Authors: Dennis Wheatley
‘My reading of our young friend is that she is troubled by certain fears and still has lingering doubts. But both are not unusual in applicants of her age. The unknown is always more frightening to the young, and she has not yet had long enough to free herself entirely from ideas acquired during a conventional upbringing. Yet neither of these encumbrances to a happy state of mind are, in her case, so considerable that they will not soon be dissipated now that she has come among us. Our High Priestess will not be with us tonight, but any Sister of the Ram is qualified to prepare her. Go, Sásín, and bring her two of our Sisters from among the early arrivals.’
As Ratnadatta left the room, Abaddon took from a drawer in his desk a black satin mask, gave it to her and
said, ‘Take off your scarf and put that on. The identities of all the Brothers and Sisters of a Lodge are known to its High Priest and High Priestess; but it is not required that they should disclose them to one another. Some do so in order that they may develop outside in their everyday lives, friendships they have made here; others prefer to keep their identities secret. For that reason, from beginning to end of all our meetings everyone except myself and our High Priestess remains masked.’
When she had adjusted the mask, he went on: ‘For the same reason no one is ever addressed while here by the name by which they are known outside. The ceremony of initiation includes baptism into the initiate’s new faith. Each receives a Satanic name by which he is in future known among the Brotherhood. It must be a name associated with the service of Our Lord Satan. The names of His great nobility – the Seraphim who surround His throne and receive their orders direct from Him – such as Asmodeus, Uriel, Zabulon, Nebros, and so on, may not be taken by initiates. Like my own, Abaddon, they are reserved as titles for the High Priests of the different Lodges. But you may choose your own from those of all the witches and wizards who have actually lived in the past in this country or any other; and, since all of us in our past incarnations have many times inhabited both male and female bodies, a man may choose a witch’s name or a woman a warlock’s, should they so desire.’
Having said what he had to say, he fell silent and seemed quite content to sit, his long, beautiful hands folded on the desk in front of him, regarding Mary with a faint smile. But she found the continued silence and this unwavering gaze vaguely disquieting; so she searched her mind for some remark to break it and, after a moment, said:
‘Circe was a famous witch, wasn’t she. It’s a pretty name and I think I’d like to be called after her.’
‘By all means, my dear.’ His smile deepened and he slightly inclined his high domed head. ‘The name of the Greek enchantress will go well with your dark beauty. But
think the matter over. There will be ample time to do so before your initiation, and by then you may have decided that you prefer some other.’
At that moment Ratnadatta re-entered the room. He now had on a mask and with him were two masked women. Both were wearing the sort of clothes in which they might have gone shopping in Bond Street or to a smart luncheon party.
The elder had grey hair and was small, but carried her well-preserved little figure very upright and had an air of great self-confidence. Her clothes were good but vaguely shabby, as though she did not bother with such matters overmuch. She was wearing a rope of good-sized pearls, a wedding ring, and a diamond half-hoop that did not appear to be of any great value.
The other was the Chinese girl. One glance was enough to tell Mary that her suit must have cost all of sixty guineas, her little hat near twenty and her hand-made shoes again as much. She had a diamond and platinum clip in the lapel of her coat, of the kind that could have come only from a jeweller of the first rank. She wore no wedding ring, but on her left hand there blazed one of the largest diamond solitaires that Mary had ever seen.
Standing up, Abaddon bowed to them, said, ‘Greetings my children’, then gestured with his right hand towards Mary. ‘Here is one who aspires to join us in serving Our Lord Satan, and who I have good hopes will prove herself fitted to become our Sister. For the time being we shall refer to her as Circe.’
With a glance at Mary, he waved his left hand towards the two women. ‘The Countess of Salisbury, and Tung-fang Shuo, honoured Sisters of the Ram.’ Then, to them, he added, ‘In cell number ten you will find all things ready for apparelling Circe suitably for her first ceremony. Be pleased to escort her to it and do all that is necessary.’
Both women gave Mary an appraising look. Very conscious that her clothes were ‘off the peg’, her face un-made-up and her hair done most unbecomingly, Mary wilted under their glance. But, next moment, she saw that beneath
their masks the mouths of both of them were smiling, and the older one said briskly, ‘Don’t look so worried, child. There is nothing to be frightened about. Come with us, now.’
Somewhat reassured, Mary gave a half-smile to Abaddon and Ratnadatta, then accompanied the two women from the room. As they walked, one on either side of her, up the broad staircase, the elderly Countess remarked: ‘Perhaps Abaddon’s mentioning a cell scared you. But it need not. In Victorian times this house was a nunnery and the big reception rooms on the first floor were converted into a number of small cells. They come in quite useful now as they provide us with a range of private changing rooms.’
Half way down a broad corridor they entered one of them. It no longer had any resemblance to a cell. A fitted carpet covered its floor; on its panelled walls hung several small, but beautifully executed, coloured erotic French prints of the eighteenth century. It was furnished with a wardrobe, dressing table, electric fire, and chairs, on one of which reposed a strange collection of items consisting mainly of iron and sacking.
‘Get your clothes off, my dear,’ said the Countess, and Mary began to obey. As she did so, impelled to show that she was not completely overawed, she said: ‘Abaddon told me that everyone here goes by the name of a witch or wizard, so why do you continue to use your own name, Lady Salisbury?’
The little grey-haired woman gave a sharp laugh. ‘Outside these walls I have no title, but if you had read the old historical chronicles you would know that the Countess of Salisbury, who lived in Edward the Third’s time, was the Queen witch of England. She was the King’s mistress and it was from her that he snatched the emblem of Satan’s power, her jewelled garter. Far memory tells me that I lived her life in a previous incarnation; so I took her title.’
‘And you?’ Realising now that she must not neglect the opportunity to get these women to talk, Mary looked at the Chinese girl. ‘I’m afraid I did not catch your name, but
I’d be interested to know about its associations.’
The girl smiled. ‘I am Tung-fang Shuo, and take my name from the great Chinese magician who lived in the second century A.D. But tell us, what impels you to wish to become a Sister of the Ram?’
‘A desire for power,’ replied Mary promptly.
‘What kind of power?’ enquired the Countess.
After hesitating a second, Mary answered, ‘Power over men.’
A beak-like nose projected from the Countess’s mask and she wrinkled it in a suggestion of contempt. ‘Then I think you stupid. You have looks enough already to get most men you might want. Power can have more interesting uses. Fifteen years ago my husband was no more than a fairly rich industrialist with no worthwhile social connections. Now, if I unmasked I should be surprised if you did not recognise me. Hardly a week passes without my photograph appearing in the
Tatler
, or some other paper. I am one of the best-known hostesses in London; and that brings far more satisfaction than just being able to lure any man you want into bed with you.’
‘I do not agree,’ declared Tung-fang Shuo. ‘Your life of constantly entertaining important people must be one long round of anxiety and trouble. Regard myself. Three years ago I was brought to London as a typist to work in the Chinese Embassy. Behold me now. I toil not, neither do I spin. I am the mistress of a millionaire. He must kiss my feet before I will allow him to make love to me, and if I were fool enough I could make him squander his whole fortune on my whims.’ Suddenly she raised her hand, flashing the huge diamond on her finger. ‘But I am wise enough to be content with such presents as he of his own will buys me.’
By that time Mary had taken off all her clothes. The Countess picked up the sacking from the chair and held it out to her. To her amazement she saw that it had been fashioned into a rough two-piece garment. The upper part was simply a sack with holes cut in it at one end through
which head and arms could be passed; the lower, another sack, slit down one side and along its bottom, so that by a string threaded through its top it could be tied round the waist as a skirt.
Tung-fang Shuo’s black almond eyes smiled at Mary through the mask she was wearing. ‘I am sad for you at this moment. You are very beautiful, and it is a hard thing for a beautiful woman to have to put on clothes that lessen the desire of men for her. But you are still a Christian; so you must wear a Christian’s livery.’
Obediently Mary wriggled into the coarse, scratchy sacking, while Tung-fang Shuo pulled out from under the chair a pair of shoes so ugly, and made of such thick leather, that they resembled men’s football boots from which the top few inches had been cut off. Mary sat down and the Chinese girl helped her get her bare feet into these monstrosities. They were much too large for her, but strong adjustable clips kept them on. As she stood up again and took a step forward she nearly overbalanced, the foot she had raised came down with a thud, and she realised that the soles of these horrible shoes must be weighted with lead.
The Countess, meanwhile, had been sorting out the ironmongery and Mary could see now that it consisted of a rusty set of ancient gyves and manacles. The two women adjusted the leg-irons then fastened the thick handcuffs, that were attached to them by short chains, over her wrists. Standing back they both surveyed her and the Countess said:
‘I think a No. 2 size mantle would be about right for her.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Tung-fang Shuo, ‘and her feet are a little larger than mine, so she will need size 5 in sandals.’ Then she added to Mary: ‘Sit down now and wait here until we return. We shall not be long as we have only to undress.’
When they had gone Mary looked at herself in the mirror and found her reflection even more unprepossessing than she had supposed. The shapeless sacking made her look broader and shorter than she appeared normally, and entirely hid her good figure. Her scragged back hair left
her face without its attractive frame. Her complexion was still brown, as she had disobeyed Ratnadatta in that one particular, fearing that if she allowed him to see her naturally fair skin, he might suspect that she had also disguised herself in other ways; but she had on no eye-shadow or lipstick, and her mouth now stood out abnormally pale against her bronze-tinted face.
In less than ten minutes the Countess and Tung-fang Shuo rejoined her. Both now wore only transparent mantles, silver sandals and black velvet garters buckled below their left knees. The former, with her lean skinny little body, and loose hanging breasts, Mary thought a repulsive sight for this time she had been given no drugged drink to condition her mind into regarding nudity with detached indifference; yet that very fact enabled her consciously to appreciate that the slender, golden-brown form of the young Chinese was beautifully proportioned and as entrancing to look at as a great work of art.
The Countess said: ‘Come now. You will find it difficult to walk in those heavy shoes, but we will help you.’
She was right. The weight of the irons was distributed, and so supportable, but the lead in the shoes made it an effort to lift them from the ground. The two women each took Mary by an arm and between them she staggered along the corridor. When they reached the staircase they made her put her arms round their necks, and so got her down the stairs without the risk of her ricking an ankle.
In the hall Ratnadatta was waiting for them. He, too, had changed into mantle and sandals, so that now his potbelly stood out undisguised. He led the way round and under the broad staircase. Below it was a pair of big arched doors. Taking a short knob-kerrie from a hook on the wall, he banged with it loudly upon them. From the far side there came a muffled challenge.
‘Who seeks entry here?’
‘One who repents her past heresies and craves to be accepted into the grace of our Master, Satan; designed by the Creator Lord off this World from its beginning to its
end,’ cried Ratnadatta in a loud voice.
‘Enter penitent, that you may abase yourself before the only true God,’ replied the voice, and the doors swung silently open.
Ratnadatta stood aside and motioned to Mary to go forward. The two women let go her arms and Tung-fang Shuo said in a quick whisper, ‘Slide your feet. You’ll find that easier. It will not take long.’
Mustering her courage, Mary crossed the threshold into the Temple. It was arranged as she had first seen it, with the divans forming short rows on either side of the aisle. The congregation was sitting or lounging upon them but now, instead of their masked faces being turned towards the altar, the twenty-odd pairs of eyes behind the masks were riveted upon herself.
Through the grille up in the balcony her field of vision had been limited, but she saw now that the sides of the temple were supported by rows of pillars from which rose gothic arches, giving it much more the appearance of a small church than, as she had thought it, a banqueting hall. Then recalling that the Countess had told her that it had once been a convent, she concluded that from a banqueting hall the nuns must have converted it into their chapel. If so, the altar she was approaching must have once been consecrated. The thought that in a few more minutes she would be called on to approve its desecration added to her terror.
The awful effort of moving her lead-weighted feet made her pant for breath and break out in perspiration. But slowly she shuffled forward while, but for the slithering of the shoe soles on the polished floorboards, an utter silence reigned and the many eyes continued to stare at her.