Collected Stories (35 page)

 Her mouth opened until the lower jaw hid her neck and the upper lip curled up over the nose, so that her mouth was one gaping cavern where discoloured teeth glimmered like two rows of weather-stained tombstones. A yawn - a shuddering rumble -began somewhere behind her heaving bosom, then rose up and became a body-shaking roar. Her shoulders quivered, her buttocks and legs jerked, her arms flailed like wind tossed branches, but her head remained still. Then the yawning roar died. Was cut off a though a hidden switch had been pulled and at once all movement ceased. Both figures became as rigid statues. Croxley a study in frozen terror. The Maddy an awful automaton that is preparing to carry out a scheduled programme. Then she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her gaping mouth to that of Sheridan Croxley. Caroline heard the hiss of expelled breath and Sheridan gave one mighty shudder, before falling back, senseless against the wall. Mrs Grantley picked him up as though he were a child and laid his limp body on the bed.

 The butler gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

 "Pray do not distress yourself, madam. Mr Croxley's period of unconsciousness will be of short duration. When he is himself again, you will soon find a great change in his character. My wife has erased what is commonly called the soul and the gentleman will be able to develop his natural attributes without the hindrance of a conscience."

 They both looked thoughtfully at Caroline who screamed once, thereby causing Grantley to shake his heed in sad reproof.

 "There is no need for alarm, madam. We have no intention of-how shall I put it? - desouling you. This is not our normal practice. But Mr Croxley can be of great service to us - if I may be allowed to make such a bold statement. We have long wished for a representative in the upper strata of the business world. When the gentleman has fully matured - and I would remind you, madam, that he has been licked by a Raddy, blown on by a Mock and yawned upon by a Maddy - he will indeed be one of us and advance our interests to everyone's satisfaction. We may even put him up for parliament. It would be nice to have one of our number in the cabinet. We have several on the back benches, but that is not quite the same thing."

 "What… what do you intend to do with me?" Caroline asked.

 Grantley smiled and adjusted his bowtie.

 "It is not always wise to ask leading questions, madam. Suffice to say, you will not be wasted."

 They went out and Caroline was left to await the waking of her desouled husband.

 The sun was setting when Sheridan stirred, then sat up and looked round the room with a slightly puzzled expression. Caroline could not see any alteration in his appearance, although there was a certain bleakness in the eyes that usually meant he was about to erupt into a fit of bad temper.

 "What the hell happened?" he asked.

 "Don't you remember?"

 "I wouldn't ask if I remembered. We were sitting here frightened about something. And, oh yes, Grantley came in with that wife of his. Rather attractive in an odd sort of way."

 "That… that thing… attractive!"

 "I wouldn't expect another woman to agree. Now get out of here. I feel strange and probably another sleep will do me good."

 "But, Sheridan," Caroline pleaded, "this is no time for us to be parted. That… woman yawned on you and…"

 Sheridan was staring at her and there was a baleful gleam in his eye that reminded her of a vicious dog that has cornered an intruder and is now seriously considering attack. When she moved the cold, watchful stare followed her and soon an unreasoning flood of fear made her run to the door and go stumbling down the stairs.

 Marvin was in the dining room and looked up when Caroline entered and although he appeared to be pleased to see her, his first words were those of reproach.

 "Why did you run away? I thought that I had at last found someone who liked gardening. I was so disappointed and almost became angry. And no one must make me angry."

 Despite her fear, the awful knowledge, Caroline again came under the influence of that strange, animal charm, and suddenly he was a tree standing alone in a desert of madness. She ran to him and grabbed one limp hand and held it to her face.

 "I am so frightened. Please help me."

 He looked surprised - even alarmed.

 "Why, madam? I am not angry."

 "Please don't call me madam. I am afraid of your father - and the others. They have done something dreadful to my husband."

 He nodded - almost cheerfully.

 "I expect they have desouled him. Now he will be one of us and feel much better. Why, do you want to be desouled?"

 "No." She shook her head violently and tried to bury her face in his shirt front, but he moved away.

 "Just as well. I have never known a woman to be desouled. Father usually drains them and I plant what is left in the garden. Women make good corpoties. I expect that is what will happen to you."

 "Nooo." She screamed her protest and tried to shake him in a frenzy of horror, but he was like a deeply rooted tree, or a rock that has its foundations deep down in the earth, for he did not move. "You must not let them touch me. Please… please protect me and I'll do anything you say. Anything at all."

 He considered this proposal for some time. Then he put his head on to one side and asked: "Anything at all? Even help me all day in the garden?"

 "Yes. I will… I will."

 "Help me plant the little bits and pieces? Do the thinning out? Transplant? Water? Chop-up? Mince? Prepare the mixture?"

 "Yes. Yes… oh God… yes."

 He nodded his approval.

 "That is very good. You have made me very happy."

 "Then you will protect me from them?"

 The beautiful, blue and so innocent eyes looked straight into hers.

 "If they try to drain you, I will become angry."

 "Yes… but will you protect me?"

 He frowned and Caroline flinched.

 "I have already promised. I will become angry."

 He turned and walked away with that kind of hurt and resentful expression that one might expect to find on the face of a boy scout whose word of honour has been doubted. Caroline felt like a mouse who has taken refuge in a mousetrap from a herd of ill-intentioned cats. She sank down on to a chair and closed her eyes and instantly a crazy network of words spread across her brain. "Drain… desoul… mock… shaddy… mock… shadmock… lick… yawn… blow… whistle…" The voice of the lately departed Mr Barker came back as a haunting whisper.

 Wonder not why your hair stifly bristles.

 Just abandon all hope when the shadmock whistles.

 Caroline giggled and pursed her lips and tried an experimental whistle. What was there so terrible about whistling. But - and now she could not suppress a shudder - who would have thought there could have been anything extraordinary about licking, yawning or, for that matter, blowing.

 "What the hell are you doing?"

 Her eyes snapped open and there was Sheridan standing by the door, his eyes cold mirrors of contempt. Already she could detect the subtle change. His face had that bleached, deathlike whiteness that was characteristic of them. A stubble of black beard darkened his chin, and it might have been the result of a fevered imagination, but were there not two little bumps rearing up through his hair?

 She said: "I am waiting… For dinner… or something."

 He grunted - or was it a growl? - then turned and went out through the door which led to the servants' quarters. About twenty minutes later Grantley entered pushing a trolley, and Caroline at once noticed a trifling alteration in his appearance. His hair was no longer piled-up to form a raven crest over his head, but was neatly combed around his pointed ears and parted in the centre. The two, gleaming ebony horns did not - if one could only view them dispassionately - seem out of place. They added an almost noble aspect to his long face, and drew attention to his rather well-shaped skull. But Caroline could not help screaming and clutching clenched fists to her mouth. Grantley ignored or did not notice her distress, and after depositing a number of covered dishes and a single plate on the table, bowed most respectfully.

 "Mr Croxley presents his compliments, madam, and instructed me to inform you that he will be dining in the kitchen. He feels he should now be among his peers."

 Caroline did not comment, but continued to stare at the horns which were causing her deep concern. Grantley gave one educated glance at the table, then walked with unruffled dignity back to the door. There he paused and coughed apologetically.

 "There is one little matter. Will it be convenient for madam to be drained at eight o'clock?"

 Caroline made a strange noise that terminated with the single word - drained! Grantley appeared to accept this sound to mean acquiescence, and inclined his head.

 "I am deeply obliged, madam. I must apologise for this unseemly haste, but I find we are rather short of essential fluid and madam's contribution will be greatly appreciated."

 Caroline groaned and slid from her chair and then rolled over on to the floor. She was not aware that Grantley came back into the room and without too much effort replaced her unconscious body back into its former position. By pushing the chair tight against the table, he was able to ensure that such an unfortunate mishap would not occur again.

 There is absolutely no doubt that mocks - apart from a few distressing weaknesses - make excellent domestic servants.

 The shaddy and the maddy came for her at eight o'clock.

 Two bearded faces, two pairs of powerful hands, two muscle corded backs; they lifted Caroline from her chair and carried her out of the dining room and down a long passage. The prospect of imminent death is a great reviver, and she was wide awake when they entered the long, sparsely furnished room.

 Sparsely furnished! A long table, a large galvanised iron bath, two plastic buckets, two carving knives, one saw and a roll of rubber tubing. Grantley was wearing a butcher's apron.

 "If madam will lie down," he bowed in the direction of the table, "we will proceed."

 Caroline struggled, kicked, screamed and did all in her power to break free from those iron-strong hands, but it was hopeless. Grantley looked on with an expression of shocked surprise.

 "It is to be regretted that madam cannot see her way clear to cooperation."

 She was being dragged closer to the table, with its straps and head clamp, and when she jerked her head round, there was Sheridan standing by the window, tall, bulky, looking more like them by the minute, with lust gleaming in his eyes. He chuckled - a low, growling laugh - and rubbed his hands together with fiendish delight.

 Caroline swung her head from side to side, but nowhere was there a sign of the protector, the beautiful one, the innocent with the fatal whistle. Her scream took on words.

 "Marvin, help me! Marvin…"

 She was on the table and the two bearded monsters were preparing to strap her down, when the door opened - and he was there. Blue eyes wide with alarm, full-lipped mouth slightly open, his blond hair tousled as though he had lately risen from a virginal bed. He said nothing, but looked enquiringly at his father.

 Grantley frowned. "This does not concern you. When she has been drained, you may plant what remains."

 "I want her to help me in the garden," the soft voice said.

 The mock deepened his frown and shook his head angrily.

 "You cannot always have what you want. There are others to consider. Her essence must be drained and stored, so that we may all be nourished during the winter months. You really must grow up and face your responsibilities."

 "I want her to help in the garden," Marvin repeated.

 "Marvin," the Maddy was trying the mother approach, "be a good boy. We let you have that stockbroker to play with before he was drained, and we did not interfere when you pulled the legs off that property speculator, even though he was useless for our purpose afterwards. But now the time has come for us to take a stand. There is no point in licking or yawning the humwoman, she has no monsteral qualities. She must therefore be drained, minced and planted. Then - if you are a good boy - you will be able to harvest the corpoties next spring."

 Marvin opened and closed his hands, while his entire body became rigid. When he spoke his voice was very low - almost a growl.

 "Let… her go."

 Before Grantley or either of the other monsters could speak, Sheridan lurched forward, his great hands balled up into fists, his little eyes like tiny pits of blue fire.

 "See here," he was spitting the words out, "it's all decided. All cut and dried. I gather I'm not completely one of you lot, until," he jerked his head in the direction of Caroline, "she has had the chop. I'm hungry, pretty boy. Hungry for more money, more power, and when I'm hungry, I smash anyone that gets in my way. So go and play in your garden, unless you want to get hurt."

 Marvin's eyes were wide open and they gleamed with cold contempt. At the same time he looked so young and helpless, standing there before the bulky, powerful figure of Sheridan Croxley. Then he said softly: "A peasant should learn to guard his tongue."

 Sheridan's fist caught the boy squarely under the chin and lifted him off the floor, before sending him hurling across the room and crashing against the closed door. The door trembled, the Maddy shrieked, the Shaddy roared and the Mock - Grantley - voiced his objections.

 "In Satan's name, you should not have done that, newly acquired brother. Now he will be angry."

 "I'm angry," Sheridan retorted. "Bloody angry."

 "Yes," Grantley was watching his son with growing concern, "but the anger of a fly cannot be compared with the rage of a lion."

 "A fly!"

 "Quiet." Grantley waited until Marvin had regained his feet and stood upright against the door. "Now, son, control. Our newly acquired brother will be disciplined for this act, you may have no doubt about that. So don't get angry. Please practise some self-control. He alone was to blame, so there's no need to make us all suffer…"

 Marvin took a deep breath, if that can describe the rumbling intake of air; the unnatural expanding of the chest, or the dilated cheeks which bulged like white walled tyres. Grantley hesitated for only a moment, then turned and made for the solitary window, where he arrived a bad third, his father and wife having been similarly motivated.