Chessmen of Doom

by John Bellairs

  "I—I don't quite get you, Prof," said Fergie with a quick, nervous glance at Johnny. "What do you mean?"

  The professor pulled himself to his feet. The grisly charred skull was still in his hands. "I mean," he said quietly, "that a magic ritual was performed here, and I think that it had something to do with those two comets. I know it sounds incredible, but . . . look, let's go downstairs. This evil room is giving me the screaming woo-hoos!"

  Holding the skull at arm's length, the professor put it inside the closet. Then he led the boys downstairs to the kitchen, where they all got glasses of lemonade.

  Slowly and solemnly they went out to the porch and sat down on three cane-bottomed rockers. The crickets chirped loudly in the tall grass, and the stars burned brightly in the sky. For a long time no one said anything. Finally the professor broke the silence.

  "As I was going to say earlier," he muttered in a dreamy, faraway voice, "I think the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. Remember the end of my brother's weird poem? He talks about dragging the hairy stars from their nest. Well, it just came to me a few minutes ago that comets are hairy stars. That is what the ancient Greeks called them, because they thought that the long streaming tails were like hair. And the nest of comets is the Oort cloud that I was telling you about earlier. Somehow that evil man is using those chessmen and some occult ceremonies to bring comets toward the earth. But does he just want to scare people, or does he have something far more vicious in mind? He seems to be carrying out some project that was begun by my dear dead brother. I'd give a lot to know what our nasty friend really has in mind. But we may not know that until it's too late."

  Johnny and Fergie looked at each other anxiously. Could the professor be right? Could the man with the chessmen really control comets? It seemed unlikely, but then a lot of unlikely things had been happening around Perry's old estate in the last two months. Silence fell. The only sounds were the chirping of the crickets and the creaking of the rockers. Suddenly Johnny spoke up.

  "Uh . . . Professor?" he said, in a weak, throaty voice. "I have something to tell you. That is, we do. We—I mean, Fergie and me—we sneaked out with the boat on the night we were camping on that island, and—and we saw that nasty guy's cabin and the chessmen."

  The professor was shocked. For a while he said nothing, and when he finally spoke his voice was strained— he was trying hard to keep from exploding.

  "I see," he said through his teeth. "Would you care to tell me any more about your nocturnal adventure?"

  With a lot of hems and haws, Johnny told the story of their trip to the evil man's island. And he tried to explain, as well as he could, the weird blanked-out feeling that he and Fergie had had after their visit. The professor listened intently, and. when Johnny was through he heaved a deep discontented sigh and rubbed his hands over his face.

  "I wish I could get angry with you boys," he said, "but I always enjoyed going on nighttime adventures when I was a kid, and some of them were a bit hair-raising. Hmph! So you saw the nasty man's cottage, the chessmen, and a chart of the heavens. That certainly fits in with what I've managed to figure out. But the question now is: What do we do?"

  "We could swipe those chessmen from him," suggested Fergie. "Without them, he can't do his magic whoop-te-doo, can he?"

  The professor eyed Fergie coldly. "Oh, that's just a great big wonderful idea," he said. "Here we have someone who can keep us out of our house with an invisible wall, and we're supposed to sneak up on him and grab the chessmen while he's taking a nap?"

  "We could swipe them while he's away somewhere," said Fergie stubbornly. "He has to eat like ordinary people, doesn't he? Well, maybe when he's gone into town for some food we can creep up in a rowboat. It might not work, but we oughta give it a try. It's better than not doing anything!"

  The professor put his glass of lemonade down on the floor of the porch. Then he folded his arms and rocked for a while in silence.

  "You know, Byron," he said slowly, "there are times when you show signs of intelligence. The filthy wretch has to leave his silly island sometime! Of course, he may take the chessmen with him when he goes, but there's always the chance that he'll leave them at the cabin the way he did the night you two paid your visit. We should find out where he gets his supplies. It'll probably be at the general store in Stone Arabia, because it's close to the lake. I'll get friendly with the owner and see if I can get him to tell me when Ugly puss usually comes to town. Then we can borrow a motorboat and go zipping on out to the island. How does that sound?"

  Johnny tried to smile, but he just couldn't manage it. He thought the plan was crummy, and he also thought that Fergie and the professor were out of their minds for suggesting it. However, he knew that he would have to go along, because the other two were exceptionally strong-willed people. If something went wrong, they would all get killed together.

  Days passed, and the professor laid the groundwork for his plan. He got into a friendly checker game with Mr. Blodgett, the owner of the general store in Stone Arabia, and managed to find out that the nasty man was named Edmund S tally brass, and he was a man of very regular habits. Every Monday afternoon he came into town for supplies, and he spent the evening playing cards in the back room of a local tavern. He never went home till ten or eleven o'clock. So, on the very next Monday afternoon, around four o'clock, the professor set out to rent another motorboat. He had decided that Mike Flynn's prices were too high, so he went to another boathouse about a quarter of the way around the lake from Mr. Flynn's place. Rain was falling and the wind was whistling in the trees as the professor's car jolted down the muddy track that led to Higbee's Landing. The professor was wearing his yellow slicker and black rubber rain hat, and he was in high spirits. The boys wore plastic raincoats and were hatless. Both smiled bravely, but inside they were very tense—their stomachs were knotted up with fear. The professor guessed the boys' thoughts, and he tried to cheer them up.

  "Come, gentlemen!" he said jauntily. "Banish dull care and worry! This is going to be a breeze! Out to the island we go, we snatch old Nasty's chessmen, and back we come. Easy as pie!"

  "Yeah. Right you are, Prof," muttered Fergie without enthusiasm. He had been having second thoughts about this expedition lately, and it wouldn't have taken much talking to make him decide to stay home.

  "We're with you all the way," said Johnny tonelessly. At present he was wishing that he were back in Duston Heights.

  "Thank you both for your enthusiastic support," said the professor. "I can go by myself, if you wish."

  Johnny opened his mouth to say that he wouldn't mind staying behind, but then he saw Fergie's grim expression. If anyone suggested that Fergie was a coward, he would plunge headlong into an adventure, no matter how dangerous it was.

  "I'm not stayin' home!" said Fergie stubbornly. "An' neither is John—are you, John baby?"

  Johnny shook his head and stared dully at the wagging windshield wipers. He was in up to his neck, whether he wanted to be or not.

  The boys waited in the car while the professor talked to Mr. Higbee. Soon he came back, all smiles and good humor. It turned out that he had gotten a better deal from Mr. Higbee than he had gotten from Mike Flynn. So the boys piled out of the car and followed the professor down to the sagging dock, where a small white boat with an Evinrude outboard motor waited. The boys climbed in while the professor settled himself in the stern and adjusted the spark of the engine. With a grand flourish he pulled the cord, and a loud droning sound began. With an excited gleam in his eye the professor began to sing "The Skye Boat Song." It was about the time the future King Charles II of England was taken by fishing boat to the lonely Isle of Skye so that his enemies would not be able to seize him. Johnny knew the words too, and he sang along:

  Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing

  Onward! the sailors cry;

  Carry the lad that's born to be king

  Over the sea to Skye. . . .

  It was still raining. The distan
t islands were hidden by mist, and Johnny began to worry about rainwater filling up the boat. A rusty tomato can lay at his feet, but it would not be much use if they really had to bail. And there were other worries on his mind too.

  "Do you think we can find the island in all this rain?" he asked. Johnny had to cup his hands to his mouth and yell, because of the roaring motor.

  "I think I know where it is," the professor shouted back. "It's just beyond those islands up ahead!"

  What islands? thought Johnny. All he could see beyond the boat's prow were blowing shawls of gray murk. The weather began to get worse. The wind whipped into a gale, and sheets of rain slapped at their faces, soaking them. The professor gritted his teeth, and it was almost as if he were forcing the boat forward by the power of his will. Suddenly, with a jarring crrunch! the boat stopped. They had run aground.

  "Well, isn't this nice!" growled the professor. "I wonder where the devil we are!"

  It was hard to tell. Through the mist and rain they could see the vague shapes of swaying pine trees, but that was about all. This might be Mr. Stallybrass's island, or it might not. Rain pattered on the bottom of the boat and the wind made an eerie keening sound as it whipped the pine boughs. Finally the professor forced himself to his feet. He clambered over the side into water that was only up to his ankles. Johnny and Fergie got out too, and they dragged the boat farther onto the gravelly beach. The professor unhooked the khaki-colored Boy Scout flashlight from his belt and turned it on. Slowly, hesitantly, he began to pick his way up the beach, and the boys followed him. Suddenly they stopped. A bell was ringing, a high-pitched clangy bell.

  "What is that"?" exclaimed the professor as he squinted into the mist. "Do you remember if there was a dinner bell on Stallybrass's island?"

  Fergie shrugged. "We didn't see any, Prof, but it was dark. There might've been one, for all I know."

  Johnny said that he had seen a big bronze bell mounted in a tree, but it was on one of the large islands that they had passed during their daytime cruise.

  "Fine!" grumped the professor, as he folded his arms in disgust. "Someone is probably ringing the bell in alarm because there are trespassers on their island. With luck, we'll have German shepherd dogs chewing at our ankles in a few minutes." He heaved a deep, discontented sigh. "Well, gentlemen," he went on, "there's no point in sailing in that storm, so we'll just have to throw ourselves on the mercy of whoever lives here. I think I see a path among those trees over there—let's go and show them that we mean no harm."

  With the boys close behind him the professor stomped up the beach and onto the winding sandy path. The bell clanged on. Finally, through the mist, they saw a glimmering yellow light. Cheered up by this sign of life, the three travelers walked faster. At last they came into a clearing and saw a small stone chapel with a stubby bell tower. Lights were on in the chapel, and the door was open.

  The boys and the professor halted. They stared in wonder at this strange building and they felt afraid. Why was there a chapel way out here on an island, and why was it lit up in the middle of the night? Why was the bell ringing? The professor looked at the boys. Johnny wanted to run back to the boat, but with a mighty effort of will he forced himself to stay where he was. Fergie grew tense and groped in his pocket for the switchblade knife he always carried.

  "I don't suppose there's any point in standing out here forever," said the professor in a tight strained voice. "So let us go in and see for whom the bell tolls." With that he clenched his hand around his flashlight and stepped resolutely forward.

  As they crossed the threshold, the boys and the professor looked warily around. The chapel was empty. Rows of varnished pews stretched toward the communion rail, and on the altar six tall candles burned. Before the rail three coffins stood on sawhorses. A black woollen pall with a white cross was draped over each. A faint smell of incense and candle wax hung in the air.

  Silently the professor began walking down the aisle, and the boys followed him. They paused briefly by the coffins and then went up three broad steps and through the gate in the railing. They stood in the sanctuary, glancing about nervously. The bell had stopped clanging, and the silence seemed deafening. Johnny felt a chill creeping over his body. He looked at the other two, and from their pale, tense faces he knew that they felt the way he did. At last, after what seemed like forever, the professor spoke.

  "All this is very odd indeed," he muttered in a voice that trembled a bit. "Here we have everything ready for a funeral—a multiple funeral, it seems—and yet there are no mourners, no priests or ministers, no. . ."

  His voice died. A small door on the right side of the sanctuary had opened noiselessly, and a man in a long black cassock walked into the room. His hands were pale and bony, and his face reminded Johnny of a skull. His red-rimmed eyes burned in deep-set sockets. As they watched, this strange-looking man crossed the polished floor, nodded quickly toward the crucifix on the altar, and walked over to where they were standing.

  "Good evening," he said in an odd, high-pitched voice. "Can I be of any assistance to you?"

  The professor waited about half a minute before speaking. A lot of weird thoughts were running through his mind, and none of them were very pleasant.

  "I was wondering," he said at last, "if there is a funeral that is going to take place here."

  The man grinned unpleasantly. "You are very perceptive," he said in a mocking tone. "Very perceptive indeed. We are here to mourn the passing of three vacationers—two boys and an old man—who died tragically in a boating accident. If you wish to stay for the funeral service, you may."

  The words of this strange man struck terror into the hearts of the boys and the professor. Panic rose inside them, and they began to wonder if they had gotten trapped inside a nightmare. After a wild look around, the professor dashed to the three coffins. With a quick twist of his hand he flicked the pall away from one, and peered at the brass plate that was bolted to the mahogany lid. The engraved letters seemed to squirm before his eyes:

  In memory of

  RODERICK CHILDERMASS

  tragically drowned

  in

  Lake Umbagog

  R.I.P.

  With a wild, frightened yell the professor whirled around. The man was gone. Johnny and Fergie stood staring at the coffins, their eyes wide with fear.

  "Where is he?" barked the professor. "Where the devil has he gone to?"

  "He . . . just disappeared," said Johnny in a small, throaty voice. "Professor, what's going on?"

  Frightened, the professor grabbed Johnny's arm. "Come on, you two!" he yelled. "We've got to get out of here!"

  The boys didn't need to be persuaded. Madly they pounded down the aisle after the professor, and before they knew it they were on the path, with the wind blowing rain in their faces. They tripped over logs and roots in their haste to escape. Gasping for breath, they finally arrived at the shore, where the rented boat waited. It had been raining so hard that there was a lot of water in the bottom of the boat, but that did not matter. Johnny and Fergie threw their weight against the bow, and the boat slid into the choppy, rain-swept lake. Splashing through the surf, the professor clambered into the boat and tried to start the engine. On the first three tries nothing happened. He tore open the engine's hood and took out the spark plugs. After drying them hastily with his handkerchief he put them back and once more pulled at the starting cord. The Evinrude engine roared into life, and the boat sped out onto the lake. Clinging to the gunwales with their hands, the boys cheered wildly, because it looked as if their troubles were over. But all of a sudden the outboard engine coughed, sputtered, and died. Angrily the professor jerked at the cord, but it was no use. The wind buffeted the boat, slapping it this way and that. The water in the bottom rose to ankle level, and Johnny dropped to his knees and began frantically bailing with the tomato can. "O God, our refuge and our strength," he prayed, saying the same phrase over and over, but his words were whipped away by the howling wind. The boat heeled to
the wind, drifting helplessly, and then suddenly Fergie stood up. A wild, frightened light was in his eyes.

  "We're all gonna die!" he screamed, waving his arms "Help us, somebody! Please help!"

  "Sit down!" bellowed the professor with his hands cupped to his mouth. "For heaven's sake, sit down or you'll—"

  He never got to finish his sentence. With wild wind-milling gestures Fergie lurched to one side. The boat rocked dangerously and then tipped over, and all three were plunged into the cold, churning waters of the lake.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As the gray drizzly morning dawned, three very wet and bedraggled figures sat perched on an overturned rowboat. Johnny was at one end, Fergie was at the other, and the professor crouched in the middle, with the canoe paddle in his hand. His hair was sopping wet and was plastered to his forehead, and there was a very crabby expression on his face.

  "I feel absolutely wretched," growled the old man. "On the other hand, we are still alive, so I guess we ought to be grateful for small favors. How are you boys doing?"

  "Pretty well, Prof," said Fergie wearily. "I'll bet you didn't know that a rowboat can hold more people upside down than it can right side up. I read that somewhere."

  "I'll file that little piece of information away," said the professor dryly. He twisted his head around and peered at Johnny, who was straddling the stern of the boat. "How about you, John?"

  Johnny felt waves of nausea rising inside him, but he fought them down, swallowed hard, and stared straight ahead. "I think I can hang on for a long time," he said bravely. "As long as there aren't any big waves, I mean. Do you suppose anyone will come to rescue us?"

  As if in answer a droning motorboat sound began in the distance. It drew closer, and then a white-and-blue official-looking speedboat appeared out of the mist. A big swiveling searchlight was mounted on the front, and the words stone Arabia police dept. were stenciled neatly on the side, under a silver star. A cop in a rain slicker stood in the bow, and he held a megaphone in his hand.