He finished his dinner and pushed back his chair. “Now,” he said heartily, “it’s up to us.”
“Up to us to do what?” I inquired.
“To meet that monster face to face,” he replied. “There are three of us and, so far as I can ascertain, but one of the enemy.” Both Susan and I started to speak, but he held up his hand, smiling. “I know without being reminded that the odds are still against us, because the one enemy is fierce and blood-drinking, and can change shape and character. Maybe it can project itself to a distance – which makes it all the harder, both for us to face it and for us to get help.”
“I know what you mean by that last,” I nodded gloomily. “If there were ten thousand friendly constables in the neighborhood, instead of a single hostile one, they wouldn’t believe us.”
“Right,” agreed Judge Pursuivant. “We’re like the group of perplexed mortals in Dracula, who had only their own wits and weapons against a monster no more forbidding than ours.”
It is hard to show clearly how his constant offering of parallels and rationalizations comforted us. Only the unknown and unknowable can terrify completely. We three were even cheerful over a bottle of wine that William fetched and poured out in three glasses. Judge Pursuivant gave us a toast – “May wolves go hungry!” – and Susan and I drank it gladly.
“Don’t forget what’s on our side,” said the judge, putting down his glass. “I mean the steadfast and courageous heart, of which I preached to Wills last night, and which we can summon from within us any time and anywhere. The werewolf, dauntlessly faced, loses its dread; and I think we are the ones to face it. Now we’re ready for action.”
I said that I would welcome any kind of action whatsoever, and Susan touched my arm as if in endorsement of the remark. Judge Pursuivant’s spectacles glittered in approval.
“You two will go into the Devil’s Croft,” he announced. “I’m going back to town once more.”
“Into the Devil’s Croft!” we almost shouted, both in the same shocked breath.
“Of course. Didn’t we just get through with the agreement all around that the lycanthrope can and must be met face to face? Offense is the best defense, as perhaps one hundred thousand athletic trainers have reiterated.”
“I’ve already faced the creature once,” I reminded him. “As for appearing dauntless, I doubt my own powers of deceit.”
“You shall have a weapon,” he said. “A fire gives light, and we know that such things must have darkness – such as it finds in the midst of that swampy wood. So fill your pockets with matches, both of you.”
“How about a gun?” I asked, but he shook his head.
“We don’t want the werewolf killed. That would leave the whole business in mystery, and yourself probably charged with another murder. He’d return to his human shape, you know, the moment he was hurt even slightly.”
Susan spoke, very calmly: “I’m ready to go into the Croft, Judge Pursuivant.”
He clapped his hands loudly, as if applauding in a theater. “Bravo, my dear, bravo! I see Mr Wills sets his jaw. That means he’s ready to go with you. Very well, let us be off.”
He called to William who at his orders brought three lanterns – sturdy old-fashioned affairs, protected by strong wire nettings – and filled them with oil. We each took one and set out. It had turned clear and frosty once more, and the moon shone too brightly for my comfort, at least. However, as we approached the grove, we saw no sentinels; they could hardly be blamed for deserting, after the fate of the younger O’Bryant.
We gained the shadow of the outer cedars unchallenged. Here Judge Pursuivant called a halt, produced a match from his overcoat pocket and lighted our lanterns all around. I remember that we struck a fresh light for Susan’s lantern; we agreed that, silly as the three-on-a match superstition might be, this was no time or place to tempt Providence.
“Come on,” said Judge Pursuivant then, and led the way into the darkest part of the immense thicket.
XII “We are here at his mercy.”
We followed Judge Pursuivant, Susan and I, without much of a thought beyond an understandable dislike for being left alone on the brink of the timber. It was a slight struggle to get through the close-set cedar hedge, especially for Susan, but beyond it we soon caught up with the judge. He strode heavily and confidently among the trees, his lantern held high to shed light upon broad, polished leaves and thick, wet stems. The moist warmth of the grove’s interior made itself felt again, and the judge explained again and at greater length the hot springs that made possible this surprising condition. All the while he kept going. He seemed to know his way in that forbidden fastness – indeed, he must have explored it many times to go straight to his destination.
That destination was a clearing, in some degree like the one where I had met and fought with my hairy pursuer on the night before. This place had, however, a great tree in its center, with branches that shot out in all directions to hide away the sky completely. By straining the ears one could catch a faint murmur of water – my scalding stream, no doubt. Around us were the thick-set trunks of the forest, filled in between with brush and vines, and underfoot grew velvety moss.
“This will be our headquarters position,” said the judge. “Wills, help me gather wood for a fire. Break dead branches from the standing trees – never mind picking up wood from the ground, it will be too damp.”
Together we collected a considerable heap and, crumpling a bit of paper in its midst, he kindled it.
“Now, then,” he went on, “I’m heading for town. You two will stay here and keep each other company.”
He took our lanterns, blew them out and ran his left arm through the loops of their handles.
“I’m sure that nothing will attack you in the light of the fire. You’re bound to attract whatever skulks hereabouts, however. When I come back, we ought to be prepared to go into the final act of our little melodrama.”
He touched my hand, bowed to Susan, and went tramping away into the timber. The thick leafage blotted his lantern-light from our view before his back had been turned twenty seconds.
Susan and I gazed at each other, and smiled rather uneasily.
“It’s warm,” she breathed, and took off her cloak. Dropping it upon one of the humped roots of the great central tree, she sat down on it with her back to the trunk. “What kind of a tree is this?”
I gazed up at the gnarled stem, or as much of it as I could see in the firelight. Finally I shook my head.
“I don’t know – I’m no expert,” I admitted. “At least it’s very big, and undoubtedly very old – the sort of tree that used to mark a place of sacrifice.”
At the word “sacrifice,” Susan lifted her shoulders as if in distaste. “You’re right, Talbot. It would be something grim and Druid-like.” She began to recite, half to herself:
That tree in whose dark shadow
The ghastly priest doth reign,
The priest who slew the slayer
And shall himself be slain
“Macaulay,” I said at once. Then, to get her mind off of morbid things, “I had to recite The Lays of Ancient Rome in school, when I was a boy. I wish you hadn’t mentioned it.”
“You mean, because it’s an evil omen?” She shook her head, and contrived a smile that lighted up her pale face. “It’s not that, if you analyze it. ‘Shall himself be slain’ – it sounds as if the enemy’s fate is sealed.”
I nodded, then spun around sharply, for I fancied I heard a dull crashing at the edge of the clearing. Then I went here and there, gathering wood enough to keep our fire burning for some time. One branch, a thick, straight one, I chose from the heap and leaned against the big tree, within easy reach of my hand.
“That’s for a club,” I told Susan, and she half shrunk, half stiffened at the implication.
We fell to talking about Judge Pursuivant, the charm and the enigma that invested him. Both of us felt gratitude that he had immediately clarified our own innocence in t
he grisly slayings, but to both came a sudden inspiration, distasteful and disquieting. I spoke first:
“Susan! Why did the judge bring us here?”
“He said, to help face and defeat the monster. But – but—”
“Who is that monster?” I demanded. “What human being puts on a semibestial appearance, to rend and kill?”
“Y – you don’t mean the judge?”
As I say, it had been in both our minds. We were silent, and felt shame and embarrassment.
“Look here,” I went on earnestly after a moment; “perhaps we’re being ungrateful, but we mustn’t be unprepared. Think, Susan; nobody knows where Judge Pursuivant was at the time of your father’s death, or at the time I saw the thing in these woods.” I broke off, remembering how I had met the judge for the first time, so shortly after my desperate struggle with the point-eared demon. “Nobody knows where he was when the constable’s brother was attacked and mortally wounded.”
She gazed about fearfully. “Nobody,” she added breathlessly, “knows where he is now.”
I was remembering a conversation with him; he had spoken of books, mentioning a rare, a supposedly non-existent volume. What was it? . . . the Wicked Bible. And what was it I had once heard about that work?
It came back to me now, out of the sub-conscious brain-chamber where, apparently, one stores everything he hears or reads in idleness, and from which such items creep on occasion. It had been in Lewis Spence’s Encyclopedia of Occultism, now on the shelf in my New York apartment.
The Wicked Bible, scripture for witches and wizards, from which magic-mongers of the Dark Ages drew their inspiration and their knowledge! And Judge Pursuivant had admitted to having one!
What had he learned from it? How had he been so glib about the science – yes, and the psychology – of being a werewolf?
“If what we suspect is true,” I said to Susan, “we are here at his mercy. Nobody is going to come in here, not if horses dragged them. At his leisure he will fall upon us and tear us to pieces.”
But, even as I spoke, I despised myself for my weak fears in her presence. I picked up my club and was comforted by its weight and thickness.
“I met that devil once,” I said, studying cheer and confidence into my voice this time. “I don’t think it relished the meeting any too much. Next time won’t be any more profitable for it.”
She smiled at me, as if in comradely encouragement; then we both started and fell silent. There had risen, somewhere among the thickets, a long low whining.
I put out a foot, stealthily, as though fearful of being caught in motion. A quick kick flung more wood on the fire. I blinked in the light and felt the heat. Standing there, as a primitive man might have stood in his flame-guarded camp to face the horrors of the ancient world, I tried to judge by ear the direction of that whine.
It died, and I heard, perhaps in my imagination, a stealthy padding. Then the whining began again, from a new quarter and nearer.
I made myself step toward it. My shadow, leaping grotesquely among the tree trunks, almost frightened me out of my wits. The whine had changed into a crooning wail, such as that with which dogs salute the full moon. It seemed to plead, to promise; and it was coming closer to the clearing.
Once before I had challenged and taunted the thing with scornful words. Now I could not make my lips form a single syllable. Probably it was just as well, for I thought and watched the more. Something black and cautious was moving among the branches, just beyond the shrubbery that screened it from our fire-light. I knew, without need of a clear view, what that black something was. I lifted my club to the ready.
The sound it made had become in some fashion articulate, though not human in any quality. There were no words to it, but it spoke to the heart. The note of plea and promise had become one of command – and not directed to me.
I found my own voice.
“Get out of here, you devil!” I roared at it, and threw my club. Even as I let go of it, I wished I had not. The bushes foiled my aim, and the missile crashed among them and dropped to the mossy ground. The creature fell craftily silent. Then I felt sudden panic and regret at being left weaponless, and I retreated toward the fire.
“Susan,” I said huskily, “give me another stick. Hurry!”
She did not move or stir, and I rummaged frantically among the heaped dry branches for myself. Catching up the first piece of wood that would serve, I turned to her with worried curiosity.
She was still seated upon the cloak-draped root, but she had drawn herself tense, like a cat before a mouse-hole. Her head was thrust forward, so far that her neck extended almost horizontally. Her dilated eyes were turned in the direction from which the whining and crooning had come. They had a strange clarity in them, as if they could pierce the twigs and leaves and meet there an answering, understanding gaze.
“Susan!” I cried.
Still she gave no sign that she heard me, if hear me she did. She leaned farther forward, as if ready to spring up and run. Once more the unbeastly wail rose from the place where our watcher was lurking.
Susan’s lips trembled. From them came slowly and softly, then louder, a long-drawn answering howl.
“Aoooooooooooooo! Aoooooooooooooooooooo!”
The stick almost fell from my hands. She rose, slowly but confidently. Her shoulders hunched high, her arms hung forward as though they wanted to reach to the ground. Again she howled:
“Aoooooooooooooooooooo!”
I saw that she was going to move across the clearing, toward the trees – through the trees. My heart seemed to twist into a knot inside me, but I could not let her do such a thing. I made a quick stride and planted myself before her.
“Susan, you mustn’t!”
She shrank back, her face turning slowly up to mine. Her back was to the fire, yet light rose in her eyes, or perhaps behind them; a green light, such as reflects in still forest pools from the moon. Her hands lifted-suddenly, as though to repel me. They were half closed and the crooked fingers drawn stiff, like talons.
“Susan!” I coaxed her, yet again, and she made no answer but tried to slip sidewise around me. I moved and headed her off, and she growled – actually growled, like a savage dog.
With my free hand I clutched her shoulder. Under my fingers, her flesh was as taut as wire fabric. Then, suddenly, it relaxed into human tissue again, and she was standing straight. Her eyes had lost their weird light, they showed only dark and frightened.
“Talbot,” she stammered. “Wh— what have I been doing?”
“Nothing, my dear,” I comforted her. “It was nothing that we weren’t able to fight back.”
From the woods behind me came a throttling yelp, as of some hungry thing robbed of prey within its very grasp. Susan swayed, seemed about to drop, and I caught her quickly in my arms. Holding her thus, I turned my head and laughed over my shoulder.
“Another score against you!” I jeered at my enemy. “You didn’t get her, not with all your filthy enchantments!”
Susan was beginning to cry, and I half led, half carried her back to the fireside. At my gesture she sat on her cloak again, as tractable as a child who repents of rebellion and tries to be obedient.
There were no more sounds from the timber. I could feel an emptiness there, as if the monster had slunk away, baffled.
XIII “Light’s our best weapon.”
Neither of us said anything for a while after that. I stoked up the fire, to be doing something, and it made us so uncomfortably warm that we had to crowd away from it. Sitting close against the tree-trunk, I began to imagine something creeping up the black lane of shadow it cast behind us to the edge of the clearing; and yet again I thought I heard noises. Club in hand, I went to investigate, and I was not disappointed in the least when I found nothing.
Finally Susan spoke. “This,” she said, “is a new light on the thing.”
“It’s nothing to be upset about,” I tried to comfort her.
“Not be upset!”
She sat straight up, and in the light of the fire I could see a single pained line between her brows, deep and sharp as a chisel-gash. “Not when I almost turned into a beast!”
“How much of that do you remember?” I asked her.
“I was foggy in my mind, Talbot, almost as at the séance, but I remember being drawn – drawn to what was waiting out there.” Her eyes sought the thickets on the far side of our blaze. “And it didn’t seem horrible, but pleasant and welcome and – well, as if it were my kind. You,” and she glanced quickly at me, then ashamedly away, “you were suddenly strange and to be avoided.”
“Is that all?”
“It spoke to me,” she went on in husky horror, “and I spoke to it.”
I forbore to remind her that the only sound she had uttered was a wordless howl. Perhaps she did not know that – I hoped not. We said no more for another awkward time.
Finally she mumbled, “I’m not the kind of woman who cries easily; but I’d like to now.”
“Go ahead,” I said at once, and she did, and I let her. Whether I took her into my arms, or whether she came into them of her own accord, I do not remember exactly; but it was against my shoulder that she finished her weeping, and when she had finished she did feel better.
“That somehow washed the fog and the fear out of me,” she confessed, almost brightly.
It must have been a full hour later that rustlings rose yet again in the timber. So frequently had my imagination tricked me that I did not so much as glance up. Then Susan gave a little startled cry, and I sprang to my feet. Beyond the fire a tall, gray shape had become visible, with a pale glare of light around it.
“Don’t be alarmed,” called a voice I knew. “It is I – Otto Zoberg.”
“Doctor!” I cried, and hurried to meet him. For the first time in my life, I felt that he was a friend. Our differences of opinion, once making companionship strained, had so dwindled to nothing in comparison to the danger I faced, and his avowed trust in me as innocent of murder.
“How are you?” I said, wringing his hand. “They say you were hurt by the mob.”
The Mammoth Book of Wolf Men Page 38
