A Dusk of Demons (7 page)

“I wish I was coming with you,” Paddy said.

She would say that. “You'll be all right,” Joe said. He gave her a hug, and he and I shook hands. “Maybe things will sort themselves out, and you'll all come back and we'll build a new house on Old Isle.” He grinned at me. “For the new Master.”

Paddy said, “You'll look after Liza and the kittens?”

“I will. Though cats can look after themselves. Better than people mostly.”

•  •  •

General Pengelly was tall and gray-bearded, thin but potbellied, and I hardly ever saw him without a pipe in his mouth, even at the dinner table. The smell was sweetish and not unpleasant, but it permeated everything. He had a soft, slow voice you had to strain to hear.

Apart from Ralph, he had a wife and two daughters. Rachel and Millicent were in their middle twenties: one tall, one short and plump, both plain. The wife's name was Maud, but everyone including the General addressed her as Mistress. She too was tall, and one could see that, unlike her daughters, she had been handsome. But her expression was grim, her infrequent smile stiff.

Everyone here wore somber clothes. The ladies' everyday dresses were dark gray, though that of the Mistress had a white collar. Mother Ryan and Antonia had been given similar dresses, and Paddy one that had probably originated with Millicent: The length was about right, but was much too full.

The General presided over the dining table from a broad chair with wide, flat arms. His wife kept a close scrutiny on the company from the far end, maintaining a generally forbidding attitude to all except her son. Him she fussed, selecting tidbits for his plate. I saw him smile and shrug at Antonia while she was doing this.

Strict rules of discipline were enforced in the household. Servants had to bow or curtsy at each encounter with a member of the family (which for the moment appeared to include us) and were lined up at nine each morning for inspection by the Mistress. There were rules for children too. Paddy and I were told we must never speak to an adult without being spoken to, must never run or even walk quickly inside the house, and must respond to the first gong for meals and be present, at attention behind our chairs, by the time the second gong summoned the others.

But obeying the rules was all that was required. No one said anything about school, and we didn't ask. We found our way to the sea on the third morning. The beach was coarse shingle, unlike the fine
yellow sand we were used to, but we could swim, and there were caves and rock pools to explore.

As she poked a crab into activity, Paddy said, “I've found out why we're here. And why we're being so well treated.”

“Go on.”

“You know Ralph's an officer in the police? He was on duty the day Mother and Antonia were landed from the
Hesperus.”

“Well?”

“One of the other officers was going to send them to some sort of prison, until they could be sent on to Ireland. When he saw them, Ralph had them brought here instead.” When I looked blank, she added, “Because of Antonia.”

“Antonia?”

“Because he's keen on her, fool. Like Bob Merriton, who came courting from January.”

I said, “I see,” but didn't properly. “Do you think she's keen on him?”

“I don't know.” She looked down at her dress in disgust. “Dark clothes are all right for her—with blond hair. And hers fits her. This is awful.”

It didn't look particularly awful to me, but I thought it better to say nothing. The crab stopped pretending to be dead and darted away and was lost in weed.

“Anyway,” Paddy said, “that's why we're here.”

O
N OUR FIRST SUNDAY IN
the villa I awoke to wind blustering against my open window and chill rain in my face when I got out of bed to close it. A few hardy birds were singing, but the sky was dark. When the stable clock chimed three-quarters, I was not sure if it heralded seven or eight. In either case it would have been too late to go back to bed, so I washed and dressed and headed for the dining room.

Despite the unpromising morning, or maybe because of it, I was keenly looking forward to breakfast. This was the one meal which involved no formality: One helped oneself from candle-warmed
dishes laid out on the long oak sideboard. These would be appetizingly piled with bacon and grilled ham, sausages, kidneys, black pudding, golden potatoes, fried and scrambled eggs.

I was aware of missing the pungent scents of bacon and coffee before I entered. When I did, I found the sideboard offering nothing but baskets of bread and jugs of water. I was trying to work out what was wrong when Ralph came in.

“Ben! I'm glad to see you're an early Sunday riser. I doubt if we'll see my sisters before noon, if then.” He put bread on a plate and filled a glass. “Not eating?” He noticed my expression. “Of course, it's your first fast day. Tony found it a shock, too.”

He meant Antonia, I realized with some surprise. As I unenthusiastically took a couple of chunks of bread, he went on, “I hadn't realized you weren't taught to fast all day before a Summoning, in those islands of yours. I should imagine there's quite a bit you'll need to learn, one way and another.”

I wondered if Antonia had told him that in fact we didn't have Summonings on Old Isle. And even on Sheriff's, no special preparations were involved,
and no fasting. The Sunday midday meal was the main one of the week. There might indeed be things to learn—over the next several hours, for instance, how to get by on bread and water.

•  •  •

When we were first brought to the villa, I had noticed an old mill, standing in flat, uncultivated ground between two forks of road and seeming utterly deserted, though a broad, well-trodden path led toward it. Unattractive in afternoon sunshine, it looked positively ugly in the twilight of a day during which the sun had never succeeded in penetrating heavy clouds that raced in on a harrying wind.

We had all, including the General, walked the distance of perhaps a thousand yards from the villa. Others must have traveled much further on foot, from the town and still more outlying parts. There were hundreds, all dressed in black—I had been provided with a black smock reaching almost to my ankles. They crowded together on the rain-sodden ground in front of the mill but left a path for the General's party and the Summoner who accompanied
us. As we passed I saw their faces: There was grimness and apprehension in them, but expectancy too.

The nearer we got, the more plainly ruinous the mill was shown to be. It could not have been put to its proper purpose for many years. It was just a black and broken tower. Even under this darkening sky I was able to see through a gaping window to a hole in the farther wall. I thought of Paddy's remark on John's Isle, about Demons perching on a windmill's sails. They could scarcely do so here, where even the frame had long since rotted away.

Standing on a stone slab in front of the ragged hole which had been the mill's front door, the Summoner bowed ceremoniously to General Pengelly, who bowed stiffly in return. He was physically almost an opposite to Summoner Hawkins, being squat and amply fleshed. But as he launched into his address, his tone was no less threatening.

It was as sinners, he told us, that we were assembled: wretched, guilty, worthless sinners. There was none present who had not in some way offended against the Dark One. Most of us were deeply sunk
in iniquity, many lost to salvation and hope. Day by day we committed wickedness, breaking the laws laid down to guide us.

Those laws were plain enough. There must be no truck with machines, which in the past had led men to perdition, and no voyaging far from shore, into seas where the Madness lingered. Apart from that, there was the simple duty of obedience. The child must obey its parents, servants their masters, soldiers their general. And this obedience was part of a greater serving—of the dread ruler of the universe, the Dark One. The laws were not difficult to understand, yet men and women and children continually transgressed against them.

“But,” he cried, “the Dark One is not mocked! His purposes cannot be frustrated by puny mortals. Rebellion will earn undying torment, obedience the blissful reward of being given wings to fly above the dark moon-valleys, and watch the damned as they writhe in hellfire.”

His voice pierced through a gusting wind. “The fool in his folly declares himself contented with the day. He has eaten and drunk, his house is roofed
and his hearth warmed. He has a wife to his bed, children to bear his name.”

The Summoner paused, but as he resumed his voice lifted to a shout. “So much for the day—but look what follows! There will come a dusk of Demons, to seek out the fool and pluck him from wife and child, from home and hearth, to lift him high and carry him far, and pitch him at last into the unquenchable flames. . . .

“Abase yourselves therefore. Abase yourselves and repent your follies. Kneel before the Dark One, and the Demons that do his will. . . .”

Beside the Summoner the General dropped clumsily to his knees, and the rest of the congregation followed suit. I felt the chill of wet earth on my knees through the thin smock. Some, I saw, had prostrated themselves completely.

“Repent,” the Summoner shouted. “Repent, and beg mercy of the Dark One!”

He had repeated that cry four or five times before the darkness overhead started to lighten. I looked up and saw brightness spreading out from the broken top of the mill. It was something like
moonlight, but more intense and more beautiful. At the center of the brilliance I noticed a single spot of black, but that spot grew and grew.

They came out of that, swelling until they appeared to fill the sky. I saw a writhing tangle of shapes, winged and scaled and slimy, rotting faces oozing filth, hideous reptilian arms stretching out . . . reaching down to grasp me. All around I heard shrieks of fear, cries for mercy.

The Demons were crying now too, a stridulation that rose above that clamor and seemed to pierce the skull. They used no words I could understand, but their hatred was plain and so was the message they conveyed: There could be no hope of resisting their anger, no end for their victims but a hideous death and after that damnation.

The phantoms in my nightmare had been terrifying, but one woke from dreams. This time I knew I was not sleeping. The horror was real and inescapable.

Terror distorted time. I could not tell how long it lasted, but eventually an end did come. The Demons faded from the sky, the Summoner spoke a final prayer to the Dark One, and we scrambled awkwardly
to our feet. Slowly the congregation dispersed, first in silence, then whispering, at last openly chattering. From relief, I guessed, but not merely from relief. I detected excitement in their voices, like magpies around a carcass. I did not care for that sound, either.

•  •  •

The following day was market day, and just after ten o'clock a small procession set off from the villa, headed by the General's carriage. This was an opulent vehicle, drawn by two handsome black horses with plumed headbands, which had cushioned seats and windows for protection against bad weather. The Mistress and her daughters rode in that, wearing dark gray cloaks over their dark gray dresses but with hats sporting little colored feathers for the occasion. The General and Ralph had, as usual, ridden down to the town immediately after breakfast.

Mother Ryan, Antonia, Paddy, and I followed in an open trap drawn by an old chestnut cob. A clattering wagon, pulled by an even greater dobbin of a horse with a wall eye, and crammed with servants who had been given brief leave from their duties, brought up the rear of the cavalcade.

The carriage wheels scattered spray which occasionally blew back into our faces, but the sun came out as we set off. There was woodland immediately below the villa, but the road soon emerged into fields. That was where it forked, one heavily potholed branch heading north, the other curving around the hill toward the town. I looked toward the mill as we passed it. There was no appearance of menace now, but I shuddered at the sight of it.

We were quickly past, though, and into the outskirts of the town. Not long after, our convoy came to a halt in the main square, and Paddy and I hastened to scramble down from the trap. We were eager to explore the market, and the Mistress had promised us money to spend.

The square was dominated by a red-brick building, fronted by a white-columned portico, which was the courthouse, the seat of General Pengelly's authority. The big carriage had drawn up directly outside, and a uniformed servant was helping the Mistress to alight. I headed that way but stopped as I heard Paddy's voice raised behind me. I thought she might be rebuking my haste to get the spending money, but when I turned,
embarrassed, she was not looking my way. I followed her gaze and saw him standing, white-shirted among the press of gray, his black beard unmistakable.

“Joe!” I called. We raced to reach him and confused him with questions.

“Easy,” he said. “Easy. One of you at a time.”

“Has the Sheriff banished you too?” Paddy asked. “Are you in trouble because of us?”

“Mother Ryan will get the General to help you,” I said.

I looked for her, but Joe shook his head. “No trouble. All's well. I brought Sheriff Wilson across this morning, and he paid me for it. Paid me well. He's not usually so generous.”

“The Sheriff?” I said, and was alarmed. The days of imprisonment and isolation, of sitting opposite him at the table in an atmosphere of silent menace, came sharply back. “Here—on the mainland?”

“Nay, more than that. Here, in this courthouse place. Along with the General. And it's you they wants to see, young Ben, both on 'em. I was told you'd be coming down with the main party and put to watch for you.”

My alarm was heightened by a sense of being trapped. Both of them? Joe said, “I went back to the isle first, to see to things. When I next landed on Sheriff's, his men were waiting on the quay. He didn't ask where I'd been or what I'd been about.” Joe shook his head. “He knew just where you were and told me he wanted taking there. I had my doubts at first, but he swore no harm was intended ye. Swore it on the Dark One. He were altogether pleasant, which surprised me somewhat. But how did he know—where you were, I mean? That's the puzzle of it. Anyway, I can vouch he's in a better temper. You'd better do as he wants and go on inside and see him, all the same. Important men don't care to be kept waiting, and it don't cost much to humor them. Paddy'll keep me company while ye're about whatever ye're about.”