Welles continued to write. The train thundered on towards New York. The appointed time of Kane’s funeral, and our trip to Xanadu, drew relentlessly closer.
It was only a matter of hours before I went through the experience of seeing Xanadu rise from the horizon again as we approached it. But this time we were in a convoy of cars. It was almost like the old days, I could imagine, with a selected group of house guests converging on Xanadu for a visit with King Kane and his Queen, and the whole palace and its sprawling grounds waiting to cater for any pleasure.
We reached the main gates, and a stranger opened them for us. No doubt this man was just brought in temporarily, while Raymond attended to more pressing and important duties. But I did notice that the gatekeeper’s neck was bandaged, and that he wore what looked like white gloves…
Our convoy swept onwards and upwards, gradually ascending Xanadu’s mountain. Welles, sitting beside me, all dressed up in funeral gear like I was, said, “Notice the servants brought in just for today? Their servants, I’m sure. Xanadu will be crawling with them, ah, appropriately. We need to keep our wits about us. We’ll be all right if Armitage has done his stuff. He should already be here.”
The cars pulled up in the great courtyard. I could see Mrs Kane waiting on the steps to receive the mourners. Raymond was next to her, unctuous to the last, as he introduced people or reminded Mrs Kane of names. It looked like the Prince of Darkness with Snow White.
We reached the top of the steps. “Ah, Mr Welles, Mr Houseman,” Raymond oozed in his unidentifiable accent. “I am sure Mrs Kane is glad that you could join us, her, on this…sad occasion.”
We shook hands with Mrs Kane, who reeked of a no-doubt highly expensive perfume which barely covered up the other reek of whisky. She wouldn’t or couldn’t say a word. She could have been drugged, for all we knew. Or she was just simply drunk: nothing new there. Susie only jerked her head in the direction of the great hall inside, and continued to shake more hands.
As we went inside, Welles whispered, “Notice one thing that’s missing? No journalists or cameras – not that I can see, anyway. That stooge Merritt might be about somewhere though, I suppose. Can’t even see anyone from the Enquirer. And this at Kane’s funeral! No publicity for the greatest self-publicist of our time! Hmmm… Ah, there’s Dr Armitage. Oh. And Leland talking to him.”
We made our way over the expanse of the hall, past groups of people standing about. I recognized a few faces, names from the worlds of Wall Street, London, international politics, heavy industry, transport, and the movies. Welles was nodding at so many people that his neck must have ached. But we aimed straight for the sofa on which Armitage and Leland were sitting, apparently deep in conversation.
When we got close I saw that Leland was lecturing Armitage in a low and confidential tone. Armitage seemed to be listening intently. As we reached them, Leland finished what he had to say, and leaned back slightly. Without hesitating Armitage shook his head vigorously. “No, no, certainly not,” we heard him say vehemently.
“It’s your choice,” Leland replied, with apparent resignation. Then he noticed us. “Gentlemen! Come and sit with us until the service begins. Armitage mentioned that he knew you, Welles. Maybe you could persuade the good doctor here to see sense? I don’t fully know what you’re up to, but it’s not worth it. We’re too strong for you. Take a look around. Consider where you are. You’re on our territory. Think about it, while you can.”
I looked about, while Welles’ face became set, mask-like. Certainly there seemed to be quite a lot of people wearing white scarves and gloves with their formal mourning clothes. Innsmouthers and the full gathering of the Pacific clans?
“Welles, you were right,” Armitage said. “Look around. They definitely want to do something here, if They get the chance. It’s like someone holding a giant hammer over Xanadu, preparing to smash the whole place and everyone in it. It will be like kicking down an anthill. And then They wouldn’t only control the Kane Organisation, but everything else as well! It’s not to be thought about. Leland gloated like a ghoul just now. And he seemed to be such friends with Charles, and such a decent student. They are everywhere…”
Armitage’s voice trailed off in sadness, and his eyes moistened. Now he really did look like the very old man he was. By comparison Leland was ready for anything.
Welles turned to Leland. “You won’t get away with anything, Jed. We’ll stop you, get you and your kind locked up in jail. It’s Sing Sing for you, Leland! Sing Sing!”
Leland looked aloof and amused, and Armitage remained sunk deep in his misery. Leland put a finger to his lips. Welles looked around, but no one showed any sign of having overheard him.
I heard the faint shuffling of feet, and the murmur of voices in the great hall began to become more subdued. The cause was Raymond, as he moved from group to group. I assumed at once that he was asking mourners to move towards Xanadu’s chapel, as the service would soon be beginning. We got up and followed everyone else.
We moved slowly, keeping pace with both Leland and Armitage. Leland looked more than ever like a lizard in a suit, while Armitage looked like a Santa Claus who had been told that Rudolf was too drunk to pull his sleigh for the kids. We moved towards a gothic archway and into a long and fantastic Moorish corridor beyond. This in turn led to another gothic arch, and the chapel.
I don’t remember much about the funeral service, but the setting was another matter. Calling Xanadu’s chapel simply a chapel was like calling the Grand Canyon simply a river valley. The chapel was vast and high: I guessed it probably consisted of most of a French cathedral. The pillars soared up towards a delicate vault that must’ve been more than one hundred feet above our heads. The windows were mainly of clear glass. I guess Kane hadn’t got around to having part of his collection of stained glass installed.
We were ushered to our pews by young men in black suits wearing the regulation white gloves and neck mufflers. Mrs Kane sat stiffly in the front row, with Raymond next to her. They made no sound – there was no muffled sobbing or crying. Either Mrs Kane wasn’t sad, or she was still under the influence.
We stood as the service began, and the coffin was brought in. I noticed that Welles and Armitage were holding books that were not the service books that the rest of us had. Also they in turn were keeping a close watch on Leland, who was appearing to follow the service with all the appearance of devoutness that he could muster.
Then the chapel began to grow dimmer, as if great curtains outside were being slowly drawn shut against the glaring Florida sunlight. I had once covered a total eclipse of the sun as one of my first reporting assignments. The gradual dimming of the light, the hushing of the world, and the expectant feeling of landscape and spectators had produced the same effect as I was feeling in the chapel. I don’t know how many of the congregation noticed it. But clouds were now rushing up out of the east and north, and covering the clear sky and the sun. Gusts of wind could be heard over the singing and funeral prayers. Something was happening. By the time the eulogies started I saw Armitage and Welles nod at each other. I caught Welles’ eye. He nodded at me, too. Under the gaze of the ushers, we crept out of the chapel.
When we were out in the corridor I whispered, “What’s going on?”
Welles said, “You noticed the weather changing when we were in there? They are up to something. It’s started, and it’s big. They did it before, in Providence in 1938. Thwart Them, or make Them think that Their plans are in jeopardy, and They will respond. Wind and sea obey Them.”
“Luckily it’s not the hurricane season,” I said.
Dr Armitage looked at me pityingly. “Boy, something like that has never stopped Them. It will always be hurricane season if They wish it.”
“Come on, both of you,” Welles interrupted. “We’ve got no time to waste!”
We rushed as fast as we decently could, back along the Moorish corridor, back to the great hall. As the light deteriorated still further, Armitage’s spirit
s seemed to pick up. Earlier he hadn’t looked like the sort of man who lived for decisive action, but Welles had told me a little of what Armitage had been involved with at Dunwich – what didn’t get published in the press, including the Kane press, that is. Now there was a new challenge. Armitage gained in self-assurance every moment. He looked as if he were as sure of himself as if he’d been back in his library in Arkham, on his home soil.
The hall was very dark by now. The stained glass would have kept out much of the light in any case. Now it was even worse, as leaden clouds slid across the sky, and the wind picked up still more.
We stood still. Armitage said, “We need to get outside. Is there a high terrace or something?”
Welles thought for a moment, and said, “This way.”
We plunged into a passage that led away from under the great flight of steps in the main hall. This passage, too, was Moorish in design. Eventually, after turning several corners, passing through other halls and landings, usually full of statues, we emerged onto a larger landing, from which a spiral stone staircase went both up and down. The stairs were contained in what seemed to be a crystal semicircle. Ahead of us on the far side of the landing was a pair of glass doors, apparently opening onto limitless air and cloud. We must have been very high up the sheer side of mighty Xanadu itself.
“Come on,” Welles said. He went ahead, and pushed at the doors. They opened, and a strong salty gale blew in. Out on the terrace we could see that for all our height, we were only about halfway up the great palace’s bulk, on a broad terrace that must have formed a sort of girdle around this part of the building. Far beneath us the artificial mountain fell away abruptly, down to the gardens, estate, and sea beyond. I thought I could see waves breaking on the flat sandy shore, but if so, they must have been huge waves, as the sea was miles away. Above us the sheer walls of Xanadu flew upwards, speckled by windowsills and other balconies and terraces.
“This will do,” Armitage said. He reached for his book, which he had hidden in his pocket as we’d left the chapel.
Suddenly the sky was split in two by a single bolt of lightning, which hit one of the towers far above. Around here any lightning in any storm had only Xanadu to connect with, but this seemed aimed. A tremendous peal of thunder crashed all around us, seemingly echoing from every direction. Trees in the park below whipped back and forth as if they were dancing to a mad tune and trying to uproot themselves. The low clouds, which now covered nearly all of the sky, swirled and eddied as if an invisible finger were stirring them up, dragging them around in circles. More lightning hit the towers above us, and a few tiles skittered down the roofs and sheer walls, and clattered on to the terrace near us. Then it began to rain – Hollywood rain.
I had always thought that the rain as stair-rods cliché was just that: a Hollywood cliché. But this time it really was true. From the direction of the roaring sea all those miles away and from the churning sky, sheet after sheet of grey rods of hard and freezing water arrowed down onto us. Within moments the estate below, and either end of the terrace, were invisible in the downpour, as if wave after wave of net curtain had been drawn in front of our eyes. Except these ones were rapidly soaking us to the bone. The wind had risen and become deafening; hearing each other was made even more difficult by the sound of the rain smashing against Xanadu’s roofs and walls.
Welles was holding his hat firmly on his head; I didn’t know what had become of my hat. Dr Armitage was struggling with his coat collar, and still fumbling in his pocket for the book that he had been holding earlier.
“Doctor? Are you all right?” I shouted through the rain.
His gaze penetrated through the downpour. “Don’t worry about me, young man. I’ve done this before.” He slapped the book he was now holding against his thigh. “Just make sure we don’t lose this here.”
Welles was also shouting at me. “I’ve got to get to Susie. Stay here with Dr Armitage and look after him. If he needs to be looked after.” They both laughed despite the storm. Welles headed back inside. Armitage came to where I was standing, and gripped my arm.
“Make sure I hold on to the book,” he said. “They will do anything, use any method, to defeat us now. So far there’s been one factor in our favour – Their amazing complacency. They could have dealt with us before now if They had thought to. Waiting to use the weather like this was a blunder on Their part. They’re desperate now.”
Lightning flashed and hit one of the towers overhead again. Eventually a few slates and pieces of gutter crashed down in the cascade of water tumbling from the roof. The wind tore at our clothing, gripping at us as with hands, as if trying to throw us from the terrace. I didn’t feel any amazing complacency. We were a long way above the ground. It was hard not to be swept up and towards the parapet.
“It’s now or never,” shouted Armitage. “The lightning’s coming closer. We’re lucky They’ve not done this sort of thing for a few years. They’re too sure of Themselves. Oh, we may get quakes in a little while –”
“Earthquakes? In Florida?”
“Whatever I’ve said, Their reach is long, young man. Come on, let’s get to it. I only hope that Welles and Mrs Kane can get away… And you, of course. It doesn’t much matter what happens to an old man like me…” His voice trailed off, carried away in the wind.
“Now make sure They can’t get the book away from me. I haven’t memorized any of these formulae.”
Armitage opened his book, and, when he had found the page that he wanted held it down with his free hand. The rain soon plastered the pages together. They looked as if they had been written out by hand. I wondered if the ink would run, but it seemed OK, despite the rain. Armitage seemed to know what I was thinking. He smiled grimly. “It’s not ink,” he said.
Then he began to yell something into the wind, which was still rising. More rain was falling, too, if that were possible. The terrace was now running with water, sluicing over the soles of our shoes. Keeping a firm footing would soon become difficult at this rate. I used my arms to grasp Armitage’s arm and shoulder. I was certain that our lives were at stake. If we didn’t hold each other, and stand together, we would certainly fall together.
Armitage continued to shout into the wind, his voice now firm against the onslaught. I couldn’t make out the words. We were totally drenched by now, both hatless, both cold and despairing. Or at least I was. Armitage, three times my age, held together well. Something inside told me that he was made of sterner stuff than anyone else I had ever known, even Welles; and that he was now likely as not to gain the upper hand. I just held on while Armitage read from the book and tried to maintain his footing against the flood sweeping across the terrace.
More lightning flickered around Xanadu’s towers way above us, but the accompanying thunder seemed to be dying away. Instead, there was another – an Other – sound or sounds, like someone in deep distress or anger, crying out from an immense distance, as if from the seabed and stars at once. I still couldn’t make out any individual words at all. It sounded like someone in the throes of unexpected and humiliating defeat, calling all sorts of vows of revenge, but really knowing that it was no use. The sounds now seemed to come from out of the storm itself, and be directed at the terrace, at Armitage and me.
They grew in intensity, even when Armitage’s voice grew quieter as he passed the climax of whatever formula it was that he was using. Then it was as if the Other sound recognized, at last, its defeat, and the defeat of all its hopes and the hopes of all it stood with and for. It, too, became quieter, and more at one with the elemental violence around us.
Armitage stopped suddenly, and with a yawp of triumph pushed the sodden book back deep into his pocket. He turned to face me, a wide grin revealing strong white teeth that almost matched his beard in the twilight.
“It’s done! Now if only Welles and Mrs Kane were in time…”
By now we had been blown and floated almost to the parapet itself, where floodwater gushed off into space from the
terrace. I put out my hand to grip the welcome, if freezing, stone of the balustrade.
Armitage peered over too. “Look!” he shouted, pointing.
Seemingly miles below, in the drowned and windswept park, two minute figures ran down the drive, away from the bulk of Xanadu. It must have been Welles and Mrs Kane. For a moment I thought that they had fallen, knocked over by the still powerful wind, or even sucked down by the earth. But they stumbled only for a second, and carried on running.
Armitage and I shook hands, pumping away as we began to laugh, gulping in great draughts of damp cool air as the clouds began to roll away and a shaft of sunlight came down to illuminate the glittering, streaming walls of Xanadu.
There probably isn’t a great deal more to say. Armitage and I made our way down by the route we’d come, and arrived back at the chapel just as a shocked and cowed congregation was coming out.
I saw a tall, gaunt man with a lantern jaw sitting on the chapel steps busily writing in a notebook. Kane’s chief editor Merritt came out, shaking his head. Then emerging behind him I saw Rawlston, the head of a newsreel company, white as the proverbial sheet.
“What happened?” I asked. “What’s been going on?”
Rawlston looked at me as if I’d just said that FDR was no longer president.
“Didn’t you notice anything?” he asked. “Orson Welles ran in from the back of the chapel, and grabbed Susie Kane right from in front of Jed Leland and the minister. Then it really began to rain, and a few windows were blown in from the storm. The minister carried on. I saw it all. Mr Leland went apoplectic and fell into a sort of trance, it looked like. That butler tried to revive him, but he went the same way! Then there was a tiny quake. But I did feel it. The coffin slid off the catafalque.” His face wrinkled up at the recollection. “The casket was splintered at one corner…the smell… I don’t know who the undertakers were, but they hadn’t undertaken the King very well…ugh…in the front few row passed out…and then that stuff…the minister just went on, and some ushers came up and shoved the coffin into the hole just before the storm calmed down…then Leland and the butler came round like they’d been electrocuted, and dropped dead where they were. At least, those ushers couldn’t revive them… I’m off to find a phone! If only I had a camera crew up here!”
Lovecraft Ezine Mega-Issue 4 Rev1 Page 50