Ramsey Campbell - Ancient Images

Dedication

For Steve Laws and Mark Morrissomething in black and white

Toonderfield

At last the pain became unbearable, but not for long. Through the haze that wavered about her she thought she saw the fields and the spectators dancing in celebration of her pain. She was surrounded by folk shed known all her life, oldsters who had bounced her on their knees when she was little and people of her own age she had played with then, but now their faces were as evilly gleeful as the gargoyles on the chapel beyond them. They were jeering at her and holding their children up to see, sitting children on their shoulders so that they were set almost as high as she was. Her streaming eyes blinked at the faces bunched below her. As she tried to see her husband she was praying that he would come and cut her down before the pain grew worse.

She couldnt see him, and she couldnt cry out to him. Someone had driven a gag into her mouth, so deep that the rusty taste of it was choking her. She couldnt even pray aloud to God to numb her awareness of her bruised tongue that was swollen between her back teeth. Then her senses that were struggling to flee what had been done to her returned, and she remembered that there was no gag, remembered why it couldnt be her tongue that felt like a mouthful of coals whose fire was eating its way through her skull.

For an instant her mind shrank beyond the reach of her plight, and she remembered everything. Her husband wouldnt save her, even if she were able to call out his name instead of emitting the bovine moan that sounded nothing like her voice. He was dead, and she had seen the devil that had killed him. Everyone below her, relishing her fate, believed that she was being put to death for murdering him, but one man knew betterknew enough to have her tongue torn out while making it appear that he was simply applying the law.

The haze rippled around her, the gloating faces seemed to swim up towards her through the thickening murk, and again she realised what her mind was desperate to flee. It wasnt just a haze of pain, it was the heat of the flames that were climbing her body. She made the sound again, louder, and flung herself wildly about. The crowd roared to drown her cries or to encourage her to put on more of a show. Then, as if God had answered the prayer she couldnt voice, her struggles or the fire snapped her bonds, and she was toppling forwards. Her hair burst into flames. As she crawled writhing out of the fire, she thought she felt her blood start to boil.

She didnt get far. Hands seized her and dragged her back to the stake. She felt her life draining out of her charred legs into the earth. Hands bound her more securely and lifted her to cast her into the heart of the fire. In the moment before her brain burned, she saw the man who had judged her, gazing down impassively from his tower. The face of the devil that had killed her husband had been a ghastly caricature of the face of the man on the tower.

Chapter Two

Sandy was on her way to lunch when she met Graham Nolan in the corridor. His grey mane gleamed as he strode towards her through the sunlight above London, his blue eyes sparkled, his long cheeks and full lips were ruddy with glee. Whatever it is must be good to bring you here on your day off, she said.

What the worlds been waiting for. He gave her a fatherly hug, and she felt as if he was both expressing his delight and hugging it to him. Youve time for a drink, havent you? Come and help me celebrate.

I was going to have a roll in the park, she fed him.

If I were younger and swung that way he sighed and ducked as she mimed a punch. A stroll and then a drink, will that do you? Tobys collecting me when hes finished shopping. You wouldnt send me off to toast myself.

Were beginning to sound like a bread commercial. I think youre right, wed better take a break.

The lift lowered them five storeys to the lobby of Metropolitan Television, where the green carpet felt like turf underfoot. Beyond the revolving doors, taxis loaded with August tourists inched along Bayswater Road. Graham shaded his eyes as he followed her out beneath the taut blue sky, and kept his hand there while he ushered her across to Hyde Park.

A man whose scalp was red from shaving had attracted most of the tourists at Speakers Corner and was ranting about someone who ought to be dumped on an island: if they couldnt survive, too bad. Graham made for the nearest park shelter and smiled apologetically at Sandy. Not much of a stroll, I grant you.

You can owe me one, she said and sat beside him on the bench, since you cant wait to tell me what youve tracked down.

Guess.

All the scenes Orson Welles shot that were cut after the sneak preview.

Ah, if only. I begin to doubt well see those in my lifetime. Maybe my heavens going to be the complete Ambersons, double-billed with Greed on the biggest screen my brain can cope with. He blinked rapidly at the park, nannies wheeling prams, pigeons nodding to crumbs on the paths. I know youve indulged me already, but would you mind if we were to go inside now? I feel in need of a roof over my head.

They dodged across Marble Arch, where the black flock of taxis wheeled away into Edgware Road and Oxford Street and Park Lane, and almost lost each other in the crowd before they reached the pub. Though he was mopping his forehead with one of his oversized handkerchiefs, Graham chose a table furthest from the door. Sandy perched on a seat wedged into the corner and stretched out her long legs, drawing admiring glances from several businessmen munching rolls. You havent found the film your American friend was sure was lost forever, she said.

Tower of Fear. I have indeed, and I wanted you and him to be the first to know. In fact I was wondering if youd both care for a preview this evening.

Was there ever one?

Not even in the States, though my copy came from a bank vault over there, from a collector who seemed to prefer watching his investment grow to watching the films themselves, bless him. Mind you, Ive my suspicions that one of my informants had a copy salted away too. He sat back as if hed just finished an excellent meal, and raised his gin and tonic. May all my quests be as successful and my next prize not take two years to hunt down.

Was it worth two years?

My dear, he chided her, knowing she was teasing him. A feature film with Karloff and Lugosi that no one living will admit to having seen? It would have had to be several times worse than the worst of the junk thats made these days to disappoint me, but let me tell you this: I watched half an hour of it before bedtime, and I had to make myself put out the light.

What, just because of

An old film? An old master, Id say Giles Spence was, and its tragic that it was the last film he directed. He knows how to make you look over your shoulder, I promise you, and I think youd be professionally impressed by the editing. Id love to watch the film with someone who appreciates it.

Doesnt Toby?

Hes sweet, but you know how he is for living in the present. I hope he wont feel outnumbered if Roger joins us, the American you mentioned. You met him at my last entertainment, youll recall.

We exchanged a few words.

Oh, wary, wary. I wouldnt dare to arrange a match for the hermit of Muswell Hill, Graham said, pretending to shrink back in case she hit him. Seriously, shall you be able to come tonight?

He sounded so anxious that she took pity on him. Ill look after you.

He glanced behind him, presumably for Toby, but there was no sign of Toby among the crowd silhouetted against the dazzle from outside. Above the bar the one oclock news had been interrupted by commercials. Aproned women with sheaves in their hands danced through a field of wheat to the strains of Vaughan Williams, and a maternal voice murmured Staff o Lifesimply English as the words appeared on the screen. Now here was the news footage Sandy had edited, the line of constables blocking a road into Surrey, the wandering convoy that the media had christened Enochs Army fuming at the roadblock, the leader burying his fingers in his beard that was as massive as his head while a policeman gestured him and his followers onward to yet another county, children staring out of vehicles at children jeering Hippies at them from a school at the edge of the road. Scapegoats, you mean, Graham muttered.