The Mansion in the Mist

by John Bellairs

  "Veritas!" Anthony shouted without thinking. As he screamed out the Latin word for truth, the graveyard scene vanished away, and he was on the leaded roof again. Before him was the cube—but for a moment its light flickered uncertainly. Then he saw a new scene: Emerson and Miss Eells standing on two stone pedestals in the garden near the mansion. The snaky vines had wrapped themselves around his friends' feet, and the Grand Autarch hovered nearby, surrounded by the other black-robed members of his evil society. They all raised their hands in the air, and from far away came the sound of chanting. Anthony didn't understand the words, but he knew what was happening. This time he knew it was all too real. And he knew what he had to do.

  Anthony raised the hammer to strike. The scene faded. The cube was resisting him, sending forth power. The hammer trembled in his fist. The chanting of the Autarchs rose and fell like the droning of a hive of bees.

  Anthony felt tremendous anger welling up inside him. With a shout he reared back, brought the hammer down, and the cube shattered.

  The mansion trembled, and then it began to dissolve. The chimneys turned to lazy curls of red mist, and the roof became mushy. Anthony stumbled and floundered for balance. "This way! This way!" someone called out. It was Nathaniel Wabe, in the flesh. The little man stood beside a tower with an open doorway in it, and he beckoned urgently. Anthony staggered and lurched and crawled over to him. "The tower was already here when the Autarchs arrived," Wabe said. "It won't evaporate!"

  The two of them reeled inside as the rest of the mansion gave a horrible gurgling sigh and billowed away as mist. Wabe seized Anthony's wrist—Anthony realized with a shock that the hammer had shattered along with the cube—and led him down a long spiral stair. At the bottom they stepped out into a clearing. The mists were drifting away, and the two of them stood on a broad moonlit island of grass and trees in the middle of nowhere. A round lake was in the center of the island, and from the shore of the lake Emerson and Miss Eells appeared, running toward them.

  Joyfully Anthony called to them, and they yelled back. Anthony and Nathaniel crossed the place where the mansion had been, and there in a shallow depression stood the magic desk. They all met beside it, with Emerson and Miss Eells laughing and embracing Anthony, and Nathaniel, standing shyly to one side.

  "Well," Emerson said, wiping his eyes, "I must say, I thought we were goners. They had us surrounded, and they were chanting their awful magic spell. Then just as I felt myself turning stony I saw a great flash of light, and the mansion started to billow away. About a half-second later all those black-robed maniacs simply dissolved into mist too. Which reminds me," he said, turning to Nathaniel, "why are you still among the solid and the living?"

  With a shrug Wabe said, "Well, it's true that I cooperated in making the cube, but I never felt easy using it, don't you know. So I didn't completely surrender my will to its power. The others created the mansion and all their selfish luxuries with the cube, and so they came thoroughly under its spell. They were the creatures of the cube to such a degree that when it vanished, they vanished too."

  Miss Eells glared at Wabe. The Autarchs had frightened her almost out of her wits when they began their chant, and now she was angry. "You talk about them as if they were never your friends," she said. "But you helped create that wretched cube, so you're partly to blame for every appalling thing that happened."

  A tear trickled down Wabe's cheek, and he hung his head. "That's true. I'll never forgive myself. I'm afraid they misled me, though I let them. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be all alone and grow my vegetables and think about life. All they wanted was to rule the world. Silly notion, really... all the crowds, all the people." Wabe shuddered.

  Emerson reached into his pocket for the four cards. "Well, now you can come back to Earth with us and grow your garden there."

  The little old man looked forlorn and distressed. He stood wringing his hands. "Must I?"

  "Why," Miss Eells said, "what else can you do? Won't this place all dissolve into mist?"

  "No!" Wabe said eagerly. "Only the parts that the Autarchs created with the cube. It's a little universe, you see, with nothing in it except the meadow and the woods and the lake. It's quite cozy, really, just big enough for one person. Leave me here, and I can live in the tower and tend my garden—the gardening tools and the Temple of the Winds were here when the Autarchs came, so they will endure. All my magic has vanished with the cube, and I'm quite harmless, and if you take me back to crowded, noisy Earth, I—I'm sure I'll be miserable." He began to sniffle.

  "Well," Emerson said decisively, "we are going back. You do what you wish."

  Timidly, Wabe murmured, "Perhaps you might send the desk back to me? I certainly don't want to rule the world, and I don't even want to have much to do with it. Only, there are a few things that I miss terribly here. Perhaps if I sent the desk to you once or twice a year you could keep me supplied with them?"

  "What are they?" Emerson asked suspiciously.

  "Well, Corona cigars, for one," said Wabe dreamily. "And the Sunday funny papers. And some carrot seeds. I have all the other seeds I need, but I would really love to grow some carrots."

  "All right," Emerson sighed. "I suppose carrots won't be too dangerous. Ready, now?" As Anthony and Miss Eells gripped the desk, Emerson quickly laid the cards down. The spinning journey began again. Once more they all blacked out, and when they came to, they were back in Emerson's comfortable book-lined parlor.

  Anthony wiped his face with his sleeve. He had never been so glad to see a place in his life. Miss Eells and Emerson were grinning from ear to ear. As Anthony and Miss Eells hugged each other, Emerson ran from the room. He was back in a few minutes with a thick stack of newspapers, a box of cigars (Dutch Masters, though, not Coronas), and a bunch of carrots. "These will have to do until I can buy some seeds for our friend," he said, opening drawers and stuffing his burdens inside. He shoved the drawers closed, dealt the cards again, and leapt back. The desk vanished away.

  "I hope that was a wise thing to do, Em," Miss Eells said with a sigh. "What if Nathaniel Wabe should change his mind about wanting to rule the world? Grand Autarch Ambrose may just be a puff of mist in the wind, but if old Nathaniel decides to become Super Supreme Almighty Pooh-Bah Wabe, what's to stop him?"

  "I'm sure we can trust him," Emerson said. "He's a real hermit, and I believe that he's right about all his magic being used up. But tell us what happened, Anthony! How did you get up on the roof? And did you use the hammer?"

  Anthony told the tale, starting with the panic he had felt when the stone wall blocked the hallway. When he had finished, Emerson laughed and shook his hand.

  "Well done, my boy, well done! An icon that worked like Dick Tracy's two-way wrist radio! Hard to believe! But in the Autarchs' world it would fit right in, wouldn't it?" He paused. "Well, should we leave that blasted mirror where it is? If we smash it, then we will make Mr. Wabe a hermit for good and all."

  "You certainly are getting destructive in your old age," said Miss Eells in a taunting voice. "I thought that was my routine!"

  After a moment's hesitation Anthony said, "Please don't break the mirror. I mean, Mr. Wabe did get me off the roof of that mansion before it dissolved under my feet."

  "All right," Emerson said with a scowl. "I'll leave it alone for the time being. But if the ghost of old Ambrose ever shows up, I'll turn the mirror over to my sister. She'll shatter it to smithereens without even trying!"

  "Oh, Em," Miss Eells grumped. "I'm not that clumsy."

  Emerson laughed. "Oh, no? Tell me, Myra: Did you ever smash anything on purpose?"

  Miss Eells thought a minute. "No," she said slowly. "I don't believe I ever did. Except when I was one year old. I punched in the front of a celluloid rattle that was shaped like a baby's smiling face. I still have the rattle, and I hang it on my tree every Christmas as an ornament. It's there to remind me of my destructive tendencies."

  "I don't think any of the rest of us need to be remind
ed," said Emerson tartly.

  Everyone laughed. It was a wonderful sound, and Anthony was glad to join in.