Slaves of Sleep Read online

  "I gave my word that I would not open that jar."

  "Your word. But think, man, what a revelation this would be! Who knows but what this actually contains one of those luckless Ifrits?"

  Jan wandered back to his humidor and repacked his pipe. As far as he was concerned the interview was over. He might be bullied into anything but when it came to breaking his word... Carefully he lighted his pipe.

  Frobish's face was feverish. He was straining forward toward Jan, waiting for the acquiescence he felt certain must come. And when at last he found that his own enthusiasm had failed to kindle a return blaze, he threw out his hands in a despairing gesture and marched ahead, forcing Jan back against a chair into which he slumped. Frobish towered over him.

  "You can't be human!" cried Frobish. "Don't you understand the importance of this? Have you no personal curiosity whatever? Are you made of wax that you can live for years in the company with a jar which might very well contain the final answer to the age-old question of demonology? For centuries men have maun足dered on the subject of witches and devils. Recently it became fashionable to deny their existence entirely and to answer all strange phenomena with ''scientific facts' actually no more than bad excuses for learning. Men even deny telepathy in face of all evidence. Once whole civilizations were willing to burn their citizens for witchcraft but now the reference to devils and goblins brings forth only laughter. But down deep in our hearts, we know there is more than a fair possibility that such things exist. And here, man, you have a possible answer! If all historical records are correct then that jar contains an Ifrit. And if it does, think, man, what the Jinn could tell us! According to history, they were versed in all the black arts. Today we know nothing of those things. All records died with their last possessors. Most of that knowledge was from hand to hand, father to son. What of the magic of ancient Egypt? What of the mysteries of the India of yesterday? What race in particular was schooled in their usages? The Jinn! And here we have one of the Jinn, perhaps, entombed in this very room, waiting to express his gratitude upon being released. Do you think for a moment he would fail to give us anything we wanted in the knowledge of the black arts?"

  The fragrant fog from his pipe drifted about Jan's head and through it his glasses momentarily flashed. Then he sank back. "If I had not already thought this out, I would have no answer for you. There is no doubt but what the Ifrit-if he is there-has died. Hundreds or thousands of years ..."

  "Toads have lived in stone longer than that!" cried Frobish. "And toads possess none of the secrets for which science is even now groping. A small matter of suspended animation should create no difficulty for such a being as an Ifrit. You quibble. The point is this. You have here a thing for which I would sell my soul to see and you put me off. Since the first days in college when I first understood that there were more things in this Universe than could be answered by a slide rule and a badly perceived physical principle, I have dreamed of such a chance. I tell you, sir, I won't be balked!"

  Jan looked questioningly at Frobish. The fellow had suddenly assumed very terrifying proportions. And it was not that Jan dis足trusted his physical ability so much as his habitual retreat before the face of bullying which made him swallow now.

  "I have given my word," he said doggedly. "I know as well as you that that jar may well contain a demon from other ages. But for ten years I slaved to forget it and put it out of my mind forever. And I do not intend to do otherwise now. The only friend I ever had gave me that jar. And now, with Greg Palmer dead in the deep of nine south and fifty-one east, I have no recourse but to keep the promise I gave him. He was at pains to make me understand that I would do myself great harm by breaking that seal and so I have a double reason to refuse. I could let nothing happen to you in this . . ."

  "My safety is my own responsibility. If you are afraid . . ."

  Jan, carried on by the dogged persistence of which he was occasionally capable- though nearly always against other things than man- looked at the floor between his feet and said, "I can say with truth that I am not afraid. I am not master of my own house nor of my slightest possessions; I may be a feather in the hands of others. But there is one thing which I cannot do. I do not want to speak about it any further."

  Frobish, finding resistance where he had not thought it possible, backed off, studying the thin, not unhandsome face of his host as though he could find a break in the defenses. But although Jan Palmer wore an expression very close to apology, there was still a set to his jaw which forbade attack. Frobish gave a despair足ing look at the jar.

  "All my life," he said, "I have searched for such a thing. And now I find it here. Here, under the touch of my hands, ready to be opened with the most indifferent methods! And in that jar there lies the answer to all my speculations. But you balk me. You barricade the road to truth with a promise given to a dead man. You barricade all my endeavors. From here on I shall never be able to think of anything else but that jar." His voice dropped to a pleading tone. "In all the records of old there are constant references to Ifrits, to Marids and ghouls. We have closed our eyes to such things. It is possible that they still exist and it would only be necessary to discover how to find them. And there is the way to discover them, there in that corner. Can't you see, Jan Palmer, that I am pleading with you out of the bottom of my heart? Can't you understand what this means to me? You-you are rich! You have everything you require..."

  "I have nothing. In all things I am a pauper. But in one thing I can hold my own. I cannot and will not break my word. I am sorry. Had you argued so eloquently for this very house you might have had it because this house is a yoke to me. But you have asked for a thing which it is beyond my power to give. I can say nothing more. Please do not come back."

  It was a great deal for Jan Palmer to say. Green and Thomp足son and Aunt Ethel would have been rocked to their very insteps at such a firm stand had they witnessed it. But Jan Palmer had not been under the thumb of Frobish from the days of his childhood. This concerned nothing but the most private posses足sion a man can have-his honor. And so it was that Frobish ulti足mately backed out of the door, too agitated even to remember to take the Arab dhow.

  Before Jan closed off the entrance, Frobish had one last glimpse of the copper jar, dull green in the light of the sinking sun. He clamped his mouth shut with a click which sounded like a bear trap's springing. He jerked his hat down over his brow. Swiftly he walked away, looking not at all like a fellow who has become reconciled to defeat.

  Jan had not missed the attitude. He had lived too long in the wrong not to know the reactions of men. He had seen his mother hounded to death by relatives. He had felt the resentment toward wealth really meant for his father. He had been through a tor足turous school and had come out far from unscathed. He knew very definitely that he would see Frobish again. Wearily he closed his door and slumped down in a chair to think.

  jinni gratitude

  Each evening, when the household was assembled at the dining table, Jan Palmer had the feeling that the entire table's atten足tion was devoted to seeing whether or not he would choke on his next mouthful. As long as his father had been alive, this had been the one period of the day when he had been certain of himself. His father had occupied the big chair at the head, filling it amply, and treating one and all to a rough jocosity which was very acceptable-until his father had retired to his study for the night. Then it seemed that his rough jests were not at all lightly received. Quite obvious it had been that fawning was a wearying business at best and that those so engaged were apt to revert at the slightest excuse.

  Jan didn't come close to filling the big chair. His slight body could have gone three times between the arms of it. And Aunt Ethel and Thompson and, occasionally as tonight, Nathaniel Green, found no reason whatever to do any fawning.

  Having very early deserted the bosom of his family for the flinty chest of Socrates, Jan knew quite well that if he had had the dispensing of funds comparable to those of his father in his entire co
ntrol, smiles and not scowls would now be his lot. But the Bering Steamship Company was not showing much of a profit. Just why he did not know. He had never peeped into the books but he supposed that these continual strikes had something to do with it. The company paid Thompson and most of Jan's lot went directly to Aunt Ethel for household expenses. He had, therefore, no spare dollars to spread around.

  The deep, dank silence was marred only by the scraping of silver on china. It was as if they all had secrets which they were fearful of giving away to each other or as if they could say nothing but things so awful that they wouldn't even let Jan hear them. The old house, with its ship models on the mantle and the great timbers across the ceilings and the hurricane lanterns hung along the walls wouldn't have been much quieter had it had no occu足pants at all.

  Jan was glad when the gloomy footman put indifferent coffee before them. If he was careful he could gulp it down and get away without a thing being said to him.

  But his luck didn't hold. "Jan," said Nathaniel heavily, "I trust you will be home this evening." The question implied that Jan was never to be found at home but always in some dive some足where, roistering.

  "Yes," said Jan.

  "You saw fit to leave today when I needed your signature. When I finally connected with you, I had only time to get the most urgent matters attended to. You are too careless of these serious matters. There are at least twenty letters which only you can write, unfortunately. I am forced to demand that you finish them tonight. If I but had your complete power of attorney you would save me such needless labor. I have so many things to do already that if I were six men with six hands I couldn't get them done in time."

  Strangely enough it came as welcome news to Jan. He almost smiled. "I am sorry that I can't be of more help but I'll be glad to do the letters tonight."

  Nathaniel grunted as much as to say that Jan better had if he knew what was good for him. And Jan took the grunt as a cue for his departure. Swiftly he made his way to his apartments, fearful that this wouldn't come out the way he hoped it would.

  The first thing he did was strip off his clothes and duck under a shower. He came forth in an agony of haste, losing everything and finding it and losing it again as he swiftly assembled himself. His wardrobe was able to offer very little as Aunt Ethel purchased most of his clothing and did little purchasing. But the dark blue suit was neatly pressed and his cravat was nicely tied and he had no more than finished slicking back his blond hair when a knock sounded.

  Hurriedly he flung himself into his chair by the desk and scooped up a book. Then he called, "Come in," as indifferently as he could.

  Alice Hall stepped firmly into the room. As Nathaniel's stenographer it was her duty, two or three times a week, to call in the evening to let Jan catch up on company correspondence. She was the last of six such stenographers and ever since she had first taken the job four months before, Jan had lain awake nights trying to figure out a way to make certain that she would hold her job. It was not so much that she was beautiful-though she was that-and it wasn't entirely because she was the only one who did not seem to look down upon him. Jan had tried to turn up the answer in vain. She was a lady, there was no denying it, and she was far better educated than most stenographers, evidently having done postgraduate work. She did not make him feel at ease at all but neither did she make him feel uneasy. When he had first beheld her he had had a hard time breathing.

  Her large blue eyes were as impersonal as the turquoise orbs of the idol by the wall. She was interested, it seemed, in nothing but doing her immediate job. Still, there was something about her; something unseen but felt as the traveler can sense the violence of a slumbering volcano under his feet. Her age was near Jan's own and she had arrived at that estate without leaving anything unlearned behind her. There was almost something resentful about her, but that too was never displayed.

  Now she put down her briefcase and took off her small hat and swagger coat and seated herself at a distance from him, plac足ing her materials on a small table before her. She arranged several letters in order and then stepped over to the blackwood desk and laid them before Jan who, to all signs, was deeply immersed in a treatise on aerodynamics.

  Truth told, he was afraid to notice her, not knowing anything to say besides that which had brought her there and not wanting to talk about such matters to her.

  She twitched the papers and still he did not look up. Finally she said, "You're holding that book upside down."

  "What? Oh... oh, yes, of course. These diagrams, you see... "

  "Shall we begin on the letters? This one on top is from the Steamship Owners Alliance, asking your attendance at a confer足ence in San Francisco. I have noted the reply on the bottom."

  "Oh, yes. Thank you." He looked studiously at the letter, his ears very red. "Yes, that is right. I won't be able to attend."

  "I didn't think you would," she said unexpectedly.

  "Uh?"

  "I said I was sure you wouldn't. They asked you but Mr. Green will go instead."

  "He wouldn't want me to go," said Jan. "He... he knows much more about it than I."

  "You're right."

  Jan detected, to his intense dismay, something like pity in her voice. Pity or contempt; they were brothers anyway.

  "But he really does," said Jan. "He wouldn't like it if I said I would go."

  "He'll be the only non-owner there."

  "But he has full authority...."

  "Does he?" She was barely interested now. Jan thought she looked disappointed about something. "Shall we get on with these letters?"

  "Yes, of course."

  For the following two hours he stumbled through the corres足pondence, taking most of his text from Alice Hall's suggestions. She wrote busily and efficiently and, at last, closed her notebook and put on her hat and coat.

  "Do you have to go?" said Jan, surprising himself. "I mean, couldn't I send for some tea and things. It's late."

  "I'll be up half the night now, transcribing."

  "Oh... will you? But don't you finish these at the office in the morning?"

  "Along with my regular work? A company can buy a lot for fifteen dollars a week these days."

  "Fifteen... but I thought our stenographers got twenty-five."

  "Oh, do you know that much about it?"

  "Why... yes." He was suddenly brightened by an idea. "If you have to work tonight perhaps I had better drive you home. It's quite a walk up to the car line...."

  "I have my own car outside. It's a fine car when it runs. Good night."

  He was still searching for a reply when she closed the door behind her. He got up, suddenly furious with himself. He went over to the fireplace and kicked at the logs, making sparks jump frightenedly up the flue. In the next fifteen minutes he thought up fifteen hundred things to say to her, statements which would swerve her away from believing him a weak mouse, holed up in a cluttered room. And that thought stopped him and sent him into a deep chair to morosely consider the truth of his simile. Time and again he had vowed to tell them all. Time and again some足thing had curled up inside of him to forbid the utterance.

  Sunk in morbid reverie, he failed to hear Aunt Ethel enter and indignantly turn out the lights without seeing him in the chair. He failed to see that the fire burned lower and lower until just one log smoldered on the grate. He failed to hear the clock strike two bells and so the night advanced upon him.

  With a start he woke without knowing that he had been asleep. He was cold and aching and aware of a wrong somewhere near him. Once again sounded the creepy scratch and Jan stood up, shaking and staring intently into the dark depths of the room. Someone or something was there. He did not want to turn on the light but he knew that he must. He found the lamp beside the chair and pulled its cord. The blinding glare whipped across the room to throw his caller into full relief.

  The curtains were blowing inward from the open window and the papers were stirring on the blackwood desk. And in the corner by the copper jar s
tood Frobish, nervous with haste, a knife peeling back ribbons of lead from the seal. For an instant, so intent was the interloper, he did not come aware of the light. And then he whirled about, facing Jan.

  Frobish's eyes were hot and his face drawn. There was danger in his voice. "I had to do this. I've been half crazy for hours thinking about it. I am going to open this copper jar and if you try to stop me..." The knife glittered in his fingers.

  It was very clear to Jan that he confronted a being whose entire life was concentrated upon one object and who was now driven to a deed which, had conditions been otherwise, would have hor足rified no one more than Professor Frobish. But, with his goal at hand, it would take more than the strength of one man to stop him. "You said you promised," cried Frobish. "I have nothing to do with that. You are not opening the jar and you were not com足missioned to see that it was never opened by anyone. Your cousin was protecting only you and him. He cared nothing about anyone else. If any harm comes from this, it is not on your head. Stay where you are and be silent." He again attacked the stopper.

  Jan, his surprise leaving him, looked anxiously along the wall. But there were no weapons on this side of the room beyond an old pistol which was not loaded and, indeed, was too rusty to even offer a threat.

  A sudden spasm of outrage shook him. That this fellow should Presume to break in here and meddle with what was his was swelled with years of resentment against all the countless invasions of his Privacy and the confiscations of his possessions.

  Shaking and white, Jan advanced across the room.

  Frobish whirled around to face him. "Stand back! I warn you this is no ordinary case. I won't be balked! This research is bigger than either you or me." His voice was mounting toward hysteria.

  Jan did not stop. Watchful of the knife, unable to understand how the professor could go to such lengths as using it, he came within a pace. Frobish backed up against the wall, breathing hard, swinging the weapon up to the level of his shoulders.

  "I've dreamed for years of making such a discovery. You cannot stop me now!"