Chapter 1. THE SEANCE
Chapter 2. IN THE STREET
Chapter 3. STARKNESS
Chapter 4. THE VOICE
Chapter 5. THE NIGHT OF DEPARTURE
Chapter 6. JOIWIND
Chapter 7. PANAWE
Chapter 8. THE LUSION PLAIN
Chapter 9. OCEAXE
Chapter 10. TYDOMIN
Chapter 11. ON DISSCOURN
Chapter 12. SPADEVIL
Chapter 13. THE WOMBFLASH FOREST
Chapter 14. POLECRAB
Chapter 15. SWALONE’S ISLAND
Chapter 16. LEEHALLFAE
Chapter 17. CORPANG
Chapter 18. HAUNTE
Chapter 19. SULLENBODE
Chapter 20. BAREY
Chapter 21. MUSPEL
Chapter 1. THE SEANCE
On
a march evening, at eight o’clock, Backhouse, the medium—a
fast-rising star in the psychic world—was ushered into the study at
Prolands, the Hampstead residence of Montague Faull. The room was
illuminated only by the light of a blazing fire. The host, eying
him
with indolent curiosity, got up, and the usual conventional
greetings
were exchanged. Having indicated an easy chair before the fire to
his
guest, the South American merchant sank back again into his own.
The
electric light was switched on. Faull’s prominent, clear-cut
features, metallic-looking skin, and general air of bored
impassiveness, did not seem greatly to impress the medium, who was
accustomed to regard men from a special angle. Backhouse, on the
contrary, was a novelty to the merchant. As he tranquilly studied
him
through half closed lids and the smoke of a cigar, he wondered how
this little, thickset person with the pointed beard contrived to
remain so fresh and sane in appearance, in view of the morbid
nature
of his occupation.
“
Do
you smoke?” drawled Faull, by way of starting the Conversation.
“No? Then will you take a drink?”
“
Not
at present, I thank you.”A
pause.
“
Everything
is satisfactory? The materialisation will take place?”
“
I
see no reason to doubt it.”
“
That’s
good, for I would not like my guests to be disappointed. I have
your
check written out in my pocket.”
“
Afterward
will do quite well.”
“
Nine
o’clock was the time specified, I believe?”
“
I
fancy so.”The
conversation continued to flag. Faull sprawled in his chair, and
remained apathetic.
“
Would
you care to hear what arrangements I have made?”
“
I
am unaware that any are necessary, beyond chairs for your
guests.”
“
I
mean the decoration of the seance room, the music, and so
forth.”Backhouse
stared at his host. “But this is not a theatrical
performance.”
“
That’s
correct. Perhaps I ought to explain.... There will be ladies
present,
and ladies, you know, are aesthetically inclined.”
“
In
that case I have no objection. I only hope they will enjoy the
performance to the end.”He
spoke rather dryly.
“
Well,
that’s all right, then,” said Faull. Flicking his cigar into the
fire, he got up and helped himself to whisky.
“
Will
you come and see the room?”
“
Thank
you, no. I prefer to have nothing to do with it till the time
arrives.”
“
Then
let’s go to see my sister, Mrs. Jameson, who is in the drawing
room. She sometimes does me the kindness to act as my hostess, as I
am unmarried.”
“
I
will be delighted,” said Backhouse coldly.They
found the lady alone, sitting by the open pianoforte in a pensive
attitude. She had been playing Scriabin and was overcome. The
medium
took in her small, tight, patrician features and porcelain-like
hands, and wondered how Faull came by such a sister. She received
him
bravely, with just a shade of quiet emotion. He was used to such
receptions at the hands of the sex, and knew well how to respond to
them.
“
What
amazes me,” she half whispered, after ten minutes of graceful,
hollow conversation, “is, if you must know it, not so much the
manifestation itself—though that will surely be wonderful—as your
assurance that it will take place. Tell me the grounds of your
confidence.”
“
I
dream with open eyes,” he answered, looking around at the door,
“and others see my dreams. That is all.”
“
But
that’s beautiful,” responded Mrs. Jameson. She smiled rather
absently, for the first guest had just entered.It
was Kent-Smith, the ex-magistrate, celebrated for his shrewd
judicial
humour, which, however, he had the good sense not to attempt to
carry
into private life. Although well on the wrong side of seventy, his
eyes were still disconcertingly bright. With the selective skill of
an old man, he immediately settled himself in the most comfortable
of
many comfortable chairs.
“
So
we are to see wonders tonight?”
“
Fresh
material for your autobiography,” remarked Faull.
“
Ah,
you should not have mentioned my unfortunate book. An old public
servant is merely amusing himself in his retirement, Mr. Backhouse.
You have no cause for alarm—I have studied in the school of
discretion.”
“
I
am not alarmed. There can be no possible objection to your
publishing
whatever you please.”
“
You
are most kind,” said the old man, with a cunning smile.
“
Trent
is not coming tonight,” remarked Mrs. Jameson, throwing a curious
little glance at her brother.
“
I
never thought he would. It’s not in his line.”
“
Mrs.
Trent, you must understand,” she went on, addressing the
ex-magistrate, “has placed us all under a debt of gratitude. She
has decorated the old lounge hall upstairs most beautifully, and
has
secured the services of the sweetest little orchestra.”
“
But
this is Roman magnificence.”
“
Backhouse
thinks the spirits should be treated with more deference,” laughed
Faull.
“
Surely,
Mr. Backhouse—a poetic environment...”
“
Pardon
me. I am a simple man, and always prefer to reduce things to
elemental simplicity. I raise no opposition, but I express my
opinion. Nature is one thing, and art is another.”
“
And
I am not sure that I don’t agree with you,” said the
ex-magistrate. “An occasion like this ought to be simple, to guard
against the possibility of deception—if you will forgive my
bluntness, Mr. Backhouse.”
“
We
shall sit in full light,” replied Backhouse, “and every
opportunity will be given to all to inspect the room. I shall also
ask you to submit me to a personal examination.”A
rather embarrassed silence followed. It was broken by the arrival
of
two more guests, who entered together. These were Prior, the
prosperous City coffee importer, and Lang, the stockjobber, well
known in his own circle as an amateur prestidigitator. Backhouse
was
slightly acquainted with the latter. Prior, perfuming the room with
the faint odour of wine and tobacco smoke, tried to introduce an
atmosphere of joviality into the proceedings. Finding that no one
seconded his efforts, however, he shortly subsided and fell to
examining the water colours on the walls. Lang, tall, thin, and
growing bald, said little, but stared at Backhouse a good
deal.Coffee,
liqueurs, and cigarettes were now brought in. Everyone partook,
except Lang and the medium. At the same moment, Professor Halbert
was
announced. He was the eminent psychologist, the author and lecturer
on crime, insanity, genius, and so forth, considered in their
mental
aspects. His presence at such a gathering somewhat mystified the
other guests, but all felt as if the object of their meeting had
immediately acquired additional solemnity. He was small,
meagre-looking, and mild in manner, but was probably the most
stubborn-brained of all that mixed company. Completely ignoring the
medium, he at once sat down beside Kent-Smith, with whom he began
to
exchange remarks.At
a few minutes past the appointed hour Mrs. Trent entered,
unannounced. She was a woman of about twenty-eight. She had a
white,
demure, saintlike face, smooth black hair, and lips so crimson and
full that they seemed to be bursting with blood. Her tall, graceful
body was most expensively attired. Kisses were exchanged between
her
and Mrs. Jameson. She bowed to the rest of the assembly, and stole
a
half glance and a smile at Faull. The latter gave her a queer look,
and Backhouse, who lost nothing, saw the concealed barbarian in the
complacent gleam of his eye. She refused the refreshment that was
offered her, and Faull proposed that, as everyone had now arrived,
they should adjourn to the lounge hall.Mrs.
Trent held up a slender palm. “Did you, or did you not, give me
carte blanche, Montague?”
“
Of
course I did,” said Faull, laughing. “But what’s the
matter?”
“
Perhaps
I have been rather presumptuous. I don’t know. I have invited a
couple of friends to join us. No, no one knows them.... The two
most
extraordinary individuals you ever saw. And mediums, I am
sure.”
“
It
sounds very mysterious. Who are these conspirators?”
“
At
least tell us their names, you provoking girl,” put in Mrs.
Jameson.
“
One
rejoices in the name of Maskull, and the other in that of
Nightspore.
That’s nearly all that I know about them, so don’t overwhelm me
with, any more questions.”
“
But
where did you pick them up? You must have picked them up
somewhere.”
“
But
this is a cross-examination. Have I sinned again convention? I
swear
I will tell you not another word about them. They will be here
directly, and then I will deliver them to your tender
mercy.”
“
I
don’t know them,” said Faull, “and nobody else seems to, but,
of course, we will all be very pleased to have them.... Shall we
wait, or what?”
“
I
said nine, and it’s past that now. It’s quite possible they may
not turn up after all.... Anyway, don’t wait.”
“
I
would prefer to start at once,” said Backhouse.The
lounge, a lofty room, forty feet long by twenty wide, had been
divided for the occasion into two equal parts by a heavy brocade
curtain drawn across the middle. The far end was thus concealed.
The
nearer half had been converted into an auditorium by a crescent of
armchairs. There was no other furniture. A large fire was burning
halfway along the wall, between the chairbacks and the door. The
room
was brilliantly lighted by electric bracket lamps. A sumptuous
carpet
covered the floor.Having
settled his guests in their seats, Faull stepped up to the curtain
and flung it aside. A replica, or nearly so, of the Drury Lane
presentation of the temple scene in The Magic Flute was then
exposed
to view: the gloomy, massive architecture of the interior, the
glowing sky above it in the background, and, silhouetted against
the
latter, the gigantic seated statue of the Pharaoh. A fantastically
carved wooden couch lay before the pedestal of the statue. Near the
curtain, obliquely placed to the auditorium, was a plain oak
armchair, for the use of the medium.Many
of those present felt privately that the setting was quite
inappropriate to the occasion and savoured rather unpleasantly of
ostentation. Backhouse in particular seemed put out. The usual
compliments, however, were showered on Mrs. Trent as the deviser of
so remarkable a theatre. Faull invited his friends to step forward
and examine the apartment as minutely as they might desire. Prior
and
Lang were the only ones to accept. The former wandered about among
the pasteboard scenery, whistling to himself and occasionally
tapping
a part of it with his knuckles. Lang, who was in his element,
ignored
the rest of his party and commenced a patient, systematic search,
on
his own account, for secret apparatus. Faull and Mrs. Trent stood
in
a corner of the temple, talking together in low tones; while Mrs.
Jameson, pretending to hold Backhouse in conversation, watched them
as only a deeply interested woman knows how to watch.Lang,
to his own disgust, having failed to find anything of a suspicious
nature, the medium now requested that his own clothing should be
searched.
“
All
these precautions are quite needless and beside the matter in hand,
as you will immediately see for yourselves. My reputation demands,
however, that other people who are not present would not be able to
say afterward that trickery has been resorted to.”To
Lang again fell the ungrateful task of investigating pockets and
sleeves. Within a few minutes he expressed himself satisfied that
nothing mechanical was in Backhouse’s possession. The guests
reseated themselves. Faull ordered two more chairs to be brought
for
Mrs. Trent’s friends, who, however, had not yet arrived. He then
pressed an electric bell, and took his own seat.The
signal was for the hidden orchestra to begin playing. A murmur of
surprise passed through the audience as, without previous warning,
the beautiful and solemn strains of Mozart’s “temple” music
pulsated through the air. The expectation of everyone was raised,
while, beneath her pallor and composure, it could be seen that Mrs.
Trent was deeply moved. It was evident that aesthetically she was
by
far the most important person present. Faull watched her, with his
face sunk on his chest, sprawling as usual.Backhouse
stood up, with one hand on the back of his chair, and began
speaking.
The music instantly sank to pianissimo, and remained so for as long
as he was on his legs.
“
Ladies
and gentlemen, you are about to witness a materialisation. That
means
you will see something appear in space that was not previously
there.
At first it will appear as a vaporous form, but finally it will be
a
solid body, which anyone present may feel and handle—and, for
example, shake hands with. For this body will be in the human
shape.
It will be a real man or woman—which, I can’t say—but a man or
woman without known antecedents. If, however, you demand from me an
explanation of the origin of this materialised form—where it comes
from, whence the atoms and molecules composing its tissues are
derived—I am unable to satisfy you. I am about to produce the
phenomenon; if anyone can explain it to me afterward, I shall be
very
grateful.... That is all I have to say.”He
resumed his seat, half turning his back on the assembly, and paused
for a moment before beginning his task.It
was precisely at this minute that the manservant opened the door
and
announced in a subdued but distinct voice: “Mr. Maskull, Mr.
Nightspore.”Everyone
turned round. Faull rose to welcome the late arrivals. Backhouse
also
stood up, and stared hard at them.The
two strangers remained standing by the door, which was closed
quietly
behind them. They seemed to be waiting for the mild sensation
caused
by their appearance to subside before advancing into the room.
Maskull was a kind of giant, but of broader and more robust
physique
than most giants. He wore a full beard. His features were thick and
heavy, coarsely modelled, like those of a wooden carving; but his
eyes, small and black, sparkled with the fires of intelligence and
audacity. His hair was short, black, and bristling. Nightspore was
of
middle height, but so tough-looking that he appeared to be trained
out of all human frailties and susceptibilities. His hairless face
seemed consumed by an intense spiritual hunger, and his eyes were
wild and distant. Both men were dressed in tweeds.Before
any words were spoken, a loud and terrible crash of falling masonry
caused the assembled party to start up from their chairs in
consternation. It sounded as if the entire upper part of the
building
had collapsed. Faull sprang to the door, and called to the servant
to
say what was happening. The man had to be questioned twice before
he
gathered what was required of him. He said he had heard nothing. In
obedience to his master’s order, he went upstairs. Nothing,
however, was amiss there, neither had the maids heard
anything.In
the meantime Backhouse, who almost alone of those assembled had
preserved his sangfroid, went straight up to Nightspore, who stood
gnawing his nails.
“
Perhaps
you can explain it, sir?”
“
It
was supernatural,” said Nightspore, in a harsh, muffled voice,
turning away from his questioner.
“
I
guessed so. It is a familiar phenomenon, but I have never heard it
so
loud.”He
then went among the guests, reassuring them. By degrees they
settled
down, but it was observable that their former easy and
good-humoured
interest in the proceedings was now changed to strained
watchfulness.
Maskull and Nightspore took the places allotted to them. Mrs. Trent
kept stealing uneasy glances at them. Throughout the entire
incident,
Mozart’s hymn continued to be played. The orchestra also had heard
nothing.Backhouse
now entered on his task. It was one that began to be familiar to
him,
and he had no anxiety about the result. It was not possible to
effect
the materialisation by mere concentration of will, or the exercise
of
any faculty; otherwise many people could have done what he had
engaged himself to do. His nature was phenomenal—the dividing wall
between himself and the spiritual world was broken in many places.
Through the gaps in his mind the inhabitants of the invisible, when
he summoned them, passed for a moment timidly and awfully into the
solid, coloured universe.... He could not say how it was brought
about.... The experience was a rough one for the body, and many
such
struggles would lead to insanity and early death. That is why
Backhouse was stern and abrupt in his manner. The coarse, clumsy
suspicion of some of the witnesses, the frivolous aestheticism of
others, were equally obnoxious to his grim, bursting heart; but he
was obliged to live, and, to pay his way, must put up with these
impertinences.He
sat down facing the wooden couch. His eyes remained open but seemed
to look inward. His cheeks paled, and he became noticeably thinner.
The spectators almost forgot to breathe. The more sensitive among
them began to feel, or imagine, strange presences all around them.
Maskull’s eyes glittered with anticipation, and his brows went up
and down, but Nightspore appeared bored.After
a long ten minutes the pedestal of the statue was seen to become
slightly blurred, as though an intervening mist were rising from
the
ground. This slowly developed into a visible cloud, coiling hither
and thither, and constantly changing shape. The professor half
rose,
and held his glasses with one hand further forward on the bridge of
his nose.By
slow stages the cloud acquired the dimensions and approximate
outline
of an adult human body, although all was still vague and blurred.
It
hovered lightly in the air, a foot or so above the couch. Backhouse
looked haggard and ghastly. Mrs. Jameson quietly fainted in her
chair, but she was unnoticed, and presently revived. The apparition
now settled down upon the couch, and at the moment of doing so
seemed
suddenly to grow dark, solid, and manlike. Many of the guests were
as
pale as the medium himself, but Faull preserved his stoical apathy,
and glanced once or twice at Mrs. Trent. She was staring straight
at
the couch, and was twisting a little lace handkerchief through the
different fingers of her hand. The music went on playing.The
figure was by this time unmistakably that of a man lying down. The
face focused itself into distinctness. The body was draped in a
sort
of shroud, but the features were those of a young man. One smooth
hand fell over, nearly touching the floor, white and motionless.
The
weaker spirits of the company stared at the vision in sick horror;
the rest were grave and perplexed. The seeming man was dead, but
somehow it did not appear like a death succeeding life, but like a
death preliminary to life. All felt that he might sit up at any
minute.
“
Stop
that music!” muttered Backhouse, tottering from his chair and
facing the party. Faull touched the bell. A few more bars sounded,
and then total silence ensued.
“
Anyone
who wants to may approach the couch,” said Backhouse with
difficulty.Lang
at once advanced, and stared awestruck at the supernatural
youth.
“
You
are at liberty to touch,” said the medium.But
Lang did not venture to, nor did any of the others, who one by one
stole up to the couch—until it came to Faull’s turn. He looked
straight at Mrs. Trent, who seemed frightened and disgusted at the
spectacle before her, and then not only touched the apparition but
suddenly grasped the drooping hand in his own and gave it a
powerful
squeeze. Mrs. Trent gave a low scream. The ghostly visitor opened
his
eyes, looked at Faull strangely, and sat up on the couch. A cryptic
smile started playing over his mouth. Faull looked at his hand; a
feeling of intense pleasure passed through his body.Maskull
caught Mrs. Jameson in his arms; she was attacked by another spell
of
faintness. Mrs. Trent ran forward, and led her out of the room.
Neither of them returned.The
phantom body now stood upright, looking about him, still with his
peculiar smile. Prior suddenly felt sick, and went out. The other
men
more or less hung together, for the sake of human society, but
Nightspore paced up and down, like a man weary and impatient, while
Maskull attempted to interrogate the youth. The apparition watched
him with a baffling expression, but did not answer. Backhouse was
sitting apart, his face buried in his hands.It
was at this moment that the door was burst open violently, and a
stranger, unannounced, half leaped, half strode a few yards into
the
room, and then stopped. None of Faull’s friends had ever seen him
before. He was a thick, shortish man, with surprising muscular
development and a head far too large in proportion to his body. His
beardless yellow face indicated, as a first impression, a mixture
of
sagacity, brutality, and humour.
“
Aha-i,
gentlemen!” he called out loudly. His voice was piercing, and oddly
disagreeable to the ear. “So we have a little visitor here.”Nightspore
turned his back, but everyone else stared at the intruder in
astonishment. He took another few steps forward, which brought him
to
the edge of the theatre.
“
May
I ask, sir, how I come to have the honour of being your host?”
asked Faull sullenly. He thought that the evening was not
proceeding
as smoothly as he had anticipated.The
newcomer looked at him for a second, and then broke into a great,
roaring guffaw. He thumped Faull on the back playfully—but the play
was rather rough, for the victim was sent staggering against the
wall
before he could recover his balance.
“
Good
evening, my host!”
“
And
good evening to you too, my lad!” he went on, addressing the
supernatural youth, who was now beginning to wander about the room,
in apparent unconsciousness of his surroundings. “I have seen
someone very like you before, I think.”There
was no response.The
intruder thrust his head almost up to the phantom’s face. “You
have no right here, as you know.”The
shape looked back at him with a smile full of significance, which,
however, no one could understand.
“
Be
careful what you are doing,” said Backhouse quickly.
“
What’s
the matter, spirit usher?”
“
I
don’t know who you are, but if you use physical violence toward
that, as you seem inclined to do, the consequences may prove very
unpleasant.”
“
And
without pleasure our evening would be spoiled, wouldn’t it, my
little mercenary friend?”Humour
vanished from his face, like sunlight from a landscape, leaving it
hard and rocky. Before anyone realised what he was doing, he
encircled the soft, white neck of the materialised shape with his
hairy hands and, with a double turn, twisted it completely round. A
faint, unearthly shriek sounded, and the body fell in a heap to the
floor. Its face was uppermost. The guests were unutterably shocked
to
observe that its expression had changed from the mysterious but
fascinating smile to a vulgar, sordid, bestial grin, which cast a
cold shadow of moral nastiness into every heart. The transformation
was accompanied by a sickening stench of the graveyard.The
features faded rapidly away, the body lost its consistence, passing
from the solid to the shadowy condition, and, before two minutes
had
elapsed, the spirit-form had entirely disappeared.The
short stranger turned and confronted the party, with a long, loud
laugh, like nothing in nature.The
professor talked excitedly to Kent-Smith in low tones. Faull
beckoned
Backhouse behind a wing of scenery, and handed him his check
without
a word. The medium put it in his pocket, buttoned his coat, and
walked out of the room. Lang followed him, in order to get a
drink.The
stranger poked his face up into Maskull’s.
“
Well,
giant, what do you think of it all? Wouldn’t you like to see the
land where this sort of fruit grows wild?”
“
What
sort of fruit?”
“
That
specimen goblin.”Maskull
waved him away with his huge hand. “Who are you, and how did you
come here?”
“
Call
up your friend. Perhaps he may recognise me.” Nightspore had moved
a chair to the fire, and was watching the embers with a set,
fanatical expression.
“
Let
Krag come to me, if he wants me,” he said, in his strange
voice.
“
You
see, he does know me,” uttered Krag, with a humorous look. Walking
over to Nightspore, he put a hand on the back of his chair.
“
Still
the same old gnawing hunger?”
“
What
is doing these days?” demanded Nightspore disdainfully, without
altering his attitude.
“
Surtur
has gone, and we are to follow him.”
“
How
do you two come to know each other, and of whom are you speaking?”
asked Maskull, looking from one to the other in perplexity.
“
Krag
has something for us. Let us go outside,” replied Nightspore. He
got up, and glanced over his shoulder. Maskull, following the
direction of his eye, observed that the few remaining men were
watching their little group attentively.
Chapter 2. IN THE STREET
The
three men gathered in the street outside the house. The night was
slightly frosty, but particularly clear, with an east wind blowing.
The multitude of blazing stars caused the sky to appear like a vast
scroll of hieroglyphic symbols. Maskull felt oddly excited; he had
a
sense that something extraordinary was about to happen “What
brought you to this house tonight, Krag, and what made you do what
you did? How are we understand that apparition?”
“
That
must have been Crystalman’s expression on face,” muttered
Nightspore.
“
We
have discussed that, haven’t we, Maskull? Maskull is anxious to
behold that rare fruit in its native wilds.”
Maskull
looked at Krag carefully, trying to analyse his own feelings toward
him. He was distinctly repelled by the man’s personality, yet side
by side with this aversion a savage, living energy seemed to spring
up in his heart that in some strange fashion was attributable to
Krag.
“
Why
do you insist on this simile?” he asked.
“
Because
it is apropos. Nightspore’s quite right. That was Crystalman’s
face, and we are going to Crystalman’s country.”
“
And
where is this mysterious country?”
“
Tormance.”
“
That’s
a quaint name. But where is it?”
Krag
grinned, showing his yellow teeth in the light of the street
lamp.
“
It
is the residential suburb of Arcturus.”
“
What
is he talking about, Nightspore?... Do you mean the star of that
name?” he went on, to Krag.
“
Which
you have in front of you at this very minute,” said Krag, pointing
a thick finger toward the brightest star in the south-eastern sky.
“There you see Arcturus, and Tormance is its one inhabited
planet.”
Maskull
looked at the heavy, gleaning star, and again at Krag. Then he
pulled
out a pipe, and began to fill it.
“
You
must have cultivated a new form of humour, Krag.”
“
I
am glad if I can amuse you, Maskull, if only for a few
days.”
“
I
meant to ask you—how do you know my name?”
“
It
would be odd if I didn’t, seeing that I only came here on your
account. As a matter of fact, Nightspore and I are old
friends.”
Maskull
paused with his suspended match. “You came here on my
account?”
“
Surely.
On your account and Nightspore’s. We three are to be fellow
travellers.”
Maskull
now lit his pipe and puffed away coolly for a few moments.
“
I’m
sorry, Krag, but I must assume you are mad.”
Krag
threw his head back, and gave a scraping laugh. “Am I mad,
Nightspore?”
“
Has
Surtur gone to Tormance?” ejaculated Nightspore in a strangled
voice, fixing his eyes on Krag’s face.
“
Yes,
and he requires that we follow him at once.”
Maskull’s
heart began to beat strangely. It all sounded to him like a dream
conversation.
“
And
since how long, Krag, have I been required to do things by a total
stranger.... Besides, who is this individual?”
“
Krag’s
chief,” said Nightspore, turning his head away.
“
The
riddle is too elaborate for me. I give up.”
“
You
are looking for mysteries,” said Krag, “so naturally you are
finding them. Try and simplify your ideas, my friend. The affair is
plain and serious.”
Maskull
stared hard at him and smoked rapidly.
“
Where
have you come from now?” demanded Nightspore suddenly.
“
From
the old observatory at Starkness.... Have you heard of the famous
Starkness Observatory, Maskull?”
“
No.
Where is it?”
“
On
the north-east coast of Scotland. Curious discoveries are made
there
from time to time.”
“
As,
for example, how to make voyages to the stars. So this Surtur turns
out to be an astronomer. And you too, presumably?”
Krag
grinned again. “How long will it take you to wind up your affairs?
When can you be ready to start?”
“
You
are too considerate,” said Maskull, laughing outright. “I was
beginning to fear that I would be hauled away at once.... However,
I
have neither wife, land, nor profession, so there’s nothing to wait
for.... What is the itinerary?”
“
You
are a fortunate man. A bold, daring heart, and no encumbrances.”
Krag’s features became suddenly grave and rigid. “Don’t be a
fool, and refuse a gift of luck. A gift declined is not offered a
second time.”
“
Krag,”
replied Maskull simply, returning his pipe to his pocket. “I ask
you to put yourself in my place. Even if were a man sick for
adventures, how could I listen seriously to such an insane
proposition as this? What do I know about you, or your past record?
You may be a practical joker, or you may have come out of a
madhouse—I know nothing about it. If you claim to be an exceptional
man, and want my cooperation, you must offer me exceptional
proofs.”
“
And
what proofs would you consider adequate, Maskull?”
As
he spoke he gripped Maskull’s arm. A sharp, chilling pain
immediately passed through the latter’s body and at the same moment
his brain caught fire. A light burst in upon him like the rising of
the sun. He asked himself for the first time if this fantastic
conversation could by any chance refer to real things.
“
Listen,
Krag,” he said slowly, while peculiar images and conceptions
started to travel in rich disorder through his mind. “You talk
about a certain journey. Well, if that journey were a possible one,
and I were given the chance of making it, I would be willing never
to
come back. For twenty-four hours on that Arcturian planet, I would
give my life. That is my attitude toward that journey.... Now prove
to me that you’re not talking nonsense. Produce your
credentials.”
Krag
stared at him all the time he was speaking, his face gradually
resuming its jesting expression.
“
Oh,
you will get your twenty-four hours, and perhaps longer, but not
much
longer. You’re an audacious fellow, Maskull, but this trip will
prove a little strenuous, even for you.... And so, like the
unbelievers of old, you want a sign from heaven?”
Maskull
frowned. “But the whole thing is ridiculous. Our brains are
overexcited by what took place in there. Let us go home, and sleep
it
off.”
Krag
detained him with one hand, while groping in his breast pocket with
the other. He presently fished out what resembled a small folding
lens. The diameter of the glass did not exceed two inches.
“
First
take a peep at Arcturus through this, Maskull. It may serve as a
provisional sign. It’s the best I can do, unfortunately. I am not a
travelling magician.... Be very careful not to drop it. It’s
somewhat heavy.”
Maskull
took the lens in his hand, struggled with it for a minute, and then
looked at Krag in amazement. The little object weighed at least
twenty pounds, though it was not much bigger than a crown
piece.
“
What
stuff can this be, Krag?”
“
Look
through it, my good friend. That’s what I gave it to you
for.”
Maskull
held it up with difficulty, directed it toward the gleaming
Arcturus,
and snatched as long and as steady a glance at the star as the
muscles of his arm would permit. What he saw was this. The star,
which to the naked eye appeared as a single yellow point of light,
now became clearly split into two bright but minute suns, the
larger
of which was still yellow, while its smaller companion was a
beautiful blue. But this was not all. Apparently circulating around
the yellow sun was a comparatively small and hardly distinguishable
satellite, which seemed to shine, not by its own, but by reflected
light.... Maskull lowered and raised his arm repeatedly. The same
spectacle revealed itself again and again, but he was able to see
nothing else. Then he passed back the lens to Krag, without a word,
and stood chewing his underlip.
“
You
take a glimpse too,” scraped Krag, proffering the glass to
Nightspore.
Nightspore
turned his back and began to pace up an down. Krag laughed
sardonically, and returned the lens to his pocket. “Well, Maskull,
are you satisfied?”
“
Arcturus,
then, is a double sun. And is that third point the planet
Tormance?”
“
Our
future home, Maskull.”
Maskull
continued to ponder. “You inquire if I am satisfied. I don’t
know, Krag. It’s miraculous, and that’s all I can say about
it.... But I’m satisfied of one thing. There must be very wonderful
astronomers at Starkness and if you invite me to your observatory I
will surely come.”
“
I
do invite you. We set off from there.”
“
And
you, Nightspore?” demanded Maskull.
“
The
journey has to be made,” answered his friend in indistinct tones,
“though I don’t see what will come of it.”
Krag
shot a penetrating glance at him. “More remarkable adventures than
this would need to be arranged before we could excite
Nightspore.”
“
Yet
he is coming.”
“
But
not con amore. He is coming merely to bear you company.”
Maskull
again sought the heavy, sombre star, gleaming in solitary might, in
the south-eastern heavens, and, as he gazed, his heart swelled with
grand and painful longings, for which, however, he was unable to
account to his own intellect. He felt that his destiny was in some
way bound up with this gigantic, far-distant sun. But still he did
not dare to admit to himself Krag’s seriousness.
He
heard his parting remarks in deep abstraction, and only after the
lapse of several minutes, when, alone with Nightspore, did he
realise
that they referred to such mundane matters as travelling routes and
times of trains.
“
Does
Krag travel north with us, Nightspore? I didn’t catch
that.”
“
No.
We go on first, and he joins us at Starkness on the evening of the
day after tomorrow.”
Maskull
remained thoughtful. “What am I to think of that man?”
“
For
your information,” replied Nightspore wearily, “I have never
known him to lie.”
