Dark Conflict

by John Glasby

  ‘What on earth was all that rot about asking Simon?’ he asked. ‘You know damned well that he won’t be in any condition to make decisions for God knows how long.’

  ‘Precisely. But there’s one important point that I’d almost overlooked.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’

  ‘We’ve only got Chalka’s word for it that he’s come here directly from Africa to take this mask back to his tribe. It’s more likely that he’s been sent by Caltro to get the mask by trickery. I’m not sure whether these people realize the power of these relics, but once they do they won’t rest until they’ve laid their hands on them. That could have been the first attempt.

  ‘I needed time to think about this, that’s why I put him off until tonight with that phony tale. I’ve got a feeling that something’s going to break before long and when it does, it might give us a clue to who this man, Chalka, really is. If he’s the genuine article, then we’ll do everything we can to get these things back to him. If he isn’t then we’ve lost nothing.’

  *

  The little thought that had been running lazily through Nayland’s mind as he changed, suddenly came out into the open. What was Caltro up to now? It was difficult to believe that he would be remaining idle, although it was possible that the black, evil power that these creatures possessed was less active during the day.

  The knowledge steadied him. Drying his hands and face, he slipped on his tie, knotted it quickly, and put on his jacket. It was with a feeling of satisfaction that he noticed that his hands were no longer shaking.

  Blake was still in the dining room when he entered. In spite of the grin that the other gave him, he was surprised to find that he couldn’t quite throw off the feeling of apprehensive fear that had descended upon him ever since the visit of Chalka almost an hour earlier.

  ‘Somehow, things are turning out a little differently from what I expected,’ he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

  ‘You think they’ll try again?’

  ‘I’m sure they will. The question is, when and where.’

  He glanced about him, his senses alert. He had the most uncertain feeling about the rooms that lay on the other side of that closed door through which he had just entered. He had felt that the moment he had stepped into this room, somebody had been out there, watching him, even though he had seen nothing.

  He threw a swift, suspicious glance at the windows, expecting to see someone standing there. He saw nothing but the cool sunlight and the mist rising from the gardens.

  Angrily he told himself that he was behaving like a stupid fool, scaring himself half to death when there was nothing, as yet, of which to be afraid.

  He walked over to the window, aware that Blake’s gaze was on him, watching him curiously. And he had the feeling that there were other eyes watching him from outside He glanced up and down the street, but there was no one there, although he had the unshakable impression that someone — or something — had stood there, on the pavement a bare instant before, and then melted away into the sunlight as though anticipating his motion.

  He tried hard to throw off the feeling that he was being watched, that stealthy eyes were peering at him from outside — a quiet, faintly-audible breathing that he couldn’t hear with his ears. Rather it was something he could just sense with his mind. His inner mind seemed to reach out of its own accord, out beyond the glass windows, into the sunlight, and seemed to detect a quiet, evil presence there.

  Then he looked round sharply, directly across the garden and saw the tall, broadly-built figure watching him out of amused, slightly malevolent eyes.

  Caltro!

  He realized that Blake was looking at him queerly from further inside the room.

  ‘Is there anything wrong, Stephen?’

  ‘Caltro. He’s outside. It looks as though he’s decided to pay us a visit in person after all.’

  ‘Caltro!’ Blake walked quickly over to the window and looked out. ‘What the devil can he want?’

  ‘It’s ten-to-one that he’ll try to get Simon away under some pretext or another. One thing you must remember. Under no circumstances must we offer him anything to eat or drink. He can do little so long as we remember that.’

  Blake nodded. ‘I’m not sure that I understand why,’ he said hurriedly. ‘But you ought to know best.’

  He glanced round sharply as Sims entered. There was a strange look on the manservant’s face. He licked his lips nervously, then said thinly: ‘There’s a Mr Caltro waiting to see you, sir. He says that you are expecting him.’

  ‘Show him in, Sims,’ Nayland said, keeping his voice steady with an effort.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  A moment later, the tall, fleshy figure of Caltro stood in the doorway looking across at them. There was a sardonic smile on his lips and an expression at the back of his eyes as though the Devil himself was looking out at them.

  Chapter Seven – Terror by Day

  Nayland shuddered inwardly at the sight of the fat, smoothly-rounded cheeks and the small, narrowed eyes, slanted like those of an Oriental beneath almost non-existent brows. The huge, balding head seemed balanced precariously on top of a body, which, although grotesquely fat and corpulent, still seemed a little too small for it.

  With a bobbing motion, Caltro came into the room and laid his hat carefully on a nearby chair. He seemed to be completely at his ease. Too damned sure of himself, thought Nayland wildly. Just what was the other up to coming here like this?

  ‘I understand that you have a friend of mine staying here with you, Mr Nayland. May I ask how he is this morning?’

  Was there a touch of hidden menace in that thick oily voice?

  ‘I’m glad to say that he’s quite well,’ Nayland said slowly. ‘At the moment, however, he’s sleeping so I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him.’

  ‘A pity.’ The other gave a wave of his thick hand. It was a gesture full of meaning and was not lost on Nayland. ‘I trust that he won’t be indisposed for too long. To tell you the truth, I was quite concerned about him. He hasn’t been his usual self lately, but I suppose you know that for yourselves.’

  Going across the room, he lowered his heavy bulk into one of the chairs and sat facing them with a smooth smile on his broad features. Something unclean and evil seemed to spread out from him in all directions, as if death and terror had been his constant companions for all of his life.

  Nayland said sharply: ‘Just why did you come here in the first place, Mr Caltro? I’m quite sure it wasn’t because you are so concerned with Simon Merrivale’s health.’

  ‘Oh, but I am. Very concerned. You see he happens to be a very good and close friend of mine. But I wonder if you know just how important his health is to me.’

  ‘If you’re referring to last night’s little demonstration then we have realized it,’ Nayland said thinly.

  He sat down and faced the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Blake, hovering indecisively in the background, his face set and fixed. Poor Blake, he thought tensely, he doesn’t really know what all this is about. If he did, he probably wouldn’t be standing there so quietly, listening to them arguing.

  Caltro suddenly leaned back in his chair, placing the tips of his thick, stubby fingers together. He said softly: ‘Let’s not beat about the bush any longer, Mr Nayland. You know that it is absolutely essential that I should have Mr Merrivale returned to me. He is extremely important to the work I’m doing and the sooner you both realize that your puny efforts cannot avail against the forces I have at my command, the easier it will be. I’ll admit that you went a long way towards thwarting me last night, but if you persist in your foolish attempts to fight me, you will both be destroyed — utterly. Do you understand that?’

  For a moment Nayland had a sense of toppling perspective as the other seemed to grow hugely; a terrifying figure that looked across at him with fearful, blazing eyes.

  Then his vision steadied. Everything became normal again and Caltro was smili
ng blandly at him.

  ‘You’ll never get him back,’ interrupted Blake, ‘even if I have to kill you to stop you.’

  Nayland saw that the other had the heavy metal poker in his right hand, his arm upraised. There was an expression of savage anger on the younger man’s face as he lunged forward to strike.

  ‘Don’t, you fool!’

  Nayland had only time to shout the warning before Caltro, scarcely moving in his chair, made a queer sign in the air in front of him with the forefinger of his right hand. For an instant, Nayland seemed to see the outline of the design traced there in a circle of fire. His lips were moving slowly, shaping the words of some odious incantation.

  To Nayland’s startled gaze, Blake stopped in mid-stride, his arm still upraised, his features contorted with fury. Then something seemed to happen inside him. His legs sagged and swayed beneath him as though no longer able to bear his weight. He crumpled, toppling forward, knocking aside the small table as he fell to the floor.

  Nayland started to his feet, then sank back as the other said silkily, ‘Your friend will recover in a little while, Mr Nayland. He is merely a fool who doesn’t know what he is doing or what he is up against. But I think that should be a sufficient demonstration of the powers I possess. Now, where is Simon Merrivale?’

  ‘He’s where you won’t be able to lay your evil hands on him,’ said Nayland feebly.

  ‘I warn you,’ hissed Caltro harshly. ‘If you try to interrupt my work again, I shall be forced to eliminate you altogether.’

  His right arm reached out towards Nayland, grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and clung to it. There didn’t seem to be much strength in the thick, rubbery fingers but the other could scarcely repress a shudder of revulsion as they touched him.

  ‘I don’t intend to leave this house without Simon Merrivale. You realize that by interfering with my work, you’ve delivered both yourself and your friend into my hands entirely. If necessary, when the time is once again right, we may have three victims for the Great Master, instead of only one.’

  His sudden high laugh of triumph sent madness blazing like a searing flame through Nayland’s mind. God alone knew how many poor, ignorant wretches had been enslaved by these people, killed perhaps on that black altar, to appease some hideous Black Deity, butchered by this crazy High Priest of Evil.

  He grew aware that Caltro was speaking again. ‘Very soon now, we shall perform the sacrifice, The Great Master will receive his victims and I shall be made one with the Dark One. The Grand Ipsissimus! Then, everything will be mine. No one will be able to stand against me.’

  He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes staring into Nayland’s with an expression of feral hunger and eagerness.

  Quite suddenly, his head seemed to lift from his body, to float slowly into the air all by itself, outlined against the grey dimness of the room. But the oily smile was still there and the small dark eyes that looked steadily into his, peered down into his very soul.

  Caltro’s voice reached him as from a tremendous distance and yet the words were clearly audible:

  ‘You’re a fool to try to pit your feeble strength against mine. Nothing can stand against me.’

  Then there was a hollow emptiness all around Nayland. He could feel his strength and his courage evaporating away inside him like water in a vacuum.

  There was a dreadful bleakness in his mind that refused to go away. His body felt suddenly unclean as though a multitude of foul things were crawling all over his skin. There was that dark shadow again, thicker and more substantial this time, leaping forward to overwhelm him with an added strength. . The room felt suddenly cold.

  Give in, screamed the tiny voice of madness in his brain; give in, because it’s useless to fight against this evil terror!

  Madly, he tried to trace the shape of the Cross in the air in front of him, tried desperately to lift his right hand. But there seemed to be some hideous force pulling it down, clamping it rigidly to his side, Sweat popped out on his forehead with the terrible effort.

  He tried to open his mouth to scream, to pray, but no words came out.

  Then, almost before he was aware of it, blackness surged up out of the floor, from the walls and ceiling over his head. He went out with a dull thudding in his brain and the leering face of Caltro staring at him from the darkness.

  For a second, he thought he heard a dull booming of wild, triumphant laughter in his ears. Then there was nothing for a very long time.

  *

  His first sensation was of lying on something soft and yielding; his second was of the bright light shining almost directly into his eyes, the glare probing redly through the lids even before he opened them involuntarily.

  Weakly, he turned his head away from the light, and tried to sit up. Surprisingly, he was able to do so and as he levered himself onto one elbow, the first memory impressions began filtering back into his brain.

  ‘You’ll be as right as rain in a few moments, sir. Just lie still,’ said a familiar voice.

  He blinked his eyes several times, the blood rushing to his head, pounding behind his temples. He saw that Blake was still unconscious, slumped in an armchair opposite him. A moment later, he saw the stocky figure of Sims on the far side of the room, busily pouring something from the decanter. There was the welcome chink of glasses, then the manservant came back.

  ‘Better drink this down, sir,’ he said casually, as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Thanks, Sims.’ Nayland took a sip; then clasped his hands to his ringing head. ‘My God, what happened?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure, sir. I came in a few moments ago and found you lying here unconscious on the floor with Mr. Blake beside you. I lifted you onto chairs to make you more comfortable. Was it anything to do with Mr. Caltro, sir?’

  ‘Caltro!’ With an effort, Nayland pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying slightly for a moment until his head cleared.

  ‘That’s right. Caltro. He was here, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Why yes, sir.’ Sims looked puzzled. ‘I heard the front door slam almost an hour ago, and assumed it was him leaving, although I didn’t actually see him.’

  ‘An hour.’ Nayland glanced down at his watch. It was a little after midday.

  ‘But that’s impossible.’ He looked down at Blake who suddenly mumbled a low moan and sat up, his face twisted with agony.

  ‘Hell, what hit me?’ He rubbed the muscles at the nape of his neck gingerly. ‘I don’t remember anything since —’ He broke off. ‘Where the devil’s Caltro?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Nayland thinly. ‘And it’s my guess he’s taken Simon with him!’

  Together, they ran up the wide stairway into the room where they had left Merrivale asleep. The room was empty. The bed had been slept in, and a few of the sheets lay tangled up on the floor.

  ‘It looks as though they had to take him away by force,’ observed Blake grimly.

  ‘Probably he knows enough now to be able to guess what’s in store for him,’ explained Nayland. He felt suddenly cold and a bitter sensation of defeat overwhelmed him. It seemed now that nothing they could do would save Simon.

  ‘Do you think there’s any chance at all of finding him then, Simon?’

  Nayland shrugged. ‘They could have taken him anywhere, I suppose. They wouldn’t want to run the risk of us bursting in on them the next time as we did last night.’

  He felt suddenly cold inside. Caltro would never take the other back to his own house, even though everything there was ready for the sacrifice of the Black Mass; that would have been making things too easy for him to be found again.

  No, they’d pick some nice secluded spot, possibly well away from the city.

  The utter hopelessness of the situation hit him with the force of a physical blow. If only they had a clue to go on, but Caltro would have been far too clever for that. He reached a sudden decision.

  ‘There’s just the possibility that we may find something to help us at Simon’s place,’ he sa
id sharply. ‘After all, that’s where they intended carrying out the ceremony in the first place. We’d better get over here right away.’

  ‘Anything will be better than just sitting around here doing nothing,’ Blake agreed, ‘particularly with Simon in the hands of those fiends. God, why did he have to be such a fool as to get into this mess to begin with?’

  ‘Who knows why anybody does it?’ said Nayland as they made their way down the stairs and out into the street. ‘Some do it for the spirit of adventure. Others because they don’t believe that evil really exists and just want to dabble in it, thinking they can back out of it any time they wish. It’s like a new toy to some of them, only this is one thing they can’t discard and throw away when they’re tired of it.’

  A few minutes later, Nayland opened the door of his car and slid himself behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him.

  Nayland drove the powerful car with a kind of reckless abandon, keeping his foot down hard on the accelerator, peering ahead into the curtain of pouring rain that seemed to open up momentarily to let them pass, to slide over them like a river of darkness, and then close in behind the speeding car as if trying to block their way of return.

  Twenty minutes later, they came within sight of the tall, rambling house that stood a little way back from the main road, half-hidden behind a veritable barrage of trees, as though deliberately trying to hide itself away from prying eyes.

  Nayland swung the car in through the tall iron gates. There was the sudden crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Blake leaned forward in his seat and peered through the windscreen and Nayland did likewise.

  Even if Caltro had taken Simon to some hideout in the country, it was still possible that he had left someone behind to watch the place just in case they returned.

  There was that foreign-looking man-servant, for example. He might still be around somewhere and Nayland had the suspicion that he could be a nasty customer if the occasion warranted it.

  The mansion showed up clearly in the dim light and he saw it fully for the first time since he had arrived back in England. The previous night it had been all shadow and darkness with no detail showing.