All this could not escape the notice of the company. Their gayety was chilled by the unaccountable gloom of the bridegroom; their spirits were infected; whispers and glances were interchanged, accompanied by shrugs and dubious shakes of the head. The song and the laugh grew less and less frequent: there were dreary pauses in the conversation, which were at length succeeded by wild tales and supernatural legends. One dismal story produced another still more dismal, and the baron nearly frightened some of the ladies into hysterics with the history of the goblin horseman that carried away the fair Leonora - a dreadful story which has since been put into excellent verse, and is read and believed by all the world.
The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound attention. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on the baron, and, as the story drew to a close, began gradually to rise from his seat, growing taller and taller, until in the baron’s entranced eye he seemed almost to tower into a giant. The moment the tale was finished he heaved a deep sigh and took a solemn farewell of the company. They were all amazement. The baron was perfectly thunderstruck.
‘What! Going to leave the castle at midnight? Why, everything was prepared for his reception; a chamber was ready for him if he wished to retire.’
The stranger shook his head mournfully and mysteriously: ‘I must lay my head in a different chamber to-night.’
There was something in this reply and the tone in which it was uttered that made the baron’s heart misgive him; but he rallied his forces and repeated his hospitable entreaties.
The stranger shook his head silently, but positively, at every offer, and, waving his farewell to the company, stalked slowly out of the hall. The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified; the bride hung her head and a tear stole to her eye.
The baron followed the stranger to the great court of the castle, where the black charger stood pawing the earth and snorting with impatience. When they had reached the portal, whose deep archway was dimly lighted by a cresset, the stranger paused, and addressed the baron in a hollow tone of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still more sepulchral.
‘Now that we are a lone,’ said he, ‘I will impart to you the reason of my going. I have a solemn, an indispensable engagement - - ’
‘Why,’ said the baron, ‘cannot you send someone in your place?’
‘It admits of no substitute - I must attend it in person; I must away to Wurtzburg cathedral - - ’
‘Ay,’ said the baron, plucking up spirit, ‘but not until to-morrow - to-morrow you shall take your bride there.’
‘No! no!’ replied the stranger, with tenfold solemnity, ‘my engagement is with no bride-the worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead man - I have been slain by robbers - my body lies at Wurtzburg - at midnight I am to be buried - the grave is waiting for me - I must keep my appointment!’
He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the drawbridge, and the clattering of his horse’s hoofs was lost in the whistling of the night blast.
The baron returned to the hall in the utmost consternation, and related what had passed. Two ladies fainted outright, others sickened at the idea of having banqueted with a spectre. It was the opinion of some that this might be the wild huntsman, famous in German legend. Some talked of mountain-sprites, of wood-demons, and of other supernatural beings with which the good people of Germany have been so grievously harassed since time immemorial. One of the poor relations ventured to suggest that it might be some sportive evasion of the young cavalier, and that the very gloominess of the caprice seemed to accord with so melancholy a personage. This, however, drew on him, the indignation of the whole company, and especially of the baron, who looked upon him as little better than an infidel; so that he was fain to abjure his heresy as speedily as possible and come into the faith of the true believers.
But, whatever may have been the doubts entertained, they were completely put to an end by the arrival next day of regular missives confirming the intelligence of the young count’s murder and his interment in Wurtzburg cathedral.
The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. The baron shut himself up in his chamber. The guests, who had come to rejoice with him, could not think of abandoning him in his distress. They wandered about the courts or collected in groups in the hall, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders at the troubles of so good a man, and sat longer than ever at table, and ate and drank more stoutly than ever, by way of keeping up their spirits. But the situation of the widowed bride was the most pitiable. To have lost a husband before she had even embraced him - and such a husband! If the very spectre could be so gracious and noble, what must have been the living man? She filled the house with lamentations.
On the night of the second day of her widowhood she had retired to her chamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who insisted on sleeping with her. The aunt, who was one of the best tellers of ghost-stories in all Germany, had just been recounting one of her longest, and had fallen asleep in the very midst of it. The chamber was remote and overlooked a small garden. The niece lay pensively gazing at the beams of the rising moon as they trembled on the leaves of an aspen tree before the lattice. The castle clock had just tolled midnight when a soft strain of music stole up from the garden. She rose hastily from her bed and stepped lightly to the window. A tall figure stood among the shadows of the trees. As it raised its head a beam of moonlight fell upon the countenance. Heaven and earth! She beheld the Spectre Bridegroom! A loud shriek at that moment burst upon her ear, and her aunt, who had been awakened by the music and had followed her silently to the window, fell into her arms. When she looked again the spectre had disappeared.
Of the two females, the aunt now required the most soothing, for she was perfectly beside herself with terror. As to the young lady, there was something even in the spectre of her lover that seemed endearing. There was still the semblance of manly beauty, and, though the shadow of a man is but little calculated to satisfy the affections of a lovesick girl, yet where the substance is not to be had even that is consoling. The aunt declared she would never sleep in that chamber again; the niece, for once, was refractory, and declared as strongly that she would sleep in no other in the castle: the consequence was, that she had to sleep in it alone; but she drew a promise from her aunt not to relate the story of the spectre, lest she should be denied the only melancholy pleasure left her on earth - that of inhabiting the chamber over which the guardian shade of her lover kept its nightly vigils.
How long the good old lady would have observed this promise is uncertain, for she dearly loved to talk of the marvellous, and there is a triumph in being the first to tell a frightful story; it is, however, still quoted in the neighborhood as a memorable instance of female secrecy that she kept it to herself for a whole week, when she was suddenly absolved from all further restraint by intelligence brought to the breakfast table one morning that the young lady was not to be found. Her room was empty - the bed had not been slept in - the window was open and the bird had flown!
The astonishment and concern with which the intelligence was received can only be imagined by those who have witnessed the agitation which the mishaps of a great man cause among his friends. Even the poor relations paused for a moment from the indefatigable labors of the trencher, when the aunt, who had at first been struck speechless, wrung her hands and shrieked out, ‘The goblin’ the goblin! she’s carried away by the goblin!’
In a few words she related the fearful scene of the garden, and concluded that the spectre must have carried off his bride. Two of the domestics corroborated the opinion, for they had heard the clattering of a horse’s hoofs down the mountain about midnight, and had no doubt that it was the spectre on his black charger bearing her away to the tomb. All present were struck with the direful probability for events of the kind are extremely common in Germany, as many well-authenticated histories bear witness.
What a lamentable situation was that of the poor baron! What a heartrending dilemma for a fond father and a member of the great family of Katzenel
lenbogen! His only daughter had either been rapt away to the grave, or he was to have some wood-demon for a son-in-law, and perchance a troop of goblin grandchildren. As usual, he was completely bewildered, and all the castle in an uproar.
The men were ordered to take horse and scour every road and path and glen of the Odenwald. The baron himself had just drawn on his jack-boots, girded on his sword, and was about to mount his steed to sally forth on the doubtful quest, when he was brought to a pause by a new apparition. A lady was seen approaching the castle mounted on a palfrey, attended by a cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the gate, sprang from her horse, and, falling at the baron’s feet, embraced his knees.
It was his lost daughter, and her companion - the Spectre Bridegroom! The baron was astounded. He looked at his daughter, then at the spectre, and almost doubted the evidence of his senses. The latter, too, was wonderfully improved in his appearance since his visit to the world of spirits. His dress was splendid, and set off a noble figure of manly symmetry. He was no longer pale and melancholy. His fine countenance was flushed with the glow of youth, and joy rioted in his large dark eye.
The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavalier (for, in truth, as you must have known all the while, he was no goblin) announced himself as Sir Herman Von Starkenfaust. He related his adventure with the young count. He told how he had hastened to the castle to deliver the unwelcome tidings, but that the eloquence of the baron had interrupted him in every attempt to tell his tale. How the sight of the bride had completely captivated him and that to pass a few hours near her he had tacitly suffered the mistake to continue. How he had been sorely perplexed in what way to make a decent retreat, until the baron’s goblin stories had suggested his eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudal hostility of the family, he had repeated his visits by stealth - had haunted the garden beneath the young lady’s window - had wooed - had won-had borne away in triumph - and, in a word, had wedded the fair.
Under any other circumstances the baron would have been inflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal authority and devoutly obstinate in all family feuds; but he loved his daughter; he had lamented her as lost; he rejoiced to find her still alive; and, though her husband was of a hostile house, yet, thank Heaven! he was not a goblin. There was something, it must be acknowledged, that did not exactly accord with his notions of strict veracity in the joke the knight had passed upon him of his being a dead man; but several old friends present, who had served in the wars, assured him that every stratagem was excusable in love, and that the cavalier was entitled to especial privilege, having lately served as a trooper.
Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The baron pardoned the young couple on the spot. The revels at the castle were resumed. The poor relations overwhelmed this new member of the family with loving-kindness; he was so gallant, so generous - and so rich. The aunts, it is true, were somewhat scandalized that their system of strict seclusion and passive obedience should be so badly exemplified, but attributed it all to their negligence in not having the windows grated. One of them was particularly mortified at having her marvellous story marred, and that the only spectre she had ever seen should turn out a counterfeit; but the niece seemed perfectly happy at having found him substantial flesh and blood. And so the story ends.
Love is an Empty Space by Russell Turner
I hate this damn Moon base sometimes. I mean, it’s the ultimate in four walls closing in on you - you can’t just ‘go outside’ and get away from it all (well, not unless you’re on one of the Surface Team rosters, and that’s not very likely for a low-grade communications technician like me.) There are not even any windows - too much trouble to design into a pressurised dome. Not economically viable.
And, despite what people still think, it’s not even a very exciting place to be. After ten years of fully-manned operation, everything has shaken itself down into staid routine, especially my job. The position of ComTech is mainly a sequence of three or four different tasks done in varying amounts and orders, where only the details change (and definitely not by enough to make the task seem new!)
I say ‘mainly’ because there is occasionally something new, although usually only as a one-off event. Like, for instance, the time a couple of weeks ago when I got the check out the new communications satellite which has just been placed into orbit around the Earth. Oh, admittedly it’s a fairly standard procedure, testing a new ComSat, but it’s not something I’ve ever had the chance to do before - and even though any break from the norm would be welcome, I was particularly looking forward to it. And since communications time is always at a premium on Moon base, it was an important job too - which made me feel good.
The people in charge decided that a good test would be to have Moon base talk to the Russian Space station Leonov, situated in one of the Lagrange orbits, since this would involve particular difficulties in signal routing and amplification due to the somewhat unusual nature of the two participants! Hell - I certainly wasn’t complaining! This was gonna be fun! But it’s a good job that they had assigned someone who knew English to talk at the Russian end - my Russian stretches as far as being able to say ‘Here is a house,’ which isn’t likely to be much use when neither Moon base nor Space station Leonov contain any houses!
So I knew that the Russian would be able to speak English, and I knew that his call sign was Kris, but nothing else. Not that it really mattered, nor was it likely that the Russian knew any more about me than that my call sign is Jax. We would just do our jobs - although I would have fun doing mine.
Well, the installation of the new software that was required went well - I didn’t have to struggle with it and it looked like well-written and powerful code, with some useful options and so on. So I had a little time to look around and explore it before the appointed hour came for the first test.
That is one of the things I like to do; to suss out new software - how it works, how best to use it, what options it has, etc etc, and this stuff was good. But, even so, I didn’t mind when the time came to fire it up and see how it really performed in a fully working situation.
The first test was going to be straightforward - it was mainly to determine if the satellite would support a normal voice conversation. My first thing to do was to initiate the connection - to ‘make the call’ as it were. Simple enough. The procedure went smoothly and quickly, and we were soon ready to begin the test.
‘This is Jax of Moon base calling Kris of Space station Leonov. Jax of Moon base to Kris of the Leonov. Can you hear me? Over?’
A light, sweet female voice filled the Communications Room. ‘This is Kris of the Leonov. Hearing you loudly and clearly Jax.’
‘You’re coming across sweet and clear yourself, Kris. Perhaps it’s time for introductions - I’m Jackson Stevens, ComTech grade 2 with the NASA/ESA Joint Lunar Manned Base.’
‘Commander Krishka Leonov, Communications Officer and Assistant Medical Officer onboard the People’s Space Station Leonov. Very pleased to meet you, tovarish.’
‘Likewise, Commander. It’s a pleasure to hear your voice.’
‘Please, call me Kris. That is standard international practice, after all.’
‘Of course, Kris. Well, now, shall we start with some Sibilance tests? Or would you rather go with the Delay Lag Timing analysis?’
Well, we started to run through some of the standard tests, but my mind wasn’t really on the job. Even though I’d been looking forward to this ever since I found out that I was going to be assigned this job, my thoughts were elsewhere. I just couldn’t stop listening to that female voice! It’s true that I had been expecting a man, but it shouldn’t be this much of a shock!
I tried to shake off the distraction, but somehow I just couldn’t get my head straight no matter how hard I tried.
We ran through all the standard vocal tests, one at a time, but everything seemed smooth. I’m glad that it did, because I wouldn’t have been on top form to cope with any problems that might have occurred. Commander Ivanov and I
chatted a little bit in between tests - she certainly was easy to talk to, and her English was darn near perfect except for that delightful touch of Russian accent. But eventually we ran out of tests to do, and after arranging the time for tomorrow’s tests to begin, I broke the connection.
The rest of that day was quite busy for me - lots of routine tasks that had to be got out of the way to make room for tomorrow’s tests, followed in the evening by a long session of exercise in the Lunar Gymnasium, followed by a short chance to do some reading, and then to bed. So it seemed like no time before I was back in the Communications Room talking to Commander Ivanov again.
Well, the tests went fine, and the conversation went better, and the day passed quickly by. But, (too soon!) we completed the whole program of trials, complimented each other on the other’s work, and said goodbye. I finished up my report, went back to my room, ate, watched a videoCD from the library and (eventually) fell asleep.
The next few days passed in a bit of a muddle. Too often I found myself drifting off into thoughts of Krishka Ivanov, rather than keeping my mind on what I was doing. Or even just wandering off into formless speculations or feelings - daydreams of nothing - contemplations of mood. And finally I realised that I had to do something about it. So I went back into the logs of the communications tests and retrieved the ID code of Kris’s CommStation on the Leonov. That same night I returned to my office, plugged in my Comm-use Allowance Card, and punched in the code . . .
All Destiny MoON Fiction: A Mix of Old & New Short Stories Page 13