Абрахам Меррит - Creep, Shadow!

Maybe I really had slept through the night. Maybe I had only dreamed I had gone out into the shadow-crowded hall… and had fled from it and dropped down beside the door… had only dreamed the chanting.

But if there had been nothing they had wanted me to be deaf and blind to – then why had they bundled me up in that blanket of sleep?

Well, there was one thing I knew I had not dreamed.

That was Dahut slipping into the room with the leaves.

And that meant I hadn't acted precisely as they had expected, else I wouldn't have been awake to see her. There was one lucky break, whatever the cause. I would be able to use those leaves later, if they repeated the bundling.

I went over to the tapestry and raised it. There was no sign of opening, the paneling seemingly solid. Some secret spring existed, of course, but I postponed hunting for it. I unbarred the door; the bars were about as much a guarantee of privacy as one wall in a room with the other three sides open. I took what was left of the leaves, put them in an envelope and tucked them in McCann's holster. Then I smoked half a dozen cigarettes and added their ashes to those on the dish. The appeared about the same, and they were about what would have remained if all the leaves had burned. Maybe nobody would bother to check – but maybe they would.

By then it was seven o'clock. I wondered whether I ought to get up and dress. How long was it supposed to be before the antidote took effect? I had no means of knowing and no desire to make the least mistake. To sleep too long would be far safer than to wake too soon. I crawled back into bed. And I did go to sleep, honestly and dreamlessly.

When I awakened there was a man laying out my clothes; the valet. The dish that had held the smoking leaves was gone. It was half after eight. I sat up and yawned, and the valet announced with antique humility that the Lord of Carnac's bath was ready. Despite all that the Lord of Carnac had on his mind, this combination of archaic servility and modern convenience made me laugh. But no smile answered me. The man stood, head bent, wound up to do and say certain things. Smiling had not been in his instructions.

I looked at his impassive face, the blank eyes which were not seeing me at all as I was, nor the world in which I lived, but were seeing me as another man in another world. What that world might be, I suspected.

I threw a robe over my pajamas and locked the bathroom door against him; unstrapped McCann's holster and hid it before bathing. When I came out I dismissed him. He told me that breakfast would be ready a little after nine, and bowing low, departed.

I went to the armoire, took out my gun and snapped it open. The cartridges were in place. Furthermore, the extra clips lay orderly beside where it had been. Had I also dreamed that it had been emptied? A suspicion came to me. If I were wrong, I could explain it as an accident. I carried the gun to the window, aimed it at the sea and touched the trigger. There was only a sharp crack as the cap exploded. In the night the cartridges had been made useless and, without doubt, had been restored to the pistol during my later sleep.

Well, here was warning enough, I thought grimly, without any buzzing bluebottle, and put the gun back. Then I went down to breakfast, cold with anger and disposed to be brutal if I had the chance. The Demoiselle was waiting for me, prosaically reading a newspaper. The table was laid for two, so I judged her father had business otherwhere. I looked at Dahut, and as always admiration and a certain tenderness reluctantly joined my wrath and my rooted hatred of her. I think I have mentioned her beauty before. She was never more beautiful than now – a dewy freshness about her, like the dawn; her skin a miracle, clear-eyed, just the right touch of demureness… not at all the murderess, harlot, and witch I knew her in my heart to be. Clean.

She dropped the paper and held out her hand. I kissed it, ironically.

She said: "I do hope you slept soundly, Alan."

And that had just the right touch of domesticity. It irritated me still more. I dropped into my chair, spread my napkin over my knees: "Soundly, Dahut. Except for a big bluebottle fly that came and whispered to me."

Her eyes narrowed at that, and distinctly I saw her tremble. Then she dropped her eyes, and laughed: "You're joking, Alan."

I said: "I am not. It was a big bluebottle that whispered and buzzed, and buzzed and whispered."

She asked, quietly: "What did it whisper, Alan?"

"To beware of you, Dahut."

She asked, again quietly: "Were you awake?"

Now, regaining caution, I laughed: "Do bluebottle flies whisper to people who are awake? I was sound asleep and dreaming – without doubt."

"Did you know the voice?" Her eyes lifted suddenly and held mine. I answered:

"When I heard it I seemed to know it. But now, awake, I have forgotten."

She was silent while the blank-eyed servants placed this and that before us. Then she said, half-wearily: "Put away your sword, Alan. For today, at least, you do not need it. And today, at least, I carry no weapons. I pledge you this, and you can trust me for today. Treat me today only as one who loves you greatly. Will you do this, Alan?"

It was said so simply, so sincerely, that my anger fled and my distrust of her weakened. For the first time I felt a stirring of pity. She said:

"'I will not even ask you to pretend to love me."

I said, slowly: "It would not be hard to love you, Dahut."

The violet of her eyes was misted with tears; she said: "I wonder."

I said: "A bargain. We meet for the first time this morning. I know nothing of you, Dahut, and today you will be to me only what you seem to be. Perhaps by tonight I will be your slave."

She said, sharply: "I asked you to put down your sword."

I had meant nothing more than what I had said. No innuendo… But now I heard again the voice that had changed to the buzzing of a fly – "Beware… beware of Dahut… Alan, beware of Dahut… " And I thought of the blank-eyed, impassive men… slaves to her will or to her father's…

I would not put away the sword – but I would hide it.

I said, earnestly: "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, Dahut. Really I haven't. I meant precisely what I said."

She seemed to believe me. And on that basis, piquant enough considering what had gone before in New York and ancient Ys, our breakfast continued. It had its peculiar charm. Before it was done I found myself dangerously close several times to thinking of the Demoiselle exactly as she wanted me to think of her. We dawdled, and it was eleven when we ended. She suggested a ride around the place, and with relief I went up to change my clothes. I had to snap my gun a few times and look at the leaves in McCann's holster to clear my mind of disarming doubts. Dahut had a way with her.

When I came down she was in riding breeches, her hair braided around her head like a helmet. We went to the stables. There were a dozen first class horses. I looked around for the black stallion. I didn't see it, but there was a box stall where it might have been. I picked out a sweet roan and Dahut a leggy bay. What I wanted most to see was de Keradel's "rockery." I didn't see it. We trotted along a well-made bridle path which gave occasional vistas of the water, but most of the time the rocks and trees shut off the ocean. It was a peculiar lay-out and one better adapted for solitude I have never seen. We came at last to the wall, turned and rode along it. Wicked, inverted chevaux-de-frise guarded the top, and there were a couple of wires that I suspected of carrying heavy voltage. They could not have been there when 'Lias had scaled the wall. I thought that probably he had taught a lesson as well as having received one. And here and there stood one of the swarthy little men. They had clubs, but how otherwise armed I could not tell. They knelt as we passed them.