Usher's Passing

by Robert R. McCammon

  “You’re…the man I saw in my dream!” New realized. “The coachman!”

  “If you’d come to the Lodge then—and alone—you could’ve kept Miss Dunstan out of this. It’s between you and the landlord, not—” He frowned as his light picked out the gnarled stick that New held at his side. “That’s his, isn’t it? Did he give it to you?”

  New nodded.

  A savage grin suddenly rippled across Edwin’s face. His eyes danced with joy, and Raven shuddered inwardly. She’d never seen such rampant, hungry evil on a man’s face. “Good,” he said excitedly. “That’s good. Then…the old man’s dead, isn’t he? He must be dead, to have given up his wand.”

  “He’s dead,” New replied.

  “And he gave the wand to you. Oh, that’s grand!”

  He’s afraid of it, New thought. He’s pretending not to be, but the stick scares him. Why? he wondered. Because it could do to him what it had done to Greediguts?

  There was a deep boom of thunder that seemed to penetrate the walls like a mocking laugh. Edwin shone his light upward at the gears of the pendulum. “Ah, that one shook the house,” he said, with clinical interest. “Miss Dunstan, you wanted to know what the machine does. You’re about to learn. I’d step away from it, if I were you.”

  Above her head, the gears began to click and groan.

  Raven stepped back, her heart pounding with dread, as the pendulum slowly began to move.

  It swung back and forth, its arc widening as the clicking of the gears increased. Raven heard the air whistling around its bob as it passed directly over the circle of tuning forks.

  “Listen to it sing!” Edwin said.

  From the tuning forks came a cacophony of low, bone-jarring notes that merged to become the deep tone they’d heard in the tunnel and on the stairway. As the noise steadily strengthened, it became a physical force that shoved Raven backward, twisted her bones, and drove her to her knees. Behind her, she heard New cry out in pain as the tone invaded him as well. The entire floor was vibrating, and the stones in the walls grated together. Dust swirled through the air, the grit flying into Raven’s eyes and momentarily blinding her. She fought for breath in what had suddenly become a chamber of horror.

  The pendulum’s arc began to slow. The moan of the tuning forks quieted. The floor and walls stopped vibrating, and as the pendulum came to a halt, the dust began to settle again.

  “Thunder sometimes sets it off,” Edwin said cheerfully, aiming his light through the gray dust at the machine. Raven was on her knees, gasping for breath, and New slowly shook his head from side to side to clear away the black motes that danced in front of his vision. Edwin seemed to have enjoyed the demonstration, but dust clung to his cap and raincoat and he busied himself in brushing it off. “Or rather,” he amended himself, “the vibration of thunder through the walls. The pendulum’s balanced so perfectly that the slightest vibration of the Lodge can set it in motion. I know its moods and caprices,” he said proudly. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Whatever its purpose was, Raven had never felt such excruciating pain before, not even in the accident that had crushed her knee. She looked up toward Edwin, saw the dark holes of his eyes above the light. His grin was cold and malignant. Whatever evil force lurked here in the Lodge, Edwin Bodane was a part of it. “I thought you were helping my father!” she said. “I thought you wanted to help him write his book!”

  “I offered my services, yes. But only to get close enough to him to control the project. There’s no manuscript, Miss Dunstan. Oh, there was at first. Your father had already written some of it by the time I got to him. He believes he goes down into that study of his and writes a little more every day; he believes he can see it being written on the screen, and he also believes that the most important thing is to keep anyone else from seeing it. But there’s no book, because I and the landlord don’t want there to be one.”

  “The landlord? You mean… Walen Usher?”

  “Walen Usher.” He repeated the name with utter contempt. “No. I mean the true landlord. The one who summoned Hudson Usher to this place, a long time ago. Walen Usher was only a caretaker, and a poor one at that. He lacked imagination. You can see for yourselves how he let the Lodge deteriorate. But that’s in the past now.” Edwin reached out beside him in the chamber’s entrance and drew Rix Usher closer. “Walen Usher has passed away. Long live his heir.”

  “Rix!” She saw that his eyes were dead, his mouth slack, the flesh of his face ashen. Clutched in his right hand was the ebony cane. He didn’t respond to Raven’s voice, and Edwin guided him into the chamber like a sleepwalker. Behind them, the black panther stood guard in the entrance.

  “What have you done to him?” Raven asked, rising painfully to her feet.

  “I’ve removed him. But he’s fine. Or, rather, he will be fine. Oh, he can hear what we’re saying and he knows where we are, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but that I’m here, and he knows I’ll protect him. Isn’t that right, Rix?”

  Rix’s mouth stretched open; a soft, terrible hissing came from his throat.

  “Speak,” Edwin commanded.

  Rix replied, in a voice that sounded like a little boy’s, “Yes sir.”

  New recognized the blank stare on the man’s face; he’d seen it worn by his mother, when he’d made her help him lift the Mountain King into the pickup truck, when he’d forced her on a whim to fold her hands in her lap, when he’d sealed her mouth shut in the Foxton clinic. The tall, gaunt man who’d appeared as a coachman in his dream was the same as him, the same as the Mountain King. All three of them were linked by magic. “You’re…like me, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes. The Bodane family has served the landlord for generations. Long before the Ushers settled here, we were part of a colony that lived on Briartop Mountain.”

  “And when it was destroyed,” New said, “the Bodanes got away.”

  “Ah.” Edwin nodded, impressed. “You know as much about my family as I know about yours. But yours was part of mine once, when we shared the same coven. The landlord’s been watching you, just as he watched your father and your grandfather. The landlord created the beast in his image, to be his eyes and ears.”

  New glanced at the panther. Greediguts was watching him balefully, standing completely motionless in the chamber’s opening.

  “The Mountain King resisted us to the end, didn’t he?” Edwin’s eyes flickered to the stick that New held. “Your father didn’t have the strength of will to be useful to the landlord. But you. Master Newlan—you’ve answered us and come home, haven’t you?”

  “Come home?”

  “The landlord only wants to love you,” Edwin said gently, but his stare was dark and dangerous. “He wants to forgive you for turning away. He would’ve forgiven your father. He even would’ve forgiven the old man, if he’d come to the Lodge seeking forgiveness. All you have to do is use your magic for him—and he’ll give you everything.”

  —give you everything—

  New could feel his mind being picked at like a rusty lock. He couldn’t force himself to look away from the man’s electric stare. Everything, he thought, and saw the great panorama of Usherland spread out like a feast before him—the rolling hills, the verdant forests, the beautiful world of horses and fine cars and wealth beyond New’s imagining. He would never have to go back to the cabin on Briartop, where wind whistled through holes in the window frames and rain leaked from the roof. He could have everything Usherland offered, if he only used his magic.

  “Consider it,” Edwin whispered, and turned his attention to Raven.

  In his eyes glittered the cold, dark power of a warlock, a force that almost pressed her to her knees. She knew he would never allow her to leave the Lodge alive.

  “Pendulum,” Edwin said with a faint smile. He kept his light aimed directly at her, pinning her like a moth. “Ludlow Usher built it when he was a young man. His experience in the Chicago Fire left him with a deep respect for the power of sound;
the explosions, the shrieking of fireballs, the shaking of the earth as a building fell—all of that was burned into his mind. Ludlow tested Pendulum only once—in November of 1893.”

  “The earthquake on Briartop Mountain,” Raven said. “This thing—”

  “Created vibrations that simulated an earthquake, yes,” Edwin continued, like a proud father. “During the test, electrical amplifiers were placed on the Lodge’s roof. They directed the vibrations toward the mountain. After it was over, Ludlow was terrified by the results. He wanted to dismantle it, but my grandfather persuaded him otherwise. Its potential as a military device, Miss Dunstan, surpasses that of the atomic bomb.”

  “A…military device?” Raven asked, stunned. “Ludlow built it for Usher Armaments?”

  “The landlord recognized its usefulness. The landlord has a hand in most of the weapons the business produces. The plans are communicated to me, and I pass them along to the Ushers.” Edwin shone his light on the circle of tuning forks. “Pendulum is a sonic weapon, Miss Dunstan. It’s a complicated physics theory, but actually the principle is simple: the pendulum’s motion creates a disturbance in the air that affects the tuning forks; in turn, they combine to form a tone that—depending on the length and intensity of the vibrations—can cause intense physical pain, smash glass, crack stone, and simulate earthquakes. What you experienced a few minutes ago was the least of Pendulum’s power; if Ludlow Usher hadn’t stopped the mechanism when he did during that first test in 1893, Briartop Mountain would have been leveled.” He aimed the light toward the far corner, where a heavy chain dangled down from the gears and pulleys. “That controls the counterweights. As I say, sometimes thunder sets it in motion. Ludlow Usher lived in terror of thunderstorms his last years, because he knew Pendulum’s potential. You can see how it’s affected the walls and floor over the years. Sometimes, Pendulum’s tone smashes the glass from the Gatehouse windows, and makes the entire house shake. Unfortunately, that can’t be helped.”

  “What’s it going to do? Create earthquakes for the highest bidder?” Her voice trembled, but Raven stared defiantly back at Edwin Bodane.

  “This is a prototype,” he said. “Just one of Ludlow’s many experiments with sound. He tried to get his sister to help him develop the combination of notes that would produce a sonic weapon, but she wouldn’t leave her nunnery, so he did it himself. This is a curiosity, an antique. Right now, Usher Armaments is working on miniaturizing Pendulum. Imagine it the size of a cigar box, or a transistor radio. It could be hidden near enemy nuclear plants and triggered by remote control. It could easily be smuggled across borders and hidden in unfriendly cities. The longer the tone continues, the stronger it becomes—and the stronger its vibrations.” He smiled like a death’s-head. “Entire cities could be reduced to rubble, without the radiation of atomic weapons. Trigger Pendulum near a fault line—and who knows what would happen? Ludlow theorized that if Pendulum’s vibrations were allowed to double and redouble, the entire earth itself could be split open.”

  If Pendulum could do what the man claimed—and there was no reason to doubt it—then Usher Armaments would have created the most fearsome weapon in history. “If it’s just a curiosity,” she said, “why don’t you disconnect it?”

  “Oh, I can’t do that, Miss Dunstan,” he replied politely. “If the outsiders ever brought their bloodhounds up to Briartop Mountain again, they might find the garage and tunnel I use. They might need another earthquake to teach them a lesson in respect all over again, wouldn’t they?”

  “You…use?” Raven whispered.

  “We have another destination,” Edwin told her. “It’s just a bit farther along the corridor. Both of you will join us, won’t you?” He motioned with his light.

  New had heard Edwin speaking only distantly, and could not understand most of what was said. His dreams were still fixed on Usherland, and in his mind he walked through the magnificent rooms of the Lodge, and everything he saw was his. Everything. He could live in the Lodge, if he liked. All he would have to do is use the magic.

  He was needed here at Usherland. They wanted him to be the man of the house.

  “Master Newlan?” Edwin said quietly. “You can leave the old man’s wand here, if you like. You won’t need it anymore.”

  New’s fingers began to loosen. The stick started to slip to the floor.

  —give you everything—

  Edwin’s voice was soft and soothing. “Leave it here, won’t you?”

  No! New thought. Don’t give it up! He remembered what his mother and the Mountain King had said about the Lodge. It was insidious, tricky. It would destroy him. But suddenly it seemed to him that they were wrong, that both of them were afraid and wanted to keep him up on Briartop Mountain. His senses reeled—what was wrong, and what was right? He was needed here, and he could have everything. Edwin Bodane’s soft voice and smile promised him everything. All he had to do was use his magic. Don’t let go of the wand! an inner voice shouted. But Edwin Bodane’s eyes were fixed firmly on him, and New felt the iron authority of his power—a cold power, as cold as midnight frost, as cold as the wind on Briartop. It swept his will away, and his hand opened.

  The wand fell to the chamber floor.

  The snare, New thought weakly. I’ve still got the snare, and I have to keep it.

  Edwin stared at him, his head cocked to one side, a slight frown disturbing his features. He shone his light down at the wand, then into New’s face again.

  New realized he could not—must not—think about the snare. If the man in the cap knew…

  He let himself be taken by the images of Usherland and the Lodge that played through his mind. Everything. Usherland would be his home…

  “We’ll go now,” Edwin said, watching New’s face through careful eyes.

  In the corridor, Raven whirled to run. The black panther blocked her escape.

  “No,” Edwin whispered. The desire to flee drained out of her like water from a punctured bucket. “Come on, now, don’t be naughty.” She dropped her lantern to the floor. Edwin touched her hand with freezing fingers; she flinched, but let him guide her effortlessly along the corridor.

  Edwin stopped before the closed slab of a door and aimed his light into Rix’s face. Rix’s pupils contracted, but his face remained gray and slack. “We’re going through that door now. You’ve been through it once before, when you were lost and wandered down here. The landlord was testing you then, Rix. Trying to find out how strong you were, how much you could take without breaking. Boone and Katt broke, in their own ways. They were unfit, and had to be disposed of. But you survived.” Edwin rubbed Rix’s shoulder. “We’re going in now. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes sir,” Rix said. He was a little boy, and he was having a bad dream of panthers and pendulums and loud noises that hurt his bones. But Edwin was here. Edwin would love him and take care of him.

  Edwin put his hand on the knole—an ordinary one of brass, worn and discolored by many hands—and opened the door.

  44

  SOBBING AND TERRIFIED, THE little boy had seen a crack of light at the end of a long, black tunnel. He ran toward it, his knees bruised from falling down a stone staircase. There was a gash across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were swollen almost shut from crying. He reached the light, which edged beneath a door with a rough, splintery surface. His hand searched for the knob, found and twisted it.

  He burst into a cold room with walls and floor of uneven gray stones. Two torches guttered on opposite walls, casting a dim orange light with long, overlapping shadows. Somebody was here! he thought. Somebody would find him at last! He tried to cry out, but his voice was a hoarse rasp. He had screamed his throat raw during the eternity that the Lodge had sealed its corridors and redirected its staircases behind his back.

  But there was no one in the chamber. Someone had been here, though. They’d lighted the torches and then gone to look for him. He could wait right here, and somebody would be back to find him.

 
; He was exhausted from running into walls, struggling with doors that refused to open, feeling his way along corridors that had taken him deeper into a world of cold and silence. He could see the gray mist of his breath before him in the chamber, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself for extra warmth.

  And in the torchlight, knives of different shapes glittered on wall hooks over a long, dark-stained table.

  On one side of the room was what looked like a metal bathtub on wheels. Above it, dangling on a chain that hung from a rafter, was something shrouded with a long black cloth. Big hooks with sharpened points hung at the ends of similar chains. In a corner of the room was a large, rectangular metal box with a hand-crank on it.

  The little boy walked toward the collection of knives. There were ten, ranging in size from one as thin as an icepick to one with a curved, sawtoothed blade. Next to the table was a grinding wheel to sharpen them with. The knives looked very sharp and well cared for. The little boy thought that the display belonged in a butcher shop. The tabletop was smeared with thick, encrusted scarlet clots. On it was a roll of brown wrapping paper and a ball of twine.

  He approached the metal bathtub. The liquid in it was dark red. It was the color of one of his mother’s favorite gowns. The liquid smelled like the old Indian-head pennies in his treasure box.

  But in the liquid floated hanks of hair. Somebody got a haircut, he thought. Somebody got scalped.

  He looked up at the black-shrouded object that hung directly over the tub. The shroud’s edge was only inches above his head. He raised his arm, touching the cloth. It felt damp and slightly greasy. He pulled at it gently, but it wouldn’t give. The motion of his arm made the object creak back and forth on its chain. Something dripped down info the metal tub.

  Shouldn’t touch, he thought. Shouldn’t!

  But he put both hands on the shroud’s edge and yanked sharply downward.