Story illustrations by Jerry Boucher and Greg Chapman
Return to the table of contents
The Masks of Hastur
by Rick Lai
Pray for the Soul of the
Demoiselle Jeanne d'Ys
Who Died
In her Youth for Love of
Philip, a Stranger
A. D. 1573
- Inscription on a Breton tombstone translated by Robert W. Chambers.
Gaston Morrell was drowning, The waters of the Seine were soothing as they clogged his lungs. He began to remember the six women that he had strangled. As he slipped into oblivion, Morrell knew that he was totally innocent of the deaths of the women. They had only themselves to blame. It had all started with Jeanette. She had such a wonderful angelic face. He had painted that face in his first true masterpiece, La Purcelle d'Orleans. Beneath that face was the soul of a prostitute. Once he learned the truth, he had no choice but to kill her. She had to pay for her deception. The same was true of the others . . . Renee with her smothering jealousy . . . Francine the police spy . . . Gaston had only one regret. He had failed to kill Francine's sister.
"You caught Bluebeard?' asked Darlla Rassendyll in the Paris headquarters of the Sûreté in 1878.
"Yes," confirmed Inspector Lefevre. "He was Gaston Morrell, an artist infatuated with Francine's sister. I was writing my report to Commissioner Mifroid when you arrived."
The police official spoke with great emotion. For the last several weeks, he had pursued a maniacal killer. The press had dubbed the criminal Bluebeard because he preyed on women like the wife murderer of folklore. Instead of locking his victims' bodies in a secret room like his mythical namesake, this new Bluebeard polluted the Seine with their corpses. Lefevre had summoned Francine Lutien, a female undercover agent, in order to set a trap for Bluebeard. Tragically, the plan had backfired and resulted in Francine's strangulation. The loss had hit Lefevre hard because he had been passionately in love with Francine.
"When will he be brought to trial, Inspector?"
"Morrell has already paid for his crimes. He attacked Lucille Lutien after her sister's wake. Fortunately, my men and I arrived in time to save her. Morrell tried to escape us by fleeing across the rooftops. He lost his footing and fell into the Seine. If the fall didn't kill him, he must surely have drowned. My men are searching for his body now."
"I made you a proposal at Francine's wake," stated Darlla.
"You volunteered to be trained as Francine's replacement in the Sûreté. You were overcome by grief at the loss of a close friend. If you wish to retract your offer, I fully understand."
"I have no intention of reneging. My decision was meant to honor Francine's memory. You clearly have much work to do tonight, Inspector. We can discuss my future tomorrow."
Darlla left the Inspector's office, passing one of Lefevre's subordinates, who had come to report to his superior.
"Have you recovered Morrell's body yet, Renard?" asked Lefevre of the new arrival."We're still searching for it."
"Damn! We must have Morrell's corpse in order to quell all the hysteria that's gripping Paris! The public must be convinced that Bluebeard's dead."
Renard felt it prudent to change the subject. "Who was that woman who just left? She looks vaguely familiar."
"Remember those burglaries in the theatrical district last year?"
"Francine identified the perpetrator as a stage magician named Sorgue."
"The actress who helped Francine solve that case was that woman,” said Lefevre “She has just been recruited to be Francine's successor."
"I recall her now. English father. French mother. Her stage name is Darlla Kent. Hopefully, Mademoiselle Rassendyll will be more successful in her solo endeavors than she and Francine were in the Sorgue case. The thief escaped apprehension."
"Like all conjurors, Sorgue proved proficient in the art of disappearance. Nevertheless, Francine and Darlla were able to recover the loot from the burglaries. The Commissioner was quite pleased with the outcome."
Another of Lefevre's assistants entered the office.
"I searched Morrell's home," reported the newcomer. "I found this." He handed a slim volume to Lefevre. On the cover of the book was the title Le Roi en Jaune.
"Did you read this, Cardec?" questioned Lefevre.
"No, Inspector. I'm aware of the Commissioner's directive regarding this play. Any copies found are to be brought to headquarters for disposal."
Lefevre handed the play to Renard. "In accordance with the Commissioner's orders, incinerate this literary atrocity immediately." Renard left the room with the book.
"I don't understand, Inspector," admitted Cardec. "Why treat a mere play like it's the plague."
"Nearly everyone who's read it has been driven mad. It's figured in numerous cases of murder and suicide."
"Who wrote it?"
"No one knows for certain. Every supposed sorcerer in history from Baron de Rais to Cagliostro has been credited as the author."
"Do we have any idea what the play's about?"
"It involves a city called Carcosa, Cardec. Three different journalists read the play and wrote articles summarizing its events. Other than sharing the same characters and places, no two accounts were remotely similar."
"What happened to those journalists, Inspector? Did they lose their sanity?"
"No, they all inexplicably went blind."
"There is one other matter, Inspector."
"What is that, Cardec?"
"I must tender my resignation."
"Cardec, you have a potentially great future in the Sûreté. What prompts this action?"
"Last year, I interviewed Morrell in connection with an unsolved case. A wealthy American visiting Paris had disappeared. The American Embassy had asked us to look into his disappearance."
"The Archer case. I remember it well."
"Archer had rented a room in a house belonging to an artist. Archer's landlord was Gaston Morrell. I cleared Morrell of any role in his disappearance. In light of recent events, I fear that Morrell murdered Archer. If I had arrested Morrell in the Archer case, none of those women would have been strangled."
"We have no proof that Archer was murdered. Your original suspicion was that Archer may have committed suicide. What was your basis for that hypothesis?"
"Archer mailed a manuscript to one of his relatives in the United States. A copy of the narrative was later sent to the Sûreté. It detailed a supposed encounter by the American with the supernatural in Brittany. Whatever the nature of this Breton experience, it unhinged Archer's mind. He became morbidly obsessed with death and the occult. He frequented the abodes of mediums and astrologers. I conducted some inquiries in Brittany. A man answering Archer's description was seen along the Breton coast shortly after the American was last sighted in Paris. I fear that Archer threw himself into the sea."
"Don't you see the truth, Cardec? Your discovery of Le Roi en Jaune in Morrell's house ties in to your original suspicion. Archer must have purchased a copy of that wretched play during his occult investigations. After Archer vanished, it came into Morrell's possession. Both men must have read it. Le Roi en Jaune drove one man to suicide and the other to murder."
The form of Gaston Morrell was lifted from the waters. The man carrying the artist wore a tattered robe. Emblazoned on his black garment was a yellow symbol resembling a swirl with three arms. A white lifeless mask seemed to cover his face. His eyes were without pupils, as though he was blind. He lowered Gaston on the shore.
The artist opened his blue eyes. "Where am I? This isn't the Seine. It's a lake!"
"You are on the banks of Demhe," answered the stranger. "We must speak in whispers." The man pointed to a city on the edge of the lake. "The citizens of Alar must not overhear us."
"You aren't from this city?" asked Gaston.
"I am from Alar's rival, Hastur, near the Lake of Hali. You can glimpse it over there."
Gaston saw the dark towers of a
metropolis in the distance. The outline of the city was illuminated by twin moons in the night sky.
"This isn't Earth. Hastur . . . Alar . . . Demhe . . . Hali. I read those names in a play. How can such things be?"
"Your questions will be answered in Hastur once you are presented to the Pallid Priestess. I shall guide you there."
"Do you have a name?" asked Gaston.
"I am the Phantom of Truth."
Gaston recognized the name of the nemesis of the King of Carcosa in Le Roi en Jaune.
It took hours for the Phantom and Gaston to reach Hastur. The streets of the city were largely deserted during the night. Occasionally, Gaston caught a glimpse of the inhabitants as he followed his guide through dark alleyways. All the city's denizens wore masks like the Phantom.
Gaston was led into an ebony tower that overlooked the Lake of Hali. After climbing a winding stairway, Gaston and his guide reached the top floor.
"Your clothes are wet,'' stated the Phantom. He opened the door to a room. "Inside you will find garments appropriate for an inhabitant of Hastur. Once you have changed, I shall escort you to your hostess."
Gaston quickly changed into a purple robe worthy of an emperor. He joined his enigmatic guide outside. After passing two doors, the Phantom opened a third. He beckoned for Gaston to go inside. Once the artist had entered the chamber, the Phantom shut the door and remained alone in the corridor. In the chamber, Gaston beheld a woman in a skintight metallic garment that covered her entire body like a second skin. A white mask clung to her face. Enchanting blue eyes stared at the artist. With the exception of the eyeholes, the only other visible openings on her face were thin slits for her nostrils and mouth. Gaston couldn't detect any separation between the mask and the portion of the costume covering her neck. The same metallic substance covered her scalp. No hair was visible.
"I am called the Pallid Priestess," divulged the woman. "What do you recall of Le Roi en Jaune?
"My memories are blurred and contradictory," confessed Gaston. "I vaguely recall a curse of the Pallid Mask that befell the citizens of Hastur for defying the King of Carcosa."
"As you shall shortly learn, I too suffer from the curse. My history is tied to Brittany. Are you familiar with its legends?"
"Should it not be I who asks the questions? The Phantom of Truth promised you would explain everything."
"Be patient, Gaston. The truth will soon become known to you. For the moment, tell me about your familiarity with Breton folklore."
"I know of the sunken city of Ys, Jean Blanc the albino brigand, and Jeanne-La-Flame, the warrior Duchess."
"If you know those stories, then you must have heard of Jacqueline the Bold."
The blue eyes of the Pallid Priestess bewitched Gaston.
"Yes, she lived in the sixteenth century," said the artist. "Like the later Jean Blanc, she was a bandit who preyed on the oppressive nobles and shared the proceeds of her robberies with the peasants. The authorities sought to defame her by branding her a sorceress. They called her the Black Priestess, and even asserted that she was descended from the infamous Black Priest who was a traitor during the Third Crusade."
"Do you know of her connection to Ys?"
"There was a noble family who traced their lineage to the dynasty that ruled Ys before its destruction in a flood. They dwelt in a Breton castle named after the city of their ancestors. At this Chateau d'Ys, there lived a servant, Pelagie. She was employed as a nurse to Jeanne, the young daughter of the Seigneur d'Ys. Pelagie raised her own daughter alongside Jeanne d'Ys. The nurse's daughter grew up to be the flamboyant Jacqueline the Bold.
"Five years older, Jacqueline cherished Jeanne like a younger sister. Both Jeanne's parents perished when she was very young. At the age of nineteen, Jeanne was mistress of the Chateau d'Ys. Courted by a handsome stranger, she fell desperately in love. When her suitor vanished, Jeanne was devastated. Fearful that her surrogate sister would die from a broken heart, Jacqueline promised to find the missing stranger. The Black Priestess never returned from her quest. Jeanne perished in 1573."
"Jeanne's story must have left quite an impression, Gaston, since you remember the year of her death."
"I stumbled across the grave while visiting Brittany. I wouldn't have found it if not for the presence of an American tourist sadly standing beside it. Her tombstone's inscription always struck me as odd. Her lover's name was given as the English 'Philip' rather than the French 'Philippe.' I assume her lost suitor was an Englishman."
"He was actually of a different nationality. I was responsible for his presence in Brittany. I am Jacqueline the Bold."
"That's impossible! She must have died centuries ago."
The beguiling blue eyes of the Pallid Priestess flashed at Gaston. "You have journeyed to a world with two moons, my sweet Gaston. The normal strictures of probability no longer apply."
"Your point is well taken, Priestess."
"My family has long studied the hidden science that the unenlightened condemn as witchcraft. While my ancestor was the contemptible Black Priest of the Crusades, I do not serve the demonic forces that he did. My forebear was an apostate. The true faith of my family was the old religion practiced by the Druids. My beloved mother taught me those arcane arts at an early age. When I became a bandit, I used my occult knowledge of the Rituals of the Signum Veneris to evade my pursuers. Are you familiar with the Signum Veneris?"
"Latin for the Sign of Venus. Witches supposedly used it to project a psychic double miles away while they were in a trance."
"My mastery of the Signum Veneris went well beyond psychic doubles, Gaston. I could open gateways in space which allowed me to physically travel long distances in a matter of seconds. Eventually, I grew overconfident. I began to experiment with traveling backward and forward in time. I inadvertently opened up a gateway in time through which a stranger from the future stumbled through."
"Are you saying that Philip was a time traveler?" Gaston paused for a moment. "The American tourist's name was Philip Archer."
"Yes, Gaston. Your American was Jeanne's lover. During all my tribulations, Jeanne stood loyally by me. She secretly hid me in the Chateau d'Ys while Charles IX's soldiers searched the countryside for me. I pretended to be one of Jeanne's male servants, a falconer. Since the Chateau d'Ys took its name from a doomed city, I adopted the name of a legendary cursed metropolis. I called myself Hastur in my masculine disguise. Philip accidentally stumbled back through the gateway. When he vanished, I realized what had happened. I ran to the gateway, but discovered that my spell had worn off. The gateway in time had closed."
"Surely you reopened it."
"It took me weeks to find the proper ritual. Before entering the gateway in time, I promised Jeanne to return with Philip. When I arrived at my destination, the year was 1877. The Chateau d'Ys was in ruins. My precious Jeanne was dead and buried. I should have realized that my quest had ended in failure. Instead, I became more determined to find Philip."
"The grave told you that Jeanne couldn't be saved. Why did you press on?"
"Because I am Jacqueline the Bold! I was brazen enough to imagine that history could still be rewritten on my terms. I believed transporting Philip back to the past would cause that tombstone to vanish in 1877."
"How did you survive? Whatever currency you had from 1573 would have been difficult to exchange in my era."
"I convinced a caravan of gypsies to provide me shelter. I was quite capable of adding to their coffers. Any genuine sorceress can enact tricks of prestidigitation for a gaping audience. My hosts also didn't object to the occasional act of thievery. Since I had been a bandit in my own age, I had no qualms about mastering your age's methods of separating the rich from their wealth.
"Philip had told Jeanne that he was an American. Inquiries around Brittany led me to discover that an American tourist had visited there. His name and description fit Jeanne's beloved. He told more than one local resident of his intention to find lodging in Paris. When I had suf
ficient funds, I journeyed to Paris. It took me some time to locate Archer since I only knew his first name. I had to support myself through similar methods that I used in Brittany. Eventually, I heard of an artist who was struggling to make a living. In order to augment his income, this artist rented a room to an American tourist whom he had recently met in Brittany."
"I am not some toy for you to play with, Jacqueline! Get to the point. We both know that I was the artist, and that my boarder was Philip Archer. He mysteriously vanished in Paris. I now realize the truth. You located him and transported him back to 1573. You must have found Jeanne d'Ys already dead."
"You're only partially correct. I did contact Philip. He agreed to return to 1573 with me. We went to Brittany. There we entered the gateway to the past, but we never reached our desired destination. We found ourselves there."
Jacqueline pointed to a window. Looking outside, Gaston saw a massive metropolis filled with huge towers. The city brooded like a crouching dragon on the other side of the Lake of Hali.
"Carcosa," muttered the artist.
"In Paris, Philip had sought an occult explanation for his journey to 1573," said Jacqueline. "He told his story to a medium named Bayrolles. That soothsayer informed him that the name Hastur appeared in Le Roi en Jaune."
"I found that book in Philip's room after he disappeared."
"And like Philip, you made the mistake of reading it."
"Why shouldn't I have read it?"
"The King of Carcosa uses it as a snare to entrap souls in the Lake of Hali. It plants a seed of madness inside the reader's mind. If that seed fully matures, the reader finds himself in Carcosa itself. The seed inside Philip allowed the King in Yellow to bring both of us to his monstrous citadel. The tyrant of Carcosa attempted to coerce me into becoming one of his slavish concubines. When I refused, the King encased my entire flesh in the Pallid Mask. He mockingly christened me the Pallid Priestess, just as Charles IX's underlings had insultingly called me the Black Priestess. He ordered the Phantom of Truth to escort me to Hastur. Here, the entire populace suffers the same curse but the Pallid Mask only covers their faces."
Lovecraft Ezine Mega-Issue 4 Rev1 Page 16