MalContents (27 page)

There, he waited and soon fell asleep.

Footfalls woke him.

Someone was coming down the stairs which he could see fine now that it was daylight. The stairway looked as dilapidated as the rest of the place, dust and cobwebs everywhere and everything looking as if it were ready to crumble at the slightest touch.

From his hiding place behind the bulky piece of furniture, he watched as the tall demon walked down the stairs, carrying Violet over his shoulder as he had done the night before when he’d crossed the plains from the tower.

Violet slept or was unconscious, or— For a moment, Malcolm panicked, thinking the worst. But her cheeks held color and for all appearances she was still alive.

The tall demon was indeed strange, wrapped in its long coat and muffler, with its insect-like movements, but what—or whoever—followed him down the stairs was even more disturbing.

It appeared to be an ancient, gnarled man, wrapped from head to toe in filthy bandages leaving only his gaunt, black-eyed face uncovered. He was bent over so low that his chin nearly scraped the steps as he awkwardly made his way down. His long arms preceded him, stretched forward as if they were mandibles, and he used them for assistance moving down the stairs. Strangest of all was what protruded from behind the man: a tail, naked and scabrous, which helped him maintain his balance as it wagged back and forth behind him.

Soon, Violet’s bizarre captors were both downstairs and through the door, the silent procession making its way back to the tower.

When the door had slammed shut, having been pulled by the old man, Malcolm emerged from hiding. He watched out a dusty window at the weird pair as they carried Violet down the hill, and toward the tower, both of those creatures being careful to avoid the plants surrounding them, which were now silent.

Malcolm waited a few moments until the pair had a good head start. He propped his broom beneath his arm and cried out in pain, inwardly flinching at the noise and looking again out the window to see if he had been heard.

The demon and the bent man had already disappeared beyond the hill.

Firming his resolve, he propped the broom under his arm again and opened the door to the outside. He weaved down the hill, avoiding the foul plants at his feet in case they should wake and make their infernal racket, giving him away in the process.

Pain lanced his shoulder and his leg stump throbbed, but he kept moving, keeping an eye on the odd figures below him as they moved in single file toward the distant stone tower. The demon still took the lead, carrying Violet. The bent man followed behind, his arms and tail extended, his odd movements like those of a desert scorpion.

Malcolm allowed them to get far ahead so that if they turned around there would be less of a chance they’d spot him. He had decided if the pair should stop for any reason, he’d flatten himself against the ground, screaming plants or no.

But the trek back to the tower was uneventful and, due to the daylight, took less time than the journey during the night previous.

He watched the unholy pair pass through the tower door. Malcolm squatted down the best he could should they happen to glance over at the last second, but they did not and soon were inside.

He moved faster now, wanting to reach the tower before anything happened to Violet, though he reckoned he still had sufficient time seeing that the bandaged man had an interest in Venice’s affairs and it would take a while for Violet to explain and to show him everything. He wondered what her reaction would be when she discovered Malcolm’s absence, for there was no way she could know that he had been following her.

He arrived at the thick door and tried the latch. It was unlocked. Before swinging the door open, he pressed his ear to the cool wood to make sure they were not on the ground level. Hearing nothing, he opened the door an inch. It was too dark to see inside so he then opened it a bit wider. No alarm sounded; he opened it still further and slipped inside.

As he approached the stairs, he heard voices. The man and demon conversed in their strange language.

Malcolm wasn’t sure how he’d make it up the stairs without being discovered with the broomstick-crutch tapping against the stone, but he didn’t want to be without it either because he needed it as a weapon.

He mounted the staircase, his shoulder against the stone wall to lend support. In this way, he began climbing toward the top level where the music room was located with its lone window and Venice’s infernal portal between worlds.

As he crept along, he recalled Violet mentioning that Venice opened the portal each morning to give her food and water. He wondered if Venice would keep to his schedule today, or if he would instead punish Violet for Malcolm’s indiscretion yesterday by skipping a day of sustenance or two.

When he was halfway up, he stopped, leaned against the wall, and eavesdropped on the conversation above him.

He heard the scorpion man’s odd croaking speech.

The demon hissed, “He want hear music. You play for him.”

Violet said something, her voice tremulous, but she had spoken in such a low tone Malcolm couldn’t understand her words.

After some fumbling noises, the rich sound of a cello filled the tower. A long, lonesome sound to start with, then faster and more intricate passages that made Malcolm’s hair stand on end.

Using the sound of the music for cover, Malcolm climbed a few more steps until he was almost eye level with the floor above. When he spotted the demon’s hat and scarf, he backed against the wall.

The music continued, the most intricate and alien notes Malcolm had ever heard. It made Messiaen sound like Mozart in comparison.

Someone was shouting now. It was the old man.

The cello stopped.

The demon interpreted. “He say enough. He know what music this is. Earth man use music open secret door other world and use power not his. Belong this man here who is door’s keeper.”

Violet spoke. “Why does he need me? Why can’t he play his horrible music himself?”

The demon conversed with the old man for a time. He turned to Violet. “He need you as con . . . duit and this world also conduit to third world beyond.” The demon shook its head. “You not understand. Now give music. I rip apart.”

Now Violet’s voice was more forceful. “But if you destroy this music, he may never allow me to go home.”

“No worry. Give music, I rip. We find man hide down stairs and eat you both.”

Malcolm felt the blood drain from his face.

They knew he was here.

He shouted, bolting up the stairs as fast as his good leg and crutch could carry him. He slid along the wall toward Violet, who was sitting in the chair, and raised his broomstick. “You leave her alone!”

The demon leaned over and hissed through its scarf into Malcolm’s face, sunglasses still on and fedora pulled low so Malcolm couldn’t see its features—and he was certainly glad of that.

A scream rose in his throat but he stifled it so he wouldn’t alarm Violet.

The bent man scuttled toward Malcolm, his arms moving like feelers. He stopped outside the broom handle’s range. Turning to the demon, the gatekeeper—it’s what the demon had called him—barked out a sentence or two.

The demon hissed into Malcolm’s face. “He say you should stay hid. You make too easy for to kill and eat you.”

“Tell him he can’t kill us. Tell him he needs us or else something terrible will happen.”

This message was translated.

The bent gatekeeper laughed and barked a reply.

“He say you stall for time. After rip paper music, you die and so too woman. He not eat meat long time. Do not try to hit with broom. He kill you sooner if try.”

Malcolm touched Violet’s shoulder and she reacted by resting her damp cheek against his hand.

While the gatekeeper leered at Violet and Malcolm, licking his thin, flaking lips in anticipation of his foul meal, the demon gathered the sheet music into a small stack, holding it firmly in its leather-gloved hands.

The gatekeeper shouted a command and the demon began ripping the paper into smaller and smaller pieces. It hissed as it destroyed the handwritten sheet music, tossing it about the room like confetti as the mad gatekeeper giggled.

“Stop!”

All heads turned to the black frame on the wall.

Within the frame stood Cyrus Venice holding his .38 revolver. Gripped in his opposite hand was the black violin he used to open and close the portal. The master of music and occult knowledge had a terrible and angry visage, the cool composure he had displayed the previous day having vanished. Behind him stood the terrible stargolem, still and silent as stone and death.

Malcolm looked for Heinrich Dunkle but man and golem blocked the portal so that he could not see beyond them.

Without another word, Cyrus Venice fired the gun, shooting the gatekeeper in the middle of his face.

The gatekeeper, a dark hole in his forehead, chuckled and called out to the demon.

As Malcolm watched in terror, the bullet hole in the gatekeeper’s head healed into a twisted scab in a matter of seconds.

The tall demon, hands and feet now crackling with electric energy, leaped through the portal and directly into the golem. The monsters’ collision knocked Cyrus Venice off balance. The revolver went off again and a chunk of the tower ceiling dropped to the floor in a puff of dust.

The gatekeeper mumbled something and waved his thin arms about in intricate patterns, looking like a dancing scorpion.

Violet stood and put her arm around Malcolm’s waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

Malcolm nodded as Violet helped him toward the portal. She supported him as they moved across the floor, passing the gatekeeper, who now seemed wholly preoccupied with gazing out the tower window and staring into the slate sky, all the while chanting and gesturing, working his dark magic.

As Malcolm and Violet reached the threshold, Venice was getting to his feet and preparing to play his violin.

He was about to close the portal.

“We have to hurry,” Malcolm said.

They dived into Venice’s warehouse just as the violin sounded its first notes.

Malcolm glanced back at the terrible world they’d left behind and watched as the chanting gatekeeper gestured wildly and danced about. Beyond the odd man, beyond the tower window, above the hill and the house which sat atop it, something was happening in the sky . . .

A gigantic black eye—a second portal, a mate to Venice’s—appeared, its border the color of blood. And from this hole in space, something monstrous began emerging . . .

But before Malcolm could see what was coming through the distant portal (he did not
want
to see, but could not look away), the doorway between this world and the one beyond became opaque and then pitch black, blocking out the gatekeeper and whatever monstrosity he had called forth from beyond.

Malcolm’s attention was drawn away from the frame and his hair suddenly stood on end. The sound of electrical energy and horrible deep-throated roars reached his ears from across the room where the

two demons did battle.

Violet and Malcolm limped away in the opposite direction.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Venice said, blocking their way to the exit. He pointed the revolver at them.

“We’re leaving. I think you’ve caused enough damage for one lifetime,” Malcolm said, his anger flaring, despite his sorry condition. Still supported by Violet, he swung his broomstick two-handed at Venice. A shot rang out as the broomstick connected, and Violet shrieked.

Sharp pain radiated from Malcolm’s left shoulder. He staggered back, falling from Violet’s arms to the floor.

“Enough!” said a familiar voice.

Venice still held the gun but now his eyes were wide in shock and his mouth gaped in silence.

The mad wizard of music dropped to the floor.

And there stood Heinrich Dunkle, smirking, with a bloody silver dagger gripped in his hand. “The scoundrel had me tied up on the sofa but while he was busy opening the portal, I was able to free myself from his feebly-knotted ropes; a trick I learned from an escape artist in Bombay.”

With Heinrich and Violet’s assistance, Malcolm rose to his foot. “I’ve been shot.” He was delirious.

“Yes,” said Heinrich. “And you’ve lost a foot in the bargain. We need to get you to a hospital, my friend.”

Within his pain, Malcolm realized how quiet it had become. He looked around the long room. The only entity present besides themselves was Venice’s prone, bleeding body.

“What happened to those horrible creatures?”

“Venice is dead, and that means his servants have been released from bondage and returned to their respective hells. Or perhaps they are still doing battle on some other plain of existence. Who knows? Demons are uncomfortable when away from their home worlds for long and usually, once they are set free, run straight back to them!”

“What about the stone tower and that . . . other place?”

“Venice created the portal and he was the only one who knew how to open it. Well, to tell the truth,
I
know how to open it but there is little chance of that happening—unless I go as mad as he did.” Dunkle chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows demonically.