Read Online The Mansion in the Mist by John Bellairs - Free Book Online
Authors: John Bellairs
Tags: montag f451 needs edit
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goodwill—like ourselves—would come to the cottage, find the card in the vase, and carry the cube away so the Autarchs couldn't get it."
"The logic of all this is as full of holes as Swiss cheese," Miss Eells shot back. "And so is your head."
By now Emerson was getting angry. "My dear sister," he said in a strained voice, "I have been right up to now, haven't I? Well, haven't I?"
Miss Eells sighed helplessly. "I suppose..." she began uncertainly.
"Well, then," said Emerson triumphantly, "I don't see why you should doubt my intuition and my logic in this case. We have to locate that sundial!"
"Did you see any sundials when we were at the estate last night?" asked Anthony timidly.
Emerson sighed. "No, Anthony, I did not. But I have a good idea of where one might be: in that blasted, infernal garden. You see, the Autarchs have tried to make their world look like an old-fashioned English estate. Years ago I went on a historic houses tour in England, and I recall that many of them had sundials in their gardens. It frightens me to think about it, but we are going to have to go into that garden and find the sundial. It might not be there, but it's the most logical place for one.
"As far as I'm concerned, it'll be about as much fun as going down in the crater of a smoking volcano. But it must be done."
That night, the weather got in the way of Emerson's plans. The day was sunny and chilly, but around sunset the sky clouded over, and the chest failed to appear. Meanwhile, the Autarchs were holding a special meeting. One of their servants, a guard at the estate, had spied on Emerson and the others through one of the windows in the Temple. Later, he had followed them down the path and had watched them get into the chest. At first the guard had been afraid to report to his masters, but he knew that the Grand Autarch could read minds, and he decided that it would go easier with him if he just went in and told what he knew. So the special meeting was called. Candles burned in every wall bracket and sconce, and their yellow wavering light played over the polished mahogany table and the faces of the grotesque black-robed people who ruled this strange, gloomy world. The guard stood near the end of the table where the Grand Autarch sat. Like most of the men who patrolled the estate, this was a young man, and he wore a close-fitting leather jacket studded with iron spikes. His hair was long and yellow, and on one cheek was an ugly scar made by a knife. The Grand Autarch had recruited him personally, on one of his trips to earth. On a visit to the city of Montreal, he had contacted the young man, who had no money and no friends and slept on park benches at night. Now the young guard stood nervously rubbing his hands together as he told his tale. He told of the three strange people who had invaded the Temple of the Winds and how they had taken away a small glit tering object—a coin, probably. As the guard talked, the Grand Autarch grew angrier and angrier. His lips curled into a hateful scowl, and he fiddled with the golden chain of office that he wore around his neck. When the guard had finished making his report the Grand Autarch began to speak. He seemed to be struggling to control himself, and there was a tremor in his voice.
"Do you mean to tell me," he began, "that you made no attempt to seize these intruders? No attempt at all?"
The guard stared at the floor. "I couldn't," he said in a frightened voice. "They were carrying some kind of protection with them—amulets, maybe, I don't know. But I couldn't go near them. I could only watch."
The Grand Autarch glowered scornfully. "You could only watch," he repeated in a dangerously calm voice. "You couldn't do a thing. You were helpless. And so those people were able to escape and carry away something that might be of great importance to us."
The guard wiped his sweaty forehead with his hand. "Yes, my lord," he mumbled. "I couldn't help it, as I—"
He never got to finish his
"The logic of all this is as full of holes as Swiss cheese," Miss Eells shot back. "And so is your head."
By now Emerson was getting angry. "My dear sister," he said in a strained voice, "I have been right up to now, haven't I? Well, haven't I?"
Miss Eells sighed helplessly. "I suppose..." she began uncertainly.
"Well, then," said Emerson triumphantly, "I don't see why you should doubt my intuition and my logic in this case. We have to locate that sundial!"
"Did you see any sundials when we were at the estate last night?" asked Anthony timidly.
Emerson sighed. "No, Anthony, I did not. But I have a good idea of where one might be: in that blasted, infernal garden. You see, the Autarchs have tried to make their world look like an old-fashioned English estate. Years ago I went on a historic houses tour in England, and I recall that many of them had sundials in their gardens. It frightens me to think about it, but we are going to have to go into that garden and find the sundial. It might not be there, but it's the most logical place for one.
"As far as I'm concerned, it'll be about as much fun as going down in the crater of a smoking volcano. But it must be done."
That night, the weather got in the way of Emerson's plans. The day was sunny and chilly, but around sunset the sky clouded over, and the chest failed to appear. Meanwhile, the Autarchs were holding a special meeting. One of their servants, a guard at the estate, had spied on Emerson and the others through one of the windows in the Temple. Later, he had followed them down the path and had watched them get into the chest. At first the guard had been afraid to report to his masters, but he knew that the Grand Autarch could read minds, and he decided that it would go easier with him if he just went in and told what he knew. So the special meeting was called. Candles burned in every wall bracket and sconce, and their yellow wavering light played over the polished mahogany table and the faces of the grotesque black-robed people who ruled this strange, gloomy world. The guard stood near the end of the table where the Grand Autarch sat. Like most of the men who patrolled the estate, this was a young man, and he wore a close-fitting leather jacket studded with iron spikes. His hair was long and yellow, and on one cheek was an ugly scar made by a knife. The Grand Autarch had recruited him personally, on one of his trips to earth. On a visit to the city of Montreal, he had contacted the young man, who had no money and no friends and slept on park benches at night. Now the young guard stood nervously rubbing his hands together as he told his tale. He told of the three strange people who had invaded the Temple of the Winds and how they had taken away a small glit tering object—a coin, probably. As the guard talked, the Grand Autarch grew angrier and angrier. His lips curled into a hateful scowl, and he fiddled with the golden chain of office that he wore around his neck. When the guard had finished making his report the Grand Autarch began to speak. He seemed to be struggling to control himself, and there was a tremor in his voice.
"Do you mean to tell me," he began, "that you made no attempt to seize these intruders? No attempt at all?"
The guard stared at the floor. "I couldn't," he said in a frightened voice. "They were carrying some kind of protection with them—amulets, maybe, I don't know. But I couldn't go near them. I could only watch."
The Grand Autarch glowered scornfully. "You could only watch," he repeated in a dangerously calm voice. "You couldn't do a thing. You were helpless. And so those people were able to escape and carry away something that might be of great importance to us."
The guard wiped his sweaty forehead with his hand. "Yes, my lord," he mumbled. "I couldn't help it, as I—"
He never got to finish his
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