Tales of the Shadowmen 2: Gentlemen of the Night

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  “Mother!” Christina made to draw the linen back from the smallest figure, but Roxton caught her hand. “Don’t, my dear. It isn’t pleasant.” Christina sank to her knees and cried. Gianetti joined her there, placing her arms fully around the younger girl.

  “Dickson,” the Sâr said quietly, beckoning. I joined him as he carefully lifted the corner of the other sheet. I winced as I saw what had happened to Mr. Yeltsin.

  “I don’t recognize him,” El Tebib muttered. “Not a Russian spy, then. Probably an Englishman using the name to make himself sound more exotic.” He dropped the sheet. “Lord John, can you take me to where the séance was held?”

  The Dining Room was shattered. What had been comfortable if worn chairs had been dashed against the walls, jarred to pieces. China dishes, which had been previously lining the walls, were cracked or broken entirely, tinkling down to the floor with dull clinks Something had lifted the main table and hurled it aside, bringing it down upon its flat. And what looked as if it had used to be a tablecloth was tossed ripped and crumpled in a corner. The edges were wet and crimson.

  Two maids were there, trying to clean the place up as best they could, but there was someone else as well. This one was being watched over by what I assumed to be the butler, who gathered the maids and left when Lord John motioned for them to go. She sat on a chair silently, hands folded, looking very small and plain in an ordinary grey dress, brown hair dull and lifeless as her eyes. Her nose seemed rather long for an Englishwoman’s. She gazed up listlessly as we came in.

  “Miss Underwood?”

  The medium called Rosemary Underwood nodded. “Yes, that is I,” she said in a dull, rather monotonous tone.

  “I apologize for holding you here,” Roxton said, “but I needed everyone to stay until we found Christina.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “For now. The… Beast is gone from her.”

  “Only for a while,” Miss Underwood spoke softly. “It will be back. She has been possessed by an evil spirit, and we are all doomed while she walks.”

  “I don’t think so,” the Sâr said, and the girl looked up in surprise. “Do you know me, Madam? I should think my name would be famous in your circle. I am the Sâr Dubnotal, Conqueror of the Invisible!”

  “I… think I may have heard of you,” the girl said at last, after a long pause. “What do you want to me?”

  “Tell me. Tell me everything that happened here.”

  “Well, it began when Mrs. Rutherford contacted me about attempting to summon the spirit of her late husband…” Miss Underwood told her story. Apparently, the drab young woman made her living from using her gifts as a medium, after having discovered them a few years back. She had established herself in a town not far from Wolfsbridge and spent most of her time doing much the same as she had this night. It seemed odd to me–most of the Spiritualists I had met over the years were far more colorful and confident than this shy, unassuming woman. They had to be–they were all confidence tricksters at heart.

  “...But this time, something was different. I felt it. I thought it was because that Mr. Yeltsin was so obviously a nonbeliever. He was just in it for the money. But I felt Hate coming… vicious, enraged Hate. And then Miss Rutherford turned into that thing. The rest, you know.” She shrugged. “Take my advice, Doctor. Leave here. Let us all leave here. There is no help for her now. She has become the Werewolf of Rutherford Grange, and her soul is lost.”

  “I doubt that,” the Sâr replied. “I’m no expert, but I know a bit about lycanthropy and other manifestations of it. The werewolf sightings in New England in 1799, the infamous wolf and man-cat of Paris, the Serbian feline shape shifters… even the Ring of the Borgias. I’m sure with a bit of investigation, I can find the solution to this. In fact, I’d appreciate it if a talented psychic like you might care to assist me.”

  For the first time, a bit of color appeared in the girl’s cheeks. “I’m afraid I can’t,” she started. “I must go at once I don’t want to deal with demons. It’s safer–”

  “It’s safer if you stay here where we can see you,” Roxton declared firmly. “That way, we can watch over you. Trust me, Miss Underwood, I know this man. Oftentimes I don’t believe him, but he knows what he is doing.”

  “Lord John.” Darshan Kritchna stuck his face through the door. “Miss Christina is asking for you.”

  Automatically, we had turned to follow the sound of his voice. And that’s when Miss Underwood chose to make her move. Darting up faster than any of us would have expected, she shot past me and made for the back door, which I could see through the kitchen

  “Stop! Come back here!” Roxton cried, and dashed after her. The last I saw was of a brown cloud of skirts being held up as the girl ran across the fields as fast as her legs could carry her.

  “Damn,” I said. “I’ll get the car; I should be able to catch up–”

  “Let John do it,” the Sâr said suddenly. “He’ll either catch her or he won’t.”

  I gazed at him, amazed. “But–”

  Roxton came panting back in. “She’s gone. I wouldn’t think a woman that small could move so quickly, but–”

  “Let her go, Lord John. She can be no further help to us. We can find her if we need her again.” Roxton looked dubious but the Sâr turned to Christina. “My dear, I know how horrid you must be feeling, but I need your help for a moment. I need you to make a telephone call for me.”

  “Wh–who are we going to call?” The girl looked up as bravely as she could. For that, she had my deepest admiration.

  “Someone we need very much.”

  Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Christina, still sniffling, opened it.

  “Miss Rutherford!” Appleby cried in concern. “Whatever is the matter? Why did you ask me to come?”

  “We–we need your help, Mr. Appleby.”

  “With all due respect, I cannot possibly see what I can do for you what your own servants could not. Sir Henry will be furious–”

  The Sâr gripped him by the arm and yanked him inside. Before the butler could protest, he had clamped one hand over his mouth and was peering intently into his eyes.

  “Appleby, listen to me. I know your beliefs. I’m not asking you to change them. I know how frightened you are of all this. And you should be–working with the Spirits is always the most dangerous of propositions, no matter how experienced you are. But you know as well as I–there’s a monster out there, Appleby. One that I believe is a threat to your masters. And if we’re going to save them, I’m going to need your help. You may not like me. You may not like my methods. But believe me when I say our objectives are the same–to prevent a great evil from occurring here. When I take my hand from your mouth, if you still do not wish to help, I will not stop you. But I need you, Appleby. I need what you can give to us. So I ask–will you assist us? The answer is totally up to you.”

  The two stared into each others’ eyes for a long time. Then, slowly, Appleby motioned for the Sâr to remove his hand. “Sir,” he said quietly, “you are right that I believe your… views are not the correct ones. But I know what I saw tonight, and it was total Evil. Evil that must be fought. I will not use your methods for myself. But… if somehow I can call upon God to help you, I shall.”

  “That’s all I wished to know, Appleby. Thank you. Now, quickly–what is happening at the House?”

  “Sir Henry is in a frightful state. Mr. Alexander and Mr. Peter are too. All the guests have fled. No one even stayed to help with the body–I had to do that. We’re keeping him in a side room, properly covered until Sir Henry can decide what to do.”

  “You mean he hasn’t summoned the authorities?”

  “No, sir–he is adamant about that. He wants no one from outside to know what happened. I’m not certain he has even informed the Government yet–I asked if he wished me to call the Office and he refused. But they must find out, and soon. The other diplomats are certain to inform their superiors.”

  “What abo
ut the rest of the security?” I demanded. “Where are they?”

  “Gone, as well, sir–as are the rest of the servants. They’re all too terrified to remain. I can’t blame them.. But Sir Henry cannot possibly intend to keep this whole thing a secret.”

  “He probably does,” said the Sâr. “He’s the type who would, just to salvage his career. But we have little time. The normal authorities cannot possibly handle something like this, even if they would believe it. If the spirit of the Werewolf of Rutherford Grange is truly about, we have to deal with it ourselves.”

  I folded my arms skeptically. “And just how do we find out if this is the real Werewolf?” I scoffed.

  ‘Simple,” the Sâr said calmly. “We’re going to have to talk to the source of the legend himself.”

  “We’re going to what?” My voice must have cracked with my incredulity. “Please, please, please tell me that you’re joking.”

  “I never joke, young man,” the Sâr replied flatly. He carried a chair to the far side of the room and set it down. “Not about this, at any rate. Here, Kritchna, help me with this table.”

  “But–but another séance!”

  El Tebib glanced at me sardonically from beneath his turban. “Does the Prince of Rationality have a better idea?”

  All about the destroyed dining room the Sâr and Miss Gianetti were rummaging about, moving chairs, picking up bric-a-brac, and sweeping debris from the center of the room to form a clearing in the rough shape of a circle, large enough for the six of us to stand around it, or sit if we scrunched. In the center of this clear area, the Sâr had been careful to remove the slightest bit of dust or dirt. He then opened his carpetbag and pulled out a gangly, shapeless mass of metal and wires. This he set within the circle and started to rearrange it, clicking together two bars here, untangling strands of wire there, until the whole thing came together and I realized that it was some sort of collapsible pentacle of some sort, but one which did not quite match the geometry of a perfect pentagram. The points seemed too curvy for one thing, and it was placed in such a way that the angles were not exactly compass-straight. The Doctor straightened up, looked at it, didn’t seem satisfied, and shifted it slightly to the left. Then, apparently content, he unraveled of all things an ordinary extension cord and asked if anyone saw an outlet.

  “One of Thomas’s electric pentacles?” asked Gianetti.

  “A variation of my own devising,” the Sâr replied. “You have to sit inside one of Thomas’s. With this, we stay outside and it stays inside.”

  “A pentagram!” cried Appleby in something of a strained voice. “But you said–”

  The Sâr held up a hand. “Be at peace, Appleby. Yes, it’s a pentagram. I know the associations with Black Magic it holds. But there are reasons for that–it works. This shape applies to both White and Black Magic, and none of us who do battle with the more sinister aspects of the Ab-natural can do without it.” Continuing to gaze upon the butler, he smiled gently and sympathetically placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know all too well what you’re feeling, Appleby,” he said, “I told you that I have never called upon the Infernal Powers for assistance, and I’m not about to start now. In my own way, I serve the same Powers as you. In fact, that’s why I asked specifically for your assistance. You bring something very valuable to our project.”

  “And what might that be?”

  The Sâr raised his eyebrow. “The power of faith,” he said simply. “Faith is a far more powerful force than most realize. Especially faith in something greater and more good than ourselves. That grants much protection against the forces of evil. They cannot face the idea of Faith.”

  “Oh, that makes no sense whatsoever!” I snapped. “If that is the case, then you could ward a vampire off with enough faith that the sky is blue!”

  “You think so?” the Doctor asked. “I’ll remember that the next time I encounter a vampire. But, seriously, Appleby, your presence is more necessary than you might think.”

  “Please, Mr. Appleby.” Gianetti took his arm. “El Tebib is right. He would never ask you to do something so against your beliefs if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. At one time, I didn’t trust any of this, myself. Did you know I was actually going to become a nun? Oh, yes. I’m a very devout Catholic.” Tenderly she fingered a rosary hung about her neck. “But I have a gift that, for whatever reason, I firmly believe God gave me. When it first manifested, I thought I was going insane or was possessed. And I nearly was. An evil woman named Madame Sara was trying to use me to call up–well, I don’t want to talk about that. But if the Sâr hadn’t found me and taught me how to use my ability properly, taught me how to use my own faith to channel my powers, let’s just say something–bad–would have happened.”

  “Indeed,” the Sâr exclaimed firmly. “The great difficulty here is that this place has already been used for evil, and that attracts more evil. It’s only because Miss Annunciata’s abilities are inborn to her, along with my own learning and devised defenses, that we have even a chance in succeeding in our mission. But succeed we must, if we are to stop even more deaths from occurring. Adding your own faith, as well as”–he nodded toward Darshan–“this gentleman’s innate psychic gifts, whether he wants to acknowledge them or not, I believe that, with caution, we stand a great chance of summoning the spirit of Roger Rutherford.”

  Appleby still looked skeptical, but I could tell the pleading face and gentle persuasion of the beautiful Miss Annunciata was winning him over. I shot a glance at Roxton, practically begging him to interfere. But the great adventurer simply shrugged in defeat. This had come too far and the Sâr had reminded him of too much he had seen over the years to back out now.

  “Still,” the Doctor said, “I will not force anyone to participate in this if they truly do not wish to. So, if you want to back out, now is the time. Gianetti?”

  She shook her head. “You know I won’t.”

  “Roxton?”

  Lord John took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m still not certain about all this,” he said at last, “but if it will find out the truth behind that monster and avenge Althea I’m with you. But must Christina–”

  “Hush, Uncle,” the young woman said, stepping forward, face tear-stained and bruised, but very determined. “This… thing forced me to kill my own mother. Of course I’m in.” She squeezed Gianetti’s hand for strength. The elder woman was more than willing to give it.

  The Doctor turned. “Mr. Appleby?” After a moment, the butler nodded. “I feel like Saul approaching the Witch of Endor,” he said quietly. “But there is something evil here that must be stopped. And while I will not call upon your powers over my Savior, I will pray that He somehow chooses to reveal the truth here.”

  “You don’t have to,” the Sâr proclaimed. “Just ask for the Hand of Riathamus to be upon us as we embark upon this journey. Kritchna?”

  The Indian simply nodded.

  “And you, Dickson?”

  Everyone’s head turned toward me. I paused, unable to believe what I was doing here. No, I thought, No. This went against the grain of everything I was ever taught, everything I had ever trusted. There were always rational explanations for everything that happened. Everything. The supernatural simply did not exist.

  But what if I were wrong?

  If I was wrong–and I wasn’t yet certain that I was–then, that Beast would still be out there, ready to kill at a moment’s notice. And this might be the only way to stop it. So, in spite of myself, in spite of my mentor, in spite of everything I ever knew about the world, I found my mouth opening and these words issuing out: “I’ll do it.”

  The Sâr nodded. For a second, I thought I saw a glimpse of admiration in his eye. “Good. Then everyone gather here at the edge of the circle. Join hands. Appleby, if you wish to pray, start now.”

  Quickly, he plugged in his contraption, which began to glow softly with a gentle blue electricity. Then he switched off the lights and squeezed between Darshan and myself. “Gianetti will d
o the actual summoning. All the rest of us have to do is be still and think ‘Roger Rutherford.’ ”

  In the dark of the room, the pentacle’s glow grew brighter. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Roxton gently grasp his niece’s hand more tightly. Gianetti began to mutter words under her breath. Her eyes had drawn back into themselves and she seemed to take no notice of where she was or whom she was with. Next to Darshan, I could hear Appleby gently chant: “Our Father, Who Art in Heaven, Hallow’d be Thy Name…”

  I swallowed silently. In the midst of the circle, the blue of the pentacle sparked and crackled in tiny pops. I tried to catch Kritchna’s eye but he was staring intently into the middle of the circle. I did as well, but could make out nothing. Then, suddenly, Gianetti threw back her head and cried out at the top of her voice: “Roger Rutherford! Roger Rutherford! We ask you to come beyond the Winds of the Shadow to us to stop a great evil! Roger Rutherford! Are you there?”

  And now, I paid more attention than ever. I knew all the tricks of the Spiritualist trade; every one of them. Trumpets used to throw voices. Special wires to lift tables. Everything. If the Sâr or Gianetti or anyone was up to trickery here, I would know of it. Swiftly, I glanced across the circle; everyone was still gripping each other’s hands. Everyone’s eyes were open and they were all looking into the clearing. Neither the Sâr nor Gianetti made any move.

  Then, very slowly, there was another sputter of the pentacle and it seemed to throw off a blue spark. The spark flew upward, just over the top of the clearing, and paused, seeming to hang in the air itself. Then it expanded–expanded up and out, still hovering over the floor, but fleshing out to become a small, floating illumination that flickered and licked upwards like a tiny fire. I felt no heat from it, nor cold. It was simply there. I probed for any sign of a wick, a torch, an electric light, anything that might tell me where it was coming from. But I could see nothing. And then the voice came.