J. Calvin Pierce, page 8
Hugging the wall like an insect, he committed himself, sliding the fingertips of both hands into the crevice. It was deep and roomy. Having gained purchase, he felt more secure than he often did crossing a busy street. Moving as slowly as he had to and as quickly as he could, he felt his way up the path he had laid out in his mind, making his climb, as he had known he would have to do, purely by feel, since to move his cheek from the cold stone would be to drop like one to the pavement below.
Less than one minute later, he was pulling himself over the ledge and onto the flat roof. He went carefully. He could see little point in gaining the roof only to fall through a hole or a weak spot and break his neck. The roof, however, proved to be sound. He lay there, safely out of sight, and listened for the sounds of pursuit. Hearing nothing, he peeked over the edge. The alley was empty. He lay back, smiling. He could stay on this roof all night if need be. He certainly had no plans to leave for an hour or two.
In fact, he realized, staying all night was just the thing to do. If, as seemed likely, though inexplicable, this had to do with Charlie, he could not return to his apartment. They would be watching it. And the idea of walking back through the deserted streets to get to a hotel held little attraction. Anyway, getting down from the roof would be easier in the morning, when there would be some light on the subject. Descents were always more troublesome than ascents, and jumping or dropping from the roof when not absolutely forced into it would be irrational, as well as just plain dumb. He moved carefully back from the ledge and settled himself as comfortably as he could, leaning against an ancient stone chimney.
Five minutes passed before he was startled by the noise. From the alley he could hear footsteps. They sounded as though the person was not picking up his feet, but shambling along. Daniel was sure it was the man in the leather vest. He wished he could have a look, but did not want to take the slightest chance of revealing himself. A rational gambler did not bet his life on any odds. He was perfectly secure where he was. There was no action he could lake to improve his position. He sat quietly against the chimney and listened.
When the footsteps stopped, Daniel almost jumped. He could not have left a sign below. He quietly checked his pockets. Everything was there. He felt like a fugitive pursued by bloodhounds. He listened intently. The local silence of the alley was intact. Only the basic noisy hum of the city could be heard. He pictured the man standing below, probably wondering where he had disappeared to.
When he heard the next sound, it was not a footstep. It was a slapping sound, as though the man in the alley was hitting the side of the building with the palm of his hand. Daniel listened without great attention, content to wonder what the man might be doing. He only realized that the noise had been getting closer the moment before the man pulled himself, belly and all, over the ledge and onto the roof.
He did not pause, but headed straight for the chimney. Daniel only gained his feet in time to grapple with him. His thoughts were clear and calm. He must surprise the fellow with his strength, knock him down, preferably slipping in a good kick to the gut, and then get off the roof toot sweet, as Charlie would say.
The man clamped one hand on his forearm. Daniel struggled to pull away, only to feel the grip tighten painfully. He put his other forearm against the man’s neck and pushed, hoping to twist away and break free. He didn’t—the flesh was cold and unyielding, the man immovable. It was like trying to wrestle with a statue.
“Baldersnarp.” The voice had been a whisper.
“What?” Daniel said. His voice sounded high and shaky.
The man was not looking at him. He had turned his head to the side as though listening to someone. Daniel looked around to see if there was anyone else on the roof.
“Rassaddersnatt!” Daniel jerked his eyes back to his captor. The man seemed to be looking right through him. Daniel felt the granite hand relax a bit on his arm.
When the next word was pronounced, Daniel was looking directly at the man. The sound of the word hung in the dark air, yet the man had not uttered a syllable. It occurred to Daniel, absurdly, that his attacker was a ventriloquist.
Yet another incomprehensible polysyllable came from nowhere. The grip on his arm lightened, became almost companionable. The man still seemed to be in a daze.
Every few seconds, another strange word was in the air. The man had not moved since they began. Daniel decided to pull himself free while he had the chance. He braced himself, then cried out in pain as the grip on his arm became tighter than ever. He felt as though the bone would be crushed.
Without any warning he was seized by panic. He heard himself scream in anger and pain as he began to fight with unrestrained fury, striking out wildly with his free arm, kicking with feet and knees, and even tearing with his fingernails and teeth at the arm that held him.
Finally the man seized him with both hands and shook him like a child, lifting him completely off his feet. When he stopped, Daniel could scarcely get his breath. The man had released him. He held him only with his eyes, which seemed in the night shadow to be lit from behind by a dim yellow flame. Daniel’s arm throbbed with a deep ache. He could taste blood on his lips.
“Baaldersnaaarp …” It was a distant wail.
The man’s sneer contorted itself into a sort of smile.
“He has my names on his lips as you have my blood on yours,” he said. He laughed softly as Daniel wiped his lips with his sleeve and spat on the roof.
Daniel could hear the strange voice pronouncing the names as though it came from inside his head. The big man moved closer to him and stared deeply into his eyes. Daniel tried to step back, but found he could not move. The night air seemed suddenly dark and heavy, as though a black mist had settled on the rooftop. Daniel could not tear his gaze from the man—could see nothing but the burning yellow eyes.
It was the ache in his arm that awakened him. He was facedown on a surface that was cold and hard. He willed himself to lie motionless, listening as he tried to gather his thoughts. His last conscious memories were of the eyes and of the chanting voice in his head. Now the voice had stopped. Yet still he seemed to hear its echo, like the memory of a bedtime story transmuting itself into the fabric of a child’s dream.
He heard no other sounds but distant ones. He struggled to think rationally. Was he alone, or was the man with the yellow eyes standing over him, waiting for him to move? How long had he been unconscious? Had it been seconds—or hours?
He was chilled. It was hard to imagine that the day had been scorching. He forced himself to calculate, to draw conclusions. If he was cold, enough time had passed for him to get that way. It was silent, save for the night sounds of the city. The man had left him on the rooftop, bruised but alive.
Or would he find, when he moved and opened his eyes, that the yellow stare he remembered was fixed on him still?
He sat up and looked around in confusion at the trash cans, telephone poles, and ramshackle garages. He was in the alley, next to the old building he had climbed. He pulled himself painfully to his feet, leaning against the stone wall. Had he fallen? Had he climbed down and forgotten? He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He had no memory of getting down from the roof; no memory of anything after the chanting of the names had entered his head. He remembered the rooftop and nothing more.
He walked three blocks before getting a taxi. He shivered with cold all the way home, and was in bed under a pile of blankets for twenty minutes before the chill began to drain from him and let him fall into a heavy sleep.
On Saturday Daniel was too sick and weak to try to work out what had happened to him the night before. He spent all day in or near bed. His arm was badly bruised and scratched. The fever that had plagued him through the night, awakening him with alternate sweats and chills, persisted into the afternoon. Late in the evening he became ravenously hungry. He had pizza sent in and drank almost an entire bottle of Chianti with it on the grounds that it would be good for him. Afterward he watched television for as long as he could stand it, and then went back to bed feeling rather good, all things considered.
The chanting of the names disturbed his sleep profoundly without awakening him. When he awoke early in the morning he had vivid memories of the dreams that had troubled him. Besides the names, which had seemed to strike him with physical force, he recalled a heavy mist, and in it, a bright circle that sometimes approached, sometimes receded.
His fever was gone and his arm greatly improved. Feeling positively cheerful despite his restless night, Daniel showered and then went out for his favorite Sunday-morning breakfast of lox and bagels and fresh orange juice, for which he paid far too much in the dining room of a downtown hotel. On his way back home, he had the cab driver swing by the block where he had first seen the man in the leather vest. There were a number of seedy and disreputable-looking characters roaming the neighborhood, but Daniel saw no sign of his assailant.
After breakfast he went back to bed and slept till noon. He awoke refreshed and with no memory of dreams or other annoyances.
For a while he tried to piece together what had really happened to him two nights before. His memory of the events was obviously unreliable. The number of patent impossibilities was sufficient proof of that, as far as he was concerned.
Nothing fit. For anything resembling what he recalled to have happened, there had to have been more than one other person involved. That strongly suggested it had to do with Charlie. But if it did, then how was it he had not been bothered since? Charlie certainly knew where to find him.
That meant it wasn’t Charlie. But if not Charlie, then who? He had been attacked by the strongest gutter bum on the planet and his wallet hadn’t even been lifted.
The only thing he could think of was the Russians. He had been mistaken for a brilliant nuclear physicist with important knowledge, and the KGB had sent their secret Bionic Biker to kidnap him. Except the Russians didn’t even do those things in books and movies anymore. Daniel spent the rest of the day watching baseball on television and went to bed early.
He had been asleep for four or five hours when the names started. This time he woke up.
“… vile propensities. Rassaddersnatt the unremittingly vicious …”
Daniel was on his feet, his heart pounding, before he had been awake long enough to remember who he was. As the sound of the voice died away, he sighed with relief. He wondered if a drink would help him sleep without further bad dreams.
He didn’t remember closing the heavy drapes before going to bed, but the bedroom was completely without light. He couldn’t see so much as an outline of a piece of furniture to guide him to the door. He thought he would go to the kitchen and have a glass of wine to help calm him down. He took a careful step forward.
“Baldersnarp!”
Daniel froze. His heartbeat seemed to be located in his throat.
“Who’s there?” he said in a startled shout.
“By all thy names and all thy traits and all thy sins I summon thee.”
The voice stopped. Daniel listened intently in the silence that followed.
“This is a dream,” he said aloud. He took a deep breath. “This can only be a dream.”
“With this spell I bind thee and charge thee come! Appear before me!”
“Right,” said Daniel. He had had vivid dreams before in which he had suddenly become aware that he was dreaming. In a moment now he would awaken, still in bed. He decided that when he did, he would get up and have the wine anyway.
He put his hands together in the dark. He felt a twinge from his bruised arm. It was amazing how realistic and undreamlike this dream was. The air seemed damp; he could almost feel a mist around him. In fact, he realized, he could see a faint mist in the air, despite the deep darkness. He recalled his fevered dreams of the night before.
“Mine is a summons that must be obeyed! The power of the circle cannot be denied!”
Beneath Daniel’s bare feet, the floor was cool. He moved his right foot. He smiled. It was not his bedroom rug he was standing on, but a floor of something hard and smooth and uneven. This was definitely a dream.
He could not tell how far away the circle of light was. Like a star in a dark sky, it could have been inches from his eyes, or miles.
“Now I call thy blood come to this circle. Thy blood and form I will thee bring to stand before me in this circle I have made. Here the circle and the lamp and the Law all bid thee come. Here thy blood must draw thee now!”
Daniel had not noticed when he began to walk, but only knew that he was walking. With every step the circle loomed closer and larger, as though each pace were covering a great distance. He willed himself to stop, but kept walking. He had the strong impression that even if he could stop his feet, he would pitch forward and be drawn ahead by the force that gripped him.
The voice continued, but he didn’t listen to the words any longer. He was surrounded by a white mist, made ever more visible by the growing light of the circle.
As he had walked without willing it, so he stopped. The circle now lay at his feet. He could see the stone he stood on, and the circle before him. He breathed as though by conscious effort. The air felt damp and cool. The voice had stopped. The silence was complete.
Daniel felt a presence behind him. Knowing what he was going to see, he looked over his shoulder. In the darkness was a large form, indistinct but for a pair of burning yellow eyes. Daniel stared for a moment, then turned away.
He stepped into the circle.
“Aha! Aha!” Daniel stared at the man. He was wearing a high pointed hat decorated with sickle moons, stars, and a variety of other symbols. Daniel was dressed in a Saint Christopher medal and nothing else.
“I knew it would work!” The man waved a large sheet of heavy paper excitedly. “Now let them bring their wizards! Now let them sneer at Rogan the Obscure!” He laughed in a wild, high-pitched cackle. Daniel decided to buy a book on the interpretation of dreams.
“Just a moment,” the man shouted at him. He got a bottle and a glass from a table. Daniel looked around the room. Except for a lamp burning in front of him, there was no light, but he could see stone walls and the shadowy forms of chairs and tables scattered about. The man in the funny hat was trying to pour from the bottle. And pouring he was, but with such violent shaking of his hands that the inside of the glass remained completely dry. When he noticed, he gave up and drank from the bottle, wiping his lips on his sleeve.
The room was cool, the floor positively cold. Daniel wished he had put on some pajamas. He began to shiver. He would have to wake up and adjust the air conditioner soon. He must have set it too low before he went to bed. In a way, he thought, it was a shame to leave such a crazy dream. He knew he would regret it when he woke up. It would be nice if you could come back and finish a dream, he thought.
“Why are you naked?” The man took a step toward him. “Don’t you have clothes in the Lower Regions?” He looked him up and down.
“Baldersnarp?” He lit a candle from the lamp and raised it above his head, peering at Daniel from beneath it. He took another step.
“You don’t look like Baldersnarp. Baldersnarp is a demon. He’s thousands of years old. You don’t look thousands of years old, and you don’t look like a demon, either.” Daniel smiled.
“In fact,” Rogan said, his voice rising indignantly, “from the look of you, I would say you’re not from the Lower Regions at all!”
“That wouldn’t be wine, by any chance?” said Daniel, stepping out of the circle.
Rogan shrieked and leapt backwards with agility astonishing in one of his years. His pointed hat fell to the floor and occupied the spot he had vacated.
“What are you doing out of the circle?” he shouted. “You get back in there!” He stumbled over a chair while attempting to walk backward.
“I command it,” he screamed from the floor.
“I’m cold,” said Daniel.
Chapter 5
As Marcia rode the elevator to the ninth floor, she felt like a high school girl arriving after classes had begun and walking guiltily through the empty hallways. Not only was she late for work, she was almost late for the carefully timed coffee break that Mr. Figge grudgingly allowed the staff.
She checked her watch again for perhaps the tenth time that morning. There was hardly more than two hours left before lunch.
“What on earth could persuade you to wear such a thing?” Hannah had asked on the first day they had met. “The sun and your stomach can tell you everything you need to know about the time of day.”
Marcia had described Mr. Figge and his ideas about strict punctuality, strict tidiness, strict formality, and the other strictnesses that Mr. Figge espoused.
Hannah had gestured to the wristwatch. “So that device is to dictate the length of time we may speak together?” She shook her head. “I must remember to bring you a cure for this little problem.”
And on Friday, for she had finally shown up in midafternoon, the first thing Hannah had done was present her with a tiny brass box, the contents and use of which she had patiently explained.
“I wouldn’t ordinarily start you with something like this,” the older woman had said, “but we must be practical. You just follow the instructions I have given you and everything will be fine.”
And now, on Monday morning, Marcia was actually planning to follow those instructions. A month ago, they would have seemed either absurd or insane. Considered from the perspective of everyday common sense, it was profoundly disturbing that now they did not. After only a few meetings with the strange woman, Marcia was increasingly prepared to believe things that contradicted what she had thought of as incontrovertible facts.
But whatever else could be said or thought about Hannah and her stories, it was certain that she knew some very good tricks. On Friday they had walked back to the place where Marcia had seen the man with the nasty aura. The spot where he had stood was empty. Hannah was interested, though, and insisted on combing the neighborhood in search of him.
