Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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of the counterscarp and regain the plateau. Then he set out for the village. After an hour’s progress the pain in his arm and side became so violent that he had to stop. And it was just as the doctor was about to start off alone in search of help from Werst, that Master Koltz and Jonas and Frik arrived most opportunely.
The doctor carefully avoided saying that the young forester had been seriously hurt, although he was generally very positive when consulted on medical matters.
“When the ailment is a natural ailment,” he said in a dogmatic tone, “it is serious. But when we have to deal with a supernatural ailment sent by the Chort, it is only the Chort who can cure it.”
In default of a diagnosis it cannot be said that this prognosis was reassuring for Nic Deck. There have, however, been many physicians since Hippocrates and Galen who have made mistakes, and these have been far better men than Doctor Patak. The young forester was a healthy lad; with his vigorous constitution there was reason to hope that without any diabolic intervention he would recover, on condition that he was not too careful to accept the advice of the old quarantine officer.
CHAPTER VIII.
Such things were not calculated to calm the terrors of the people of Werst. There could now be no doubt that the threats uttered by the “mouth of darkness,” as the poet said in the “King Mathias,” were to be taken seriously. Nic Deck, struck in this inexplicable manner, had been punished for his disobedience and temerity. Was not this a warning to all those who might be tempted to follow his example? Here, clearly enough, was a formal prohibition against entering the Castle of the Carpathians. Whoever tried it would risk his life. Most certainly if the forester had got within the wall he would never have returned to the village.
And so the fright was more complete than ever at Werst, and even at Vulkan, and also throughout the valley of the two Syls. Nothing less was spoken of than leaving the district, and a few gipsy families moved off rather than live in the vicinity of the castle. That it should be a refuge for supernatural and maleficent beings was more than the popular feeling could put up with. The only thing to do was to go into some other part of the country, unless the Hungarian Government decided to destroy this inaccessible haunt. But was the Castle of the Carpathians destructible by the only means man had at his disposal?
During the first week of June no one would venture out of the village, not even to work in the fields. Might not the least stroke of a spade provoke the apparition of some phantom buried in the ground? The coulter of the plough as it cut the furrow, might it not set in flight a flock of staffii or stryges? Where the seed of corn was sown, might not the seed of demons spring up?
“That could not fail to happen!” said the shepherd Frik in a tone of conviction.
And, as far as he was concerned, he took good care not to return with his sheep to the pastures of the Syl.
And so the village was in a state of terror. No one went to work in the fields. Everyone remained at home with doors and windows closed. Master Koltz did not know what to do to restore confidence among those under his rule. Evidently the only way was to go to Kolosvar and invoke the intervention of the authorities.
And had the smoke reappeared at the top of the donjon chimney? Yes; many times the telescope had made it visible among the mists which swept the Orgall plateau.
And when night came, had the clouds assumed a rosy hue as if from the reflection of a fire? Yes; and it was said that fiery plumes could be seen curling and whirling over the castle.
And that roaring which had frightened Doctor Patak, was it heard from among the woods of Plesa, to the terror of the people of Werst? Yes; or at least, notwithstanding the distance, the north-west wind brought along fearful growlings which were augmented by the echoes of the hills.
According to some of the more terror-stricken, the ground was shaken by subterranean tremblings as if some ancient volcano had become active again in the Carpathian chain. But possibly there was a good deal of exaggeration in what the Werstians thought they saw and heard and felt. Under any circumstances there were positive, tangible reasons, it will be admitted, why living in such a strangely troubled country was no longer possible.
The “King Mathias” remained deserted in consequence. A lazaretto in an epidemic could not have been more shunned. No one had the audacity to cross the threshold, and Jonas was asking himself if for want of customers he would not have to retire from trade, when the arrival of two travellers altered matters considerably.
In the evening of the month of June, about eight o’clock, the latch of the door was lifted from the outside; but the door, being bolted inside, could not be opened.
Jonas, who had already retired to his attic, hastily came down. To the hope of finding himself face to face with a customer was added the fear that the customer might be some evil-looking ghost, to whom he would be only too ready to refuse board and lodging.
Jonas proceeded to hold a parley through the door without opening it.
“Who is there?” he asked.
“Two travellers.”
“Alive?”
“Very much alive.”
“Are you sure of it?”
“As much alive as we can be, Mr. Innkeeper; but we shall die of hunger if you keep us outside.”
Jonas decided to drawback the bolts, and two men entered the room.
As soon as they were in, their first demand was for a room each, as they intended to stay a day at Werst.
By the light of the lamp Jonas examined the newcomers with great attention, and made sure that he had really to deal with human beings. How fortunate for the “King Mathias”!
The younger of the travellers might be about thirty-two years old, of tall stature, with a noble, handsome face, black eyes, dark-brown hair, a well-cut brown beard, a somewhat sad but proud look about him—in fact he was a gentleman, and an experienced innkeeper like Jonas could not be mistaken in such a matter.
Besides, when he asked what names he was to enter in his visitors’ book, the younger man replied,-
“The Count Franz de Télek and his man Rotzko.”
“Of what place?”
“Krajowa.”
Krajowa is one of the chief towns of the State of Roumania, which borders the Transylvanian provinces south of the Carpathian chain.
Franz de Télek was thus of Roumanian nationality, as Jonas had seen from the very first.
Rotzko was a man of about forty, solidly built and strong, with a thick moustache, bristly hair, and quite a military bearing. He carried a soldier’s knapsack strapped to his shoulders, and a valise small enough to be carried in his hand.
That was all the baggage of the young count, who travelled generally on foot, as could be seen from his costume—a cloak in a roll over his shoulder, a light cap on his head, a short jacket with a belt, from which hung the leather sheath of the Wallachian knife, and he wore the gaiters strapped down to the broad, thick-soled shoes.
These travellers were the two whom the shepherd Frik had met twelve days before on the road to the hills, when they were going to Retyezat. After seeing the country up to Maros, and making the ascent of the mountain, they had come for a little rest to Werst before exploring the valley of the two Syls.
“You have two rooms we can have?” asked Franz de Télek.
“Two—three—four—as many as the count pleases,” said Jonas.