The Mansion in the Mist Read online

  "But how are we going to do that?" asked the woman who had spoken before. "We don't have a clue, do we?"

  The leader smiled unpleasantly. "We have a very small and mysterious clue," he said, drumming his bony fingers on the tabletop. "After the cube was stolen, someone—Nathaniel, probably—carved a Latin phrase on a rock in the garden. As you may recall, it says Auro est locus in quo conflatur. There is a place for gold where it is gathered together. Now, this may or may not mean something. If Nathaniel is playing little riddle games with us, the phrase may mean that he has hidden some golden object somewhere, an object that is a clue leading to the discovery of the cube. I will admit that this phrase is not much to go on, but it is all we have."

  There was a brief silence. Anthony could hear a gloomy black marble clock ticking on the mantelpiece. Then another old man spoke up. Mis face was withered and yellowish, and he wore large jeweled rings on his knobby fingers.

  "My lord, Great Autarch," he began gravely, "do you think that the traitor Nathaniel still lives?"

  The leader cocked his head to one side. Again he grinned, and his yellowish uneven teeth showed. "I suspect that he is still around," he said sourly. "Perhaps he is hiding in the forest or in the old hunting lodge on the far side of Ghost Lake. As you know, it is hard to kill an Autarch, and they can survive for a long time without food." Slowly the leader's face twisted into a mask of bitter hatred. "I wish I had guessed his plan in time," he said angrily, through clenched teeth. "He had doubts about our work from the beginning, and that should have convinced me that he was not to be trusted. If I ever catch him, he will wish that he had not been born."

  On and on went this strange conference, while Anthony crouched by the peephole, listening breathlessly. What on earth was going on? What was this place? Who were these people, and what was their grand design? And what could the Logos Cube be? These questions went whirling around in Anthony's head, but he didn't have any answers. And now, as the speakers droned on, Anthony began to be afraid. What if he got caught? Slowly he turned himself around in the narrow passageway and began crawling along the uneven carpeted floor. Around one turn he went, and around another, as the voices faded into the background. Finally Anthony was back at the stone door, which still stood ajar. With a sigh of relief, he stepped out into the chilly night air. He had gotten away! Quickly Anthony glanced around. He half expected to see dark shapes rushing at him from behind bushes and trees. But no one came. Cautiously Anthony began to move over the mossy ground. He noticed that the murky light had gotten brighter. What did this mean? Nothing, probably. He walked past the edge of the strange overgrown garden and began to hear rustling noises. Looking fearfully to his right, Anthony saw that the tangled vines were writhing and squirming again. And an awful high-pitched wailing sound began. Louder and louder it grew, and to his horror Anthony saw figures running toward him from the shadows near the mansion.

  For an instant Anthony stood rooted to the spot, and then he ran. Faster and faster, feet slapping the ground, he pelted on till he reached the chest, which still stood at the edge of the forest. The wailing went on, and Anthony heard harsh barking shouts. By now Anthony was scared half out of his mind, and his fingers fumbled madly with the rough splintery lid. It seemed to take forever, but he finally got it open, and he clambered awkwardly inside. What was the phrase? What was the phrase? Running footsteps pounded closer as Anthony racked his brain. He had just heard the phrase a second or two ago. It was... it was...

  At last it came: Auro est locus in quo conflatur. He shouted it loudly into the night and ducked as the heavy lid came slamming down. Once more the bottom dropped out of the chest, and the wild sickening fall to safety began.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Anthony climbed out of the chest again he was in the dark, empty bedroom in the large, creaky old cottage. Rain still rattled on the window, and thunder rumbled endlessly. With shaking hands Anthony lowered the lid of the chest and stumbled out into the hall. Lightning rushed back and forth over the warped boards, and it lit the stern faces of the people who stared down from their gilded frames on the wall. Anthony felt dizzy and sick to his stomach, like someone who has been thrown into a giant Mixmaster. What had he seen? Blearily he looked around, and he felt a tremendous desire to sleep. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but somehow he dragged himself down the hall to his bedroom.

  With an exhausted sigh, he heaved himself onto the bed and was asleep in a few seconds.

  Days passed. Miss Eells and Emerson noticed that a change had come over Anthony, and it worried them. He didn't say much, and his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. At mealtime the two older people would ask him questions, but all they got were one-word answers. Sometimes in the evening, when Emerson and Miss Eells came in from fishing, they would find Anthony sitting silently on the porch of the cottage, listening to music on the radio. All this strange hermitlike behavior was scary, and it began to look as if Anthony was suffering from some form of mental illness. Miss Eells was beginning to get panicky, but as usual Emerson remained calm. He was determined to get to the bottom of the whole business, and he didn't believe that Anthony was losing his mind. Something else was bothering him, and Emerson wanted to know what it was.

  One evening after dinner, Emerson walked out to the end of the dock and sat down next to Anthony, who was squatting cross-legged and looking out at the far end of the lake, where a dusky crimson sun was setting in a mass of dark blue clouds. The look on Anthony's face was faraway and dreamy, as if he was living in some other world. After a quick, anxious glance at him, Emerson lowered himself down onto the dock and put his hand on Anthony's arm.

  "My boy," he began quietly, "my sister and I are worried about you. You don't... well, you just don't seem to be yourself these days. Is something wrong?"

  No answer. Anthony went on staring straight ahead.

  Emerson paused. He took his pocket watch out of his vest pocket, popped the lid, squinted at the time, and put the watch back. "Anthony," he began brusquely, "I did not come down here to sit and stare at the sunset with you. If you are unhappy about this vacation trip, please tell us and we'll take you home. But this moping has become intolerable, and it has to stop!"

  Anthony stiffened. A shudder passed through his body. Then, sobbing brokenly, he turned to Emerson and threw his arms around him. "I... I've got... something to... to tell you," said Anthony in a thick, weepy voice. "But you... you have to believe me... you... really do."

  Emerson nodded solemnly as he hugged his weeping friend. "I'll believe you," he said, "because I know you're honest, and besides, it's pretty clear that you have been through an awful experience of some kind. Tell me all about it."

  When he finally had control of himself again, Anthony told Emerson his amazing tale. About the appearing and disappearing chest and the strange otherworld that he had been thrust into. When he was through, Anthony looked at Emerson to see what his reaction was. He was terribly afraid that Emerson would be amused, but Emerson wasn't laughing. He looked awestruck.

  "Good God!" he exclaimed softly, as he stared out at the setting sun. "I have heard of such things, but I did not think they were possible—not until now, that is."

  Anthony stared hard at Emerson. "Do... do you know what happened to me?" he asked in a faltering voice. "Do you know where that mansion is?"

  Emerson smiled wryly. "The mansion is a long, long way from here, my friend. A long way." Emerson paused and picked up a flat pebble that lay on the slats of the dock. With a flick of his wrist he sent the pebble skipping across the still waters of the lake. "I think," he went on gravely, "that you were projected into another dimension. Into a world that does not exist anywhere on this earth. It's not in outer space either. It's... well, I just have to say it's in another dimension. You see, Anthony, for a long time people have wondered if there were any other worlds like ours existing on different planes... you know, sort of like on different floors of an apartment house. In your case, you seem to have stumbled u
pon a world that is held in place by magic. These weird creatures whose conference you eavesdropped on, they are the ones who built the world—they're sort of like the folks who put together a model train layout, though a good deal more clever. I think that those black-robed characters once lived in our world. But they didn't like it very much, so they moved next door, so to speak. But there is a connecting tunnel—that chest that doesn't seem able to stay put. Now, as for this thing called the Logos Cube... well, I can only guess that it's the heart of the world our black-robed friends created. And from what you said, it seems to have been swiped by someone. Beyond that, I'm just as much in the dark as you are. But this talk about a grand design bothers me. What do you suppose those creeps are up to?"

  Anthony shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Eells. I'm just glad you believe me."

  "Oh, I believe you—I really do," murmured Emerson, as he gazed thoughtfully out across the darkening lake. "In fact, I believe you so much that I'd like to go have a look at this mansion myself."

  Anthony's mouth dropped open. "What did you say?"

  Emerson calmly flicked a piece of lint off his shirt. "I said, I'd like to take a look at the place myself. I mean, it isn't every day that you get a chance to visit another world. Besides, if those characters are up to something, I'd like to know what it is."

  Anthony was flabbergasted. Here was Emerson talking about visiting the strange and frightening world of the mansion, and he was talking calmly! He might have been getting ready to go visit his cousin Hattie in Bemidji, or something like that.

  Anthony's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Finally he found his voice. "Mr. Eells!" he gasped. "Aren't you scared?"

  Emerson gave Anthony an odd look. "Of course I am. But scientific curiosity overcomes my fear—I just want to see what that place looks like!"

  Later that evening, as the three of them sat playing cards in the lamplit parlor of the cottage, Emerson and Anthony talked about the chest to Miss Eells. She was very relieved to know that Anthony was not losing his mind, but she was thoroughly alarmed at the idea that Emerson was planning to go and spy on those evil black-robed plotters.

  "Em, are you out of your mind?" exclaimed Miss Eells as she pitched a card onto the table. "They almost caught Anthony, and they might catch you. You might be tortured or killed or... or anything!"

  "Oh, I don't know about that," said Emerson calmly. "I have ways of protecting myself. By the way, Myra, you can't play a heart till hearts have been broken."

  Miss Eells snatched the card back and threw out a spade. "Don't try to change the subject, Em. What on earth do you mean by protection?"

  Emerson grinned. "I mean my amulet collection. Surely there's something in there that will help."

  Anthony's mouth dropped open. He knew what Emerson was talking about: Emerson was a lawyer by profession, but his hobby was magic. The study of his home in St. Cloud was crammed with books on magic and the occult, and on the shelves and the library table were cases containing objects that were supposed to be magic. Emerson had brought some of them with him to the cottage, in a mahogany case that had once held silverware. Many times in the last two weeks Anthony had seen Emerson with the case open in his lap. He was poring over his treasures, peering at them through a magnifying glass. The amulets were indeed an odd collection: There was a glass tube full of sand from the Gobi desert—it had been blessed by a Tibetan monk. There was a medieval German coin hanging from a chain of bronze links. A flat glass case containing a scrap of paper that had been found on the body of a bishop after he died. Turkish coins with mystical inscriptions on them, miniature Russian icons in gold frames, cloth scapulars with pictures of obscure saints on them. Gold-mounted teeth from the skulls of long-dead wizards, and brass medals and tiny ivory statuettes that glowed in the dark. All the amulets were fitted with chains or stout leather straps so that they could be worn to ward off evil.

  After an awkward silence, Miss Eells spoke up. She was just as skeptical as ever, besides being angry and frightened. "Look here, Em," she began in a severe tone, "do you really think these trinkets will keep you from being grabbed by those weird-looking nuts in the mansion? Good heavens, you've never tested these things! For all you know, they wouldn't ward off a gnat! And here you are, ready to risk your life with this kind of idiotic protection. It's insane, Em, utterly and totally insane!"

  "You may think so, Myra," said Emerson frostily, "but I am of another opinion. All of these amulets came to me with documents that proved their reliability—at least, they proved it to me. I know, I know... documents sometimes lie. But these are signed by famous sorcerers, and I'm inclined to believe them. So if I were you, I wouldn't order my coffin yet—I'll be out there and back in a jiffy!"

  "Famous last words," muttered Miss Eells. "So when are you going?"

  Emerson coughed nervously and glanced away. "Uh, well... there's a slight problem. The chest isn't in the room. And I don't really know when it'll be back."

  Miss Eells threw back her head and laughed—she just couldn't help it.

  Emerson's face was beginning to get red—he hated to be made fun of. "I'm sure the chest will be in the room sometime soon," he said in a stiff, formal voice. "Magical things do not follow regular schedules like railway trains. We will simply have to check the room from time to time. Now, as I recall, it is Anthony's turn to play a card. Let's get on with the game."

  More days passed. Wild evening storms came up out of nowhere, and thunder rattled the windows of the rambling old cottage. The three vacationers followed their aimless schedule of fishing, card playing, eating, and just sitting around doing nothing, but every now and then they would check the mysterious back room that smelled strongly of dust. Unfortunately, the chest was never there. Anthony began to wonder if it was gone forever, and—to tell the truth—he really hoped it was. He didn't believe that Emerson could go and spy on those evil creatures and get away. He would meet with an awful end, and Anthony himself would feel responsible, because he had discovered the secret password that activated the old chest. For the time being, however, it was pretty clear that no one was going anywhere—no chest, no trip. It was as simple as that.

  One chilly evening the three vacationers came rowing home after a successful time fishing out on the lake. A red sun was setting behind the distant pine trees, and its bloody light stained the ripply waters. Emerson had caught three lovely striped bass, and they lay in the wicker creel in the bottom of the rowboat. With one last pull Emerson sent the boat gliding in next to the dock. But as he was reaching out to tie the mooring rope up to one of the posts, he let out a loud exclamation.

  "My Lord! For the love of God, would you get a load of that!"

  Anthony and Miss Eells looked where Emerson was pointing. In a second-story window of the cottage a lamp was burning. With a lump in his throat, Anthony realized that this was the window of the room where he had found the chest. But all the oil lamps were downstairs—they always were. When they went to bed Anthony and the others took candles from a collection that lay on a table at the foot of the stairs. So why was there a light in that upper room?

  Emerson looked at Miss Eells, and Miss Eells looked at Anthony. Everyone was thinking the same thing, and so as quickly as possible they tied the boat up to the dock and clattered down the boards to the front door of the cottage. Abruptly, Emerson shoved the creel full of fish into Anthony's arms and told him to take them to the icehouse. Then, at breakneck speed Emerson tore into the house and up the stairs. A moment later Miss Eells and Anthony heard bellowing down the stairs.

  "It's here! The chest is here! I don't believe it, but it really truly is here! Lord have mercy on us!"

  Miss Eells gasped. What on earth was going to happen now? Anthony still stood there in the front hall with the dripping creel in his arms. Like Miss Eells, he was wondering, what next? Oh, well, first things first, he said to himself glumly, and he went around to the side of the house to put the fish in the cooler. When Anthony go
t back to the front door of the house, he found Emerson standing in the hall with an excited look on his face. Actually Emerson was more than excited—he was bubbling with awe and wonder and fear. Anthony had never seen him in such a state. Usually Emerson was the calm, cool, and collected type. He gave you the feeling that he could handle just about any situation, however wild and bizarre it might be. But right now Emerson was a mess.

  "It's true! It's really true!" he babbled, looking wildly this way and that. "Anthony, I will admit that I doubted your story for a little instant or two—or maybe even three. But now I've seen the blasted thing with my own eyes! A gateway to another world!"

  "It's the gateway to Hell," said Miss Eells grimly. "And if you go through it, Em, you're an even bigger fool than I think you are!"

  This remark really stung Emerson, and he flinched. But then he pulled himself together and squared his shoulders. "I'm going," he announced stubbornly, "and that's all there is to it!" He turned to Anthony. "Anthony, my boy," he said, "will you go with me? I need you to guide me. With amulets around our necks, we'll be perfectly safe, I promise you."

  At this Miss Eells completely lost her temper. "Emerson Eells!" she exclaimed furiously. "Are you so irresponsible that you would lead this young man into terrible danger? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

  Emerson blushed and stared at the floor. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, Anthony," he said in a low voice.

  Strangely enough, Anthony found that he was eager to go. He was scared, of course, but he also wanted to revisit that strange, shadowy world. After a short pause he spoke up. "I'll go, Mr. Eells," he said firmly. "When do we start?"

  "Now. I'll get the amulets," Emerson said. For himself he chose the tube of sand from the Gobi desert. Anthony picked a miniature Russian icon of St. Basil the Great, and together they climbed the creaky stairs of the old cottage and walked down the hall toward the room where the chest was. After a deep sigh Miss Eells went to the living room and lit three of the oil lamps. Then she sat down in a rocking chair and grimly went to work on her knitting. She was trying to make a sweater for her niece's small daughter, and it was not coming out very well—one arm was longer than the other, and the stitches kept coming unraveled. But it was all she could think of to do at this point. The rocker creaked, the knitting needles clacked, and the Waterbury clock on the shelf ticked noisily. Miss Eells heard the lid of the chest slam loudly, and she jumped. God help us now, she thought. God help us all now.