Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  He nodded and the old man turned and moved slowly down the long corridor. Vance followed him past two intersecting corridors and up a long sloping walk that led to a higher level. The walls and floors were composed of a hard shiny substance, as smooth and lustrous as marble, but it was unveined and as white as alabaster.

  The old man halted at last before a door that was so perfectly fitted into the wall as to be practically unnoticeable. He opened the door with a gentle shove and stood aside.

  Vance stepped into a large, windowless room, comfortably furnished with two couches set against opposite walls and low backless chairs covered with soft tan furs.

  There were no windows in the room. Illumination was provided by slim tapers that burned softly and slowly and without causing any noticeable smoke.

  Vance realized that in spite of the architectural perfection of the city, and the generally cultured air of the inhabitants he had met, he had seen no evidences of mechanical or electrical developments.

  When he looked around he saw that Aki, the aged servant, had followed him into the room, closing the door behind him.

  The old man’s face was tense with excitement and his steady blue eyes were fixed intently on him, as if trying to measure and weigh him with the glance.

  “Please,” the old man whispered, in his strange halting accent, “I must talk with you. There is no time to lose.”

  VANCE stared at him in surprise.

  There was something demanding and urgent in the old man’s voice that compelled his interest.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Aki’s brown forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “Okay?” he repeated doubtfully. “I do not know—”

  Vance smiled.

  “That means all right, go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Aki looked quickly behind him, at the closed door, then turned back to Vance.

  “You must leave this place,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You must not stay here another minute. Already it may be too late.”

  Vance studied the old man’s honest, seamed face, and a slow frown settled over his eyes as he saw the anxious fear that twisted those aged features.

  “Perhaps you’d better tell me what you mean,” he said.

  The old man shot another fearful glance at the door behind him.

  “There is no time,” he said tensely. His trembling, veined hands clutched

  Vance’s arms imploringly. “You must believe me. I know why you were brought here. She has told me everything. I have helped her with all the plans. But something has gone wrong. Someone discovered what she was attempting. That is why you are here now, in the castle of Numari, instead of with her. Don’t you see? You must believe me.”

  Vance shook his head, his face grim and serious. Nothing the old man said made any sense to him, but he had the feeling that he was coming closer to the heart of the mystery that surrounded his presence in this strange, incredible world.

  “I’m sorry, Aki,” he said. “I don’t get what you’re driving at. Who is this ‘she’ you’re talking about?”

  “She?” Aki repeated. His voice and face were incredulous. “But I thought you knew. Before the evil days of Numari and Rakar she was our queen, our goddess, our ruler. She was kind and wise and good and governed us in peace and happiness. And she will once again, I—I swear.” The old man drew himself up proudly as he spoke and there was a look of eagles in his steady, blue eyes.

  “But who is she?” Vance persisted. “She is Laonara,” Aki said.

  THE name rang a bell in Vance’s memory. That was the name Numari had mentioned. The name of the girl Numari and Rakar had asked him about so carefully and searchingly.

  Laonara then must have been the girl in the portrait, the magnificent, viking-blonde girl with the swirling, smoky eyes, whose image had metamorphosed to throbbing life before his eyes a day, a year, an aeon ago.

  “You must come with me,” Aki insisted. “There is danger for you here. Numari and Rakar seek only your knowledge of war-like, destructive science. They want that power for their own design.”

  “Where else can I go?” Vance asked. “I couldn’t leave here if I wanted to. And why was I brought to this place? That was Laonara’s idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Aki admitted. “But she, herself, must explain why. When you have seen Laonara everything will be clear and right and understandable to you.”

  “Can you take me to her?”

  “Yes,” Aki’s voice trembled with relief. His eyes were shining brightly and his gnarled, veined hands clasped together in a gesture of gratitude. “Yes,” he repeated jubilantly, “I can and will take you to my queen, Laon—”

  A heavy knock suddenly sounded on the door of the room, splintering the quiet silence. Aki wheeled about, an expression of terror spreading over his seamed features. Before he could move again the door was shoved roughly inward and Rakar shouldered his way into the room. His dark, bearded face was impassively cynical, but his eyes were black and hot as they swung from Aki to Vance.

  He was not alone. Several of the heavy-shouldered riders stood behind him in the corridor, their brutal faces gleaming with anticipation.

  RAKAR stared at Vance for a long moment and a humorless smile parted his full, heavy lips.

  “This is interesting,” he said softly. “Is it?” Vance said. He fought to curb his rising anger. There was something in Rakar’s insolent state that raised the hackles on the back of his neck.

  Rakar turned from him without answering. His thick powerful hand shot out and closed over Aki’s frail shoulder. The muscles of his forearm bunched, his fingers closed like steel claws and Aki sank to his knees, a sobbing moan breaking from his lips,

  “Dog!” Rakar growled. He shook the old man roughly, savagely. Still holding the old man with his one hand he lifted him from the floor and flung him toward the men standing in the corridor. They caught Aki’s stumbling form and jerked him erect, twisting his arms behind his body. His white head sagged limply forward against his chest.

  “Take him away,” Rakar snapped. He turned to Vance, his heavy, dark face reddened with his rage.

  “You will be wise to forget what you heard from this mad slave,” he growled.

  Vance glanced briefly at the elderly slave, Aki, held helpless in the grip of Rakar’s men and then his gaze swung back to Rakar.

  “What are you going to do to him?” he asked, ignoring Rakar’s instruction.

  Rakar’s strong white teeth flashed against the darkness of his beard.

  “That does not concern you,” he said. “What difference does it make whether a slave lives or dies?”

  “It does to me,” Vance snapped. He felt Aki’s eyes on him, silently imploring. “Numari, your ruler, gave this man to me to use as a personal servant. I think that entitles me to some say in the matter. Tell your men to take their hands off him. If he’s to be punished Numari will take care of it, not your gang of hoodlums.”

  Vance watched the expression on Rakar’s face as he spoke. He was stalling for time, hoping to bluff Rakar into releasing the slave. There were questions he had to ask Aki, questions that might solve the whole riddle of his presence here in this strange, barbaric world. And he didn’t intend to let that chance slip from him. But it was impossible to judge the effect of his words on Rakar.

  The man’s swarthy, lowering face was as enigmatic as the fissures in a granite wall.

  “I have given you excellent advice,” he said harshly. “Keep out of this affair and forget what you have heard. This old fool will have his head split within the hour and that will be the end of the matter.”

  VANCE stepped forward slowly, and instinctively his hands tightened into hard fists. He didn’t know what he could do to help Aki, but he was through stalling.

  Rakar put a big hand against his chest.

  “I have warned you,” he said tensely.

  Vance moved forward against the pressure of Rakar’s hand and his gray eyes were dancing with reckle
ss lights. There was a tingling excitement in his veins. He knew, now, what was going to happen.

  “Take your hand down,” he said quietly.

  Rakar’s dark face flushed with hot anger. His thick brutal lips flattened against his teeth.

  “Fool!” he hissed.

  The muscles of his arm and shoulder flexed as he lunged suddenly forward, shoving his entire strength and weight against Vance’s chest.

  Vance had been expecting the move. He twisted sharply sideways and Rakar’s hand slipped from his chest.

  The momentum of Rakar’s lunge sent him sprawling to the floor. With a roar of bestial rage he clambered to his feet and rushed at Vance, his great fists swinging like flailing mallets.

  Vance dropped into a crouch, a savage exultation coursing through his body. He slipped under Rakar’s wildly swinging arms and drove a sledgehammer blow into his stomach.

  Rakar staggered back, his face whitening with pain. His mouth opened and closed spasmodically as he fought for breath. Vance stepped in and swung again, coldly, savagely. His fist connected solidly with the bigger man’s jaw.

  Rakar fell backward through the door of the room, sprawling in a tangled heap at the feet of the three guards who were holding the slave, Aki.

  He rolled to a kneeling position, his hands clasped over his bleeding lips. There was a maniacal gleam of hatred in his narrowed, gleaming eyes.

  Two of his gray-clad men had drawn short, wicked-looking knives and were starting for Vance, but he checked them with a sharp gesture of his hand.

  “Wait!” he growled through swollen lips. His hate-maddened eyes swung to Vance. A cruel, humorless smile touched his lips.

  “We shall see Numari now,” he said softly. “We have played too long with you.” He motioned to his men, who were crouched tensely, with daggers drawn. “Take him to the council chamber.”

  Vance realized that it would be useless to resist. He relaxed as the two of Rakar’s men pinioned his arms and dragged him from the room and down the corridor. Rakar followed, with Aki and his guard bringing up the rear.

  CHAPTER IV

  NUMARI was reclining indolently on his raised dais, and there were a number of the gray-clad, grim-looking guards posted at the entrances of the council chamber, when Vance was dragged into the softly-lighted, luxuriously furnished room.

  Numari’s thin, cynical face expressed an amused surprise as he stared blandly from Vance to Rakar.

  “Has there been some difficulty?” he inquired softly. He made a slight gesture to the men holding Vance, and they released him and stepped back a few paces,

  “Yes,” Rakar snapped harshly. He motioned to the guard holding Aki to shove him forward. “This traitor has been caught red-handed, spreading lies about you and talking of Laonara, which alone is punishable by death.” Numari glanced fleetingly at Aki and shook his head sadly.

  “How very thoughtless of you,” he murmured. He turned again to Rakar. “And to whom was he telling these—ah—lies?”

  Rakar nodded toward Vance.

  “The one from the other world. And his actions indicate that he believes the slave before us. We have made a mistake in treating him gently. There are other methods he might understand more readily.”

  “Possibly,” Numari said. He shifted slowly on his chair until he faced Vance directly.

  “Do you have anything to say in answer to these charges?” he asked quietly.

  Vance smiled mockingly.

  “Would it do me any good?” He folded his arms and met Numari’s gaze deliberately. “I don’t know what your game is but I don’t like what I’ve seen so far.”

  “That is a pity,” Numari said, smiling. “Since you are going to spend considerable time with us, your attitude is unfortunate. We need your knowledge and information of the mechanical and electrical developments of your dimension. We were prepared to make your stay as pleasant as possible if you were willing to cooperate. “Now,” he shrugged eloquently, “you are forcing us to be unpleasant. It is, however, not too late to change your mind and your attitude. The scientific knowledge you possess is vital to us and one way or another, we will acquire it. The means we employ will be determined by your attitude.”

  Vance’s jaw set stubbornly.

  “I don’t feel in a very cooperative mood,” he said sarcastically.

  Numari sighed. “That is unfortunate—for you. You leave me no alternative. Beneath this building are a number of dungeons which are not particularly pleasant. We find them useful in changing stubborn minds. When I see you again I feel quite sure that you will be more responsive.”

  He nodded to Rakar.

  “You may take charge of the prisoners. Perhaps your methods would have been best from the beginning.”

  DAKAR smiled slowly, a twisted smile of gloating anticipation, as he regarded Vance. A deep, unpleasant laugh rumbled in his bull throat and his hand moved thoughtfully to his battered jaw.

  “It is not too late,” he said softly. “I’m sure of that. It is never too late to even scores.”

  He made a sharp gesture with his hand. The men behind Vance stepped forward and grabbed his arms. One of them prodded the point of a dagger into his back. For an instant Vance tensed, ready to lash out at the men holding him, but he realized that any struggle would be worse that futile. His muscles relaxed and he permitted the men to shove him toward the door. Numari said, “I will see you again.” Vance halted and twisted to face the dais. There were hard bitter lights in his gray eyes.

  “Yes,” he said softly, “you’ll see me again.”

  Numari’s light laugh was in his ears as he was shoved through the door and it was slammed behind him with thudding finality.

  Vance was led along a corridor to an intersecting passageway that sloped downward at a noticeable angle. For several minutes they followed this circular, descending corridor, and with each step the increasing humidity became more stifling. Rivulets of water trickled down the smooth sides of the corridor and collected in puddles on the hard, smooth floor. An occasional flickering taper cast a dubious illumination over the glistening walls.

  Vance could hear Rakar behind him and he could also hear the lighter steps of Aki and the man who guarded him, but other than these sounds the tunnels were as silent as a tomb.

  It was impossible to gauge distance or time in the subterranean passages. For what seemed to be hours they followed the tortuously winding passage until finally it straightened and levelled out. Now the tapers were hundreds of feet apart, and except for these intervals, they plodded on through the dank tunnels in a stygian blackness.

  When they passed the next light Vance noticed a door on one side of the passage. It was apparently cut into the stone in the most primitive fashion. One small window, hardly three inches square, had been chiseled at its top and this was the only aperture in the solid face of the door.

  Vance shuddered as they trudged past this crypt-like entrance. His imagination balked at the image of what might lie behind that door, in the gloomy vault it sealed.

  He realized then that such a cell was probably his own destination. Drops of perspiration started on his forehead. Imprisonment in one of the tomb-like vaults that lined these dark corridors would be a hell on earth, a living death.

  Finally, after their seemingly interminable march, the two men at his side jerked him to a halt. Rakar strode up alongside him.

  “This is the end of the tunnel system,” he said. He pointed ahead where Vance could see, through the gloom, a solid wall blocking off the corridor. “For men left here,” Rakar continued, “this is generally the end of the world. When you again see the light you will be older—and wiser.”

  ONE of Vance’s guard had pulled open a creaking, vault-like door, exposing a small, damp cell, barely large enough for a person to stand in. There was a rustle of small things on the floor as the light from the corridor fell into the room.

  “You will not be completely alone,” Rakar said ironically.

  The two gu
ards, at a sign from Rakar, suddenly jerked Vance’s arms behind his back and twisted them so that he was pinioned helplessly between them.

  “Before I leave you here to rot,” Rakar said savagely, “I’m going to pay you back in full for this.”

  He touched his battered jaw, the result of Vance’s swinging fist, and smiled bitterly.

  “This will be something for you to remember in the darkness,” he said.

  With sadistic deliberation he drew back his fist and drove it at Vance’s face with all of his strength.

  But the blow did not find its mark. At the instant the swing started, Vance hurled himself to one side, jerking the guards off their feet with the unexpectedness of his lunge.

  Rakar bellowed in rage. But before he could move toward Vance a rumbling reverberation suddenly blasted through the dimly-lighted passageway, jarring the solid rock beneath their feet. There was a crushing noise, as of two mighty boulders grinding together, and then the wall that blocked off the tunnel swung ponderously, slowly open.

  A terrible, deep-throated roar blasted against the walls of the tunnel, as the intersecting wall swung clear.

  Vance hurled one guard from him and was struggling to his feet, when the dreadful, marrow-chilling sound exploded in his ears, deafening him with its immensity.

  He wheeled toward the sound and the incredible sight that met his eyes branded itself on his memory for all time.

  A golden, lion-like beast was crouched at the end of the tunnel, its mighty jaws distended horribly, as roar after roar blasted from its great chest, jarring the walls and ceiling with their impact.

  And behind this immense beast stood the flowing haired, thrillingly beautiful girl who had first appeared to him as a painted figure in a picture.

  Now, her face was aflame with triumphant exultation and smoky lights swirled in the depths of her enormous eyes.

  Vance saw her lips move, saw her hand touch the mighty beast, crouched at her feet like a dog. And then what happened was too quick for his eye to follow.