The Mansion in the Mist (14 page)

The man smiled sheepishly. "It would," he said, "except for one small problem: I don't remember where I put it."

Emerson's mouth dropped open. "You... you
what?"
he spluttered.

"I said, I don't remember where it is," the man explained patiently. "You see, when I swiped the cube I made the mistake of staring at it too long, and it addled my brain. I've been in hiding for several years, and that doesn't improve your memory. There is a clue inscribed on the weapon that you must use, but I don't remember what it is. Besides, the weapon is buried outside, and I can't go outside for fear of getting caught."

"Oh, great!" muttered Emerson. He chewed his lip. What should he do next? "Well," he said at last, "can
you at least show us a way of getting out of here? I assume that the weapon is buried in that garden—am I right?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely!" replied the little man, nodding eagerly. "As for getting out of here, I think I remember a way... if it's still there."

Emerson blinked and stared at the man. To him it seemed that things were getting more confused by the minute. "What do you mean by
that?"
asked Emerson. "Has someone blocked up the way?"

"No, no, no!" said the little man, shaking his head vigorously. "I don't mean that at all!" He heaved a sad sigh and sat down on one of the stone steps. "Let me try to make something clear to you," he went on gloomily. "Lately the Logos Cube has gone wild. At first it just did little odd, annoying things, like changing the pictures on walls or the color of flowers in vases. But then rooms began to vanish and passageways were suddenly blocked. Windows were breaking in the night for no reason at all. And when I was eavesdropping on the kitchen help the other day, I heard that one of the Autarchs had vanished!" He chuckled unpleasantly. "Lord knows where he is! The Cube may have sent him off to another dimension, or it may simply have vaporized him. It has a will of its own now, like a rebellious robot or a thinking machine that has gone mad. I'm just trying to warn you about what you'll be up against when you try to get out of this place."

Silence fell. Suddenly Miss Eells reached out and
tugged at Emerson's coatsleeve. "For the love of Pete, Em!" she whispered hoarsely, "let's go back to that desk and get out of here! We're liable to get killed looking for the thing to smash the cube! What are we waiting for?"

Emerson hesitated. For once he thought that his sister might be right. They had landed in a situation that was much more dangerous than it had seemed. But just as Emerson was turning to lead the way back, a loud crash startled everyone. A stone wall suddenly appeared in the middle of the vaulted chamber—the way back to the desk was blocked.

Emerson turned to Miss Eells and grimaced. "Any other suggestions?" he said quietly.

Anthony felt his stomach churning. Were they trapped forever in this frightening world? But when he looked at Emerson he saw the determined look on his face and the glitter in his eyes, and he knew that good old Em would not give up without a fight.

"We'll go up these steps and see where they lead!" said Emerson, setting his jaw with determination. He turned back toward the stairs, and he half expected to see that Nathaniel Wabe had vanished. But there he was, sitting calmly with a silly smile on his face.

"You see what I mean?" said the little man, with a helpless shrug. "The cube is liable to do anything, at any time. But if you want to find a way to the outside, I might be able to help you."

Deciding that bad help was better than no help at all, Emerson sighed and told him to lead on. They walked
up the stairs till they came to a broad corridor that stretched in both directions. The walls of the corridor were covered with red velvet and fancy brass wall sconces. Stepping onto the polished hardwood surface, Emerson motioned for Anthony and Miss Eells to follow. Nathaniel started to lead them to the right, but he had not taken many steps when a hole opened in the floor in front of him, and with a loud cry he vanished from sight. The floor closed over him, and silence returned.

Horrified, Anthony and his friends stared at the place where Nathaniel had been. Now they were really frightened; they were on their own in this treacherous ever-changing place. Suddenly Anthony panicked. With a loud yell he ran to the left. The others ran after him, calling for him to stop. Anthony skidded around a corner and was horrified by what was taking place in the room before him: Silver candlesticks were changing into wormy wooden logs, and the framed paintings on the wall were going blank. A long walnut table turned to rubber and collapsed. Silver bowls flew into the air and popped like soap bubbles. Chairs chased each other on carved knobby legs, and a bust of a Roman emperor turned to a melting wax horror. Nothing seemed solid— would the floor give way next? In fear Anthony stepped back, but as he turned to retrace his steps he found that a blank wall of granite blocks had slid into place, barring his way. He was alone.

Meanwhile, Emerson and Miss Eells stood staring helplessly at the stone wall that had unexpectedly cut them off from their friend. In anger Emerson raised his shovel and banged at the blocks with it. The blade rebounded from the hard granite with a loud
dinggg!
and Emerson turned away in disgust.

"I was hoping the wall would turn out to be an illusion," he muttered. "But as you see it's solid!" Tears came to Emerson's eyes. It was all his fault. He had led his sister and Anthony on this wild-goose chase. He had been so sure that he could smash the cube and get home without any serious problems. And now where were they? All three of them would probably die for nothing, with their mission unaccomplished.

As Emerson stood there fighting the urge to cry he felt Miss Eells's soft touch on his arm. "Don't worry, Em," she said quietly. "We'll get out of this. Walls that suddenly appear can vanish. Somehow we'll all get back together and go home. I'm sure of it."

Emerson smiled weakly. He took off his glasses, dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief, and put the glasses on again. "Thanks, Sis," he said in a voice thick with emotion. Then with a shuddering sigh Emerson pulled himself together. Once more he was the brave, indomitable leader—at least he hoped that he was.

"Now, then!" said Emerson, setting his jaw purposefully. "We'll have to go down this hall. It's the only way left to us. Somewhere there has to be a passage leading to the outdoors. Come on."

Emerson and Miss Eells marched down the corridor, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Doors opened and closed on either side of them, and in the rooms they saw objects whiz by and furniture change into all sorts of unlikely things. Finally they came to a door which was firmly closed. Large gold Gothic letters announced: COUNCIL ROOM.

Emerson halted and grabbed Miss Eells's arm. "Wait!" he said as he turned toward the door with sudden interest. "This is the room that Anthony and I spied on. Somewhere in there is the peephole we used, and behind that is the secret passage that leads outside. It's worth a try."

Seizing the knob firmly, Emerson opened the door.

Inside the room everything was quiet and orderly. Apparently the Autarchs' magic was still powerful here, in spite of what the cube was doing elsewhere. The long polished table with empty chairs and the ornate cushioned throne that the Grand Autarch sat in were undisturbed. A gilded eighteenth-century clock ticked quietly on the mantel of the marble fireplace, as if everything in the world was going along fine. Brown tapestries hung on the walls; they showed horrible scenes of battle from the Middle Ages.

"Over there!" said Emerson, pointing at a tapestry on the far wall. "We were looking into the room from that direction, so the passage must be behind that wall." Walking quickly across the room, Emerson stooped and examined a soldier who lay stretched out on the embroidered ground. One of the buttons of his jacket was missing, and the hole where the button should have been was the peephole.

"Ah-hah!"
crowed Emerson, hauling Miss Eells forward so she could see what he was pointing at. "There it is! I was right!"

"Yes, I see it!" exclaimed Miss Eells. "You've found the peephole—what do we do next?"

Without a word Emerson walked to the corner of the tapestry and raised it. Behind the heavy dusty hanging was varnished wood paneling. A thin line separated one set of panels from the next, and Emerson began to edge his way along behind the tapestry, testing for openings. Finally he found a knothole plugged with putty. Push
ing at it, he tripped a hidden spring and a section of paneling moved inward—he had found the door.

"I've found it!" Emerson's muffled voice rang out from behind the tapestry. Hastily Miss Eells ran around to join him, but the dust on the tapestry got into her nose and made her sneeze violently several times. It was quite awhile before she recovered. "So here we are!" she muttered as she blew her nose. "It's dark back here. Did you bring a flashlight with you?"

Emerson reached into the right pocket of his shirt— his St. Christopher Pen-Lite was supposed to be there. But it wasn't. Emerson remembered that he had been showing it to Anthony after dinner. Anthony had probably absentmindedly stuck it in his own pocket. Cursing quietly, Emerson felt in his left pocket. There was a box of England's Glory matches, which he used to light his pipe. Emerson handed the box to his sister.

"This is the best I can do, I'm afraid," he said, as he pressed the matches into her hand. "Just keep lighting them as long as you can."

Miss Eells struck the big wooden matches one after another as they made their way along the carpeted passage. The stuffy air was filled with the smell of burned matches, and a few times Miss Eells let a match burn till it singed her fingers. Then she would yell "Ow!" drop the match, and light another. Strange, loud noises could be heard on the other side of the wails, and sometimes the floor groaned under their feet. The place was
coming apart, there was no doubt about that. Could they get out before the ceiling fell in on their heads?

At last Emerson and Miss Eells came to the end of the passage. By the light of a fizzling match they saw a stone slab set in a corniced arch.

"You were here before!" whispered Miss Eells. "How does this thing open?"

"From the inside, easy as pie!" Emerson answered, and he reached out to give the slab a light push. Noiselessly it swung open, and they stepped forth into the gray moonlit world that lay beyond the mansion. In the distance was the garden with its writhing stone figures and the eerie hanging wall of glowing mist. And near a thornbush that grew against the mansion's wall stood the Grand Autarch. His arms were folded, and a grim look of triumph lit his evil face.

"Greetings!" said the Autarch in his harsh, grating voice. "Have you been enjoying yourselves?"

Emerson's blood froze, and he stepped backward. Frantically Miss Eells clutched his arm, squeezing it tight. "How... how did you know we were here?" asked Emerson in a weak voice. It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but it was all that came to his mind.

"I have powers of telepathy here in this world," the Autarch answered. "And other powers too, as you will presently find out. I sensed that you were here as soon as you arrived, but I wasn't sure exactly where in the mansion you might be. So I guessed that you had somehow managed to locate this old passage again."

"Again?"
said Emerson, his eyes wide with astonishment. "You mean—"

"Yes, indeed," snapped the Autarch, cutting him off. "When you were here the last time, you trampled down the grass outside the passage's entrance, and because no one here uses the passage anymore, I knew that you had done it. How did you get back to my world? When I smashed that purple window, I thought I had spoiled your fun for good!"

"We used your desk," said Emerson with a grim smile. Even if they were going to die he wanted the Autarch to know that they had solved one of his clever riddles.

"My desk!" said the Autarch, grinning unpleasantly. "Ah, yes! When I first created this house—with the help of my friends, of course—I used the desk to take me back and forth. How very brilliant of you to work out its secrets and avoid the death trap too! I must congratulate you, Mr. Eells. But I have a nasty, vengeful nature, and I haven't forgotten the beating you gave me when I visited your cottage. Soon you and your dear sister will be smothered in statues of living stone. But first I need some information from you.
Where is the Logos Cube?"

Emerson was totally stunned by this question. He couldn't have been more surprised if the Autarch had asked him for a piece of the moon on a platter. With all his powers of telepathy the Grand Autarch had things wrong! Maybe the amulet of Gobi desert sand was protecting the inner recesses of Emerson's mind, or maybe
it was his native stubbornness that saved him—whatever the reason was, Emerson was grateful. His brain raced madly—what should he say? Not the truth, that was for certain. But what? Suddenly he had an inspiration—he knew what he ought to say.

"Well?" snapped the Autarch impatiently. "Out with it! Where is the cube?"

Emerson took a deep breath and let it out. "It's buried near the sundial in your garden. Mr. Wabe told me. Please—it's the truth, I swear!"

"It had better be," muttered the Autarch with an evil grimace. "If you are playing games with me, you'll wish you had never been born! I know where the sundial is. You can use that shovel to dig up the cube for me. Come!"

Emerson did his best to snivel and look totally beaten. Together, he and Miss Eells followed the Autarch into the garden of snaky vines. The vines writhed and hissed, but the outstretched hand of their master calmed them. The grim little procession passed the statues of frozen horror and came at last to the sundial in the center of the garden. The greenish-bronze dial stood on a fluted stone column, and around its edge these words were inscribed: LIFE IS A DREAM. Immediately Emerson began digging. Clods of grassy earth flew in all directions. But he was digging in the wrong place, and his work was all in vain.