Fear Page 8

  It was warm tonight, and what little breeze there was whispered faintly and sweetly across the lawns. The moon was nearly full and rode in a clear sky, from which it had jealously blotted the smaller stars.

  Lowry went down the middle of the steps and dared the walk to open up. It did not. Almost smiling over this small triumph, he reached the street and cast about him. Eleven-thirty was not here, but he was almost certain that if he was expected, there would be a guide.

  The little dark thing flicked about his legs, and the laughter sounded, gently as a child’s. Lowry nerved himself to listen to it.

  Tonight he would not cower and run away. These things had been strange to him before, but they were not strange to him now. Something would come to lead him, and he would be brave and carry out—

  “Jim!”

  He saw Tommy silhouetted in an upstairs window.

  “Jim! Where are you going?”

  But there was something moving under a tree ahead and it was beckoning to him.

  “Jim! At least wait until I give you your hat!”

  He felt a cold shudder race over him. The thing was beckoning more strenuously, and he sped toward it.

  At first he could not make out what it was, so deep was the moon shadow there. But in a moment he saw that it was a cassocked little figure not more than four feet high, with a nearly luminous bald head. Beads and a cross hung about its neck, and crude leather sandals exposed its toes.

  “You received my message?”

  “Yes. Where are we going?” asked Lowry.

  “You know as well as I do, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Welllll— You know me, don’t you?”

  Lowry looked at him more closely. There seemed to be an intangible quality to this little monk, as if he was lacking substance. And then Lowry found that he could see through him and behold the tree trunk and the moon-bathed curb.

  “I am Sebastian. You turned me out of my tomb about six years ago. Don’t you remember?”

  “The church tombs of Chezetol!”

  “Ah, you do remember. But do not think I am angry. I am a very humble fellow, and I am never angry, and if I have to wander now without a home, and if my body was the dust which your diggers’ spades broke, I still am not angry. I am a very humble person.” And, indeed, he was almost cringing. But still there was a certain sly way he cast his eyes sideways at Jim that made one wonder. “I had been lying there for three hundred years, and you, thinking it was an old Aztec ruin because of the Aztec symbols on the stones which had been converted to its construction, dug me up. Where is my belt?”

  “Your belt?”

  “Yes, my beautiful golden belt. You picked it up and turned to your guide and said, ‘What’s this? A gold belt marked with the symbols of the Catholic Church! I thought this was an Aztec ruin. A week’s digging for nothing but a golden belt.’”

  “It is in the college museum.”

  “I was a little hurt about it,” said Sebastian sadly. “‘—for nothing but a golden belt.’ I liked it because I made it, you see, and we thought it was very beautiful. We converted Razchytl to Christianity, and then we took his gold and made sacred vessels of it, and when he died on the mining gangs we even went so far as to bury him with a golden cross. May I have my belt?”

  “I can’t get it for you now.”

  “Oh, yes, you must. Otherwise I won’t go with you and show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Where you spent your four hours.”

  Lowry pondered for a little while and then nodded. “All right. We’ll get your belt. Come with me.”

  Lowry walked swiftly up the street, the little dark shadow just behind the range of his eye to the left, Sebastian a step behind upon his right. Sebastian’s crude slippers made no sound upon the pavement.

  It was a very short distance to the building which housed the museum, and Lowry was soon fumbling for his keys. The door opened into the blackness, but Lowry knew the place by heart and did not turn on his light until he was near the case which held the golden belt. He fumbled for more keys and, switching on his flash, started to fit one. He stopped. He played his light upon the objects within. The belt was gone!

  Nervously he turned to Sebastian. “The belt isn’t here. They must have sold it to another museum while I was gone.”

  Sebastian’s head was cast down. “It is gone, then. And I shall never get it back—but I am not angry. I am a very humble person. I am never angry. Goodbye, señor Lowry.”

  “Wait! I’ll try to get your belt back! I’ll buy it back and put it somewhere where you can find it!”

  Sebastian paused at the door and then dodged aside. A beam of light stabbed down the aisle. It was Terence, the college watchman.

  “Who is in here?” cried Terence, trying to make his voice sound very brave.

  “It is I,” said Lowry, moving into the path of the light and blinking at its source.

  “Oh. Professor Lowry! Sure, and you gave me an awful scare there for a moment. This is no time to be tinkering around with them trinkets.”

  “I was doing some research,” said Lowry. “I needed a certain inscription for a class lecture tomorrow.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “No. It isn’t here anymore. I suppose they’ve sold it.”

  “Jebson would sell his own mother, Professor Lowry, and I mean what I say. He’s cut my pay, that’s what he’s done. I was terribly sorry to hear what he did to you. I thought that was a pretty good article you wrote, too.”

  “Thank you,” said Lowry, moving to the door, panicky lest Sebastian be frightened away.

  “’Course you laid it on a bit thick, Professor Lowry. Now, in the old country I could show you people that could tell you about having met a lot of things they couldn’t explain. It ain’t healthy to go around begging the demons to smash you.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure it isn’t. I’ve got to be going, Terence, but if you’d like to drop around to my office some afternoon when you get up, I’d be glad to hear about your evidence.”

  “Thank you, Professor Lowry. Thank you. That I will.”

  “Good night, Terence.”

  “Good night, Professor Lowry.”

  Lowry walked swiftly toward the deepest shade of the street, and when he was sure he was out of Terence’s sight he began to cast around for some sign of Sebastian. But all he could glimpse was the occasional flick of the dark object which traveled with him.

  When he had searched around and about for nearly twenty minutes, a low call reached him. And there was Sebastian hiding by a bush.

  “Oh,” said Lowry in relief. “I hoped you hadn’t gone. I wanted to tell you that if you would wait awhile I would buy back the golden belt.”

  “I am not angry,” said Sebastian.

  “But you want your belt, don’t you?”

  “It would please me very much. It was such a pretty belt. I made it with my own hands with many humble prayers to God, and though the metal is heathen the work was the work of love.”

  “You shall have your belt. But tonight you must take me to the place where I can find the four hours.”

  “You are determined to find them, then?”

  “I am.”

  “Jim Lowry, I wonder if you know what it will cost to find them.”

  “Whatever the cost, I intend to do so.”

  “You are brave tonight.”

  “Not brave. I know what I must do, that is all.”

  “Jim Lowry, last night you met some things.”

  “Yes.”

  “Those things were all working on your side. They were the forces of good. You did not lose your four hours to them, Jim Lowry. Nor to me.”

  “I must find them.”

  “You could not conceive the forces of the other side. You could not conceive so much pain and terror and evil. If you are to find those four hours you must be prepared to face those other forces.”

  “I must find them.”

&n
bsp; “Then, Jim Lowry, have faith in me and I shall show you part of the way. The rest of the way you must go alone.”

  “Lead and I shall follow.”

  Sebastian’s delicate little hand made the sign of the cross upon the air and then moved out to point an upward way. Lowry found that he was upon a smoothly blue roadway which wound upward and onward as though to the moon itself.

  Sebastian gripped his beads and began to walk. Lowry glanced around him, but for all he searched, he could not find the small black object, nor could he hear its laughter—if it was the source of that laughter.

  They went a long way, past spreading fields and little clusters of sleeping houses. Once a thing with bowed head and hidden face passed them, going down with slow and weary steps, but Lowry could not understand what it was.

  The way began to be broken as though it had once consisted of steps which had disintegrated to rubble; tufts of grass began to be more frequent in the cracks, showing that the way was little used. Ahead, a smoky outline of mountains took slow form and then it seemed to Lowry that they had come upon them swiftly. The road began to writhe and dip on hillsides, lurching out and then standing almost on edge toward the inside, as though earthquakes and avalanches had here been steadily at work. And even as they passed over it, it occasionally trembled, and once, with a sigh which ended in a roar, a whole section of it went out behind them, leaving a void. Lowry began to worry about ever being able to get back.

  “It gets more difficult now,” said Sebastian. “Have you ever climbed mountains?”

  “Not often.”

  “Well—you look strong enough.”

  Sebastian headed off at right angles to the dwindling road and walked easily up a nearly vertical cliff. Lowry reached up and found to his astonishment that although the cliff had looked very high at first, it was only eight or nine feet and he ascended easily. For a way, then, they walked along its rim, and the road fell swiftly away until it was less than a white string. The wind was a little stronger up here, but it was still warm, and the moon was friendly. There seemed to be good cause for them to be as unseen as possible, for now Sebastian was pressing back against yet another cliff, one which really was high.

  “It is a little worse now,” said Sebastian. “Be very careful.”

  They had come to the end of both cliffs, and here a right-angle turn folded away from them, offering only rough stone to their questing touch.

  Lowry looked down and felt slightly ill. He disliked height no more than another man, but the cliff here pitched off forever and was consecutive in his sight, so that he could visualize falling through that space. Far, far down a small stream, like a piece of bright wire, wound its way through a rocky gorge, and here and there on the vertical face, trees, diminutive with distance, jutted out like staying hands. Sebastian had gone on around the turn. Lowry reached, and then reached again, but he could find no purchase.

  Leaning far out, he saw a ledge. It seemed to him that if he could half fall and reach at the same time, he could grip it. He leaned out, he snatched wildly. He had hold of the ledge, and his legs were being pulled at by the drop below.

  “Work along,” said Sebastian.

  Lowry inched himself along. It was very hard to keep hold of the ledge, for it was rough and hurt his hands and sloped a trifle outward. He tried to see Sebastian, but he could not because of his own arm. He began to be weary, and a nausea of terror came into him, as though something was staring at him, ready to pry him loose. He stared up at the ledge.

  A great splotch of black was hovering there, and two large eyes peered luminously down with malevolence!

  Lowry glanced down and saw emptiness under him.

  There was a gentle purring sound, and the dark object loomed higher. Something began slowly to pry Lowry’s fingers off the ledge.

  “Sebastian!”

  There was no answer from the monk.

  “Sebastian!”

  The purring over his head grew louder and more pleased.

  One hand was almost loose, and then it was loose! Lowry dangled in space as the thing began slowly and contentedly to loosen his left hand. He remembered the gun and snatched it from his pocket and pointed it up.

  The eyes did not change. The purring was softer. Suddenly Lowry was aware of a reason he could not pronounce that he must not shoot. To do so would bring a whole pack down upon him, and it was doubtful if his bullets would take any effect. His left hand came free and he swooped away from the ledge with the air screaming past his face and up his nose, and the greedy dark drowning him.

  He was aware of stars and the moon all mingled in a spinning dance, and the cliff side rolling upward at incredible speed, and the bright wire of the stream but little closer than it had been when he had first begun to fall.

  He had no memory of landing. He was lying on a surface so smooth that it was nearly metallic. Stunned, he got to his knees and stared over the edge of this second ledge, to find that the stream was still down there, but that his fall had evidently been broken by trees.

  Where was Sebastian?

  He looked up but could find no sign of the thing which had pried him loose. He looked to the right and left, but he could discover no descent from this place. Pressing against the cliff, he edged along. There were small caves here whose dark mouths held things he could sense but dimly. He knew he must not enter them. But still—still, how else could he ever get down?

  One cave was larger than the rest, and though his resolution had ebbed considerably, he knew that he must go in. On hands and knees he crept over the lip, and his hands met a furry something which made him leap back. Something struck him lightly from behind and drove him to his knees once more. The floor of this place was furry, all of it, dry and ticklish to the touch.

  A deep, unconcerned voice said, “Go along ahead of me, please.”

  He dared not look back at the speaker, whatever it was. He got up and went along. There were great flat ledges in the place over which he stumbled now and then. Evidently he had lost his flashlight, but he would have been afraid to have used it. There was something awful in this place, something he could not define, but which waited in patient stillness for him perhaps around the next bend, perhaps around the one after that— He came up against a rough wall which bruised him.

  “Please go along,” said the voice behind him in a bored fashion.

  “Where . . . where is Sebastian?” he ventured.

  “You are not with them now. You are with us. Be as little trouble as you can, for we have a surprise waiting for you down one of these tunnels. The opening, you poor fool, is on your right. Don’t you remember?”

  “I . . . I’ve never been here before.”

  “Oh, yes, you have. Oh, yes, indeed, you have. Hasn’t he?”

  “Certainly he has,” said another voice at hand.

  “Many, many times.”

  “Oh, not many,” said the other voice. “About three times is all. That is, right here in this place.”

  “Go along,” yawned the first voice.

  It was all he could do to force his legs to work. Something unutterably horrible was waiting for him, something he dared not approach, something which, if he saw it, would drive him mad!

  “You belong to us now, so go right along.”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  There was an incline under his feet, and at each step things seemed to wake beneath his feet and go slithering away, nearly tripping him, sometimes curling about his ankles, sometimes striking hard against him.

  The incline was very long, and there was blackness at its bottom. He must not go down here! He must not go down here! He had to turn back while there was yet time!

  “Go along,” said the bored voices. “You are ours now.”

  Ahead there was only stillness. Ahead— Lowry sank down on the ramp, too ill and weak to go on, too terrified of what lay just ahead to take another step. Everything was spinning and things w
ere howling at him.

  And then he heard Sebastian’s quiet little voice speaking long, monotonous sentences in Latin.

  Sebastian!

  Lowry pulled himself up and staggered on toward the sound. He was not sure but what the way had forked and that he had taken another route down. He was not sure of anything but Sebastian’s voice.

  He rounded a corner and blinked in a subdued light which came from a stained-glass window high up. This place was mainly shadows and dust, but little by little he made out other things. There were seven bulls, carved from stone, all along a high ledge; and each bull had one hoof poised upon a round ball as his incurious stone eyes regarded the scene below.

  The floor was very slippery, so that it was hard to stand, and Lowry hung hard upon a filthy drapery on his right.

  The room was full of people, half of them men, half of them women, with Sebastian standing at a tiny altar a little above their heads. Sebastian’s graceful hands were making slow, artistic motions over the heads, and his eyes were raised upward to meet the rays which came down from the high window. A gigantic book was open before him, and a cross and sacred ring lay upon it to hold its place. And around him, in a wide circle, filed the women.

  They were lovely women, all dressed in white save for the single flash of red which came from their capes as they moved; their faces were saintly and innocent, and their movements graceful and slow.

  Just outside this moving circle of women stood another circle, but of men. These were also dressed in white, but their faces were not pure; rather, they were grinning and evil. Their white capes were stained with something dark which they made no effort to hide.

  Sebastian prayed on and moved his hands over their heads to bless them. The circle of women moved slowly and quietly around him, but did not look up at him save when they passed the front of the altar. The circle of men paid no attention whatever to Sebastian.