The Curious Quests of Brigadier Ffellowes

by Sterling E. Lanier

  "It was a funny little scene, or rather odd. Lionel actually took a step backward, and Isobel looked at her husband in puzzlement I don't think either of them had expected the icy tone or the rebuke from my gentle friend. I must say it took me by surprise as well.

  "Lionel left abruptly and we went into the house. The butler, Traheal, was an old acquaintance of mine from the Penruddock townhouse, and he took me up to my room.

  'His Lordship told me why he had asked you, Captain, if I may be so bold,' he said. 'We badly need some help, sir.' His voice dropped as he went on. 'The Powers of Darkness, sir, that's what we're facing. In my opinion, we need a priest. If this goes on we'll all have to leave.'

  "He had been a sergeant on the Western Front and was no chicken. I bathed and got ready for dinner in a state of some perturbation.

  "Dinner passed quietly, but conversation was strained, and there were long periods of silence as each of us fell into our own thoughts. We went early to bed.

  "I awoke suddenly about three a.m. with a sense that something was about to happen. On impulse, I moved to the window and looked out. A red half-moon was partly hid by racing clouds, and the wind seemed to be rising. The stunted trees down toward the cliff face were bending toward the house. For some reason I felt that something was racing to the land from far, far out on the deeps.

  "Then there came a sound. It seemed to come from a long way away, but it was very loud. It did have a direction, which seemed to me to be down the coast to my left. I was on the second floor, in a room facing the front drive and hence the sea. As to the sound, it was really several sounds, a medley, so to say. Overriding the rest were what sounded like the blaring of several immense trumpets, echoing and challenging, a brazen uproar. Under this ran a strange susurration of what sounded like shouting, or perhaps screams, with an occasional ringing noise, as of metal being struck. All this ran perhaps twenty seconds and then was cut off suddenly. There was a pause and I could hear the west wind gathering strength.

  "Across that in turn broke out the horrible squealing cry, or cries, which James had described to me in the car as the sound of pigs being killed. But in me they produced a different reaction. I felt I was listening to something with a note of triumph, as if something foul beyond endurance, and not only foul but alien, was rejoicing and reveling in victory. It made my flesh creep, and my hands went white as I pressed the window ledge.

  "This, too, was suddenly cutoff, and now the wind was making all the noise needed, tearing and raging in from the ocean and buffeting the house with great fury. The clouds were blasted away from the moon, and far out at sea I could see the white spume of great waves.

  "On impulse, I opened the window, which, like all in the house, had been both shut and bolted. The wind tore into the room, making the heavy drapes stand out, and actually pushed me back a bit! As it did so, I had the most extraordinary sensation. I smelt apple blossoms! And not just smelt them, I felt drenched in the scent, delicious and exhilarating. Now early April may produce this scent in southern England, but hardly at night on a sea cliff in the midst of a gale! Time seemed to stand still as I inhaled the delicious odor, and I could hear nothing over the roar of the great winds.

  "Then, that too was gone, after some few minutes, perhaps ten. The wind dropped to a gentle breeze, the clouds gathered, and a light rain began to fall. I was suddenly conscious that my room door was open, that I was wearing silk pajamas and was getting awfully cold. I slammed the window shut and turned to find James standing in the doorway.

  "He was wearing a dressing gown and slippers over his night clothes. And he was staring at the window and the night sky over my shoulder, a strange look of pain on his face. His face had lost any trace of its normal amiability and looked hard and set. He spoke softly, as if to himself.

  " 'Too late, too late!' he said. 'Ever the cycle repeats and there is no escape.' His voice dropped and he said two more words I could hardly catch at all. One sounded like 'curse' while the other might have been 'migraine' or something that sounded like it.

  "Then his face cleared and it was as if he had seen me for the first time. 'Well, Donald,' he said in his normal tones, 'what do you think of a month of things on that nature? A pretty noise to have around one's home, eh, quite apart from all else. D'you wonder I fear for Isobel's sanity?'

  " 'Why don't you leave?' I said on impulse. 'Or at least, send her away while you and I try to puzzle this out'

  " 'Because she won't go.' His voice was inexpressibly tired. 'Not unless I go and I can't! I must stay and face this thing down and I don't know why. I just know I must. My God, what have we done to be afflicted with this?'

  "I did not refer to the earlier words he had spoken, then or later. I was sure, you see, that he had no memory of them and would have been further upset by the conviction that his mind was going, and this was the last thing I wanted. We were going to need clear heads before this business was over, of that I was sure. But the words had started a train of thought in my mind, though I hardly dared voice my thoughts, even to myself. They were too monstrous and incredible.

  "The next morning I spent some time in the library, a vast old place in which my host and hostess seldom entered, neither being bookworms. It had many rare volumes, collected by ancestral Penruddocks no doubt, but modern things, too, and I had no trouble finding the reference I sought I still could not quite face what I was thinking, for if I was right, a tragedy as old as time was building up before my very eyes, and I was powerless to interfere.

  "The morning passed quietly enough. None of us referred to the previous night, by common and unspoken agreement, but the faces of all of us were haggard and full of strain. The servants were very quiet, but their faces were set and grim. Theirs' was loyalty indeed. I honor them.

  "After lunch I asked James if he thought Lionel would mind if I strolled down to look at his site. The castle lay a mile or so south on the coast, and for reasons of my own I wished very much to see it, as well as to find out exactly how it could be reached in the most expeditious manner.

  " 'Can't think why he should object,' said my host 'But you've seen what he can be like, damn him. He's always been like that, you know. A word and blow, that's Lionel since birth. No one but mother could stick him at all, and he even frightened her at times.' His face hardened in thought.

  " 'I can't think why you shouldn't be allowed to look at his work. It's my own castle, when all's said and done, not his. Go ahead. He'll hardly be likely to treat you as he does the servants, after all. But you can be prepared for some piece of rudeness, all the same. I wish to goodness he'd take it into his head to go away! I don't think he has a friend in this country, even among his fellow pot hunters.'

  "Back in my room I put on heavy shoes, for the track to the castle was a rough one, I had been warned. I also borrowed a stout stick, of blackthorn, from the cane holder downstairs, and thus equipped, I set out.

  "It was a still afternoon and fog lay in the hollows. I had excellent directions and a pocket compass as well, for there were bogs and ghylls as well as the sea cliffs, of course. But I swung somewhat inland. I did not want to be observed as I went from the cliff cottage, and the road ran past the drive to Avalon and stopped there. I saw the roof of the cottage well before I got to it and was able to avoid it by going even further east until I was well past. The going was not bad, and though I saw no bogs close by, I caught glimpses of livid green in the distance, but way off my line of march. Now I angled back toward the coast, and after another half mile or so, I saw the castle in front of me. I had studied pictures of the thing in the house, but the reality was something else.

  "A great point of dark rock jutted out over the sea, perhaps a hundred yards square. In the center of this, on a flat area, lay a huge pile of tumbled blocks, as black or blacker than the weathered cliff on which they rested. The foundation layers were intact, to double the height of a man, but above that, all was destroyed. The huge blocks of stone looked as if some giant had reached down and cru
shed the upper courses into ruin, like jackstraws turned over by a child. I do not think modern explosives could have done a more thorough job, even today. I had no idea that engines of destruction had reached such a level in medieval times, or even earlier, if some of the rumors about this place were correct.

  "The area looked truly desolate, for I could see none of the white streaks that would indicate that sea birds nested there. But as I worked my way closer, down a bracken-covered slope, I began to feel uncomfortable. There was an atmosphere I did not like about this pile of time-worn rock. I could see why the locals disliked the place. I felt an air of something menacing, as if somewhere around me something old and strange were brooding over its wrongs, with silent hate emanating from every fiber of its being. I raised my glance and saw the smoke of a steamer far out on the wave-tossed horizon. Around the cliff foot, hundreds of feet below, the sea beat endlessly with a constant roar. But this view of normal things did not dispel the feelings that had been aroused by the pile of shattered stones before me. Almost, they seemed to increase them, by making the place itself more of an intruder, something which had no habitation here in the normal world.

  "I was not very close to the foundation, but no more than several yards, and suddenly out of a hole I had not even seen in the rocks, a little to my right, a man's head popped out, making me start back. We stared at each other for a second in silence, and then the man whisked down into the cavity from which he had emerged so silently. Now, I could hear movement below, and the dark visage of the person whom I sought appeared. Lord Lionel climbed out easily, and I now noticed the very tip of a ladder protruding from the black hole behind him. Two other men followed him, and the three stood watching me attentively for a moment.

  "Lord Lionel was the first to break the chilly atmosphere, though he did not sound particularly friendly.

  " 'Ffellowes, eh? Come to look over the dig? Didn't know you chaps at the War Office ever got outdoors these days, let alone took an interest in archaeology.'

  "Now this was a bad mistake, and if I were right in my gathering suspicion, the first the man had made. That I was attached to the War Office and not doing regular duty in my own branch of service was not all that well-known a fact. James knew it because he had asked very high up indeed. That much I had checked. But this meant that Lord Lionel had also been asking questions about me. I let none of this show in my face but looked casually about, while very conscious of his intent gaze. And I managed to get my first good look at his two helpers. They were interesting, too.

  "They might have been brothers and perhaps were. Both were short massive men, very swarthy, unshaven and dirty-looking in soiled work clothes. They had high cheekbones and narrow black eyes, eyes in which I read contempt and dislike as they watched me impassively.

  "Lionel must have noticed something, since he suddenly spoke harshly to them in a language I had never before heard, a tongue both lilting and harsh at the same time. I suppose it might have been Cornish, as James thought, but these two looked like nothing I had ever seen in Cornwall, or anywhere in the British Isles, for that matter.

  "Both men ducked back down the ladder, and as they vanished into the depths, something stirred in my memory. Men like these and piles of black stones somehow went together, as if belonging! No, what was that memory?

  " 'Not much to see, I'm afraid, Ffellowes. I'm still trying to clear a lower passage. There have been a number of rock falls. It's a bad place and only for experts. Can't ask you down, I fear, since the risk is mine should you happen to be hurt.'

  Under this show of concern lay an almost open sneer. I was not to be allowed down, whatever the pretext, that was plain.

  " 'Shouldn't dream of troubling you,' I answered, keeping my face as blank as I could. 'I'm sure you and these chaps of yours know how to work in safety. Never cared for scrambling about in holes, myself.' I dared not be too much the silly ass, but I could hint at it 'What was that jabber you were giving them? Some Wog or Gyppo language?'

  "His dark eyes narrowed as he studied me. I hoped I had not overdone the Pukka Sahib image. The wind soughed and wailed around us as he answered slowly.

  " 'Yes, it's an Arab dialect. My helpers were trained in the field by my own methods, in the Near East. This way they don't gossip. I don't like gossip, Ffellowes, or prying either.' He took a step closer to me. 'Now, My dear captain, I have work to do. I suggest you finish your Cook's tour elsewhere. Perhaps,' he added, 'you can go back and hold my brother's hand. He seems to need it, now that he's taken to believing in bogey men.' The malice was naked and so was something else. James had told me that his brother held him in contempt. But this was not contempt that I saw, but pure hatred, a very different thing.

  " 'I say, that's a bit raw,' I mumbled. 'Still, if you have things to do, I'll push on.' What I should have liked to do was push in his nasty face, or have a good stab at it. I had determined not to lose my control, and I turned away still mumbling inaudibly.

  "I thought that was to be the end of the encounter, but I was wrong. I had underestimated the depths of Lord Lionel's anger. His temper, always evil under the surface, now flared up. I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, and I was spun around to find him glaring at me from a foot away, his face bone-white with passion.

  " 'You can tell my brother to stay out of my hair!' he hissed at me, his voice actually shaking. 'Tell him to stay away from here and keep his damned house pets out of my business, too, or, by heaven, I'll give him something to really moan about! Now, get out!'

  "This was too much, even for my role of chartered idiot I chopped his hand aside with the edge of mine, a blow that really hurt, and had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. 'I think, sir,' I said coldly, 'that you have been in too many primitive places recently. You forget yourself. This is England, you know.'

  "I meant to infuriate him further, in the hope of learning more, but I was only partly successful. His face contorted in fresh rage, but suddenly changed. Over it instead, stole a most malignant and evil smile.

  " 'Yes,' he said in quiet tones. 'Now how could I have forgot that? We are in Merry Old England.' And he began to laugh! Still chuckling, he stalked over to the gap in his ruin and lowered himself down, without giving me the benefit of another glance.

  "I walked back toward the house over the main track, having no reason to conceal myself any longer. As I walked I tried to puzzle out all the mixed and convoluted things and impressions that swam about my mind. One of them was the realization that whatever tongue his lordship had used to his men, it was nothing out of the Near East. I knew something of those languages even as a young man, and the inflections were totally different. So, why had he lied? Because the real truth would have meant something, would have given some clue as to what he was doing? I concentrated. James thought the language to be Cornish or something like it. It was not Gaelic or even Welsh. I did not speak either, but had heard both often enough. Could it be the soft Celtic of Ireland (though that was a rare speech even back then). No, the consonants were far too harsh and clipped, and those two stunted giants looked like no Sons of Erin in my experience. The answer lay elsewhere, and as I thought, the vision of those two and the great black stones came unbidden to my mind, and with the vision came the solution. There was another Gaelic, or rather Celtic tongue still in use in Europe! I saw in my mind the great menhirs and dolmens of Brittany, the stones of mist-shrouded Carnac, lost in antiquity, about which dark legends still circulated among the peasants. Those two were Bretons!

  "Now why should the employment of Bretons be a secret? I racked my brain as I strode along past the cliff cottage, paying the place no heed, since I knew it to be empty. I think I later paid for this piece of egregrious stupidity, since I might possibly have had a very useful look around. But, meanwhile, I was turning over in my mind what I knew of Brittany, ancient and modern, which was damned little, actually. I knew, and don't ask me why, that they had a dismal separatist movement from France and even a 'national anthem', whose name sounded like
'Bro Goz Ma Zadou'. This meant nothing. I surmised that it was the past of Brittany, the last Celtic stronghold on the continent, that was important. And of that I knew little. No one seemed to know who had built Carnac. The whole peninsula had always been a hotbed of legends and folktales, even before medieval times. Among other things, King John, Richard the Lion Heart's most unpleasant brother, had murdered his nephew, Duke Arthur of Brittany, who had a better claim to the Plantagenet throne that he. And what else? Something was just out of reach in my mind! Legends, cults, Carnac, Prince Arthur (why that name?), Celtic mysticism, black stones, west winds, apples, all of this mishmash meant something, if only I could think of what!

  "By this time, I was at the house and I hurried in to tell James what I had seen. We sat in the old drawing room, and I related my afternoon to both of them. Isobel, after pouring tea, told me that none of it, save for one thing, conveyed anything much to her.

  " 'You've seen what he's like, Donald,' she said. 'You have no idea, really, what poor James has had to put up with, even going back to childhood. Many of the stories are family secrets. No, James, I simply won't be silent any longer, not to Donald. Why was he asked here, if not to help?' James subsided into a chair, muttering 'dirty linen' into his tea cup.

  " 'I think you are quite correct,' she went on to me, 'about this hatred, I mean. Yes, he has pretended to find James silly and stupid, but I have seen him look at James when he thought no one else was watching. He hates you, darling, and always has.' She turned back to me, her tired face still glowing with love.