Voyage to Arcturus Read online

  "Stop that music!" muttered Backhouse, tottering from his chair and facing the party. Faull touched the bell. A few more bars sounded, and then total silence ensued.

  "Anyone who wants to may approach the couch," said Backhouse with difficulty.

  Lang at once advanced, and stared awestruck at the supernatural youth.

  "You are at liberty to touch," said the medium.

  But Lang did not venture to, nor did any of the others, who one by one stole up to the couch - until it came to Faull's turn. He looked straight at Mrs. Trent, who seemed frightened and disgusted at the spectacle before her, and then not only touched the apparition but suddenly grasped the drooping hand in his own and gave it a powerful squeeze. Mrs. Trent gave a low scream. The ghostly visitor opened his eyes, looked at Faull strangely, and sat up on the couch. A cryptic smile started playing over his mouth. Faull looked at his hand; a feeling of intense pleasure passed through his body.

  Maskull caught Mrs. Jameson in his arms; she was attacked by another spell of faintness. Mrs. Trent ran forward, and led her out of the room. Neither of them returned.

  The phantom body now stood upright, looking about him, still with his peculiar smile. Prior suddenly felt sick, and went out. The other men more or less hung together, for the sake of human society, but Nightspore paced up and down, like a man weary and impatient, while Maskull attempted to interrogate the youth. The apparition watched him with a baffling expression, but did not answer. Backhouse was sitting apart, his face buried in his hands.

  It was at this moment that the door was burst open violently, and a stranger, unannounced, half leaped, half strode a few yards into the room, and then stopped. None of Faull's friends had ever seen him before. He was a thick, shortish man, with surprising muscular development and a head far too large in proportion to his body. His beardless yellow face indicated, as a first impression, a mixture of sagacity, brutality, and humour.

  "Aha-i, gentlemen!" he called out loudly. His voice was piercing, and oddly disagreeable to the ear. "So we have a little visitor here."

  Nightspore turned his back, but everyone else stared at the intruder in astonishment. He took another few steps forward, which brought him to the edge of the theatre.

  "May I ask, sir, how I come to have the honour of being your host?" asked Faull sullenly. He thought that the evening was not proceeding as smoothly as he had anticipated.

  The newcomer looked at him for a second, and then broke into a great, roaring guffaw. He thumped Faull on the back playfully - but the play was rather rough, for the victim was sent staggering against the wall before he could recover his balance.

  "Good evening, my host!"

  "And good evening to you too, my lad!" he went on, addressing the supernatural youth, who was now beginning to wander about the room, in apparent unconsciousness of his surroundings. "I have seen someone very like you before, I think."

  There was no response.

  The intruder thrust his head almost up to the phantom's face. "You have no right here, as you know."

  The shape looked back at him with a smile full of significance, which, however, no one could understand.

  "Be careful what you are doing," said Backhouse quickly.

  "What's the matter, spirit usher?"

  "I don't know who you are, but if you use physical violence toward that, as you seem inclined to do, the consequences may prove very unpleasant."

  "And without pleasure our evening would be spoiled, wouldn't it, my little mercenary friend?"

  Humour vanished from his face, like sunlight from a landscape, leaving it hard and rocky. Before anyone realised what he was doing, he encircled the soft, white neck of the materialised shape with his hairy hands and, with a double turn, twisted it completely round. A faint, unearthly shriek sounded, and the body fell in a heap to the floor. Its face was uppermost. The guests were unutterably shocked to observe that its expression had changed from the mysterious but fascinating smile to a vulgar, sordid, bestial grin, which cast a cold shadow of moral nastiness into every heart. The transformation was accompanied by a sickening stench of the graveyard.

  The features faded rapidly away, the body lost its consistence, passing from the solid to the shadowy condition, and, before two minutes had elapsed, the spirit-form had entirely disappeared.

  The short stranger turned and confronted the party, with a long, loud laugh, like nothing in nature.

  The professor talked excitedly to Kent-Smith in low tones. Faull beckoned Backhouse behind a wing of scenery, and handed him his check without a word. The medium put it in his pocket, buttoned his coat, and walked out of the room. Lang followed him, in order to get a drink.

  The stranger poked his face up into Maskull's.

  "Well, giant, what do you think of it all? Wouldn't you like to see the land where this sort of fruit grows wild?"

  "What sort of fruit?"

  "That specimen goblin."

  Maskull waved him away with his huge hand. "Who are you, and how did you come here?"

  "Call up your friend. Perhaps he may recognise me." Nightspore had moved a chair to the fire, and was watching the embers with a set, fanatical expression.

  "Let Krag come to me, if he wants me," he said, in his strange voice.

  "You see, he does know me," uttered Krag, with a humorous look. Walking over to Nightspore, he put a hand on the back of his chair.

  "Still the same old gnawing hunger?"

  "What is doing these days?" demanded Nightspore disdainfully, without altering his attitude.

  "Surtur has gone, and we are to follow him."

  "How do you two come to know each other, and of whom are you speaking?" asked Maskull, looking from one to the other in perplexity.

  "Krag has something for us. Let us go outside," replied Nightspore. He got up, and glanced over his shoulder. Maskull, following the direction of his eye, observed that the few remaining men were watching their little group attentively.

  Chapter 2

  IN THE STREET

  The three men gathered in the street outside the house. The night was slightly frosty, but particularly clear, with an east wind blowing. The multitude of blazing stars caused the sky to appear like a vast scroll of hieroglyphic symbols. Maskull felt oddly excited; he had a sense that something extraordinary was about to happen "What brought you to this house tonight, Krag, and what made you do what you did? How are we understand that apparition?"

  "That must have been Crystalman's expression on face," muttered Nightspore.

  "We have discussed that, haven't we, Maskull? Maskull is anxious to behold that rare fruit in its native wilds."

  Maskull looked at Krag carefully, trying to analyse his own feelings toward him. He was distinctly repelled by the man's personality, yet side by side with this aversion a savage, living energy seemed to spring up in his heart that in some strange fashion was attributable to Krag.

  "Why do you insist on this simile?" he asked.

  "Because it is apropos. Nightspore's quite right. That was Crystalman's face, and we are going to Crystalman's country."

  "And where is this mysterious country?"

  "Tormance."

  "That's a quaint name. But where is it?"

  Krag grinned, showing his yellow teeth in the light of the street lamp.

  "It is the residential suburb of Arcturus."

  "What is he talking about, Nightspore?… Do you mean the star of that name?" he went on, to Krag.

  "Which you have in front of you at this very minute" said Krag, pointing a thick finger toward the brightest star in the south-eastern sky. "There you see Arcturus, and Tormance is its one inhabited planet."

  Maskull looked at the heavy, gleaning star, and again at Krag. Then he pulled out a pipe, and began to fill it.

  "You must have cultivated a new form of humour, Krag."

  "I am glad if I can amuse you, Maskull, if only for a few days."

  "I meant to ask you - how do you know my name?"

  "It wo
uld be odd if I didn't, seeing that I only came here on your account. As a matter of fact, Nightspore and I are old friends."

  Maskull paused with his suspended match. "You came here on my account?"

  "Surely. On your account and Nightspore's. We three are to be fellow travellers."

  Maskull now lit his pipe and puffed away coolly for a few moments.

  "I'm sorry, Krag, but I must assume you are mad."

  Krag threw his head back, and gave a scraping laugh. "Am I mad, Nightspore?"

  "Has Surtur gone to Tormance?" ejaculated Nightspore in a strangled voice, fixing his eyes on Krag's face.

  "Yes, and he requires that we follow him at once."

  Maskull's heart began to beat strangely. It all sounded to him like a dream conversation.

  "And since how long, Krag, have I been required to do things by a total stranger… Besides, who is this individual?"

  "Krag's chief," said Nightspore, turning his head away.

  "The riddle is too elaborate for me. I give up."

  "You are looking for mysteries," said Krag, "so naturally you are finding them. Try and simplify your ideas, my friend. The affair is plain and serious."

  Maskull stared hard at him and smoked rapidly.

  "Where have you come from now?" demanded Nightspore suddenly.

  "From the old observatory at Starkness… Have you heard of the famous Starkness Observatory, Maskull?"

  "No. Where is it?"

  "On the north-east coast of Scotland. Curious discoveries are made there from time to time."

  "As, for example, how to make voyages to the stars. So this Surtur turns out to be an astronomer. And you too, presumably?"

  Krag grinned again. "How long will it take you to wind up your affairs? When can you be ready to start?"

  "You are too considerate," said Maskull, laughing outright. "I was beginning to fear that I would be hauled away at once… However, I have neither wife, land, nor profession, so there's nothing to wait for… What is the itinerary?"

  "You are a fortunate man. A bold, daring heart, and no encumbrances." Krag's features became suddenly grave and rigid. "Don't be a fool, and refuse a gift of luck. A gift declined is not offered a second time."

  "Krag," replied Maskull simply, returning his pipe to his pocket. "I ask you to put yourself in my place. Even if were a man sick for adventures, how could I listen seriously to such an insane proposition as this? What do I know about you, or your past record? You may be a practical joker, or you may have come out of a madhouse - I know nothing about it. If you claim to be an exceptional man, and want my cooperation, you must offer me exceptional proofs."

  "And what proofs would you consider adequate, Maskull?"

  As he spoke he gripped Maskull's arm. A sharp, chilling pain immediately passed through the latter's body and at the same moment his brain caught fire. A light burst in upon him like the rising of the sun. He asked himself for the first time if this fantastic conversation could by any chance refer to real things.

  "Listen, Krag," he said slowly, while peculiar images and conceptions started to travel in rich disorder through his mind. "You talk about a certain journey. Well, if that journey were a possible one, and I were given the chance of making it, I would be willing never to come back. For twenty-four hours on that Arcturian planet, I would give my life. That is my attitude toward that journey… Now prove to me that you're not talking nonsense. Produce your credentials."

  Krag stared at him all the time he was speaking, his face gradually resuming its jesting expression.

  "Oh, you will get your twenty-four hours, and perhaps longer, but not much longer. You're an audacious fellow, Maskull, but this trip will prove a little strenuous, even for you… And so, like the unbelievers of old, you want a sign from heaven?"

  Maskull frowned. "But the whole thing is ridiculous. Our brains are overexcited by what took place in there. Let us go home, and sleep it off."

  Krag detained him with one hand, while groping in his breast pocket with the other. He presently fished out what resembled a small folding lens. The diameter of the glass did not exceed two inches.

  "First take a peep at Arcturus through this, Maskull. It may serve as a provisional sign. It's the best I can do, unfortunately. I am not a travelling magician… Be very careful not to drop it. It's somewhat heavy."

  Maskull took the lens in his hand, struggled with it for a minute, and then looked at Krag in amazement. The little object weighed at least twenty pounds, though it was not much bigger than a crown piece.

  "What stuff can this be, Krag?"

  "Look through it, my good friend. That's what I gave it to you for."

  Maskull held it up with difficulty, directed it toward the gleaming Arcturus, and snatched as long and as steady a glance at the star as the muscles of his arm would permit. What he saw was this. The star, which to the naked eye appeared as a single yellow point of light, now became clearly split into two bright but minute suns, the larger of which was still yellow, while its smaller companion was a beautiful blue. But this was not all. Apparently circulating around the yellow sun was a comparatively small and hardly distinguishable satellite, which seemed to shine, not by its own, but by reflected light… Maskull lowered and raised his arm repeatedly. The same spectacle revealed itself again and again, but he was able to see nothing else. Then he passed back the lens to Krag, without a word, and stood chewing his underlip.

  "You take a glimpse too," scraped Krag, proffering the glass to Nightspore.

  Nightspore turned his back and began to pace up an down. Krag laughed sardonically, and returned the lens to his pocket. "Well, Maskull, are you satisfied?"

  "Arcturus, then, is a double sun. And is that third point the planet Tormance?"

  "Our future home, Maskull."

  Maskull continued to ponder. "You inquire if I am satisfied. I don't know, Krag. It's miraculous, and that's all I can say about it… But I'm satisfied of one thing. There must be very wonderful astronomers at Starkness and if you invite me to your observatory I will surely come."

  "I do invite you. We set off from there."

  "And you, Nightspore?" demanded Maskull.

  "The journey has to be made," answered his friend in indistinct tones, "though I don't see what will come of it."

  Krag shot a penetrating glance at him. "More remarkable adventures than this would need to be arranged before we could excite Nightspore."

  "Yet he is coming."

  "But not con amore. He is coming merely to bear you company."

  Maskull again sought the heavy, sombre star, gleaming in solitary might, in the south-eastern heavens, and, as he gazed, his heart swelled with grand and painful longings, for which, however, he was unable to account to his own intellect. He felt that his destiny was in some way bound up with this gigantic, far-distant sun. But still he did not dare to admit to himself Krag's seriousness.

  He heard his parting remarks in deep abstraction, and only after the lapse of several minutes, when, alone with Nightspore, did he realise that they referred to such mundane matters as travelling routes and times of trains.

  "Does Krag travel north with us, Nightspore? I didn't catch that."

  "No. We go on first, and he joins us at Starkness on the evening of the day after tomorrow."

  Maskull remained thoughtful. "What am I to think of that man?"

  "For your information," replied Nightspore wearily, "I have never known him to lie."

  Chapter 3

  STARKNESS

  A couple of days later, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Maskull and Nightspore arrived at Starkness Observatory, having covered the seven miles from Haillar Station on foot. The road, very wild and lonely, ran for the greater part of the way near the edge of rather lofty cliffs, within sight of the North Sea. The sun shone, but a brisk east wind was blowing and the air was salt and cold. The dark green waves were flecked with white. Throughout the walk, they were accompanied by the plaintive, beautiful crying of the gulls.
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br />   The observatory presented itself to their eyes as a self-contained little community, without neighbours, and perched on the extreme end of the land. There were three buildings: a small, stone-built dwelling house, a low workshop, and, about two hundred yards farther north, a square tower of granite masonry, seventy feet in height.

  The house and the shop were separated by an open yard, littered with waste. A single stone wall surrounded both, except on the side facing the sea, where the house itself formed a continuation of the cliff. No one appeared. The windows were all closed, and Maskull could have sworn that the whole establishment was shut up and deserted.

  He passed through the open gate, followed by Nightspore, and knocked vigorously at the front door. The knocker was thick with dust and had obviously not been used for a long time. He put his ear to the door, but could hear no movements inside the house. He then tried the handle; the door was looked.

  They walked around the house, looking for another entrance, but there was only the one door.

  "This isn't promising," growled Maskull "There's no one here… Now you try the shed, while I go over to that tower."

  Nightspore, who had not spoken half a dozen words since leaving the train, complied in silence, and started off across the yard. Maskull passed out of the gate again. When he arrived at the foot of the tower, which stood some way back from the cliff, he found the door heavily padlocked. Gazing up, he saw six windows, one above the other at equal distances, all on the east face - that is, overlooking the sea. Realising that no satisfaction was to be gained here, he came away again, still more irritated than before. When he rejoined his friend, Nightspore reported that the workshop was also locked.

  "Did we, or did we not, receive an invitation?" demanded Maskull energetically.