castle.
_5. The End of the Island_
Out on the plain he sprinted through the ghostly forest. He knew hehad no time to spare--knew that soon the march of torture wouldbegin--knew that if Vilma were within the castle, she must answer thesummons of Corio's horn. Even now light glowed faintly in the high,square windows.
That horn! At the foot of the steps he stopped short. If _he_ heardthe horn, he too must answer! He dared not risk it. With impatientfingers he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, rolled it into acylinder, and thrust it into his ear. Another for the other ear--andhe darted up into the castle.
A sweeping glance revealed no one, only the murky glow of the altarfire, and the wraiths of smoke pluming upward toward the shadowedroof. Wishing now that he had brought a weapon from the galley, Cliffcrossed to the opening in the wall. He stood at the top of the steps,listening, then cursed silently as he remembered that he could hearnone but very loud sounds. He saw nothing; so he hastened down intothe corridor. His steps were swiftly stealthy as he moved towardCorio's room.
He was past the first branching passage, when a sixth sense warned himof someone's approach. He ran swiftly to the next fork, then pausedwithin its shelter and glanced back, saw five red-cowled figures glidealong the tunnel and vanish up the stairway. Cliff frowned. With thevampires in the great hall, Corio must soon follow, leading hisvictims to the blood-feast. He drew back deeper into the shadows.
His groping hands touched something in the dark--round and hard--likea keg. Curiously he investigated. It _was_ a keg, and there wereothers. A sandy powder trailed to the floor from a crack in one ofthem. Thoughtfully Cliff let it run through his fingers. Gunpowder! Ofcourse--he had heard Corio mention pirates and their treasure, andthis had been their cache of explosive. An idea was forming....
He looked up to see a shadow pass the mouth of the tunnel; he creptforward and peered out. He saw the black-hooded figure of Leon Coriostriding along, saw him enter the room where the passengers of the_Ariel_ lay. In a breath Cliff was down the corridor to Corio's room.A tarnished silver candelabrum shed faint light through the chamber,and by its flickering glow he searched for Vilma, thoroughly,painstakingly--futilely.
He stood in the center of the room in indecision, his forehead creasedwith anxiety. If only he could find her, he'd know how to plan! He ranhis hand through his hair helplessly, then heard very faintly theluring note of Corio's horn. She must answer that summons, unlessCorio had her tied somewhere. His best chance of finding her lay inthe hall above.
On the wall still hung the mate of the cutlas he had used to freeVilma; he wrenched it down and ran out into the corridor. The last ofthe naked marchers was disappearing up the stairway. Now thehorn-note died, and he could feel more than hear the rumbling bass ofthe dirge from the depths below him.
He ran the rest of the distance along the passageway and mounted thesteps two at a stride. He looked into the torture hall. As on theprevious night, Corio stood far back, close to the wall in which Cliffcrouched. The arms of the Master were raised high; raised, Cliff knewthough he could not hear it, in a blasphemous incantation. And then hesaw something that sent a crimson lance of fury crashing through hisbrain.
Vilma, stripped like the rest, stood with the other victims at thefoot of the long steps! Her body gleamed pinkly, in contrast to thepallid drabness of the half-dead automatons, and she held her headproudly erect. But from where he stood Cliff could see the side of herface, and it bore a look of terror.
He could see Corio's face, too, and he was looking at the girl,baffled fury glaring from his eyes--as though she were there againsthis will.
Cliff's first impulse was to fling himself out there with his cutlasand hack a way to freedom for Vilma and himself, but cold reasonchecked this folly. Such a course could end only in death. Motionlesshe watched the scene before him, his brain frantically seeking a planwith even a ghost of a chance of succeeding.
The gunpowder! There was enough of the stuff below to blast thisentire castle into the hell where it belonged! Hastily he retraced hissteps to the tunnel in which he had found the kegs, plucking the torchfrom its niche in the wall as he passed it. He held it high above hishead as he examined the contents of the broken keg. Unmistakablygunpowder!
Thrusting the cutlas beneath his belt, he clutched a handful of theblack dust. Then, crouching close to the floor, he drew an irregularthread through the passageway toward the stairs. Once he returned formore powder, but in a few minutes the job was done. At the foot of thesteps where the trail ended, he touched his torch to the black lineand watched a hissing spark snake its white-smoked way back toward thepowder kegs. An instant he watched it, then sprang up the stairs. He'dhave to move fast!
With a hideous howl he darted into the hall, his cutlas above hishead. Corio spun about--and it was his last living act. A single sweepof the great blade sheared his head from his neck, sent it rollinggrotesquely along the floor. For three heart-beats the body stood witha fountain of blood spurting from severed arteries; then it crashed.
Coolly Cliff leaned over the twitching cadaver, ignoring the bedlam onthe stairs, the horde sweeping down toward him, hurling aside thewaiting humans. He pried open clutching fingers, seized a twistedsilver instrument, and raised it to his lips.
* * * * *
The mass of undead were almost upon him, the murky light glinting onmenacing blades, when Cliff blew the first note. The note of sleep! Hetried again, hastily. And it was the right one!
At the doleful, soothing sound the undead halted in their tracks;halted--and melted into nothingness before his eyes!
But now those other five in their robes of bloody red--they werecharging, and even though they were unarmed, Cliff felt a stab offear. They possessed powers beyond the human, powers a mortal couldnot combat. He braced himself and waited.
At the bottom of the steps they stopped, ranging in a widehalf-circle. The central monster--the Master--flung up his arms in astrangely terrifying gesture, and Cliff saw his carmine lips move ina chant which he could not hear. Something, a chilling Presence,hovered about him, seemed to settle upon him, cloaking him with themight of the devil himself. That unheard incantation continued, andCliff felt a cold rigidity creeping through every fiber, slowlyfreezing his limbs into columns of ice.
With a mighty effort of will he flung himself toward that accurseddrinker of blood--and at that instant a terrific detonation rocked theancient building, and a cloud of smoke and flame burst from theopening in the wall. Cliff was hurled from his feet, rolled over andover, and crashed against the wall by the awful concussion, the cutlasand silver horn sent whirling through the air.
Dizzily he staggered to his feet, crouching defensively. Sounds cameto him clearly now; the explosion must have jarred the plugs from hisears. He scanned the room; saw the unclad humans scattered everywhere,most of them lying still and unconscious. He saw Vilma rising slowly;then he looked for the monsters in red. Startled, he saw them rushingtoward the opening in the wall, to vanish in its smoke-filledinterior. Why did they----? Then he knew. Down there somewhere weretheir graves--graves rent and broken by the explosion--gravesthreatened by the flames--and panic had seized the vampires, fear ofthe death which would result with exile from their tombs!
Unsteadily Cliff crossed to Vilma. She saw him coming and flungherself sobbing into his arms. He crushed her lithe form close--andanother explosion, more violent than the first, sent a section of thestone floor leaping upward as though with life of its own. Clinging toVilma, Cliff managed to maintain his footing, though the floor buckedand heaved. A snapping, booming roar--and a great chasm opened in thefloor. A breathless instant--and a segment of the stone stairs,rumbling thunderously, dropped out of sight into a newly formed pit!With it went the blasphemous altar and its phosphorescent fire.
Deafened, stunned, momentarily powerless to move, Cliff's mind gropedfor an explanation. It seemed incredible that gunpowder could causesuch havoc. And the swaying of the floor continued; the thi
ck stonewalls shook alarmingly. Suddenly he understood. An earthquake! Theexplosions had jarred the none-too-stable understrata of rock intospasmodic motion that must grind everything to bits! The island wasdoomed! And Earth would be better without it.
If only they could reach the _Ariel_ first!
New strength flowed through him, and hugging Vilma close, he staggeredtoward the spot where he knew the door must be. Somehow he reached it,and reeled down the broken stone steps.
The plain of dead trees swayed like the deck of a ship in a storm asCliff started across it. A gale had arisen and swept in from the sea,ripping dry branches from the skeleton growths and whirling them aboutlike straws. Yet somehow Cliff reached the crevice in the rock wallwith his burden, reached the deck of the galley, crossed it, and wonto the safety of the _Ariel_. Minutes later, with Diesel enginespurring, they crept out through the narrow channel into the open sea.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later the Isle of the Undead lay
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