Manly Wade Wellman - John Thunstone 02 (18 page)

 
          
“Here
comes
somebody,” said Father Bundren. “Yes, it’s
Shimada.”

 
          
Shimada
hastened to them. He held up a pale, round something, something with deep, dark
eyeholes, with a row of grinning teeth.

 
          
“Whose
skull is that?” asked Thunstone.

 
          
“We
spoke of him earlier tonight,” said Shimada. “I got this from the tomb of Mayor
Emdyke, who once worshiped the devil. He was certainly a malefactor.”

 
          
“How
did you force the lock of the tomb?” was Thunstone’s next question, and
Shimada’s teeth shone in a smile, shone almost like the teeth of the skull.

 
          
“Shinto,”
he replied, and no more than that.

 
          
Manco
went back to kneel at the juniper. “Let me have that,” he said, and took the
skull and set it at the roots of the tree.
“Now, what next?”

 
          
“Give
me the flashlight,” said Thunstone, and tucked the stone under his arm and
opened the
Long Lost Friend,
Again he
read aloud:
“ ‘Bend
it with the left hand toward the
rising sun—’ ”

           
Father Bundren bent down the juniper
toward the east. He whispered something, probably a prayer,

 
          
Thunstone
went ahead:
“ ‘While
you are saying, Juniper tree, I shall
bend and squeeze thee, until the thief has returned the stolen goods to the
place from which he took them.’ ”

 
          
Father
Bundren repeated the words aloud. “And now the stone,” he said, still bending
the juniper. He took the stone and weighted the branches down. The juniper
sagged under the weight.

 
          
“And
the triple sign of the cross,” said Father Bundren. He made the three signs,
his hand moving carefully in the light of the electric torch. “And now, to see
what happens.”

 
          
He
turned toward Thunstone as he spoke, but Thunstone was off at a headlong run.
He sped through the lobby and up the stairs, two stairs at a time,
two
flights. He almost flung himself at the half-open door
of the room from which
Sharon
had been spirited.

 
          
“
Sharon
!”

 
          
“Oh,”
her voice said, almost too softly to hear. “Oh, yes.”

 
          
She
stood trembling in the middle of the floor, her blue robe huddled upon her. She
looked at him, with wide, frightened eyes,
Then
she
ran to him and they were in each other’s arms.

 
          
“Not
so hard, dear, you’ll break my ribs,” she said. “Oh, thank God, thank God! How
did I get back here?”

 
          
“I’ll
tell you all about it in a minute. You’re all right, you haven’t been hurt?”

 
          
“No,
but it was such a frightening thing. They got me away to some sort of house on
the edge of town—”

 
          
“They?”
he repeated.
“They?”

 
          
“It
was in a car.
Rowley Thome and Grizel Fian.
I don’t
know where they took me—”

 
          
Father
Bundren was at the door. Behind him stared Layton, and with Layton were Shimada
and Manco.

 
          
“Is
all well?” asked Father Bundren breathlessly.

 
          
“She’s
back, and she doesn’t seem to have been hurt,” replied Thunstone, “The charm
was good.”

 
          
“Because
we all had faith,” said Father Bundren.

 
          
“I
had faith,” murmured Sharon, still trembling as Thunstone held her. He seated
her in a chair. She pulled her robe around her. Through its thin blue showed
the pink of her bare body,

 
          
“Now
that stone must be taken from the juniper,” Thunstone reminded, “Must be put
back where it came from.”

 
          
“I’ll
go do that, I know just where it was before,” said Layton, and hurried away.

 
          
“And
I would do well to return that skull,” spoke up Shimada.

 
          
“Let
me go with you,” said Manco, and they departed, too.

 
          
“As
for me,” said Father Bundren, “I’ll do some necessary things in the bathroom
yonder.
Something of what I did to keep evil influences out
of your own room, Mr. Thunstone.”

 
          
He
went through the open door. They heard his voice speaking rhythmically in
Latin. Sharon sat and held Thunstone by his arm, shuddering as she clung. He
put out his other hand to pick up the cross and chain from her bureau.

 
          
“Put
this on, and keep it on,” he said.

 
          
“I
will.” With shaky fingers she fastened it around her neck.

 
          
“And
here,” said Thunstone, taking the silver bell. “Keep this with you, too.”

 
          
She
cuddled the bell in her hand. It chimed faintly, musically.

 
          
Father
Bundren came back to them. “I’ve done my best,” he said. “I invoked powerful
holy names. And I went so far as to trace a cross in ink, on the window sill.
If the management complains, I’ll pay whatever seems to come under the heading
of damages. And you dropped this.” He held out Thunstone’s cane.

 
          
“Thank
you,” said Thunstone, taking it. He had forgotten all about it.

 
          
“And
I’ll say goodnight,” said Father Bundren, smiling. “Good morning, I should
say.”

 
          
He
went out closing the door behind him. Thunstone sat on the bed and Sharon came
and sat close against him.

 
          
“Just
what happened?” he asked her.

 
          
She
drew up her shoulders inside the blue robe. “It was like a dream.
An awful one.
I suppose I was half unconscious—maybe I was
hypnotized. We were in a car that ran along and ran along, somewhere to the
edge of town, I think—”

 
          
“Which
edge of town?”

 
          
“I
don’t know which. I was foggy in my head, I think. But it was a house with
trees thick all around it and they got me in—into a room with old brown wood
paneling— and put me in a chair.
And laughed.
Rowley
Thome kept laughing.”

 
          
Again
she shuddered, as though an icy wind had struck her.

 
          
“What
did he say to you?” demanded Thunstone. “Tell me everything.”

 
          
“Well—he
kept crinkling his eyes and sniggering. And I told you, I was there with
nothing on. He talked about how beautiful I was, how he didn’t blame you for
being dazzled, and how he was dazzled himself. But Grizel Fian-—”

 
          
“She
was there?”

 
          
“Yes,
she’d been in the car, she’d come into the house. And she didn’t like how he
acted toward me, and she said so. Her voice got shrill and sharp. But Rowley
Thome laughed at her, too,
Told
her not to be
jealous—told her that you’d soon be with them, be one of them. And he said he
knew that she was drawn to you, and he’d help her with some kind of a love
potion—”

 
          
She
broke off and covered her face with her hands. Fear was still upon her.

 
          
“Did
he touch you?” Thunstone asked her. “Did he dare do that?”

 
          
“No,
he didn’t touch me. I don’t think that Grizel Fian would have let him. But he
said that when the sun came up, everything would be arranged. That you’d be won
over to them and you’d help them with some plan about the university here. I
was too upset to understand just what they meant. And they offered me some
wine, but I wouldn’t touch it.”

 
          
“I’m
glad you didn’t. All right, what then?”

 
          
“Oh,
both of them talked and talked. I don’t know how
long—maybe
hours, for all I could tell. Then, all of a sudden, I
was back here, picking up my robe and putting it on.” At last she seemed calm
again.

           
“We got you back,” Thunstone told
her. “Shimada and Manco and Father Bundren helped. We used a charm from this
book, this
Long Lost Friend,"
He
took it from the pocket of his jacket. “Long lost or not, it came through for
us. And you’re back safe, and you needn’t ever be afraid of Rowley Thome
again,” His jaw grew square, his mouth hardened. “I’ll see to him before this
day’s done.”

 
          
“And
now what must I do?” Sharon asked.

 
          
“Lie
down here on your bed and sleep. You need sleep.” Her hand went to her face
again, “I couldn’t sleep, I’d be afraid to.”

           
“No,” he said, and rose and went to
a chair. “I’ll sit here and watch while you sleep.”

 
          
“Oh,
will you? Will you stay with me?”

 
          
Her
tremulous tenseness had quite departed. She drew back the coverlet, lay down,
and pulled the coverlet over her blue-robed body. Thunstone watched. She was
silent. At last she breathed regularly. She slept.

           
Thunstone took off his jacket and
laid it aside, doffed his shoes, loosened his tie and the collar of his shirt.
From his cane he drew the silver blade. Stooping, he read again the words upon
its flat:

 
          
Sic pereant omnes inimici tui, Domine.

 
          
He
turned off the light in the room. Through the window beat a soft wash of
moonglow. He sat down and laid the blade across his knees.

 
          
He
watched Sharon as she lay there, quiet and trusting and at rest. He himself was
dead tired from the adventures he had gone through. He closed his eyes and at
last slumber came upon him, too.

           
Thunstone did not sleep soundly in
that chair. Disturbing dreams came, and he wakened again and again, to look at
Sharon asleep on the bed. Once he rose and moved silently on shoeless feet to
see her closer at hand. She slept quietly, motionlessly; she breathed easily
and deeply. She seemed relaxed, trustful. He was glad for that, and returned to
his armchair. He drifted off again, and this time no dream came.

 
          
When
next he opened his eyes, the light of dawn showed at the window. Sharon stood
in the room, dressed in a black suit of smooth, rich cloth. Her jacket flared
slightly below the waist. Under the jacket she wore a white, stock-collared
blouse, gathered under her chin with an ascot knot. Her hair was neatly combed,
and she had on makeup. She smiled at him, smiled happily.

 
          
“Did
you rest well?” she asked. “I tried not to make any noise as I got myself ready
to go out. I dressed in the bathroom.”

 
          
“I’m
glad they didn’t bewitch you out of it again,” said Thunstone, rising.

 
          
“But
Father Bundren marked a cross on the window sill, and I wore this.” She touched
the cross at her neck. “And I kept this.” She lifted the silver bell, and it
faintly pealed. “And I’m all right.”

 
          
Thunstone
pushed his feet into his shoes and took up his jacket. “Come to my room while I
get ready for today,” he said. “I want you close at hand, every moment.”

           
“Yes, of course.”

 
          
They
went to Thunstone’s quarters, and she sat on a chair. “Here,” he said, and
handed her the
Long Lost Friend.
“You’ll find the spell that got you back on page seventy-eight.”

 
          
He
carried fresh clothes into the bathroom, and quickly showered and shaved and
dressed. When he came back, Sharon looked closely at him. He picked up his
cane.

 
          
“You’re
a handsome man, and I hope you want your breakfast as much as I want mine,” she
said as they went out. “Do you suppose we’ll see Rowley Thome downstairs?”

 
          
“I
hope so,” said Thunstone grimly. “I very much want to see him.”

 
          
They
got into the elevator. They were alone in the cage. “What would you do if you
met him?” Sharon asked.

 
          
“Never mind.
I wouldn’t tell anybody that.”

 
          
“Not
even me?”

 
          
“Especially not you.”

 
          
She
smiled. It was a rather strange smile, faint but soft. “You sound stem,” she
said, and he did not reply. As they rode down, the walls of the elevator seemed
close, seemed almost crowding. Downstairs in the lobby they saw nobody they
knew, anywhere, all their way to the dining room.

 
          
There,
again, Thunstone’s eyes probed everywhere for familiar faces. At a table
against the far wall sat Exum Layton and a slender young man with a brown face
and stiff black hair. Layton saw Thunstone and Sharon, too, and lifted an arm
as though to beckon. He and his companion rose as Thunstone led Sharon to the
table.

 
          
“Good
morning,” Layton greeted them. He seemed more cheerfully easy than Thunstone
had seen him so far. “Let me introduce Mr. Oishi Kyoki. I stayed at his place
last night.”

 
          
Oishi
Kyoki bowed ceremoniously to Sharon and gave

 
          
Thunstone
his lean brown hand, His face was young and thoughtful; his eyes were creased
at the comers, “This is a great honor, sir,” he said, in accented English.
“Professor Shimada ate breakfast early, very early, but he said I should stay
and perhaps meet you. Please sit down with us, both of you.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” said Sharon, and took a chair. Thunstone stood for a moment, studying the
room and the guests at the table. At last he sat down himself.

 
          
“No
sign of Thome, or of Grizel Fian,” he said.

 
          
“Might
they be here in disguise?” Layton wondered apprehensively.

 
          
“I
think I’d know them, even in disguise,” said Thunstone.

 
          
“And
so, I think, would I,” said Kyoki.

 
          
A
waiter came, and Sharon and Thunstone ordered their breakfasts. Kyoki spoke
courteously in answer to questions from Thunstone.

 
          
“Mr.
Layton here can be confident of safety with me,” he said. “No evil can pry and
seek and find him where I live.”

 
          
“How
can you defend him against that?” Sharon asked.

 
          
“Shinto,”
smiled Kyoki. “If you know Shinto, it will defend.”

 
          
“Could
you expound Shinto to me?” Thunstone suggested.

 
          
“Only if you would truly accept it as the one way to
enlightenment.”

 
          
They
talked as they ate. Kyoki repeatedly declared that he was honored to sit in the
presence of Thunstone. Layton ventured to say that he was glad to have
assisted, even so slightly, in the rescue of Sharon. As he spoke, he admired
her with his eyes. When all had finished eating, Thunstone looked at his watch.

 
          
“Professor
Pitt will speak at ten o’clock,” he said. “Shall we go over together?”

           
“I have classes with Professor
Pitt,” said Kyoki. “He is inspiring.”

 
          
“He’s
been my advisor,” added Layton.

 
          
They
went out together, across the street and into the auditorium. As they came
along the aisle, Father Bundren raised his black-clad arm to call them to him.
Manco was there, too, in beaded buckskin shirt and headband. Thunstone and
Sharon took seats next to them, while Layton and Kyoki found places directly
behind. A moment later, Shimada appeared and sat behind in his turn. Again Thunstone
peered
this way and that among the occupants of the
auditorium, in search of Thome or Grizel Fian or both, and again he found
neither.

 
          
“No,
Thome is not here,” said Kyoki behind Thunstone, as though he had read
Thunstone’s thoughts. “I do not know where he is, but he is not here.”

 
          
“Shinto,
I suppose,” said Thunstone.

 
          
“Yes,
Shinto helps me to know.”

 
          
“And Grizel Fian?”

 
          
“She
is not here, either. I read her to be in her house, her big house. And she is
not very happy there.”

 
          
Voices
died down as Lee Pitt appeared on stage and advanced to the lectern. He
adjusted the microphone, and spoke into it.

 
          
“Good
morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “In a program such as ours, now and
then comes a terrible moment when the chairman makes a speech. This is that
terrible moment.” A murmur of laughter, and he waved it away. “I have been
directed to say something about the importance of fantasy in the literature of
America.”

 
          
He
arranged a paper on the lectern and studied it for a moment.

 
          
“Fantasy,”
he repeated. “Maybe we’d better start by defining the term. We could go along
with a dictionary into which I looked before I came here to speak, where it
says that fantasy is imagination, is the paying of attention to supernatural
matters. All right then, fantasy has been with us from the very first known
writings of mankind.
The Odyssey
,
says Robert Graves, is the oldest novel in the history of literature, though it
may be that
Gilgamesh
is an older
one. In either case, fantasy is there, complete with witches, battles with
monsters, curses, ventures to the very brink of hell itself. Good fantasy, too,
because when we read those books the happenings seem real to us.”

 
          
He
paused a moment. Then:

 
          
“Here
as Americans, we began early. The witchcraft reports of Cotton Mather can be a
good place to start. When we became our own nation, there was fantasy with
Washington Irving, Edgar Allan Poe,
Nathaniel
Hawthorne—on ahead to Mark Twain, who spent his boyhood on a marvelconscious
frontier and who at the end of his career wrote
The Mysterious Stranger
; with a final chapter that will make your
hair stand up and give you nightmares. And in the twentieth century, Scott
Fitzgerald wrote fantasy, and so did William
Faulkner,
and so do writers today. Read the bestseller
lists,
and you’ll find their works named there.”

 
          
Somebody
near Thunstone muttered about that, Pitt spoke on, mentioning distinguished
authors past and present. “Dreams,” he said, “Dreams, perhaps you call these
things, as Mercutio does in
Romeo and
Juliet,
'
Which
are the children of an idle brain,
begot of nothing but vain fantasy.’ Yet Charles Dickens didn’t disdain to
dream, and wrote
A Christmas Carol
Nor
did H. G, Wells, with his strange stories, unbelievably
believable. Fantastic dreams become wakeaday facts,
As
facts they become commonplaces, and we split the atom and fly to the moon and
cure the plagues we thought were incurable. We mustn’t dismiss dreams as idle,
our own dreams or the dreams of others.
Because dreams keep
coming true.”

 
          
He
came to a close. “This afternoon, at
three o’clock
, we’ll hear Professor Tashiro Shimada,” he
said. “Whatever he may tell us, I predict it will be interesting*
And
tonight after dinner, at eight o’clock, our speaker will
be John Thunstone, about whose accomplishments I could talk forever. But I’m
through up here now.”

 
          
There
was loud applause, and everyone rose and babbled together. Yet again Thunstone
looked here and there for a sign of Grizel Fian or Rowley Thome,
If
they were present, they contrived to be invisible.

 
          
He
and Sharon went along the aisle and Reuben Manco and Father Bundren came behind
them, and back of them Shimada and Kyoki and Layton.

 
          
“I’d
advise that we should stay together,” said Father Bundren. “Without pretending
to any extrasensory perception, I feel that our enemies are growing fairly
desperate, and they’ll try some desperate move.”

 
          
“That’s
true talk,” approved Manco, “Where shall we go?”

 
          
“Why
not to my room?” offered Thunstone. “We can have some lunch sent up, and
consider whatever had better be considered.”

 
          
“And
Layton and I will go to my quarters,” said Kyoki from behind.

 
          
He
and Layton headed across the campus. The other party went to the Inn and to the
elevator, Thunstone thought that they moved as a purposeful escort to Sharon,
and was glad for this sturdy companionship. In his room, he gave Sharon the
most comfortable chair and put Father Bundren in the other. Manco sat on the
floor in a comer, his legs crossed. Thunstone and Shimada sat together on the
bed. Thunstone kept his cane on the spread beside him.

 
          
“We
seem to have organized ourselves as some sort of brain trust,” said Father
Bundren. “I hope we qualify. What first?”

 
          
“Smoke
first,” declared Manco, fetching out his stone elephant pipe.
“Ritual smoke.
Indians always start councils with that.”

           
Thunstone handed him a pouch. Manco
zipped it open and sniffed thoughtfully.