The Dark Secret of Weatherend

by John Bellairs

  Miss Eells gave the cop her most pleading, round-eyed gaze. "Officer, it really is terribly important. We haven't got any other way of getting there, and I'm sure that by now the sisters are frantic with worry! Please, please help us!"

  The cop turned his helmet over in his hands and stared at his boots. Finally, with a deep, weary sigh, he jammed the helmet back onto his head and motioned for the three travelers to get out of the truck. "Okay, okay! I'll take you! But move it, will ya? I ain't got all night. I gotta get back on patrol."

  Miss Eells was delighted—she had won this round at any rate. Anthony scrambled out of the truck, clinging tightly to his tool bag, and she slid out after him. They both rushed over to the weapons carrier and climbed in. Mr. Johnson came loping across the snow after them. "Guess this is where we say good-bye," he drawled. "I'm gonna get a room at the Hotel Duluth for the night. No sense in tryin' to get back to my sister's place in all this snow. Tomorrow mornin' I'm gonna see about gettin' this crate o' mine off that sidewalk."

  "You're gonna see about it earlier'n that!" said the cop irritably. "When you get to the hotel, call up a towin' service and then meet me back here in... oh, I'd say about twenty minutes to a half an hour. We'll get the old heap movin' some way."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Johnson," Miss Eells called out, and she waved and smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much for everything!"

  "Yeah, good-bye," said Anthony, and he waved too. "You were a real good friend to us, Mr. Johnson! Thanks a lot!"

  Mr. Johnson grinned in his dopey way and ambled off into the darkness. The cop clambered up into the cockpit of the weapons carrier and started the engine. With a clattering of gears the heavy tanklike vehicle began to move up the steep, icy streets. No one was outside, though the streetlights burned brightly and many windows glowed yellow in the dark. The wind whipped around the weapons carrier, and it stung Anthony's face. But the snow had let up. Anthony wondered if Borkman's magic had run out of steam. Or was it possible that he and Miss Eells were wrong—was this just a natural storm that had nothing to do with Anders Borkman and the four weird statues?

  The weapons carrier crawled up more ice-coated streets toward the highest hill above the town, where St. Scholastica's College is located. Looming out of the darkness Anthony saw big stone buildings with iron crosses perched on snow-covered roofs. The tall tower of a church rose into the dark sky. The vehicle rattled up a long, curving drive and stopped in front of a small pillared porch. Inside the vaulted roof a wrought-iron lantern with yellow glass panes hung, casting a pool of light over the snowy sidewalk. Anthony's heart beat faster. If somebody came out to see who was at the door, the cop would discover that Miss Eells had been lying to him. He glanced quickly at his friend and saw that her face was perfectly calm and composed. What a great poker player Miss Eells would have made.

  "Well, here y'are," said the cop grumpily. "Don't say I never did anything for ya."

  Anthony swung himself over the side of the weapons carrier. Nimbly he picked his way down the iron rungs and jumped off onto the ground with Miss Eells following, more slowly. Leaning down, the cop handed the tool bag to Anthony.

  "Whatcha got in there, anyway?" the cop asked with a grin. "Scrap iron? Old horse collars?"

  Miss Eells was flustered, but she managed to make a reply. "It's... it's a couple of holy statues and a sick-call kit that used to belong to my late brother, who was a priest. We wanted to use them when Father Flaherty administers the last rites to my sister. We... we had some trouble packing them on top of our clothes. They do make a noise, don't they?"

  The cop stared at Miss Eells for a second. Then he laughed, waved good-bye, and the weapons carrier roared off. Miss Eells heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh of relief.

  "My Lord!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. "I never thought he'd go away."

  Anthony gazed at her admiringly. "You did great!" he said, beaming.

  Miss Eells smiled. "Let's move out of the light and get our bearings," she said. "We need to find out where that stupid cemetery is, and I'd rather not be here when some nun comes barging out the front door to ask us what we want."

  They stopped at a corner of the building, where some light was pouring out of a window above their heads. Here they were sheltered from the wind by a small grove of cypress trees that grew next to the building. Anthony took out his penlite and Miss Eells unbuttoned a pocket of her parka and dug out a wrinkled map of the buildings and grounds of St. Scholastica's College, which she had stolen from the Hoosac library. "The cemetery is off that way," she whispered, pointing into the blackness. "It's right at the northern edge of the college grounds. There's a hill to go down and another to climb to get to the cemetery. Come on. I want to get into that mausoleum and find... whatever it is that we're supposed to find."

  Miss Eells and Anthony picked their way down the dark drive. The snow was ankle-deep and hard to walk in, but they plodded doggedly on.

  "Down this way!" Miss Eells hissed as she grabbed Anthony's arm. "Be careful. I don't know how steep this hill is, but it'll be slippery."

  Miss Eells unzipped the top of the tool bag and, after fumbling a bit, pulled out the flashlight. All around them now was pitch blackness. She played the beam of it on the ground, and they saw that they were standing at the edge of a hill that dropped off sharply. Anthony stood staring down, and he swallowed hard. He would have to dig his heels in and throw his weight backward, but he figured he could make it. But how was Miss Eells going to manage? Shuffling cautiously to the edge, Anthony took one step—and then he was gone. With a loud yell he disappeared into the darkness.

  Terrified, Miss Eells rushed to the edge and pointed her flashlight beam down. Then she laughed with relief. Anthony was sitting there with his legs splayed out in front of him. His red leather cap had slipped down over one eye, and he seemed a bit dazed, but otherwise okay.

  "Are you all in one piece, Tony?" Miss Eells called.

  "I... I guess so. Only I don't know how you're gonna get down here. There's ice over the top of the snow, and it's real hard."

  Miss Eells dropped to her knees, reached out, and tapped the icy surface with the butt of the flashlight. Yes, it was as smooth as glass. She stood up, picked up the tool bag, and gave it a heave over the edge. Then, with a brave smile on her face, she took off her glasses, put them in a pocket of her parka, and set the flashlight down on the ground. She nudged it with her foot and watched it roll down the hill, still lit and sending out a long, wobbly beam. Now Miss Eells lay down on her side and gave herself a heave. Over and over she went, down the icy hillside.

  It was so dark at the bottom that Anthony could not see where she had landed. But then he heard a loud, cheerful exclamation.

  "Well! That was fun, wasn't it? Now, where is that flash—ah! Here it is."

  They scrambled to their feet, found the tool bag, and started across the slippery, ice-covered snow. Ahead was a flight of icy stone steps that rose into the night.

  Miss Eells played the flashlight beam before them as they carefully climbed. Finally they reached the top. A low stone wall with a stone arch surrounded the cemetery. Atop the arch was a statue of St. Boniface, dressed as a bishop. Icicles hung from his crosier and outstretched hand. There was a wrought-iron gate, but no padlock.

  Miss Eells and Anthony shoved the gate open and walked forward through the glimmering tombstones. At the top of a slight rise stood the Borkman mausoleum, a gloomy granite house with tiny slitlike windows. Two marble sphinxes crouched in front of the mausoleum, and two Egyptian pillars with lotus capitals held up the massive carved cornice. In the center of the cornice was a carved hourglass with wings, and above it the name BORKMAN. Between the pillars were bronze doors, which had tarnished to a bright green color. On the doors, sculpted in relief, were the upside-down torches that the article had mentioned.

  "So, here we are," said Miss Eells softly. She could not hide the tremor in her voice. "I've never desecrated a tomb before. What do you suppose we'll find inside?"
>
  Anthony said nothing. He looked around nervously. The tombstones were like small white creatures crouched in the darkness peering at him. The wind had died, and everything lay still. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, and he felt his hands tremble; he was scared half out of his wits.

  Silently the two moved forward. Anthony set the tool bag down in front of the mausoleum. Then, while Miss Eells held the flashlight, he took a long crowbar and inserted the curved, forked tip into the crack between the two doors. At first nothing happened, but Anthony kept prying, and soon the metal shrieked and groaned. Anthony struggled as he worked the end of the crowbar deeper into the crack. He stiffened his back, planted his feet, and shoved mightily. Finally the metal gave way with a loud crack like a pistol shot, and one of the doors flew outward.

  Anthony stepped back. He half expected that shadowy arms would reach out and drag him inside. But nothing happened. Inside the tomb it was dark and still. From the half-ajar door a musty smell drifted out. Miss Eells walked forward, moving the flashlight beam around the opening as Anthony crowded in next to her to look. They saw a tiled wall and a terrazzo pavement decorated in spirally patterns. Overhead, from the vaulted stone ceiling, hung a rusty iron lantern with a burnt-out light bulb in its socket. But there was no coffin. It was totally empty.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Anthony's heart sank. He looked around the dark, gloomy chamber, and he wanted to scream. They had come up here looking for some unknown weapon that they could use against Anders Borkman, but there was nothing here, nothing but four walls, a ceiling, and a floor.

  "This place is empty!" Anthony yelled, and his voice echoed weirdly from the vaulted ceiling. "It was just a lousy, rotten trick!"

  Miss Eells laid her hand gently on Anthony's arm. "Calm down. Borkman is buried here—somewhere—at least that's what the old guidebook says, and they hardly ever lie. And I'll bet when we find Borkman, we'll find whatever it is we're looking for. In the coffin or not far away from it. Remember, the guidebook did mention some kind of fancy tomb-sealing device. So before we give up, let's examine this place carefully and see what we can find out. Okay?"

  Anthony nodded wearily. "Okay, Miss Eells," he said. "You take the flashlight and I'll use my penlite, and we'll explore the whole place." Anthony's voice sounded dull and dispirited. He really didn't think they were going to find anything but dust and emptiness.

  Miss Eells went over to one of the walls of the tomb chamber and began moving her flashlight beam around. Anthony got down on his hands and knees and began examining the terrazzo floor, which was made of concrete with lots of tiny marble chips set in it. The multicolored patterns on the floor were mostly whorls and spirals, but interspersed were other designs: a star of David, a compass rosette, a pointing hand. Anthony wondered if these symbols meant anything.

  "Hey, Miss Eells!" he called out suddenly. "Come on over here, quick! I think I found something!"

  Miss Eells started to laugh. "I was just about to ask you to come over here!"

  Anthony got up and walked over to where she was standing. She moved the flashlight beam all around, and he saw that the wall was covered with small, square, shiny porcelain tiles. Most of these were plain white, like the tiles on a bathroom wall. But some had colored decorations on them: a rose, a gold-colored castle, a white tower against a black background, a silver star with long rays, and a gateway that seemed to be up in the clouds. Anthony also recognized the Ark of the Covenant from pictures in the family Bible. It was certainly an odd assortment.

  "Interesting, eh?" said Miss Eells, tapping the wall with her hand. "Now tell me—do these pictures suggest anything to you?"

  "Nope," he said, frowning in a puzzled way. "Not a thing."

  "Well, they do to me. Remember that weird clue that ran, There are openings in the choir of the Blessed Virgin? My friend, this is the answer! You see, all those tiles up there—the ones with the pictures—fit into a prayer that Catholics used to say. It's called the litany of the Blessed Virgin. A litany is kind of a chant where the priest says one thing and the congregation in the church chimes in with a response. Well, in the litany of the Blessed Virgin the priest uses symbolic descriptions that are supposed to represent what the Blessed Virgin is like, and then the congregation responds with 'Pray for us!' 'Mystical rose... pray for us! Tower of ivory... pray for us!' And so on. Do you see?"

  Anthony nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. But where does that get us?"

  Miss Eells smiled and shrugged. "It may get us absolutely nowhere, or it may get us into the real tomb of J. K. Borkman. But before I go on, may I ask what you have found?"

  Anthony pointed back toward the floor behind them.

  "I... I found a crack in the floor. I mean, it's just a little thin line, but if you follow it all the way around, it's a rectangle. Like... a door."

  "Ah-hah!" said Miss Eells triumphantly. "Here, hand me that tool bag. We are going to experiment."

  Anthony was still completely bewildered, but he picked up the tool bag and handed it to her. She stuck her hand in and, after fumbling a bit, pulled out a screwdriver. Anthony pointed the flashlight at the tile with the rose on it, and Miss Eells began to pry at the edges of the tile. Almost immediately it started to move, and suddenly it flipped out. Not all the way out, because a long curved piece of steel was bolted to the back of it. Soon a sound like rolling marbles echoed from under the floor. Miss Eells grinned delightedly and rubbed her hands together. "Just as I thought!" She chortled. "There's some kind of elaborate pinball-type combination lock under this floor. And I have a feeling that if we pull these squares out in the wrong order, we'll screw the entire works up and never get the door open! Now, what comes after 'Mystical rose' in the—"

  Miss Eells's speech was interrupted by a loud metallic boom! Instantly she and Anthony whirled around and looked toward the entrance of the tomb. The two bronze doors had been hurled inward by a mighty gust of wind, and they had slammed against the walls. Frightened, Anthony and Miss Eells rushed to the doorway and looked out. Several bolts of lightning crackled through the clouds above, and for a moment they could see the black silhouettes of distant buildings lit by a sudden bluish flash. Lightning crashed into a tree nearby and it burst into fire. A sulphurous, scorched smell filled the air. And, as Miss Eells and Anthony watched in horror, a blue ball of flame shot down out of the clouds, hitting the stone cornice over their heads and exploding into a million fiery points. They leaped back, and each grabbed a bronze door, shoving them together until they clanged shut. Miss Eells gasped as she stumbled away from the door. She shone the flashlight at Anthony. He was pale and sweating, and his eyes were as big as saucers.

  "What..." was all Anthony could say. He was half out of his mind with fear.

  "It's the final storm," said Miss Eells grimly. "But we can still stop him. Come on! There's no time to lose!" And seizing Anthony by the arm, she guided him back toward the tiled wall. Anthony pointed the flashlight at the pictured tiles. "After 'Mystical rose' comes 'Tower of ivory' ... at least, I hope so," said Miss Eells, and boldly she picked up the screwdriver and began prying at the tile with the white tower on it. Again the clattering of steel balls sounded from below. "House of gold!" she panted, working feverishly. "Ark of the Covenant. Gate of Heaven. Morning star." And as all the tiles were flipped out, more noises rang out from below. Miss Eells and Anthony held their breath.

  Then there was a creaking noise, and a section of the floor dropped slowly downward, as if it were swinging on unseen hinges. Below lay utter blackness.

  "Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Miss Eells in a pretend-brave voice. "Let's see what the prize in the Cracker Jack box is."

  They walked forward to the edge of the gaping hole. The flashlight beam swept down and showed a black wooden coffin that stood on two sawhorses. Six tall candlesticks stood guard, three on either side. Candles had once burned in their sockets, but now they were only messes of drippy brown wax. Miss Eells made the sign of the cross and mutt
ered a prayer, but Anthony just stood and gaped, awestruck.

  A howling gust of wind hit the bronze doors and rattled them. With a trembling hand Miss Eells grabbed Anthony's arm.

  "Come on!" she croaked hoarsely. "We may not have a lot of time. If I'm right, the object of our search is inside the coffin with our dear departed friend. I know it's disgusting and scary, but we have to go down."

  Anthony stared at the rough wooden ladder that led down to the tomb chamber. Picking up the tool bag, he pitched it into the room below, and while Miss Eells held the flashlight for him he started down. Then Miss Eells flipped the flashlight to him, and he held it as she climbed.

  In utter silence they approached the coffin. A dusty brass plate with Borkman's name and the dates of his birth and death shone dully on its lid. They began to fumble at the edges of the lid, which projected out over the sides of the coffin like the lid on a grand piano. To Anthony's great surprise it was not nailed shut. Still, as he seized the polished wooden slab with trembling fingers he was afraid to lift it.

  Miss Eells was beside him, her voice quiet and reassuring. "I know we're both scared," she said, "but we can't come this far and then choke up. I'll count to three, and then we heave. Okay?"

  Anthony nodded stiffly. The lid rose with a loud, grating brr-rrr-rrrack!, and Anthony involuntarily took a step backward. Unflinchingly Miss Eells pulled the flashlight from the pocket of her parka and pointed the beam in. There was J. K. Borkman, what was left of him, a skeleton in a rotting Sunday suit. Over the empty eyeholes perched rimless spectacles, and a knot of gray hair still clung to the dusty skull. His bony hands were folded over his chest, and the withered remains of a carnation were still scattered over one of the suit's sateen lapels. Anthony eyed the skeleton warily. He half expected it to come to life and leap at him. But it merely lay there, staring upward in grim repose.