Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 151 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XII

THE BLACK ZOMBI

WHEN the voodoo cult met two nights later, the arriving members stopped to

gloat above the pit where the zombis toiled. Those staring, bulge-eyed remnants

of humanity were straining, as usual, at the creaky wheel. Among them was a new-comer, conspicuous by his garb.

That figure was The Shadow. He was hatless, but still wore his cloak. It hung rumpled from his shoulders, like a garment adorning a scarecrow. The cloak

was still in good condition but that was because The Shadow had done only a short term of servitude.

Given a month at the big wheel, under the ugly tutelage of Leboux, The Shadow's garb would be as tattered as the clothes the other zombis wore.

The cult members eyed the face of Lamont Cranston, to see if it differed from the rest. Those features bore no distinguishing trace. The Shadow's fixed face was haggard; his eyes, as bulgy as those of the other slaves, had lost the

burn that was visible two nights before.

Whenever the wheel turned, The Shadow struggled with the same mechanical motions as his fellows. When it reached its limit, he kept on pushing in the same dumb fashion, until Leboux's high, hideous call brought a halt.

There was another new zombi at the wheel: the frail man who had been

stabbed by Mocquino. His torn shirt, wrapped across his chest, bore the brick-red dye of dried blood.

There was another living statue beyond the voodoo fire. Marcia Cortell had

become a new figure of human marble. She faced the fire, kneeling, with arms extended. In her raised hands she held a flaming brazier, that flickered with reddish fire whenever Mocquino sprinkled it with grains of powder.

Marcia's eyes registered the same sightless gaze that characterized the faces of the other statues. Her plight, however, was no ordeal. Marcia was totally oblivious to her situation.

Even if she had been conscious, she would have preferred her present lot to

that of two nights ago, when, in voodoo costume, she had gone through those frenzied rituals with other members of the cult.

The meeting, on this night, proved a brief one. Mocquino dismissed the statues; he went through the ceremonies, but gave no demonstrations of his power

over fire. He took the valuable tributes indifferently, merely watching each contribution to see if it proved large enough.

Cash and other valuables came up to Mocquino's expectations. Tribute was always heavy after he had created new zombis. His manufacture of three such creatures, at the previous meeting, had encouraged cult members to bring all the

funds that they could scrape up. None wanted to put themselves in line for zombi

servitude.

WHEN the meeting ended, Leboux gave the signal shout to the zombis in the pit. They pushed the big wheel that opened the portal; the cult members departed

in a group. Leboux reversed the clumsy gears; as the zombis continued their circular march, the huge door rolled shut.

Mocquino had advanced from his throne. It was he who halted the zombis when

the door had closed. Waving Leboux aside. Mocquino gave a different command.

To

the new pitch of his voice the zombis sidestepped from their places at the wheel.

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