We had several drinks at our new companion’s expense as he continued to tell us of exotic lands in the far east and abroad where customs were much different and strange compared to the ways of the new world. His demeanor was very theatrical, you might say. His gestures were amplified by the fact that his lingual capability was extraordinary. Obviously an educated man, but when I inquired of him where he gained such knowledge, he simply replied that he was a world traveler and that he acquired such understanding through his dealings with man around the globe.
It did not take long before the effects of the laudanum made my head swirl in a hazy way that I had never experienced before. It was then I noticed that Frederick had succumbed to the night’s carousing and had slipped into slumber with his head resting upon the table top. Mr. L. looked him over for a moment and then exclaimed, “He will be fine. I assure you, my good man, there is no need to worry over him. Now shall we proceed to the matter at hand and discuss your wishes?”
I am not one to confide in strangers but in this instance I believe the night’s drinking was getting the better of me and caused me to drop my guard in the presence of this stranger that completely intrigued and enticed me to wonderment. I’m sure my words were slurring as I spoke, telling him that what I really wished was to be recognized as a great writer. How I was sick of seeing authors of trash being hailed as genius and wise. And just as my ranting was beginning to get loud, my dark mysterious comrade put a finger to his lips. My voice was immediately silenced but it was very strange indeed for I am not sure that I willed myself to stop talking.
“I have connections!” exclaimed Mr. Leviat. “It is I who can make thine wishes reality. But you must make your wish explicit so that I can be precise in rendering your desires.”
“What?” I began to laugh almost hysterically. “Are you some kind of djin escaped from his lamp and searching for a master?”
His response was fast and direct. “I am no djin, and this offer I do not bring to you in any manner of jest. I am extremely serious when I say that I can deliver what you wish for.”
I stopped laughing, for this man’s sincerity was genuine. “And what is in it for you, Mr. Leviat? Everything and every man has a price. What is yours?”
Mr. L. rose from the table, placing his hands upon its top, leaning in and looming over me, his black mane dangling between my face and his. “There is always a price, is there not? And I am no different than any other, for I too have a price.” He sat back down as he poured us another couple of drinks. “My price is rather simple, actually. I only ask two things of you. First, you must prove to me that you are indeed the literary master that you claim to be. So I propose to render a riddle to you. You do know what a riddle is?” The look of consternation upon my face was apparent at having been asked such a condescending question. He then continued, “As I said, I will compose a riddle for you to solve, and if you are successful I will grant you the one thing that you seem to desire most. But you must be precise in your wish as I aforementioned. So what would your wish be, my good sir?”
Now at this moment I was doing my best to stifle the laugh that was about to roar out of my throat. But I controlled the urge and instead I decided to humor this green-eyed stranger. I told him that my wish would be to become one of the most well-known and respected writers worldwide for centuries to come.
The dark man immediately motioned to Ryan. When the barkeep came to our table Mr. L. requested a pen and ink. Ryan quickly scampered off to the back room and came quickly with a bottle of ink and a dip pen along with some paper. “The parchment will not be necessary… I prefer my own.” Mr. L. then deposited another healthy sum of money into the barkeep’s hands and exclaimed, “Now leave us be, man. Can’t you see we have important business at hand?” The keep scurried away counting the money. In all honesty I have never seen Ryan so subdued by anyone. Usually his demeanor was that of an arrogant ass.
The stranger pulled a piece of parchment from inside his jacket and began to write. I noticed that the parchment had a very strange and porous look to it. Thicker than normal and a much darker color to it than that of which I was accustomed to. His left hand was so quick at writing that I could only see a blur. I was sure it was my level of intoxication that was affecting my vision. The room was starting to tilt slightly but I felt wonderful. The combination of the absinth and the laudanum was exquisite. Then I came slightly to my senses and realized that he had not told all yet. “My dear sir, you said there were two things you would ask of me. I only remember you mentioning one.”
He stopped writing and looked sternly into my eyes. “If you prove to be unworthy of the wish and do not solve the riddle by… let us say, the stroke of midnight tomorrow, then you will forfeit your eternal soul to me to do with as I wish.”
This time I could not stifle the laugh. It blurted out of me like a volcano erupting. I reeled back in my chair laughing exorbitantly. I stood up and started to announce to all in the pub what an absurd thing the man had just said, but to my surprise, there was no trace of anyone in the pub except for myself, the dark man, and Frederick still slumbering upon the table top. Not even Ryan was present. That was highly unusual, for he ruled his keep, like all other tavern owners, and rarely left his post. I looked at my timepiece and it was still early in the night, not quite yet midnight. I was befuddled and unsure what to think. I could not remember seeing anyone escape the confines of the pub. It had not been overcrowded, but I was sure that there had been a good number of patrons in the establishment just minutes before.
I fell back into my chair in bewilderment as the dark stranger spoke to me again. “I see that you doubt my earnestness. But what do you have to lose, my good sir? A little time pondering a poetic riddle. There is no one here to see you enter the deal and your friend is quite asleep and unknowing himself. So there is no chance of anyone belittling you for humoring me and my little game. You see, I too consider myself a poet of sorts. And I wish to challenge you to this battle of wits. You say you are a master of the pen. Well then… prove it. You don’t seem to be a religious man so maybe you don’t even believe that you possess a soul. And if that is true then I would have nothing to gain even if you don’t solve the riddle. You portray yourself to others as a literary genius. I say you are not the master. It is I that am the master, and if you don’t enter into this agreement with me then I will reward myself highly with feelings of conquering you without ever having to write the riddle at all.”
Now this was a statement that needed rebuttal. And there was only one way to prove to this knave that I was the writer and literary giant that Frederick had claimed me to be… and that was to accept his offer, no matter how absurd it was, and dissect the riddle which he would create. There was a slight sense of caution within me, but very slight. He did appear to be a highly educated person but I still had the utmost confidence in my own capability in such a challenge. And even though I did not really believe he could make my wish come true, I did take careful notice of the amount of money he was throwing around that night, and the thought occurred to me that if I proved myself a worthy adversary to this man that there was a chance of securing some form of financing from him.
So I leaned forward onto the table and said to him, “Very well then, I will accept your challenge, but if I solve your riddle then you will have to help me attain my wish.”
“If you solve my riddle then your wish will become reality,” he retorted back to me. “I have drawn up the agreement here and all that is left to seal the pact is for you to make your mark upon this parchment.”
I reached for the pen and in a blurred moment the table shook and my dear Frederick’s arm convulsed and sent the ink jar and pen plummeting to the floor. “Oh, what a shame… there is no ink to sign your pact with now,” I said with a facetious sound to my voice.
Within an instant the dark man grasped my right arm and plunged it to the table top with a thud. I started and attempted to rise, but could not. “The ink we need is within you!” h
e said in an even lower tone than that of before. My eyes were fatigued but I could have sworn that I saw his index fingernail instantaneously grow at least an inch. Then he used it to cut into the palm of my hand he held captive. I flinched instinctively but I could not break his clutching grip. Blood instantly poured from the wound as he turned my hand over and slammed it down upon the parchment on the table top. “It is done then!” I heard him exclaim.
I rose quickly and my first impulse was to lay waste to my assailant but the night’s activity finally caught up to my body and my head began to reel. I could not keep my balance, and as I fell back into my chair blackness closed in upon me.
I must have only been out for a very short while, because when I woke, I immediately looked at my timepiece to see that it was only a few minutes past midnight. Frederick was rising out of his slumber as well, but looking very pale and definitely not able to make it to his home of his own volition. I gathered him up and as we left the drinking establishment I noticed that still there was no one to be seen within Ryan’s. And no sign of our strange riddle master either. I hailed us a carriage and made sure that Frederick arrived at his home safely. I then returned to my living quarters as well. I was not affluent enough to afford my own residence, but due to family ties, I was staying with relatives and was allowed a small study in their home to pursue my life’s dream of being a writer.
When I arrived back at my dwelling I was still very inebriated and almost to the point of passing out again. I stumbled my way into the study, shut the door, fell upon the sofa, and began to drift off into slumber. My thoughts were scrambled. Mysterious visions, reenactments of the night’s pandemonium, were coursing through my head. I kept asking myself if it had even happened the way I was remembering it. It all seemed to be such a hazy or foggy event in my mind that I was not even sure if it was real. Perhaps I was just now becoming enabled again from a drunken night and I had hallucinated the whole thing. But then I looked to my hand and indeed it was cut and there was still dried blood within my palm. I began brooding over the events and chose to believe that I must have cut myself on a broken glass at the pub or some similar event. And then I thought to myself that our strange Mr. Leviat, if he really existed, did not even inquire as to my address. So it seemed that there would be no riddle to solve after all.
Then at that very moment I heard what seemed to be a shuffling sound immediately outside my study door. I was sure I felt a wisp of wind, but as I rose and lit a lamp I saw that all the windows were shut and secured. Approaching the door, I noticed that a piece of parchment had been slid under it. It was old and thick and looked very similar to the type of parchment that Mr. L. produced out of his jacket at the pub. I unlatched the door and flung it open, looking wildly both ways down the hall outside my study. The lamplight flickered and shadows danced across the hallway walls but other than that there was nothing. Nothing but the parchment left on the floor. I picked up the paper and unfolded it. And to my astonishment it was a riddle in the same style of handwriting that was upon the contract that Leviat had rendered my blood upon. How in the world had this man found me? I sat at my desk and pondered the situation. It took me a few moments but then I decided that he must have somehow followed me from the pub. I told myself that I must have been too drunk to notice. And so therefore I must not have locked the front door when I arrived home. I sat at my desk for a while convincing myself that this must be what had happened. But how could I be sure?
I sprang from the chair at my desk and ran out of the study and to the front door. It was at this point that the sheer horror of the whole thing started to ebb into my mind. The door was locked from the inside and there was no way to lock the deadbolt from without. I immediately ran through the house to the back door and it also was latched with the deadbolt. I stumbled back to my study and shut the door. What the Hell was happening here? How was all this possible? I sat back at the desk and began to read the riddle on the parchment. It read thus:
What lies in the dungeons of holy men’s fears?
For what would kings cower and men drown in tears?
What brings death and pleasure, growth and decay?
What makes life worth living, who’s the master today?
My nerves were rattled and I reached for the bottle in my desk drawer. I drank and studied the parchment. It seemed to have an almost leathery feel to it but more pliable. It appeared somewhat stained with age but yet still supple as if newly prepared. And what of the riddle inked upon this odd paper? A riddle that asks “what” all through the piece just to change direction at the end and ask “who.”
I poured myself another drink and then one more as I stared incessantly at the poem reading it over and over. I do not know how long I peered at the parchment before a cloud of blackness consumed my head and sleep overtook me.
I awoke in an extremely groggy state of mind the next day. I managed to clear my head somewhat after attending to some personal rituals, and as I was returning to my study, I remember thinking to myself that I must have just been really drunk to the point of hallucination, or that maybe I just dreamed the whole thing. But upon returning to my sanctum, there it was. The parchment with the riddle etched upon it lay on my desk top. I had not hallucinated or dreamed the events of the night previous.
I felt a rush of blood to my head and a very light sensation fell upon me. I weaved my way to the sofa and threw myself onto it. I was completely bewildered and somewhat in denial, but at the same time I felt an urgency of fear at the possibility that this dark man would come for the answer to this riddle at midnight. And even more so that if I could not decipher the correct answer that I would lose something that I had not clearly decided that I had in the first place: my supposed eternal soul.
After some time my head cleared even more and I became somewhat alive again with the help of a little hair of the dog. At one point I had grabbed my jacket and started out the door to visit Frederick about the whole thing. I stopped myself though, realizing that Mr. Thomas had been unconscious throughout the whole of the deal with our eerie traveler of the world. I went back into the study, sat at my desk and produced the bottle out of the drawer again. I looked at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner as it chimed the sixth hour of the evening. I had slept much of the day away in recovery from the night’s drinking and it would appear that the laudanum had a bit of a hangover effect as well.
I think it was then with each chime of the clock that I realized that I had been challenged and that if this man thought he could get the best of me, then he chose the wrong person to battle wits with. I grabbed the parchment, chose my course, and set myself to solving the riddle. Still frustrated with the two directions of questions in the poem, I decided to concentrate on the first three lines because of the question “what” being the most recurring between the two. I pondered the verses as the clock’s chime reminded me of each passing hour. And with the passing of each hour I felt an ever-growing fear of something closing in on me… like the shadows of my own mind were suffocating me. Another chime… nine o’clock… and another… ten o’clock… and still I had no solution to the puzzle of words.
Then the eleventh chime came. Only one hour left. I became intolerantly restless and could not seem to focus on the task at hand. I was perspiring profusely and as I looked to my hands they were shaking uncontrollably. I threw down another drink and poured myself back into the words of the riddle searching for the answers. I could not help but continually look to the clock in the corner, seeing the minutes elapsing as the pendulum of the clock swung back and forth, back and forth. It was almost as though each motion of the pendulum was bringing my demise closer and closer.
There would be moments that I thought I would have the answer to the first part of the riddle but then I could not combine the answer with the question of “who” that appeared in the last phrase. I looked to the clock again and it was forty minutes past the hour of eleven. I then figured that if I could not solve the riddle I would be damned if I was
going out without a fight. So I prepared my pistol with powder, cap, and ball and placed it upon the desk. I also took my cutlass, from my army days, out of its scabbard and leaned it against the side of the desk.
As I was about to sit back down at the desk I felt a chill crawling its way from the nape of my neck down my spine. I felt a bit of a breeze from behind me and I whirled about. To my astonishment, my eyes fell upon the black haired Mr. Leviat, standing before me just inside the study door.
I trembled in fear at the sight of the man. I know I had locked the door to my study and yet it remained shut even at that moment. How could he have entered the chamber without me knowing? I could not move or even utter a word. I was frozen in utter disbelief of my own eyes. He took a step closer to me and said with that low hypnotic voice, “So I think you have not solved my riddle, yes?”
I looked upon the clock and the hands exposed the time to be thirteen minutes till midnight. I finally found my voice and blurted out, “It is not midnight yet, you fiend, and my soul is not for you! How dare you invade my premises!” I grabbed the pistol from atop the desk and cocked it, pointing it directly at the chest of Mr. L. “I am not afraid to use this, sir!” I said, almost screaming.
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