Manly Wade Wellman - John Thunstone 02 (23 page)

           
“Yes,” said Shimada, with a little
bow. “You and all of us, for we will all be together. Live or die, we will all
be together.” He blinked behind his spectacles. “Or is my English not good?
Should I say
,
we shall all be together?”

           
“Together, anyway,” endorsed Manco.
“And live. And win.”

           
Thunstone looked at his watch. “It’s
past seven a good way,” he said. “Maybe we ought to think about getting over
there, moving in close to our work.”

 
          
Their
waiter passed by and Thunstone signaled for him to bring the check.

           
“Unusual-looking young man, that
one,” said Father Bundren, following the waiter with his eye. “Might he have been
somebody in Grizel Fian’s string of Shakespearean scenes?”

           
“If he was, I don’t recognize him,”
said Thunstone.

           
The waiter came back with the bill.
Thunstone signed it and laid some paper money on it. “Three dollars there for
you,” he said.

 
          
The
waiter studied him with shadowed eyes. He picked up one of the dollars.

 
          
“Let
me ask a favor of you, Mr. Thunstone,” he said. “I know about you, I feel it’s
a privilege to talk to you. Will you autograph this dollar for me to keep, to
remember you by?”

 
          
“No!”
Manco almost barked, and all looked at him.

           
“Tell me why you brought my friend
this fruit he didn’t order,” Manco said, pointing at it in the ash tray.

 
          
The
waiter stared. “No, he didn’t order that. Somebody must have put it on the
plate in the kitchen.”

 
          
“Who
did that?” persisted Manco.

           
“There was a girl helping out there.
Red-haired girl.”

           
“Be easy on him, Chief,” Thunstone
said to Manco, and smiled up at the waiter.

 
          
“I
won’t sign my name for you now,” he said, “but do you serve here regularly?”

 
          
“Lunch and dinner, sir.”

           
“All right, I’ll be back,” Thunstone
assured him. “All of us will be back, and then I’ll sign just about anything.
Why?”

 
          
“Oh—-just—”

           
The waiter did not finish. He went
away furtively, almost at a trot. Manco and Shimada watched him go, with
narrowed eyes.

 
          
“Is
he one of them?” asked Manco. “Did he want your name for something to use
against you?”

 
          
“I
didn’t sign my name, so we can’t tell,” said Thunstone.

 
          
They
all rose. Thunstone looked toward the entrance to the lobby. For a moment, just
a moment, he saw a black- clad, stocky figure there. Then it ducked out of
sight, almost like a conjuring trick. As it went, he caught a glimpse of a bald
head.

 
          
Sharon
saw, too. “Rowley Thome,” she whispered.

 
          
“At
least he didn’t wait to face us,” said Thunstone, and they walked into the
lobby. Thome was not there, but Lee Pitt was. He came to join them. He wore a
brown raincoat and a waterproof hat.

 
          
“A
storm’s coming up outside,” he said, “and you’d better get some foul weather
gear to go out in.
If you are going out.”

 
          
“Naturally
I’m going out,” said Thunstone. “I’m going out to make some fairly bold talk.”

 
          
“Well,
I had a strange telephone call,” said Pitt. “A woman, I don’t know who, told me
to advise you against appearing tonight. She said you’d try to spoil a great
step forward for
Buford
State
University
.”

 
          
“Ah,”
said Father Bundren, “might she have been Grizel Fian?”

 
          
“I
said
,
I don’t know who she was. But she was emphatic.”

 
          
“Anonymous
phone calls won’t stop me,” said Thunstone, “but I’m going to get my own
raincoat.”

 
          
He
and Sharon and the others went up to the third floor. He visited
Sharon
’s room while she took a blue raincoat from
the closet and a slim umbrella, also blue. Then she came to his room while he
put on an English mackintosh and a hat of Irish tweed. Out in the corridor they
met then- companions, variously raincoated, and went down to the lobby again.
Pitt waited for them there. His face was solemn.

 
          
“Who’d
have thought a meeting like this would bring on such happenings?” he said.

 
          
“I
would, for one,” replied Manco at once. He wore a poncho over his beaded shirt
with his braids hanging upon it, and a wide-brimmed black hat on his head.

           
“That strange death of Exum Layton
saddens me,” said Pitt. “It saddens you, too, doesn’t it? He didn’t have to die
like that.”

 
          
“He
had to die like that if some enemy managed it,” said Father Bundren.

 
          
“You
don’t think it was a natural death,” Pitt almost accused.

 
          
“I
think it was a highly unnatural death,” said Father Bundren, “I think it was
murder, though we may not be able to prove it. Not just yet.”

 
          
They
went together to the outer door, and into the open air that was as heavy as a
smothering cloak.

 
          
Night
had fallen. Overhead, the sky was fairly swaddled with clouds. No sign of that
bright moon, those spangles of
stars, that
had been so
evident the night before. As they stood together for a moment, a great red
flash of lightning crawled above, like a wriggling snake. Then thunder rolled,
as loud and long as a massed ruffle of drums.
Sharon
clutched Thunstone’s arm, held it close
against her body.

 
          
“Let’s
go, then,” said Pitt.

 
          
He
led the way. Behind him walked Shimada and Kyoki. Then came Thunstone and
Sharon, and at the rear Father Bundren and Manco, The streetlight at the
crossing seemed caught up in a sort of filthy fog. They crossed the pavement
and entered the campus. They could barely make out the buildings in the murk,

 
          
They
passed a heavy-trunked tree, an oak. Thunstone had barely noticed it before.
But now it was evident; it almost leaned at them. In its rough bark seemed to
be set a face, with deep, staring eyes and a gash of mouth below them. It
stared, and Thunstone stared back as he walked by.

 
          
Another glare of lighting, which for a moment lighted their way
luridly.
And then the accompanying thunder, louder than a drum now, loud
as the explosion of a bomb. A snuffling wind had begun to rise.
Sharon
caught her
breath,
she clung to Thunstone’s arm.

 
          
They
came to where lights showed the entrance to the auditorium. People were
streaming in, despite the threat of the storm. As Pitt led the way up the
steps, rain came down abruptly, streams and splashes of rain, and again
lightning and thunder as they went in. The tempest strove loudly against the
roof of the auditorium.

 
          
As
they paused in the lobby, the massive building seemed to tremble, like a ship
on a high sea. Lee Pitt looked around at them, his face very sober,

 
          
“I’d
suggest that you others go ahead if you want to be backstage,” he said. “I
haven’t asked why you’re doing that, but I figure it’s all right. Go ahead.”

 
          
Father
Bundren and Manco went down the aisle,
Sharon
close behind them, then Shimada and Kyoki.
Pitt stood with Thunstone. He nodded to a dripping couple, probably man and
wife, who came in and entered the auditorium. Finally he said, “Now we’ll go
down together.”

 
          
The
carpeted floor of the aisle seemed to tremble under Thunstone’s feet,
The
vaulted roof overhead rasped and rattled as though the
rain would tear it open. People along the aisle seats spoke to Pitt, and
several spoke to Thunstone. Almost in the front row sat Rowley Thome wrapped in
something black, and Grizel Fian in the red dress she liked so much, Thunstone
paused beside them.

 
          
“Good
evening,” he said, “Your orchestra outside is in good tune.”

 
          
Thome
glowered, red-eyed, “You were warned not to come and speak here tonight.”

 
          
“I
know,” said Thunstone, “But here I am, I’m going to speak, and these people can
hear me.”

 
          
He
and Pitt headed for the entrance to the stage. The others were grouped there.
Manco smoked his elephant pipe, and Shimada and Kyoki watched the curl of vapor
rise from it.

           
“I don’t know what you people intend
to do, but I’ll hang around out here and see,” said Pitt. “Where do you want to
wait and listen?”

 
          
“Back
of the dark hangings,” said Father Bundren. “Professor Shimada and his young
friend there at the far side, where the entry is. The countess and I will be
upstage, where there’s a way to come on if we need to.
And
Chief Manco here.”

 
          
“All
right,
and when I’ve introduced Mr. Thunstone I’ll
come back and stand here with Chief Manco. It’s about
eight o’clock
now. Are you ready?”

 
          
“Wait.”
Thunstone draped his mackintosh on a chair and put his hat on it. He drew his
silver blade and leaned the shank of the cane against the chair. Pitt stared
but said nothing.

 
          
The
houselights had dimmed; the overhead stage lights and the footlights had come
up. Pitt walked onstage and to the lectern. Thunstone straightened his necktie
and followed at his side. He carried his drawn blade. Pitt faced the audience,
which ceased its usual patter of conversation. Rain poured outside.

 
          
“Ladies
and gentlemen,” said Pitt, “a great many of you have braved a considerable
spell of ugly weather to come here tonight. You have come to where you can hear
Mr. John Thunstone. I need not remind you further of his distinguished career
as an explorer of strange occurrences, sometimes chancy occurrences. It
wouldn’t be proper of me to name these matters over to you. There are too many
of them. Let me only introduce you to Mr. Thunstone himself.”

 
          
He
walked off swiftly. Thunstone came to the lectern and laid his blade across it
and bracketed his big hands upon it. He looked down at Thome and Grizel Fian,
and saw the glitter of their eyes as they looked back at him. A great crash of
thunder sounded outside, and the lights above him dimmed for a moment,
then
came on again.

 
          
“Good
evening,” he said into the microphone.
‘Tm here to say some
specific things, and to say that I’ve been told not to talk here at all.
I was told that in threatening terms, but I’m not taking any such orders
tonight. I’m going to make statements, and some of those statements will be
accusations.”

 
          
Something
like a groan of derision rose among the listeners. No doubt but that he had
enemies there. Peering, he could spot the bearded giant he had met in the
cemetery, he saw the red-haired girl, and plainly he could see Thome and Grizel
Fian, sitting forward and glaring.

 
          
“Let’s
briefly consider devil worship as part of our American history and culture,”
Thunstone said. “In colonial times it was everywhere, not just in
Salem
. The first to be hanged for a witch in
New England
went to the gallows almost half a century
before the
Salem
trials. There were accusations and frequent
executions among people of all social classes, in
New York
,
Virginia
,
Pennsylvania
,
Michigan
, everywhere. Laws against witchcraft were
rescinded, but charges were made up to the very time of the Revolution and
beyond. Today the worshipers of devils, the dealers in black magic, aren’t
brought into court for their performances and claims. They advertise
themselves,
they attend their meetings without fear or
concealment. In the 1940s groups of conjurors were photographed as they tried,
by magic, to kill Adolf Hitler. Maybe they couldn’t. By some reports, Hilter
himself was caught up in pagan rites. It took invading Russian armies to drive
him to suicide.”

 
          
Everyone
was listening.

 
          
“Here
and there today we have thriving colleges of witchcraft, very frank and public
in offering their beliefs and instructions. In
California
we have the so-called
Church
of
Satan
, complete with a highly picturesque pope
and branch establishments throughout the
United States
and overseas in
Europe
,
In England there is another
Black
Church
of the same sort that claims more than a
hundred covens of members. And I repeat what you heard, earlier today, from
Professor Tashiro Shimada—these beliefs are balefully active here in your town
of
Buford
, where their followers hope to make use of
Buford
State
University
, make here a school of darkness.”

 
          
Loud thunder then.
The lights dimmed but did not quite go
out, then shone again. The auditorium quivered; the floor under Thunstone’s
feet seemed to tilt for a moment.

 
          
“Am
I recognized?” asked Thunstone. “Is all this attention directed at me? I don’t
know if I should feel worthy. As it says in
Tom
Sawyer\
why this massed artillery bombardment to destroy one bug? Maybe I’m
to be frightened into silence, into retreat. I promise you, I won’t be
frightened into either,”

 
          
“Bawww!”
rose
a voice in the audience, like the bellow of a
bull.

 
          
“And
barnyard imitations won’t stampede me,” said Thunstone. “And at least, that
furious storm outside will discourage any protesting souls from going out into
it. I’ve promised you some information on the devil’s disciples in Buford, and
the information I’ll give is firsthand.”

 
          
“Liar!”
screamed someone. It may have been Grizel Fian.

 
          
“No,
I’m a truth teller and a truth seeker,” said Thunstone. “It’s been my life’s
work to seek the nature of reality. Even when that nature seems to be beyond
nature, beyond the nature we know and recognize,
Here
goes.”

 
          
Several
voices in the auditorium seemed to be humming, crooning. It might have been a
song, and not a pleasant song.

 
          
“The
founding of the college that has become this
Buford
State
University
partakes of the supernormal,” pursued Thunstone.
“I’ve heard only semilegendary reports of the early days of enchantment here,
and of how they got support, financial backing, at the time the college was
founded. As I say, I’ve only heard those things, and maybe you’ll object to
hearsay evidence. But I’ve witnessed a ceremony, and a baleful one, myself. It
happened in the basement of Grizel Fian’s house.

 
          
“That’s
another of your lies!” This time it was manifestly Grizel Fian who shouted the
accusation.

 
          
“No,
ma’am, it’s another of my truths,” Thunstone fairly snapped back at her. “The
truth hurts you, doesn’t it? You know that I was there. You know that you and
your followers tried to put a deadly curse on me, and that it didn’t work. I
watched what you tried with an effigy and an enchanted spear, I broke up your
meeting, and there was nothing you could do about that.”

 
          
Here
and there in the gathering, people began to hoot and howl. Plainly Thorne and
Grizel Fian had brought a considerable group with them.

 
          
Mighty
thunder again, and the lights went out above Thunstone’s head. At the same
moment, other lights blinked into view, glowing red points. They were like
embers. They revealed the faces of those who bore them, tense, distorted faces.
The faces turned up and glared at Thunstone.

 
          
“Thanks
for that illumination,” Thunstone said, raising his voice to be heard. “It’s to
light a way to destruction, isn’t it?
Whose destruction?”

 
          
The
overhead lights came up; the microphone would be working again. Thunstone said
into it, “Today we had a cowardly murder on campus. Some of you know the
student who died, Exum Layton.”

 
          
The
whole stage seemed to sway and tremble under Thunstone’s feet. This must be how
the bridge of a ship was to a captain in a typhoon, he thought, and the captain
might go down with his ship. But this ship would not go down, and he,
Thunstone, would not go down either.

           
“You don’t want to hear me, but you
will!” shouted Thunstone at the top of his lungs. “Exum Layton gave up his part
in devil worship here, and he died.
Coincidence?
They’re trying to find out, by conducting an autopsy. But I’ve already found
out, and I say to you, it was murder by black magic!”

 
          
Thorne
had risen in his seat. “You’re through, Thunstone!” he yelled. “You’re
through!”

 
          
“Yes!”
cried others. “Yes!”

 
          
Thunstone
grinned down at Thome, every tooth bared. “No,” he called back. “I’m not
finished, I’ve just begun. And do you want to try it on with me again? Why not
come up on stage with me? Do you dare?”

 
          
A moment of utter silence except for the storm, while the lights
dimmed and grew strong again.
The voice of Rowley Thome rose:

 
          
“The
time is not yet. Go on, talk. It will be your last statement.”

 
          
“Did
you hear that?” cried Thunstone into the microphone. “Rowley Thome threatens me
with death. I subpoena everyone here tonight as witnesses to that.” Again he
looked down at Thome. “If you can kill me, and I don’t think you can, you’re
guilty of malice aforethought.”

 
          
“I
didn’t say kill you,” came back Thome. “I’U just
exile
you into silence.”

 
          
A
wild yell went up, from many throats. The coals of fire stirred, whirled, in
the hands of Thome’s supporters. Others in the audience sat motionless, rapt,
stunned.