respectful regards Margrave.
“Of course correspondence is not so rapid any more, as I had to bring quite a lot over from England,” said the postman. “I came on foot, or rather on skis.”
“Are there many survivors?” I asked.
“Not many,” said the postman. “Most of the big cities are overrun by abominable snowpeople. They don’t do any harm, just picking around for food like everyone else.”
“You must come down and take a glass of warm milk,” I told the postman. “We will all be pleased to hear whatever news is going. We have seen no other human beings for a long time.”
“I don’t mind if I do,” said the postman, following me and rubbing his hands.
Down in the cavern Anna Wertz was cooking some mushrooms in goat’s milk, while Georgina and Veronica Adams were making a spinning wheel to weave goat wool. We were soon joined by Carmella, the Marquise, Christabel, and Majong who had been on an excursion to look for buried vegetables. They had found some carrots and frozen hay for the goats.
“My name is Taliessin,” said the postman. “I have been carrying messages all my life, which has been a long one.”
Anna Wertz gave him a cup of mushrooms and milk. He settled himself by the fire and began: “All nations and seas were shaken by earthquakes, which were so violent that not a house, castle, hovel or church was left standing. All this took place after days of snowfall and darkness. In some regions there was violent thunder and rain which froze as it fell from the sky. Spears of rain as tall as skyscrapers stood stiff over the snow. It was a rare sight. Herds of wild and domestic animals galloped through the cities, uttering their different cries all at once and seeking shelter from the heaving earth. In some places fire leapt out of the earth and strange sights were seen in the sky. The surviving humans were mostly overcome by panic and shock, although some were stalwart and tried to save the many million victims still alive under the fallen cities. Frightful scenes prevailed in the areas with many inhabitants.”
“What of the Holy Grail?” asked Christabel.
“In Ireland,” replied Taliessin, “the earthquakes on the west coast were so violent that the air was full of rocks flying miles high. Volcanos sprouted out of the earth in six hundred different places, and snow and lava made a deadly soup which carried away men and beasts. Rains of moles, mice and small dead birds beat on the roofs and covered the streets and countryside a yard thick. During these cataclysmic convulsions the ancient fort of the Templars, the Rath of Conor, was blown into the air as if it were a kite. The Vault of the Arcanum was split asunder and the Grail was tossed into the air with the rest. The Holy Vessel landed intact on the straw roof of a half-destroyed peasant’s dwelling. Here it was recovered by a peasant woman who put it in a wooden chest and took it to the parish priest, who was amongst the survivors of the cataclysm. The priest, a certain Father O’Grady, thought that the Sacred Cup was a chalice of the kind used in the church, but of a somewhat eccentric design, and took it to Dublin where several bishops and a few Jesuits had taken refuge in a wine cellar. The explosion that had rent the Rath of Conor had momentarily dispersed the powers that always gathered around the Cup in enclosed areas. This is a magic law and true for nearly all charged objects. Consequently the Grail was desecrated in the hands of the clergy with impunity, enclosed in a packing case with straw, and debated upon as any ordinary antique. However amongst the Jesuits there was a certain learned man by the name of Rupert Traffix, who recognized the curious design of the Grail. His suspicion turned to conviction when he learnt from O’Grady that the Cup had been found in the precincts of the Rath of Conor. The tower was known amongst certain scholars to have been the ancient dwelling of the Knights Templar.
“Darkness was dispersed in the midday sun that burned over the British Isles for twenty-nine hours, and the Jesuit escaped with the Grail to England. This was easy as the bishops and the remaining Jesuits had imbibed so much wine without food that they were all lying in a drunken stupor. I was in the region of Rath of Conor during the explosion and followed the Grail to Dublin and then to England.
“Under the Bank of England the deep vaults served as a refuge for different powerful people such as men of state, wealthy business men, generals, and of course dignitaries of the church. During the last atomic war an underground town had been constructed to shelter lives considered precious by the government. The existence of this underground city was of course held secret, to prevent it being invaded by panic-stricken masses of common people. This was the goal of the Jesuit, Rupert Traffix.
“Now in the precincts of Hampstead Heath there is a certain cavern used by a coven of witches who hold their ceremonies there in secret in order not to be molested by the law. From ancient times the witches had danced in the cavern through wars and persecutions; many a time when I was pursued I would hide with the witches, and was always received with courtesy and kindness. As you are no doubt aware, my mission through the ages has been to carry uncensored news to the people, without consideration of either rank or status. This has made me unpopular with the authorities all over this planet. My object is to help human beings to realize their state of slavery and exploitation by power-seeking beings.
“So when I arrived in London I took immediate refuge in the cavern on Hampstead Heath, amongst the witches. Here I learnt of the existence of a passage that communicated with the underground city beneath the Bank of England.
“There was much excitement in the coven when I informed them that the Holy Grail was already on the Island, and we made all kinds of plans to get it once more into our possession. As you know, the Great Mother cannot return to this planet until the Cup is restored to her filled with Pneuma, and under the guard of her consort the Horned God.
“Although we made many ingenious plans to recover the Grail we were unable to approach it. Finally our spies informed us that the Grail had left England in a seaplane, under the guard of several plainclothes policemen and Rupert Traffix the Jesuit. Further, that the destination of the Holy Cup was this very plateau; it was learned that earthquakes and volcanic eruptions had been milder on this part of the American Continent. Worshippers of the Revengeful Father God were of course determined to keep the Grail in their possession, and a small nucleus of initiates knew the magic of the Cup. These special initiates knew that their hypnotic power over humanity could not endure if the Great Mother was once more in possession. Rupert Traffix was among those who were fully informed of the history of the Cup.
“All this will explain why I am here and still in quest of the Holy Grail.”
There was a short silence after all this momentous news, and Anna refilled our cups of mushrooms and goat’s milk.
“We must make immediate plans to recover the Grail and restore it to the Goddess,” said Christabel. “Her flight after the atomic war was the final nail in the coffin of this generation. If the planet is to survive with organic life she must be induced to return, so that goodwill and love can once more prevail in the world.”
“In the city a few miles away,” said Taliessin, “lies the Cup. Surviving worshippers of the Angry Father God are already being informed of its presence in this country and will eventually arrive here to try and save the last remnants of their demonological, sacrilegious religion.”
“May the Queen Bee fill the Cup with Pneuma,” said Christabel fervently.
“In Europe the Lion has finally dominated the countries and the Unicorn has flown in despair to Sirius,” said Taliessin mysteriously. His words made the blood in our veins run cold.
“The Unicorn gone!” exclaimed Christabel in horror, for she was the only one at that time to understand the full import of this terrible news; Taliessin bowed his head and replied, “Abomination and desolation on humankind.”
“How can we recapture the Holy Cup?” asked Georgina, who was striding up and down nervously. “It must be well guarded?”
“We wil
l make brews and ablutions to evoke the advice of Holy Hekate,” said Christabel. “We must find stramonium, musk and vervain and concoct a powerful soup, after making the necessary ablutions. Somewhere in the city there must be an accessible chemist’s shop. Taliessin and Majong must set out after dark to bring the ingredients.”
We all agreed to this plan; an invocation to the Goddess was the only chance of obtaining a clear indication of how we would gain possession of the Grail.
Taliessin and Majong armed themselves with tools from the destroyed limousine and set out for the city. A pale crescent moon flew amongst the clouds that were gathering for another snowstorm.
While Christabel was practising some preliminary ablutions for the evocation a sudden disturbance became evident amongst the goats. They ran to the darkest extremity of the cavern chamber and started bleating piteously. Far away we heard the howling as if from a multitude of dogs.
“The poor things must be starving,” said Anna Wertz after listening for a while. “We ought to take them some food.” She then set about preparing a soup with boiled rice, some milk, and a few sardines to give a savoury taste.
When the soup was done Anna and the Marquise carried the cauldron to the upperworld. The howling of the dogs was now getting nearer and there was something in their tone that struck me as being not quite usual. When Anna and the Marquise eventually returned, the pot was empty.
“Poor things,” said Anna. “I never saw such nervous hungry dogs. And just imagine, they were all Alsatians, but could not be induced to let me pet them. They fell on the food as if they had been starving for months. It really is a scandal the way people neglect their animals. There they are all thinking about saving their own necks and letting their poor faithful dogs run around in herds, starving.”
At that point we were all staring at the foot of the staircase. Anna had been followed by one of the dogs, a huge male greyish-coloured Alsatian with nervous shifting eyes. I stood up, and as I approached the great beast flinched nervously aside. A frightful wail went up from the huddled goats. This was no dog, but a huge grey timber wolf.
Evidently this wolf was the head of the pack. More courageous than the rest, he had ventured down to the warmth of the cavern. We threw him some morsels of dried fish, which he took ravenously, watching us all the while with suspicious slanting eyes.
“He really is too hair-raisingly sweet,” said Georgina, who had placed herself on the far side of the eternal fire. “I expect he would tear one’s throat out by the roots in no time.”
Anna kept approaching the wolf, almost as if she hoped to be bitten, “Poor boy! did they starve him to death? Well it really is a crying shame the way people treat dogs. After all no human beings are ever as nice as animals. For real understanding one can only depend on dogs.” Nobody would ever convince Anna that this was not a dog but a wild beast from the distant woods.
The pack was still howling outside but I could tell that they had changed their chorus, and through a slight tingling on my scalp, I detected a new sound quite near and strangely reminiscent of mince pies. Although I was still in need of my trumpet I had recently developed a premonition of sound which I could translate afterwards through the trumpet.
“Surely it can’t be Christmas?” said Carmella. Then I knew that what had joined the wolf chorus was the tinkling of many small bells, now clearly audible in the cavern. The wolf stood with ears alert, waiting.
“Darling! how too amazingly appropriate for the weather,” remarked Georgina. “Dear old Santa Claus will come gallivanting in any minute, positively dripping toys and good cheer all over the place.”
As a matter of fact this is almost what did happen. After a few minutes we heard a series of piercing whistles and a voice as if from the most remote and ancient past calling down the stone stairs: “Pontefact! Pontefact! what are you doing! you naughty wolf! come at once to father.”
Marlborough’s voice always carried further than anybody else’s. Even in my deafest days I could always hear him talk several rooms away. Suddenly there he was on the steps, in some way changed, but more himself than ever. He was clad in maroon velvet, lined with dark fur which happened to be sable. A tall square cap was pulled low over his immensely wizened face, and a very long narrow beard reached almost to the toes of his damp tennis shoes. On each shoulder perched a white falcon.
The wolf now behaved with all the abandoned affection of a spaniel. He rolled on his back, waved his legs in the air and whined with delight.
“Marlborough!” I exclaimed. I thought you were still in Venice!”
“Darling,” said Marlborough as if we had seen each other yesterday. “I had a frightful time tracking you down, but I finally found Carmella’s niece still alive in a bakery. The city really looks quite beautiful. All those awful houses have fallen down and everything looks as if it has teeth, with the icicles. Too strange for words.”
“How did you get here from Venice?” I asked. “And what about your sister?”
“Anubeth came with me of course,” said Marlborough. “She is upstairs in the Ark. I thought I would prepare you a little before introducing her. It might come as a surprise, although I know you don’t expect anyone very normal. Please be careful not to hurt her feelings. After all you don’t look so very ordinary yourself.”
I introduced Marlborough to my six companions, and he walked around the cavern making appreciative exclamations such as: “Really most exquisite proportion. One could feel oneself in a ziggurat. Darling, if you hung a rather long narrow gobelins with unicorns just off that corner it would give an entrancing trompe l’oeil, but I suppose the goats would eat it?”
“We haven’t got any gobelins at the moment,” I said, “but there is a nice bunch of straw which might do until we get one.” Marlborough had stopped to pet the goats, who were still shuddering in a corner. Panic reigned again as the wolf, Pontefact, ran closely beside his master.
“Now were they afraid! Poor goats, poor pretty ones, dear Pontefact wouldn’t do them any harm,” murmured Marlborough in a comforting tone of voice. The goats would have none of it. “Dear Pontefact wouldn’t harm anyone. Wolves are really cleverer than dogs. Besides Pontefact’s father was a lamb, wasn’t he darling?”
“I just adore your trousseau. Too utterly Chanel,” said Georgina to Marlborough. “There is nothing like sable. So cosily chic. I suppose it was screamingly expensive?”
“I really don’t know,” said Marlborough. “Because I got it as a gift from the Princess Celina Scarlatti after I wrote her a bedroom sonata in plainchant. She had the costume made for herself when she tried to organize a fancy dress ball in the Vatican in aid of destitute lesbians. The Pope was very stuffy about the whole proposition.”
“Marlborough,” I said, “do you think you ought to leave your sister outside so long? She must be freezing to death.”
“Anubeth is very patient,” said Marlborough. “Besides the Ark has central heating and we have lived in it for months. We came overland via Canada because of the wolves. Anubeth is very fond of wolves. You will understand later. She had become very lonely in Venice, and when the snow started like called to like.” This was all very mysterious. I had begun to anticipate the meeting with Marlborough’s sister with a mixture of curiosity and dread.
“Perhaps we had better invite her down anyhow,” I said. “It doesn’t seem very polite to leave her alone in the upperworld.”
While we climbed the steps Marlborough told me how they had journeyed from Venice through Italy and France and England, and finally over the North Sea to Canada.
Outside the tower stood Marlborough’s Ark. I must say it was a most impressive sight. It was mounted on runners like a sledge, but otherwise it looked like a Renaissance version of Noah’s Ark, gilded, carved and painted in gorgeous colours, like a painting by a mad Venetian master. The whole contraption was covered with bells that tinkled frenetically with ev
ery gust of wind.
“Atom-propelled impulsion,” said Marlborough proudly. “The whole engine fits into a rock crystal case no bigger than a hen’s egg. It is the most modern form of mobile vehicle. No fuel, no noise. In fact it is so noiseless that I had to put the bells on to keep me company. How do you like it?”
“It’s very gaudy,” I said in admiration. “I suppose you had it made in Venice?”
“My own design,” said Marlborough. “Gypsylike simplicity and atomic comfort.”
The wolves sat around the Ark in a semicircle as if on guard. They made me feel nervous, although Marlborough assured me that they were perfectly tame. I also felt preoccupied about the cats that had disappeared at the first appearance of Pontefact.
“Excuse me while I call my sister,” said Marlborough, and cupping his hands to his mouth he uttered a series of blood-curdling yelps. These were answered from the interior of the Ark by more yelps and the rattling of the entrance door, which was tastefully carved with Cupid and Psyche embraced in the midst of stags and swans.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Marlborough. “If you let her see you feel anything unusual she gets very nervous.”
The form which then emerged from the Ark was more wildly unexpected than anything my already inflamed imagination could have conceived. Marlborough’s sister Anubeth was a wolf-headed woman. Her tall body was finely proportioned and, apart from the head, entirely human. She was swathed in some glittering cloth, and small pointed shoes like gondolas covered her narrow feet. She stood in the open door of the Ark, growling and showing pointed white teeth. Marlborough growled back, which left me out of the conversation.
“My sister understands ten different languages and writes Sanskrit,” said Marlborough, “but owing to a certain peculiarity of the palate she finds difficulty in pronunciation, so we always bark at each other. You however may talk English to her, which she understands perfectly.”
The Hearing Trumpet Page 16
