Compleat Traveller in Black by John Brunner Page B

Vengis when he had regained some of his composure.
    “Say rather what you want of me,” the traveller riposted with a sardonic cock of his head. “From the confusion of your dispute I’ve been unable to make it out. Put it in plain words. That is, if you have any clear idea of your ambitions …?”
    There was a gently insulting turn to that last phrase. Vengis bridled.
    “Of course we do!” he blustered. “Have you not seen the pitiable pass to which our fair city is reduced?”
    “I have,” acknowledged the black-garbed intruder. “And as nearly as I can discern, you hold your ancestors to blame.”
    “We do so!” Vengis snapped. “And we crave to make them rectify their crime. We strive to call them back, that they may behold the ruin they’ve bequeathed us, and compel them to set matters right.”
    “Say nothing to me of compulsion,” warned the traveller. “I am acquainted better with free choice. … Collectively and voluntarily, you have agreed this plan?”
    There was a general cry of confirmation.
    “What then restrains you from action?”
    “What do you think?” That from Bardolus, half frantic with the tension of the moment. “For years we’ve quested after the power to bring about this end, and so far all we’ve managed to achieve is a few minor manifestations and several personal calamities!”
    “Such as the one that overtook Dame Seulte?”
    “Ah … Well, yes, I suppose!”
    “Despite which ominous event, Vengis has expressed the common desire of you all?” said the traveller with very great sadness, casting his gaze to the furthest corners of the company.
    “Aye!” came a chorus of replies.
    “As you wish,” said the traveller, “so be it.” And departed.
     
    IV
     
    Where he went, none of them saw. He passed among them swift as thought and silent as a shadow, and they had no more stomach for their consultations.
    Yet they felt a lightness, a sense of promise, as they called the servants to unbar the doors and made their several ways towards their homes. The streets by which they passed seemed more crowded than of late, and not a few of them had the impression that they recognized among the throng a familiar face, a known gait, or the cut of a distinctive garment. However, such fancies were of a piece with the general mood, and served mainly to heighten the taut anticipation they had brought away from the Hall of State.
    “What think you of Dame Seulte’s fate?” said the Lady Vivette to her companion – who was also her brother, but they had judged that an advantage in making their earlier experiments. She spoke as their carriage creaked and jolted into the courtyard of their ancestral home; behind, as strong retainers forced them to, gate-hinges screamed for rust and lack of oil.
    “I think she was unwise,” her brother said. His name was Ormond to the world, but recently he had adopted another during a midnight ritual, and Vivette knew what it was and held some power over him in consequence.
    “Do you believe we have been gifted by this – this personage?” Vivette inquired. “I have a feeling, myself, that perhaps we have.”
    Ormond shrugged. “We can but put the matter to the test. Shall we do so now, or wait until after dinner?”
    “Now!” Vivette said positively.
    So, duly, they made their preparations: donning fantastical garments that contained unexpected lacunae, and over them various organic items relinquished by their original owners, such as a necklace of children’s eyes embedded in glass for Vivette and a mask made from a horse’s head for Ormond. So arrayed, they repaired to a room in the highest tower of their mansion, where by custom deceased heads of their family had, since generations ago, been laid in state for a day and a night and a day before interment.
    There, within a pentacle bounded by four braziers and a pot of wax boiling over a lamp, they indulged in some not unpleasurable pastimes, taking care to recite continually turn and turn