Authors: Dennis Wheatley
The company was a mixture of all ages and although about a third of them had well proportioned figures the bodies of the majority were far from attractive. But there was nothing to suggest the obscene either in the decor of the temple or the attitudes of the people in it, and Mary decided that the single silver-spangled garments they wore, by softening the lines of thick hips, lean shanks, hanging breasts and pot-bellies, made the ugly ones considerably less repulsive to look at than if they had been morally irreproachable eccentrics standing about quite naked in a nudist camp.
Feeling uncertain what sort of reaction Ratnadatta would expect her to display at the sight of this spectacle, she played for safety by remarking: ‘What a huge woman that Negress is. I should think she must weigh twenty stone.’
He turned from his grille to nod to her. ‘Yes, perhaps. She ees on a visit to London from Haiti. There she owns factories and a great estate. She ees a Lesbian and her riches enable her to indulge her tastes. At our last meeting I speak with her and she tell me that she keep twenty young girls in a harem for her pleasure.’
Mary suppressed a shudder of disgust and asked: ‘Who is the very tall man with the fair wavy hair?
‘That I cannot disclose to you, because he has not spoken to me off himself. It ees our rule never to question one another, or speak off what we may learn by accident. I inform you about the Negress only because she make no secret
off who she ees or what she does.’
The unseen band was still apparently tuning up, as only a jumble of discordant notes came from it; so Mary remarked: ‘The band seems to be taking a long time to get going.’
Ratnadatta turned to her again with a look of surprise. ‘It ees not a band. It ees a recording off a piece by a young musician off great promise.’
‘Then I don’t think much of it,’ she declared. ‘It has no tune or rhythm. Like so much of this ultra-modern music, it’s just a senseless series of discords that I should have thought anyone could throw together.’
‘You are wrong,’ he told her severely. ‘And you must learn to like it. In recent times the arts haf made great strides. Musicians, painters, sculptors, haf broken away from tradition. That ees good; very good. They no longer follow slavishly tastes set by bourgeois society. This shows that they are persons fitting themselves for advancement and acceptance off the hidden truths. To all such, encouragement must be given. The work they do helps much to break down other conventions which strangle happiness off mankind.’
In any other circumstances Mary would have argued hotly that the beauty given to the world in the past by its great artists had made a contribution to the happiness of mankind that it was hard to equal, and that the monstrosities in stone, meaningless daubs on canvas, and ugly compositions of sound now being produced could bring pleasure to few people other than those with twisted minds; and that she believed that in most cases it was a wicked racket to get money out of wealthy fools who could be persuaded that such crudities would have a lasting value. But she naturally refrained from expressing her views and, to change the conversation, asked: ‘Why do they all wear a single garter below their left knee?’
‘It ees insignia off power,’ Ratnadatta replied. ‘Old as the world. To be seen as indication off priests even in Altamira cave drawings off primitive peoples.’
At that moment the recording came to an end and the crowd below began to settle themselves on the divans. On some two or three sat down together facing the altar, on others single individuals lounged at full length, their heads supported on one hand in the manner of Romans about to enjoy an entertainment or a feast. Suddenly a cracked trumpet sounded a single note. Complete silence fell and lasted for about three minutes. Then the trumpet sounded twice more and everyone stood up.
From under the balcony on which Mary and Ratnadatta were sitting a tall figure emerged, walked with slow stately step up the aisle and turned at the altar to face the congregation. Unlike them, he had no mask and was wearing a heavy robe of black satin, richly embroidered with mystic symbols in many colours. He also had on a high, pointed fool’s cap similarly decorated. His face was that of a man in his sixties and judging from it he might have been a bishop, for it was round, smooth, pale and benign.
Ratnadatta said in a whisper, ‘This ees not the Great Ram, but the High Priest that he haf temporarily replace. He holds the title Abaddon and has much power. But the Great Ram has more, far more. Presently he will come and grant wishes off all who desire.’
While he was speaking the congregation bowed to Abaddon and he bowed to them in return. In a melodious voice he said: ‘Exalted Brethren of the Ram, as followers of the True Path, in the name of Our Lord Satan, I bid you welcome. Be seated and at your ease.’
The congregation bowed again and resumed their seats or lounging postures on the divans. He seated himself on the throne, then spoke again. ‘I, Abaddon, am an ear of the Great One. Through me He listens to all you have to tell and through me He will distribute praise or blame.’
A scrawny middle-aged woman stood up, stepped quickly towards him and began to speak in a low voice. Mary strained her ears to catch what she was saying, but at that moment Ratnadatta pulled the curtain cord, so that
the heavy curtains swished together, shutting off her view and all sounds from below.
‘I regret,’ he said, sitting back, ‘but in turn they now make report off work each has carried out for pleasing Our Lord Satan since they last attend a meeting. Such it ees not fitting that you should hear until you are initiate. But haf patience, plees. Presently we look again. Meantime I get you another glass off wine.’
For the comfort of the nearly naked congregation the whole place had been thoroughly well heated, and up in the gallery it was almost stifling; so Mary’s throat was a little parched. Yet, as he stood up and moved towards the table, she wondered if she ought to drink any more. She had found the herb-flavoured wine delicious, but felt sure that it was unusually potent stuff and suspected that the slight dizziness she had been feeling for some while past might be due to it, rather than to the overheated atmosphere. Caution prompting her to play for safety, she said, ‘Would you mind if I had a soft drink instead?’
‘If you prefer,’ he replied without a trace of hesitation. ‘We haf here a drink weech ees made from mangoes and other fruits. It ees good, very good. I mix you some with soda, and a lump of ice, yes?’
It proved another strange but delicious drink and, acquitting him of the suspicion that the wine he had given her might have contained a small dose of some subtle drug, she quenched her thirst gratefully with the iced fruit drink.
During the next half-hour he talked to her about the old gods and goddesses of several countries and the truths which lay behind the mythology concerning them. He told her that they had all been actual people, on earth in their last incarnations, and so capable of calling down supernatural powers; that the word Pagan, as a term of opprobrium, had not been applied to them until much later, and then by misguided priests who taught that salvation could be achieved only by leading a dreary life of chastity, humility and self-denial; but that in fact they had been enlightened beings, bringing great happiness to the world when
it was young and so for many generations afterwards rightly venerated by their peoples.
As Mary listened to him the time sped swiftly by. Her head continued to be a little muzzy but the sensation had no resemblance to the feeling she normally had on occasions when she knew that she ought to refuse another drink. She felt wonderfully alert, her nerves were steady, and the fears about what might happen to her that had agitated her mind on her first entering this hidden mansion had entirely vanished.
In the last few minutes Ratnadatta had twice taken a quick look down into the temple and when, after a third reconnaissance, he again pulled the curtain right back, she sat forward eagerly to see what was going on.
The congregation was still spread about upon the divans and some were talking in hushed voices, but there was an air of expectancy about them and many kept glancing in the direction of the altar. The High Priest, Abaddon, was now seated to one side of it on a low chair. He had taken off his fool’s cap and Mary saw that he had a big domeshaped head that was completely bald. Another low chair on the opposite side of the altar had been taken by a tall fair-haired woman with fine classical features who, Ratnadatta told Mary, was the High Priestess of the Lodge.
The cracked trumpet blared out its single note. Instantly those who had been whispering together fell silent. One minute passed, two, three, four, five, without anything happening. Those minutes seemed to drag interminably while an utter silence was maintained and the strain of expectancy mounted. Two more full minutes passed, then the trumpet blared out six long blasts. At the first the whole congregation rose, Abaddon and the High Priestess with them, and stood with bowed heads.
The blood-red curtains behind the altar moved slightly but did not appear to part. Afterwards Mary wondered if her eyes had closed for a few seconds, though she felt sure they had not. Yet at one minute there was nothing to be
seen between the curtains and the back of the throne, and the next a man was standing there.
As he moved out from behind it she drew a sharp breath and her heart began to beat furiously. The man was tall and slim. His body was encased in black tights from shoulder to wrists and ankles. Round his waist he wore a loose, narrow belt which was entirely encrusted with flashing precious stones and weighed down to one side by a jewelled dagger. Upon his breast dangled a golden winged phallus suspended from a necklace of large pearls alternating with equally large rubies, and below his left knee was buckled an inch-deep garter shimmering with the green fire of priceless emeralds. Only the lower part of his face could be seen. It was thin, with an aggressive, deeply cleft chin above which was a full, startlingly scarlet mouth. His upper features and the top of his head were hidden under a mask fashioned to represent the big black bulbous nose, the slit eyes and the great curling horns of a Ram.
Seating himself on the carved ebony throne he leaned back, crossed his long legs, and cried in a harsh, intolerant voice: ‘Children of my Office. From High matters I spare time to preside over this Lodge again. By the favour of Our Lord Satan I have the power to grant your wishes, should it please me to do so. Waste no moment in unnecessary babbling or you will incur my anger. Now; lift up your heads and tell me your desires.’
His English was correct and fluent but he spoke with a curious accent that Mary could not place, and she thought it unlikely that he had been born an Englishman.
As though he had threatened to leave before half the congregation had had a chance to crave something from him, they all launched themselves forward, tumbling over one another in their endeavours to be first at the altar. A cynical smile twisted his scarlet lips for a moment; then, lifting one hand, he cried, ‘Stop! Remain still!’
Instantly the crowd halted, and seemed rooted where they stood.
Pointing a finger at an elderly woman who had succeeded
in nearly reaching his throne and was now on her knees beside it, he said, ‘You! What do you ask?’
‘My sight, Master!’ she wailed. ‘It is almost gone and the specialists can do nothing for me.’
Leaning forward he ripped the mask from her face and spat first into one of her eyes then into the other.
She cowered back, blinked for a moment, then gave an hysterical shriek of delight. ‘A miracle! A miracle! I can see clearly again! Praised be the name of our Lord Satan! Blessings on the Great Ram!’
Still gibbering her thanks she began to slobber kisses on his feet, but he kicked her away and turned to a weedy-looking man on his left.
‘Master!’ said the man hoarsely, ‘I am a Harley Street psychiatrist. Through overwork I am losing my power to hypnotise, although I always guide patients in the way Our Lord Satan would wish me to.’
The Great Ram touched him between the eyes with one finger, and said, ‘Your power is restored.’
A haggard woman at whom he next looked cried: ‘Master, I need heroin. My supplier has been arrested. I beseech you to direct me to a new one.’
‘Fool!’ he snapped at her. ‘If you have neither the wit to secure it nor the will to do without it, you are no longer fitted for Our Lord Satan’s service. Return here in seven days and if your condition is not satisfactory, I will cause you to die in a fit.’
As the woman reeled away sobbing, the huge Negress got her turn. In a deep voice she rumbled, ‘I’se a stranger in London. My voodoo don’t work well here. I’se got a yen fer a little white gell, Master. Give me a love charm so I’ll get her.’
With a smile the Great Ram plucked a hair from a part of his mask that was made of ram’s wool, gave it to her, and said, ‘Cause her to swallow that and she will be yours.’
A thickset man cried, ‘Me too, Master! I am half crazy for a stubborn woman and I beg a love charm.’
The mouth of the fearsome figure on the throne drew into a hard line, then opened to reply. ‘The last was a special case. Because she is a stranger to England her vibrations do not beget reactions here. If yours are too weak to accomplish your object, consult with Abaddon. You should know better than to trouble me about such a minor matter.’
The younger of the two Negroes begged to be cured of a lung complaint that he had contracted owing to the damp climate of Britain. The Great Ram laid a hand upon his chest and told him that he was cured.
One of the more attractive women said that she was pregnant, and that as she had a weak heart she was afraid either to use drugs or have an illegal operation. She was told to stand aside until the rest had been dealt with.
Another of the younger women said, ‘Master, I am the secretary of a junior Minister. He may go far, and if I could induce him to fall for me I could make use of him in furthering Our Lord Satan’s work. But I am not goodlooking enough to tempt him.’
The Great Ram stood up, drew the girl into a close embrace and gave her a long kiss on the mouth. Mary was too far off to see the full details of the transformation, but that one had taken place was beyond dispute. As the girl stepped back her hips looked slimmer, she held herself better so that she seemed taller, her previously slack breasts had filled out, and her lank lustreless hair had become a crown of shimmering curls.