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  The Moon Pool

  A. MERRITT

  Foreword

  The publication of the following narrative of Dr. Walter T. Goodwinhas been authorized by the Executive Council of the InternationalAssociation of Science.

  First:

  To end officially what is beginning to be called the ThrockmartinMystery and to kill the innuendo and scandalous suspicions which havethreatened to stain the reputations of Dr. David Throckmartin, hisyouthful wife, and equally youthful associate Dr. Charles Stanton eversince a tardy despatch from Melbourne, Australia, reported thedisappearance of the first from a ship sailing to that port, and thesubsequent reports of the disappearance of his wife and associate fromthe camp of their expedition in the Caroline Islands.

  Second:

  Because the Executive Council have concluded that Dr. Goodwin'sexperiences in his wholly heroic effort to save the three, and thelessons and warnings within those experiences, are too importantto humanity as a whole to be hidden away in scientific papersunderstandable only to the technically educated; or to be presentedthrough the newspaper press in the abridged and fragmentary formwhich the space limitations of that vehicle make necessary.

  For these reasons the Executive Council commissioned Mr. A. Merrittto transcribe into form to be readily understood by the layman thestenographic notes of Dr. Goodwin's own report to the Council,supplemented by further oral reminiscences and comments by Dr.Goodwin; this transcription, edited and censored by the ExecutiveCouncil of the Association, forms the contents of this book.

  Himself a member of the Council, Dr. Walter T. Goodwin, Ph.D.,F.R.G.S. etc., is without cavil the foremost of American botanists, anobserver of international reputation and the author of several epochaltreaties upon his chosen branch of science. His story, amazing in thebest sense of that word as it may be, is fully supported by proofsbrought forward by him and accepted by the organization of which Ihave the honor to be president. What matter has been elided fromthis popular presentation--because of the excessively menacingpotentialities it contains, which unrestricted dissemination mightdevelop--will be dealt with in purely scientific pamphlets ofcarefully guarded circulation.

  THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF SCIENCE Per J. B. K., President

  CONTENTS

  I The Thing on the Moon Path II "Dead! All Dead!" III The Moon Rock IV The First Vanishings V Into the Moon Pool VI "The Shining Devil Took Them!" VII Larry O'Keefe VIII Olaf's Story IX A Lost Page of Earth X The Moon Pool XI The Flame-Tipped Shadows XII The End of the Journey XIII Yolara, Priestess of the Shining One XIV The Justice of Lora XV The Angry, Whispering Globe XVI Yolara of Muria vs. the O'Keefe XVII The Leprechaun XVIII The Amphitheatre of Jet XIX The Madness of Olaf XX The Tempting of Larry XXI Larry's Defiance XXII The Casting of the Shadow XXIII Dragon Worm and Moss Death XXIV The Crimson Sea XXV The Three Silent Ones XXVI The Wooing of Lakla XXVII The Coming of Yolara XXVIII In the Lair of the Dweller XXIX The Shaping of the Shining One XXX The Building of the Moon Pool XXXI Larry and the Frog-Men XXXII "Your Love; Your Lives; Your Souls!" XXXIII The Meeting of Titans XXXIV The Coming of the Shining One XXXV "Larry--Farewell!"

  CHAPTER I

  The Thing on the Moon Path

  For two months I had been on the d'Entrecasteaux Islands gatheringdata for the concluding chapters of my book upon the flora of thevolcanic islands of the South Pacific. The day before I had reachedPort Moresby and had seen my specimens safely stored on board theSouthern Queen. As I sat on the upper deck I thought, with homesickmind, of the long leagues between me and Melbourne, and the longerones between Melbourne and New York.

  It was one of Papua's yellow mornings when she shows herself in hersombrest, most baleful mood. The sky was smouldering ochre. Over theisland brooded a spirit sullen, alien, implacable, filled with thethreat of latent, malefic forces waiting to be unleashed. It seemed anemanation out of the untamed, sinister heart of Papua herself--sinistereven when she smiles. And now and then, on the wind, came a breath fromvirgin jungles, laden with unfamiliar odours, mysterious and menacing.

  It is on such mornings that Papua whispers to you of her immemorialancientness and of her power. And, as every white man must, I foughtagainst her spell. While I struggled I saw a tall figure striding downthe pier; a Kapa-Kapa boy followed swinging a new valise. There wassomething familiar about the tall man. As he reached the gangplank helooked up straight into my eyes, stared for a moment, then waved hishand.

  And now I knew him. It was Dr. David Throckmartin--"Throck" he was tome always, one of my oldest friends and, as well, a mind of the firstwater whose power and achievements were for me a constant inspirationas they were, I know, for scores other.

  Coincidentally with my recognition came a shock of surprise,definitely--unpleasant. It was Throckmartin--but about him wassomething disturbingly unlike the man I had known long so well and towhom and to whose little party I had bidden farewell less than a monthbefore I myself had sailed for these seas. He had married only a fewweeks before, Edith, the daughter of Professor William Frazier,younger by at least a decade than he but at one with him in his idealsand as much in love, if it were possible, as Throckmartin. By virtueof her father's training a wonderful assistant, by virtue of her ownsweet, sound heart a--I use the word in its olden sense--lover. Withhis equally youthful associate Dr. Charles Stanton and a Swedishwoman, Thora Halversen, who had been Edith Throckmartin's nurse frombabyhood, they had set forth for the Nan-Matal, that extraordinarygroup of island ruins clustered along the eastern shore of Ponape inthe Carolines.

  I knew that he had planned to spend at least a year among these ruins,not only of Ponape but of Lele--twin centres of a colossal riddle ofhumanity, a weird flower of civilization that blossomed ages beforethe seeds of Egypt were sown; of whose arts we know little enough andof whose science nothing. He had carried with him unusually completeequipment for the work he had expected to do and which, he hoped,would be his monument.

  What then had brought Throckmartin to Port Moresby, and what was thatchange I had sensed in him?

  Hurrying down to the lower deck I found him with the purser. As Ispoke he turned, thrust out to me an eager hand--and then I saw whatwas that difference that had so moved me. He knew, of course by mysilence and involuntary shrinking the shock my closer look had givenme. His eyes filled; he turned brusquely from the purser, hesitated--thenhurried off to his stateroom.

  "'E looks rather queer--eh?" said the purser. "Know 'im well, sir?Seems to 'ave given you quite a start."

  I made some reply and went slowly up to my chair. There I sat,composed my mind and tried to define what it was that had shaken meso. Now it came to me. The old Throckmartin was on the eve of hisventure just turned forty, lithe, erect, muscular; his controllingexpression one of enthusiasm, of intellectual keenness, of--what shallI say--expectant search. His always questioning brain had stamped itsvigor upon his face.

  But the Throckmartin I had seen below was one who had borne somescaring shock of mingled rapture and horror; some soul cataclysm thatin its climax had remoulded, deep from within, his face, setting on itseal of wedded ecstasy and despair; as though indeed these two hadcome to him hand in hand, taken possession of him and departing leftbehind, ineradicably, their linked shadows!

  Yes--it was that which appalled. For how could rapture and horror,Heaven and Hell mix, clasp hands--kiss?

  Yet these were what in closest embrace lay on Throckmartin's face!

  Deep in thought, subconsciously with relief, I watched the shore linesink behind; welcomed the touch of the wind of the free seas. I hadh
oped, and within the hope was an inexplicable shrinking that I wouldmeet Throckmartin at lunch. He did not come down, and I was sensibleof deliverance within my disappointment. All that afternoon I loungedabout uneasily but still he kept to his cabin--and within me was nostrength to summon him. Nor did he appear at dinner.

  Dusk and night fell swiftly. I was warm and went back to mydeck-chair. The Southern Queen was rolling to a disquieting swell andI had the place to myself.

  Over the heavens was a canopy of cloud, glowing faintly and testifyingto the moon riding behind it. There was much phosphorescence. Fitfullybefore the ship and at her sides arose those stranger little swirls ofmist that swirl up from the Southern Ocean like breath of seamonsters, whirl for an instant and disappear.

  Suddenly the deck door opened and through it came Throckmartin. Hepaused uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager,intent gaze, hesitated, then closed the door behind him.

  "Throck," I called. "Come! It's Goodwin."

  He made his way to me.

  "Throck," I said, wasting no time in preliminaries. "What's wrong?Can I help you?"

  I felt his body grow tense.

  "I'm going to Melbourne, Goodwin," he answered. "I need a fewthings--need them urgently. And more men--white men--"

  He stopped abruptly; rose from his chair, gazed intently toward thenorth. I followed his gaze. Far, far away the moon had broken throughthe clouds. Almost on the horizon, you could see the faintluminescence of it upon the smooth sea. The distant patch of lightquivered and shook. The clouds thickened again and it was gone. Theship raced on southward, swiftly.

  Throckmartin dropped into his chair. He lighted a cigarette with ahand that trembled; then turned to me with abrupt resolution.

  "Goodwin," he said. "I do need help. If ever man needed it, I do.Goodwin--can you imagine yourself in another world, alien, unfamiliar,a world of terror, whose unknown joy is its greatest terror of all;you all alone there, a stranger! As such a man would need help, so Ineed--"

  He paused abruptly and arose; the cigarette dropped from his fingers.The moon had again broken through the clouds, and this time muchnearer. Not a mile away was the patch of light that it threw upon thewaves. Back of it, to the rim of the sea was a lane of moonlight; agigantic gleaming serpent racing over the edge of the world straightand surely toward the ship.

  Throckmartin stiffened to it as a pointer does to a hidden covey. Tome from him pulsed a thrill of horror--but horror tinged with anunfamiliar, an infernal joy. It came to me and passed away--leaving metrembling with its shock of bitter sweet.

  He bent forward, all his soul in his eyes. The moon path sweptcloser, closer still. It was now less than half a mile away. From itthe ship fled--almost as though pursued. Down upon it, swift andstraight, a radiant torrent cleaving the waves, raced the moon stream.

  "Good God!" breathed Throckmartin, and if ever the words were a prayerand an invocation they were.

  And then, for the first time--I saw--_it_!

  The moon path stretched to the horizon and was bordered by darkness.It was as though the clouds above had been parted to form a lane-drawnaside like curtains or as the waters of the Red Sea were held back tolet the hosts of Israel through. On each side of the stream was theblack shadow cast by the folds of the high canopies And straight as aroad between the opaque walls gleamed, shimmered, and danced theshining, racing, rapids of the moonlight.

  Far, it seemed immeasurably far, along this stream of silver fire Isensed, rather than saw, something coming. It drew first into sight asa deeper glow within the light. On and on it swept toward us--anopalescent mistiness that sped with the suggestion of some wingedcreature in arrowed flight. Dimly there crept into my mind memory ofthe Dyak legend of the winged messenger of Buddha--the Akla birdwhose feathers are woven of the moon rays, whose heart is a livingopal, whose wings in flight echo the crystal clear music of the whitestars--but whose beak is of frozen flame and shreds the souls ofunbelievers.

  Closer it drew and now there came to me sweet, insistenttinklings--like pizzicati on violins of glass; crystal clear; diamondsmelting into sounds!

  Now the Thing was close to the end of the white path; close up to thebarrier of darkness still between the ship and the sparkling head ofthe moon stream. Now it beat up against that barrier as a bird againstthe bars of its cage. It whirled with shimmering plumes, with swirlsof lacy light, with spirals of living vapour. It held within it odd,unfamiliar gleams as of shifting mother-of-pearl. Coruscations andglittering atoms drifted through it as though it drew them from therays that bathed it.

  Nearer and nearer it came, borne on the sparkling waves, and everthinner shrank the protecting wall of shadow between it and us. Withinthe mistiness was a core, a nucleus of intenser light--veined,opaline, effulgent, intensely alive. And above it, tangled in theplumes and spirals that throbbed and whirled were seven glowinglights.

  Through all the incessant but strangely ordered movement ofthe--_thing_--these lights held firm and steady. They were seven--likeseven little moons. One was of a pearly pink, one of a delicatenacreous blue, one of lambent saffron, one of the emerald you see inthe shallow waters of tropic isles; a deathly white; a ghostlyamethyst; and one of the silver that is seen only when the flying fishleap beneath the moon.

  The tinkling music was louder still. It pierced the ears with ashower of tiny lances; it made the heart beat jubilantly--and checkedit dolorously. It closed the throat with a throb of rapture andgripped it tight with the hand of infinite sorrow!

  Came to me now a murmuring cry, stilling the crystal notes. It wasarticulate--but as though from something utterly foreign to thisworld. The ear took the cry and translated with conscious labour intothe sounds of earth. And even as it compassed, the brain shrank fromit irresistibly, and simultaneously it seemed reached toward it withirresistible eagerness.

  Throckmartin strode toward the front of the deck, straight toward thevision, now but a few yards away from the stern. His face had lost allhuman semblance. Utter agony and utter ecstasy--there they were sideby side, not resisting each other; unholy inhuman companions blendinginto a look that none of God's creatures should wear--and deep, deepas his soul! A devil and a God dwelling harmoniously side by side! Somust Satan, newly fallen, still divine, seeing heaven andcontemplating hell, have appeared.

  And then--swiftly the moon path faded! The clouds swept over the skyas though a hand had drawn them together. Up from the south came aroaring squall. As the moon vanished what I had seen vanished withit--blotted out as an image on a magic lantern; the tinkling ceasedabruptly--leaving a silence like that which follows an abrupt thunderclap. There was nothing about us but silence and blackness!

  Through me passed a trembling as one who has stood on the very vergeof the gulf wherein the men of the Louisades says lurks the fisher ofthe souls of men, and has been plucked back by sheerest chance.

  Throckmartin passed an arm around me.

  "It is as I thought," he said. In his voice was a new note; the calmcertainty that has swept aside a waiting terror of the unknown. "Now Iknow! Come with me to my cabin, old friend. For now that you too haveseen I can tell you"--he hesitated--"what it was you saw," he ended.

  As we passed through the door we met the ship's first officer.Throckmartin composed his face into at least a semblance of normality.

  "Going to have much of a storm?" he asked.

  "Yes," said the mate. "Probably all the way to Melbourne."

  Throckmartin straightened as though with a new thought. He gripped theofficer's sleeve eagerly.

  "You mean at least cloudy weather--for"--he hesitated--"for the nextthree nights, say?"

  "And for three more," replied the mate.

  "Thank God!" cried Throckmartin, and I think I never heard such reliefand hope as was in his voice.

  The sailor stood amazed. "Thank God?" he repeated. "Thank--what d'yemean?"

  But Throckmartin was moving onward to his cabin. I started to follow.The first officer stopped m
e.

  "Your friend," he said, "is he ill?"

  "The sea!" I answered hurriedly. "He's not used to it. I am going tolook after him."

  Doubt and disbelief were plain in the seaman's eyes but I hurried on.For I knew now that Throckmartin was ill indeed--but with a sicknessthe ship's doctor nor any other could heal.