as the reptile fin- ally emerges in new, shining armor, so are you emerging." "Then, what shall I do?" "Face your phantom, Mr. Swarz. Defy it. Gaze into your mirror steadily — without fear. Your clouded imagination will be cleared by the calm, cooling breezes of reason." "L-look into my mirror steadily?" "Precisely. Drive out the false visions that have been plaguing you so unfairly. Once gone they will never return. 0:i tliat I stake my reputation." TT WAS a new Jay Swarz who turned the key of his small apartment. It was a new Jay Swarz that tossed bis coat onto his bed. It was sometbii had wanted to do all his life, a life given to circumspectly genuflecting to all the hallowed proprieties. That was over. Done. He was a snake shedding its dull skin for a brighter one ... a butterfly emerging in innocent glory from its dull chrysalis ... a man. He turned toward the bathroom. He couldn't help the feeling of aversion . . . of fear . . . But wasn't he now a man? He was. incontestably. Hand upon the door . . . fear . . » twist the knob . . . no . . . think . . . psychiatrist 's advice ... a learned man . . . helps people who need guidance . . twist the knob . . . try . . . sweat form- ing on a corrugated forehead . . . Twist the knot . . . everything explained . . . logically . . . exactly . . . mathematically . truthfully . . . that last very impor- tant. . . . (wist the knob, . . , And he was inside. Walk up to the mirror , . . boldly . . . stare steadily . . . unafraid . . . bio: out the false phantoms . . . do it. it's easy . . . one leg before the other . . . go ahead . . . hesitation only hurts . . . makes things harder . . . foolish . . . nothing to be worried about ... all carefully explained . . . habits of a life- time . . . lurking . . . unfair . . . no substance ... all explained . . . figments . . . palpably worthy of derision . . . go ahead. . . .
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THE MIRROR And he was before the mirror. Open your eyes . . . stare . . . steadily . . , optn your eyes . . . nothing can hurt you ... it will help . . . teach you the truth . . . help you . . . open broad lanes ... to happiness . . . wipe out the past . . . the gray past . . . the punishing past . . . open your eyes . . . see the new world . . . your world . . . open your eyes. . . . And he opened his eyes. His reflection . . . nothing to worry about ... it looked at him ... as he looked at it . . . calm . . . both calm . . . as it should be . . . expressions the same ... as they should be . . . psychiatrist right .": . as he should be . . . learned man . . wise man . . . helpful man . . . good advice . . . best advise ... go ahead . . stare at it . . . staring . . . pride . . . strength . . . new feeling of . . . of . . . no! Can't be! Impossible. Psychiatrist said no . . . learned man . . . wise man . . . look again. . . . NO! Reflection . . . laughing . . . silently . . , utterly impos- sible . . . wise man said so . . . wealth of experience . . . cant be wrong . . . good advice . . . best advice . . . heed it . . . heed it . . . stare at reflection . . . glare at reflection . . . don't give up . . . must win . . . must win . . . don't give up . . . stare . . . gl — . . . And he screamed And he screamed. He caught himself. Lurched oul of the bathroom. This was no time to give way to dis- ordered, mental stabs. More than evi- dent that his ancient enemy was weaken- ing; employing last hopeless trickery. This was triumph . . . triumph. Get a bit of help. Nothing shameful about using all the means at one's dis- posal to rid one's self of a dying enemy. Nothing to do with one's manliness. The enemy must be destroyed. That is the only important thing. A NSWERING the telephone call, the ^* psychiatrist finally arrived. A bit put out because he'd been disturbed at his meal : but cloaking his irritation and im- patience with the thought of adding a substantial amount to an already padded bill. "Look, Doctor ... the mirror." "What about it?" "Can't you see?" "No." "You can't?" "All I see is that yon have a reflec- tion . . . which is as it should be." "But it reacts differently. That is why I called you. . . ■" "I don't understand." "Don't you see? It — my enemy — is still there. However, I am not afraid. It is a figment. I know it. You told me so. But it is there ... to be destroyed. Isn't that progress?" The psychiatrist backing up . . . pro- fessionally polite . . . words . . . words that have no meaning . . . professional . . . backing to the door . . . understand- ing . . . understanding. "I'm sorry I troubled you, sir. It was nothing. Nothing at all." "Quite all right, Mr. Swarz. Just take my advice. Don't be afraid . . . don't be afraid . . ." and he was gone. Failure I The psychiatrist had lied. Evident. He had seen it too. Wouldn't admit it. Have to help one's self. The only way . use any means. . . . ^Anv means. Out with logic. Forswear what is fal- laciously taught. Seek that which can really help. Seek that which is ridiculed
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THE MIRROR and mocked . . . but secretly feared. Seek the strange powers that all gibe at . . . because the true answer is there ... for the asking. . . . Many libraries . . . many . . , many bookstores . . . laughing faces . . . in- credulous faces . . . sneering faces . . . lie knows! He knows! They sneer and mock because they are afraid . . . cannot seek truth as he does . . . tirelessly ... and then . . . then . . . And old bookshop . . . and old man . . . incredibly . . . nodding . . . under- standing . . . tottering to an inner room ... a book . . . musty . . . ancient . . . refusal of payment . . . smiling. . . . JAY SWARZ entered his apartment. He opened the book and studied. He smiled. It was all so easy. How much simpler if he had done this first. He read on. . . . There was the diagram to chalk upon the floor. He drew it. There were the multi-syllabled invocations to intone. He intoned them, There were the careful passes through the air . . . the repetition of certain odd phrases . . . the lit match that must scorch his fingertips. . . . And, as it must be, the crouching shape was there. Motionless. The shape that would rid him of the rebellious re- flection in the mirror. The shape that would take the horror out of his life. It would exact a tribute. That was to be expected. Jay Swarz was happy. Truly happy. He cast a sidelong glance at his mirrored reflection. Could it be? Yes. It was already losing its shape . . . becoming tenuous . . . transparent . . . wearing a look that Jay knew . . . knezv . . . was one of helpless pleading. Ko time for mercy . . . too many years of subjuga- tion . . . destroy . . . without conscience destroy . . . the reflection of him was wavering . . . almost gone . . . fighting , . . hopelessly . . . going . . . gone. . . . And the crouched figure stirred itself. Slowly unbent Looked up for the first time. Jay Swarz threw a frantic look at Ins mirror. No reflection. No reflection at all. Blank. Blank. The figure straightened and Sto over the chalked lines. It was going to exact its tribute. Jay Swarz knew this. He also knew that he had incarnated his double . . . brought it to life ... it was wringing its hands . . . hands which suddenly swooped to Jay Swarz' throat. He knew so many things . . . too late.
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Rj)ide the El to Doom By ALICE B. HARCRAFT They said the iron horse on stilts had to come down — but there are singular forces beyond our ken that must be reckoned with firstl JACK LARUE sat In the first half- empty coach of the elevated. His left hand was hooked over an old black lunchbox, his right elbow leaned on the rust-streaked window sill. The el clattered and vibrated along and Larue peered out at the dingy squalor that d the window in three and four- story uniformity. The slanting rays of afternoon sun caught the train in ;nce, but there was nothing left to sparkle or shine and the brightness only served to show up the worn seats and the lustreless metal and iron. The train bent its stiff-jointed rigidity ari und a curve. The wheels groaned and squealed, and the clattering became a wooden-like rumbling as the cars head- ed up an incline onto the West River Bridge. Larue lifted his eyes from the swirling muddy water that ran beneath to the city beyond. He never failed to L'et a kick out of coming home from the foundry in the evening and seeing the city before him. His part in con- struction was small and humble, yet he never failed to marvel at the shining ; -v.ers and edifices, evidence of the d rner purpose and achievement of a b*ade he felt a small part of. Larue got to his feet and started heav- ily up the aisle toward the front. To the right of the aisle in his little com- partment was the motorman. From long familiarity. Jack jerked the door open. "C'mou, Pete," be yelled abo. chtter of the train, "you're gonna be late pulling into 109th Street!" The aged man hunched over the con- trols as though a part of them, made 101 a noise that fell unrecognized over the growl and rumble of the train. "You got the grumps, eh?" said I making as it to playfully push the mo- torman. "Don't do that, Jack," said the en- gineer, "I tol' you when I'm running this here train . . ." "Aw, you're as old and grouchy as the ei." said Jack. "Soon they'll come along and pull yon down." The old man stiffened at that. The two said no more for a while. ''What would I do?" said Larue half to himself, peering out over the tracks as they ran up to the train in widening twin Hnes, only to fall away under the floor of the coach. 'What would I do?" Larue repeated. "Me, I'd have to find a new way to get over to the foundry and back. This has been good enough for me for ten years. And what about you?'' He turned his head and laughed at the old man. "You were here when I started on the run. Guess you've been here since the el. Take her down and they'd take old Pete Nevers down, too, eh?" Nevers was sitting like a ramrod. The train coasted off the bridge and flashed itself ungracefully around another curve. "Never mind, Pete," said the laborer. "Can't do without the eL can we." and he laughed off down the aisle as the cars slowed down for the 109th Street station. TT1S words were little less than pro- ■*-■*■ phetic; a forewarning in these days when cities everywhere were doing with- out els. For it was at lunch time several
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102 RIDE THE EL TO DOOM weeks later that a casually turned paper in the hands of a fellow worker caught Larue's eye. "Hey, wait a minute! Let mc sec that, Eddie, will yuh?" "Huh ?" "Geeze, what do ya know ! They're going to pull down the old West River Bridge el. Now how do they expect me to get to work !" Eadie laughed. "Swim across, ya dope !" Larue read the article all the way through. It seemed they were going to use the rails for scrap iron ; the cars were to be sent to another part of the country where they were needed more. Bus service across the bridge would be instituted. That evening coming home on the el, Jack dug his boot into the door of the engineer's compartment. He was feel- ing the three drinks in him gulped down since the five o'clock whistle. When there was no answer to the third knock, he jerked the door open. "Pete, I see they're going to pull down this cl!" The old man shook his head and then turned slightly to look at the foundry worker. Jack went on, "That's what they say. I saw it ui the paper. They're going to pull it down and we'll be taking busses across." "They'll never stop the el," the old man rasped. "A thing like this, it ain't like a dog you can shoot or an old car you can throw in a junk heap. It's alive, I tell you! They can't kill it!" Jack started at the vehemence in the old motorman's voice. "Get out of here," the engineer said suddenly. "Get out of here, ya — " Larue, taken aback, stood in the front of the car for a moment. "Why you old devil!" he came back. "What's got into you ? You're scared, eh? You're scared because they're going to take down this rotten old el. Yeh, because you know when the el conies down, Nevers, you're finished, too. You ain't no good without it, are you? I know that. Nothing else you can do!" The laborer slammed the compartment door and departed. That night in his little room on Nes- tor Street, Larue's conscience won through the liquor. He felt remorseful about old Pete Nevers. After all, he'd known the old man for years. Nothing too chummy, mind you, for Nevers kept everybody sort of at arm's length, but he had ridden the old man's train for what seemed like ages. Of course, it was tough to have them pulling down the el, taking away your means of liveli- hood, Pete. All of a sudden, Larue got the idea he must see Nevers. That was it. He knew the old man lived across the river near the desolate el yards where the old tired trains waited, sorr.e for eternity, others newer, for the ne:;t day, those next days that now were limited. Larue pulled on his jacket and barged down the stairs into the street. It was dark as he headed for the el station. On the platform at 109th he waited, vaguely wondering why he was doing this, and then thinking over a whole chain of circumstances, little kind- nesses Nevers had done, money he'd lent Larue . . . and not all of it paid back the foundry worker recalled guiltily. It always amazed Larue. The rest of the el workers were chronic complainers. "Hardly enough to keep your face fed," was their line. Nevers was not one to complain. Maybe a man like that could find something else. Certainly he was reliable. Larue considered the oppor- tunities in his foundry. Watchman, or something. That was it ! A train rumbled into the station and Larue boarded it. This wouldn't be one of Nevers* runs. He'd made his last trip and was already through. The elevated scraped its way out of 109th and poked along between the glaringly lighted tene- ments and finally onto the West River Bridge. The night was warm, and Larue poked his bare forearm out the window, letting the holtish breeze nudge it as the train reached the peak of the bridge
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RIDE THE EL TO DOOM 103 middle and then started down toward the opposite end. Beyond was the West River stop, and then several minutes away was the Fender Street stop. Larue got off. He'd been up to Nevers* place once before. HE WALKED along the still, dark streets until lie came to a dingy building, even older and more run-down than his own. He mounted the steps to the third floor and knocked on the door. "Come in," said the old man's voice, and Larue went inside. "Ah, my friend," said the molortnan. "Hello, Pete/' said the foundry worker nervously. "I had to come over. Sorry about getting sore this afternoon. That was very dumb of me. After all, I know the time you've been in. this business, it's kinda tough to have them take away your living, but — " he brightened, "I be: you can find plenty else. I was even thinking about the foundry. . . ." "Jack," said the old motorraan raising a hand, "don't worry about me or the el." "Damnit, I don't care about the el," said Larue. "I just want to help you tie in to something else." Nevers shook his head quietly. "I can't never leave the el," he stated simply. Larue took some gum out of his pocket, bit into a piece and offered one to the old man. "No thanks. Nice of you to come, La- rue, but you see it's not so simple as me just changing jobs. It's like, well, like taking one of those cars and doing some- thing else with it. I'm kinda the el, that's all."' Larue's glance took in the bare room. Poor old fellow, probably didn't have enough to eat as it was. There wasn't a sign of food anywhere. "I just wanted to know how it was, Pete." He crossed to the motorman and stuck out his hand. The old man grasped it ap- preciatively in a strong grasp. His hand- shake was surprisingly steel-like as he shook his head l^T.i-1 i^at £ r.o. i 2-Ctft v.urry. If the el, she gees, my troubles are over all the same." Larue wrinkled his head perplexedly. "I'd like to see if we couldn't do thing for you at the foundry." The old man disengaged his hand from the laborer's and put it heavily on La- rue's shoulder. "Thanks, lad," he said, "thanks, but t won't be needing anything." Larue groped his way down the stairs and out into the street, feeling that he hadn't accomplished very much. There was a chilliness that he carried with him as he walked toward the Fender Street station. He remembered how very cold the old man's hand had been. Oh well, he'd done his best. He shrugged and mounted the steps to the elevated platform. On the way home, from force of habit he stood in the very front of the first car as it rocked back across the river. But Larue found himself more and more concerned with the old man despite his unsatisfactory visit. His hands felt the metal sides of the car, and the coldness of the steel reminded him of the old man's handshake. He shook his head. Nevers probably wasn't any loo well. NOT many days later, Jack boarded the el and saw somebody outside Nevers' compartment at the head of the train. Another elderly gentleman, he was, with a frayed el-line coat and a heavy gold chain across his vest. Larue shrugged to himself. Even the conductors would be in a tough spot when they pulled down the old structure. As the cars neared Jack's station, he pushed forward to say hello to Pete. The other elder!)' man looked at him closely but seemed to ac- cept him on Nevers' warm welcome. "Well," said the conductor. who:e name was Philpot, "looks like we'll all be looking for something new." Pete shook his head with that same dogged stiffness that Larue had noticed be fore. "Sure," the foreman of his foundry
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RIDE THE EL TO DOOM told Jack, "sure Larue, we can use a re- liable old codger around here. We just lost two men from the watchman detail.'' That night Larue went again to Pete's lodgings to break the good news. Instead of Nevers, he found the aged conductor, Phil pot. "Haven't seen him," said the old era- "Haven's seen him," said the old em- ployee. "You know, Larue, he spends more and more time down at the yards jusl sitting. . . . Funny, ain't it? Yup, sitting in the empty el cars." Larue scratched his head: "Well, what are you doing over here?" "Ohhh," the old conductor laughed, "I've kinda moved in here with Pete. You know the el ain't so high these days, boy. Not much money, and looks like even that was going to end when they start gouging and cutting and pulling us all to pieces." Larue leaned against the door as Phil- pot began reminiscing. "Yup, the iron horse on stilts they used to call us. Those were the days when the cl was the way to go places. Not all your fancy damn underground trains and busses and all that. You took the el, mister, or you didn't go." "Yeah," said Jack, "Yeah, but don't waste time worrying about that, Mr. Phil- pot. You fellows got to get out and get something new." "Mebbe, mebbc not," said the conduc- tor. "I don't mind working, mind you. I never been one too look off center at work, but Pete, young fella, he worries me. This is getting him down. Since I moved in here — it's been a few days now — he hasn't et a thing." He paused, and then cackled as a thought occurred to him. "I think he's living on that same juice as he sucks up into his train. He gets his nourishment sitting there at the throttle. No, sir, haven't seen him et a thing. 'Course he never was the kind of fella who brought the stuff in his pockets and munched away on the job. I never seen him do that in all the years I've worked with him. But a man can't live on noth- ing, mister. Maybe it's like I say. It's the el power that keeps him going." Philpot waved his hand under Larue's face, and Jack noticed the worn blue uni- form coat. "No siree, you can tell me about your other jobs and I'll say thank you and per- haps I'll take 'em and perhaps I won't, but tain't no use with Pete. He won't take anything else." "But what'll he do?" persisted Jack. "I think I can work something over at the foundry. Watchman job. Pretty good pay." Philpot leaned close. "Don't worry about him, mister. He'll get along all right. You know he swears he'll stay with the el." "Aw, that's silly," said Jack. "What's the use of bucking the facts. The el's go- ing to be blasted and pulled down. The paper knows it, I know it, you know it. You fellas will have to get something else or you'll starve." Old Philpot cackled. "Don't worry, young fella. Pete lives without eating, and anyway, he says he's staving with the cl." Jack turned to go. "Now don't get uppity, Larue. I cal- culated you might tell me a bit more about the job." "Well, I'd really thought about Pete, " said Jack from the door, "and it doesn't look like he's coming in." "Never can tell," said the conductor. "He might be here most any time. Watch- man, did you say?" "Yeah," said Jack, thinking by now that the other man was probably a bit touched. "That's fine," said Philpot, "I could do something like that." Jack set his jaw loyally. "I'm telling you, Mr. Philpot, I was thinking of Pete." "No, young fellow," said the conduc- tor, then lowered his voice. "Here, let me show you something."
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RIDE THE EL TO DOOM 105 HPHE old man hobbled to a very old k*- trunk with patched leather handles at either end and a lock that was rusted with age. Quickly a nailfile appeared in his hand and he dexterously pried at the lock. The trunk lop yielded and he pulled it back. "Look,'* he said. Jack leaned for- ward and peered into the interior curi- ously. "Why," he exclaimed, "it's a lot of mets! — a lot of old metal parts!" "Sure," said Philpot triumphantly. "You can see he's swiped levers and bars and facings off the el. Now that isn't the kind of man you want to be watchman !" Larue was astonished. "But why? Why would he take all that useless junk?" "You can sell junk," suggested Phil- pot, wagging his head. Just then there was an abrupt thud at the door. The metallic rasp of a key, and the next thing Peter Nevers himself stood in the entrance. The three men stood silent for a mo- ment, and then the motorman crossed quickiy tc the trunk, crashing the lid dov.-n with his hand. He turned accus- ing eyes on Philpot and Larue, eyes steely black with hatred. Larue stood there almost as a spectator. At first it seemed funny and then the vehemence of the man penetrated. Philpot was evi- dently in terror and he trembled and inched his way across to the door. Larue kept looking at the conductor to do the explaining, and when none was forth- coming; he turned to Pete himself and said simply: "We just opened it up, Pete. Sorry. I had something I wanted to tell you about a job—" Nevers raised a long, rigid arm until it pomted at the door in semaphore fashion. "Get out!" he ordered. "Get out of here, both of you. Going through my things !" He turned on Larue, "And as for your job," Nevers said, *T don't need it !" "What'll you do?" said the foundry worker. "Stay with the el," growled Pete and starred menacingly toward them, his big old hands spread with obvious intention. The two ducked into the hall and headed down the stairs. "Whew!" said Philpot, "guess he didn t like that." "It's your fault," Larue reproached. "You shouldn't have nosed into his things That's what bothered him. He probably thought nobody knew. That was a damn fool thing to do !" Philpot bristled : "I only wanted to show you. He shouldn't have got so sore. I meant no harm." "It was your fault," Larue was stub- born. The two headed out into the street, and Philpot slowed Larue's long lanky stride down, clutching at his sleeve. "How about that watchman's job?" "Go to the foundry and find out for yourself," disgustedly advised the laborer. "Aw. be a good fellow!" "I didn't look that up for you," per- sisted Jack. "I don't know why you should kick. He doesn't want it," hissed Philpot, dig- ging his fingers into the young man's arm. "Now I'll tell you something, mis- ter. Pete ain't quite all right. He isn't exactly like other folks am. Me," Phil- pot shrugged again, "some folks think I'm getting a bit touched," and he thumped his forehead grinningly. "Silly, ain't it? But Pete, mister," his face be- came all seriousness again, "Pete is sort of touched all over, I'm telling you, he's not the same as us. I wouldn't want him watching anything of mine!" Without another word Jack walked away, unmindful of the other's pleas. L^rue didn't notice either of the old el employees again until the momentous day when the el was to support its last load, the last trip through the stations and across the river, for then the old
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106 RIDE THE EL TO DOOM rusting cars were to be nuzzled into their final resting place in the yards and the rails were to be torn up immediately for other, more vital usages. THE el train that last trip was packed with dignitaries and reporters, the Mayor, and other notables, but still Jack managed to get aboard. There was much excitement, and the Sanitation Depart- ment band played bright, hopeful airs on the 109ih Street platform. This de- pressed Larue even more than he had ex- pected to be affected by his last trip. He wondered why the death of some- thing should be celebrated by a bind, and a poor one at that, playing off-key military marches. It seemed unfair. Taps maybe, like they do over a dead hero. A bugle and some guns fired off. Danmit, he was going to miss the old rattler. He reached into his hip pocket as best he could in the crowd and felt reassur- ingly of the bottle cached there. The train jerked to a start and there were btizzahs from the small crowd on the platform. The Sanitation band tooted enthusiastically, its horns and inexact melody blaring off into the distance as the train put worn ties between itself and the starting point. .1 .ame cautiously began to edge his way forward. Between cars he made himself small, reached into his hip and got the boille there up to bis lips. He took a good enough swig to half empty the precious Scotch, then with more elan he shouldered his way forward again. Slowly, as though reluctant to com- pute its last journey, as though cling- ing to every moment, every familiar squeak and rattle, as though caressing for the last time each inch of used and faithful track, the el cars nosed their way around serpentine bends and clickilicd out onto the West River Bridge. Pedes- trians waved from the bridge way, Jack noted, as he peered out the side windows. He also noted that crews were already standing by to begin the work of de- molition. The crowd in the el ears was happy and carefree. Here and there, the foundry worker recognized a face that had crossed back and forth with him many times in the past. He didn't know them beyond a nod or a smile, but thev were the veterans who, he felt, could sense the real tragedy of this thins; as he did. The others, the petty officials, the nosing sour reporters, Chief of Police Frost — a man Larue recognized by his pictures, large-jowled, blank of expression despite the smile frozen on his face — all these did not belong. The el to them was a source of revenue or a cause of lack of revenue, the source of a story, or just a responsibility. For all of them, its iron and steel frame and heart and guts could be wrenched and torn asunder and hauled elsewhere to be scalded and molded into new unrecog- nizable forms. Larue finished the rest of his Scotch, picked up in spirit correspondingly, and reached the front of the foremost car, all about the same time. Some of the joy-riding passengers had pulled open the windows and were looking curiously out. Larue stuck his head through and looked back the way they'd come. Al- ready, like the wake of a speedy motor launch coming together in the distance, little ants of men had flung themselves from either side upon the track. Even at the steadily increasing distance, Larue could see the morning sun glinting on a swung pick or raised crowbar. He pulled his head in as the train rattled off the bridge ramp. A couple of florid- faced, straw-hatted men in the back of the car, with construction buttons on, started a few bars of Casey Jones, but the song died a self-conscious death. Larue looked at them with contempt. Construction, bah, Destruction, that's what it was. He nodded at an old-time passenger he knew and lurched forward against Pete's door. The tram was slowing as he leaded against the compartment and pulled at the knob. "Hello, Pete," he mumbled as the door opened. There was Nevers sitting as ever, hunched and intense over his con- trols. Nevers said nothing.
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RIDE THE EL TO DOOM 107 THERE were more people at the Fen- der station. Sonic little school chil- dren were lined up on one side of the platform. As the train pulled in, they waved the small flags in their hands and started to scream. Larue cursed and turned back to Pete, "It's terrible, isn't it ? All this noise !" He wanted to slap the old man on the back, but Nevers stared intently ahead. A few more people got on at Fender. A few got off. The run now was to the station in the yards where the el cars had made their home for so many years. Larue spoke several times to Pete and still got no reply. The whiskey funics In his brain befuddled him. He knotted his fists into balls. He became slowly angry, angriness that made him want to reach ovci and shake the imperturbable Nevers. "Whazza matter, Pete? You sore at me about something? Aw, snap out of it. I'm even going to pay you that ten bucks I owe you soon." Larue giggled idiotically. The train clattered on at increased speed and the hubbub of the passengers behind rose and fell. "Now Pete." said Larue, "you're not going to high-hat your old friend, are you? That's no way to treat me." He reached out and touched Nevers* shoulder. The motorman turned at that, and for the first time spoke, his eyes full on the laborer's face. "Ot out," he said between closed teeth. At that, Larue saw red. Without think- ing, he aimed a lusty punch in the direc- tion of the engineer's body. He let fly, and as he connected, felt the shock of im- pact through the back of his hand and up his arm, but Nevers wasn't hurt. With his free hand, the motorman shoved Larue away viciously. The foundry worker crashed heavily into the opposite side of the aisle. Nevers' compartment door slammed and there was the click of a lock. Larue sputtered and pulled himself upward, helped by one of the old- time passengers and a bored reporter who saw in the antics of the drunk some re- lease from the monotony of this final cl ride. "I'm all right,'' insisted Larue, shaking off his helpers. "Lemme alone." He shook his head. He felt bewildered and dazed by ins fall and the liquor. Before him loomed the unreassuring visage of Chief of Police Frost. Lame waved his hand and insisted again: "I'm all fight. Lemme alone." The ii ain docilely began to slow for the yard. The last station was ahead One of the reporters tried knocking at the motorman's compartment, pounding with his fist and then shaking his head dourly and slapping the pad and pencil he had in his hand back into his pocket. "He'r a devil," said Larue. "Don't go near him, fella." The reporter smirked and beaded back along the aisle. The train came to a shud- dering stop and Larue found himself car- ried along with the outpouring passen- gers. He noted a foreman of the elevated line and old Conductor Philpot standing near the front of the train. Walking down the steps was a feat. When he reached the bottom, everything became increasingly hazy. He headed for the nearest bar and threw himself into the wooden seat of a little cubicle. Beers added to the Scotch made him sleepy, and his last act consisted of waving a five- dollar bill at the disapproving barkecp. Unaccountable time later, Jack woke up on a bench across the street from the tavern. He felt gingerly of the throbbing lump on the back of his head and his t motions flamed up in anger at Pete. His shoulder was sore, too, where he had been shoved into the side of the el car by the motorman. Larue got laboriously to his feet. He staggered uncertainly back across the street ?.nd headed into the tavern again, but as he crossed the threshold, the bar- keep spotted him and started lumbering forward with a meaningful jerk of the head.
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108 RIDE THE EL TO DOOM "Look, Bud, I had a" hard enough time gettin' you outta here before !" Larue turned around: "All rl ■' right, just wanted to know what time it was." The barkeep yelled out at him: "Stay out of hire, you bum !" The foundry worker trudged along the dark streets. The cool summer air lapped at his hair and cleared his brain of some of its alcoholic vagueness. An illuminated clock or 3 jeweler's window showed that it was 9 -30. Good lord, he'd been out for hour? I That blow on the head Nevers had caused him — temper flared up in the man and his footsteps became sure. Even in his befuddled state he found Nevers' place quicklv and mounted the steps, his anger a hard swollen something within him. His fists knotted into tight balls . . . mum- bling, he climbed the stairs to Pete Nevers' room. He rattled at Nevers' door but there was no answer. lie was about to turn away when a noise from within attracted his attention. SO NEVERS was in there, was he, hiding from him ! He pounded again a'; the door. Still no response. Mad- dened, the laborer put his shoulder to the door and forced the cheap lock. The pane! flew inward and Larue lurched into the chamber, his hands out in front of him aggressively. Then he saw the figure on the floor near the bed. "Hev von," Jack muttered in surprise. He came closer. It was Philpot ! The old man was white as the plaster wall behind him. There was blood oozing thickly from a cut on his head. "Philpot, what iiappened ? You're hurt !" The old man raised a gnarled talon of a hand and waved it weakly. "Nevers," he gasped. "He's crazy. He ain't human !" "Nevers !" gritted Larue. "He hit you, too, huh'* Yeah, he swung on me this morning in the el, the dirty — !" "Wait, Larue," said the old conductor weakly, "the man's gone mad. He's a killer. He ain'L human. And he's headed back to the yards. O.ll the police, Larue. Ke's going back for no good, I tell ya. I tried to stop him and look what it did me!" The scene had sobered Larue. Plainly, old Nevers had gone out o£ his head. "I'll get him! I'll go after him my- self." "No/' choked the old man, shaking his head painfully. "Won't do, Larue. Got to get the police right away." Ayr, police," said Larue disdainfully. "I'll find a doctor for you and head to the yards myself. "Larue," said the old man, "you've got to call the cops right away. Larue, come closer." The old man's voice sank to a whisper. It was plain he was losing strength fast. The foundry worker bent over the old el employee, his ear close to the man's mouth. Philpot whispered to him, his words barely audible. Larue straightened, aghast, and he wheeled and almost ran from the room. "I'll get a doctor for you," he called back. He ran downstairs three at a time and out into the street. Two and a half blocks of running brought him to a policeman. He told the officer the bane details and then took off again in the direction of the el yards. Finally he reached the stairs leading to the elevated's burial ground. He sprinted up the steps and looked around. Every- thing seemed quiet. But where was the watchman? As far as he could see were •ilent sentinels of cars, standing in som- ber lines of two and three and four. He cursed his lack of matches or any other light as lie picked his way along the rot- ting ties. Gradually his eyes became more accustomed to the dark. Then, sud- denly, he came upon a body sprawled against the base of the platform. It was one of the guards. Even to the inexperi- enced eye, the man no longer possessed that indefinable spark called life. The feeling of death was here and everywhere in these yards now. The watchman had been bludgeoned to death, Larue saw. His head was marked with many blows such as the one Philpot had received.
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RIDE THE EL TO DOOM IARUE got up from his scrutiny. The - pit of his stomach tingled and his body felt dampish. That crazy, p Ncvcrs ' By god, he'd get him. So he was a killer! He had shoved him, Jack I,arue. and he'd killed one, maybe two. But where to look ir, this maze of silent black coaches squatting everywhere on rusty rails dreaming of the past? The problem was solved suddenly for him To his right, several blocks away, the metallic jerk of an el starting shocked him. The headlamp lit up, and against the light-reflected back, Larue could sec a three-car train moving slowly along parallel to the platform lie was on, toward the switch that opened into the now-con- demned line. Ghostlike the whole scene was, incredible as some distorted, fevered dream. For there seemed no life here but Larue and the remote, twinkling stars above The train that moved could not, should not be real. It was a trick of his imagination. It was the liquor he had consumed This yard, these cars were dead, dead as the watchman who lay crumpled over the platform. Yet even as he thought these things, Larue sprinted forward. He headed across the yard, alternately leaping and stumbling over tracks. Ahead, luring him on with a peculiar, horrible, and magical magnetism was the squeaking, rumbling thing gathering speed, its three funereal black cars sliding wtaithHke through the yards. Larue was close by now. He grabbed at a side rail and missed. It was Nevers he knew running the train. Never;? who'd killed, tra) of all, who'd pushed him, Jack Larue. People didn't push Larue. The anger flowed back into him and charged blood and energy into his lagging legs. He sprinted mightily and caught the rail at the end of the last car. He pulled him- self upward and then lay panting on the back platform. His head still throbbed where Nevers had shoved him earlier that day. With a series of ominous jerks the train gained speed and Larue watched the black ties flash out from under the belly of the car. Not uittH then did the onpossibileness of his situation strike him. The train was going too fast by now for him to get off . , . running a trip that had never been meant, for the el was no more after noon that day. This unscheduled run was sheer madness. Suddenly, with hor- ror, the memory of the demolition crew on the bridge came back to Larue. Good God, by now a lot of those bridge rails would have been pried and ripped and loosened. What was Nevers thinking of ... if it was Nevers ! Larue got to his feet and started into the interior of the coach, feeling his way up the black aisle, his hands guiding him as he touched the worn backs of the seats. The train lurched around a curve and Larue teetered to keep his balance. Never in his years of riding the elevated had it traveled so fast, of that he was sure. Lights from houses they passed flickered feeblv through the dirty glass windows and the scat backs took on the sepulchral outlines of ghostly monsters. He forced himself onward and gained the division between car num- ber three and number two. Looking ahead along the aisle, he could see through the open front the swath cut by the headlight. Lord, there was something eerie about this. He fought hack the whimpering cry that rose in his throat. Suppose no one was aboard Suppose the train were running by it- self! Even as the superstitions of his ancestors threatened to crowd his mind, Larue's reason fought them back. Of course, there was a man up there. It was Nevers, he thought. Or maybe it wasn't Nevers. Could be there was some reason foi this trip. An inspector going down the line a ways for some purpose. A thin chance, but the idea bolstered him. HE STUMBLED through the silent middle car and came to the first. His steps slowed, his fears powerful within him again. The car grew brighter around him as the train thundered into a more brightly lit section. The F Street station loomed ahead. But deso- late tonight. No persons watching, no lines of children with flags, no band,
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110 RIDE THE EL TO DOOM no dignitaries. Only loneliness. They flashed through the station and out. As the el thundered along in its cavern be- tween buildings, here and there Larue fleetingly glimpsed a face at a tenement window or a person gesticulating. These people knew the el. They had lived with it for years just as he had, lived with its noise and rattle and dirt, and they knew it had died at noon that day, died forever-more, and yet here was this monster ghost thundering again, this magic symbol of the railroad on stilts that refused to die. He could tell from some of the flash glances that they were startled, disbelieving what they saw — a yellow finger of light and then the rumbling clattering black train following the thin cone of brilliance, speeding through the night on the condemned el. And they knew as he knew that the train must stop, for men had killed the creature called the el. They had cut at it and torn at it and broken its struc- ture. Larue's mouth went dry. Thin factory funnels, gray in the night, loom- ed past outside. From that he knew they weren't many blocks from the ramp that led up onto the bridge. And the bridge tracks, he knew, were already in a state of partial demolition. He staggered forward, then again the car swayed beneath him. As he edged closer to the motorman's com- partment at the very front and right of the first car, the fear that no one would be within that compartment took him by the throat and seemed almost to shake him in rhythm to the swaying of the car. With a great effort of control, he threw himself ahead, wrenching at the motorman's door. He pulled it open and the words burst forth then. "Oh, Pete ! God, man, I'm glad to ?ee you! Look, you've got to pull this thing down. You know the tracks are down up ahead !" Gone was the picture of the watchman lying back there in the yards, for here instead of nobody, instead of some ghost, was old Nevers crouched reassuringly as always over his controls. "Pete," said Larue again, grabbing the man's craglike shoulder, "slow her dowrn. The bridge's not far away." But the old man just sat there, his eyes staring ahead. The moment of relief was gone for Jack Larue. The foundry worker cursed and pleaded. He wedged himself into the tiny compartment with the motor- man. He screamed at Nevers. "For God's sake, man, don't you un- derstand? There's no more track up ahead. I saw them pulling it up myself. You'll wreck her, I tell you, Pete. Yotfve got to listen to me." The el jiggled bale fully around the corner and then Larue sensed rather than saw its upward pull. The grade leading toward the ramp! Larue screamed then and looked ahead. The yellow cone of light fumbled through the darkness and then picked out the ramp far ahead. Larue looked away and at Nevers again. "You're crazy, man," he screamed. "Stop her, Nevers, for God's sake!" BUT the motorman sat his seat with steely determination. The light that fell in irregular squares in the compart- ment seemed to strike and reflect from Nevers. There was a quality about the man that terrified Larue. Suddenly he flung himself across the motorman's body and lurched frantically at the controls. He got one hand on the brake and the other hand closed over the long metal lever that controlled the speed. His arms and back strained with the frenzied effort to move them against Nevers' strength and will. He could not. The old man possessed a superhuman steel- like strength. The metallic resonance of the steel el structure suddenly gave way to the ominous hollow-like nimble of the ramp. The wooden cross-beams beneath the ties echoed back the thump- ing of the train like evil demons pound- ing in derision. Larue redoubled his efforts and each split second seemed an eternity of fear and struggle and decision. He jerked his hands from the levers and turned them on Nevers. He struck the man with all the strength of his hard workman's body. His hand cracked and bled and broke against the rocklike u:i-
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RiDE THE EL TO DOOM yielding creature before him. His Oay- ings caught the whistle cord and the ban- shee hoot of the train joined in mournful discord to Larue's own scream. His picas were incoherent now. He must kill this man before him or he would die ! The ramp vibrated hollowly beneath the coach. The laborer shot a fearful glance ahead up the ladder of light that groped along the ties in the distance. The rails were still there as far as he could see, but out in the middle of the West River Bridge, out over the swirling dark water dozens of feet below, there were no tracks and the train would suddenly be out of its element, helpless, forsaken. The image of this morning lighted up in I-arue's mind. Looking* back out dtf a window as the el rumbled the other way across the West River . . . looking back and seeing the crews coming together with their trools attacking the rails and destroying them section by sec- tion. That was ahead, he knew. The incline grew steeper and the echoes from the ramp fell away to become deeper, longer. They were on the bridge! I-aruc started to back out of the motor- man's compartment. He looked ahead, and there, oh God, there he could at last see the shining reflection of the rails was broken, somewhere out there ahead near center-bridge. With ghastly suddenness he felt a hand of iron close on his wrist and turned away from the sight ahead. Nevers had turned his head and was looking at him. A glinting skull-like visage leering with evilness. The face was like an old carving. "Pete, for God's sake !" Larue scream- ed. "We've got to jump. It's our only chance." But the look from the other man told him what Nevers meant to do, and La- rue's only thought desperately was to get free, to hurl himself out the front to one side. The space lie still had to go, the seconds he had to fight with, both were shortening. Larue hurled his body backwards, clawing at the arm that imprisoned his own. He Lhen realized suddenly what he -was up against. This was a monster — no creature of God, of flesh and blood. On either side was the blackness of empty air. Somewhere far down there was the water. Ahead, much too near now, was the begipning of the destroyed sections. Rails pulled aside, twisted and bent, miss- ing. Larue charged forward then, straight at the .creature who opposed him, his hard body rammed against the other. Everv muscle developed from years at the fotmdry came into play. The thing hefore him gave ground slightly to counter this new assault, then Jack's free hand came down in a wicked slash over the hand that held him. He re- versed his direction and lurched back- ward toward the opening in the front of the train. His monster opponent, sur- prised, came with him for a few groan- ing, precious feet. Larue gained the front of the car vestibule and levered his shoul- der around me coping. The guard chain across the front broke. The thing named Nevers groaned. There was a sudden scream of twisting metal, a distinct snap- ping sound, and Larue was free. The least horror of the moment was that Never1;' hand unaccountably had come with him as though wrenched from its very socket. He was staggering, flying out onto the side to fall clear in a somer- saulting, bouncing heap along the right of wav or. the bridge. The train rumbled on past. Jack raised himself up. He was still clutching in his hand the weighty some- thing. .The train was silhouetted for a splendid moment against the lights of the city a? it charged relentlessly onto No Man's Land where tracks had been razed. With reeling senses the foundry worker watched the spectacle. The train sud- denly bucked. The first car went up in the air as though it had gone over a gigantic bump. Then it slid sideways at incredible speed, dragging the other two along. All this seemed soundless to Larue. The el glided sideways then and tumbled off the bridge. Only then did he become aware ef the sounds. The awful shrieking and grinding of iron upon iron, the crash of impart, the rending noise of rubbing, protesting metal, the bump and whining, and then from below a long- drawn out splash . . . and silence!
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RIDE THE EL TO DOOM For a time he lay there, too stunned to do other than look weakly around him on the ghost-like bridge. Then he got to his feet. He forced himself to the side of the structure and looked over. The water below was running silently, covering its loot without trace. Trembling violently Jack stumbled on across the bridge and found his way home, still clutching a bulky weight in his hand. This horror — something lie was too dazed to look at and appraise, afraid that it was what he most feared, no more incredible than any- thing else his evening — Ncvers' hand! BY NOW, sirens were sounding in the streets below and Larue knew that rescue squads were on the way to the piers. Sc much had happened that eve- ning that the foundry worker's mind was numb. Still hypnotized with horror, he dropped the something he had sneaked home with him from the bridge in a cor- ner and hurriedly covered it with news- papers. Then he went down into the street again, down to a waterfront excited and packed now with eager, watching people In addition to the apparatus at the wharves, there were police launches and small craft of all types cruising around in the river directly beneath the bridge. On the span itself he could see figures moving. Searchlights were shin- ing down onto the water. Larue watched for hours as people around him came and went, and as dawn finally streaked the skv to the east. The boats drifted and crossed in eccentric lines around the center of the river, their white wakes criss-crossing over the grave of the el train Full morning came and Larue reluc- tantly left to have breakfast in a little restaurant and then headed for work. Somehow he got through the day. He bought all the evening papers. "A mentally deranged employee of the el line," it is stated, "stole a train last eve- ning alter fatally beating his roommatae and a guard, both employees of the el, and ran the train of three cars off the West River P.ridge where demolition of the tracks had already started. Police stated that they expected Nevers' body would be recovered when wreckage of the el could be raised." Larue worked his time at the foundry in a daze. For him, the river had a morbid, fateful fascination. He was on hand when the smashed cars of the el train beg-ir to come up, caught and drawn up laboriously with grappling hooka. But Never? was not found. Still the police trawled the river, for, as was pointed out in the newspapers, the engines were sup- plied with an automatic device that caused the train to stop of itself if the motor.man left the controls. Somehow, the press speculated, Ncvers' body might have wedged itself through a window and was even now somewhere at the bottom of the river. Larue knew at last, and he lived with his terrible secret, not wishing to con- firm it, clinging to the doubt, slim though it was, that he was crazy, that his memory of that night was wrong. A nightmare delusion, although the livid bruises still apparent on his body testified olherwi^. Days passed, and the foundry worker shunnec1 the corner of his room. After several weeks, the police and press ad- mitted grudgingly that possibly Nevers had escaped on the bridge just before the train went off. Police nets were spread for the deranged murderer and Larue watched the papers closely. More time passed and nothing new was uncovered. Finally, very desperately, the foundry- worker went to the corner of bis- room one night and dug out the object which had rested there for so many weeks under an increasing pile of newspapers. Tie took what he found there in trembli>v: hands, horror-stricken, and headed out through the foggy darkness for the wharves, the bundle under his arm. He got to the water's edge and stood for a moment looking around to see if he was observed. Satisfied, he took the paper covering off and held Nevers' arm in his hands. Something the dead Philpot had said came back to him poignantly. No. the motorman hadn't been human. And Larue dropped the metal throttle lever he'd been holding into the water to join the rest of Pete Ncvers of the el.
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