Authors: Charles Black,David A. Riley
“The book may date to the sixteenth century, but that doesn’t mean that there’s any truth to what’s written in it,” Mellman pointed out.
“Ever the sceptic, Mellman.”
“Of course, my dear fellow. But just because the book exists, it doesn’t mean that this story of Atlantis being on another world has any validity.”
Mellman paused a moment in thought, and his grin grew broader. “What if we were to put some of this arcane knowledge to the test?”
“What do you mean?” Greydin asked.
“Why, a spell of course, Julius. It won’t prove anything about Atlantis ever having existed on another planet, but there’s no reason why we couldn’t attempt one of these so-called magical rituals from this book of yours.”
“Well, I’m not sure we should—” Professor Greydin began.
Mellman interrupted, “Come now, Julius, think of it as an experiment.”
“But these things should not just be gone into lightly,” protested Greydin.
“Quit stalling, Julius. Anyone would think you were afraid your book is about to be exposed as the usual hotchpotch of unworkable nonsense that all these grimoires invariably are. What say you, Tony?”
Not giving the student time to finish speaking, Professor Mellman continued, “Have you so little faith after all in your book of marvellous magics, Julius?”
Mellman interrupted again, “Yes, you’re right, of course, we’d only be wasting our time.”
Greydin sighed. “Very well,” he reluctantly agreed.
“Splendid! Then if we reconvene here tomorrow evening about nine? That will give you plenty of time to select one of the rituals, and make whatever preparations are necessary.”
“Very well, that suits me.”
Mellman looked at the student. “Well, how about you, Tony?”
“Me?” Danziger had not expected to be included.
“Yes, of course you’ll join us,” Professor Greydin insisted.
“Then in that case, yes, I’ll be here.”
It was approaching nine o’clock when Tony Danziger arrived at Professor Greydin’s house. He had thought about backing out and instead asking Michelle Chalmers – one of his fellow students – out on a date. But he was hoping to go on one of Professor Mellman’s archaeological expeditions, and so he thought he had better appear keen – even though Mellman was not Danziger’s favourite person right now.
He had to admit that he was curious about what would happen when they tried one of the so-called spells from that mouldy old book – probably nothing, but wouldn’t it be something if it did.
The student smiled – perhaps there would be a spell he could cast on Professor Mellman – a day or two as a frog might do the professor some good.
Just as Danziger reached the top of the steps to Greydin’s front door, it started to rain. Danziger reached out and rapped on the door with the gargoyle-shaped knocker. He did not have to wait long for the door to open.
As usual, Professor Mellman had arrived first. “Tony, at last! What kept you? I was beginning to think you had changed your mind about joining us.” He handed the student a glass of brandy. “Julius refused to reveal what tonight’s act of necromancy is, until you arrived.”
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” the student apologised, although he was not late, and he felt that if anyone should be offering apologies it was Professor Mellman.
However, Mellman was oblivious of the student’s mood.
“Really, Mellman, I have no intention of indulging in necromancy.” Greydin paused dramatically, then said, “At least not yet.”
Mellman was taken aback. “You’re not serious?”
Professor Greydin smiled.
Danziger laughed. “You should have seen your face, Professor.”
“Well, yes, I knew you were joking really,” the archaeologist blustered.
Greydin’s smile had quickly vanished. “Enough levity. We must be about our business.”
“And just what is our business, Julius? What dark rite have you in mind to perform tonight?” enquired Professor Mellman.
“A summoning,” was the reply.
“A summoning? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“That’s only about one step removed from necromancy, isn’t it?”
“Demonology, my dear Mellman.”
“Well, I’m surprised you’ve chosen such an ambitious venture, old man. I would have thought you would have chosen something a bit simpler. Something like a love spell for instance. What do you think, Tony?”
Danziger frowned, “I’m sure Professor Greydin knows what he’s doing.”
“Will you stop prattling, Mellman?”
“Prattle? Do I prattle?”
“Mellman!”
“Oh, very well, old boy. Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”
Mellman and Danziger finished their drinks and followed Greydin out of the room. He led them along the oak-panelled hallway towards the rear of the house. “I thought we would make use of the basement,” Greydin explained as he opened a door. “More room, and it seemed more appropriate.”
The three men descended into a large cellar.
The centre of the room had been cleared, boxes and crates lined the walls; another door led out of the room.
“Behold the lair of the sorcerer,” Mellman declared in a stentorian voice.
On the floor a pentagram had been drawn in red and purple chalk, a lectern stood outside the pentagram between two points of the star.
“Is that where you keep your wine?” Mellman pointed at the other door.
“Never mind that, Mellman, you’ve had enough to drink already,” Greydin snapped.
Outside thunder rumbled ominously. “Ho, a portentous omen.” Mellman laughed.
Danziger asked, “What exactly are you planning to do in this experiment, Professor Greydin?”
“Apart from make a fool of yourself,” Mellman whispered to Danziger.
The student could not help smiling at Mellman’s comment.
“I have chosen a ritual that will prove
The
Book of Setopholes
is a genuine work of magical knowledge.”
“And what ritual is that?”
“Really, Tony, I sometimes think you go around with cotton wool stuffed in your ears. Julius already told us he plans to summon a demon, no less.”
“It’s entitled ‘How to Summon a Flesh-Eating Demon’,” Professor Greydin announced, opening the book that lay upon the lectern.
“Is there any other kind, old man? Have you ever heard of a vegetarian-demon, Tony?”
“Er, no.” Danziger was beginning to feel foolish.
“If we do summon anything, I insist on checking it out to make sure you haven’t got one of your students to dress up to play the part. I’m sure you could get that fool Brown to do that.”
Danziger felt that, of the two professors, only Mellman would resort to such an act.
Professor Greydin was becoming irritated by his colleague’s comments, “Will you take this seriously, Mellman?”
Danziger did not know why the two men spent so much of their time together, Mellman was continually trying to provoke Professor Greydin, and he usually succeeded.
“Right you are. Well then, Aleister Crowley, let’s get on with it,” urged Mellman, eager to complete the ritual and thus have Greydin fail.
“What do we have to do, Professor?” Danziger was also eager to get things over with.
“Stand at the points of the star.” Professor Greydin pointed in turn to the points to the left and right of him, “Stay outside the pentagram, don’t walk through it,” he commanded.
From the lectern, Greydin took two pieces of paper and handed one to each of the men.
The student puzzled over what was written on the paper. “What’s this, Professor?”
“It’s your part in the ceremony. When I give the signal the pair of you chant the incantation written there.”
“Chant it?” Mellman looked doubtful. “I can’t even understand it. It’s just gibberish.”
“Probably the Atlantean equivalent of abracadabra.” Danziger grinned.
“Hocus-pocus,” muttered Mellman. “What’s the betting Julius fails to even conjure up a white rabbit?”
Ignoring Mellman, Greydin turned to the other door, opened it and went through.
“Where are you going now?” Mellman wanted to know.
Greydin did not answer.
“Of course, the wine cellar! A bottle of your finest vintage, Julius.”
Greydin returned, carrying a small crate. He opened it, and pulled out a black chicken.
Mellman asked, “What on earth are you doing with that thing?”
“It’s the sacrifice of course,” answered Greydin.
“You’re not serious, are you, Professor?” Danziger was shocked.
“Of course I am. Now let’s begin shall we?”
“Yes,” Mellman concurred. “Let the ceremony begin.”
Professor Greydin picked up a knife that lay beside the book. He held the struggling chicken above the centre of the pentagram.
“My God, man!” Mellman cried, as Greydin deftly wielded the knife, and allowed the chicken’s blood to spill onto the floor. Mellman and Danziger watched in distaste.
“There we are. Simple,” Greydin left the chicken lying in the widening pool of its blood. “That should do it.”
Danziger asked, “What now?”
“Quiet, both of you,” Greydin ordered.
Professor Greydin began to read aloud an incantation he had translated from
The
Book of Setopholes
. He spoke in a commanding voice, “Oh, hear me, creature of the pit. I, your master, Julius Greydin speak. Accept the Red Offering. I summon. You must obey. Come to me. Obey my command!” Greydin continued speaking, chanting strange words that neither Mellman nor Danziger recognised.
Greydin pointed the bloody knife at his acolytes, his signal for them to join in.
Mellman and Danziger looked at each other, and then feeling somewhat foolish took up their part in the incantation – chanting more of the strange words.
Greydin continued to speak for about five minutes repeating the incantation.
Mellman had had enough. “Well, Julius, you’ve tried your best, but you’ve got to admit …”
An incredibly loud boom of thunder drowned out his words, the house shook as if it had been struck and the light went out.
“Jesus!” Danziger swore.
“Good grief!” Mellman cried. “That must have been close.”
Greydin was performing the incantation again, but shouting the words now. The light flickered back into life, but the pentagram remained empty.
Professor Greydin fell silent.
“Look upon it as a valuable experiment. You’ve conclusively proved that magic does not work. You tried your best, but it was never going to succeed,” said Mellman, trying to console his colleague.
The three men were back in the study. Greydin was slumped in his chair; head held in his hands. Danziger refilling their glasses.
Mellman added some coal to the fire. “Although I’ll admit for a moment, even I thought it was going to work.”
“No, Mellman, it was my fault the ritual failed. I allowed myself to be pressured by you. I should have been more patient: these things work better at their appointed times. In my eagerness to prove you wrong I adapted the ritual as I thought fit. Next time I will perform it correctly.”
“Next time?” Mellman questioned. “You’re not serious, are you, Julius?”
“But of course. I intend to try again.”
“Julius, you proved that sorcery does not work, that demons do not exist.”
“My first attempt was flawed; it cannot be considered a legitimate attempt. I must try again.”
“Julius, give it up,” Mellman urged.
“I must make one more attempt. I have to perform the ritual again, but next time I must do it precisely as it is written in
The Book of Setopholes
. Though I do not expect either of you to attend.”
Tony Danziger had had no intention of attending Professor Greydin’s next attempt at demonology. Instead, he asked Michelle Chalmers for that date, and she had accepted his invitation to go to the cinema. But when the night in question arrived, she never showed up. After waiting for her for an hour, Danziger finally had to admit he had been stood up.
At a loose end, the student found himself, somewhat reluctantly, at Professor Greydin’s house again.
For a change, he had arrived before Professor Mellman.
“Can you follow this, Danziger?” Professor Greydin handed the student a piece of paper.
The student examined what was written on the paper.
“No! Don’t even mouth the words,” Greydin warned. “You understand it?”
“Yes, I think so.” Not that he understood the meaning of the words.
“Good. Would you care for a drink?”
“Please.”