Manly Wade Wellman - John Thunstone 02 (24 page)

 
          
“You
know what I mean,” Thome blared.

 
          
“Try
it,” said Thunstone.

 
          
“Here
I come!”

 
          
Thome
came up out of his seat. Nearby red glimmers showed that he was swathed in a
black cape, folded up to his bull throat. He ran to the rail of the orchestra
pit and seemed to float to the stage. With him came Grizel Fian in the red
dress she liked to wear. How they made that jump puzzled Thunstone. Something
must have lifted them, floated them,
made
them fly.

 
          
Thome
came to stage center, almost next to where Thunstone stood at the lectern. He
raised his arms on high, flinging the black cape from his body. Underneath it
he was dressed in a black suit and a black vest which came to his plowshare
chin.

 
          
“Listen
to what is true, what is great!” he bellowed at the audience. “I’m here to tell
you and to put this man Thunstone to shame!”

 
          
“Hear
the truth!” shrilled Grizel Fian. Her eyes
stared,
her
bosom heaved and rolled like billows at sea. “We bring you the
truth,
hear it while you have the chance!”

 
          
The
audience sat transfixed. The floor pitched. Overhead, the rain rushed down on
the roof.

 
          
“You
dare face me,” said Thunstone, turning from the lectern toward Thome so close
to him. “You’re a slow learner, aren’t you? How many times—”

 
          
“The
last battle decides the war,” Thome mouthed. His eyes looked bright red, as
though full of blood. “I’ve learned what to do, and now I’ll do it.”

 
          
The
bearers of the red coals had come forward along the aisles, were massed at the
rail of the orchestra pit. Others, the people who had only come to hear, weaved
where they sat. Several had risen in the aisles, as though to run away.

 
          
“You
can win only against the helpless,” Thunstone said to Thome and to Grizel Fian.
“Helpless
victims,
like Exum Layton. I’ve come
prepared.”

 
          
“You
have nothing!
Nothing!”
Grizel Fian spewed at him,

 
          
“You’ll
depart into nothingness,” crooned Thome, showing his blocky teeth. “I’ll put
you there.”

           
“Do you remember when you tried it
before?” Thunstone jibed at him. “Tried it before, and who was it went into
nothingness? Try it now.”

 
          
“Ooooh!”
the fire bearers at the orchestra rail moaned in chorus.

 
          
“Now
my wish, my prayer will come true!” Rowley Thome shouted. “Hear me, Moloch,
Lucifer,
Pemoath
.”

 
          
“Anector,
Somiator, sleep
ye
not,” said Grizel Fian, as though
it were an antistrophe.

 
          
“Fve
heard those names,” said Thunstone, quite calmly. “They don’t frighten me at
all. Say some more.”

 
          
Again
Thome waved his huge hands. “Eko, eko, Azarak!” he bugled.
“Eko,
eko, Aamalek!
Eko, eko, eko, eko!”

 
          
“Gibberish,”
pronounced Thunstone. But as he spoke, the air thickened and oppressed. It
smelled like raw hides.

 
          
“Awake,
strong Holaha,” Thome was chanting again. “Powerful Eabon, mighty Athe, Sada,
Eroyhe—by your names, by names not to be spoken, I deliver this scoffer into
your nothingness!”

 
          
With
that, he hurled himself upon Thunstone.

 
          
They
grappled. Thome was strong; Thunstone knew that from other encounters. Thome
groped for Thunstone’s throat, but Thunstone caught him by his heavy biceps and
jammed his thumbs into the insides of the muscles, seeking and finding nerves
there. He dug with all his strength. He heard Thome howl with pain. They
wrestled each other across the floor.

 
          
“No!”
roared another voice. “No!”

 
          
That
was Reuben Manco. He had rushed out upon the stage.
So had
Father Bundren, holding a crucifix on high.
Shimada and Kyoki were
there, talking in Japanese, and Sharon, too. Thome tried to hook a foot back of
Thunstone’s heel to throw him, but Thunstone stepped clear of the entanglement
and, with all his strength, heaved Thome up above his head. Grizel Fian
shrieked.

           
Then a silvery jangle of sound.
Sharon
was ringing the bell Thunstone had given
her, Thunstone threw Thome from him.

 
          
That
was all. Thome winked out of sight in midair. Grizel Fian had vanished, too.
They were gone.

 
          
At
the same instant, the rain and the wind stopped. There was silence all through
the hall. Thunstone saw the bearers of the red lights scrambling off along the
aisles, in headlong flight for the open.

 
          
He
returned to the lectern. He smiled out at those who had stayed. Then he turned
to where
Sharon
stood trembling, the bell still in her
hand.

 
          
“You
did what was needed,” he told her. “They wanted to send me away
somewhere—another plane, another dimension. But the spirits they called on went
back without me, and took them along instead.”

 
          
He
spoke into the microphone:

           
“Ladies and gentlemen, don’t ask me
where they went. I don’t know
,
I have only dark
suspicions.”

 
          
Monday
noon
.

           
They sat in Thunstone’s room, where
they had sat again and again in sober council. The councils were over, at least
as they concerned the vanished Rowley Thome and Grizel Fian. But all Sunday and
all Monday morning had been busy, with the Buford police and men of the State
Bureau of Investigation, and with newspaper interviews. All of them were
heartily tired of those.

 
          
“At
last I’ve had time to hear from the hospital and the autopsy on Exum Layton,”
said Thunstone, “They’re calling it a cardiac arrest, but they’re mystified,
like everyone else. No real rupture in the region of the heart, just a stablike
wound there, as though with a blade. It was something like what they tried
against me and couldn’t get done. The body’s been released to the funeral home
in town.”

 
          
“And
the funeral will be in the chapel there, at
ten o’clock
tomorrow morning,” said Father Bundren. “I
hope all of you will attend.”

 
          
“If
you permit me, I would like to provide a tombstone,” said Shimada. “One such as
you
see
all through the cemetery, and upon it, ‘Exum
Layton, Who Came into the Light.’ ”

 
          
“How
splendid,” said
Sharon
,

 
          
Manco
puffed on his elephant pipe. “Those police kept asking questions, and I kept
telling the truth, and they kept not believing me,” he said. “They wanted
someone to vouch for me, someone other than you people. At the time, probably
they wanted to suspect you too, but couldn’t
think
of any good
suspicions. All I could think of was to call Dr. Clark at the hospital. He
vouched for me all the way, got them off my back. But I had to promise
him
to talk about Cherokee medicine methods to a group of med students and
residents. That’s for tomorrow in the afternoon, so I’ll have a full Tuesday
before I head home.”

 
          
“Sharon
and I will spend a few more days here,” said Thunstone. “Rest a trifle and talk
to friends we’ve made.”

           
“Yes,” said
Sharon
, cradling the silver bell in her hands.
“This helped, didn’t it?” she said, and held it out to Thunstone. “Don’t you
want it back?”

           
“It’s a present to you,” he said.
“Have you had time to study the words on it? You’ll find the names of Saint
Cecilia and Saint Dunstan, for music and silverwork. And a motto in Latin,
Est mea terror vox
daemonoirunu
”

 
          
“My
voice is the terror of all demons,” translated Father Bundren. “That’s a
powerful talisman, Countess. I’ll say with Thunstone that when you rang it, it
had its effect.” “Where did they go?” asked Shimada.
“Thome
and Grizel Fian—where?”

           
“They softly and suddenly vanished
away, like the man in ‘The Hunting of the Snark.’ ”

 
          
“I
can’t do anything but theorize,” said Thunstone. “They were trying to send me
away—to another plane, another dimension, another existence.
Maybe
to limbo.
Thome went there once before when he tried to send me there
and failed. Grizel Fian somehow charmed him back into this world we know. Now
she’s gone with him. I don’t know where they are, or how long they’ll stay.”

 
          
“Wagh,”
said Manco. “Forever, I hope.”

           
“Amen to that,” said Father Bundren.
“Others have left Buford, the police tell me. Students, townspeople, even one
faculty member, all in a hurry. I’d suggest that, here in Buford, their room is
better than their company.”

           
Thunstone rose. “Shouldn’t we go and
have some lunch?”

 
          
They
went down to the dining room and found a table. The young waiter who had served
them on Saturday night brought menus.

 
          
“Mr.
Thunstone, I looked for you yesterday,” he said, mildly reproachful. “You
promised me your autograph.”

 
          
“I
was busy all yesterday, didn’t get anything to eat but sandwiches,” said
Thunstone.

 
          
Manco
studied the waiter. “You weren’t one of that
crowd
that cleared out of here without barely stopping to pack,” he said.

 
          
“That
crazy devil crowd?” said the waiter. “I never paid them any heed. I don’t
believe in their talk.”

 
          
“Don’t
you?” said Thunstone. “Well, give me some paper and I’ll autograph to you
personally. What’s your name, son?”