BLACK MAGIC. Bowen Marjorie
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aloft to aid them in their search.
The light rested on Dirk’s shoulders, causing the bright silk to glitter, and flickered in his short waving hair; there was no trace of colour in his face, his brows were raised and gathered into a hard frown.
“Have you the key of that chamber?” demanded the priest.
Dirk tried to speak, but could not find his voice; he moved his head stiffly in denial. “But answer,” insisted the monk.
“What should it avail me if I swore?” The words seemed wrenched from him. “Would ye believe me?” His eyes were bright with hate of all of them.
“Swear on this.” The monk proffered the crucifix.
Dirk did not touch it.
“I have no key,” he said.
“There is your answer,” flashed Theirry, and set the lamp on the table.
The foremost student laughed.
“Search him,” he cried. “His garments — belike he has the key in his breast.”
Again Dirk gave a great start; the table was between him and his enemies, it was the only protection he had; Theirry, knowing that he must have the key upon him, saw the end and was prepared to fight it finely.
“What are ye going to do now?” he challenged.
For answer one of them leant across the table and seized Dirk by the arm, swinging him easily into the centre of the room, another caught his mantle.
A yell of “Search him!” rose from the others.
Dirk bent his head in a curious manner, snatched the key from inside his shirt and flung it on the floor; instantly they let go of him to pick it up, and he staggered back beside Theirry. “Do not let them touch me,” he said. “Do not let them touch me.”
“Art a coward?” answered Theirry angrily. “Now we are utterly lost. . . . ”
He thrust Dirk away as if he would abandon him; but that youth caught hold of him in desperation.
“Do not leave me — they will tear me to pieces.” The students were rushing through the unlocked door shouting for lights; the priest caught up the lamp and followed them; the two were left in darkness.
“Ye are a fool,” said Theirry. “With some cunning the key might have been saved . . . ”
A horrid shout arose from those in the inner room as they discovered the remains of the incantations . . .
Theirry sprang to the window, Dirk after him. “Theirry, gentle Theirry, take me also — can see I am helpless! A— ah! I am small and pitiful, Theirry!”
Theirry had one leg over the window-sill.
“Come, then, in the fiend’s name,” he answered. A hoarse shout told them the students had found the little image of Joris; those still on the stair-way saw them at the window. “The warlocks escape!”
Theirry helped Dirk on to the window-ledge; the night air blew hot on their faces and they felt warm rain falling on them; there was no light anywhere.
The students were yelling in a thick fury as they discovered the unholy unguents and implements. They turned suddenly and dashed to the window. Theirry swung himself by his hands, then let go.
With a shock that jarred every nerve in his body he landed on the balcony of the room beneath. “Jump!” he called up to Dirk, who still crouched on the window-sill.
“Ah, soul of mine! Ah, I cannot!” Dirk stared through the darkness in a wild endeavour to discern Theirry.
“I am holding out my arms! Jump!”
The students had knocked over the lamp and it had checked them for the moment; but Dirk, looking back, saw the room flaring with fresh lights and seething figures pushing up to the window.
He closed his eyes and leapt in the darkness; the distance was not great; Theirry half caught him; he half staggered against the balcony.
A torch was thrust out of the window above them; frenzied faces looked down.
Theirry pushed Dirk roughly through the window before them, which opened on to the library, and followed.
“Now — for our lives,” he said.
They ran down the dark length of the chamber and gained the stairs; the students, having guessed their design, were after them — they could hear the clatter of feet on the upper landing. How many stairs, how many before they reach the hall!
Dirk tripped and fell, Theirry dragged him up; a breathless youth overtook them; Theirry, panting, turned and struck him backwards sprawling. So they reached the hall, fled along it and out into the dark garden.
A minute after, the pursuers bearing lights, and half delirious with wrath and terror, surged out of the college doors.
Theirry caught Dirk’s arm and they ran; across the thick grass, crashing through the bushes, trampling down the roses, blindly through the dark till the shouts and the lights grew fainter behind them and they could feel the trunks of trees impeding them and so knew that they must have reached the forest.
Then Theirry let go of Dirk, who sank down by his side and lay sobbing in the grass.
Chapter 8
The Castle
Theirry spoke angrily through the dark.
“Little fool, we are safe enough. They think the Devil has carried us off. Be silent.” Dirk gasped from where he lay.
“Am not afraid. But spent . . . they have gone?”
“Ay,” said Theirry, peering about him; there was no trace of light anywhere in the murky dark nor any sound; he put his hand out and touched the wet trunk of a tree, resting his shoulder against this (for he also was exhausted) he considered, angrily, the situation.
“Have you any money?” he asked.
“Not one white piece.”
Theirry felt in his own pockets. Nothing.
Their plight was pitiable; their belongings were in the college, Probably by now being burnt with a sprinkling of holy water — they were still close to those who would kill them upon sight, with no means of escape; daylight must discover them if they lingered, and how to be gone before daylight?
If they tried to wander in this dark likely enough they would but find themselves at the college gates; Theirry cursed softly.
“Little avail our enchantments now,” he commented bitterly.
It was raining heavily, drumming on the leaves above them, splashing from the boughs and dripping on the grass; Dirk raised himself feebly.
“Cannot we get shelter?” he asked peevishly. “I am all bruised, shaken and wet — wet —” “Likely enough,” responded Theirry grimly. “But unless the charms you know, Zerdusht’s incantations and Magian spells, can avail to spirit us away we must even stay where we are.” “Ah, my manuscripts, my phials and bottles!” cried Dirk. “I left them all!” “They will burn them,” said Theirry. “Plague blast and blight the thieving, spying knaves!” answered Dirk fiercely.
He got on to his feet and supported himself the other side of the tree.
“Certes, curse them all!” said Theirry, “if it anything helps.”
He felt anger and hate towards the priest and his followers who had hounded him from the college; no remorse stung him now, their action had swung him violently back into his old mood of defiance and hard-heartedness; his one thought was neither repentance nor shame, but a hot desire to triumph