Part 56 (1/2)
The endless minutes pa.s.sed. His eyelids did not flicker.
The dark air was fading, so slowly at first that the change seemed a trick of imagination. The fireflies overhead gradually expanded into candle flames, the shadows contracted, and the supernatural chill grudgingly relaxed its grip. The apparition itself neither altered nor faded, but hovered there, fathomless eyes chained to Karsler Stornzof.
The room remained silent. Karsler's voice, although slow and distant, retained full authority as he directed his listeners, ”Exit slowly, single file. Then leave the building. Silence, no sudden moves. Eyes and thoughts turned away from this spot.”
Most obeyed without hesitation and without question, stealing quietly from the room one at a time, eyes downcast. Luzelle held her breath in antic.i.p.ation of b.l.o.o.d.y mayhem, but nothing happened. One by one they slid through the door, some unable to resist casting frightened glances back over their shoulders as they went, but n.o.body other than herself lingered.
”Karsler.” Wary of blasting his concentration, she kept her voice low, suppressing a score of questions. ”What about you?”
”I remain here.” His eyes did not turn from the malevolence.
”No need. It's done. Everyone's out but us. Come away now.”
”Not done. I fix the Receptivity's attention upon myself. Should that hold fail before alteration in form has occurred, the malevolence goes forth to hunt new victims.”
”I don't understand what you mean. Karsler, the exit's clear. Please come.”
”When I have changed it; when I have defeated it. Now go, while you can. Go.”
”How long do you mean to stay?”
He did not answer. She was not certain that he had heard her. He had excluded her, fixing his awareness upon the contest whose nature she scarcely comprehended. He had somehow managed to engage and hold the apparition's whole attention, that much was clear. Surely he had done enough. She stretched forth a hand, but did not dare touch him.
”Come away,” she pleaded, and this time knew that she went unheard. Her hand fell back to her side. For a moment she stood looking at him, then turned and walked slowly to the door, where she paused, unable to resist a forbidden backward glance.
The malevolent apparition-a Receptivity, he had called it-still hung motionless in midair, talons dark with blood, black eyes empty as eternity, but somehow its appearance had altered, and it took a moment to identify the change. The jaw, that crocodile jaw, was neither as long nor as wicked as she had initially supposed. It was big and the teeth were impressive, but hardly crocodilian. Astonishment and fright must have warped her first impressions.
No they hadn't. The Receptivity had changed. Karsler had done it with his mind. She did not understand how, but saw that he would do more before he was finished, if he survived. She looked at him standing there, lost to the present world of reality, and almost retraced her steps. But she could do him no good, her distracting presence would only hinder him. She turned and walked away from the horror and the man who was fighting it.
The foyer was empty. The customers had fled, the Grewzians had withdrawn in accordance with their orders, and poor Gretti Stiesoldt, now a widow, had vanished. She went out through the front door into the mild, misty summer night, where the touch of the fresh moist air could not calm the tumult of her thoughts or still the trembling of her limbs.
She wandered away from the Three Beggars aimlessly and almost blindly. Her feet carried her back to the highway, and on along the road through the darkness and fog into the center of sleeping Groeflen. The windows were dark, the street barely lighted, the town silent, and it seemed to her confused vision that she wandered through a dream landscape. She did not know where she was or where to go, but her feet found their way to a building with a lamp above the door, and the emblem of a locomotive above the lamp; the railroad station.
The door was locked. She stumbled her way around the station house to the platform, where she found a bench and let herself collapse onto it. Burying her face in her icy hands, she sat unmoving.
Her thoughts whirled and warped into dreams or memories, she was unsure which. She sank into unquiet sleep or stupor that lasted for minutes or hours, until the whistle of a train roused her.
Luzelle opened her eyes. The skies had paled to ash, and the four forty-eight was pulling into Groeflen Station. She stood up, cast a bewildered glance around her, and realized that she had left her valise back at the inn. It scarcely mattered now. She still had her wallet and pa.s.sport safe in her pocket.
The train wheezed to a halt and disgorged two pa.s.sengers. Luzelle boarded, found a seat, and purchased a ticket from the conductor. The conductor went away. She leaned her head back against the seat and strove without success to empty her mind. The train moved, and Groeflen fell away behind her.
THE MORNING SUN WAS HIGH in the sky when Girays v'Alisante's hired carriage reached the quaint Three Beggars Inn on the outskirts of the town of Groeflen. His southbound train was not scheduled to depart the station for another ninety minutes. There was time enough to pause for a late breakfast, which he badly needed, having tasted no food since yesterday's ill-fated lunch. in the sky when Girays v'Alisante's hired carriage reached the quaint Three Beggars Inn on the outskirts of the town of Groeflen. His southbound train was not scheduled to depart the station for another ninety minutes. There was time enough to pause for a late breakfast, which he badly needed, having tasted no food since yesterday's ill-fated lunch.
In one sense there was all the time in the world, for the point and purpose in exerting himself further was gone. There was nothing more he could do to achieve or ensure a Vonahrish victory; he might just as well relax and finish the race in comfort. But he knew he would not relax, for even now, in the full consciousness of futility, he could put forth nothing less than his best efforts.
The carriage halted, but no ostler appeared to see to the horses, no attendants came forth to a.s.sist with the luggage. Curious. The inn appeared well tended, with its neat yard and sparkling windows. The present laxity of the staff seemed inconsistent.
Springing lightly from the box, the driver came around to open the door and a.s.sist his pa.s.senger from the vehicle. Such a.s.sistance was not unwelcome. The effects of yesterday's drug had subsided. Girays could walk and use his hands, but his limbs remained stiff, his hands and fingers clumsy. The Hetzian physician had a.s.sured him that full sensation and mobility would return quickly, but the recovery was not yet complete.
He leaned heavily on the driver's arm as they made their way through the front door into an empty, silent foyer. n.o.body at the desk, n.o.body in sight at all. He rang the bell, and n.o.body appeared. He frowned, puzzled and mildly annoyed.
”Let us leave, sir,” the driver suggested.
The fellow was plainly uneasy. ”What's the matter?” asked Girays.
”It is not right, sir,” was the only reply.
He did not demand explanation. His own nerves were stretched unaccountably tight. There was some sort of butcher-shop odor weighting the atmosphere and his instincts bade him seek fresh air, but he would not listen to them.
”We will eat. This way, I believe,” Girays commanded, indicating a nearby half-open door.
”I am not hungry, sir. I will await you outside, if you please.” The driver exited at a smart pace.
Girays hesitated, half inclined to follow. Ridiculous. His stomach was empty, he had stopped at this place to lunch, and that was what he would do. Limping stiffly to the doorway, he went through into the common room beyond, where he stopped dead on the threshold. The butcher-shop odor intensified, and the buzzing of countless flies filled his ears.
For a moment he scarcely comprehended the scene before him. The common room was a desolation of overturned furniture, smashed crockery, and sprawling, mutilated corpses. Something like a dozen bodies lay there, perhaps more; accurate count was difficult at a glance. One of them, flung down on its back in a clotted red pool at the front of the room, had been decapitated. The crushed remains of a silver-haired head lay not far away. Blood splashed the floor and walls, even spattered the ceiling, but Girays hardly saw it. His eyes shot to the center of the mercilessly sunlit room, where Karsler Stornzof, upright and utterly still, confronted a floating formless cloud of vapor.
Formless? For an instant Girays imagined the cloud shaped like a man, but the fancy pa.s.sed at once and he saw only a dark smudge of mist that paled smoothly into transparency as he watched.
When the vapor was gone, or at least invisible, Stornzof staggered, grabbing for support at the nearest chair still standing. He missed it and fell to his knees, head bowed and chest heaving. Girays limped toward him as quickly as partially frozen muscles allowed, pausing only long enough to s.n.a.t.c.h up an open bottle of wine from a tabletop in pa.s.sing.
Stornzof looked up, face drawn with exhaustion. Girays wordlessly extended the bottle. Stornzof took it and gulped down half the contents, then offered it back.
”Keep it,” Girays advised. ”Hurt?”
The other shook his head.
”What happened?” Girays's eyes scanned the room almost unwillingly.
”Receptivity.”
”What?”
”Arcane visitant.”
Oddly enough, Girays doubted neither the Grewzian's sanity nor veracity. ”Did the visitant do all this?” he inquired.
Stornzof inclined his head.
”But it's gone now? It's been driven off?”
”Modified out of existence.”
”Modified? By you?”
”It was something I had knowledge of.” Stornzof spoke unevenly, his breath still ragged. ”This Receptivity's form was molded by the expectations and perceptions of its beholders. By fixing its attention exclusively upon myself, I a.s.sumed control of its aspect, which I was able to alter gradually until at last my mind withheld all recognition, and the Receptivity ceased to be.”