Hamilton looked at his wrist-watch, the luminous figures glowing brightly in the gloom. It was after six — the morning must be unusually dark, he thought.
They did not speak to each other again, but sat still, each busy with his own thoughts. Hamilton found himself wondering if this were the last morning the world would ever know. Was evil to triumph thus? He could not believe it, and yet what hope was there? In less than six hours’ time Nicholas Gaunt would loose his hellish powers, and the old, joyful world would be blasted for ever. Never would the happy birds sing again, never would he see the light on the face of a child. His heart was like lead in his breast, and his thoughts moved sluggishly, like footsteps in a dream.
When at last the rector came, opening the door to let in no flood of early sunlight but only an angry crimson glow, Hamilton got slowly to his feet and followed the priest into the little sacristy.
The old man said no word, but began to vest at once. Hamilton saw that he was putting on red vestments, and knew that he intended to say the Mass of the Holy Ghost in a last appeal to the love of God.
He himself put on cassock and surplice, and, taking a taper, he went out to light the altar candles. It was so dark that he lit the tall standard candles in the sanctuary also, making a little pool of light in the midst of the obscurity.
Tony and Valerie formed the only congregation, and Hamilton could see their faces as two pale blurs beyond the chancel screen. Even in the church the heat was now appalling, and Hamilton marveled at the rector’s apparent unconcern, clad as he was in the heavy, clinging garments of his office. But the old man said the Mass with the same care and concentration which he had always known. It was a tremendous encouragement to watch his precise, ordered movements, and to hear his low, clear voice as he stood at the altar, seemingly quite unmoved by the approaching catastrophe. His faith was truly inspiring, and as the service proceeded all three felt their faltering spirits raised by his heartening example.
A disconcerting little incident occurred at the Consecration, for when Hamilton attempted to ring the handbell to announce the coming of the Presence it emitted no sound. Why, he never discovered. It may have been some quite trivial mechanical defect, but at the time it made a profound impression upon his mind, more so even than all the other weird phenomena which had gone before. It seemed to him that matter itself was now leagued against the God Who had created it.
They all made their Communion together, but Hamilton, at least, felt that he had never made so unprofitable a use of the Sacrament. The sublime act of union with Christ made no impression upon him whatsoever. His spiritual faculties seemed quite dead. Truly this was the dark night of the soul.
When it was over the rector unvested and knelt for a while before the Tabernacle to say his thanksgiving. The others left the church together.
If it had been almost unbearably hot within the building it was a thousand times worse in the open air. For a moment all three stood aghast, reeling against the sides of the porch. The still air was like the breath of a furnace, and was full of the smell of fire. Overhead the lowering sky shone like a sea of blood, and the great wall of fog reflected its lurid glow. An ominous silence hung over the whole earth.
As they dragged their weary limbs towards the rectory Valerie pointed mutely to the flower-beds, where the blooms hung black and withered from their stems. The unspoken thought throbbed in each mind: if this is but a presage of the coming disaster, what will the ghastly reality be like?
They were making a miserable pretence of eating when the rector came in. At once they were aware of a new atmosphere in the room, an atmosphere of hope. Breathlessly they waited for him to speak. He stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at them, a little smile on his lips. Then he said:
“Do not despair, my children; all may yet be well. God will not suffer His people to perish utterly. He spoke to me this morning, as He has always spoken; not in words, you understand, but through the inward sense. We will go to Kestrel at once.”
For a moment there was a stupefied silence, broken by Tony, who asked:
“But how, Father? You said yourself that we could never find it in the fog.”
“I spoke hastily, my son. Guidance will be given if we have faith. God has chosen one of us as His agent, but which one I do not know. We will all go together.”
“Valerie, too, Father?”
“Yes. She will be in no more danger there with us than here alone, whether we succeed or fail. But I do not think we shall fail.”
Tony said no more, but stood up with a gesture of resignation. The thought was in his mind that perhaps the frightful tension of the last few hours had unhinged the old man’s brain, but he did not give it voice.
Impelled by a sudden, unaccountable impulse, Hamilton excused himself and rushed upstairs to his room, where he got out the pistol which had stood him in good stead once before. Making sure that it was ready for use, he thrust it into his pocket. Whatever Gaunt’s superhuman powers, seven heavy leaden bullets in his vitals might prove a powerful argument if all else failed, he thought, even if silver bullets were the traditional ammunition against such as he.
When he joined them the others were ready to start, and so the four of them set out: two men, a frail old priest, and a girl, against all the panoply of hell.
Chapter XX
I
Simon Vaughan flung the empty sardine-tin among its fellows on the floor and lit his last cheroot. Soon it would be time for him to join his colleague in the crypt, and he was weary unto death.
For four days he had assisted Gaunt in his efforts to prevent Tony’s return to the island, and the strain was beginning to tell. Neither of them had slept at all, but whereas the doctor seemed to thrive on the unnatural life, Vaughan’s flabby face was drawn and sunken, and there were purple stains beneath his red-rimmed eyes. Even now his great head nodded, and the cigar hung limply from his lips.
The kitchen where he sat was in a state of disorder that would have wrung Mrs. Lorrimer’s heart. A pile of gutted tins and broken bottles showed how the two had lived since they had been left alone, and the remains of a fire smouldered on top of a great heap of ashes in the hearth, for it was very cold within the Abbey walls. An untrimmed lamp flickered on the bare, dirty table.
Presently the cheroot fell from Vaughan’s lips and he roused himself and picked it up with a sigh. Resting his head on his hands, he began to go through the same sequence of thoughts which had weighed upon him ever since that fateful morning when Tony had rebelled against Gaunt. How he envied the young man, free and out of the doctor’s power for ever! Would that he himself had the courage to follow in his footsteps, but he knew that he had not. He would go through with it to the end, helping to bring about a consummation he had no real desire to see. He knew now that he had been deluding himself ever since he had become one of the brotherhood of Darkness. He had delighted in foulness and blasphemy unspeakable against his former faith, but deep in his heart he had never made the ultimate rejection of beauty and every work of God which was the mark of the true Satanist. He did not wish to see the world blasted any more than Tony did — he was too fond of his own comfort. What of wine and the beauty of women? Were they of no account?
He realized that he had never loved evil for its own sake, as Gaunt did, living life almost monastic in its severity. He had merely welcomed this creed as an excuse to give his sensual desires full rein, while at the same time it gave him temporal power, which he loved, and an elaborate ritual of worship which he delighted in. Gaunt’s condemnation of Tony included him also. He could not welcome the ultimate triumph of Satan any more than he.
Had he never been a priest, he thought, he might have married and lived a normal life; a trifle intemperate and passionate, perhaps, but no worse than thousands of others. But he had been unable to endure the rigorous continence of the Roman priesthood, and his passions, turned from their proper channels, had led him into unseemly perversions. He had been exposed, cast out, and the swi
ng of the pendulum had carried him into the hands of Nicholas Gaunt and the Order of Satan. The continual demand in that quarter for apostate priests to celebrate the Black Mass had made him a welcome addition to their ranks. And now here he was, a lecherous old man, for he shuddered to think how old he really was, trembling before the imminent destruction of the only world he knew.
He lifted his head sharply. The wordless summons had sounded in his brain: Gaunt was ready and waiting for him. With something very like a groan he hauled himself to his feet and made his way slowly down to the crypt.
Gaunt was kneeling before the altar, clad in his ceremonial robes of white linen, with their symbolic embroidery in red. A flaring lamp beside him cast his shadow across the diagram on the floor. As the other approached he raised his head and looked at him. His face was leaner than ever, and the thin nose stood out like the beak of a predatory bird. His sunken eyes glowed like live coals, following Vaughan’s ponderous movements as he bent over the open trunk, taking out his own vestments and putting them on hastily.
The doctor rose from his knees and came down the altar steps, stopping a few paces short of his colleague. His eyes never left the other’s face. So challenging was his attitude that Vaughan, after glancing at him uneasily several times, finally stood still and met his gaze.
“Are you ready, Simon?” the doctor purred.
“Yes, Master.” Vaughan’s eyes dropped, and he shuffled his feet. Gaunt’s lip curled, and he went on:
“And willing?”
“Of course!”
“Good! You will have more to do than I anticipated.”
“What do you mean?” A thin note of alarm crept into Vaughan’s voice.
“I have been watching them. Intervention is on the way. They are coming, through the mist, guided by the ministers of Light. They will be here before noon.”
“But they cannot get in. The gates are barred.”
“I know, but we must take no chances now. They may be given power — I could not see, the future was hidden. So I propose to put my alternative plan into operation, Simon.”
The other stood motionless, his eyes dilating with terror.
“Not — not the Veil?” he quavered.
“Yes. If I merely release the monstrosity it may be days — months even — before there is any effect. Much may happen in the interim — even Judgment. It is too slow to rely upon. Therefore I am going to use the affinity of the monstrosity for its own kind to reopen the breach in the Veil. That will be the end, Simon. Nothing can withstand the influx of chaos and destruction which will instantly take place.”
“No — no — not that!” Vaughan almost choked with fear.
Gaunt’s head sank between his narrow shoulders, and his fingers clawed. His voice was a menacing whisper.
“Twice you have resisted me, Simon. I promised that a third time would be the last.”
Vaughan cowered and finished his robing with shaking hands. When the leaden circlet was on his brow and he had taken up his wand he looked at Gaunt.
“The unction?” he asked. Gaunt nodded briefly and, turning, strode towards the other trunk, which stood at some little distance. Vaughan watched him go with narrowed eyes, his noisy breathing suddenly hushed. The moment the doctor was beyond the outermost ring of the diagram upon the floor the other sprang, hurling his great body up the altar steps. Setting his back against the stone, he raised the rod in his left hand and uttered one word in an unknown tongue.
Gaunt stopped in his tracks and slewed his head round, staring back over his shoulder. Slowly his body followed, then, his face twisting with anger, he started back towards his colleague. But he got no farther than the outer circle of the diagram, finding his progress barred by the same immaterial barrier which Hamilton and Lorrimer had once encountered. For a moment it seemed as if his rage would get the better of him, and he made one frantic effort to force his way through by sheer strength. But his self-control was too great for blind fury to master him, and he stepped back, folding his arms and glaring at the man who was defying him.
“So,” he snarled, “rebellion! I might have known. Once a priest, always a priest. I should never have trusted you, Simon.”
Vaughan made no reply, but continued to bend all the power of his will upon maintaining the invisible wall of force round the circle. Normally he knew that he could not have withstood the doctor’s will for a moment, but he himself had made this diagram, and, knowing how powerful it was, he relied utterly upon its protection. At the back of his mind was a tremendous feeling of astonishment at himself for having at last burnt his boats by defying his erstwhile master in this decisive fashion. He could hardly believe that he had, indeed, done so, and he could not imagine whence had come the sudden influx of courage which had prompted him. He wondered what Gaunt would do now, and watched with vague curiosity as the doctor went to the trunk, which had been his undoing, and began to rummage in its interior. With sudden horror he saw him straighten up, a curiously contrived apparatus in his hands.
Gaunt turned the thing over speculatively. He had never used it before, and he was doubtful of its efficacy in this case, but if it operated as it should it would save him a great deal of trouble, and energy, which he wished to conserve for the great work he had to do at noon.
The instrument was actually a ‘blasting-rod’, similar to those used by the witches of old, and consisted of a hazel staff, symbolically carved, terminating in three prongs of iron, bound to it with copper wire. It resembled in appearance the top of a lightning conductor, though its purpose was the exact opposite of that humane contrivance.
Holding it firmly in both hands, he leveled it at his mutinous colleague and began to speak the words of the appropriate ritual. Vaughan thrust all doubts and difficulties from his mind and concentrated his whole energy against this new threat.
For some minutes there was absolute silence in the gloomy crypt, then a low humming sound began, proceeding from the rod itself, which simultaneously started to vibrate. Gaunt observed that a bluish glow was gathering about the prongs. This was as it should be, and with a smile of triumph he opened his lips again and spoke the last phrase of the ritual.
Instantly a stream of livid fire leapt from the end of the rod, burst through the invisible barrier, and fell full upon the hapless Vaughan with a crash like a thunderclap. He gave one stricken cry and fell writhing to the ground. Gaunt walked quietly up to him and stood looking down curiously.
“I am sorry, Simon,” he said calmly, “but you shouldn’t have tried to resist me. I warned you many times. On your own head be it!”
The other gazed up at him, his face twisted with anguish, but a strange dignity in his eyes.
“I have failed,” he muttered, “but at least I tried to stop you. You cannot go on with this, Gaunt. They will not allow you to.”
Gaunt threw back his head and laughed aloud.
“Let them try to stop me!” he cried, and, stepping over Vaughan, he lifted the altar-stone. In a moment he had climbed over the side and disappeared, leaving the dying man alone.
Vaughan struggled feebly on to his knees and began to crawl up the altar steps. He managed to catch the edge of the front slab and tried desperately to drag himself to his feet, but his strength failed and he fell back, groaning.
In a voice so low that, had there been any human ears to hear, they would scarce have caught the words, he murmured:
“Have mercy, Jesu!” Then he sighed once and lay still. The unquiet spirit had passed beyond mortal judgment.
II
The launch chugged steadily on through the fog, which was so thick that none of the four occupants of the boat could see another, save as vague shadows in the gloom. The water was dead still and black as ink. Its very nature seemed to be subtly changed, for it did not foam in their wake, but surged sluggishly round the stern like thick oil.
Tony crouched over the wheel, his face only a few inches from the illuminated compass by which he was endeavouring to steer a cours
e. Hamilton sat beside Tony, glaring into the dazzling funnel of radiance thrown into the fog by the bow searchlight. He very much doubted if it would pick up an obstacle in time to avert a collision, but he was hoping for the best. Valerie and the rector sat together in the stern.
When they had arrived at the harbour, some fifteen minutes before, they had found a small knot of villagers on the quay, gloomily regarding the wall of fog which shut off the sea. No attempt had been made either to help or hinder, and they had watched Hamilton and Tony drag the launch into the water without comment. Hamilton supposed that they were in the grip of the same deadly lethargy against which he himself was struggling so fiercely. Every movement was an effort. It seemed so much easier to stay still and just let things take their course. But, driven by their indomitable purpose, the four had at last got the boat afloat and climbed aboard.
They had been immediately swallowed up by the fog, and had to feel their way out of the narrow harbour mouth with boat-hooks. Once they were in the open sea the rector had advised a compass course due north-west, which, he maintained, would leave them very close to Kestrel at the end of thirty minutes.
Since then they had exchanged no more than a couple of words, sitting staring with smarting eyes into the incredible denseness of the ruddy cloud which covered them. Denser than any fog they had ever known it was — worse than London at its damnedest, as Hamilton had remarked grimly. It was not damp, as water vapour is, but dry and hot, burning the eyes and lungs, smelling sulphurous and bitter, like the smoke from a smouldering heap of pit refuse.
The dead calm made navigation easier, but Tony doubted very much if they would get within a mile of the island. It was unlikely that the tide-race had ceased to run, and they would probably be swept miles out of their course. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes fixed to the compass, dimly seen beneath its hooded lamp, and each time the illuminated card swung to left or right he corrected the movement by a compensating deflection of the rudder.
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