Emerald Magic_ Great Tales of Irish Fantasy - Andrew M. Greeley [108]
“Isn’t there any domestic help?”I protested, as Ronayne led the way hurriedly across the echoing hall and through the house. He did not reply nor even wait to turn on a light. Taking a small pocket torch from his coat, he lit the way for me. Surely someone of Averty’s wealth was able to have a whole army to look after his needs? Again to my surprise, instead of heading up the winding staircase to where, presumably, the bedrooms were situated, Ronayne opened a small side door and began to climb down into the musty cellars of the house.
The main cellar was lit with a dim, flickering light.
I stood at the foot of the stairs and could not begin to comprehend the sight that met my eyes.
Two large spluttering candles lit the cellar, but the smell of the place was . . . well, I have been in many a plague graveyard in Africa, with putrid rotting corpses By comparison to this cellar, they smelled sweet.
There was a man’s body stretched out on a slab in the middle of the cellar. He was clothed in evening dress, a white tie and starched shirt and waistcoat. Even lying there, pale and lifeless, the body seemed to emanate a charisma that commanded attention from his apparently lifeless form.At first I thought he was old, for he had white hair and a long white moustache. His face was etched in sharp features, the nose thin and high-bridged, with strangely arched nostrils. The bushy eyebrows met over the nose. The forehead was high-domed, the lips thin, red, and almost cruel.
“What’s the meaning of this?”I asked in distaste as I stared at the candles placed at the foot and head of the apparition as it lay on what appeared to be the top of a stone sarcophagus.
Ronayne made a gesture of dismissal with one hand.
“Mister Averty is an eccentric gentleman,”he muttered. “We must respect his wishes.”
“Nonsense!”I replied. “If the man is ill, he should be in bed.Who has placed him here in these damp, vile conditions? This is outrageous!”
“Just examine him, please, Doctor. Please! I do not think we have much time.”
Reluctantly, I went to the side of the man.
The body was icy cold. There was no pulse in spite of the redness of the lips.
“He is already dead,”I announced brutally. “And by the feel of him, he has been dead some hours.”
“He cannot die,”Ronayne’s voice held a frantic quality. “See what you can do, Doctor. Please!”
“We all have to die sometime,”I replied, somewhat testy at his presumption.
“But he cannot die,”insist ed Ronayne in a wailing tone. “He is the Master.”
It was then that I began to worry for my employer’s mental health. Perhaps Ronayne was having a breakdown or else he was in some curious state of shock.Nevertheless,my first duty was to ensure that the figure of the man in evening dress was beyond my assistance. I would see to Ronayne later. Turning back to the body on the slab, I drew out a syringe from my bag and stabbed the needle into the dead man’s skin. There was no reaction. It did not even cause a spot of blood nor stimulate the nerve that I had aimed for. I then cautiously drew out a blood sample and, as carefully as I could, put it in a small phial in my case. It was pale like no blood I had seen before. There were no signs of animation anywhere on the body. The man was clearly dead.
I half turned to get my notepad.
As I turned back I realized, with a tingling disgust, that the skin of the corpse around the mouth was sliding away from the teeth. To my horror, the entire flesh had suddenly taken on a strange consis- tency, like melting wax. It was slipping from the body.No, not slipping—it was actually rotting, bubbling and dispersing before my eyes. I could only stand there in frozen horror watching as the body began to decompose and wither in front of me.
“What in hell is happening?”I whispered, the skin at the nape