Manly Wade Wellman - Judge Pursuivant 02

by The Black Drama (v1. 1)

  "Oh," said Pursuivant, "if you put it like that-but what shall I tell the audience?"

  "Make it as short as you like, but impressive. You might announce that all present are subpoenaed as witnesses to a classic moment."

  Pursuivant smiled. "That's rather good, Mr Varduk, and quite true as well. Very good, count on me."

  But after lunch he drew me almost forcibly away from the others, talking affably about the merits of various wines until we were well out of earshot. Then his tone changed abruptly.

  "I think we know now that the thing-whatever it is-will happen at the play, and we also know why."

  "Why, then?" I asked at once.

  "I am to tell the audience that they are 'subpoenaed as witnesses.' In other words, their attention is directed, they must be part of a certain ceremony. I, too, am needed. Varduk is making me the clerk, so to speak, of his court-or his cult. That shows that he will preside."

  "It begins to mean something," I admitted. "Yet I am still at a loss."

  Pursuivant's own pale lips were full of perplexity. "I wish that we could know more before the actual beginning. Yet I, who once prepared and judged legal cases, may be able to sum up in part:

  "Something is to happen to Miss Holgar. The entire fabric of theatrical activity-this play, the successful effort to interest her in it, the remote theater, her particular role, everything-is to perform upon her a certain effect. That effect, we may be sure, is devastating. We may believe that a part, at least, of the success depends on the last line of the play, a mystery as yet to all of us."

  "Except to Varduk," I reminded.

  "Except to Varduk."

  But a new thought struck me, and for a moment I found it comforting.

  "Wait. The ceremony, as you call it, can't be all evil," I said. "After all, he asks her to swear on a Bible."

  "So he does," Pursuivant nodded. "What kind of a Bible?"

  I tried to remember. "To tell the truth, I don't know. We haven't used props of any kind in rehearsals-not even the sword, after that first time."

  "No? Look here, that's apt to be significant. We'll have to look at the properties."

  We explored the auditorium and the stage with a fine show of casual interest. Davidson and Switz were putting final touches on the scenery-a dark blue backdrop for evening sky, a wall painted to resemble vine-hung granite, benches and an arbor-but no properties lay on the table backstage.

  "You know this is a Friday, Gib?" demanded Jake, looking up from where he was mending the cable of a floodlight. "Bad luck, opening our play on a Friday."

  "Not a bit," laughed Pursuivant. "What's begun on a Friday never comes to an end. Therefore-"

  "Oi!" crowed Jake. "That means we'll have a record-breaking run, huh?" He jumped up and shook my hand violently. "You'll be working in this show till you step on your beard."

  We wandered out again, and Sigrid joined us. She was in high spirits.

  "I feel," she said excitedly, "just as I felt on the eve of my first professional appearance. As though the world would end tonight!"

  "GodVorbid," I said at once, and "God forbid," echoed Judge Pursuivant. Sigrid laughed merrily at our sudden expressions of concern.

  "Oh, it won't end that way," she made haste to add, in the tone one reserves for children who need comfort. "I mean, the world will begin tonight, with success and happiness."

  She put out a hand, and I squeezed it tenderly. After a moment she departed to inspect her costume.

  "I haven't a maid or a dresser," she called over her shoulder. "Everything has to be in perfect order, and I myself must see to it."

  We watched her as she hurried away, both of us sober.

  "I think I know why you fret so about her safety," Pursuivant said to me. "You felt, too, that the thing she said might be a bad omen."

  "Then may her second word be a good omen," I returned.

  "Amen to that," he said heartily.

  Dinnertime came, and Pursuivant and I made a quick meal of it. We excused ourselves before the others-Sigrid looked up in mild astonishment that I should want to leave her side-and went quickly downstairs to the stage.

  On the property table lay the cudgel I was to use in the first act, the sword I was to strike with in the second, the feather duster to be wielded by Martha Vining as Bridget, a tray with a wine service to be borne by Davidson as Oscar. There was also a great book, bound in red cloth, with red edging.

  "That is the Bible," said Pursuivant at once. "I must have a look at it."

  "I still can't see," I muttered, half to myself, "how this sword-a good piece of steel and as sharp as a razor-failed to kill Varduk when I-"

  "Never mind that sword," interrupted Judge Pursuivant. "Look at this book, this 'Bible' which they've refused to produce up to now. I'm not surprised to find out that-well, have a look for yourself."

  On the ancient black cloth I saw rather spidery capitals, filled with red coloring matter: Grand Albert.

  "I wouldn't look inside if I were you," warned the judge. "This is in all probability the book that Varduk owned when Davidson met him at Revere College. Remember what happened to one normal young man, ungrounded in occultism, who peeped into it."

  "What can it be?" I asked.

  "A notorious gospel for witches," Pursuivant informed me. "I've heard of it-Descrepe, the French occultist, edited it in 1885. Most editions are modified and harmless, but this, at first glance, appears to be the complete and infamous Eighteenth Century version." He opened it.

  The first phase of his description had stuck in my mind. "A gospel for witches; and that is the book on which Sigrid must swear an oath of renunciation at the end of the play!"

  Pursuivant was scowling at the fly-leaf. He groped for his pince-nez, put them on. "Look here, Connatt," he said.

  I crowded close to his elbow, and together we read what had been written long ago, in ink now faded to a dirty brown:

  Geo Gordon (Biron) his book

  At 1 hr. be/or midnt, on 22 July, 1788 givn him. He was brot to coeven by Todlin he the saide Geo. G. to be bond to us for 150 yers. and serve for our glory he to gain his title & hav all he desirs. at end of 150 yrs. to give acctg. & not be releasd save by delivring anothr as worthie our coeven. (Signed)

  For coeven For Geo. Gordon (Biron)

  Terragon Todlin

  "And look at this, too," commanded Judge Pursuivant. He laid his great forefinger at the bottom of the page. There, written in fresh blue ink, and in a hand somehow familiar:

  This 22nd of July, 1938, I tender this book and quit this service unto Sigrid Holgar.

  George Gordon, Lord Byron.

  14. Zero Hour

  PURSUIVANT closed the book with a loud snap, laid it down on the table, and caught me by the arm.

  "Come away from here," he said in a tense voice. "Outside, where nobody will hear." He almost dragged me out through the stage door. "Come along-down by the water-it's fairly open, we'll be alone."

  When we reached the edge of the lake we faced each other. The sun was almost set. Back of us, in front of the lodge, we could hear the noise of early arrivals for the theater-perhaps the men who would have charge of automobile parking, the ushers, the cashier.

  "How much of what you read was intelligible to you?" asked Pursuivant.

  "I had a sense that it was rotten," I said. "Beyond that, I'm completely at sea."

  "I'm not." His teeth came strongly together behind the words. "There, on the flyleaf of a book sacred to witches and utterly abhorrent to honest folk, was written an instrument pledging the body and soul of a baby to a 'coeven'-that is, a congregation of evil sorcerers-for one hundred and fifty years. George Gordon, the Lord Byron that was to be, had just completed his sixth month of life."

  "How could a baby be pledged like that?" I asked.

  "By some sponsor-the one signing the name 'Todlin.' That was undoubtedly a coven name, such as we know all witches took. Terragon was another such cognomen. All we can say of 'Todlin' is that the signatu
re is apparently a woman's. Perhaps that of the child's eccentric nurse, Mistress Gray-"

  "This is beastly," I interposed, my voice beginning to tremble. "Can't we do something besides talk?"

  Pursuivant clapped me strongly on the back. "Steady," he said. "Let's talk it out while that writing is fresh in our minds. We know, then, that the infant was pledged to an unnaturally long life of evil. Promises made were kept-he became the heir to the estates and title of his grand-uncle, 'Wicked Byron,' after his cousins died strangely. And surely he had devil-given talents and attractions."

  "Wait," I cut in suddenly. "I've been thinking about that final line or so of writing, signed with Byron's name. Surely I've seen the hand before."

  "You have. The same hand wrote Ruthven, and you've seen the manuscript." Pursuivant drew a long breath. "Now we know how Ruthven could be written on paper only ten years old. Byron lives and signs his name today."

  I felt almost sick, and heartily helpless inside. "But Byron died in Greece," I said, as though reciting a lesson. "His body was brought to England and buried at Hucknall Torkard, close to his ancestral home."

  "Exactly. It all fits in." Pursuivant's manifest apprehension was becoming modified by something of grim triumph. "Must he not have repented, tried to expiate his curse and his sins by an unselfish sacrifice for Grecian liberty? You and I have been over this ground before; we know how he suffered and labored, almost like a saint. Death would seem welcome-his bondage would end in thirty-six years instead of a hundred and fifty. What about his wish to be burned?"

  "Burning would destroy his body," I said. "No chance for it to come alive again."

  "But the body was not burned, and it has come alive again. Connatt, do you know who the living-dead Byron is?"

  "Of course I do. And I also know that he intends to pass something into the hands of Sigrid."

  "He does. She is the new prospect for bondage, the 'other as worthie.' She is not a free agent in the matter, but neither was Byron at the age of six months."

  The sun's lower rim had touched the lake. Pursuivant's pink face was growing dusky, and he leaned on the walking-stick that housed a silver blade.

  "Byron's hundred and fifty years will end at eleven o'clock tonight," he said, gazing shrewdly around for possible eavesdroppers. "Now, let me draw some parallels.

  "Varduk-we know who Varduk truly is-will, in the character of Ruthven, ask Miss Holgar, who plays Mary, a number of questions. Those questions, and her answers as set down for her to repeat, make up a pattern. Think of them, not as lines in a play, but an actual interchange between an adept of evil and a neophyte."

  "It's true," I agreed. "He asks her if she will 'give herself up,' 'renounce former manners,' and to swear so upon-the book we saw. She does so."

  "Then the prayer, which perplexes you by its form. The 'wert in heaven' bit becomes obvious now, eh? How about the angel that fell from grace and attempted to build up his own power to oppose?"

  "Satan!" I almost shouted. "A prayer to the force of evil!"

  "Not so loud, Connatt. And then, while Miss Holgar stands inside a circle-that, also, is part of the witch ceremony-he touches her head, and speaks words we do not know. But we can guess."

  He struck his stick hard against the sandy earth.

  "What then?" I urged him on.

  "It's in an old Scottish trial of witches," said Pursuivant. "Modern works-J. W. Wickwar's book, and I think Margaret Alice Murray's-quote it. The master of the coven touched the head of the neophyte and said that all beneath his hand now belonged to the powers of darkness."

  "No! No!" I cried, in a voice that wanted to break.

  "No hysterics, please!" snapped Pursuivant. "Connatt, let me give you one stark thought-it will cool you, strengthen you for what you must help me achieve. Think what will follow if we let Miss Holgar take this oath, accept this initiation, however unwittingly. At once she will assume the curse that Varduk-Byron-lays down. Life after death, perhaps; the faculty of wreaking devastation at a word or touch; gifts beyond human will or comprehension, all of them a burden to her; and who can know the end?"

  "There shall not be a beginning," I vowed huskily. "I will kill Varduk-"

  "Softly, softly. You know that weapons-ordinary weapons-do not even scratch him."

  The twilight was deepening into dusk. Pursuivant turned back toward the lodge, where windows had begun to glow warmly, and muffled motor-noises bespoke the parking of automobiles. There were other flecks of light, too. For myself, I felt beaten and weary, as though I had fought to the verge of losing against a stronger, wiser enemy.

  "Look around you, Connatt. At the clumps of bush, the thickets. What do they hide?"

  I knew what he meant. I felt, though I saw only dimly, the presence of an evil host in ambuscade all around us.

  "They're waiting to claim her, Connatt. There's only one thing to do."

  "Then let's do it, at once."

  "Not yet. The moment must be his moment, one hour before midnight. Escape, as I once said, will not be enough. We must conquer."

  I waited for him to instruct me.

  "As you know, Connatt, I will make a speech before the curtain. After that, I'll come backstage and stay in your dressing-room. What you must do is get the sword that you use in the second act. Bring it there and keep it there."

  'I've told you and told you that the sword meant nothing against him."

  "Bring it anyway," he insisted.

  I heard Sigrid's clear voice, calling me to the stage door. Pursuivant and I shook hands quickly and warmly, like teammates just before a hard game, and we went together to the lodge.

  Entering, I made my way at once to the property table. The sword still lay there, and I put out my hand for it.

  "What do you want?" asked Elmo Davidson behind me.

  "I thought I'd take the sword into my dressing-room."

  "It's a prop, Connatt. Leave it right where it is."

  I turned and looked at him. "I'd rather have it with me," I said doggedly.

  "You're being foolish," he told me sharply, and there is hardly any doubt but that I sounded so to him. "What if I told Varduk about this?"

  "Go and tell him, if you like. Tell him also that I won't go on tonight if you're going to order me around." I said this as if I meant it, and he relaxed his commanding pose.

  "Oh, go ahead. And for heaven's sake calm your nerves."

  I took the weapon and bore it away. In my room I found my costume for the first act already laid out on two chairs-either Davidson or Jake had done that for me. Quickly I rubbed color into my cheeks, lined my brows and eyelids, affixed fluffy side-whiskers to my jaws. The mirror showed me a set, pale face, and I put on rather more makeup than I generally use. My hands trembled as I donned gleaming slippers of patent leather, fawn-colored trousers that strapped under the insteps, a frilled shirt and flowing necktie, a flowered waistcoat and a bottle-green frock coat with velvet facings and silver buttons. My hair was long enough to be combed into a wavy sweep back from my brow.

  "Places, everybody," the voice of Davidson was calling outside.

  I emerged. Jake Switz was at my door, and he grinned his good wishes. I went quickly on-stage, where Sigrid already waited. She looked ravishing in her simple yet striking gown of soft, light blue, with billows of skirt, little puffs of sleeves, a tight, low bodice. Her gleaming hair was caught back into a Grecian-looking coiffure, with a ribbon and a white flower at the side. The normal tan of her skin lay hidden beneath the pallor of her make-up.

  At sight of me she smiled and put out a hand. I kissed it lightly, taking care that the red paint on my lips did not smear. She took her seat on the bench against the artificial bushes, and I, as gracefully as possible, dropped at her feet.

  Applause sounded beyond the curtain, then died away. The voice of Judge Pursuivant became audible:

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I have been asked by the management to speak briefly. You are seeing, for the first time before any audience, the lost pl
ay of Lord Byron, Ruthven. My presence here is not as a figure of the theater, but as a modest scholar of some persistence, whose privilege it has been to examine the manuscript and perceive its genuineness.

  "Consider yourselves all subpoenaed as witnesses to a classic moment." His voice rang as he pronounced the phrase required by Varduk. "I wonder if this night will not make spectacular history for the genius who did not die in Greece a century and more ago. I say, he did not die-for when does genius die? We are here to assist at, and to share in, a performance that will bring him his proper deserts.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I feel, and perhaps you feel as well, the presence of the great poet with us in this remote hall. I wish you joy of what you shall observe. And now, have I your leave to withdraw and let the play begin?"

  Another burst of applause, in the midst of which sounded three raps. Then up went the curtain, and all fell silent. I, as Aubrey, spoke the first line of the play:

  "I'm no Othello, darling… "

  15. "Whither? I Dread to Think-"

  SIGRID and I struck on the instant the proper note of affectionate gayety, and I could feel in the air that peculiar audience-rhythm by which an actor knows that his effort to capture a mood is successful. For the moment it was the best of all possible worlds, to be exchanging thus the happy and brilliant lines with the woman I adored, while an intelligent and sympathetic houseful of spectators shared our happy mood.

  But, if I had forgotten Varduk, he was the more imposing when he entered. His luminous pallor needed no heightening to seize the attention; his face was set off, like some gleaming white gem, by the dark coat, stock, cape, boots, pantaloons. He spoke his entrance line as a king might speak in accepting the crown and homage of a nation. On the other side of the footlights the audience grew tense with heightened interest.

  He overpowered us both, as I might have known he would, with his personality and his address. We might have been awkward amateurs, wilting into nothingness when a master took the stage. I was eclipsed completely, exactly as Aubrey should be at the entrance of Ruthven, and I greatly doubt if a single pair of eyes followed me at my first exit; for at the center of the stage, Varduk had begun to make love to Sigrid.