Dark Conflict

by John Glasby

  The eerie shapes solidified still further, began to fake on a definite form. Red glaring eyes stared balefully at him out of the shadows.

  Blake appeared to be straining forward against something he couldn’t see. Nayland fancied he could make out the dark, hazy outline of the mask and the feathered headdress around his companion’s face, then the illusion was gone and Blake’s features seemed normal again. His fingers were flexing and twitching uncontrollably by his sides, clenching and unclenching spasmodically. But Nayland knew that it wasn’t really Blake who knelt there facing him; only the empty shell of the other’s body. His spirit was somewhere far away, torn from his body by a magic as old as time itself, moving along a rain-soaked country lane in the wind and storm, searching for a clue which might lead them to Simon. One false move and it would be all over. Blake’s mind and soul, divorced from his body, would never return, would be lost for ever somewhere out there in a grey limbo that had no meaning.

  While his empty body, the face fixed in an imbecilic grin, would spend the rest of its days in some madhouse, completely and incurably insane.

  A sense of urgency seized him.

  ‘Hurry,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘While the power lasts. There isn’t much time.’

  He grew aware that Blake was speaking again. ‘I can just make out the words, but they’re very indistinct. One of the words on the post is — Rodminster.’

  ‘Rodminster — you’re sure of that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nayland released his breath in a long, drawn-out sigh of relief. With an effort he pulled himself upright. There was a ring of triumph to his voice as he recited the monotonous Latin phrases.

  Gradually, the flickering light from the ring of candles grew stronger. The dark, leaping shapes that strained from out of the corners, began to dim, to fade away. Outside, the storm, past its height, was moving slowly away towards the horizon.

  He found that he was shivering slightly by the time he had finished the Incantation. Beside him, Blake stirred, looked about him scarcely comprehending, and then straightened up. He rubbed his face with a reflex gesture as though something had been irritating his skin.

  ‘Didn’t it succeed?’ he asked slowly

  Stiffly, Nayland got to his feet. ‘It was touch and go,’ he remarked calmly. ‘Apparently, they’ve got Simon hidden away at some place called Rodminster. We’d better check on this place right away.’

  In the library, Nayland took down the road map of the surrounding district and flipped through the pages rapidly.

  ‘Ah, here we are. Rodminster. About thirty miles away. It looks as though we’re on the right track after all.’

  ‘What do you intend to do? Go down there right away?’

  Nayland ran his fingers through his hair. ‘There’s no sense in rushing in as we did the last time. We’ll have to plan this thing carefully if we want to stay alive. We have one advantage over them so far. They don’t know that we’ve managed to locate their hideout. Our best plan will be to go down there and put up in the village. There’s bound to be an inn there no matter how small it is. We’d better make some discreet inquiries before we decide on any definite plan of action.’

  ‘Right. When do we start?’

  ‘We’ll go down tomorrow. It should only take us an hour or so to get there. We’ll leave in the afternoon and get there shortly before dark.

  ‘We don’t want too many inquisitive eyes watching us, but unless I miss guess, these people will be keeping themselves to themselves. They won’t want to advertise their presence too much in case they attract undesirable attention.

  ‘News will travel fast in a small village like this and there’s bound to be gossip if anything out of the ordinary happens. These village folk never miss much of what goes on in their midst. One thing is worrying me, though. Chalka was meant to meet us at nine but that was almost an hour ago.’

  Blake shrugged. ‘Perhaps he decided to go after these people himself.’

  ‘I sincerely hope not. If he has, he’s a damned fool. Unfortunately, there’s no time to go out and look for him. We can only hope he knows how dangerous these people are.’

  *

  Four o’clock in the afternoon. Darkness was already beginning to creep in from the eastern horizon. In the west, there was only a dull red glow, fading perceptibly, to indicate where the sun had been. Soon, it would be completely dark and the mist was even now beginning to swirl around the empty hedgerows on either side of the narrow, winding road. Silence wrapped itself tightly around the speeding car.

  ‘You’d better check the map again, Richard,’ said Nayland tersely. ‘I’m sure we ought to have reached Rodminster by now, unless we’ve taken a wrong turning somewhere.’

  A dark shadow jumped out into the light from the car headlights, swerved abruptly, and then skittered into the ditch on the opposite side of the road. Nayland pulled hard on the wheel cursing softly under his breath.

  Blake leaned forward, bending over the road map spread out on his knee.

  ‘If only we could come across some town or village, we might be able to get our bearings,’ he said irritably. They seemed to have been travelling for hours without seeing a single light or house.

  ‘We’ve got to reach some place pretty soon.’ Blake lifted the map to see more clearly. ‘We can’t go on driving for ever without getting somewhere.’

  Nayland nodded. It was stupid to begin getting alarmed simply because they had temporarily lost their way in the mist.

  Ten minutes later, just as he was beginning to despair of ever seeing any sign of life again, they topped a low rise and saw a small village sprawled out below them.

  ‘It looks as though we’ve arrived somewhere at last,’ he said, gripping the wheel tightly.

  Blake glanced up from the map. ‘Why this is the place I saw —’ He paused and rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘That’s funny. I could have sworn I’ve seen this place before but I can’t for the life of me remember where — or when.’

  ‘Maybe you have seen it before,’ said Nayland slowly. ‘But not in the flesh.’

  ‘You mean this is — Rodminster?’

  ‘I think so.’ He eased his foot on the accelerator and leaned back in his seat.

  He slowed the car to a crawl and stopped it in front of the Inn. It was the only large three-storied building in the entire village. There were lights in the windows and the quiet murmur of soft music. He opened the door and got out.

  ‘This looks like a fairly decent place to stay,’ muttered Blake.

  Nayland grinned and stretched his cramped limbs. ‘It looks the only place,’ he corrected. ‘I telephoned the landlord yesterday so he’ll be expecting us.’

  The door creaked a little as he pushed it open and went inside and for some unaccountable reason the sound sent a little tremor through him. But inside, there was a warm log fire burning in the wide hearth and bright lights which hurt their eyes a little after the darkness outside

  The innkeeper, a tall, bronzed man with a cheerful open face came to meet them and took their cases from them.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said heartily. ‘Mr Nayland and Mr Blake, I presume?’

  Nayland nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said slowly. He went over to the roaring fire and held his chilled hands out to the flames. Slowly, some of the warmth was beginning to come back into his body

  ‘I’ll see that your bags are taken up to your rooms,’ the landlord said. ‘Meanwhile I suppose you’ll be wanting something hot to eat.

  ‘It isn’t often that we have visitors here at this time of the year. A very quiet place but in the summer things are different. Now, you’ll have the place all to yourselves, except in the evenings, of course, when some of the regulars drop in, you know.’

  Nayland stood looking about him. Everything seemed so sane and normal here, with the fire crackling in the hearth and the bright lights shining off the glass bottles at the back of the bar. It was difficult to believe that, if their
guesses were anywhere near the truth, terrible things were being planned only a short distance away.

  The landlord went out with their bags and returned a few moments later with a couple of glasses. ‘Something to warm you up after your journey, gentlemen,’ he said jovially. ‘I’ll have a meal ready for you in a few minutes. I trust you had a good trip down.’

  ‘We thought we were lost at one time,’ Nayland said. ‘I suppose we must have taken a wrong turning some distance back.’

  ‘That’s easily done, sir, especially at this time of the year. It seems to get dark so suddenly and it’s quite simple to make a mistake.’ He looked curiously at them for a long moment, then went on: ‘Tell me, gentlemen, if it isn’t too impertinent a question: Why did you come down here to Rodminster? Surely it wasn’t for pleasure — not in December.’

  Nayland glanced up sharply but there was no expression on the other’s face. Yet there had been something in his voice that made him pause. Almost as if the other knew why they were there, or had guessed it, and wanted to confirm his suspicions.

  ‘In a way we’re combining business with pleasure,’ he said evasively, choosing his words carefully. ‘As a matter of fact, this village was recommended to us as a quiet place where we could get away from everything for a little while.’

  It sounded a lame reply and he had the idea that there was a sharp look of disbelief on the other’s face.

  ‘I see, sir. Of course.’ The landlord sounded uneasy. ‘I merely thought that you might be here because —’ he broke off suddenly.

  ‘Because what?’ prompted Blake.

  The landlord hesitated for a long moment, then: ‘I thought you might be down here from London in connection with those strange goings-on at the old Lowrey place.’

  ‘The Lowrey place?’ asked Nayland. ‘Why — what’s been happening there?’

  The other seemed suddenly ill at ease. ‘It’s nothing really, I suppose. If that isn’t the reason why you came here, maybe I oughtn’t to talk about it.’

  ‘Maybe you had better tell us about it,’ suggested Nayland. ‘It may have some bearing on why we’re here.’

  It was now the landlord’s turn to look surprised. When he spoke again, his voice was guarded and he changed the subject completely. ‘I’ll go and see whether your meal is ready yet, gentlemen.’

  He left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  ‘I knew it!’ said Blake hoarsely. ‘They have got Simon here and they’re holding him prisoner at this Lowrey place somewhere outside the village.’

  ‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ warned Nayland. ‘We don’t know anything for certain. We’d better get the landlord to talk before we decide anything. Maybe a few of the other villagers could tell us something of what’s been happening too.’

  ‘But at least we know that there’s something wrong.’

  Somewhere in the distance, a door opened quietly and there was the low murmur of hushed conversation. A moment later the door closed again and when the landlord returned, his face was grey and strained with a look of horror that he couldn’t hide.

  ‘Something wrong?’ asked Nayland, a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach

  The other nodded sickly. ‘That was Bert Cowdrey, one of the gamekeepers around here. They’ve just discovered the body of a man up on the edge of the moors less than a quarter of a mile from here. They say he was in a horrible mess when they found him.’

  ‘Any idea who he was?’ asked Blake harshly.

  The landlord shook his head. ‘He wasn’t a local man and they haven’t identified him so far, sir. In fact, I don’t know whether they ever will. You see, he wasn’t a white man at all, he was a Negro!’

  Nayland felt the surging horror leap inside him. The nightmare came back with a vengeance.

  Chapter Nine – The Thing That Kills

  Brushing aside the landlord’s protests about the spoiled meal, Nayland and Blake left the inn and made their way along the narrow, winding street which led upward towards the low hill to the south of the village. Gradually, they left the houses behind and came out into the country, following the instructions that the landlord had given to them.

  Nayland didn’t want to believe what he felt inside. It was just possible that he was wrong about the identity of the man who had been killed, but he didn’t think so.

  ‘You’re thinking that maybe this murdered man is Chalka, the man who came to see us about the mask and headdress,’ said Blake after an uneasy pause.

  ‘Maybe it won’t be, but I’ve an awful suspicion that it is. If so, why did they kill him?’

  Blake rubbed his chin in thoughtful silence, then said soberly, ‘My guess would be that after he left in the morning, Chalka remained close to the house, possibly waiting for us to leave, thinking he might get his hands on the mask and headdress but instead Caltro turned up and took them.’

  Nodding in agreement, Nayland added, ‘So obviously Chalka somehow followed them to Rodminster.’

  They walked on in silence. A little further on, they saw the narrow path that led off the road into the blackness of the trees. There were lights at the far edge of the moors and Nayland felt his feet lurch and bump over loose stones as they walked upon the path.

  The smell of the undergrowth was sharp in their nostrils, catching at the back of their throats. Ahead of them there was a small group of men standing on the edge of the wood, just visible in the curling mist.

  They glanced round as Nayland and Blake approached. Briefly, Nayland introduced Blake and himself, and explained that they had just arrived in the inn and had heard of the trouble from the landlord and come along to see if they could be of any assistance.

  If the others resented them pushing their way in like this, none of them gave any outward sign. One man, who introduced himself as Dr. Reeves, said quickly, but with a touch of horror in his voice:

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before in my whole career as a doctor. It’s utterly horrible. His whole body has been ripped and torn as though by a knife or fangs, almost as if he had been attacked by some wild beast.’

  ‘Then that was the cause of his death?’ said Nayland.

  He walked forward and peered down at the still body, looking into the dead face that stared up at him, unseeing. There was an expression blended of utter horror and fear stamped on the man’s waxen features that was shocking to see. He went down on one knee beside him, being careful to touch nothing.

  One glance was sufficient to tell him that it was, indeed, Chalka. The lips were thinned over the teeth and the eyes held a horror beyond all imagining as though they had looked upon things that were not fit for human sight.

  ‘Poor devil,’ he said, straightening up. He looked his question at the doctor.

  The other shook his head. ‘This may sound incredible, I know,’ he said helplessly, ‘but it’s my opinion that these wounds were not the cause of death. I know he looks as though he’s been cut into pieces in parts, but I’d say offhand that he died of fright.’

  ‘Fright, doctor?’ One of the men in police uniform, looked up incredulously. ‘But that’s impossible, unless it’s something to do with —’

  He finished his sentence with a slight shudder that Nayland noticed immediately.

  ‘You think there may be something more to it than just fright then?’ Nayland asked, turning to the officer. The mad sensation of panic was leaving him now, fading away slowly.

  The doctor cut in angrily. ‘There has been quite a lot of talk in the village during the past several days,’ he said smoothly, obviously hiding something. ‘All rumors, nothing more, I can assure you.’

  ‘Then you really think this is the work of a maniac?’

  ‘What else?’ The other shrugged his shoulders with a gesture that said more than mere words. ‘Can you give me any other logical explanation?’

  Nayland noticed the way the doctor laid particular stress on the one word. He sensed that this wasn’t the first inexplicable thi
ng that had happened in this tiny village, but was rather the dreadful culmination of a lot of frightening things that, as the doctor seemed to believe, were better not discussed.

  ‘I think there may be quite a lot of possible explanations, doctor,’ he said carefully, ‘although I doubt whether you, as a medical man, would believe any of them.’

  ‘So Gregg has been talking again, has he?’

  ‘Gregg?’

  ‘The landlord. I thought I told him to keep his mouth shut about these things.’

  ‘But whatever they are, you can’t keep them quiet for ever.’ There was a note of exasperation in Nayland’s voice. ‘This,’ — he indicated the body lying at their feet — ‘will have to come out into the open. You can’t hush up murder no matter how you think it might have been committed.’

  ‘I don’t intend to hush up murder, Mr. Nayland,’ remarked the police constable icily. ‘All that I am trying to do is to stamp out these ridiculous rumors which have been circulating in the village ever since the Lowrey mansion was occupied a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Black Magic?’ prompted Nayland.

  The other looked at him curiously, then nodded ‘Yes — that’s right,’ he admitted. ‘Why, what do you know about it?’

  ‘A little,’ said Nayland pointedly. ‘But I think if possible Doctor Reeves and I ought to have a talk before this goes any further. I think it would prove interesting and enlightening to both of us.’

  The doctor sighed. ‘Very well, Mr. Nayland, come to my surgery tomorrow afternoon about four o’clock. I think you know a lot more about this affair than you’re saying.’

  Turning to Blake after the doctor had gone, Nayland said harshly, ‘It looks to me as though they discovered Chalka, possibly while he was attempting to retrieve the mask and headdress and he was attacked.’

  ‘By Shabaka you mean?’

  ‘No.’ Nayland shook his head emphatically. ‘From the look of those injuries I would say it was far more likely that he was attacked by Caltro.’

  ‘Caltro!’