The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  But all she did say was, “Impossible! Impossible!”

  “Would you like to have the heads of these two dead persons brought before your eyes?”

  “This is outrageous!”

  “You are convinced, then?”

  “Mistakes can happen!”

  “Mistakes!” Eudora mocked. She looked to Dave, to the Underground leaders around her, to the breathless audience. The last of the strays who had been enticed away by the sight of the fires were now back, taking in every word from the amplifiers, every interplay of expression their ears and eyes could catch. And many of these echoed, with a groan, “Mistakes!”

  The Empress quickened her talk, trying to drown out these ugly echoes. “That sculptor must have done something dreadful. That’s too bad. Young Dennison and his bride. I had meant to get across safely. The sculptor must have taken some diabolical notion of his own when they were on the ship. That was two years ago—”

  “You remember everything perfectly, don’t you?” said Eudora.

  The Empress sighed and tried to be casual. “Fortunately, neither of them have any living relatives.”

  “Ah! Do you hear that, ladies and gentlemen?” Eudora called out. “The Empress somehow knows that John Dennison is not living.”

  At this a host of half concealed placards came up. All over the audience were the accusing questions:

  WHERE IS JOHN DENNISON? SHE HANGED A SUBSTITUTE. WHY?

  At this juncture the slender slightly stooped, much-bewhiskered sculptor returned to the stage from the official car. He tossed his burning torch to the two new statues, not yet unveiled. The white cloth blazed up in a column of yellow fire; then the gold paint caught, and huge blazes of red cast a weird light upon the faces on the stage.

  Before Reginald Keith removed his false whiskers he threw words of defiance at Miss Blanchard, daring her, under the circumstances, to shoot him for revealing himself.

  The Empress made a rush toward her secretary, then. But three men caught her just as she reached for Miss Blanchard’s gun. Her chance to shoot Reginald Keith, to pin all crimes on a dead man, was gone.

  She recoiled from the touch of her captors, the beaded epaulets at her shoulders rattled violently as she twisted. Finally she quieted, and they released her left hand so. that she could have the comfort of covering the wart on the right side of her nose.

  Her hawk-like face took on a snarling expression, as if she were not quite convinced that men, nature’s lowest of creatures, were equal to what they had undertaken.

  “They’re moving!” came a squawking masculine voice from high overhead. Sophia Regalope’s husband, at his regular perch on the palace tower, was bending over the rail, shouting down with all his voice. “They’re moving. The statues! They’re nodding their heads. They’re waving their hands!”

  If poor old John Dennison had pushed aside his headstone (which bore the name of Reginald Keith) and had walked calmly out of his grave, Dave and a few thousand other spectators could not have been more astonished. The sight was too weird to be imagined.

  A few women fainted. Men with weapons stirred as if with the fear that they were about to be attacked by supernatural agents.

  Up and down the boulevards thirty-eight life-sized figures, blackened to an earthly color by their recent fires, were coming to life. Fingers moved slowly—and bits of clay and wax fell from their fingertips. Chunks of clay and the strange waxy-icy material within the clay broke from the legs and hips and fell over the edges of the pedestals.

  Knees bent, shoulders straightened, arms began waving slowly. Palms of crusty clay hands beat together until white flesh showed. Then the palms brushed at the face until masks fell off and human features showed. Eyes opened, and mouths, too, in very lifelike yawns.

  Down from, their pedestals stepped one live figure after another. Half rotted clothing still clung to some of them. As they gradually awakened from their sleep they were scarcely aware that they were half naked or that they were being watched by thousands of pairs of wide, unbelieving eyes.

  And yet these spectators recognized them, as they came forth, one by one—no, two by two—for invariably the awakening man’s first words were a call for his mate.

  “The newly married couples!” Dave muttered, as he watched this incredible scene. “All those twenty couples who didn’t get their safe passage—all except the Dennisons that we innocently killed!”

  In the midst of the strange picture of rejoining of couples and rejoicing for the return of life, a great many people caught the hysterical wail of the Empress, no longer able to control her words.

  “Reginald Keith, you damned cheat!” You were ordered to kill them and mold your clay on their corpses! How did you dare—”

  “Shut up!” Miss Blanchard snapped.

  The Empress felt the savage bark of her secretary, and tried to hold a civil tongue. But Dave knew she was past finding any tricks to cover her words.

  The sculptor must have felt a great burden drop from his shoulders. He was smiling, talkative, eager to tell how the blackmail threat had played him into treacherous hands.

  “But I saw my chance in these two inventions,” he said, straightening his stooped shoulders. “I made the sunlamps in a way that would enable the men to recover, once they could-break away from the deadly effects of the ray. I knew that sooner or later someone would discover this little secret. But you didn’t count on that, did you Empress?”

  Sophia Regalope growled under her breath, “I’m not your Empress. When I establish my new Empire, there won’t be any men. I’ll get a woman scientist the next time. Men? I’ll turn them into beasts—”

  But no one was listening to her mutterings. Everyone was too much interested in what this mysterious sculptor was at last saying. They brought him closer to the microphone.

  “Before I fell under the spell of this island,” he went on, “I had developed my first ‘liquid-air wax’ and used it successfully in preserving animals. It isn’t harmful to the tissues to be engulfed instantly in this potent freezing mixture, and I was able to perfect a thin coating to cover it, to hold the enclosed body at a temperature many degrees below zero—so many that nothing less than a good fire could break the refrigerator shell. So, with this series of inventions, I contrived to turn the Empress’ victims into living ghosts that would someday come back to haunt her.”

  Two new voices came to the microphone at this juncture—Jane’s and Happy’s—and a third, that of little Danny Downs.

  “Would you mind explaining that again for Jane’s and my benefit?” Happy laughed.

  “You see,” said Jane, “we just now broke out of those piles of clay—” she pointed to where the two new statues beside the platform had been burning, “and we still don’t know what’s happened to us!”

  “Gee, you’re back again!” little Danny squealed. “Look, Dave, I told you Happy would come back to me. Gee, I guess I’m even glad to see Jane, too, even if she is a woman.”

  The crowd was cheering, and most of the factory workers tore their bitter placards into confetti to toss into the air.

  But there was still a detail of reestablishing some sort of working government, to handle certain truculent prisoners and establish a temporary police force, and handle the affairs of the island until a permanent plan could be drawn up.

  “But not a woman’s government!” some man from the audience shouted:

  “Not a man’s government!” his wife rejoined.

  To which the sculptor-scientist smiled, saying that he believed the happiest solution would be a cooperative arrangement between the sexes. He said, “We have here an alert young couple who have the judgment and courage to put us on our feet.”

  His gesture toward Eudora and Dave brought a solid acclaim from the population assembled.

  Dave caught Eudora’s smile. He felt the glow of the sure friendship that was between them. Only it was more than that; it was love and understanding. He had known it for a long time, and she must hav
e, too.

  They exchanged a brief, whispered consultation, then David went to the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you approve of the decision which Eudora and I have reached regarding the Empress, we will accept the honor of being your leaders, at least until a permanent government can be drawn up.”

  Over the cheers came the cry of revenge against the Empress. “Hang her!”

  “Shoot her!”

  “Burn her at the stake!”

  “Before we announce our decision,” said Dave, “we shall grant her the privilege she refused the sculptor when he was on trial.” He turned to the furious Empress. “Have you anything to say for yourself, in the face of what has been revealed against you?”

  The Empress snarled like a hedgehog in a trap. “You can’t pin murder on me. I didn’t murder these couples. No harm ever came to them. You can see that for yourself. They could have lived on inside those statues for years.” Dave nodded and he and Eudora again whispered. Then Eudora came to the microphone,

  “It is our decision that you will receive the same harmless treatment that your murder victims were lucky enough to get. Today you’ll be cast in Keith’s liquid-air wax and preserved in a statue.”

  The Empress gave forth with a spine chilling wail. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Then she suddenly changed to her hedgehog, snarl. “How long will you keep me there?”

  Eudora glanced up at the gold dome overhead. She caught Dave’s wink and nod. There was perfect understanding in that unspoken conversation.

  “We’ll keep you there,” said-Eudora, “until your husband requests that we bring, you back.”

  From the dome overhead came the squawking little voice of Woman’s

  Island’s lowest worm, sounding very much like a happy banty rooster.

  “ ‘Bye, Sophia. You’re going to be gone a long time.”

  THE SAPPHIRE ENCHANTRESS

  First published in Fantastic Adventures, December 1945

  What was the meaning of the glow from this ring that only a few could see?

  CHAPTER I

  The silver-nosed car lumbered along the broken trail of pavement, crawled past mud-filled shell holes, detoured around miles of construction work where new highways were building out from a new post-war city. The ragged passenger who sat beside the driver was filling his eyes with the moving panorama.

  It was nearly sunset. The intricate, serrated skyline, twenty miles to the northeast, was becoming impressive. Bright new buildings with sturdy domes and graceful towers—these were symbols of hope in this new post-war age.

  “That’s as far as I’ll take you,” said the flashily dressed young man at the wheel. “That’s my destination. The city’s expecting me. You see that big copperish dome near the center? That’s the government building.”

  “It looks important,” the ragged passenger commented.

  “That’s the dome I’ll have over my head.”

  The ragged passenger, who had given his name as “Lanky” Louis, gave a low sigh. He was glad the ride was nearly over. He glanced at his tattered shoes and dusty trousers, wondered whether the young man at the wheel would deign to take him through the gates into the city. Stragglers-with-out-a-country were far too numerous on this war-ripped continent. Cities were over-burdened with them.

  The horizon dimmed to purple. The lavender and yellow lights from the city grew steadily brighter, until the earth and sky became a mass of blackness around them.

  Now skimming over a stretch of wide new pavement, the silver-nosed car caught the gleam of amber floodlights. An immense roadside sign flashed its warning that every vehicle must stop for inspection. Ahead, the way was blocked by a massive steel gate.

  The motor idled silently while the handsome young driver snapped his, answers to the questions of the guards. They glanced at his papers.

  “Then you are Milton Molander, a new Counsellor?”

  “Right. Appointed by the National Manager. And I don’t like being delayed by formalities.”

  Four of the six chromium-helmeted guards gazed at him with what passed for respect, and one of them bowed and said, “We are honored.”

  But the two guards on Lanky’s side of the car exchanged sly looks, and one muttered, “Another Counsellor. The city is running over with Counsellors.” Milton Molander didn’t-hear. He was being questioned further. Had he no entourage? Was this one passenger his only bodyguard? A Counsellor should know that travelling is dangerous in these times.

  “I know,” said Molander “But these bands of cutthroats are nothing to me. I can outwit them. Or outfight them. I had an encounter just this afternoon. That’s how I happened to pick up this rapscallion you call my bodyguard. I saved his life.”

  “I thought it was I who saved yours,” said Lanky Louis. With steady eyes he gauged the effect of his words on the haughty young Counsellor. What he got was a chilling laugh.

  “The beggar’s got a perverted sense of humor,” said Milton Molander. “Any more questions?”

  One of the big steel panels of the gate swung up like the blade of a mammoth guillotine. The car eased through.

  The boulevard led them to the bright lights in the center of the city. A circle of theaters, shops, and restaurants enclosed the government plaza.

  “Beautiful,” said Lanky. He gazed at the stately facades of government buildings grouped in the plaza. Over the largest temple-like structure, the massive copper dome dominated the scene. Floodlights fountained up against its curved surface.

  “Beautiful,” said Molander. He was looking at a girl.

  The passing street crowds were looking at the girl too. And no wonder. The elevated glass porch of one of the minor government buildings was as brilliantly lighted as any stage. The stage was all hers. She was standing at an easel, painting quite unaware of the passing throngs.

  “Beautiful,” Lanky repeated. Then, returning his gaze to the lofty architecture, he added. “All decked out in flags.”

  “Huh?” said Molander. “You mean a red dress with diamonds.” He glanced back to make sure.

  They cruised on and Lanky chuckled. Then Molander saw the circle of flags around the dome. “Oh—er—flags. Yes, fifteen of them,” he said. “One for each Counsellor. Next week there’ll be sixteen.”

  “When I see the sixteenth,” said Lanky, “I’ll know it stands for you.”

  “Right.”

  “And I’ll remember that it would have hung at half mast if I hadn’t saved your life today.”

  Molander hesitated, avoiding Lanky’s eye. “Well, don’t be blowing about it . . . This is your reward, my bringing you here . . . Those guards wouldn’t have let you through the gate.” Then, with an icy thrust, “There’s too many of your breed infesting the streets of our cities. Something’s going to be done.”

  Lanky studied the face of the Counsellor. It was interesting that so young a man had risen to a position of such importance. This hardness, this cruelty that shone cold in his eyes, betrayed his quickness to take advantage of friend or foe. Lanky shrugged.

  “There were two flag poles at the top of the dome. What do they stand for?”

  “The tall one,” said Molander tersely, “is the national manager. The other, his secretary.”

  “Secretary?”

  “I suppose you never heard of Secretary Van Voorhees.”

  “Was his picture in the papers?”

  “As if you tramps ever read the papers,” Molander taunted. “But even if you did you’d never see him. Why should he seek publicity? He gets his job by appointment. He’s a governmental expert. But he’s a strange guy. He keeps out of the limelight. We local Counsellors will see him and the National Manager sometime next month.”

  Lanky shrugged again. There was the slight matter of food that the young Counsellor seemed to have overlooked. After all, a square meal as well as a ride to the city had been promised Lanky—hardly an excessive reward for his coming to the rescue with his dagger.

  Lanky drew the dagger, now,
and pretended to polish it on his ragged sleeve, thinking to remind the young Counsellor of his promise.

  “Put that thing away. It makes me nervous,” said Molander.

  “I wouldn’t have used it this afternoon if you hadn’t been desperate,” Lanky said quietly. “Even then I was careful not to kill any of those bloody bandits—”

  “I’d have killed them,” Molander growled.

  “I’m surprised. Some men would have talked their way past them. And you—a Counsellor—”

  But somehow Lanky was half convinced. This young man’s cruel talk and rash actions went together.

  “Here we around the plaza again.” Molander throttled down to a snail’s pace. The white light from the wide glass porch, brought his coldly handsome features into sharp relief again. “Will you put that dagger away?”

  “A thousand pardons,” said Lanky. “Careless of me to forget.” He slipped the short blade through his belt and adjusted his tattered black sash to conceal it. “We’re stopping? I don’t see any restaurants here. You mentioned a dinner.”

  “Go find it for yourself,” said Molander. “It’s high time I got rid of you and started meeting the right people.” Molander was again gazing over the heads of the sidewalk crowds toward the wide glassed-in porch where the girl was painting. He stopped the car.

  “Thank you for the ride,” said Lanky Louis quietly. He stepped to the curb, feeling acutely conscious of his sad rags. “Good luck, your honor.”

  But the young Counsellor didn’t answer. He was too busy gazing. Lanky gave a painful shrug and shuffled off. But halfway across the plaza he glanced back at the group of government buildings, particularly the smaller pinkish temple with the glass porch and the lovely girl in the red dress.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.