by The Vampires
moved through them. If these were the ‘blood-drinking demons,’ they had no chance to indulge their horrid appetites this time. The only blood-drinking done was by my great sword.”
“Wow,” said the Phantom aloud as he visualized this daring action by his ancestor. He took a drink of spring water, petted Devil, then returned to the podium to continue the tale.
“I should add for this record,” continued the chronicle, “that though these creatures were demonic, demons they were not. During that battle up the slope, several of their gargoyle ‘heads’ fell off. They were tough masks of some sort that served to protect their heads as well as terrify opponents. The heads beneath belonged to ordinary ruffians, unshaven and unwashed.
“I broke through the outer circle of these fellows and reached the moat. The drawbridge was up. I swam across the moat, noting that it was swarming with various small and loathsome things, some with tentacles, that suited the moat of a witch. I dispatched several bolder creatures with my dagger and reached the wall. As I started to climb, the water below me hissed. Something was being poured down from above. I dodged aside just in time as gray steaming matter fell within inches of me. It was boiling lead. Had it touched me, my flesh would have been reduced to cinders, and I would have joined the creatures in the moat. Fortunately, that one deluge was the only one. Their supply was limited.
“I raced up the rough walls. Two ‘demons’ were waiting at the top. I dispatched one with my trusty flintlock. The other turned and ran. I quickly reloaded, then raced through the courtyard where four spearmen awaited. They waited too long. My great sword tumbled them. I ran to the heavy oaken doors of the castle itself. They were closed and barred from within. I stepped back, then hurled my weight against them. The inner wooden beam cracked and the doors flew open. Several ‘demons’ in the corridor turned and fled at the sight of me. I imagine I was a gruesome sight, covered with muck from the moat and blood (not my own).
“I reached heavy golden curtains over an archway. Four of the ‘demons’ who had fled were making a stand there, gijarding what was within. As I raised my great * sword, the four dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. Such cowardice was unpardonable. I pushed them aside and strode through the golden curtains. A soft voice came from within.
“ ‘At last, man of mystery. I have waited for you.’ That was not the greeting I had expected. I entered. It was the throne room, a huge ornate place, filled with hundreds of burning candles and thousands of flowers. Seated, or perhaps half-reclining on a golden couch that served as a throne, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
“I do not have the skill of a poet to properly describe her. Her hair was golden and long, her eyes large and black, her skin as fair and smooth as a flower petal or the wing of a butterfly. .She was clad in a shimmering robe that seemed to reveal yet conceal the perfect ivory body beneath. As I stood there, she laughed, the silvery laughter of a young girl.
“ ‘What took you so long?’ she said.
“ ‘Are you the Hanta witch?’ I stammered. After the violence and gore I had gone through, I felt like a fool standing before this fantastic woman among the myriad candles and flowers.
“ ‘Ignorant fools call me that,’ she said, frowning. ‘I am the ruler of this land and my proper title is Queen.’
“ ‘You say you’ve waited for me, madam. May I inquire why?’
“ ‘You may. First, pray be seated.’
“ ‘I will stand,’ I said, almost dazzled by the shimmering gown that reflected the candle flames. Again, her silvery laughter.
“ ‘I am not “madam,” ’ she continued. ‘I have no husband. I am unwed. Is that clear?’
“ ‘Clearly stated.’
“ ‘That is why I waited for you,’ she said with a strange smile.
“ ‘That is not clear,’ I said.
“‘I need a husband to manage my vast properties, to guard my great treasure, to command my small army, and share my throne. I have chosen you. Now will you be seated?’
“I sat on a stool covered with a curious hide unknown to me; some species of giant snake or lizard.
“ ‘Chose me to wed, whom you’ve never seen before? Whose face you do not see now?’ I said. I still wore my costume.
“ ‘I have seen and heard enough,’ ” she said, taking a feathery flower from a vase and wafting it gently before her nostrils. ‘We watched you fight your way through my land, against animals and men, against my own demons.’ She gave an odd pronunciation to the word. ‘Now you are here.’ She bent near me and waved the flower close to my face. The air was filled with her own perfume, a tantalizing, heady scent. I am not a man given to quivering, but I quivered then at the close proximity of this blonde witch.
“ ‘All the reports about you were true. I waited here, excited and anxious for your arrival. I watched you in the pass. I watched you climb the walls. I knew that if you made your way to this room, against all the odds placed upon you, the die was cast. You are here. The die is cast. You are a fit mate for the Queen of Hanta. So shall it be.’
“I took a deep breath. This dazzling creature was offering herself to me. A servant entered silently, bearing a tray with two silver goblets. He offered one to me. I took it while I gathered my thoughts. Her great shining eyes watched me.
“ ‘Is it Queen or witch of Hanta?’ I asked.
“ ‘You may choose your own title,’ she said, laughing.
“ ‘Your Highness, I did not come here to wed you, but to stop your murderous treatment of the caravans.’
“ ‘Are you wed? Do you have a good wife back in your jungle?’ she asked.
“ ‘I have no wife.’
“ ‘So I was informed. In truth, I am a peace-loving woman, and indeed a mate worthy of you. Who is more suitable than you, ruler of the jungle? Come, drink to our troth.’
“Her face was close to mine. Her perfume and her warmth were (I can only think of one proper word here) unhinging me. I quickly drank to cover my embarrassment.
“ ‘I drink because I am thirsty,’ I said. And that was a true statement. After the last battle, my throat was dry.
“Again, her silvery laughter.
“ ‘You are a rude jungle giant. I have waited for a real man like you all my life. Now that you are here. Her lips brushed my forehead—‘I cannot let you go.’
I staggered to my feet. The room swam before my eyes. The myriad candles and her shimmering gown became one vast flame. I fell to my knees.
“ ‘Witch, you drugged me with that foul drink,’ I said as I felt hands grasping me. I tried to fight them off, but I was too weak. I lost consciousness.”
The Phantom paused in his reading of the old chronicle. Even in 1675, that dope-drink trick must have been an old one. What had this Hanta woman really been? Witch or queen? One thing appeared certain. She was the leader of a murderous gang of cutthroats. But the Eighth had returned to write this history, so the answer must be here. Another drink of cold spring water, another petting for dozing Devil who opened his pale-blue eyes briefly, and he read on.
“I awoke in a dungeon, behind bars. As such places go, the cell was clean, without the usual vermin, and a board with food and drink was at the side of my cot. I was furious at having been trapped by such a simple ruse. I shook the bars and roared. The beauteous witch appeared.”
The Phantom paused again. What did the word “appeared” mean? Did she come out of thin air, or reach the cell in a normal manner?
“ ‘Calm yourself, jungle king,’ she said, and her perfume wafted through the bars to me. ‘I did this only to keep you from running away. I love you. I need you.’
“She said these words with such sincerity that I almost believed her. But I remembered the pillaged caravans.
“ ‘Love me? You lie, witch. What of your “blood-drinking demons?” What of your attacks on peaceful caravans?’
“ ‘People lie. I am a woman alone here. My demons guard me. I need monies to feed my retainers and run
my castle. I exact a tax from caravans, like any sovereign. And if they refuse to pay, and thus break the law of this land, they must be punished.’
“ ‘Tax? Witch’s gold,’ I said.
“ ‘Fool, why won’t you believe me?’ she cried. And she wept. But I noted that she stayed out of reach of my hands through the bars.
“ ‘Witch’s tears,’ I said.
“She choked away her tears, almost like a normal human woman, and now her eyes blazed with fury. ‘You are a fool. A great ponderous fool. You will not leave this cell until you get some sense in that thick skull.’
“ ‘How many other great ponderous fools have you lured here to rot in these foul dungeons?’ I shouted. Her eyes blazed. But she did not answer. She turned away and disappeared.”
Disappeared into thin air, of merely walked away? The chronicle did not make it clear.
“I had been tricked once by this witch of Hanta. I would not be tricked again. It was time I left this cell. I picked up a goblet of wine, then called to a nearby guard. He approached the cell cautiously. He was an ordinary dull brute of a man without the demon mask.
“ ‘How can I drink this wine? It is foul,’ I said.
“ ‘But I had a dram from the same jug,’ he said.
“ ‘Foul,’ I said. ‘Smell for yourself.’
“The dull fellow took me at my word, and put his pimply nose near the bars. I tossed the wine quickly into his eyes, and, as he sputtered, grasped his throat in a firm grip. He then had the choice of having his neck broken, or unlocking my cell. He chose the latter. Outside, I relieved him of his sword and dagger, and left him in my place, unconscious but breathing. I moved cautiously through the subterranean corridor. A guard with a musket turned in surprise as I came up behind him. His moment of hesitation was enough. I left him on the stone floor and moved on. I stopped before a heavy oaken door that had a small barred opening. Peering in, I saw that it was an arsenal. The door was locked with a heavy rusted chain and an old metal lock. I broke the chain with a quick twist and entered the room. There were dozens of weapons, some new, some of great antiquity. I am interested in weapons and would have been happy to spend time studying them. But there was no time. From the sound of voices and running feet outside, I knew my escape had been discovered. In addition to the weapons, there were stacks of barrels filled with gunpowder, enough to blow up the entire castle. And that was my intention—to destroy this evil place. I hurriedly searched for and found fuses and flint. I smashed open several barrels and placed a fuse in the heap of black powder. Using the flints, I produced a spark that ignited the fuse. I waited a moment to be certain it was burning properly. When I was sure it was, I ran out with my great sword in one hand, a loaded pistol in the other, and three more loaded pistols in my belt. As it turned out, I had no need of these weapons.
“Several of the demons fled at the sight of me, and I had barely reached the throne room when the first explosion shook the castle. Voices howled on all sides. I rushed through the golden curtains. There she stood, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing. Behind her were the flames of the myriad candles, as thick as stars in the sky on a clear moonless night.
“‘Oh you great fool! What have you done?’ she cried. There were tears in her eyes, and even as she spoke another explosion shook the floor and walls. ‘Why couldn’t you believe me?’ Those were her last words as the ceiling shook and began to fall around us. I caught her as she fainted and rushed out with her in my arms. What else could I do? I raced across the courtyard to the outer battlements. The entire castle was rent with enormous explosions. The drawbridge was up. There was no time to lower it. Towers were crashing around us. Great fires were roaring up out of the collapsing castle. I took one last backward look. Demons were rushing blindly through the flames and smoke of the inferno. Then with the blonde witch of Hanta in my arms, I leaped from the wall to the moat far below...
That was the end of the history. An abrupt ending. Also the end of that volume. There were no more pages. This was maddening. What had happened after that? The Phantom searched other volumes of the period. There was no more mention of the Witch of Hanta or of Koqania. He returned to the original volume and examined the binding. A tiny fragment of vellum remaining in the binding gave him a clue. There had been another page, maybe more than one. But it had been removed. This vellum, lamb gut prepared as parchment, was tough and fairly permanent and not easy to tear out. But why? Obviously the eighth Phantom had returned to the Skull Cave after that adventure and written here. But what had happened to the Hanta witch? Old Mozz, who had heard all and forgotten nothing, was to give him the answer.
Chapter 3
The castle ruins covered many acres on the mountain slope. The few travelers who reached this remote place marveled at the vast stonework, and wondered what monarch had ruled there. But the farmers and herdsmen who lived in the area knew nothing of the history, only weird legends. And at the present time, they were more loath than ever to talk about it. A closer inspection might show that there was once a mighty fire among these crumbled walls, but the winds and rains of centuries had washed away all but faint traces. Near the center of the stone heaps and partial walls, a broken stone staircase led down into the ground. It led to a rusted iron door fastened with a ponderous iron chain and an old lock. It would appear that this iron door opened onto still existing cellars of the old castle, but no one in recent times had tried to enter the place. The excuse was that it was unsafe. Ancient ceilings and walls might collapse on the foolhardy intruder. Or old pits might open under his feet. That was the excuse; the real reason was that as long as anyone could remember, there were said to be things in those dark cellars. What kind of things? Just things.
If a curious person was bold enough to climb down the broken stone stairs and reach the locked iron door, he might notice, if there was light enough, a strange mark over the door. A death’s head. A mark that neither washing or scouring could remove. A mark so old it seemed to be a part of the pattern of the rough stone. What the curious person could not see was a small metal spring hidden in the iron doorframe behind the lower hinge.
On this particular dark night, a night with no moon, the heavy iron door slowly opened on its rusty, creaking hinges. This action released the hidden spring which in turn activated a tiny radio transmitter, concealed in the stone wall behind the doorframe. The transmitter broadcast an ultra-high-frequency signal, silent in the immediate area, but strong enough to travel thousands of miles. Strong enough to travel to the Skull Cave in the Deep Woods.
On the radio panel in the rocky chamber, a small red light flicked on, accompanied by a soft buzzing. Dozing on a pile of animal skins a few yards away, Devil suddenly awoke. His ears were instantly alert. His pale-blue eyes popped open, and he. was on his feet in a split second. He moved quickly to the radio chamber, saw the flickering red light, then turned and ran out of the cave.
The Phantom was seated on the ground near the Skull Throne, about to begin dinner. Guran, Rex, Tomm, and the boys’s tutor, stylish Miss Tagama, were eating with him and Old Mozz, having tottered onto the scene, was invited to join them. The old man, his joints creaking like a wooden rocker, bowed with the grace of a courtier.
“You sent for me, O Ghost Who Walks?”
“I found the tale of the Hanta witch as you predicted,” said the Phantom.
“And was it not an astonishment?” said Old Mozz.
“It was truly.”
Chief Guran looked at the Phantom reproachfully.
“You said you would tell me of the astonishment,” he said.
“Tell us about the witch,” shouted Rex.
“Witch?” said Miss Tagama, recently returned from two years at the Sorbonne. “I hope you’re not filling the boys’ heads with such nonsense.”
“Not nonsense,” said Old Mozz angrily.
“I will not have the boys confused with this old-fashioned jungle superstition,” she replied tartly.
The Phantom laughed, raising his
hand for peace be tween the two.
“Tell us,” said Rex and Tomm eagerly.
“Later. Mozz, the tale of the Hanta witch that I found in the chronicles is incomplete. How did it end?”
“Your father and his father before him asked me the same question,” said Old Mozz, chuckling. His chuckle was somewhere between a wheeze and a grunt.
“They did? They read the tale too?” said the Phantom, fascinated by any mention of his forebears.
“Yes. It is an ancient matter,” said Mozz.
“A page or more is missing from the chronicle.”
“So they told me.”
“Do you know how it ended?”
Old Mozz looked hurt.
“Do I know?” he said, as though this was the most ridiculous thing in the world to say to a man who had heard all and forgotten nothing.
“And will you tell me?”
“I will, O Ghost Who Walks.”
At this moment, Devil ran out of the cave. He came directly to the Phantom and stood looking at him intently.
“What, Devil?”
As if in answer, Devil turned and walked slowly back to the cave, looking back at the Phantom as he went. The Phantom sprang to his feet and followed..
“Devil never comes to me like that without a reason,” he said.
“But the witch, the Hanta witch?” cried Rex.
“In a moment,” said the Phantom, entering the cave.
In the radio chamber, the red light was still flickering, the soft buzzing continuing. This seemed to surprise the Phantom. He watched it for a few moments, then checked to see if there was a short circuit. There was none. Then, as he watched, the red light went off and the buzzing stopped. There was no reason to doubt what this meant. The iron door in the distant ruins of Koqania had been opened. Then closed. Someone—something—had entered the Phantom’s hideout.