by Gafford, Sam
Adonai, Zeboth, Adon, Schadai, Elion, Tetragrammaton, Eloi, Elohim, Messias, Ja, Hagios, Ho Theos.
Around his neck: a belt of garlic.
Tied to his wrist: a curious talisman made of feathers.
In his pockets: a box of matches; a loaded revolver; and a piece of parchment, blank on one side and covered on the other with illegible, esoteric script in strange violet ink.
In the trunk: another belt of garlic; some chalk; a measuring-tape; a jar of water, sealed with wax and parchment over a rubber stopper; five church candles; half a bottle of good whisky; two tumblers; and the components of the Electric Pentacle (a battery, wires, five short and five long vacuum tubes).
Act One.
Carnacki. Murmurs. Colpriziana, Offina, Alta, Nestera, Fuaro, Menuet.
Alim, Jehoh, Jehovah, Agla, On, Tetragrammaton.
Adon, Schadai, Eligon, Amanai, Elion, Pneumaton, Elii, Alnoal, Mess as, Ja, Heynaan, Tetragrammaton.
Adonai, Zeboth, Adon, Schadai, Elion, Tetragrammaton, Eloi, Elohim, Messias, Ja, Hagios, Ho Theos.
Dodgson. Enters, carrying a lantern. In his pocket: a cigarette case and a box of matches. Dithers.
Carnacki. Colpriziana, Offina, Alta, Nestera, Fuaro, Menuet.
Alim, Jehovah—
Dodgson. Clears his throat.
Carnacki. Starts. Opens his eyes. Dodgson.
Dodgson. Carnacki, you old fraud. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.
Carnacki. How did you get in?
Dodgson. Your front door wasn’t latched.
Carnacki. And that lantern. Where did you get that lantern?
Dodgson. Oh, I borrowed it from the porter next door. None of your lights seem to be working.
Carnacki. No. I disconnected them all.
Dodgson. Look, if you’re in the middle of something, I can come back—
Carnacki. No, no, for heaven’s sake don’t go anywhere. You’re late enough as it is. Hops off the trunk and opens it.
Dodgson. I came as soon as I got your card.
Carnacki. Which was when?
Dodgson. Must have been just gone five.
Carnacki. And what time is it now?
Dodgson. Not long after six. Are your clocks not working either?
Carnacki. Can’t trust them. Can’t trust myself to read them right, rather. Here, you’d better wear this. Tosses Dodgson a belt of garlic from the trunk.
Dodgson. Whatever for?
Carnacki. Rummaging in the trunk for the chalk and measuring-tape. Just a precaution. I doubt you’re in any danger. Just put it on, there’s a good chap, for my peace of mind.
Dodgson. Hangs the garlic around his neck. Have I got the wrong end of the stick here, Carnacki? Only when I got your card, I—
Carnacki. Oh, you’d better stick some in your ears, too.
Dodgson. I beg your pardon?
Carnacki. Garlic. Just peel a bit and plug your ears with it. Mutters. You oughtn’t to be able to hear it, but best to be safe.
Dodgson. Picking at one of the garlic bulbs. I’m not sure about all this, Carnacki. When I got your card I expected the usual thing, you know, dinner, whiskey, and a yarn round the fire.
Carnacki. You’ll have whiskey and a yarn before the night’s out. Come here, quick, help, before we lose the light.
Dodgson. Approaches. Help with what?
Carnacki. Hands Dodgson one end of the measuring-tape and positions him in the centre of the room. And douse that lantern.
Dodgson. But it’s getting dark.
Carnacki. Steps away, unrolling his end of the measuring-tape. Stand on your end, would you?
Dodgson. Obeys. Puts down the lantern, still lit, liberates a clove of garlic, splits it, and plugs his ears with it.
Carnacki. Using the measuring-tape, begins to chalk out a circle on the floor around himself, Dodgson, and the trunk. The circle takes up most of the space. He is careful never to step outside the line he is drawing.
Dodgson. Are you . . . ? You are, aren’t you?
Carnacki. What?
Dodgson. Constructing a barrier. A—a defence against the supernatural.
Carnacki. Ab-natural. But yes. Perceptive of you. Shift the trunk for me, would you?
Dodgson. Lifts the trunk over the measuring-tape so Carnacki can complete the circle. What exactly are you expecting to happen here tonight?
Carnacki. If the barrier holds, nothing.
Dodgson. But it’s possible it won’t? What kind of apparition—
Carnacki. Listen, Dodgson, you’ll have the whole tale before long, but I can’t be easy until we’re both properly protected. Completes the chalk circle. Plucks a bulb of garlic from the belt around his neck and crushes it between his palms. Begins smudging a broad smear of garlic around the circle, just outside the chalk line.
Dodgson. Rolling up the measuring-tape. Oh, no, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just unexpected, that’s all.
Carnacki. Not to worry. Just sit tight. I’ll not be much longer.
Dodgson. Perhaps I can help.
Carnacki. There’s really no need.
Dodgson. We’ll be protected that much sooner. It’s a Water Circle you’re constructing, isn’t it?
Carnacki. Pauses smudging. You’ve been studying the Sigsand manuscript?
Dodgson. Arkright got his hands on a copy at auction while you were busy with that Woeful Dagger case.
Carnacki. Resumes smudging. Did he now? And what has old Sigsand taught you about the Water Circle?
Dodgson. Not much that we hadn’t already picked up from one or other of your yarns. There was a passage about the different ways you can arrange the candles to produce different effects.
Carnacki. Do you recall a passage that begins, “There must be no light come from within the barrier”?
Dodgson. That does sound—oh! I see! Extinguishes the lantern.
Carnacki. Thank you.
Dodgson. Sorry.
Carnacki. Better give me your cigarettes as well.
Dodgson. All right. Hands them over.
Beat.
Dodgson. If I’m not mistaken, Carnacki . . .
Carnacki. Yes?
Dodgson. The Sigsand also says the barrier must be made around the ones to be protected.
Carnacki. That’s right. So don’t step outside the circle, or I shall have to start all over again.
Dodgson. But what about the others?
Carnacki. The others? Where? I don’t—
Dodgson. Aren’t they coming?
Carnacki. Oh. I see. No, we’re a reduced party tonight, old chap. Ugh. Ghastly stuff. Tosses the garlic out of the circle and dusts the debris from his hands.
Dodgson. You mean to say I’m the only one you sent for?
Carnacki. This circle’s a little cosy for five, wouldn’t you say?
Dodgson. But if you’d only room for one—and if there’s some ab-natural danger abroad—then why—
Carnacki. Yes?
Dodgson. Well, why not Arkright? Or Jessop. He’s well salted in these affairs after that business aboard the Mortzestus.
Carnacki. I think Arkright and Jessop are occupied with that conundrum of the ambassador’s, besides which—
Dodgson. And what about Taylor?
Carnacki. Taylor? Taylor, I fancy, hasn’t the stomach for this sort of thing.
Dodgson. And you fancy I do?
Carnacki. I know full well you’ve loads of pluck.
Dodgson. Really?
Carnacki. Rummages in the trunk for the jar of water. We’re losing the light. Can you construct the Inner Star while I finish the circle?
Dodgson. You trust me to get it right?
Carnacki. Well, you’ll be in as much trouble as me if you don’t, so do you trust yourself to?
Dodgson. I think so.
Carnacki. Then so do I. Hands Dodgson the chalk. Breaks the jar’s seal and removes the stopper.
Dodgson. You’ll look over it when I’m finished, though?
Carnacki.
Can’t promise anything. Dips his left forefinger in the water and goes around the circle again, daubing the Eight Signs of the Saaamaaa Ritual on the floor, just within the chalk line, at the eight major compass points.
Dodgson. Oh. Well then. All right. Pauses to recollect and calculate. Rummages in the trunk for the five candles. Using the measuring-tape, begins positioning them at equal distances around the circle, just outside the chalk line. It’d be hard to credit if you hadn’t proven it so often, wouldn’t it? I mean, that this works. That wax and chalk and water need only the application of geometry to form such an impediment to such immense powers.
Carnacki. I’m sure it seems like superstitious mumming to you, Dodgson, but do allow me to concentrate while I’m about it.
Dodgson. Come, there’s no need to be like that. I don’t think it’s silly. I think it’s a marvel.
Carnacki. Please, shush, just for a minute.
Dodgson. Draws chalk lines on the floor from candle to candle to form a pentacle, its points touching the chalk circle.
Carnacki. Finishes the Eighth Sign. Look. The light. Quickly, now. Strikes a match. Lights candles.
Dodgson. Strikes a match. Lights candles.
Night falls.
Carnacki. Slumps, relieved. I think it’s about time for that whiskey, don’t you?
Dodgson. Let me. Rummages in the trunk for the whiskey and tumblers.
Carnacki. Sorry I had to be short with you.
Dodgson. Not at all.
Carnacki. I’ve been in a towering funk since last night.
Dodgson. Pours. I’m sure it’s not without reason.
Carnacki. Ordinarily I’d agree with you. You remember in that Grey Dog case, what saved my life was what most men would simply call nerves.
Dodgson. Yes. You told us it’s as well never to neglect that sort of feeling.
Carnacki. So I did.
Dodgson. Sometimes it’s more than just cowardice, you said. Sometimes it’s something warning you, and fighting for you.
Carnacki. Yes. I may have to rethink that little pearl of wisdom before we all sit down to dinner again. If we ever all sit down to dinner again, I should say.
Dodgson. Come now, it’s gloomy enough in here without that sort of talk. Hands Carnacki a tumbler.
Carnacki. Gloomy, you say?
Dodgson. Yes. Best keep our spirits up.
Carnacki. Of course. The sun’s gone down, hasn’t it?
Dodgson. Making it high time for a drink. Cheers.
Carnacki. Cheers. Clinks. Drains his tumbler and puts it down.
Dodgson. Drains his tumbler and puts it down. Splutters. Ugh. Can I take this garlic out of my ears now? Starts to winkle it out.
Carnacki. No! Claps his hands over Dodgson’s hands and ears.
Beat.
Carnacki. Releases Dodgson. I am to be Odysseus tonight, Dodgson. I have to endure the Siren’s song. You must be my helmsman. Deaf to the seducer’s voice, keeping us to the right course, eh? Do you understand?
Dodgson. To a degree.
Carnacki. You’re sure?
Dodgson. It’s like that Luck Ring case—you expect our judgement to be affected by something?
Carnacki. Yours, no, but mine already is being. My senses are not my allies tonight. Do you see this? Meaning the talisman. No matter how I try to justify the act, you must not let me take it off. And I will try. I may reason with you, or simply slip it off while your back’s turned, or I may try to leave the circle. If I succeed, I shall be as good as dead. Or rather, perhaps I’ll wish I were dead. Do you begin to grasp the gravity of your duty?
Dodgson. I suspect not. But I’ll discharge it all the same.
Carnacki. Well, I suppose the outcome’s the important thing. Now, how about a yarn?
Dodgson. Is this really the time?
Carnacki. Both of us must stay quite alert until dawn, and neither of us may smoke.
Dodgson. Well, when you put it like that.
Carnacki. I fancy I might see the thing clearer, after I’ve told it all out straight. Pour us both another drink, won’t you?
Dodgson. Obliges.
Carnacki. Gazes beyond the circle at things unseen. Knuckles his eyes, slaps his cheeks, etc. Composes himself.
Dodgson. Hands Carnacki a tumbler of whiskey.
Pause.
Carnacki. The tale that’s led us both here began many generations hence, and to recount it all would counter my purpose of keeping us both awake, so I’ll start from yesterday morning, the beginning of my own part in the affair. I’d not been long awake when I heard something trying to batter in my front door. I admitted my besieger and discovered her to be a gentlewoman in late middle-age, whom I knew by association as one Mrs. Allenby.
Dodgson. Not by any chance a Mrs. Judith Allenby?
Carnacki. The same. You’re acquainted?
Dodgson. I’ve been shooting with her husband, the major. Two or three times last season. A stern woman—straight-backed—lifts her chin, like this, in low company?
Carnacki. Stern? Perhaps, though yesterday morning she was rather discomposed. She’d crossed town at great speed, having left home in some hurry.
Mrs. Allenby. You’ll forgive my appearance, Mr. Carnacki. I left home in some hurry.
Morning.
Carnacki. You must have a seat, Mrs. Allenby. Some tea? Or a brandy?
Mrs. Allenby. No, thank you.
Carnacki. Well, how can I be of service?
Mrs. Allenby. You’re the Thomas Carnacki that Captain Hisgins speaks so highly of?
Carnacki. I am a Thomas Carnacki, and I did help out Captain Hisgins with a small matter last year.
Mrs. Allenby. The small matter of a family curse.
Carnacki. Actually I believe it was a case of what I might term induced haunting.
Mrs. Allenby. Regardless, some unnatural creature threatened—
Carnacki. Ab-natural.
Beat.
Mrs. Allenby. Some unnatural creature threatened poor Mary Hisgins and her fiancé, until banished by your intervention.
Carnacki. That’s about the size of it. Mary Hisgins became Mrs. Beaumont not long after.
Mrs. Allenby. And the couple have had no trouble of the sort since?
Carnacki. If they have, they’ve not seen fit to involve me in it.
Mrs. Allenby. Proof enough for me. You must come with me at once, Mr. Carnacki. My cab is outside.
Carnacki. Why such a hurry?
Mrs. Allenby. My Florence heard the herald’s cry last night.
Carnacki. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term.
Mrs. Allenby. You’ll have the journey to learn, and till sunset to save her. Are you coming or not?
Carnacki. I’ll come, of course, and I’ll do everything I can to help. But you understand, I’m sure, that I cannot guarantee success—can’t even guarantee an explanation, let alone a solution?
Mrs. Allenby. Cavil in the cab if you must do it at all, Mr. Carnacki.
Carnacki. Yes, of course. We’d better have the cabbie load my instrument trunk.
Mrs. Allenby. Very well.
They seat themselves in the cab.
Mrs. Allenby. I’m surprised a man in your line of business has never heard about our family. Did Captain Hisgins never mention us?
Carnacki. The captain and I aren’t well acquainted. We talked about how best to safeguard his daughter, little else.
Mrs. Allenby. Good. Forge a similar relationship with me and we’ll get on famously.
Carnacki. Let’s start with this herald’s cry.
Mrs. Allenby. The herald’s cry comes to the eldest Allenby in each generation, usually not long after they come of age. It sounds like some monstrous bird, my Florence says, and deafening. It woke her around two o’clock this morning, but her sister sleeps in the same room and she didn’t hear a thing.
Carnacki. And it’s supposed to herald what?
Mrs. Allenby. Madness, Mr. Carnacki.
Beat.<
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Mrs. Allenby. I wasn’t born an Allenby, of course. But our families have always been close, and we were overwintering in Sussex together when Robert Allenby heard the cry. It was the night after his sixteenth birthday. I was ten, my sister Louisa twelve or thirteen, and we argued at his party which of us would marry him. But the next day at breakfast he told us all the dining-room walls were turning to fog and he could see bright lights beyond. By dinner he couldn’t see the house at all, nor any of the people in it. It was like we’d all become ghosts, or he had. He kept whispering to himself about impossible peaks and drifting specks as bright as stars. He wept constantly, but sometimes it didn’t seem like sorrow. The next morning Robert was a rag doll. He resides in Bedlam even now.
Carnacki. But he lives? It wasn’t fatal?
Mrs. Allenby. No. Nothing so merciful.
Carnacki. And before Robert?
Mrs. Allenby. The same story, the first born of every generation, as far back as anyone can recall.
Carnacki. Then if you were aware of all this, why did you still marry into the Allenby family?
Mrs. Allenby. Hector and I were a good match.
Carnacki. But the two of you suspected what might be in store for any children.
Mrs. Allenby. Are you married, Mr. Carnacki? Do you have children of your own?
Carnacki. I’m afraid not.
Mrs. Allenby. Then I can’t expect you to understand.
Carnacki. But you do credit this story of the herald’s cry? You believe there’s some truth in it?
Mrs. Allenby. I told you, I saw what it did to Robert.
Carnacki. What I mean is, do you believe the phenomenon is ab-natural in origin?
Mrs. Allenby. Of course it’s the work of devils, if that’s what you mean. I thought this was your area of expertise, Mr. Carnacki.
Carnacki. It is, and I’ve witnessed too many true manifestations to doubt that they can and do occur. But I make it a point of principle to view all reported hauntings as unproven until I’ve made examinations, and I must tell you that ninety-nine cases in a hundred prove to have nothing abnormal in them.
Mrs. Allenby. There is nothing normal about what’s in store for my daughter, Mr. Carnacki.
Carnacki. I will of course bear your theory in mind, but you must allow me to investigate and form my own.
Mrs. Allenby. I shall allow you whatever’s in my Florence’s best interests, not an inch more.