The Mansion in the Mist

by John Bellairs

  "I've found it!" Emerson's muffled voice rang out from behind the tapestry. Hastily Miss Eells ran around to join him, but the dust on the tapestry got into her nose and made her sneeze violently several times. It was quite awhile before she recovered. "So here we are!" she muttered as she blew her nose. "It's dark back here. Did you bring a flashlight with you?"

  Emerson reached into the right pocket of his shirt— his St. Christopher Pen-Lite was supposed to be there. But it wasn't. Emerson remembered that he had been showing it to Anthony after dinner. Anthony had probably absentmindedly stuck it in his own pocket. Cursing quietly, Emerson felt in his left pocket. There was a box of England's Glory matches, which he used to light his pipe. Emerson handed the box to his sister.

  "This is the best I can do, I'm afraid," he said, as he pressed the matches into her hand. "Just keep lighting them as long as you can."

  Miss Eells struck the big wooden matches one after another as they made their way along the carpeted passage. The stuffy air was filled with the smell of burned matches, and a few times Miss Eells let a match burn till it singed her fingers. Then she would yell "Ow!" drop the match, and light another. Strange, loud noises could be heard on the other side of the wails, and sometimes the floor groaned under their feet. The place was coming apart, there was no doubt about that. Could they get out before the ceiling fell in on their heads?

  At last Emerson and Miss Eells came to the end of the passage. By the light of a fizzling match they saw a stone slab set in a corniced arch.

  "You were here before!" whispered Miss Eells. "How does this thing open?"

  "From the inside, easy as pie!" Emerson answered, and he reached out to give the slab a light push. Noiselessly it swung open, and they stepped forth into the gray moonlit world that lay beyond the mansion. In the distance was the garden with its writhing stone figures and the eerie hanging wall of glowing mist. And near a thornbush that grew against the mansion's wall stood the Grand Autarch. His arms were folded, and a grim look of triumph lit his evil face.

  "Greetings!" said the Autarch in his harsh, grating voice. "Have you been enjoying yourselves?"

  Emerson's blood froze, and he stepped backward. Frantically Miss Eells clutched his arm, squeezing it tight. "How... how did you know we were here?" asked Emerson in a weak voice. It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but it was all that came to his mind.

  "I have powers of telepathy here in this world," the Autarch answered. "And other powers too, as you will presently find out. I sensed that you were here as soon as you arrived, but I wasn't sure exactly where in the mansion you might be. So I guessed that you had somehow managed to locate this old passage again."

  "Again?" said Emerson, his eyes wide with astonishment. "You mean—"

  "Yes, indeed," snapped the Autarch, cutting him off. "When you were here the last time, you trampled down the grass outside the passage's entrance, and because no one here uses the passage anymore, I knew that you had done it. How did you get back to my world? When I smashed that purple window, I thought I had spoiled your fun for good!"

  "We used your desk," said Emerson with a grim smile. Even if they were going to die he wanted the Autarch to know that they had solved one of his clever riddles.

  "My desk!" said the Autarch, grinning unpleasantly. "Ah, yes! When I first created this house—with the help of my friends, of course—I used the desk to take me back and forth. How very brilliant of you to work out its secrets and avoid the death trap too! I must congratulate you, Mr. Eells. But I have a nasty, vengeful nature, and I haven't forgotten the beating you gave me when I visited your cottage. Soon you and your dear sister will be smothered in statues of living stone. But first I need some information from you. Where is the Logos Cube?"

  Emerson was totally stunned by this question. He couldn't have been more surprised if the Autarch had asked him for a piece of the moon on a platter. With all his powers of telepathy the Grand Autarch had things wrong! Maybe the amulet of Gobi desert sand was protecting the inner recesses of Emerson's mind, or maybe it was his native stubbornness that saved him—whatever the reason was, Emerson was grateful. His brain raced madly—what should he say? Not the truth, that was for certain. But what? Suddenly he had an inspiration—he knew what he ought to say.

  "Well?" snapped the Autarch impatiently. "Out with it! Where is the cube?"

  Emerson took a deep breath and let it out. "It's buried near the sundial in your garden. Mr. Wabe told me. Please—it's the truth, I swear!"

  "It had better be," muttered the Autarch with an evil grimace. "If you are playing games with me, you'll wish you had never been born! I know where the sundial is. You can use that shovel to dig up the cube for me. Come!"

  Emerson did his best to snivel and look totally beaten. Together, he and Miss Eells followed the Autarch into the garden of snaky vines. The vines writhed and hissed, but the outstretched hand of their master calmed them. The grim little procession passed the statues of frozen horror and came at last to the sundial in the center of the garden. The greenish-bronze dial stood on a fluted stone column, and around its edge these words were inscribed: LIFE IS A DREAM. Immediately Emerson began digging. Clods of grassy earth flew in all directions. But he was digging in the wrong place, and his work was all in vain.

  "Well?" snapped the Autarch, tapping his foot on the gravel path. "Have you found it yet?"

  "Give me time! Give me time!" panted Emerson, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "I haven't found it yet, but I will!"

  "My patience is limited," said the Autarch ominously. "But I will give you a few more minutes—use them wisely!"

  "Yes, sir!" mumbled Emerson. He looked around wildly. On the other side of the sundial was a small depression in the ground. "Oh, how stupid of me!" he said. "I've been digging in the wrong place! I'd like to try over there, if I might."

  The Autarch nodded curtly, and Emerson scrambled over to the other side of the sundial and began digging again. Before long the tip of his shovel hit something that made a loud metallic clangg! Scrabbling madly in the dirt with his fingers, Emerson came up with... a hammer. It was made of some dull gray metal, and on the handle words were engraved:

  Fling me into the upper air

  I'll find the cube be it here or there!

  Emerson heard gravel crunch, and he looked up to see the Grand Autarch glaring down at him. "That is not the Cube!" he growled. "What sort of game are you playing? Give it to me, whatever it is—now!"

  With a sudden motion, Emerson leapt to his feet with the hammer in his hand. He flourished it before the startled eyes of the Autarch, and then he heaved the thing into the air. With a power of its own, the hammer soared upward and was lost in the murky leaden sky above them. Emerson and Miss Eells stared up, hoping for... for what? They really didn't know. From far away came a soft clink! The hammer had landed, but had its mission succeeded or failed?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After the stone wall slid into place and cut him off from his friends, Anthony's panic turned into hysteria. He ran madly down the corridor till he came to a skidding halt at the foot of a staircase. Without knowing why he did this, he began to race up the steps. Anthony was a strong boy, and he could climb for a long time without getting tired. But after he had gone up two flights he paused to rest.

  Ahead of him the circular stairway suddenly burst into raging flames.

  Anthony gasped and nearly fell backward. He turned to run, but then he remembered that he had passed no doors. He was trapped, and the blaze was roaring toward him. He realized that his only chance was to dash right through the fire—if he could get to the other side at all. He closed his eyes tightly and pounded up the stairway.

  To his surprise he felt no heat. He risked opening his eyes. He stood in the middle of billowing orange flames and boiling, oily black smoke. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the fire was gone, leaving the stairway and Anthony unsinged. The savage flames had been an illusion of some kind. Anthony swallowed and thought har
d. This stairway seemed different to him somehow, not like the rest of the mansion. It had a more solid feel to it, as if it might lead to safety. What if the fire illusion had been intended to keep him from climbing the stairs? It seemed like the only answer, and anyway, Anthony knew there was no escape below. He would have to continue to the top.

  Anthony bounded on, taking the steps two at a time. Finally, with an aching side and with sweat pouring down his face, he stumbled out through a doorway and found that he was on the roof of the mansion. Around him lay a vast lead-covered expanse, with grotesque ornaments and chimneys rising here and there. One chimney loomed directly in front of Anthony, and set in its side was an elaborate terra-cotta ornament in the shape of a howling dragon. Wedged in the dragon's gaping mouth was a small glass cube.

  Instantly Anthony knew what he was looking at— this was the Logos Cube, the object the Autarchs had been searching for. It was the enchanted heart of their kingdom, and as Anthony watched, it glowed and faded, pulsing and sending forth power. The side facing him showed shifting scenes: ancient ruins amid sand dunes, forests where strange monsters roamed, and a moonlit view of a ruined chapel surrounded by black skeletal trees. Anthony watched, fascinated. He almost felt as if he could enter these strange worlds. In fact, a vague terror began to grow inside him, a fear that the cube might draw him inside it, into one of the weird scenes it showed. In spite of this queasy feeling, Anthony went on staring—he could not tear himself away.

  Suddenly Anthony became aware of a figure in the distance, on the far side of the flat roof. Anthony saw him just from the corner of his eye. It was a thin, white-haired man, and he was shouting. With an effort Anthony ripped his gaze away from the cube. The figure in the distance was Emerson, and his pleading voice was hoarse with terror: "Help! Help, Anthony! They've got her! You have to save her!"

  Anthony's heart leapt into his throat. The Autarchs had Miss Eells! With a gasp he stumbled across the roof, trying to reach Emerson. It was all like a horrible nightmare. The lead tiles softened and became like thick mud sucking at Anthony's feet, so that he could run only in slow motion. Even worse, the more Anthony tried to move forward, the farther away Emerson appeared to be. Emerson's voice cracked to a thin, meaningless wail, as if he had lost his mind. With hands crooked like claws, Emerson beckoned desperately, and Anthony ran even harder. At last, after what felt like an hour of effort, he saw that he was gaining. Emerson's face wrenched itself into a miserable mask of despair. Beyond him Anthony glimpsed something white and waist-high. It was a sundial on a fluted pillar. It reminded him of something, but what was it? He couldn't for the life of him remember.

  "Now!" Emerson shouted. "Jump! Jump, or they'll destroy her! Jump, Anthony, jump!"

  Anthony leapt, but something smacked him hard in the stomach and wrapped around him, clinging tight. "No!" shouted a high, piping voice right in his ear. "Close your eyes! Close them!"

  Anthony blinked, pressed his eyelids closed, and then opened them again. Emerson and the part of the roof he had been standing on had vanished. Anthony gasped. He was hanging in space over the edge of the mansion's roof, and nothing but air was between him and the ground forty feet below. Someone's trembling arm held him and kept him from falling. "You'll have to help," whined the voice in his ear. "Once I had the strength to haul you back, but no more."

  As his head cleared, Anthony found that his ankles had snagged on the edge of a low parapet. He struggled back, and whoever had caught him pulled him upright. Anthony turned and stood shaking as he faced an old, old man with bleary eyes and a hooked nose. The aged creature groaned as he released his hold. "See what they did to me," he wailed. His arms and legs began to twitch as if he were a puppet jerked this way and that on strings.

  But he shrieked out an angry warning: "I was a young man, and see what they've made of me! But I'll get my revenge! I'll keep them from taking any more victims! Don't look into the cube, boy! It will scramble your brains. I looked. I looked, and see what they've done to me—no! Don't make me! No!"

  Before Anthony could move or even cry out, the ancient man lurched forward and leapt over the parapet. Anthony flinched, expecting to hear the crunch of a body landing in the courtyard below, but that sound never came. After a moment, he took a deep breath and looked over the edge of the roof. A gray cloud hung in the air between the roof and the ground, and it was already melting away. The old man was no more. His body had simply disintegrated into mist. That could have been me, Anthony thought. He groped for the amulet that hung around his neck, and his fingers closed on the icon. I have to help my friends. But how can I do it? How...

  He realized that he had turned his back on the cube. Without looking, he knew it was still there. He felt it trying furiously to make him turn and gaze into it. He had to destroy the cube somehow. How, though? If he so much as glimpsed it, the devilish thing would capture him in a web of illusion and madness—

  "What can I do?" he yelled in despair. "Somebody tell me what to do!"

  And then he heard a clink. Looking down he saw that a small hammer had landed on the edge of the roof. Its head was bulbous and reminded Anthony of a barrel.

  The handle was of lead-colored metal, with some words inscribed on it. But before Anthony could read them, they vanished. As Anthony was staring, he heard a man's voice, very faint: "Did someone ask for advice?"

  Anthony recognized the voice. It was that of Nathaniel Wabe, and it sounded as if it came from his amulet. "Yes!" Anthony said. "I need help!"

  "Dear me," the voice said. "I am not quite sure where I am at the moment. I appear to be in an underground room or vault of some kind, all alone. Where are you?"

  "On the roof!" Anthony shouted. "I'm all alone too, except for that cube and a weird-looking hammer!"

  "The hammer? The hammer, did you say?" Nathaniel Wabe sounded excited. "Pick it up! Use it to smash the cube! But be very careful—don't allow the cube to capture you. It can overpower your will and make you its slave!"

  Anthony let go of the amulet, and the voice faded. He reached for the hammer and closed his hand around the handle. It was like grabbing someone's arm—the shaft throbbed with life. With his other hand, Anthony clutched the amulet again. "I've got the hammer!" he shouted.

  But this time there was no answer. Anthony realized he was on his own. Gathering all his strength he turned and ran toward the dragon ornament, raising the hammer high to strike. He could not help looking at the cube as he ran. It flashed brightly, so brightly that it blinded Anthony for a second.

  He stumbled and fell to his knees. Somehow he did not lose his grip on the hammer. The lead roofing tiles had vanished, he realized. He was sprawled on cement. Shivering, Anthony rose and discovered that some invisible force had yanked him into a terrifying, dark, and sinister scene. He stood on the sidewalk outside Greenwood Cemetery in his hometown of Hoosac. Beyond a tall iron fence, rows of headstones marched off into the distance. It was night, and cars were crawling past on the street to Anthony's left. He wanted desperately to rush out into the street and pound on windshields and scream for help, but he couldn't do this. He was in the grip of a will more powerful than his own, and he had to obey it. Stiffly, he walked past the rows of spear-tipped iron bars till he came to the tall stone gateway. It was done in the Egyptian style, with a rayed sun on the lintel and columns carved to look like the lotus flower and its clustered stems.

  In through the gate Anthony walked and down the crunching gravel drive. The hammer in his right hand steadily grew heavier and heavier, but he fought to keep his fingers locked around its handle. Wind hissed through the tall grass and the wildflowers that grew nearby as the hum of traffic grew fainter and fainter. On Anthony walked. He saw an eerie grayish glow coming from a hollow that lay beyond a little rise in the road. Anthony walked faster, and at the top of the rise he paused.

  Below him lay a fearful scene. Rows of open graves stretched to the horizon, and in each grave a withered corpse sat upright in its coffin, a lighted candle in
its hand. Old ladies—witches maybe—danced on a low hill nearby, and on a table-shaped stone sat a strange monstrous creature who played the bagpipes. Horns sprouted from his head, and he wore a goatish beard. From the waist down, his flanks were covered with hair, and his feet were cloven, the feet of a beast. On the creature's face was a ghastly smile, and his eyes glowed red under bushy eyebrows.

  Standing dead still as if he had turned to stone, Anthony watched the grim scene. He wanted to run, but he couldn't. Every hair on his head tingled, and a chilly breath of fear ran through his body. With horror he saw that one of the witches had noticed him. She stopped dancing and let out a loud screech. The bagpipe music died with a wail, and before Anthony knew what was happening ghastly foul-smelling hags surrounded him. They poked at him and laughed shrilly. Unseen hands seized his arms in a steely grip, and they rushed him forward to the edge of a grave gouged into the raw earth. A witch thrust her nightmarish face close to his, and she tapped the face of a large watch with a bony finger.

  "Want to know what time it is, sweetie?" she rasped.

  Anthony couldn't answer. His lips felt stuck together, as if soldered.

  A pause. Then the witch cackled and swung the watch on its gold chain. "Time's up!" she screeched. "If you don't know the truth, you must pay the consequences! It's time to die!"

  A coffin appeared out of nowhere, and the unseen hands tried to wrestle Anthony into it. But the hunger to stay alive was strong in him, and he struggled violently. His right hand, still gripping the hammer, swung in an arc, and with a gasp the evil creatures fell back, freeing his left arm. With his left hand, Anthony reached inside his shirt and clutched the holy icon. Clutched it for dear life.

  "Now!" he heard Nathaniel Wabe's thin voice cry. "Now while you have strength! Cry Veritas and look into the cube!"