Strange Conflict (45 page)

Directly he had arrived he felt the stiff blood in his veins begin to uncongeal, giving him awful cramp pains; then, in spite of all his efforts to prevent it, his injured right foot twitched.

Next second he heard a silvery, derisive laugh. It did not come from the Doctor, but from Pan, and was cold, cruel, mocking. To his utter horror he realised that he had been tricked. He knew then that never for an instant should he have listened to Pan's subtle reasoning and fair promises. The deadly chill of the astral of the god's first approach should have been sufficient warning. Like a flash of light he slipped out of his body again.

Pan was still there. A frown darkened his handsome face. ‘Why have you come out?' he snapped. ‘Go back at once!'

De Richleau mentally shuddered, and cried: ‘I refuse— I refuse!'

In a flick of time Pan's aspect changed. He had became great and terrible. The Duke strove to cover his astral sight, but could not. In desperate fear he called upon the Powers of Light to aid him.

In the instant preceding that at which de Richleau had slipped out of his body the Witch Doctor had seen the slight jerk of the foot. His face lighting up with evil
triumph, he suddenly started forward. As he did so the empty eye-socket of one of the skulls dangling from his waist caught on a projection of the cauldron. The iron pot was not set quite evenly above the fire. Tipping up, it crashed over, spilling it contents upon the ground.

The Satanist gave a howl of rage. Before Pan's new aspect had reached its full degree of terror the form in which he was presenting himself suddenly quivered and disappeared. The spilling of the evil brew had broken the spell and de Richleau knew that his call for help had been answered.

For several moments the Doctor stamped, blasphemed and swore. At the very moment when victory was in his grasp his clumsiness had ruined the whole ceremony, and both he and the Duke were well aware that no man may summon Pan twice during the same night.

His astral still sweating with terror from his recent hairbreadth escape, de Richleau wondered what fresh ordeals he would have to undergo, but it seemed that for the time being the Satanist had exerted all the powers of which he was capable while still remaining on the physical plane.

When he had recovered his breath from cursing he addressed the Duke again. ‘It was sheer luck that you escaped me that time. But you needn't think that you're going to get away. I have plenty of ways of subduing you directly I reach the astral.'

Having mopped up the spilt hell-broth he sprinkled some liquid upon the fire, which immediately caused it to go out, then sat down on a Witch Doctor's throne which occupied one end of the sanctuary. The back of the throne was formed from two large elephant-tusks, with their points up and curving inward, which had doubtless been imported from Africa; and the rest of it was constructed from other animal, reptile and human remains, mainly bones, teeth and skin. Two human skulls at the forward ends of the arms formed hand-rests, and although the Doctor was no longer wearing his mask and head-dress he looked a formidable figure seated there staring straight before him.

A first the Duke braced himself, believing that his enemy was about to throw himself into a trance and immediately launch an astral attack; but after a little he decided that
for the time being no further call would have to be made on his powers of resistance. He was not sufficiently advanced to get right into the Satanist's mind and learn what he was thinking, but he could to some extent sense his enemy's mental condition and gradually he became aware of a thing that heartened him as nothing else had yet done—the Black Magician was worried.

Could it be, the Duke wondered, that the Satanist, knowing that all his spells had so far failed and that he must now give battle on the astral, was afraid? De Richleau hardly dared to hope that it might be so; yet what other reason could there be for his opponent's shirking an immediate settlement of the issue?

The minutes drifted by and still the Mulatto showed no sign whatever of attempting to throw himself into a self-induced trance. Instead, he presently stood up and began to walk uneasily up and down.

For over half an hour he padded back and forth like some caged animal. At last he sat down again, but only a few minutes. Then evidently having come to a decision, he put on his mask and head-dress, went outside and stood watching the wild dance of his followers which was still in progress.

Heartened still further, yet wary of some trap, de Richleau pondered upon the Doctor's actions and sought to fathom why he should apparently have abandoned the struggle, temporarily at least; but when there suddenly formed in the Duke's mind a theory that would explain his enemy's conduct it filled him with fresh perturbation.

In his present state he was definitely not dead. The fact that he had been able to enter his corpse and reanimate it, if only for a few seconds, proved that conclusively. Therefore, sooner or later the natural law would compel him to return to it whether he wanted to or not, and quite independently of the Black Magician's desire that he should do so.

His present situation was similiar to that which he had been on the last night on which he had gone out to keep watch on the Atlantic convoy. On that occasion, knowing that he could remain asleep only for a certain time, he had arranged for Simon and Marie Lou to relieve him. But now there could be no question of reliefs. When he had
reached the uttermost limits of his power to remain asleep he must return; and not, this time, to a healthy body lying in the safety of a pentacle at Cardinals Folly but to the cataleptic corpse that lay below him in the sanctuary of the Voodoo Temple.

That, then, was the Satanist's new plan. He probably did not fear a conflict on the astral but simply preferred to avoid it. All he had to do was to stay awake longer than the Duke could remain in trance-sleep and the Duke would then
have
to answer the call which must result in his becoming a Zombie.

Swiftly and anxiously the Duke began to work out times. It comforted him immensely to be able to recall at once that from the moment he had left his bed in Miami he had slept no more than those bare six hours during which Simon had engaged the enemy. He had been awake for a stretch of thirty-nine hours previously to Simon's arrival, and again from half-past three the following morning until about two o'clock that afternoon—another ten and a half hours. It was now just after two a.m. so he had been in a state which must be counted as sleep for about twelve hours, but altogether he had had only some eighteen hours' sleep out of the total of sixty-seven.

Had he been called upon to face another long waking vigil his state would have been none too good, but the opposite applied now that his safety depended upon the length of time during which he could remain on the astral.

He then began to speculate upon his enemy's situation. If the Doctor had not slept since the night before the fire, he had already been awake continuously for forty-three hours. The Duke very much doubted if the Satanist had been able to get any sleep on the previous night, but the odds were that he had managed to snatch a short siesta that afternoon; yet such a respite could not have lasted more than three hours at the most. It looked as if the Doctor's position was considerabjy more serious than that of the Duke and that, however great his own powers as a magician, Nature could compel him to sleep before it forced the Duke back into his body.

Reassurred that the chances were at least even, de Richleau set himself to wait while he continued to watch his enemy's every move.

That night was still, warm and breathless. As a faint undertone to the Voodoo drums there came the beating of the surf on the coral strand below the nearby cliff. In the great compound, black, brown and coffee-coloured figures mingled in the ferocious dance, jerking their bodies obscenely and at times pairing to give way to unbridled licence.

The Satanist remained out there for over two hours; sometimes standing silent, sometimes urging his followers to new excesses. But by half-past three most of the devil-worshippers had satiated their lust and many, after having made obeisance to their leader, were departing to snatch a few hours' sleep before they would have to wake to face the labours of the day. By four o'clock the very last of them had gone, and the High Priest of Evil was left standing alone in the empty clearing.

For a few moments he walked to and fro, deep in thought; then he went in to stare again at the Duke's body. Having removed his mask he blinked his eyes once or twice and passed his hand over them in a weary gesture. On seeing those signs of tiredness de Richleau became still more confident that at the game they were now playing he could outlast his enemy; but his new elation was short-lived. With a sudden resolution the Satanist strode to his throne, sat down on it and again addressed him.

‘You have defied my spells and by accident escaped the compulsion of Pan. If I had slept last night I would wait until Nature forced you back to obey my call; but why should I further weary myself here, when by passing to another plane I shall instantly be as fresh as a sleeper who wakes? Without the least conception of what you will be called upon to face you have asked for battle. Very well, then; you shall have it; I will come and get you.'

Throwing his head back, he raised his eyeballs until only the whites were showing, then closed his eyes. He remained like that for barely a minute, then a wisp of black smoke issued from his mouth.

De Richleau knew that for his enemy to be able to leave is body in such a manner, without his astral appearing in human form, he must be extremely powerful. Worse: the wisp of smoke had dissolved in a second so that the Duke, to his consternation, was left there without any trace of
his antagonists and with no means of guessing what form the astral attack would take.

For what seemed a long time de Richleau waited, his every nerve keyed up to resist a sudden devastating assault. But nothing happened, and although he did not relax his vigilance his tension gradually eased. Then, gathering courage, he went out into the compound and called aloud:

‘I am here, Saturday, ready to give battle. Why do you evade me? Is it that you are afraid?'

There was no answer to the challenge and the Duke's mind became troubled with a new anxiety. But with his swift transference from the physical to the astral plane his enemy had given him the slip. In due course the Satanist would be compelled to return to his body, but that might not be for many hours, and long before he did so de Richleau would be forced to return to his. Once again it seemed that he would be undone unless he could find the Satanist and conquer him before that happened; and searching for an individual who was unwilling to meet one on the astral is like looking for a particular grain of sand on all the beaches of all the oceans of the world.

In the compound other astrals were now moving; those of some of the dwellers in the Hounfort and of other natives who were asleep in the vicinity. Most of them were ‘Blacks' and shrank away at the sight of the Duke, knowing him to be their enemy and far more powerful than they; but some were merely almost blind creatures in a very low state of advancement. Presently there appeared from among those nebulous dusky shades a clear, distinct form and the Duke saw that it was the astral of his old friend with whom he had talked in China, when he had gone out to follow the Admiral.

‘What are you doing here?' he exclaimed with eager interest, immensely cheered by the unexpected arrival of his powerful friend.

‘I came to see how you were getting on,' replied the other. ‘You're looking a bit worn, so I imagine you've been having a pretty hard time of it.'

De Richleau sighed and, rallying himself, swiftly related what had happened, then he described the critical situation in which he now found himself.

His friend immediately expressed sympathy and promised his aid. ‘I'll tell you, though, what we ought to do,' he said. ‘There's little to choose between us in the matter of spiritual strength, as we're both almost equally advanced upon the great journey. Either of us could, I feel certain, hold the adversary at bay for a few moments, and both of us together could overcome him. He may be able to remain in hiding away from his body for twenty hours, or even more, so the best way to arrange matters would be for me to watch while you rest. Sooner or later this Devil Doctor must appear; then I will immediately call you, and with our united strength we will defeat him.'

This plan seemed an excellent one to de Richleau, and on his friend asking how long he had been asleep, he replied:

‘It was about two o'clock yesterday afternoon when I put myself into a self-induced trance, so I've done over fourteen hours.'

‘That's a fair time,' mused his friend, ‘so I think you'd better take a spell now and leave me to hold the fort until I can get your help should the enemy suddenly put in an appearance.'

It was now more than two hours since the Duke had been lured into returning to his body by Pan but the narrowness of his escape was still fresh in his mind. There was nothing unnatural in his friend's having come to look for him, as spirits that are linked by the bonds of love have little difficulty in ascertaining each other's whereabouts, yet the very suggestion that he should return again to his body put him instantly upon his guard. As he thought of it there formed in his mind a definite conviction that he
was not meant
to receive help from gods or men. It was
his
battle—and he must fight it unaided.

In turning to thank his friend but to tell him that he had decided to see the business through alone, he suddenly realised that the other was wearing the shovel hat of a priest, the brim of which cast a shadow over his eyes.

On an impulse which seemed to come from right outside himself, he grabbed the brim of the hat and tore it off. Then he knew that the thing he had suspected, only in that last second as his arm had shot out, was true. A powerful astral may assume the form of any human, perfecting
its resemblance to the last hair and wrinkle; it can also copy a voice to the fraction of a tone; but it cannot change its eyes. The eyes of the astral before him were not those of his friend—they were those of Doctor Saturday.