He realized that he had never loved evil for its own sake, as Gaunt did, living life almost monastic in its severity. He had merely welcomed this creed as an excuse to give his sensual desires full rein, while at the same time it gave him temporal power, which he loved, and an elaborate ritual of worship which he delighted in. Gaunt’s condemnation of Tony included him also. He could not welcome the ultimate triumph of Satan any more than he.
Had he never been a priest, he thought, he might have married and lived a normal life; a trifle intemperate and passionate, perhaps, but no worse than thousands of others. But he had been unable to endure the rigorous continence of the Roman priesthood, and his passions, turned from their proper channels, had led him into unseemly perversions. He had been exposed, cast out, and the swing of the pendulum had carried him into the hands of Nicholas Gaunt and the Order of Satan. The continual demand in that quarter for apostate priests to celebrate the Black Mass had made him a welcome addition to their ranks. And now here he was, a lecherous old man, for he shuddered to think how old he really was, trembling before the imminent destruction of the only world he knew.
He lifted his head sharply. The wordless summons had sounded in his brain: Gaunt was ready and waiting for him. With something very like a groan he hauled himself to his feet and made his way slowly down to the crypt.
Gaunt was kneeling before the altar, clad in his ceremonial robes of white linen, with their symbolic embroidery in red. A flaring lamp beside him cast his shadow across the diagram on the floor. As the other approached he raised his head and looked at him. His face was leaner than ever, and the thin nose stood out like the beak of a predatory bird. His sunken eyes glowed like live coals, following Vaughan’s ponderous movements as he bent over the open trunk, taking out his own vestments and putting them on hastily.
The doctor rose from his knees and came down the altar steps, stopping a few paces short of his colleague. His eyes never left the other’s face. So challenging was his attitude that Vaughan, after glancing at him uneasily several times, finally stood still and met his gaze.
“Are you ready, Simon?” the doctor purred.
“Yes, Master.” Vaughan’s eyes dropped, and he shuffled his feet. Gaunt’s lip curled, and he went on:
“And willing?”
“Of course!”
“Good! You will have more to do than I anticipated.”
“What do you mean?” A thin note of alarm crept into Vaughan’s voice.
“I have been watching them. Intervention is on the way. They are coming, through the mist, guided by the ministers of Light. They will be here before noon.”
“But they cannot get in. The gates are barred.”
“I know, but we must take no chances now. They may be given power — I could not see, the future was hidden. So I propose to put my alternative plan into operation, Simon.”
The other stood motionless, his eyes dilating with terror.
“Not — not the Veil?” he quavered.
“Yes. If I merely release the monstrosity it may be days — months even — before there is any effect. Much may happen in the interim — even Judgment. It is too slow to rely upon. Therefore I am going to use the affinity of the monstrosity for its own kind to reopen the breach in the Veil. That will be the end, Simon. Nothing can withstand the influx of chaos and destruction which will instantly take place.”
“No — no — not that!” Vaughan almost choked with fear.
Gaunt’s head sank between his narrow shoulders, and his fingers clawed. His voice was a menacing whisper.
“Twice you have resisted me, Simon. I promised that a third time would be the last.”
Vaughan cowered and finished his robing with shaking hands. When the leaden circlet was on his brow and he had taken up his wand he looked at Gaunt.
“The unction?” he asked. Gaunt nodded briefly and, turning, strode towards the other trunk, which stood at some little distance. Vaughan watched him go with narrowed eyes, his noisy breathing suddenly hushed. The moment the doctor was beyond the outermost ring of the diagram upon the floor the other sprang, hurling his great body up the altar steps. Setting his back against the stone, he raised the rod in his left hand and uttered one word in an unknown tongue.
Gaunt stopped in his tracks and slewed his head round, staring back over his shoulder. Slowly his body followed, then, his face twisting with anger, he started back towards his colleague. But he got no farther than the outer circle of the diagram, finding his progress barred by the same immaterial barrier which Hamilton and Lorrimer had once encountered. For a moment it seemed as if his rage would get the better of him, and he made one frantic effort to force his way through by sheer strength. But his self-control was too great for blind fury to master him, and he stepped back, folding his arms and glaring at the man who was defying him.
“So,” he snarled, “rebellion! I might have known. Once a priest, always a priest. I should never have trusted you, Simon.”
Vaughan made no reply, but continued to bend all the power of his will upon maintaining the invisible wall of force round the circle. Normally he knew that he could not have withstood the doctor’s will for a moment, but he himself had made this diagram, and, knowing how powerful it was, he relied utterly upon its protection. At the back of his mind was a tremendous feeling of astonishment at himself for having at last burnt his boats by defying his erstwhile master in this decisive fashion. He could hardly believe that he had, indeed, done so, and he could not imagine whence had come the sudden influx of courage which had prompted him. He wondered what Gaunt would do now, and watched with vague curiosity as the doctor went to the trunk, which had been his undoing, and began to rummage in its interior. With sudden horror he saw him straighten up, a curiously contrived apparatus in his hands.
Gaunt turned the thing over speculatively. He had never used it before, and he was doubtful of its efficacy in this case, but if it operated as it should it would save him a great deal of trouble, and energy, which he wished to conserve for the great work he had to do at noon.
The instrument was actually a ‘blasting-rod’, similar to those used by the witches of old, and consisted of a hazel staff, symbolically carved, terminating in three prongs of iron, bound to it with copper wire. It resembled in appearance the top of a lightning conductor, though its purpose was the exact opposite of that humane contrivance.
Holding it firmly in both hands, he leveled it at his mutinous colleague and began to speak the words of the appropriate ritual. Vaughan thrust all doubts and difficulties from his mind and concentrated his whole energy against this new threat.
For some minutes there was absolute silence in the gloomy crypt, then a low humming sound began, proceeding from the rod itself, which simultaneously started to vibrate. Gaunt observed that a bluish glow was gathering about the prongs. This was as it should be, and with a smile of triumph he opened his lips again and spoke the last phrase of the ritual.
Instantly a stream of livid fire leapt from the end of the rod, burst through the invisible barrier, and fell full upon the hapless Vaughan with a crash like a thunderclap. He gave one stricken cry and fell writhing to the ground. Gaunt walked quietly up to him and stood looking down curiously.