Spell of the Sorcerer's Skull (11 page)

Father Higgins scowled. He threw Johnny a sidelong glance, as if to say,
Looks like we lose, eh?
Johnny gave a little shrug. Father Higgins appeared to be fumbling about in his mind for some way to say good-bye. Finally, in the middle of one of Mr. Finnick's long sentences, the priest coughed loudly.

"Mr. Finnick," he said, glancing at his watch, "I am afraid we are going to have to be running along. We've got some other things that we have to do."

Mr. Finnick appeared to be deeply offended. He pulled the tweezers back, turned, and glared icily at the priest. "Am I to understand that you've had enough of my lecture?"

"I didn't say that," Father Higgins replied, with a smile. "I merely said that we'd have to be running along. Now do you suppose that you could show us the way out?"

Without another word, Mr. Finnick slid the glass screen back into place. Curtly, he motioned for the three visitors to follow him, and he led the way to the front door. In silence the glum little procession moved on down the hall and finally out to the front door. When they got there, Mr. Finnick jerked the door inward and stood stiffly at attention, like a dwarfish sentry.

"Good day to you all!" he mumbled, his lips barely moving. "Thank you for visiting the Finnick Clock Museum. Hmph. Hmph."

Father Higgins grinned and made a mock-courteous bow. At this, Mr. Finnick stepped back and slammed the door violently, making the glass pane rattle. Father Higgins shrugged and turned away. Then he and the two boys trotted on down the long walk and out onto a dirt road that wound past a weed-grown granite quarry. For a long while no one said anything. They just trudged along, eyes down. They had used one of the few leads that they had, and it had run them up against a blank wall. A wild idea went flitting through Johnny's head: Maybe they should break into the museum and
really
go over the dollhouse room, turn it inside out, and find the miniature bill or "reckoning" that the message had spoken of. And then Johnny wondered—not for the first time—if Mr. Finnick had been holding out on them. Had he been hiding the "great reckoning" on purpose? He sure didn't act like it. He had been stuffy, finicky, boring, and rude, but he hadn't acted secretive—not really. So where did that leave them all?

Father Higgins sighed loudly and discontentedly. He stooped, picked up a rock, and heaved it into the wilderness of granite blocks off to their right. "Well, boys!" he said. "We are not doing very well in the detection racket, are we?"

"Nope," said Fergie gloomily.

"I guess not," said Johnny, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What're we s'posed to do now? We're never gonna find the professor." Johnny's voice began to crack. He was fighting back the tears now. He had not felt so hopeless since this crazy business began.

Father Higgins stopped in the middle of the road. A few paces away, lying in a ditch, was a rough-hewn pillar of stone. It was covered with moss and lichens, but its top was flat, and so the priest walked over and sat down on it. Johnny and Fergie plumped themselves on the pillar too, and there was total silence for about three minutes.

"Well, gentlemen," said Father Higgins wearily, "it looks as if we have run up against a nice big solid stone wall. We didn't find out anything, did we? Not one single solitary useful fact or clue. However, we shouldn't despair, because—"

At this point Fergie interrupted him. "Whyn't we wait till dark an' then break in an' then turn that crazy clock upside down till we find some clues? I bet there's
somethin'
there—there has to be!"

Father Higgins shook his head. "I thought about breaking in, but it may be easier said than done. Finnick probably has the whole place wired with burglar alarms and electric eyes. But I do think we need to find out a bit more about our friend Finnick. Why don't we pay a trip to the Vinalhaven Public Library?"

Johnny was puzzled by this suggestion. "The library? How come?"

Father Higgins glanced at Johnny skeptically. "Oh, come on, John! For a scholarly kid you can be a bit thick sometimes! Finnick runs a museum, and so there will be articles about him in tourist guides and in books about the state of Maine and in back issues of newspapers. There may even be entries about him in reference books like
Who's Who in the East.
What we need to do is find something, anything, that will tie him in with magic or sorcery or Professor Childermass. After that we can decide whether or not it would be a good idea to do something drastic, like burglarizing his museum. So, off your duffs, me hearties! First we're going to go back to the inn so I can change into my clerical outfit—it may give me more authority, if I have to try to pry favors out of some nice sweet librarian. Then we're off to the library. As I recall, it's not terribly far from the Main Street section of town. So, let's go! Time's a-wastin'!"

Fergie and Johnny did not think much of Father Higgins's plan, but they did not have a better one to offer, so they got up and followed him to the Lobster Pot Inn. When they got there, the boys waited around on the lawn outside while Father Higgins went to his room to change. In a short time he came back, and this time he was all done up in his black coat, black pants, glossy black shirtfront, and stiff white Roman collar. Down the road they hiked, till they came to the little cluster of shops and stores that was the business district of the island. At one end of the tiny Main Street was a stone watering trough, and a rutty cart track wound away from it up to the top of a grassy knoll. There, sitting all by itself, was a boxy gray one-story stone building.

"That's the library, boys," said Father Higgins, pointing. "It's probably not much, but it may have the answers we're looking for. Come on!"

Along the cart track they marched, single file, like a tiny army advancing against the enemy. On the steps of the library they halted, while Father Higgins brushed lint off his coat—he wanted to make himself as presentable as possible. Then, with Father Higgins in the lead, they trotted up the steps. Just inside the front door the little group stopped again. A few yards away, planted between two varnished golden oak pillars, was a desk. And behind it sat a small, elderly gray-haired woman. Her hair was done up into a bun, and a pencil was stuck into it. She had been reading a book, but now she looked up.

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

Father Higgins stepped forward with his hands folded in front of him. He said that he was writing a book about the Maine seacoast, and he would be grateful if the librarian could supply him with pamphlets and guidebooks on the subject, and paper and pencil to take notes with.

The librarian led Father Higgins and the boys to the tiny reference room, which was not much more than a closet with bookshelves and a window. At a scarred wooden table the three of them sat down, and soon the librarian came in with a stack of books and pamphlets. All the rest of the morning they worked. They leafed busily through the material on the table. Every now and then someone would find a reference to Mr. Finnick's clock museum, and they would all stop and examine it. But they never found anything that seemed to be helpful.

At noon the weary researchers took a break for lunch, but an hour later they were back at their posts. As they ploughed through book after book, Johnny's spirits sank lower and lower. This was a crazy search. So far they had turned up absolutely nothing. Fergie was optimistic by nature, but even he was getting gloomy. Nevertheless, Father Higgins struggled grimly on, his pipe clenched tightly in his teeth. All through the long afternoon they worked, taking occasional brief rest breaks to go outside and stretch their legs. The librarian popped in now and then to bring more books and to ask if she could help in any way.

Soon it was late afternoon. The sun was setting, and its long red slanting rays colored a patch on the wall behind Johnny's head. He was really going stir-crazy. He wanted to find the professor, but... well, he didn't care if he never saw another book as long as he lived.

"Father?" he said, breaking the busy silence. "Father? Can... can Fergie 'n' me go out for a little bit? I can't see straight anymore!"

Father Higgins smiled kindly. "Sure. You two go on out and walk around for a while. I'm gonna stay at this till dinnertime."

"Have... have you found anything?" asked Johnny falteringly.

Father Higgins's grim level gaze met Johnny's. "No," he said quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna give up. So run along, you two. I'll meet you at the inn for dinner."

Johnny and Fergie left the library and went out into the chilly evening air. The sun had just set, and the western sky was fringed with pale light. Down below, darkness was gathering.

"You know what?" said Fergie bitterly. "I feel like I've been pushin' a peanut up the road with my nose."

"So do I," muttered Johnny. "I just don't see what Father thinks he's gonna find. If old Finnick is a wizard... well, it wouldn't be in any guidebook, would it?"

Fergie put a stick of gum in his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. "Higgy's a smart cookie, though," he said after a brief pause. "We wouldn't be doing all this work if he didn't have
some
kind of bright idea in the back of his head." Fergie scratched his nose. "John baby, I hate to mention this, but I need a bathroom. Wouldja mind waitin' here while I go back inside an' ask Mrs. Whatserface where the little boys' room is?"

Johnny shook his head. It was a lovely evening. Venus was a glistening star hanging high in the west, and the damp, salt-tinged night air tasted good in Johnny's mouth. Whistling softly, he walked a few paces to the left on the dirt road that ran past the library steps. Behind the library, the road sank down into a shadowy hollow full of bushes and trees. Johnny decided that he would walk to the bottom of the hill and back again while he was waiting for Fergie. Down the hill he loped, still whistling. In the growing gloom Johnny could hardly see a thing, and he stumbled a few times over half-buried rocks. He was at the bottom now, and it was really pitch black. The trees and bushes seemed to crowd in around him. Twisting his head, he looked up at the library, a dark outline against the twilit sky. Not much to see down here, was there? Nothing but dark and weeds. Time to be getting back up to... Johnny paused. Now that his eyes had gotten used to the dark, he saw something that he hadn't noticed before: a little house, an abandoned shanty, by the side of the road. The poor place had certainly seen better days: Its windows were broken, and the roof was half caved in. A crooked tree leaned against the side of the house, trailing its snaky branches over the bent chimney.
Gee,
thought Johnny, vaguely,
I
wonder who lived in—

And then two things happened with lightning suddenness. First Johnny felt a stinging cold spot against his thigh—it was as if a lump of ice had suddenly materialized in his pants pocket. Then a light appeared, a flickering orange glow that hovered over the dead leaves and matted grass outside the deserted house. In one window, behind the broken pane, a grinning jack-o'-lantern was burning.

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

Numb nightmare descended on Johnny. His scalp tingled, and he found it hard to breathe. In a flash he knew what the freezing lump in his pocket was—it was the skull, come back from a watery grave. Ahead of him the evil orange mask seemed to burn a hole in the night. It pulsated, sending out waves of power. Against his will, Johnny shuffled closer. Moving woodenly, like a robot, he clumped up the sagging steps and walked in through the dark doorway. A cobweb brushed his face, and he found that he could not raise his hand to brush it aside. He was in a shadowy room with a rotting plank floor. And he had barely time to wonder why there was no pumpkin in the room when a violent blow brought him to his knees. A ghastly, impossibly huge jack-o'-lantern face appeared spread across one wall of the room. It was throbbing, and the air around Johnny heaved to an insane, feverish rhythm. His chest felt tight, and his eyesight was clouded by an icy mist that wrapped itself around him. Johnny struggled for breath—the life was being pumped out of him. He was going to die. Suddenly a voice burst in on his brain, a harsh, grating, stony voice that told him he would never again meddle in things beyond his understanding.
Death is an eternal sleep,
said the voice, and it said this over and over like a cracked record. Desperately Johnny fought to stay alive, but he knew that he was losing—he was starting to black out. Just before he lost consciousness, he heard something—a commotion in the room. A door slammed, and somebody shouted strange words, words that sounded like
Lumps and crust!
The voice rang out two or three times. And then Johnny was gone.

When he woke up, he was lying on the damp grass outside the old shack. Fergie was kneeling beside him, and Father Higgins was standing over him, looking very huge and forbidding in spite of the friendly smile on his face. In his large hairy hand the priest was holding a small silver crucifix on a chain.

"Wha... wha... " muttered Johnny thickly. He felt limp and woozy, as if he had just recovered from the flu. With an effort he raised his head and glanced toward the old shack. It was dark, lost in the evening shadows. Then a sudden stab of terror hit him, and he fumbled at his thigh. It was gone—the skull, the thing that had suddenly appeared in his pocket—it had vanished.

Johnny turned his head and looked at Fergie. "Did... did you take it?" he asked in a quavering voice.

Fergie looked puzzled. "Take what, John baby? I dunno what you're talkin' about."

With an effort Johnny forced himself to sit up. As he did this, Father Higgins sank to his knees beside him. He still clutched the crucifix, and he held it up as if he were using it to ward off an attacker. With his other hand he tried to gently force Johnny to lie back down on the ground.

"Easy, John, easy!" said the priest softly. "You've been through something awful, and you're probably still weak. The powers of darkness were here, and they were after you. You need some rest."