The Face in the Frost

sharply, and he accused me of experimenting with black magic. I said that he spoke without knowledge, and quoted Job to him. He stared at me in wonder, and, I think, in fear. I expected him to ask me to kneel and beg forgiveness, but he hurried away.''

''March 17: More success with the control of the wolf. I have translated three whole paragraphs now. The intense study is affecting my nerves, I constantly think that someone is plucking at my sleeve. When I turn around, there is no one there, And, last night I dreamed that something dead lay alongside me in my bed. I woke up in terror and thought I heard something strike the floor. When I went to the window, I saw the wolf. He had come unbidden; I do not know why.''

''March 20: Quarreled with the abbot again today. It seems very strange that he is opposed to what I am doing. Now that we speak of witchcraft, I wonder who his master is?''

''March 28: I cannot get beyond the third paragraph. Could it be that the rest of the book is untranslatable? I lack will power. Told the abbot that I would not obey his evil command.''

''April 7: It seems that the next paragraph is not an incantation at all, but a set of directives. Prerequisites for further action. I cannot believe that such demands need to be met, so I will simply continue to the next spell.''

''April 23: The words have fought me fiercely, but I am ready now. I think the 'instructions' were interpolated by a madman.''

Here Roger interrupted. 'The next entry-the last one, as you see-has no date. The original page from the diary was torn out, crumpled, and thrown into the fire. Someone rescued it and stuck it back into the book, but the date was burned away.'

Prospero read:

''I have smashed my bottles and retorts, and I have given the book to an old fisherman-a foreigner, but a good man-who promised me that he would drop it into the deepest part of the sea. How can I tell what has happened? I spoke the words I had learned, and suddenly the whole room began to waver and drift like smoke. I felt as if I could put my hand through the table and the walls. I saw everything as through murky water. The floor pitched like a deck, but with difficulty I got to the window. The wolf was out there on the grass, closer than ever before, but beside him was a man in a monk's robe. The cowl was thrown back, but I could not see his features through the shimmering air. Then, his face grew impossibly large and came near, and I saw that it was mine-my face as it might be after a year in the grave. A voice, a dry insect voice, harsh and cracked, whispered, 'Give me the book.' I clutched the book to my chest and fell down to the floor, which was now like smoking, bubbling water. I could see through to the ground and there was no roof above me, and I was sinking with that awful rotted face hovering over me. I fainted, and when I awoke, the solid stone floor of my study was under me again. The book was there in my arms undamaged. What I did with it I have written above, and I swear to Cod that what I have written is true. The abbot has forgiven me, and I am to make a pilgrimage soon, quia peccavi nimis. I will take up my studies again when I feel able to.''

Prospero sighed and folded up the notes, 'Only one thing remains for me to ask, and I'm almost afraid to ask it,' he said.

' I know what you mean,' said Roger with a tense smile. 'Yes, I did bring a sample of the book's script with me.' He reached into his pocket and brought out a small wrinkled card. 'This is in the monk's own handwriting. Is it the writing on your window?'

Prospero stared at the card, crumpled it slowly, and pressed his fist his eyes. Then, standing up suddenly, he threw the wad across the room. It dropped neatly into the trumpet mouth of a potbellied brass spittoon.

'Come on,' said Prospero, as he pulled Roger to his feet. 'Lets go out and sit in the back yard for a while.'

Prospero and Roger went out the back door into a cool night filled with lightning bugs that flashed their tiny pulsing lamps in every comer of the gar­den. A great willow hung in ghostly silver near the faintly trickling fountain, and Prospero's favorite apple tree stretched one long awkward branch up to touch the eaves of the house. The sharp smell of black dirt mingled with the green smell of wet leaves, and a light milky mist lay on the grass. The two weary, but still talkative wizards, sat in a pair of fan-backed wicker chairs and pitched pebbles at the drunken satyr in the fountain. They talked about wars, enchantments, and obscure facts until the sky above the forest began to be fringed with pale blue. Eventually, they collected enough strength to get up and go inside. Prospero took Roger to one of the many spare bedrooms, where the two of them shook out a set of slightly musty sheets and made up the canopied oak bed. On the way back to his room, guttering candle in hand, Prospero noticed that the great ruby-paned iron lamp that hung at the head of the stairs was flickering and laboring as if it had been thrust into a musty cave or a long unopened room. He cast a sharp look down the dark stairs and stood dead still, listening. Crickets and frogs, and far off a restless dog. The light began to burn more brightly, so he blew out his candle and went to bed.

2

2

When Roger Bacon woke up the next morning or, rather, the next noon, he felt something more than the usual muggy heat of August days in the South Kingdom. He felt tension in the air, a tension almost audible, the humming of a high-pitched string. He was inclined to blame this feeling on his own nervous nature, so he took a leisurely bath and started down the hall toward the staircase. Prospero's door was open, but he was not in bed. There was no sound down­stairs. Roger tiptoed quietly down the steps, went to the living room, and took a square-headed iron mace down from its hook on the wall. But, when he stepped into the hallway, there was Prospero, standing at the front door, holding the linen curtain aside and peering out of the small square window. Without turning, Prospero spoke:

'Put that silly weapon away and go to the kitchen. There's some bread and marmalade, and I've made some coffee. And, we're surrounded.' Roger dropped the mace, which just missed his toe as it fell. 'Surrounded? By whom?'

'By whomever or whatever our friend with the book has decided to send against us. Look.'

Roger pressed his face against the small square window. Across the road, under a tall thorn hedge, stood three gray figures.

Roger laughed. 'Surrounded? By those three?'

'Oh, there are more. There are at least ten more in the forest to the east of us, and I think there are some waiting up the road, toward Brakespeare. Anyway, numbers don't mean anything. Those things are the agents and the work of a man who probably has more power than we have. He is learning how to use that book, and when he has enough strength-or thinks he has-they will close in.'

Roger pounded the door in frustration. 'Then, why are we having breakfast? Are we going to die gracefully at the table, like gentlemen? Why don't you try something? Between the two of us, we ought to be able to send them back to what's-his-name with their blasted gray robes on fire.'

'And, what if we can't? Then, he'll know what he can do. Right now I don't think he's sure. He wouldn't have sent them if he didn't think that I am some kind of threat to him, although right now I would love to know just how I could disturb him.' Prospero glanced out the window again and continued. 'Even if we do drive them off, we still have him to deal with. I will bet you, Roger, that those things can't do anything until nightfall. So, there is certainly time for breakfast.'

Roger kicked the iron mace into the corner and followed Prospero to the kitchen, where they ate a big breakfast of ham, scrambled eggs, bread, and quince marmalade. Prospero seemed amused by Roger's nervousness, and this made the latter more and more cranky.

'Now,' said Prospero, pushing back his chair, 'you are probably wondering what we are going to do. Come on.' He got up and went to the cellar door.

'Are we going to hide?' said Roger. 'Oh, good! It's been years since I hid in a nice smelly basement.'

Prospero was laughing so hard that he had trouble getting down the stairs. He led Roger to a high rampart of