The Mansion in the Mist (13 page)

"I am planning to go this coming Saturday," he said solemnly. "Around eight in the evening, after dinner. I'll expect you and Anthony around six. How will that be?"

"I'll try," said Miss Eells, and with that she said goodbye and hung up.

When she told Anthony about what had happened he got very interested. "You mean we're really going back there?" he asked excitedly.

Miss Eells laid her hand on Anthony's arm and smiled sadly. "I know you're raring to go," she said, "but if I were you I wouldn't get my hopes up. We're just going up to Em's place to be polite."

Anthony looked disappointed. "You don't think it'll work, then?"

Miss Eells shook her head. "No, I don't. And why you two want to go back to that frightening place is more than I can figure out. Anyway, get permission from your folks to go up to St. Cloud around four on Saturday. We'll be staying overnight—after Emerson's hocus-pocus fizzles."

The rest of the week passed quickly for Anthony, and when he showed up to work at the library on Saturday morning, he had his suitcase with him. Whether or not the grand scheme worked, he always enjoyed visiting Emerson's vast Victorian house with its strange old-fashioned furniture and odd collection of magical objects. So for the rest of the day, Anthony shelved books and dusted mantels and ran the vacuum cleaner over rugs in various rooms of the library. Finally three o'clock arrived, and Miss Eells rang a little gong as she always did to announce that the place was closing. Peo
ple filed out, and the front door was bolted. Anthony felt a tightening in his stomach. Miss Eells hummed cheerfully as she turned out the lights and checked the windows. Then, with her big ring of keys in her hand, she motioned for Anthony to get his suitcase and follow her to the back entrance. When the last door was locked, Anthony followed Miss Eells to her car, a lovely white Cadillac, which was a present from Emerson. They put the suitcases into the trunk and climbed into the car. Miss Eells revved up the motor. They were on their way.

Around eight that evening, Anthony and Miss Eells were sitting in Emerson's parlor. Two of the walls were covered by built-in bookcases full of rare old volumes. A large red Oriental rug lay in front of leather covered easy chairs and bronze floor lamps. Chinese vases and other knickknacks dotted the shelves and tables. In the middle of the room stood Mr. Ambrose's desk with the ugly gold-bordered mirror propped up beside it. A little stack of playing cards had been placed on one corner of the desktop. Miss Eells and Anthony sat in the easy chairs. Emerson was standing near the desk, dressed in his lumberjack outfit: red-plaid shirt, khaki trousers, and combat boots. He held a small collapsible shovel with a red blade. As the other two watched, he leaned it up against one side of the desk. Then he picked up the mirror and moved it to a corner of the room, where it would be out of the way.

"Well!" said Emerson, turning to his guests and rub
bing his hands briskly. There was an expectant hush in the room. Something wonderful and frightening was going to happen—or maybe it wasn't. In any case, they'd all know pretty soon.

"Are you going to distribute the amulets?" asked Miss Eells. She tried to sound lighthearted and amused, but there was a tremble in her voice.

"Yes," said Emerson in his best businesslike manner. "I'll just fetch the box and you can choose the ones you want." He walked over to a long library table and picked up the mahogany case that he had had with him in the Canadian cottage. Opening the lid, he went to Anthony first. As before, Anthony picked the tiny Russian icon that hung from a braided gold chain. Miss Eells took the Joachimsthaler, and of course, Emerson already had his Gobi desert sand tube hanging from a leather strap around his neck. Quietly Emerson closed the lid of the box and put it back on the table. Then he strode back to the desk and bowed to his two guests.

"We're ready to go," he announced. "If you're coming with me, place your hand somewhere on one of the sides of the desk."

Anthony got up. So did Miss Eells. Emerson took his place at the desk like an orchestra conductor. On his left stood Anthony, touching the varnished side of the desk. Miss Eells stood on the right. After clearing his throat two or three times Emerson picked up the cards. First he laid the three of spades down in the place marked out for it. Next came the seven and the nine. Last of
all, Emerson laid down the ace in the little dotted rectangle on the left. Nothing happened.

For quite a long time the three of them stood there dead still. Then Miss Eells jerked her hand away from the side of the desk. She felt extremely relieved, but she patted Emerson on the arm and smiled kindly. "Don't feel bad, Em," she muttered. "After all, you tried."

"Yeah," put in Anthony. "It really wasn't your fault, Mr. Eells."

Emerson had not moved a muscle. His hand still lay on the ace, and on his face was an angry and humiliated look. With a quick motion, he gathered up the cards and piled them at one corner of the desk. Then he lifted his hand and brought it down on the leather-covered surface with a loud slap.
"Blast it all!"
he exclaimed. "I thought it would work—I really did!" For several seconds he stood chewing his lip and thinking furiously. Then he turned to Miss Eells. "Tell me, Myra," he said in a commanding voice. "Where was the mirror in the painting? You know, the one you thought was a window?"

Miss Eells was startled by this question. She didn't have the faintest idea of what Emerson was driving at. "Well," she said slowly, "in the painting of Mr. Ambrose the mirror—the one that looked like a window— it was... was..."

"Yes?" said Emerson impatiently. "It was where?"

"Oh, give me time for heaven's sake!" exclaimed Miss
Eells in exasperation. "The mirror was up over Mr. Ambrose's left shoulder."

"That's all I need to know," said Emerson. "Anthony, help me move the desk back toward that wall over there."

Throwing the shovel to one side for the time being, Emerson helped Anthony lug the desk over to a nearby wall where a painting hung. Emerson took down the painting and put the mirror up in its place. Then he walked back to the middle of the room and picked up the shovel. Once again he propped it against the desk.

"Places everyone!" he said in a commanding voice. "Myra, Anthony, go stand where you were before with your hands on the desk. We're going to have another try."

As soon as the other two were in place Emerson picked up the cards and glanced quickly over his left shoulder. Then he lifted the three of spades in the air and put it down on the desk. Immediately the mirror began to glow with a grayish light that cast a shimmering halo around the three people who stood at the desk. A drumming sound began under the floor of the room. At this point Miss Eells would have jerked her hand away from the side of the desk, but she found that she couldn't. Emerson laid down the seven and the nine. The light got brighter, and the drumming got louder. A vase on the library table rocked and then crashed to the floor, and several books fell out of a bookcase. Still remaining calm,
Emerson lifted the ace dramatically in the air. He held it upside down, the same position shown in the painting. But as Emerson was about to lay the card down, Anthony let out a loud exclamation.

"Don't, Mr. Eells! Don't lay it down! It's a trap!"

Emerson was startled. With the card still held in the air he turned to Anthony. "For heaven's sake, why not?" he asked.

"Because the ace of spades upside down is
death!"
Anthony cried desperately. "I read about it in a book somewhere! We'll all die if you put the card down like that!"

Emerson wondered: Were they being set up for death by the evil Mr. Ambrose? After another moment of hesitation Emerson turned the card around so that the big spade symbol and the word
bicycle
were right side up facing him. Carefully he laid the card down.

All of a sudden a lot of things happened. The walls and floor of the room seemed to waver, and the bookcases and paintings sagged. The drumming noise grew to a deafening roar, as the blue light became a blinding glare. Then the three people who were standing at the desk were whirled round and round, as if they were standing on some large spinning turntable. Faster and faster they spun, and just before he blacked out Anthony heard himself yelling,
"We're gonna die anyway! Oh no..."

When Miss Eells, Anthony, and Emerson came to, they felt very dizzy and scared to death. As before they were grouped around the desk, but they weren't in Emerson's parlor anymore. They were in a gloomy vaulted chamber that seemed to be a crypt. All around them they saw deep niches set in the rough stone walls, and many of these held coffins. Low gray arches supported the ceiling, and rows of squat pillars marched away into the distance. The place smelled damp and moldy and the still air seemed clammy, bone-chilling, and somehow evil. Emerson shuddered and wiped his face with his handkerchief.

"Well, here we are—wherever that is!" he announced, as he peered around at the grim scene. "Probably we
are in some part of the black stone mansion of the Autarchs. We have to go outside to search for the sundial."

Miss Eells was just recovering from the shock of the whirling journey they had been on. Once again she silently accused herself: If she had not gone along with Emerson's plans, she wouldn't be here. But there was no turning back now.

Emerson picked up the four playing cards and put them in his hip pocket. Then, after grabbing the shovel, he began to walk down the corridor. Miss Eells and Anthony followed him past the stone arches. The chamber was lit by a grayish glow that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. At last they arrived at a stone staircase that spiraled upward into shadows. But as they were about to start climbing, someone came bounding down the steps to meet them. He was a short, elderly man with a wrinkly face and sagging cheeks. Bare feet peeked out of the folds of his tattered black robe and straggly gray hair hung down over his hunched shoulders. But in spite of his shabby appearance and the frightening way he had jumped out at them, the three travelers somehow knew that they had nothing to fear from this man. There was an air of kindness and gentleness about him, and his mouth was pursed up into a wistful pout.

"Oh, hello there!" said the little man, waving shyly. "Imagine meeting you folks here!"

Anthony, Emerson, and Miss Eells had been startled
at first, but now they were merely curious. Who was this man, and why was he acting as if he knew who they were?

Emerson thought a bit. He had a hunch that he knew who this was, but he couldn't be sure yet. Holding out his hand he smiled politely and said, "Emerson Eells at your service! And who, pray tell, might you be?"

The little man giggled. "I'll bet you know already," he exclaimed. "My name is Wabe. Nathaniel Wabe, formerly of the grand society of Autarchs. Pleased to meet you all!"

Anthony was stunned, but then his heart sank. This had to be the man who had scratched WABE on the gold coin. But because that was his name was the clue meaningless? Had they come all this way for nothing?

"In case you were wondering," the man went on, "I'm the one who left the note in the vase in your cottage. I used to make lots of trips back and forth between this world and Earth, but I don't get around much anymore. I became frightened after three people from your world found my note and came here. Unfortunately they were caught and now they're decorating the garden outside. After that happened, I began to realize the true wickedness of what was going on here, and I hid the Logos Cube. Needless to say, I had to hide
myself
after that, and ever since then I've been living in the secret passages of this mansion, like a rat in a maze. I know ways of getting around that even the Grand Autarch doesn't
know, and I've stayed alive by raiding the kitchen at odd hours. Even Autarchs have to munch, you know." He giggled again in a very disconcerting way.

Anthony's head was whirling. This was the man who had started them on their quest! There were a million questions that he wanted to ask, but he asked the one that seemed most important. "Mr. ... Mr. Wabe," he stammered, "if your name really is Wabe, then is the clue... I mean, the word, is it..."

"Is it all just a joke, then?" asked the little man, reading his thoughts. "Of course not! When I lived in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, I used to read a lot, and I know a lot of poems by heart. One of them is
Jabberwocky.
And I always thought how strange it was that one of the nonsense words in the poem was my last name. So I decided to give the word a little—uh, shall we say—added significance?"

Emerson beamed—his theory had been right, then! "Are we to understand that the Logos Cube is buried near a sundial?" he asked eagerly.

The little man laughed and shook his head. "Oh, dear me, no! You've got it all wrong! What I buried is something you need to
destroy
the cube! It's no good having the cube if you don't possess the thing that can get rid of it."

Emerson looked puzzled. "But I don't understand," he said. "If you have the thing that will shatter the cube, why in heaven's name don't you use it?"

The little man sighed. "I can't. Long ago I took a blood oath to protect the cube, and an Autarch's oath has a magical effect on him. I couldn't raise my hand to damage the cube in any way—the weapon would fall from my hand. So I just hid the wretched thing away and tried to provide someone else with the means of getting rid of it."

"I see," said Emerson, scratching his head uncertainly. "Well, in that case why don't you tell us where the cube is? We can take it to the place where the weapon is hidden and smash it there. Or if we can't destroy it we can at least carry it back to Minnesota with us. Doesn't that make sense?"