A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, December 1949 — page 58: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

e - ae Ysa ak. ee : + Fe =! = “, > < < = od “4 = ‘< e > —- * a a Finis = — wr - te Vv AS 7, ’ . My he 7 * t a ' an ay CRi irk feet ue é in ay 29 ‘ ly —_ — ta pa = — —> Si <<) oA Py in the clothes you've got. pant leg,” “One hat brim,”’ 58 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY Fair deal?” I said: “Fair enough.”’ I opened, and the lanky man wrote something on a blue chip and showed it to me before he tossed it into the pot. I read: “Half a sock.” The others solemnly marked their chips and the game was on. I won and lost. There were many worthy sentiments and many rounds. At four o'clock I had won my outfit and release. Bill’s clothes were too big for me, but the others went out and came back with what was needed. They took me downstairs. They put me in a taxi and held their hands over their ears as I told the taxi man where to go. That was a quartette of good scouts if ever there was one. When I| was unstead- ily undressing at the Club a lot of chips fell out of my pockets. They were marked. “Half a shirt,’ “One seat of pants,” “A and so on and so on. I steered a wavering nor’nor’east course to the bed. I’d forgotten all about Ys and Dahut. Nor did I dream of them. CHAPTER 11 jake: ac a Souvenir I was stiff and sore and it took about three pick-me-ups to steady the floor. The memories of the Demoiselle Dahut and of Ys were all too acute, and they had a nightmarish edge to them. That flight from her tower, for example. Why hadn’t I stayed and fought it out? I had made a most undignified exit and each time I had met Dahut—with the problematical excep- [ WAS diftefent when I woke up. - tion of Ys—she had worsted me. Hell, the plain truth was that I had run , away in terror and had let down Bill and let down—Helen. At that moment I hated Dahut as much as ever had the Lord of Caranac. I managed a breakfast and ealled up Bill. Helen answered. She said with poisonous solicitude: must have traveled all night to get back so early. Where did you go?” I was still pretty edgy and I answered, curtly: “Three thousand miles and five thousand years away.” She said: “How interesting. by yourself, surely.” Not all * —yes, I'm guilty. And I don’t like that “Why, darling, you . I thought: Damn. all women! and asked: “Where’s Bill?” She said: “Darling, you have a guilty sound. You weren't alone, were you?” ~ I said: “No. And I didn’t like the trip. And if you’re thinking what I’m thinking either.” When she spoke again, her voice had changed, filled with real concern and a little frightened: ‘‘You mean that—about three thousand miles and centuries away ?” I said: “Yes.” Again she was silent; then: the—Demoiselle ?”’ oN 66 She said, furiously: “The damned witch! Oh, if you’d only been with me... I could have saved you all of that.” I said: ““Maybe. But not on some oth- er night. Sooner or later it had to come, Helen. Why that is true I don’t know— yet. But it is true.” For suddenly I had remembered that strange thought which had ¢ome to me—that I had drunk ofsthe Demoiselle’s evil long and long ago—and must drink again; and I knew that it had’ been a true thought. I repeated: “It had to be. And it is done.”’ That I knew was a lie, and so did Helen. She said, a bit piteously:: | “Tt’s just begun, Alan.”’ I had no answer to that. She said: “I'd give my life to help you, Alan—” Her voice broke; then, hurriedly: “Bill said to wait at the Club for him. He'll be there | about four.’’ She rang off. ' Hardly had she done so than a boy brought me a letter. On the envelope was a tiny imprint of the trident. I opened it. It was in the Breton: My elusive—friend! Whatever I _ may be—I am still a woman and there- — fore curious. Are you as insubstantial as—shadows? Are doors and walls — _ nothing to you? You did not seem so— last night. I await you with.all eager- ‘ness tonight—to learn, a There was subtle threat in every line © of that. Especially the part about the shad- ows. My anger rose. I wrote: 3 Ask your shadows. Perhaps they are — no more faithful to you now than they — were in Ys. As for tonight—I am oth-— erwise engaged. aa “With Be Eomicbooks.cor