Spell of the Sorcerer's Skull (15 page)

Johnny stood up and—limping badly—he began to make his way back toward the graveyard. But he had only taken a few steps when he stopped. An awful thought had come to him. What if the scarecrow thing—or whatever it was that had been hovering nearby—what if it came to get Father Higgins? Maybe it had been about to pounce on him when Johnny arrived. What if the blessed book, the breviary, had been the only thing that kept Father Higgins safe? He couldn't just leave him here with no protection at all. Reluctantly Johnny turned back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crucifix and chain. Kneeling, he gently slid the chain over the priest's neck. Once again Johnny shone his flashlight beam at Father Higgins's face. His eyes were closed, and he was mumbling something that Johnny couldn't make out. Johnny didn't want to leave him, but he had to. Muttering a prayer, he pulled himself to his feet and set out again.

The rain was stopping, and the clouds, driven by a strong wind, were breaking up. Johnny saw a vague silvery glow overhead, which meant the moon was trying to break through. It was easier to see now, and he forced himself to plod on over the bumpy field and up the little hill to the cemetery. He felt very jittery without the crucifix hanging around his neck. It was true that the breviary had been blessed—at least, Johnny hoped that it had. Father Higgins had told him once that all the sacred implements used by a priest—his Mass vestments, the chalice, and so on—had been blessed by a bishop. But would a blessed book save him? Johnny was in tears now. He was feeling sorry for the professor, for Father Higgins, for Fergie, for himself. Through the creaking turnstile and up the cemetery road he stomped. Wearily he looked up and he saw the dark, unreal house still looming against the sky. Sniffling, Johnny came to a halt and put the flashlight under his armpit. Holding the book rigidly in both hands, he began to chant loudly:

 

Judica me, Deus et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta; ab homo iniquo et doloso erue me.

 

If he expected the house to disappear, he was disappointed—it was still there.
This is crazy,
thought Johnny,
absolutely crazy!
He flipped a page and read more:

 

Suscipiat Dominus sacrificium de manibus suis, ad laudam et gloriam nominis tuae...
 

 

Johnny stopped reading. He stopped because a small cold glowing object had appeared on the page that he held before him. The skull. Grinning with malice, eyes lit by tiny red dots of fire, it hovered in the flashlight's pale beam. And a harsh, pitiless voice burst inside Johnny's brain:
No one will cheat me of my vengeance, which will be visited upon all, even the seventh son of the seventh son! Come, foolish child, and see what I have prepared, for the way of the transgressor is hard, and the lamp of the iniquitous shall be put out!

Johnny's arms dropped to his sides. The book fell into the mud at his feet, and the flashlight rolled away down the hill. Jerked forward by an irresistible force, Johnny tottered up toward the phantom mansion. He was being led to the lighted window, and he was forced to stop. Invisible hands seized his shoulders and shoved him rudely forward until his face was almost touching the glass. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't—he had to watch. The professor slept on, sunk into the deep leather armchair. And—as Johnny had feared—the scene that now began to unfold was just like the one he had seen in the dark, cold room in the Fitzwilliam Inn. The yellow flame in the oil lamp's chimney dwindled to a sputtering blue point. The flames in the fireplace wavered, shrank, died out. And as the door at the back of the room began to open, the shadowy form moved into the room.
No! No!
Johnny screamed, but the scream burst in his head. He couldn't yell or twitch his nose or move a muscle of his body. The thing was hovering over the professor, bending horribly close to him. The shadowy hand was creeping toward the professor's face....
 

"Aaaaaaaah!"

The air was split by a loud, violent, bull-like bellowing. Up the road charged Father Higgins. In his hand he gripped the silver crucifix. He held it high over his head like a banner, and the chain clinked and shimmered in the air. The big priest's arm was around Johnny's shoulder now, and he felt the cold metal being pressed to his forehead. Suddenly he could move. Reeling backward, he turned and watched as Father Higgins dashed madly to the front door of the mansion, dropped to his knees, and laid the crucifix down on the stone doorstep. In a loud, angry, challenging voice he started chanting:

 

I bind unto myself today

The strong name of the Trinity

With invocations of the same

The Three in One, and One in Three!

The bursting from the spiced tomb

The riding up the heavenly way

The coming at the Day of Doom

I bind unto myself today!

 

As soon as the last word of this incantation was out of Father Higgins's mouth, the solid-looking mansion began to waver and shimmer. It looked like something seen through the windshield of a car in the rain. And then it was gone, and in its place stood the dumpy boarded-up chapel. Silence. The moon slid out from behind a cloud, and a pale ray lit the front door of the chapel. Father Higgins knelt motionless, the silver cross clenched tight in his hand. Johnny could hear his heavy, labored breathing. There came a scuttering, crunching sound, and the chapel door was yanked inward. Professor Childermass stepped out over the doorsill. He looked dazed, and he glanced this way and that. Suddenly he saw Father Higgins kneeling in the mud in front of him, and he let out a joyful croaking yell.

"Higgy!"
he screeched, rushing forward and throwing his arms around his friend.
"Higgy!
What on earth are
you
doing here? For that matter, what am
I
doing here? Eh? What's going on? And is that John over there? It is! John, you're all wet! Your grandmother will have a fit!"

The professor paused and looked down at the priest, who still knelt motionless before him. Father Higgins was crying now. Tears were streaming down his grizzly cheeks. But the professor was not feeling weepy—he was looking more and more annoyed by the second.

"For the love of Pete!" he roared. "Will
somebody please
tell me what the devil is going on?"

 

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

Somehow the three of them made it back down to the shore. Johnny limped on his sprained ankle, and the professor helped Father Higgins, who was still feeling dizzy from the blow that he had taken on the head. When they got to the boat, they found Fergie sitting on the bow, looking dejected and confused. When he saw his three friends coming toward him, he really went wild— he gave football cheers and jumped and danced around. And finally, when he had calmed down a bit, he explained that he had been led into a thicket by somebody who looked like Father Higgins. Then whoever-it-was had disappeared, and Fergie had gotten totally lost. He had wandered out to the other end of the island, and by the time he got back to the boat, there was no one there at all. At this point, he'd felt so completely mixed up that he just sat down and decided to wait till somebody came to
him
for a change.

When he had finished his little tale, Fergie turned to Father Higgins with a puzzled frown on his face. "So, if it wasn't you, Father... then who the heck was I following?"

"Who indeed?" muttered the priest, smiling grimly. "I'll tell you this, though, Byron:
Divide and conquer
is an ancient maxim for those who want to grind others into the dust. But as for all the rest of the whys and whats and wherefores of this affair... well, I think we'll have to wait a bit before we can say anything." He put his hand to his head and winced. "Right now," he added with a painful grimace, "I think I could do with about six dozen aspirin. Or a slug or two of that brandy that I was going to use to get the professor hammered."

"Hammered?" said the professor, blinking in astonishment. "Higgy, what in
blazes
are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you later," said Father Higgins, chuckling. "In the meantime, let's get ourselves off of this rotten, cursed sand spit. And don't call me Higgy, Rod. You know I can't stand that!"

The four weary adventurers climbed into the motor-boat. Father Higgins pulled the starter cord, and they were off at top speed, heading back toward Vinalhaven. When they got to the island, Father Higgins and the boys took the professor to the Lobster Pot Inn, where he had a hot bath and a much-needed shave. After he had gotten freshened up, the professor found—to his great surprise—that there were clean clothes and freshly shined shoes laid out for him. Father Higgins had taken them from the professor's house, using the key that the professor had left across the street with Grampa Dixon. There were clean pajamas too, and the professor undressed, put on the pajamas, and threw himself into the extra bed in Father Higgins's room. He was asleep in half a minute.

The next morning, while they were all waiting down at the dock for the ferryboat, Father Higgins told the professor all that he knew about the weird incidents that had led all of them on an expedition out to Cemetery Island. He explained about the Saint Anthony "messages," the skull, Johnny's midnight vision, and everything. The professor listened to all this calmly, and when Father Higgins was through, he snorted indignantly.

"Huh!" he muttered. "So some evil spirit decided that he was going to make mincemeat of me. And if this Warren Windrow hadn't scrawled one of his dream-thoughts down on the flyleaf of a book, I might not be standing here right now. The 'great reckoning,' the settling of accounts, would have happened to me! But there's still a lot in this business that is pretty murky. When I get home I'll have to see what I can do to clear things up."

"I think you oughta rest when you get home," suggested Johnny gently. He was afraid the professor would get sick if he exerted himself too much, after all he had been through.

"Rest, ha!" said the professor, glaring arrogantly around. "I never felt better or fitter in my life!"

 

When Professor Childermass got back to his gray stucco house on Fillmore Street, he found that things were in pretty much of a mess: several windows were broken, the aerial on the cupola was in danger of falling down, and the house was full of grime and dust. But with the help of Grampa Dixon, Johnny, Fergie, and some neighbors, he managed to get the old place fixed up in next to no time at all. And he found that his job at Haggstrum College was still waiting for him. Still, he kept wondering why he had gotten kidnapped in the first place. What forces of demonic magic had been at work? These and some other puzzling questions still remained, and so the professor decided to take a quick car trip up to his ancestral family home in Vermont. He rooted around in the attic, and since he belonged to a family that never threw anything away, he was able to find what he wanted. Not long after he got back, he announced to his friends that he was going to have a party to celebrate his return. A backyard cookout, no less.

And so, on a warm evening early in June, all of the professor's friends were gathered on the lawn behind his house. There were Gramma and Grampa Dixon, Father Higgins, Fergie and Johnny, and Professor Charles Coote of the University of New Hampshire, who was an expert on black magic. Professor Childermass had had some long-distance phone conversations with his old friend, and now he was planning to consult with him further so that some of the loose ends in this crazy business could be resolved.

The professor got all done up in one of his tasteless summer outfits: grass-stained khaki wash pants, a magenta short-sleeved shirt covered with yellow monkeys and guitars, a big apron with witty sayings all over it, and a puffy chef's hat. Then, with tight-jawed determination, he grilled hamburgers and hot dogs on the brick backyard stove that he had not used in at least fourteen years. He felt rather inept and clumsy, and he dropped more than one burger into the fire, but with the aid of lighter fluid and Father Higgins's expert advice about handling charcoal, he managed it all without once losing his temper.

Late in the evening the party goers were all sitting in lawn chairs talking quietly and sipping drinks.

"Now, then," the professor began in his best brusque, no-nonsense manner, "I suppose you'll all be wanting to know what I found out when I went up to Vermont to poke around in my ancestral attic."

"You had bloody well
better
tell us," said Professor Coote dryly, "or we'll roast you over what's left of the fire."

The professor harrumphed a bit and paced nervously back and forth puffing at his cigarette and blowing out little thin streams of smoke. Suddenly his face relaxed, and he smiled. "I suppose," he began, "that Higgy here has spilled the beans to those who weren't in on the hunt for me, and that therefore
everybody
knows that what happened had something to do with Warren Windrow, the man from Cemetery Island who was hanged because he tried to kill my dear old Granduncle Lucius. Are you all with me thus far?"

Everybody nodded, and some murmured
yeah's
and
uh huh's.

"Good!" said the professor, and he began to pace again. "In order to fill in the missing pieces of this rather insane jigsaw puzzle, I took a little jaunt up to my ancestral home, where I rooted about in the attic. There had always been a story in the family that Uncle Lucius had kept a diary, but no one had ever seen it. So I poked about in his steamer trunk—the same one that had gone with him when he took a clipper ship to California and back—and I found the diary sewed up in the lining of the trunk. And imagine my surprise when I discovered that the secretive old cuss had written the diary in
classical Greek!" The
professor smiled in a self-satisfied way. "Little did Lucius know that his grandnephew would become a scholar and learn to read—"

"Oh, cut out the bragging, Roderick!" said Professor Coote, interrupting. "We all know you can read Greek! So
tell
us what you found out!"