Manly Wade Wellman - Judge Pursuivant 01 Read Online Free

             "With your permission," I said, and
produced more manacles. First I fastened Susan's left ankle to Zoberg's right,
then her left wrist to his right. Zoberg's left wrist I chained to his chair,
leaving him entirely helpless.
                   "What thick wrists you have!" I
commented. "I never knew they were so sinewy."
                   "You never chained them before," he
grinned.
                   With two more pairs of handcuffs I shackled my
own left wrist and ankle to Susan on the right.
                   "Now we are ready," I pronounced.
                   "You've treated us like bank
robbers," muttered Gird.
                   "No, no, do not blame Mr Wills,"
Zoberg defended me again. He looked anxiously at Susan. "Are you quite
prepared, my dear?"
                   Her eyes met his for a long moment; then she
closed them and nodded. I, bound to her, felt a relaxation of her entire body.
After a moment she bowed her chin u ]3on her breast.
                   "Let nobody talk," warned Zoberg
softly. "I think that this will be a successful venture. Wills, the light."
                   With my free hand I turned it out.
                   All was intensely dark for a moment. Then, as
my eyes adjusted themselves, the room seemed to lighten. I could see the deep
gray rectangles of the windows, the snow at their bottoms, the blurred outline of the man in his chair across the floor from me, the form of
Susan at my left hand. My ears, Hkewise sharpening, detected the girl's gentle
breathing, as if she slept. Once or twice her right hand twitched, shaking my
own arm in its manacle. It was as though she sought to attract my attention.
                   Before and a little beyond her, something pale
and cloudy was making itself visible. Even as I fixed my gaze upon it, I heard
something that sounded like a gusty panting. It might have been a tired dog or
other beast. The pallid mist was changing shape and substance, too, and growing
darker. It shifted against the dim light from the windows, and I had a
momentary impression of something erect but misshapen - misshapen in an animal
way. Was that a head? And were those pointed ears, or part of a headdress? I
told myself determinedly that this was a clever illusion, successful despite my
precautions.
                   It moved, and I heard a ratde upon the planks. Claws, or perhaps hobnails. Did not Gird wear heavy
boots? Yet he was surely sitting in his chair; I saw something shift position
at that point. The grotesque form had come before me, crouching or creeping.
                   Despite my self-assurance that this was a
trick, I could not govern the chill that swept over me. The thing had come to a
halt close to me, was lifting itself as a hound that paws its master's knees. I
was aware of an odor, strange and disagreeable, like the wind from a great beast's
cage. Then the paws were upon my lap - indeed, they were not paws. I felt them
grip my legs, with fingers and opposable thumbs. A sniffing muzzle thrust
almost into my face, and upon its black snout a dim, wet gleam was manifest.
                   Then Gird, from his seat across the room,
screamed hoarsely.
                   "That thing isn't my daughter - "
                   In the time it took him to rip out those five
words, the huddled monster at my knees whirled back and away from me, reared
for a trice like a deformed giant, and leaped across the intervening space upon
him. I saw that Gird had tried to rise, his chained wrist hampjering him. Then
his voice broke in the midst of what he was trying to say; he made a choking
sound and the thing emitted a barking growl.
                   Tearing loose from its wax fastenings, the
chair fell upon its side. There was a struggle and a clatter, and Gird squealed
like a rabbit in a trap. The