He stooped and picked up a chunk of the snow. He didn't know what it was—something white and glittery. This isn't real snow, he told himself. It isn't really cold. It can't hurt me or—
It was no use. The enormous snowflake numbed his hands. He dropped it, and it fluttered down like a falling leaf. The power of the evil wizard was greater than Johnny's ability to reason away the magic.
A movement caught his eye. The door was opening again. Something red was coming into the room—
Sarah! She had followed him into the house!
Johnny ran to the edge of the glass and beat on it as he yelled. Sarah did not notice him. She ran to the fallen figure of Johnny on the floor and stooped over him. Then she grabbed both of his feet and began to tug. She was going to try to pull him out through the staircase. Johnny winced. Didn't she know that if she dragged him downstairs his head would bang against each step on the way down? He'd get a concussion, or he might even be killed.
Then he remembered the crack in the glass globe that he had accidentally made. If he could find that, maybe he could break the dome. He had a confused notion that the magic would all leak out with the water, and maybe that would free him.
He ran around the globe until he saw it. When Johnny was his normal size, the crack was just a hairline flaw, barely visible in good light. Now, though, it was a jagged crevice. Johnny felt in his pockets. He had his Boy Scout knife. He took it out, opened the longest blade, and began to chip at the edge of the crack. Little flakes of glass flew, like pieces of ice. It was slow going. Compared to his present size, the glass was a foot thick. It would take forever.
He saw Sarah slowly pulling his body along by the ankles. His arms—his real arms—had gone out to the sides. Watching the scene, Johnny missed a blow with the knife, and his knuckles crashed against the broken edge of the glass. Pain flashed through his whole arm, and a swirl of red blood flew from the cut. "Ahh!" Johnny yanked his hand away, dropping the knife.
Outside the globe, Johnny suddenly jerked his real right hand. It hit an unsteady leg of the magic altar, and the table toppled away from the figure on the floor. The snow globe, already close to the edge, slid off. Inside the globe, Johnny saw the deadly snow swirling. He fell to his knees and crumpled to the ground—
Crash! With a shock like an electrical jolt, a bright flash of light exploded. Everything whirled, went black, and then his ears filled with a high, humming sound. He struggled to open his eyes—
And looked up at Sarah. "Aawwhhk," he wheezed. He was freezing.
She dropped his feet, with a look of frantic relief. "C'mon, we gotta get out of here before Baldy Buzzard gets back. What did he do to you, anyway? Give you some kind of voodoo drug or something?"
Johnny could not stop shaking. He rolled over, got to his knees, and hugged himself. He felt as if the air in the room were fifty degrees below zero. His right hand throbbed with pain, although he could see no trace of a wound. He blinked at the floor. The snow globe was in a thousand pieces. Water pooled beneath it, and the little wooden figure lay face down in the corner of the room. Johnny was finally free, but the effects of the spell still lingered and almost paralyzed him.
Sarah helped him up. Together they stumbled down the spiral staircase. He kept blacking out and pausing, but Sarah urged him on. They got to the first floor and headed for the kitchen. Johnny could move a little better now. His legs worked again, and the feeling of numbing cold was passing off with a pins-and-needles prickling.
Sarah opened the door a crack, peered out, and then led the way into the backyard. "Good thing for you old Mergal came in the front. I found this way in and explored until I discovered the staircase. What happened, anyway?"
"Not now," Johnny gasped. "Tell you later."
They had taken no more than a couple of steps away from the house when a black bird fluttered to a limb of the dead elm tree. It gave them a beady red stare, threw back its head, and shouted out a raucous "Caw!"
"The crow!" Johnny panted. "A familiar of—of old Mergal."
Sarah knew that a familiar was an animal or bird that a wizard had enchanted, or sometimes it was an evil spirit in the shape of an animal or a bird. Familiars served as spies and servants for witches and sorcerers. She picked up a rock and threw it hard. The stone was right on target, and with a final harsh screech, the crow exploded into a puff of feathers and smoke. Even the feathers dissolved as they floated down toward the ground. Sarah was shaking. "I g-guess I owe you an apology, Dixon," she muttered. "Th-that wasn't a real bird at all—"
Johnny nodded. The day was getting darker, with low, ugly, hanging gray clouds. "We g-gotta find out wh-where M-m-m—" stammered Johnny, his teeth still chattering.
"I know where Mergal's gone," Sarah said. "He's next door!"
Johnny gave her a wild look. "Y-you mean the old—"
"The old church," Sarah finished for him. "I saw him slip into a side door. Come on!" At the edge of the yard, she reached under a bush and dragged out the wrapped-up hand. "I don't suppose you found out what Mergal wants with this," she said.
"H-he wants to use it to raise old Esdrias Blackleach from the dead."
Sarah stared at him. "No kidding?"
"No kidding."
They hid in the vacant lot again, crouched under some bushes. After ten long minutes Mergal emerged from a side door of the old burned-out church, gazed up in the air as if he were uneasy, and locked the door behind him. He strode to his house, went to the front door, and disappeared inside.
Sarah and Johnny edged around until the church was between them and the house. Then they dashed across the street. The sanctuary of the church was too choked with debris and ashes to let them get in that way, and the undamaged part of the building had no door on this side. However, some frosted-glass windows, most of them cracked, still were in place, evidently leading down into a basement. Sarah found another rock and bashed it through the glass. Then she reached in, unlocked the window frame, and pushed it open. "Let's go," she said grimly. She rolled onto her stomach and wormed backward through the opening.
Johnny followed. They were in a room that might have been where choir robes and hymnals were stored. At the far end was a flight of steps leading up, and on either side were doors. One of them had a shiny new padlock on it.
"That's it," Sarah said. She ran to the door and pounded on it. "Anybody there?"
Something rustled inside, and a hoarse voice called, "Who's that?"
"Professor!" Johnny yelled. "We came to rescue you. Wait a minute and we'll have you out!" In the dimness the door looked solid, but it had one weakness: It opened outward. The hinges were on the outside.
Johnny dragged an old chair from what must have once been a Sunday-school room and stood on it. He opened his knife, slipped the blade beneath the head of the top hinge pin, and pried it up. The pin slipped upward slowly, until it flew out and clattered on the floor. Johnny jumped off the chair and went to work on the middle hinge. Soon he had it loose too. Then the bottom one. As soon as the last hinge pin fell free, Johnny jumped back and said, "Push the door, Professor!"
The door swiveled out, held only by the lock. Professor Childermass stumbled forward. He looked terrible. His hair was unkempt and tangled, and white stubble glittered on his chin. Johnny hugged him anyway.
"Quick," Sarah said. "Mergal's probably on his way here right now."
"I solved the riddle," Johnny babbled. "We brought the hand, and—"
"What!" said the professor. "You brought the hand with you? Give it to me at once!"
Sarah handed the wrapped bundle to the professor, saying, "We think Mergal's up to something awful."
"He sure is," the professor said gravely, unwrapping the hand and letting the cloth fall to the floor. "He won't be able to do a thing, though, if we can destroy this cursed relic. Let's go." He staggered. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Been without food for a couple of days. I'm afraid you'll have to help me."
He leaned on Johnny, and the two of them followed S
arah up the staircase. At the top they found themselves in a maddening little maze of small windowless rooms. Finally they found a hallway, with an arched door at the end. They hurried toward it.
It boomed open.
Mattheus Mergal stood there, his staff in his right hand, and his face writhing with anger.
"Well, how convenient," he said in a nasty voice. "All the little birdies together, hmm? And now we'll be more cooperative, won't we, Professor? Unless we want to see our friends' eyes plucked out and tossed to my little pet?"
A black form fluttered up and landed on his shoulder. It was the crow, or another one just like it, and its beak clacked greedily, as if it understood the ghastly offer its master had just made.
"I've finished playing with you!" Mergal shouted. "Now, all of you worms will understand the wrath of a warlock!" He pointed the staff at the frightened trio and began to speak short words, sharp as shattered glass, bitter as death.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Wait!" said Professor Childermass in his weak voice. "Let these children go free, and I will give you what you want."
Mergal paused. He lowered the staff. "Prove it," he said. "Show me that you know what I desire, and I will consider your offer."
Professor Childermass cleared his throat. "You are seeking a relic of Esdrias Blackleach," he said, "a carving in the shape of a left hand, done in ash wood."
Mergal's deep-set eyes flared, and his brown teeth showed in a sharklike grin. "And you know where this artifact is, hmm? Just as I suspected. Oh, you were stubborn, old man! But now you will tell me."
"Only if you let John and Sarah go free."
The brown grin became even more unpleasant. "No, no, my friend. You have it backward. You will tell me where you hid the hand, and then, if I recover it, I may let your young friends off easily. Of course, you will still have to suffer for being so haughty and proud. You never expected to get away unpunished, did you, hmm?"
"We appear to be at a stalemate," the professor said. "I assure you, if you so much as touch either of these two young people, you will never know where the hand is hidden. And if I possibly can, I'll destroy the wretched thing, or have someone else destroy it."
Mergal actually snarled, like an animal. "Fool! You do not understand its great potency! If you should even crack its little finger—" Mergal broke off. His grin came back. "Ah, clever, aren't we, hmm? Tried to trick the stupid old wizard, didn't we? The game isn't that easy, my friend!"
Johnny stood behind the professor. When the door of the church first opened, Professor Childermass had quickly tucked the hand into the waistband of his trousers, against his spine. Its fingers stuck out now, waving. Mergal glared at Johnny. "There's one score the boy and I must settle. He destroyed something of mine! I don't know how the brat did it, but he broke a very pretty spell. I felt some of my power go with it. To get it back I will have to perform a blood sacrifice."
The professor crossed his arms. "We won't get anywhere like that," he said. "Tell me, Mergal, what do you propose to do with this blasted wooden hand, anyway? Are you going to chop down a tree and carve a one-handed department-store dummy to go with it?"
Mergal pushed the heavy door behind him, and it swung closed with a dull thud. "Ah, well, it wouldn't interest a scholar, the story of our humble experiments in the mystic arts. People don't believe in magic anymore, hmm?" He tried a smile like a horrible simper. He looked like the world's oldest baby trying to trick his mother into giving him a cookie. "But, the hand is, ah, a requirement for some astrological studies. Yes, yes, that's it. The hand will enable me to forecast the future accurately. To see what stocks are going up, and what stocks are going down—"
"Watch it, Professor!" Johnny yelled. "He's usin' his voice to try to hypnotize you! He did it to me back in his house!"
Mergal snarled. "Perhaps I shall take a large darning needle and sew your tongue between your lips. That would teach you not to interrupt!"
"Forget it, Mergal," the professor said. His right hand eased behind him, close to the wooden wrist jammed under his belt. "You were lying, anyway. The hand has nothing to do with astrology."
Mergal snorted. "I suppose you know better."
"I know a little about magic," the professor said. "I know, for instance, about the Hand of Glory. That's the severed hand of a hanged man, dried and treated with oils. If you have one, you light the fingers like candles. As long as they are burning, you can creep into anyone's house without waking the occupants. It seems to me that such a thing would be ideal for a sneak thief like you!"
The man in black had crept to within a few feet of the others. He snickered, an unpleasant sound. "You're completely wrong," he said. "Yes, there is such a thing as the Hand of Glory, but the Blackleach hand is altogether different. Different and more powerful, hmm?"
"Yes," the professor said. "Maybe it doesn't put people in a trance at all. Maybe it opens a gate."
Mergal's face contorted. "How much do you know?" he rasped. Then his jaw became set and grim. "No matter. I can see there is no dealing with you. I shall have to use my powers to impress you, hmm? You want out of this place, don't you? In a minute you shall be quite free to leave—if you dare!" He spoke more words, raised the staff in his hand, and brought it whistling down. It struck the floor of the church with a loud rap.
"Listen," Mergal said with a grin. "Hear that?"
Johnny heard a rising wind. He knew that Mergal had called up another storm, like the one he had summoned on the Fourth of July. "Very impressive," said the professor. "Although I don't see what good it does you."
The small window in the door rapidly darkened. Then a flash of lightning and a furious peal of thunder shook the whole place. "It does me this much good," said Mergal. "I will send these children out, one at a time, and the lightning will take them. Then you can follow them."
"But only I can tell you where the hand is," replied the professor.
"I really don't care anymore. Once you are gone, I will simply buy your house—I'm quite wealthy—and take it apart, plank by plank and brick by brick. I needed the hand by the beginning of next month, but I can wait another year if I must. I have waited all my life." He pointed his long, bony finger at Sarah. "You, girl. Leave now. The other two will watch. They will see how far you get."
Another blast of lightning and thunder made Sarah scream. Then the professor grabbed the hand and held it out. "Why wait?" he asked Mergal. "If you want the hand, here it is. Take it—if you can!"
"Ah!" Mergal's eyes lit with an evil glow. He leaped forward, his right hand outstretched—
The professor danced back, tauntingly. "Run to the door!" he shouted. "Be ready to head for cover!"
The crow leaped off Mergal's shoulder and swooped at them. Sarah swatted at it backhand, and she hit it. The bird squawked and tumbled. Johnny and Sarah ran to the door and hauled it open. The day outside was frighteningly dark—until a bolt of lightning flashed to earth just outside.
Johnny dimly heard the professor chanting strange, outlandish words. Then he saw the old man toss the hand to Mergal. Johnny saw Mergal whirling and spinning madly. He had caught the wooden hand in his own left hand, and it must have clutched him in its fierce grip. Mergal screamed and reeled, dropping his staff, as the professor ran toward the door.
A swirling black whirlpool opened in the air behind Mergal. The wooden hand tugged him toward the darkness. Johnny heard Mergal's high-pitched, terrified shrieks. Then the darkness engulfed the wizard. At that moment the professor yelled, "Run for it!" All three of them spilled out of the church. As they reached the street, a tremendous blast of lightning, the biggest yet, smashed into the church. The shock knocked them off their feet.
Johnny rolled over, his ears ringing. The black clouds roiled overhead, then began to dissipate with magical speed. The roof of the old church was on fire. The flames spread terrifically fast, sparks flying like magic to the gray house a quarter mile away. Fire raced up its sides, gnawed at its pillars and gingerbread
decorations. With a whump! the windows blew out, and orange fire began to pour from the empty frames.
The professor stood on tottering legs and helped Johnny and Sarah up. "It's over," he said. "Thank God, it's over now."
Johnny was sobbing. Sarah turned and buried her face against the professor's shirt, and he awkwardly patted her shoulder. People were coming out of their houses to gawk at the blaze. From town came the screams of sirens. The fire trucks were on their way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Here we are. Drive on, Macduff!" said the professor, slamming the passenger-side door of Father Higgins' big Oldsmobile.
It was a sunny day in mid-August. Fergie had returned from Ohio, had met Sarah—and after a short time decided he liked her just fine—and then Professor Childermass announced he was treating everyone to a baseball game in Fenway Park. They piled into Father Higgins' car, with Father Higgins, the professor, and Dr. Charles Coote in the front seat and the kids in the back.
"Now that we're under way, finish your story," said Dr. Coote, a mild, reedy man with a fluff of white hair, a long, bent nose, and thick horn-rimmed spectacles. "You were telling us, Roderick, that Mr. Mergal burst in on you unexpectedly." Dr. Coote really did not care very much about baseball, but he was interested in the tale of Mattheus Mergal, which the professor had been spinning out a little at a time.
The professor nodded. "Indeed I was. Mergal surprised me as I was having lunch. He somehow hypnotized me and took me away in his car, but he couldn't find the hand. You see, when things began to get really frightening, I concealed the relic in the chimney, and then I worked out the secret message and wrote the card to John, leaving it with Father Higgins just in case anything happened to me. When Mergal ordered me to tell him someone respectable to whom he could type a false note, I chose Higgy, and I even slipped in a reminder about the card."
The Hand of the Necromancer Page 11