The Man who Missed the War

by Dennis Wheatley

  On the way home that evening she asked Gog and Magog why it was that, if, as she supposed, the children were all brought up in the secret retreat in the mountainous side of the valley from fear of the Dog, all the grown-ups did not take refuge there every time the beast appeared.

  They said that the children had always been brought up there as long as anyone could remember, but no doubt the custom had originated on account of the Dog and its visits, which also went back into the mists of antiquity. But the idea of any grown-up other than the nurses taking refuge there shocked them profoundly. To attempt to do so would only have resulted in leading the Dog to the secret place which, apparently, was not invulnerable; and they thought it better that half their race should be taken than that their children should be imperilled. This reply showed a new side to the pigmies’ natures and a capacity for courage and self-sacrifice that Gloria had not till then suspected that they possessed.

  While observing her promise to Gog and Magog, she told Philip that night about her afternoon’s adventure, and they agreed that, although the Little People had succeeded in foiling their plans to get to the whaling station early in the season, they had no cause to be concerned about their child. The best line now seemed to play a waiting game until they could persuade their subjects to give John A. back to them, and then, having made fresh preparations in secret, slip away from the valley one night when their departure was least expected.

  The following week the horror of the Dog descended on the valley again in one of the surprise visits during which so many more people were lost than at the annual March raids. Gloria clung to Philip and refused to let him go out, but nearly all night they stood—he with the rifle now well cleaned and oiled and she with the pistol—behind their stockade waiting for the brute to pass in the hope of being able to shoot it. Three times they caught glimpses of it in the distance, but it was the dark period of the moon, so they had only starlight by which to see, and to their disgust it whisked away into the darkness each time before they had a chance to aim their weapons at it. During the day of mourning that followed it was found that some sixty-five people had been dragged from their homes and spirited away—no one knew where.

  Philip, angry, bewildered, sick with rage about this horrible thing which went on beneath his eyes and which he seemed powerless to stop, spent the day trying to find out more about the monster and from where it came. Its tracks about the main paths crossed and re-crossed each other so frequently that it was difficult to ascertain where it had entered the valley and where it had taken its victims once it had secured them. Yet, after Philip had followed innumerable false trails that led to cottages with broken doors, or great holes torn in their wattle and daub walls, it emerged that after each outrage the Dog entered at some point or other a small wood which lay to the south-east corner of the valley. After half an hour in the wood Philip discovered the focal point where all these tracks merged. It was at the base of the cliff, and near it a steep track led upward.

  For the first time he realised that there must be a second way out of the valley and through the mountain peaks that hedged it in. Hampered by his lame leg and crutches, it took him over an hour to climb the track and reach a small plateau which lay at about the same level as the great plateau several miles further along the ridge.

  There was nothing to be seen on the little plateau, save that the earth was freshly disturbed and trampled as though a number of men or beasts had been milling round on it quite recently. At the far side from the cliff up which Philip had come there was a gap between two walls of rock, which he now felt sure must be the entrance to another pass through the mountains. There could be no doubt that this was the way that the sinister beast came, but the day was now far advanced, and he was unarmed, so he decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and that he would not explore the pass that evening.

  He had turned back and was just about to begin his descent of the cliff track up which he had come when his eye caught something glittering about ten feet away on the ground. At first he thought it was just a bright piece of quartz, but its colour was so unusual that he went over to have a closer look. A moment later, with a hand that trembled so much that it could hardly hold his find, he picked the thing up. It was a beautifully coloured piece of semi-precious stone. It was also the twin of that wonderfully carved ten thousand year old Atlantean musical instrument that the Canon had shown him long long ago on the first evening they had spent together at the Rectory.

  Very slowly Philip made his way home, examining his find afresh every hundred yards or so to make certain that his eyes had not deceived him, and trying to figure out exactly what this extraordinary coincidence portended.

  The stone pan-pipes might, of course, have been washed up on that ledge by some great natural cataclysm thousands of years ago, but that seemed most unlikely. It was far more probable that it had been dropped there by someone who had been on the plateau the night before.

  If that were so, then the Masters of the Dog—the Lords of the Mountain—were the descendants of some of the Atlanteans who had escaped destruction at the time of the Flood. There was no more reason why some of their ships should not have been washed up on the shores of the Antarctic than on any other continent. The miracle was that they had survived. But then the Atlantean priests were said to have been great magicians, and there were these strange hints both from the Prince and from the Little People of the powers of the Lords of the Mountain to control climate and weather.

  When Philip got back to the Palace he and Gloria talked over the matter far into the night, and, as she pointed out, his discovery fitted in with the tradition of the Little People—that they had lived in a great island and at a time of storm and earthquakes been brought to the land of snow by Red men in a ship.

  Another thing that they discussed at length, but on which they could reach no conclusion, was whether the supernatural appearances of the Canon had any connection with Philip’s find. Was it just a coincidence that it had been a flute such as the Canon had possessed that Philip had found, and not a necklace, a sword, a buckle or a ring? Was this one more reminder that he yet had a part to play in the distant war which would bring grievous harm to Hitler and his Nazis? No ghost could possibly have placed the thing there; that was quite certain. But the Canon’s ghost might have scared its owner into dropping it up on the little plateau the previous night. Had it done so because, for some reason, it no longer had the power to appear to Philip direct? Had these circuitous means been used in one last effort designed to remind him of the Canon, of the prophecy of the Canon’s ghost, and so urge him to exert himself to get home?

  On the following day, taking their arms with them, they went up the cliff together and explored the pass. It was much shorter than the one they knew, but it brought them out on the landward side of the chain of mountains in which the valley was set, and from two thousand feet up they gazed for a long time across the seemingly endless plain below to the great southern range, which they now felt sure was the home of some strange and sinister mystery.

  They found no other traces of recent visitors and could do no more for the time being; neither, until they got John A. back, could they get away to the whaling station, as Philip was now more than ever anxious to do.

  It was not until mid-December that John A. was restored to them, and, by then, as the Little People knew perfectly well, Gloria was too near the time for her second child to risk a journey. The child, a girl, was born on January the 4th with the help of four small midwives as before; and the arrival of the new infant put out of court any question of their leaving for the MacKenzie Sea so as to reach it during the whaling season of 1943–44.

  Philip endeavoured to conceal his disappointment, and playing with his children was a big consolation. The new baby, whom they christened Aurora after the Aurora Australis, was a pet, with her mother’s blue eyes and Philip’s fair hair, and John A. was growing apace. He could now talk a little, although, to the annoyance of his parents
he seemed to pick up the Little People’s language more quickly than theirs.

  By early March Gloria was as fit again as she had ever been, but as the month wore on both she and Philip became increasingly silent and worried. Neither spoke of it to the other, but both could hardly get it out of their minds for a moment that at the end of the month the annual visit of the Dog was due, and that on that night thirteen more of the little people whom they had now come to love would be taken.

  On the afternoon of the day Philip got out his rifle and began to give it a good clean. Gloria came over to him, laid a hand on his shoulder and said: ‘Must you, Boy?’

  ‘How can I help it, my sweet?’ He took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘You’ll go up to the plateau and wait there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I felt sure you would. Well, I’ll be coming, too.’

  He began to protest, but she laid a finger on his lips. ‘Be quiet now, my own one. What would I do by meself here? If you have to die I’d much rather die too. I just hate to leave my babies, but I’m not really worried for them, because I know that they will be cared for by all our little friends and never really miss me. But I couldn’t go on without you.’

  No more was said, but two hours before sunset they left the Palace and set out together to defy the Power of the Dog and its mysterious masters.

  17

  The Temple of the False Sun

  As they walked along the track between the small fields and vegetable plots that they knew so well, the countryside looked very peaceful, and it was difficult to believe that, within a few hours, it would be ravaged by an animal which had the qualities of an almost mythological beast. Yet the inhabitants had not forgotten that this was their age-long anniversary of dread, and they were already hurrying home to barricade themselves in and hide as cunningly as they could in the hope that they might once again be among the many who survived and not among the unfortunate few who were taken.

  Every one of the little brown men who they passed gave them greeting and either warned them not to stay out late that night or urged them to go back to the Palace there and then; and they all asked after the children. In every case Philip and Gloria promised to take care of themselves, and, although neither of them spoke of it, both of them had the thought that never until this evening had they realised how greatly they had come to be loved and honoured by the Little People. As they walked on past the lake where the waterwheel now lay silent, they began to talk of more plans they had in mind for increasing the well-being of their subjects; yet, somehow, deep down inside them, they both had the feeling that they would never pass that way again.

  In spite of that and the unknown qualities of the terror that they were about to face, they felt little sense of fear. Instead, they were filled with a highly nervous excitement. It was as though the valley and all their interests in it were a chapter of their lives which was ending with the setting of the sun, and they had no more power to postpone its end than they had to slow down the solar system. Ahead of them they sensed a danger far worse than any they had ever known before, yet they had the strange conviction that, if only they could surmount it, they would at long last really find their way home.

  By the time they reached the little plateau the long March twilight was deepening. Sitting down they unpacked the cold supper they had brought with them and ate it; then they took up their positions for their watch. To sit with their backs to the cliff track up which they had climbed seemed to invite being driven over it backwards, should the Dog charge them, so they chose a spot at the extreme right of the plateau where they could crouch with their backs to the cliff yet enfilade anything coming out of the entrance to the pass. Prince Fedor had left behind him some sixty rounds of ammunition for the rifle but they were now reduced to four rounds in the automatic, so it was agreed that Philip should do the shooting and Gloria should come to the rescue with the pistol only if his rifle shots proved ineffective and he was hard pressed.

  For an hour the darkness was very black, then the moon came up. They knew that they would not now have very long to wait, as both their own experience and the tradition of the valley agreed that the Dog always began its man-hunt shortly after the moon rose.

  It was very still there and suddenly Philip caught a sound. ‘Listen!’ he breathed, touching Gloria on the elbow.

  She nodded, having heard it too. Very faintly at first, but gradually growing clearer, the notes of a weird music were wafted to them, and Philip felt sure that it came from the type of panpipes of which he had seen two specimens.

  The music continued to be soft but was now quite close at hand. They crouched at the far corner of the plateau, straining their eyes into the semi-darkness. The moon was only a sickle and, while the great patch of black shadow that marked the entrance to the pass stood out clearly, the first movements within it were difficult to see.

  Suddenly a number of figures seemed to detach themselves from the blackness and stand forth quite clearly in the moon’s silvery light. Four flute players headed the procession, then came a great palanquin, or covered litter, carried shoulder-high by eight stalwart bearers. After this came a second and a third litter, similarly borne, and the rear of the procession was brought up, not by a Dog, but by thirteen great dogs, all whimpering and straining at leads that were held by thirteen tall and powerful men.

  The flute players halted and ceasing their music turned about. The palanquin was set down, its curtains parted, and a tall dignified figure stepped out. The other two litters were set down in the background, but no one emerged from them. The dogs were brought forward, and the man who had come out of the palanquin made a sign to one of the dog’s keepers, who leant a little towards the great beast and was evidently just about to undo the leash from its collar.

  Philip saw that he dared wait no longer. His bad leg was good for a few steps if he took them slowly. Carrying his rifle at the ready, he gave a loud shout and advanced a few paces, followed by Gloria.

  The heads of every one of the strangers instantly turned towards them, and as Philip limped forward the man from the palanquin came to meet him. When they had approached to within a few yards of each other they both halted. Philip was six feet in height, but the man facing him was considerably taller. He was dressed in a white robe with a black pattern on it, and it was not until Gloria was within a few feet of him that she realised that it was made of penguins’ feathers. The robe, which hung slightly open, disclosed some brightly coloured woven garments beneath it; a hood of the same material covered the stranger’s head, and the moonlight glinted on the jewelled earrings that dangled from his ears. His skin was a reddish-brown, his nose hooked, his chin firm, his lips thin. It was the proudest and most cruel face that Philip had ever seen.

  Suddenly the man spoke, but in a tongue which they could not understand and which had not even a resemblance to that of the Little People.

  Philip replied in English, and Gloria tried the language they had learnt down in the valley; but he evidently did not understand a word of either. With an impatient shake of the head he beckoned them forward and, as he turned to lead them towards his palanquin, gave a sharp order to the man who had been about to unleash the dog.

  As the man again put his hand on the mastiff’s collar Philip shouted: ‘Hi! You there! Stop that!’ and by waving his own hand from side to side he tried to indicate that the man should ignore the order he had evidently been given.

  Their leader turned and stared. The man with the dog just glanced at Philip, then took no further notice. Philip raised his rifle and aimed it at the dog, at the same time calling: ‘If you let that dog go I’ll shoot it!’

  Obviously none of them understood either Philip’s words or his gestures, or, apparently, the purpose of his rifle. The man released the dog, and it bounded towards the path that ran down the cliff. Philip squeezed the rifle’s trigger. There was a sharp report that echoed round and round among the stone crags. The dog leapt into the air with a howl, crashed to the gr
ound just on the edge of the slope, whimpered for a second and lay still.

  Lowering his rifle, Philip turned back to the leader of the strangers, trying to express by a lifting of his shoulders that he was sorry he had had to shoot the dog but had seen no alternative.

  The man did not speak and he made no threatening gesture. He simply looked at Philip. His eyes were jet-black, and beneath brows drawn together in imperious anger they sparkled with sudden malevolence. As Philip met the glance he found that his own eyes were fixed and held. He could no longer look away from the stranger’s eyes, which now appeared to him like balls of red fire. The eyes grew larger and larger. Philip felt as though he were being drawn towards them and must plunge headlong into those two great blazing pits which were rapidly merging into one. He felt his knees go weak, his rifle slipped from his hand, and he fell fainting to the ground.

  When he recovered it was still dark. He could feel a gentle jogging motion, but for the moment he had not the least idea where he was; then, as memory returned, he realised that he was in one of the big litters that had been brought to the plateau by the strangers. As he struggled into a sitting position he felt a movement beside him and heard Gloria whisper:

  ‘Boy darling! Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ He found her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘But what happened … after that devil looked at me?’

  ‘He looked at me, too; but only for a second. Just long enough for me to know that I’d have no chance at all if I tried to shoot him.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘He jabbered at his servants, and they put you in this carrying wagon thing. They signed to me to be joining you, so I hopped in quick before they could say different, because I was scared to death of what that witch-doctor man might have done to you. When I found your heart and breathing were all right I thought I’d be taking a peep at what was going on. The moon coming through the chink in the curtains showed me that this thing is full of camp gear: tents, cooking utensils and all that. It’s some tents we’re lying on now.’