by Don Wilcox
Then watching, she sank into a weird dream, half sleeping, half waking. Finally, the light wore away and she awakened to face the world of reality about her.
She dressed, hurried to her studio, and began at once to talk with her little magic doll, Ksentajaiboa. And it was then that she was inspired to try to find Allan Burgess . . .
“Keep moving, Martin.”
“The policeman signaled a stop, Madam.”
“Oh, the pest. Very well, we’ll humor him.” She saw the officer walking across the grounds toward them. “Rather handsome, isn’t he, Martin?”
Her pulse beat quickened. This broad-shouldered policeman might be Allan Burgess. If so, wouldn’t her chauffeur be impressed! It would prove that her personal magnetism had succeeded!
But the scowling officer was not the man, nor was he in the mood to hear any explanation. They had no business on the park grounds. He directed them to the shortest way out. “Let’s see you move.”
Madam Lasanda’s lips pouted. Stupid fellow. He had ignored her friendly smile. And her jewels. Oh, well—
“Do as the officer says, Martin.”
Martin circled to the nearest lane that led to the traffic-way.
Madam Lasanda looked back. The program was beginning.
The band gave out with three crash chords and a wail, and suddenly all the lights were on one figure in the center of the stage. It was the “Yippee Girl” who had been imported to put the mayor’s program over with a bang. Madam Lasanda could see her swinging about in her blue and red spangles. Gay sweeping motions. Cheers from the audience. A wave from her silken arms caused the hullabaloo to subside for a moment. Then her voice came through the big amplifiers and she sang out her famous radio “Yee-ipp-eeee!” and the crowd went wild.
Madam Lasanda scoffed to herself. Artificial ballyhoo! What did it amount to? Corny comedians making stupid people shout—for what? If they only knew! Madam Lasanda snapped at her chauffeur.
“Step on it, Martin. Get me out of this noise. Step on it.”
“The pedestrians, Madam—”
“Swing around them, you do it. You don’t have to stay on the lane. Cut the corners. That way—around that hedge.”
The chauffeur obeyed on an ill-considered impulse. He darted toward the traffic-way and plunged into it. He would have caught into the stream easily if it hadn’t been for the midget car driving without lights. He slammed on the brakes. The midget leaped out of danger and scurried away.
But the sudden touch of the brakes played havoc. Madam Lasanda jerked forward. Before she could gain her equilibrium and divest herself of a snarl and a curse, she heard the screech of the next car back, and she had the sudden vision of half a dozen cars piling up.
CRASH! Clang! Clunk!
The car behind banged squarely into the rear end of the limousine. With bumpers locked; the two cars coasted forward to an uneasy stop. Back down the line the brakes of other cars went into action; but the stream was already diverted, passing on safely to the left.
Madam Lasanda shrieked, not from any physical pain, but from rage.
“The idiot! What’s the matter with him! Must be blind. Or drunk. Get me outa here! I’ll tell him!”
She assured herself, at first glance, that the other half of the crash was a dilapidated repaint job of the sort which, in her opinion, had no business cluttering the streets. Martin opened the door for her. She stepped out and marched back to confront the offender.
“You pinhead! Why don’t you learn to drive? Where’s a cop? Someone get me a cop. I’ll sue your socks off for this, you blind, stupid—”
She stopped short. The man at the wheel had evidently taken a hard bump. His eyes were closed. His fingers slipped from his forehead down over his face, leaving blood stains. He had struck the side of his head, somehow, and now all he seemed to care for was a nice quiet nap.
Madam Lasanda gulped. “Allan Burgess! Of all persons!”
The big man’s steel blue eyes opened dreamily. “Someone call me?” He shook his head dizzily, and tried to blink his eyes in focusing. “What goes on? Who are you?”
“You don’t know me, do you?” Madam Lasanda said in a changed tone. “That’s all right. Are you hurt bad?” We better take care of you. We’ll get an ambulance.”
“Hell, I’m not hurt. Just jolted.”
“It was all my fault,” Madam Lasanda said quickly. “My half-witted chauffeur—”
Allan Burgess! She had done it. She had brought him directly to her. Her mystical magnetism!
Well, that was all that really mattered. Cops and onlookers had gathered in by this time to take the situation in hand. She was talking with them sweetly. There would be no trouble.
“It was all my fault, officer. I’ll take care of everything. Here—here’s my card. And one for this gentleman. If he’ll come to my studio I’ll gladly pay the damages. You’ll come.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“All right. What time?”
“In the afternoon-say four.”
“I’ll see you.”
CHAPTER II
At five minutes to four Allan Burgess walked into the narrow lobby of the Garmond Building, consulted the directory, and stepped into the elevator.
“Eleven, Please.”
He had never been in this building before. He didn’t often come to these suburbs. As the elevator ascended, he glanced at the card to catch the room number.
MADAM LASANDA, Past Present and Future.
He had hardly given this appended item of information a thought until now. She must be a fortune teller or something. Well!
His chief recollection of last night’s encounter was that he had come out of his daze listening to kindly, apologetic words spoken in a deep, distinct feminine voice. And then his eyes had been full of this handsome, dark-complexioned woman who was looking at him as if she knew him. As if she were either an old friend or hoped to become one immediately.
From the elevator he trailed around the disjointed corridors to the left, to the left again, up three dark steps, to the left, and then, through a final passageway that would have been totally dark had it not been for the green illuminated sign at the end of the corridor; Madam Lasanda.
He rang twice and waited. He mopped the perspiration from his forehead. The small bandage over the left temple would be noticed immediately, but he would be ready to reassure the lady that the injury was nothing.
Light footsteps. The lock sounded, the door opened a few inches. Madam Lasanda was looking at him from under her dark eyelashes, and there was just a hint of a smile. A nice blend of sophistication and grace in her manner. The gentlest opening of the door. The slightest lift of the eyebrow, a barely audible rustle of the silken sleeves of her dark green gown as she gestured him to enter; and the gesture was hardly more than the trifling motion of her fingers. She was shapely, he thought, and consciously alluring in her movements. As if taking for granted that her mysterious charms would please him.
“Mr. Burgess. You are exactly on time.”
He nodded and suppressed an impulse to say that he was usually on time when he came to collect money. It was best left unsaid. Under the present surroundings he couldn’t quite imagine that an intentionally facetious remark would fit.
She closed the door back of him, then led the way through the tiny reception room, illuminated with a green and amber chain of lights in the form of an inverted crown overflowing with jewels. Allan looked around with a feeling that he had stepped into a too expensive night club, and he cast about to make sure of his exit; but this time she was leading him through dark-green portieres into a passageway hung with heavy, red velvet draperies. Presently he was seated in an inner room where tiny stars twinkled from a velvety purple sky overhead. The room was circular, small and intimate, lighted only by the stars and the faint glistening of jewels which formed the windows of mosques painted in an oriental panorama around the curved wall.
Burgess seated himself. H
e mumbled an uneasy, “Hm-m,”
“Are you comfortable, Mr. Burgess?”
“Not too. Don’t you have any lights in this place?”
“Your eyes will adjust in a moment.”
“I didn’t come for a seance, you know. It was in regard to that settlement for the accident last night.” Burgess leaned forward, wondering whether the white patch on his forehead showed to advantage. He said, “I came at your suggestion.”
“Yes, of course.” Madam Lasanda sat across from him. Between them was a small table. One of the two objects on it Burgess recognized as the well-known crystal sphere. The other was some sort of doll or statuette, silhouetted dimly before him. “If you wish more light—”
Madam Lasanda touched a switch at the base of the statuette. A red glow highlighted the little copper figure. It was a finely shaped model of a man, six inches tall, clothed in a loincloth with a sash that bore an ancient Egyptian design.
There. My little Egyptian fire tender is always ready to provide light. Isn’t he cunning? And very wise, too.”
If Allan had been in the mood to appreciate fine modeling, he might have praised this coppery little fellow. Excellent posture. Well molded muscles, litheness, strength.
One coppery arm was extended. The hand held a curved stick or flail, as if to beat the fire.
The glow in the base of the statuette had grown into a red flame.
Now gentle rhythmic motion became observable. The fire tender’s body swayed back and forth slowly, his arm flailed the fire with a slow pendulum-like movement, and the red blaze rose and fell in rhythm.
Rising and falling, the red flare gave a strangely moving quality to the glow in Madam Lasanda’s eyes. She was looking at Allan intently, as if wondering whether he was not pleased.
“His name is Ksentajaiboa,” she said. “Did you ever see anything like him, Mr. Burgess?”
“I never did.”
“Your answer is a trifle blunt, but entirely honest. I was sure you never had.”
“How could I? You probably had him made to order for your hocus pocus.”
“I can see that you’re not familiar with the Ksentajaiboa. There happen to be many of him. Their light shines far—farther than you would ever guess.”
Allan Burgess drew a slow breath to hold back his impatience. “Very unusual—yes.”
“You’re not comfortable, Mr. Burgess. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“I simply came for your settlement, Madam Lasanda, he said sharply. “No tea, please.”
But Madam Lasanda had already touched a button. The dark portieres parted and a thin-faced servant appeared. In Burgess’ mind, his face was somewhat associated with a chauffeur’s cap and uniform.
“Will you bring us tea, please, Martin?”
The servant bowed, the portieres swallowed him up, and Madam Lasanda smiled at Burgess as if to assure him that everything would be quite cozy in a moment.
“The settlement—yes, How much do you expect?”
“You name it.”
“You have a figure in mind, no doubt?”
“I always go on the assumption said Burgess, “that the other fellow is fair until he proves otherwise.”
“That’s very nice. You don’t change much, do you Allan Burgess? The years don’t harden you as they might some men. You stay just about the same, don’t you?”
Allan Burgess started. By the light from the fire tender he thought he saw a glint of much knowledge in the eyes of this necromancer. “What do you know about me?” he blurted.
“I am a crystal gazer, you know. I see the past and the future.”
“Last night you called me by name. How did you know my name?”
“We have ways of knowing.”
“Did you see it on the dashboard of my car?”
“Possibly.”
“All right, forget it. Let’s get on with settlement.”
The door chimes rang. She touched a switch. The red flame fluttered. The little fire-tender’s arm stopped and the flame went out.
Martin appeared at the portieres to say that he would answer. He returned a moment later.
“It’s a messenger from the city hall, Madam. I told him that you were busy. He said he would wait outside, Madam.”
“All right. The tea, please Martin.”
She touched a button, the red flame spurted up, and the little Egyptian fire tender resumed his rhythmic ritual. Burgess saw that Madam Lasanda was looking at him intently, smiling.
“Confidentially, Mr. Burgess, the city wants to revoke my license. They think I’m not a reliable consultant because I can’t write a lot of letters after my name. College degrees and such. But you don’t think I’m a charlatan, do you, Allan Burgess?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Well, if they only knew what I know about people—about you, for instance.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh, yes, I see your past and your future clearly. Wouldn’t you like to know what I see for you?” She reached to touch his hand.
He jerked away impatiently.
“I didn’t come here to—”
But she was crowding him, and she spoke with a strange vibrant intensity.
“Would you like to know what happened to the hundred men you marched up the mountain somewhere in Africa?”
Burgess was suddenly on nerve’s edge. The lightning had struck without warning. His sharp movement caused a flutter of the red blaze.
“I got twenty of them back alive!” he said, biting his words.
“And the other eighty?”
Burgess sprang to his feet. “I said I got twenty of them back alive! The answer is plain enough.”
In his sudden action he upset his tea. He made no move to set the cup upright.
“You think the other eighty are dead, don’t you?”
“Of course they’re dead!”
“But they’re not.”
“Eighty of them are dead! If you’ve heard anything about it—”
You shot ten of them down, didn’t you, Mr. Burgess?”
“Where did you get all this?”
“Ten of them. You cut them down with bullets.”
“I did what 1 had to do. I had to keep them moving.”
“You believed that the whole civilized world depended upon your getting that cargo across the pass, didn’t you, Mr. Burgess? That was too bad.”
“It was a job. Someone had to do it. It was no kid’s play.”
“It was a man’s job, Allan Burgess. That’s why they gave it to you. And you think it’s all over and forgotten. But it isn’t. Those eighty men aren’t dead. They’re alive—terribly alive!”
“You’re crazy! Those men were my responsibility. If they had lived, I’d have brought them back. If they were still alive, I’d go to them.”
“They are alive, and if you want to know the tragic fact, our civilized world is in grave danger from evil that hovers over those eighty men at this moment. They’re rubbing elbows with the most dangerous force on this planet. Do you understand me?”
“I think you’re crazy.”
“Some of those eighty men used to be your loyal friends. Am I right, Allan Burgess?”
Burgess drew a hard breath, feeling caged because there was no way to give vent to his outraged feelings. The overturned teacup had not been touched. The red flame appeared to shrink from him.
“I repeat, Mr. Burgess,” she said in her strong but carefully controlled tone, “those eighty men are not dead. The world might be safer if they were. They are dwelling in the company of an evil force a thousand times more dangerous than atomic bombs. You will find them living under the very mountains where you thought they met their death.”
“All I say is, you’re crazy.”
Madam Lasanda nodded, as if ready to dismiss the matter. She called to Martin. He appeared and she said, quite casually, “Tell the messenger that if the city wants to revoke my license, go ahead.
They may as well. I’ve said all I have to say. I’m through. The whole world will be through very soon.”
The servant hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and went obediently to deliver the message.
Burgess mopped his forehead, gave an abrupt gesture of leaving, and started toward the exit.
Madam Lasanda called to him. “Your settlement, Mr. Burgess.”
“To hell with the settlement. I’m going to Africa.”
CHAPTER III
Allan Burgess went straight to the airport. On the way he mentally rearranged his business affairs. A vacation—that’s what he’d tell them at the office. It was too confining. He needed a vacation of several weeks. They could like it or not. If they wanted to believe he was out prospecting for gold, or getting married and honeymooning, or touring around the world looking for another job, it was quite all right with him.
Just so they didn’t know the absurd truth—that some dark-eyed fortune teller had thrust a rapier through his soul; that he would endure fiery mental torture until, he proved to himself that her story was false.
Fifteen minutes after he reached the airport, as he was striding along the line of private hangers, his eye caught upon a yellow monoplane with the name “Yippee” painted across the side in bold blue script.
“Pretty classy, huh?” This from one of the grease monkeys who noticed his fascination.
“Plenty. I could use something like that in my business.”
“You can’t use that,” the grease monkey said. “That belongs to the Yippee Girl—you know—on the radio. She hops around in her own plane, and that’s it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, she’ll be here in about five minutes.”