A Dusk of Demons

  The man behind the desk barked an order and they faced him at attention, thumbs pointing rigidly along the seams of their trousers. I noticed something which first relieved me, then alarmed me further: The hand of the soldier next to me was trembling.

  “Troopers Growcott and Benton, Second Platoon, C company, Colonel Markham’s brigade—correct?”

  The soldier on the right braced himself. “Yes, sir!”

  “Assigned to harbor duty, such duty to include checking all strangers seeking to enter the General’s territory. About turn!” They spun around with a clomp of feet. “See these three?”

  The one with the trembling hand didn’t look much older than I was. His face was round and red, and he swallowed hard.

  “These foreigners,” the man with the peaked cap said, “entered General Pengelly’s territory during your period of duty, without challenge. Do you offer any excuse?”

  “The traders were coming off. We didn’t see—”

  “No.” The voice was indifferent. “You didn’t see them. Perhaps your company commander will give you reason to be more observant. You are on report. Dismiss.”

  They were marched out, a look of plain fear on the younger soldier’s face, and he turned to us. “Names.”

  “Joe Hardwick. And this is—”

  “They can speak for themselves.” His finger pointed. “You.”

  “Patricia Ryan.”

  “And you, boy?”

  “Ben,” I said.

  “Ben what?”

  It had always been simply Ben. At school I had been called Ben Ryan. I had known it was wrong—assumed I was an orphan—but had left it at that. Ben son-of-the-Master? I said, “Just Ben, sir.”

  He shook his head impatiently but returned to Joe. “Place of origin?”

  “The Western Isles.”

  “All three of you?”

  “Yes.”

  He tapped a pencil on his desk, stretched back in his chair, then got up and left the room. A key turned in the lock behind him.

  At least we were on our own and could talk. I asked Joe, “What’s going to happen?”

  “Nothing much, I’d think. They may say we’ve got to go back. And as to that, once we’re at sea we can go wherever we choose.”

  “Those soldiers—”

  “What of ’em?”

  “He said they were on report. Does that mean they’ll be punished for letting us through?”

  “Maybe so.”

  “What will they do to them?”

  “I don’t know, never having been a soldier nor wanted to be. Give ’em extra duties, perhaps.”

  I did not believe it was a prospect of more duties that had made the young soldier tremble, and I didn’t think Joe did either. And if their own men were so fearful, what might happen to those responsible for getting them into trouble?

  Paddy said, “Do you think there’s any chance of getting out of the window?”

  We went to look. The window was sealed shut, and breaking it wouldn’t help. The building was as tall as Demons’ laws allowed. We were directly under the roof, and the roof was an overhang.

  Gazing at the harbor, Joe said, “The soldiers let us through. The lot who picked us up must be the police. But how did they come to be looking out for us? That’s the funny part.”

  Soldiers and police were mainland words. I was beginning to realize how different things might be here.

  Joe went on, “One thing: It’s the soldiers that have guns. The others don’t, far as I can see. If he comes back on his own, I reckon I can handle him. It’s worth a try. When I do, you two get going quick.”

  “We’ll tackle him with you,” Paddy said.

  “You’d only get in the way. Do as I say.”

  Paddy caught my eye behind his back, and I nodded agreement. But even if we overpowered the policeman without him managing to call for help, we still had to get clear of the building. I’d seen three or four policemen downstairs as we were brought in, but there were probably more. We would really be in trouble then.

  Time dragged again. The window faced south, and a sun was slowly sinking against a screen of unbroken blue. The room was airless and stuffy. Occasionally we heard footsteps, but they did not stop.

  Finally some did. A key turned, and the door started to open.

  “Let him get inside,” Joe whispered. “And leave it to me!”

  The policeman in the peaked cap appeared, to my surprise with a smile of a sort on his face. But that was nothing to my surprise at seeing the person who followed him. I ran toward Mother Ryan, but Paddy got there first.

  • • •

  The following morning Paddy and I sat under an oak tree at the top of a sloping meadow. Below us, a long way off, a narrow band of blue marked the sea. Higher up, surrounded by ornamental gardens on several levels, stood the villa of General Pengelly.

  It was very big, with four wings branching out from a central courtyard where water gushed from the mouth of a huge bronze fish into a marble pool that swarmed with real fish, crimson and black and yellow. The air thereabouts was full of song from birds in painted wicker cages, suspended from poles set among large red pots filled with glossy green plants.

  In the room I had been given, the walls and even the bed were decorated with flowers. There were bright rugs on the floor, and a marble-topped washstand to which a serving girl had brought me a pitcher of hot water for washing. There were servants everywhere inside the house, and at least half a dozen men looking after the gardens.

  Dinner had offered another taste of luxury. The most prominent item was a vast salmon on a long silver dish, but there had also been joints of beef, ham, pork, and venison, and a selection of side dishes offering treats I had never seen before. There had been a tempting array of puddings too; I sampled three before reaching saturation point.

  I said to Paddy, “It’s a bit different from what we expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “Well, nothing like this. Did you?”

  After a pause, Paddy said, “I’d like to know why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why bring us here?”

  “Because Mother asked, of course, after the police made their report to the General.”

  “But why were she and Antonia here, in the first place?”

  “Perhaps he was sorry for them being sent away from the Isles. They seem nice people.”

  “You didn’t think so yesterday.”

  “That was a mistake. They didn’t know who we were.”

  “I asked Ralph about the soldiers: Would they still get into trouble for letting us through? And what would happen to them?”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he didn’t know. And he made a joke about the soldiers needing glasses if they couldn’t spot an islander. He wanted to change the subject.”

  “I like Ralph,” I said.

  He was about twenty, tall and dark and athletic. He seemed to smile more than most of the people here, though as the General’s only son he probably had more to smile about.

  “So does Antonia.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “He’s probably all right.” She paused again. “I’d just like to know why we’re being so well treated.”

  “Does it matter?”

  She did not answer, and I let it go. A lot had happened in the past week, nearly all unpleasant. I couldn’t see the point in worrying about something pleasant. I lay back, closing my eyes, opening them when Paddy cried, “Joe!”

  He came lumbering down the slope. “Mother Ryan said I’d find you somewhere around here, to bid farewell.”

  “You’re not going?” Paddy said.

  “Have to. Things need seeing to on the island.”

  I said, “There’s no hurry. Andy’s there.”

  Joe laughed. “And that’s a good reason for getting back!”

  Paddy said, “By now Sheriff Wilson will know you helped us get away.”

  “He might guess i
t.”

  “You could get into trouble.”

  “Guessing’s one thing, proving’s another. No one ever knows where my boat is or has been, and not even the Sheriff will lay charges against a fisherman without solid evidence. I’ve good mates. I’ll be all right, as well off there as here, certain sure.”

  “It’s better than you said,” I told him.

  “You reckon?”

  “They served a salmon at dinner last night which must have weighed thirty-three pounds. I reckon whoever landed it had a fight on his hands.”

  Joe shook his head. “It didn’t come out of the sea.”

  “Sea or river, it would have taken some holding.”

  “They grow ’em from fry, in reservoirs. One of the men was telling me.” His voice was scornful.

  I said, “There’s so much here, of everything.”

  “For some. I had my supper with the servants, and we didn’t have those sort of victuals. I’d better be on my way.”

  “I wish I was coming with you,” Paddy said.

  She would say that. “You’ll be all right,” Joe said. He gave her a hug, and he and I shook hands. “Maybe things will sort themselves out, and you’ll all come back and we’ll build a new house on Old Isle.” He grinned at me. “For the new Master.”

  Paddy said, “You’ll look after Liza and the kittens?”

  “I will. Though cats can look after themselves. Better than people mostly.”

  • • •

  General Pengelly was tall and gray-bearded, thin but potbellied, and I hardly ever saw him without a pipe in his mouth, even at the dinner table. The smell was sweetish and not unpleasant, but it permeated everything. He had a soft, slow voice you had to strain to hear.

  Apart from Ralph, he had a wife and two daughters. Rachel and Millicent were in their middle twenties: one tall, one short and plump, both plain. The wife’s name was Maud, but everyone including the General addressed her as Mistress. She too was tall, and one could see that, unlike her daughters, she had been handsome. But her expression was grim, her infrequent smile stiff.

  Everyone here wore somber clothes. The ladies’ everyday dresses were dark gray, though that of the Mistress had a white collar. Mother Ryan and Antonia had been given similar dresses, and Paddy one that had probably originated with Millicent: The length was about right, but was much too full.

  The General presided over the dining table from a broad chair with wide, flat arms. His wife kept a close scrutiny on the company from the far end, maintaining a generally forbidding attitude to all except her son. Him she fussed, selecting tidbits for his plate. I saw him smile and shrug at Antonia while she was doing this.

  Strict rules of discipline were enforced in the household. Servants had to bow or curtsy at each encounter with a member of the family (which for the moment appeared to include us) and were lined up at nine each morning for inspection by the Mistress. There were rules for children too. Paddy and I were told we must never speak to an adult without being spoken to, must never run or even walk quickly inside the house, and must respond to the first gong for meals and be present, at attention behind our chairs, by the time the second gong summoned the others.

  But obeying the rules was all that was required. No one said anything about school, and we didn’t ask. We found our way to the sea on the third morning. The beach was coarse shingle, unlike the fine yellow sand we were used to, but we could swim, and there were caves and rock pools to explore.

  As she poked a crab into activity, Paddy said, “I’ve found out why we’re here. And why we’re being so well treated.”

  “Go on.”

  “You know Ralph’s an officer in the police? He was on duty the day Mother and Antonia were landed from the Hesperus.”

  “Well?”

  “One of the other officers was going to send them to some sort of prison, until they could be sent on to Ireland. When he saw them, Ralph had them brought here instead.” When I looked blank, she added, “Because of Antonia.”

  “Antonia?”

  “Because he’s keen on her, fool. Like Bob Merriton, who came courting from January.”

  I said, “I see,” but didn’t properly. “Do you think she’s keen on him?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked down at her dress in disgust. “Dark clothes are all right for her—with blond hair. And hers fits her. This is awful.”

  It didn’t look particularly awful to me, but I thought it better to say nothing. The crab stopped pretending to be dead and darted away and was lost in weed.

  “Anyway,” Paddy said, “that’s why we’re here.”

  5

  ON OUR FIRST SUNDAY IN the villa I awoke to wind blustering against my open window and chill rain in my face when I got out of bed to close it. A few hardy birds were singing, but the sky was dark. When the stable clock chimed three-quarters, I was not sure if it heralded seven or eight. In either case it would have been too late to go back to bed, so I washed and dressed and headed for the dining room.

  Despite the unpromising morning, or maybe because of it, I was keenly looking forward to breakfast. This was the one meal which involved no formality: One helped oneself from candle-warmed dishes laid out on the long oak sideboard. These would be appetizingly piled with bacon and grilled ham, sausages, kidneys, black pudding, golden potatoes, fried and scrambled eggs.

  I was aware of missing the pungent scents of bacon and coffee before I entered. When I did, I found the sideboard offering nothing but baskets of bread and jugs of water. I was trying to work out what was wrong when Ralph came in.

  “Ben! I’m glad to see you’re an early Sunday riser. I doubt if we’ll see my sisters before noon, if then.” He put bread on a plate and filled a glass. “Not eating?” He noticed my expression. “Of course, it’s your first fast day. Tony found it a shock, too.”

  He meant Antonia, I realized with some surprise. As I unenthusiastically took a couple of chunks of bread, he went on, “I hadn’t realized you weren’t taught to fast all day before a Summoning, in those islands of yours. I should imagine there’s quite a bit you’ll need to learn, one way and another.”

  I wondered if Antonia had told him that in fact we didn’t have Summonings on Old Isle. And even on Sheriff’s, no special preparations were involved, and no fasting. The Sunday midday meal was the main one of the week. There might indeed be things to learn—over the next several hours, for instance, how to get by on bread and water.

  • • •

  When we were first brought to the villa, I had noticed an old mill, standing in flat, uncultivated ground between two forks of road and seeming utterly deserted, though a broad, well-trodden path led toward it. Unattractive in afternoon sunshine, it looked positively ugly in the twilight of a day during which the sun had never succeeded in penetrating heavy clouds that raced in on a harrying wind.

  We had all, including the General, walked the distance of perhaps a thousand yards from the villa. Others must have traveled much further on foot, from the town and still more outlying parts. There were hundreds, all dressed in black—I had been provided with a black smock reaching almost to my ankles. They crowded together on the rain-sodden ground in front of the mill but left a path for the General’s party and the Summoner who accompanied us. As we passed I saw their faces: There was grimness and apprehension in them, but expectancy too.

  The nearer we got, the more plainly ruinous the mill was shown to be. It could not have been put to its proper purpose for many years. It was just a black and broken tower. Even under this darkening sky I was able to see through a gaping window to a hole in the farther wall. I thought of Paddy’s remark on John’s Isle, about Demons perching on a windmill’s sails. They could scarcely do so here, where even the frame had long since rotted away.

  Standing on a stone slab in front of the ragged hole which had been the mill’s front door, the Summoner bowed ceremoniously to General Pengelly, who bowed stiffly in return. He was physically almost an opposite to Summoner Hawki
ns, being squat and amply fleshed. But as he launched into his address, his tone was no less threatening.

  It was as sinners, he told us, that we were assembled: wretched, guilty, worthless sinners. There was none present who had not in some way offended against the Dark One. Most of us were deeply sunk in iniquity, many lost to salvation and hope. Day by day we committed wickedness, breaking the laws laid down to guide us.

  Those laws were plain enough. There must be no truck with machines, which in the past had led men to perdition, and no voyaging far from shore, into seas where the Madness lingered. Apart from that, there was the simple duty of obedience. The child must obey its parents, servants their masters, soldiers their general. And this obedience was part of a greater serving—of the dread ruler of the universe, the Dark One. The laws were not difficult to understand, yet men and women and children continually transgressed against them.

  “But,” he cried, “the Dark One is not mocked! His purposes cannot be frustrated by puny mortals. Rebellion will earn undying torment, obedience the blissful reward of being given wings to fly above the dark moon-valleys, and watch the damned as they writhe in hellfire.”

  His voice pierced through a gusting wind. “The fool in his folly declares himself contented with the day. He has eaten and drunk, his house is roofed and his hearth warmed. He has a wife to his bed, children to bear his name.”

  The Summoner paused, but as he resumed his voice lifted to a shout. “So much for the day—but look what follows! There will come a dusk of Demons, to seek out the fool and pluck him from wife and child, from home and hearth, to lift him high and carry him far, and pitch him at last into the unquenchable flames. . . .

  “Abase yourselves therefore. Abase yourselves and repent your follies. Kneel before the Dark One, and the Demons that do his will. . . .”

  Beside the Summoner the General dropped clumsily to his knees, and the rest of the congregation followed suit. I felt the chill of wet earth on my knees through the thin smock. Some, I saw, had prostrated themselves completely.

  “Repent,” the Summoner shouted. “Repent, and beg mercy of the Dark One!”