Mason Queensbury in the Parlour of the Occult Page 4
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It was dawn. Queensbury watched the sun rise in the east and smiled, satisfied that today would not be the day that Man lost his dominion over the Earth.
“I hope you'll accept my apologies, my Lord,” said Crowley. He was now wearing a dressing gown. A streak of his brown hair had all gone to shocking white. His feet had already been bandaged by the morning shift of servants, who had all been quite astonished to discover the state of the house and its occupants when they arrived. Crowley, though a kidnapper and an evil man, had still played the part of the good host after the events in the Cellar, and had called for a carriage when the other men demanded to leave immediately. He had also released Pup-pup from his cage out in the yard.
“I should think not, Mr. Crowley. You have proven to be a man of the lowest possible character, a blasphemer and a liar,” said Queensbury with a haughty snoot as he fidgeted uncomfortably in his borrowed jacket, provided from Crowley's late father's closet. “You are not a gentleman, and I shall be informing Her Majesty of that fact in a strongly worded letter. Also, you should treat your burned feet immediately; I can recommend a number of good salves I have discovered on my trips to the far east.”
“I think not, my Lord,” said Crowley. “I shall address the issue of my burns through more... esoteric means.”
“Then you shall not give up your mad quest to harness the powers of darkness? Even after seeing what happened here tonight?”
“One cannot give up on one's life goal after a mere setback, my Lord. Beside, I maintain that had Xtotl not broken the circle, that demon would have been my slave.”
Queensbury's mustache quivered with anger. “You are a villain, sir, and I would arrest you if you had committed a crime here today.”
Pup-pup cleared his throat. “Sir, might I point out that he poisoned us? And then locked me up in a cage outside in the rain all night when he could have just as easily locked me into one of the guest bedrooms.”
“Hasn't a rich man the right to tie up servants if it pleases him?” asked Crowley.
“But what of the deaths here tonight? Charles Marchant and Nigel Bottomfellow? The servant Xtotl?” continued Pup-pup.
“I'm afraid Crowley has the right of it in this, unfortunately,” said Queensbury. “He didn't kill those men. It was the abomination.
Crowley now addressed Houdini and Kipling, who both approached from the house, each wearing a fresh set of traveling clothes. “I hope that we are still friends. I did promise you you'd see something remarkable on this visit, and I certainly provided that.”
“You have shaken my very belief in that to which I have dedicated my life, it is true,” said Houdini. “And I have seen how dangerous real magic can be.”
“So will you recant your public statements that there is no such thing as magic?” asked Crowley.
“I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience do that,” said the American. “If others know that raising a Demon is possible, they will attempt it. And in the event that a great hero like Mason Queensbury is not there to stop the foul beast and close the breach, then what shall become of our world? No, I think it best that I continue in my quest to make people believe that things like what just happened are completely impossible. While I love the Truth, I hate Evil more. Hopefully, someday I can destroy all belief in the supernatural, so that no one will ever attempt such a thing again.”
Kipling now spoke. “Erik is right. I cannot write of these events, as it may inspire others. Yet I know I cannot help but write down what I have seen, for it is my nature to do so. So I shall make a vow. I shall never publish this tale. I thank you, Sir Mason, for saving us all, though we did not deserve it.”
Queensbury smiled, “Rudyard Kipling, Harry Houdini, you have both proven your worth to me this evening through your actions when it really mattered. I hope you won't mind if I count you both as friends. As for you, Eddy Crowley,” and the great man pointed his powerful hand at the foot-bandaged dandy, “If you continue down this mad path, you and I shall meet again.”
“Oh, I do look forward to it,” said Aleister slyly.
Mason grimaced and continued. “You have made an enemy out me. And I am not an enemy you want to have. My enemies meet bitter ends.”
“As do mine. I do think we shall meet again, my Lord. But I do not think it will end as you think it will.”
With that, Sir Mason climbed aboard the carriage. Pup-pup, Kipling, and Houdini followed him and the carriage began its long journey back home.
*****
Kipling was true to his word. He made extensive notes on this experience, which is believed to have occurred in October of 1898. These notes were entrusted to the Queensbury estate for safekeeping. They fell into the possession of Daring Press, where no mortal eyes looked upon them until the year 2012, when they were released to the author-for-hire Patrick Casey. He wishes to remind readers to please respect the wishes of Mason Queensbury and refrain from attempting to raise any demons yourselves.
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About the Author:
Patrick Casey lives in Hollywood, California.
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