Mirror of the Night

by E. C. Tubb

  “Must I tell you all my secrets? I know, that is sufficient. In fact I have even made a little puppet of you. So careless of you to leave a strand of your hair where I could find it.”

  “Nonsense!” Klien shook his head “I’m surprised at you even talking such rubbish.”

  “You do not believe? It is well, so few believe in the old ‘nonsense’ nowadays.” She looked towards the door. “Wine, Toni. Rare wine for our guests.” She glanced at the priest. “Well?”

  “You know why I am here,” he said. “Petrocchio died tonight.”

  “So? And what is Petrocchio to me?”

  “I hope, nothing.” Murphy sighed and shifted on his chair. “But he is dead and there are those who believe that you killed him.” He stared at her. “There are those who call you a witch.”

  “Women, naturally. They are always jealous of their men these women.”

  “Men also,” said Murphy. “They hate you and yet they fear you. They say that you are a maker of dolls.”

  “I make dolls,” she admitted. “So?”

  “In the making of dolls there is no harm,” said the priest soberly. “It is when they are altered by the addition of hair or nail clippings from a living body. It is when the doll is made from wax and dressed as a living thing. It is when certain things are mixed with the wax and certain things said. Then, if done by someone with evil in her heart, the doll has the power to hurt the man. A needle in its eye and the man will be blinded in that eye. If the foot is crushed then the man will suffer a crushed foot.”

  “And if the doll is held before a fire so that it melts? What then?”

  “The burning fever and wasting death.”

  “So.” The word sounded like the hissing of a snake. She smiled and the darting of her crimson tongue was reptilian. She seemed about to speak then hesitated as Toni returned with the wine. He set it down, a decanter of chased gold set with precious stones, the goblets of crystal veined and lined with mother of pearl. The wine, as she poured it, was thick and heavy, red and somehow too reminiscent of blood. She sipped at her glass and smiled over the rim.

  “You may go, Toni.”

  “But Madame!”

  “Leave us!" Again the ice and iron of command and, for a moment, Klien thought that he heard something harsh and grating about her voice. She smiled at him and the thought vanished. He picked up his wine.

  “Don’t drink that,” said Murphy quickly. “Eat no food or let drink pass your lips when in the house of a witch.”

  “Witch?” Klien stared at the beautiful woman. “Now really, Murphy, hasn’t this gone a little too far?”

  “You think of a witch as a bent and withered old crone,” said the priest evenly. “You think of them as old and fragile, helpless and tottering on the grave. You tend to laugh at them, eyen pity them a little. You are making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  His hand rose, the forefinger extended, and the soft light flashed from the jewelled ring he wore.

  “There stands a witch! Look at her and remember!”

  She laughed. She tilted back her head and exposed the smooth line of her youthful throat and the sound of her merriment was as music to the doctor’s ears.

  “Foolish man,” she said. “Do you hate women so much that you must call each of them a witch? What is a witch? Why do you call me so? What harm do I do with my little dolls? What crime can the police accuse me of?”

  “Of obtaining money by threats. Of the practice of witchcraft. Of causing the death of a man by suggestion.” The priest spoke the charges as though he were tolling a bell.

  She shrugged.

  “So you accuse me and I go to court. I am a woman, young, attractive, no? What Judge or Jury would convict me?”

  “None,” he admitted. “But you will not go to court. I am your Judge. I am your Jury. And, please God, I shall be your executioner!”

  “You are mad,” she said, and this time her laugh was brittle. Her eyes sharpened on the ring he wore on his finger. “That ring! Where did you get it?”

  “It was given me by a man who lived in goodness and died in peace. A strange, tormented soul who fought against evil and won. A saint.”

  “Interesting.” She shrugged again. “Why don’t you drink your wine? You think it is poisoned? Here, give it to me.” Reaching out she picked up the doctor’s glass, swallowed half of the contents, and handed it back to him. He smiled at her as he took it and was about to drink when he felt the glass dashed from his hand.

  “I warned you not to drink,” said the big man. “If you value your life and your soul you will obey me.”

  “Are you a man?” She looked at Klien and he felt anger at his friend. “Here,” she handed him her own goblet. “Drink and pledge yourself to me.”

  “Wait!” Murphy rested his hand over the doctor’s lips. “Can’t you understand even yet? You are bewitched by the simplest of a witch’s spells. To you she looks young and lovely, innocent and devoid of sin. But I see her as she is. Old, evil, her body shrunken with many years and her limbs shrivelled with time. Her body looks young, but her soul is steeped in the Devil’s brew of hate and evil.”

  “Drink,” she commanded, and Klien lifted the glass again.

  “Fool!” Anger and fear for his friend echoed in the big man’s voice. “See then! See for yourself!”

  His hand covered the doctor’s eyes and Klien felt something press against his throat. A liquid stung his forehead and he heard a swift mutter of Latin. He blinked as the big man uncovered his eyes, blinked and…

  “Merciful heavens!” He stared and felt an almost physical repulsion. Nothing had really altered but now he saw her as through another’s eyes. He looked and he was sickened by what he saw.

  Madame Peroni was old. She sat and looked at him with eyes full of evil. Her lips were coloured with blood and the wrinkles of her sagging skin matched the sparse greyness of her hair and the withered texture of her limbs. Her gown was the same and, in another woman, it would have been pathetic to see someone so old dress so young. But there was nothing pathetic about her. She crouched as a tiger might crouch and strange syllables spewed from her lips and her hands moved in odd gestures.

  Abruptly she was young again, sitting and smiling at him with her eyes full of promise. But it was too late. He had seen her as Murphy saw her and he knew that he could never rid himself of the memory.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered. “She’s…she’s vile!”

  “You will remain.” Again the harsh command and now all pretence had fallen from her. Hate glistened in her eyes and her hands held a little figure, which Klien found strangely familiar.

  “This is your doll,” she whispered. “Made of that special wax with those certain spells of which your friend spoke. In it is some of your hair, a single strand but it is enough. In my other hand I have a needle, see? Move and I will thrust it into the eyes of this doll. If 1 do that you will be blind.” She laughed, a sound directly from the floor of Hell itself. “You do not believe me? Then feel for yourself!”

  The glittering needle in her hand swooped and touched the leg of the doll. It touched and penetrated and Klien jerked to a sudden thrust of agony in his leg.

  “You still doubt? Then once more to convince you.”

  Again the needle thrust at the doll. This time it stabbed at the upper arm and the doctor cried out from the pain in his own limb. The woman was smiling as she stared at them.

  “I admitted you for a purpose. Know this, the pair of you, and learn to obey. I am a witch. I am the Witch of Peronia. I have lived for many centuries and wil1 live for many more. You will obey me and follow my every wish. Do this thing and I will not injure your doll. Disobey and you will suffer as few men have suffered.”

  “You cannot harm me,” said the big man quietly. “Your evil power is useless against what I represent.”

  “True, but I can harm your friend,” she said shrewdly. She relaxed and smiled at them. “I am tired of going among these pe
asants and forcing them to provide the money I need. They pay little, it is true. But then there are many of them and they are easily frightened. I have but ten dolls of those cattle, Petrocchio died from another hand than mine, but their own fears make them mine. Toni can collect their dues from now while we move on to higher things.”

  She smiled at Klien.

  “You are a doctor, how easy it is for you to take samples of blood. You will take many samples from the very rich and together we will make much money from them. You see, I am modern, I always take the easy way to get what I want.” She laughed at the doctor’s expression. “You seem startled. Why?”

  “If you are a witch and have power,” he muttered, “then why bother with money?”

  “Because money now, as ever, is power,” she snapped. “Spells I can make and other things but I always take the easy way. With my little dolls we shall control the city, then the nation and then perhaps?” She smiled and shrugged. “No. There are my sisters to think of and there is plenty for all.” Idly she touched the doll in her hand with the needle and Klien jerked as he felt burning pain lance through him.

  Inwardly he felt sick. His teaching screamed in protest at what he saw and felt. Such things could not be in this modern age of drugs and materialism. To think that this woman held his life literally in her hands and could make him do anything she wished made him ill. Her plan, diabolically simple and terribly effective, was obvious. First to use him as a tool to obtain the needed blood, probably she wanted blood because it was more effective than hair or skin. She would make the donors ill and they would pay heavily for treatment. Then, when they had been broken, she would tell them the truth and they would pay and pay and pay again to avoid the illness and death she could bring.

  And they would do more than pay.

  They would obey her every command. Mesh others too into her web and turn the city over to her as her plaything.

  And nothing he could do would stop her. One thrust of the needle in her hand and he would be dead. He licked dry lips as he stared at the tiny doll and, beside him, he felt the big priest move on his chair as though he prepared himself for action.

  When it came it was shocking in its suddenness. One moment he was sitting in his chair, the next he was halfway across the room and stooping over the woman. One hand swiped at the doll and Klien screamed as he felt himself fly through the air to land heavily against the wall. He staggered to his feet in time to see the woman writhing in the big man’s grasp.

  “Witch of Peronia,” he said, and the sound of his voice was as a mighty organ. “Your hour has come. Release the souls you have in bondage and pray for mercy for, as surely as you are merciful, so shall you receive mercy in your turn.”

  “You cannot kill me,” she gasped. “You cannot go against your nature and your God.”

  “I shall not kill you,” said Murphy. “But I shall strip you of evil and rob you of the power to do harm. Within you there dwells a devil from hell. You are no longer human and even if I slew you it would not be murder but release.”

  “Fool!” She struggled but he held her as he would have held a child. “Do you think to overcome me with your puny powers? I have the power of centuries while you are but a man. Release me before I call on my master to blast you with his fires.”

  Her rage was terrible to watch and Klien shuddered as he stared at her contorted features. Even as he watched Toni, the man who had answered the door, came running into the room as though in answer to some unspoken command. Murphy spoke before he could take action, placing one big hand over the woman’s mouth to prevent her screaming a spell.

  “The dolls? Where are they?”

  The man hesitated, his eyes watchful.

  “The dolls,” snapped the priest. “I have her safe, she cannot harm me, and now is your chance to break away from her power. Where are the dolls? Tell me where they are and you may take your own and be free of her for always.”

  It worked. Watching the man Klien saw the light of amazed wonderment fill his eyes and for a moment it seemed that he would kneel and kiss the big man’s foot.

  “Freedom!” he whispered. “After all these years of bondage. You mean it?”

  “Where are the dolls?”

  “In this cabinet. They are all there. Mine, those of some other poor fools like me, those of the men on the waterfront.”

  “Open the cabinet,” ordered the priest. “Klien! In those dolls you will find a strand of hair, some nail clippings, some organic material embedded in the wax. Remove it and destroy the dolls.”

  “How?” Already the doctor, following Toni’s example, was digging into the soft wax and removing the hair he found there. Stripping the mannikins he crushed them into an unrecognisable lump. All but one, his own, and he stared at it with scientific interest.

  It was beautifully made. It bore his own features even to the tiny scar he had on one cheek, and its clothes were a copy of his own. He held it as Murphy released the woman and took it from him.

  “Have you removed the hair?”

  “Yes.” Klien hesitated. “Are you sure that it is safe to crush it?”

  “Now it is.” Deliberately the priest flattened the features. “See? Nothing happened to you. A part of you is essential if this vile magic is to work.'”

  “I…” Klien swallowed. “No. Better get rid of it. I shouldn’t sleep soundly at night knowing that it was still around.”

  “You wanted it for a souvenir?” Murphy shook his head. “Better not tamper with things you don’t understand, doctor. Stick to your medicines and hypodermics, your drugs and instruments. Leave black magic to the Devil to whom it belongs.”

  He looked at Toni, standing by the door, his eyes on the woman who now sat calmly on her chair sipping at her wine.

  “Look at him,” he whispered. “Look at him and see what is meant by a soul released from bondage. For how many years has that man been forced to obey her slightest whim? What sights has he seen? What horrors has he experienced? We shall never know but, looking at him, I realise just what horror is contained in the vile thing known as black magic.”

  Klien nodded, soberly, only now beginning to realise the awful power the dolls gave to the woman and, as he looked at her, he was stricken by a terrible fear.

  “We must stop her,” he urged. “Unless we do she will make more dolls and get us into her power. She hates us, you can tell that from her eyes, and think of the terrible pain she could cause us from her black arts.”

  “I have thought of it,” said Murphy calmly.

  “What are you going to do then? You must do something. You can’t just leave her here.” Klien was almost babbling as he thought of what could happen if the woman were allowed to make more dolls.

  “What can I do?” The priest shrugged. “If we take her to the police they will laugh at us.” He sighed. “In the old days the problem would have been simply solved by burning her at the stake. I cannot allow that even if I could do it. Vile as she is she still has a soul and I must think of that.”

  “But you said that she was no longer human. You said that the Devil had possessed her and taken her soul.”

  “I did, and I spoke the truth.” If Murphy felt any amusement at the doctor reversing his own convictions he made no sign of it.

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “What I can. Take the man and leave us.”

  “But…”

  “Please do as I ask. There are some things it is not wise for us to see. Hasten now. Take the man Toni and wait for me outside.”

  Klien nodded and moved towards the door. Toni, his face impassive, stepped aside and together they stepped into the wind-swept street. How long they waited the doctor never knew but, when Murphy rejoined them, he was shivering and numb from the cold. The big man was sweating.

  “I did what I could,” he said shortly, “but it was far from easy. I shall return tomorrow and the day after, and every day if necessary.” He looked around him.

  “Where is
the man?”

  “He was here a moment ago,” said Klien. He shivered. “Probably he went back for a thicker coat. Let’s get home where you can tell me all about it.”

  For a while they walked in silence and then, talking more to himself than the doctor at his side, the priest murmured soft words.

  “She is a strange creature. She isn’t as old as she claims, of course, but has deluded herself that she is. The Witch of Peronia, probably the place where she was born. She was taught the art of making the dolls from an old woman who lived nearby. She said that the villagers burned her house one night and she was only able to escape by luck. Toni was her first victim. He fell in love with her and she snared him. I hate to think of what he must have been through.” Murphy sighed.

  “The evil was strong in her, very strong, and it took all the power I represent to evict the Devil from her soul. The struggle was not easy and it…”

  He halted, his face grim in the dim glow from the street lights.

  “Klien! We must return at once!”

  “Return? But why?”

  “The man. Toni, I had forgotten him. He hates her, Klien, hates her with a hatred you would find impossible to understand. And he is afraid of her, afraid of what will happen to him if she again gets him into her power. Hurry! We must return!”

  They were too late.

  Klien saw the fire long before they emerged into the narrow street and it was obvious that nothing anyone could do would save the shop and building from total destruction. He halted at the edge of the far pavement and the heat from the roaring flames singed the hair on his head and seared his cheeks.

  “Toni!” shouted Murphy above the roar of the flames. “I was afraid of this. He returned and set fire to the house.”

  “But why?” Klien stared at the big man and read the answer in his eyes. Murphy nodded.

  “He was from her own village. He would have remembered how they had killed the old witch. They burned her alive, remember. And he was terribly afraid lest she should again make a doll of him and subject him to her power.”

  He began to mutter in Latin and, staring at the fire, Klien could guess what he was saying. Nothing human could have lived in those flames. Toni had taken the woman he had loved with him into a fiery grave, burning out her evil with the cleansing flames.