"No, it isn't. In a way, it's just the beginning. Schaefer made an
awful fool of himself five or six times on the field that day. He
dropped every one of his passes from center when we ran signals, and
five or six times he muffed the ball at drop-kick practise. The coach
told him in front of everybody that he acted like a high school yokel.
When we finished and took our showers, he hung back until I came
out, so as to walk to the dormitory with me. He tagged along like a
frightened kid brother, and when we got to the front door he started
upstairs like an old man. He wanted to turn toward his own room on the
second floor; but Varduk's voice spoke his name, and we both looked up,
startled. On the stairs to the third flight stood Varduk, holding that
black book open against his chest.
"He spoke to Schaefer. 'I told you that I wanted to see you.'
"Schaefer tried to swear at him. After all, here was a frail, pale
little frosh, who didn't seem to have an ounce of muscle on his bones,
giving orders to a big football husky who weighed more than two hundred
pounds. But the swear words sort of strangled in his throat. Varduk
laughed. Neither of you have ever heard a sound so soft or merciless.
"'Perhaps you'd like me to come to your room after you,' Varduk
suggested.
"Schaefer turned and came slowly to the stairs and up them. When he
got level with Varduk, I didn't feel much like watching the rest. As I
moved away toward my room, I saw Varduk slip his slender arm through
Schaefer's big, thick one and fall into step with him, just as if they
were going to have the nicest schoolboy chat you can imagine."
Davidson shuddered violently, and so, despite the warm June air, did I.
Pursuivant seemed a shade less pink.
"Here, I've talked too much," Davidson said, with an air of
embarrassment. "Probably it's because I've wanted to tell this
story--over a space of years. No point in holding back the end, but I'd
greatly appreciate your promise--both your promises--that you'll not
pass the tale on."
* * * * *
We both gave our words, and urged him to continue. He did so.
"I had barely got to my own digs when there was a frightful row
outside, shouts and scamperings and screamings; yes, screamings, of
young men scared out of their wits. I jumped up and hurried downstairs
and out. There lay Schaefer on the pavement in front of the dormitory.
He was dead, with the brightest red blood all over him. About twenty
witnesses, more or less, had seen him as he jumped out of Varduk's
window.
"The faculty and the police came, and Varduk spent hours with them,
being questioned. But he told them something satisfactory, for he was
let go and never charged with any responsibility.
"Late that night, as I sat alone at my desk trying to drive from my
mind's eye the bright, bright red of Schaefer's blood, a gentle knock
sounded at my door. I got up and opened. There stood Varduk, and he
held in his hands that black volume. I saw the dark red edging on its
pages, the color of blood three hours old.
"'I wondered,' he said in his soft voice, 'if you'd like to see the
thing in my book that made your friend Schaefer so anxious to leave my
room.'
"I assured him that I did not. He smiled and came in, all uninvited.
"Then he spoke, briefly but very clearly, about certain things he hoped
to do, and about how he needed a helper. He said that I might be that
helper. I made no reply, but he knew that I would not refuse.
"He ordered me to kneel, and I did. Then he showed me how to put my
hands together and set them between his palms. The oath I took was the
medieval oath of vassalage. And I have kept my oath from that day to
this."
Davidson abruptly strode back along the way to the lodge. He stopped at
half a dozen paces' distance.
"Maybe I'd better get along," he suggested. "You two may want to think
and talk about what I have said, and my advice not to get in Varduk's
way."
With that he resumed his departure, and went out of sight without once
looking back again.
_10. That Evening_
Judge Pursuivant and I remained sitting on the roadside bank until
Davidson had completely vanished around a tree-clustered bend of the
way. Then my companion lifted a heavy walking-boot and tapped the
dottle from his pipe against the thick sole.
"How did that cheerful little story impress you?" he inquired.
I shook my head dubiously. My mustache prickled on my upper lip, like
the mane of a nervous dog. "If it was true," I said slowly, "how did
Davidson dare tell it?"
"Probably because he was ordered to."