by John Burke
“If Jonathan could be prevented from breaking the seal—”
“More than that would be necessary to make the world absolutely safe. By making the preliminary moves, Jonathan has put the equilibrium of the whole creation in a perilous state. The gate must be wholly opened or wholly closed: it cannot be left as it is. Now run along, and put everything out of your mind until the dawn. I’ll do the worrying.”
So far from being reassured by their conversation, Nora had been profoundly unsettled. Nothing definite had been explained, and she was left with an intense dissatisfaction; she was chilled and miserable as she went back upstairs, not unaware of the quiet closing of one of the doors on the landing. She was on the verge of going straight into her brother’s room to challenge him, but weariness, darkness, and bewilderment weighed her down. It would only involve long explanations on her part. Besides, she had only Simon’s word for it that the noise had been caused by Denis. Why should Denis have been trying to spy on her?…unless he was Jonathan’s chosen instrument.… The insoluble problem was posed again, adding itself to her irritation over Simon’s unsatisfactory replies.
Again she pulled the curtain back from the window. The snow rose towards the castle, focal point of all the evil that had been banished from the world in the dark past. On the other side of the house it would be falling in a long, white road to the village below—the village that was so near yet so unattainable.
Nora began to wonder, not very optimistically, whether that barrier was still surrounding the house. There was no reason to suppose that Jonathan would have relaxed his precautions. But even if the barrier were still there, wouldn’t it be better to leave the house and hide somewhere, on the off-chance of being able, during the confusion—for she could visualise the morning only as hideous confusion—to slip away and give warning?
Warning—to whom?
And what could be done against these things, shapes, forces, disembodied spirits of evil…? Nora was overcome by a sudden comprehension of the essential weakness of man, his puny strength, and his utter helplessness in the face of pure evil.
She heard what might have been the voices of Frank and Denis talking, and was glad that others were as sleepless as she was.
“What do you suppose she was doing?” said Denis.
Frank shook his head moodily. “How should I know? She’s your sister—I don’t know what she’s like.”
“Don’t be an idiot—she’s not as fond of Simon as all that.”
“I thought at first.…” Frank left the sentence unfinished, but Denis looked up in comprehension.
“Thought she was Jonathan’s little servant going to prepare for the great moment?” he said.
“We still have no proof she’s not.”
“We’ve no proof of anything,” said Denis. “We’re all nuts. Two and two make five. All this is beyond me. I can’t get the hang of it at all; I can’t explain—”
“Talking of explaining,” Frank interrupted in a low voice, “how are we to explain Brennan’s body, lying there stretched out in your front room?”
“Who do you want to explain to?”
“Police—after this is all over.”
“Police? Village constables don’t fit into this at all. Unless things take a turn for the better, old son, we won’t need to explain anything to anybody—it’ll all be out of our hands. And if it does work out all right…mm, it would be hard, wouldn’t it? A black magic story wouldn’t go down very well.”
“They’d hardly believe it.”
“I’m not sure that I believe it myself,” said Denis. “It’s just outside my comprehension altogether. After you’ve thought about it long enough, it ceases to be frightful and becomes downright silly.”
Frank said: “If you’d seen what Nora and I saw when we went under that arch.…”
Denis looked at the watch lying on the chest of drawers. “Your turn, brother.” He rolled into bed and lay awake, while Frank settled on the end of the bed and drew a blanket about his shoulders.
“Have you thought about making a dash for it?” asked Denis.
“When—in the morning?”
“Anytime. Cut and run for it. Even if we couldn’t get past that little screen our devilish friend has put around the house, we might hide somewhere and perhaps make a nuisance of ourselves.”
“It’s a long chance.”
“Sure, it’s a long chance. If Jonathan is as bright as he seems to be, he could probably find us and fetch us back: any sorcerer would be able to cook up a spell that would root us out and bring us running. But it would upset him—put him off his stroke. I have an idea that friend Jonathan doesn’t like to exert himself—”
“Wastes his psychic energy, doing that sort of thing,” said Frank thoughtfully, as though the words did not mean very much to him.
“Exactly.”
It was too dark for either of them to see the other’s face. Frank said carefully: “We’re assuming that neither of us has any prior engagement with Jonathan.”
“That’s something we’ve got to assume: we’re agreed on that.”
“Run for it.… And leave your sister—and your mother and father—to face the music?”
Denis was silent.
“I don’t see how we can go,” Frank went on, “unless we all go. Common sense says get going, and leave the others: it won’t do any good for us all to stick here. But you can’t do it, can you?”
“And we can’t take the others,” said Denis, “because each extra one is an extra chance of having Jonathan’s chosen one with us. All right, then—that’s out.” He turned over and punched his pillow. “The time’s going damned slowly.”
Neither of them voiced the opinion that this cold vigil throughout the night was futile: the two hours of the watch went more slowly than any that they had known during the war, but they would not give up. If there had been any distrust earlier, it was gone now.
“If you’re not the same Frank I knew,” said Denis, “you’re wasting a lot of time putting up a show.”
“I was thinking the same about you,” came the reply.
They shivered in the bitter air, and Frank looked at the time.
“Not long,” he said.
“What are we expecting?”
“I’ve no idea.”
It was during Denis’s watch, shortly before he was due to awaken Frank, that the sound of footsteps was again audible along the landing outside. Denis shook his colleague, and they sat still for a moment. The footsteps passed their door. Frank was pulling his shoes on as Denis opened the door cautiously.
“Who is it?”
“Jonathan.”
Frank stood up. “This is it.”
“Must be going down to make his preparations—”
“And to get Simon.”
“You think that Simon—?”
“I’ve felt it all along.”
Jonathan stopped at the head of the stairs. He had been moving stiffly, as though recently awakened from a dream or a reverie so deep that he was unable to adjust himself to the waking world. He stopped and turned, but it was as though something pulled at him, insisting that he should continue on his way.
Denis whispered: “He’s still drowsy. He’s probably been keeping some sort of meditative silence during the night, like they’re supposed to, and he’s not fully conscious. Let’s rush him.”
“Don’t be a fool. He’s certain to be—”
“It’s worth it. He’s a dangerous animal, but he’s sleepy. Quickly—before we lose the chance.”
Frank did not hesitate any longer. He and Denis moved out swiftly into the open, in the faint light that seeped in through the landing window. Jonathan wavered: he was like a man trying to focus on something too elusive for him. The two men flung themselves forward, Denis going for his throat and Frank catching him about the body. They were prepared for almost any dreadful shock, but Jonathan offered no resistance. He uttered a sharp cry, and sank beneath their weight. His head met the fl
oor with a thud, and he lay still.
Denis sat back, puzzled. “That’s queer.… I thought we might get him unawares, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”
Frank said: “If he comes round again, we may not be so lucky. What can we do?”
Downstairs, a door grated open.
“What’s that? What’s going on up there?” It was Simon, his voice sharp and full of alarm. For some reason, they remained silent, and then there was the sputter of a match, and Simon came upstairs.
Nora’s door opened slightly. She left it ajar and stood away from the opening, looking out at the group crouched in shadow at the head of the stairs.
“I’ll get a candle,” said Frank.
Simon reached the top and gave an angry exclamation as his match went out. Nora wondered whether the failure of the match was responsible for this cry, or whether it was something to do with the huddled shape of Jonathan. If Simon had been in Jonathan’s power, perhaps this new turn of events—she had heard the brief scuffle, and could now guess what had happened—had freed him.
Light flared up again, and Frank put his candle on the banister. Wax dripping on to the rail, make a mess, have to clean it up, thought Nora absurdly. She wished she could see Simon’s face.
He said tersely: “You fools.”
“What do you mean by that?” Frank demanded.
“Don’t you know what risks you’re running?”
“We figured we’d get nowhere without taking some risks,” said Denis contemptuously, “instead of sitting back and letting trouble come looking for us.”
“Very brave, I’m sure. But physical violence won’t work in matters like this—”
“It’s worked,” said Denis.
“Temporarily. You’ve taken Jonathan unawares. When he recovers, what do you suppose will happen?”
“We’d better tie him up,” said Denis, turning as though to return to his room.
He was halted. Nora saw his movements slow down, like a film that is running down, and he swung one unavailing arm with infinite heaviness in the air. A fly struggling in treacle.…
Jonathan sat up.
“Foolish,” he said. “Very foolish. I don’t like my arrangements to be upset. You’ll pay for this—both of you.”
He excluded Simon, Nora realised. She took a step further away from the door, filled with a tingling horror of his looking in her direction and seeing into the darkness of the room.
Simon said: “Rash people. They should have left their fate in my hands, shouldn’t they, Mr. Jonathan?”
Jonathan’s voice was expressionless as he replied. “It might have been better for them. Striking me…no, that was a silly thing.”
Denis and Frank were still held, swaying and writhing in slow convulsions, their whole appearance so unnatural that Nora put her hand to her mouth and tried to stifle the harsh noise that choked in her throat. She could not look away. She saw Jonathan hunched against the wall, watching, and then Simon lifted his hand, and Frank and Denis were free—free to stagger against the wall beside Jonathan.
“Thanks,” gasped Denis, “but why didn’t you do that right away? If you can just arrange for something like that to fix Jonathan himself—and don’t unlock him in the way you’ve just done us—we’ll see that he doesn’t cause any mischief. When the dawn breaks, Mr. Jonathan will be fastened up as securely as my cash box used to be.”
“What makes you think I could do it?” asked Simon.
“Well.…”
Denis looked from Simon to Jonathan. Nora saw him shrug, and she saw Jonathan’s seamed, bitter face.
“If you don’t want another dose—”
“All right,” said Frank wearily, “we’ll go back to bed like good little boys.”
“Oh, no,” said Jonathan. “I think perhaps you should all come downstairs so that you can be…together. It’s nearly time. I was about to make my arrangements.”
Nora put her hand on the window-ledge and propped herself against it.
Jonathan said: “Would you be good enough to wake the others, so that we can proceed? Nice to have you all in one place. I want no interference. If you can’t be trusted to lie still in bed, you’d better assemble downstairs. No interference at all: take that as a warning, if you please.”
He gestured along the landing. Denis reluctantly came towards Nora’s door. She pushed the window up, trembling in case it should squeak, and looked out at the fleecy snow rising below her.
* * * *
Denis said: “I can’t help it: she’s just not there.”
“How long…?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Jonathan seized the candle and went into Nora’s room. Mr. and Mrs. Morris came out of their room and stood with the others. Mrs. Morris drew a coat about her, shivering; but her mouth was set and defiant.
Simon said quietly: “That’s very silly of her. She can’t get far.”
“Catch her death, she will,” said Mrs. Morris.
“It won’t do any good at all,” said Simon. “I think we ought to fetch her back.”
Denis said: “Good luck to her.”
“It won’t be good luck for anyone who’s caught out in the open this dawning. I’ll go and look for her.”
Mr. Morris, coughing and catching at his chest, left his wife’s side. “I know the place, Simon, man; I’ll go. Bad it is for her to be out in this. I’ll go.”
Simon shook his head. “I’m the one to fetch her,” he said decisively.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The snow, looking so safe and receptive from the window, had been deep. Nora was wet. If I had only thought of getting away earlier, and got dressed.… She hugged the coat about her as the cold wind struck at her, and could almost have gone back into the house. The wall of the barn gave some protection. If only her father had not been so conscientious in locking up the stable, she might have hidden in there for some time, but ever since they bought the new trap he had been ridiculously careful. Inside the barn would be better than this. She walked around it, her teeth chattering as she turned the corner. Or perhaps the old shed by the hen-house; but that was small and bare, and anyone who came searching for her would only have to open the door to find her.
The thought of Jonathan coming after her was a spur. There were no lights now from the village, but she could feel its comfortable presence down the slope, and longed to make a dash for it. Wet, chilled, miserable—it would still be worth it if she thought she could get there. But it was so unlikely.
Nora went into the barn. In summer, years ago, it had been a wonderful place. You could hide in the barn, and even people who knew you were in there had a job to find you. Now it seemed huge, cold, and unprotective. There was nothing that a torch could not seek out. She wondered whether Jonathan had a torch. And whether she could not manage to run for it even if Jonathan did come to find her. It might take him a minute or two to locate her, and perhaps she could slip out.
It wasn’t worth it. It would have been better to stay in the house with the others. Whatever was coming could best be faced in the company of others. If she had not succumbed to that burst of panic, that sudden surging will to self-preservation.… But she would not go back now. Having made such a move, nothing would drive her into the house again.
Until someone came for her.
Waiting for someone to come—as she was sure he would—she was, in one inexplicable moment that had all the quality of a mystical revelation, convinced of the menace that hung over the world. It had not been real before. It was not until she crouched in the shadows that she knew how real it all was. There was no reason why it should be now more than any other time: she was cold and wretched, more like a little girl who wants to get home to a warm fire and affectionate care, but her mind was clearer than it had been all day. Almost calmly, she understood that this was a crucial moment in the history of mankind and all the great spiritual forces that had gone to the making of mankind; she would not, could not possibly have
been here, cowering like a hunted animal, if the natural order of things had not been cruelly upset. This was a feeble gesture of defiance—a frightened, purposeless defiance—but it was the gesture of humanity against the powers of darkness. Human stubbornness and some deeper, indefinable instinct kept her here. Nuisance value, she thought, knowing the phrase to be appropriate, though she had no idea where she could have picked it up.
There was the sound of feet crunching in snow. She had been expecting it. The barn seemed to contract, so that she was pinned in her corner, with no way out. Whoever came in would fill the place: there would be no way round, no path to the door, no escape. With a salt taste in her mouth, she crouched in bitter resignation as the threatening noise came closer.
There was no respite. He did not explore the other outhouses first. He came straight to the barn, and she saw the faint oblong of the door filled with his dark outline. He said: “Nora.”
Surprise at hearing Simon’s voice almost tempted her to answer, but the taut self-control that had prevented her from returning to the house refused to let her speak. She waited, sure that the sound of her breathing and unavoidable shudders could be heard from a considerable distance away.
“Nora,” said Simon again. Then he came into the barn.
His shadow was lost in other shadows. Only the sound of his quiet, untroubled movements came to her ears. She could tell that he was walking across the floor towards her, and there was a cat-like confidence in his walk that assured her it would be useless to run. He could see her; he knew where she was.
He came right up to her and stood beside her, though even now she could not be sure that the dark shape was not just another of the black smudges that made a regular procession before her eyes in this enveloping gloom.
