 In this cave, by the restless sea, we are met to call from out the past, stories, strange, and weird. Bellkeeper, pull the bell, so all may know we are gathered again in the weird circle. Phantoms of a world gone by speak again their immortal tale, the dog. Quiet, quiet. I'll have the bailiff clear the court if this continues. Quiet! Now then, did the court understand the defence correctly? The defendant wishes to make a statement. Yes, Your Honor. I wish to make it regarding the death of the fortune teller Madame Philomille of Gola Street. My name, as I have said, Your Honor, is Frederick Hippie. I am an inventor and have fashioned many strange things. In Gola Street I was and still am called the Wondersmith. And what I wish to say now is not merely a change in testimony. No, Your Honor, it is more than that. It is a confession. I am only a man who hated his stepdaughter with a burning passion. Hated her who through all her life crossed me, whose willfulness made of my days a running sore, whose very youth and strength angered my aging eyes. Yes, hated her and to make her life suffer was my one consuming ambition. Now, she is out of my reach. The young man Solon, her foolish and scrawny lover, is innocent of anything in the death of the fortune teller Philomille. I am the guilty one. I... The events began when I first saw them together. Solon and my stepdaughter Zonila. Solon had a bookstore, a hovel of a place across the street. On this afternoon he was reading to my stepdaughter Zonila and the pleasure on her face angered me. I could hear Solon's voice from where I was standing in front of my shop with Philomille, the fortune teller. Wondersmith, your little bud's blooming in the sun. Zonila! Zonila! Yes? Come here. Look how he shuts his book with a bang. You've a great voice for frightening Wondersmith. Yes? Have you sat there in the sun long enough, cooing to each other like sick doves? We're not. Get in the house. Upstairs to your room and stay there. Your lover will bake alone in the sun. Get in. Wondersmith, the joy's gone out of her face. She'll laugh only when I laugh. Get in the house, Zonila. You're a fine stepfather, Wondersmith. Your daughter's lucky. Stop it. We've business, Philomille. So we have. We made a bargain, Philomille. I have done my part of it. Have you done yours? Yes, hippie. My magic has trapped a soul for the doll. It's in a bottle. You say your part is done? Yes. The paint is drying on the doll now. We will meet tonight at eight in my shop. Do our honoured colleagues know? Croplon the honest jeweler and Oak Smith the cutthroat? I've told them. And we will test the doll tonight. Yes. It will be a rare sight, Wondersmith, to see a wooden mannequin come alive full of murder and wrath. If the soul you've bottled is full of murder and wrath? Do not worry, neighbour. My pick of murderous souls is vast and deep. Yellow birds, jailbirds, a whole nation of outlaws are on the waiting list. And we'll be rich, and with the riches we'll have power. I, Wondersmith, will be rich, albeit somewhat bloody. Tonight, then, Philomille. Tonight. Philomille, answer it. It's after eight o'clock. It must be then. Coming. Coming. Patience, you dogs. I'm an old woman, not a young bird. So, you're here at last. Eh? Come in, Croplon. You too, Brother Oak Smith. Is everything ready? Where's hippie? Sit, sit, friends. We will begin in a few minutes. Here's wine. Drink. I will be back in a moment. I've brought some stones, Philomille. Rubies, we'll test the doll with them here. Good. And you, Oak Smith? The key to the bird store. Splendid. You're a fine first snatcher, boy. Is that the doll? Yes. Look. Oh, a masterpiece. Beautiful, Wondersmith. Beautiful. A magnificent little man with the face of a devil. The sword in his hand is as sharp as a razor. I have never fashioned anything as fine as this. And we will bring him alive with one of Philomille's souls and send him out into the world for victims. That we choose. Yes. That we choose. He will bring us back to rarest jewels. And he'll fight the very devil himself to do it. An epic thief, the size of a count. Let us test him now. Have you the soul, Philomille? In this bottle, the soul of a scoundrel hung at dawn from a public gallows. You seem uneasy, Philomille. This is a restless and angry soul. He stirs in the bottle. Let it loose upon the doll. Soon. Soon. Silence. What is it, Debbie? I heard something. In this hall, the step going by. Your daughter, perhaps. She wouldn't dare. Oh, come. You're imagining things. There's no one here. I'm not so sure. We're only wasting time. The doll. It sounded like a step. Oh, shut the door. You're nervous. All right. But I was sure... Loose the soul, Philomille. Then put the rubies away and stand behind me. The soul will leap to the first figure it sees, and, well, I am a bit uneasy about the one I've captured. Be careful. Now then, I cover the doll and push the bottle under the covering. Loose the stopper and, on airing shore with devilish art, possess this body, seize this heart, muscle and nerve and brittle bone. Make them all your very own. Oh, it's moving under the covering. Pull off the wrapping. Pull it off. I'll do it. See. Ah, by the seven gods. It's alive. Like you and I. See how it glares at us, turning its doll's head from side to side. Oh, look. It bears its teeth at me. The hate in its eyes when it glares at you, Philomille. Beware its sword, Philomille. Hippie, it is not a friendly doll. That's the soul you gave it, Philomille. It does not like me. Perhaps it wants the taste of blood, and I've the most of it here. The key to the bird store, Philomille. I gave it to you. So you did. Well, my bitter little foe, you shall have your taste of blood. Oh, you'd better call back that soul, Philomille, until we get to the bird shop. I think I'd better, too. Come, my friend. It's home for you. Better call back the soul. Relax the muscle. Release the bone. Give up this palace. Leave. The light. It's black as pitch here. Hey, wait. I have a candle. Hold the doll, Oak Smith, while I strike a match. I have the doll, Wondersmith. Just a minute. Where was that? Strike the match, Wondersmith. There. It's a parrot. There's a watchdog of a bird for you. Quick. Somebody might have heard. Give the doll his soul again, Philomille. Let's be done with this test. Silence! Silence, you feathered fool. To work, cover the doll. The bottle now ends on airing shore with devilish art. Possess this body. Seize this heart. Nerve and muscle in brittle bone. Neck them all your very own. Save the house, Master. Put the rubies in the parrot's cage. And it's alive! At first, Your Honor, the tiny doll blared murderously at Philomille, the fortune teller. Even in the candlelight, I could see her grow pale. But the instant the doll saw the jewels greed crept into its eyes. And nimbly, its tiny sword glittering in the candlelight, it ran across the tabletop, jumped to a shelf, and then as graceful as a cat, leaped across to the parrot's cage. For a moment he hung there, the cage swinging back and forth, silently back and forth. The parrot shouted at him, but the doll showed no signs of fear. He stared coldly, with a thin, amused smile at the bird behind the bars. What happened then, Your Honor? Happened in a twinkling. The doll clung the cage door back, and in he leaped, his sword flashing with a rapier speed. The parrot's wings frantically beat the air, and it screamed, blood peered upon the bird's breast. The doll, like an Italian fencing master, danced about the frenzied bird, plunging his sword into it time and time again. All of us stood there, staring open-mouthed at the struggle in the cage, unaware that it was only the parrot screaming. It seemed to each of us that we could hear the din of some titanic battle, that we could see the dust of some distant armies locked in war. And then it was over in a flash. The bird screamed. It shuddered, and spasms wracked its body. And then it fell to the floor of the cage. For a moment the doll stood there, wild-eyed and panting, and then it bent, scooped up the rubies, and swung out of the cage. When it reached us, it dropped the jewels on the table top and watched Phillymel. Magnificent. Magnificent. Did you see him, Lord? My doll's a success. A success. Phillymel, watch out. Hit me. Hit me. I've got him. Draw the soul out quick. Quick. Did you see? He lunged at her. The doll lunged at Phillymel. Draw out the soul. Draw out the soul. Relax the muscle. Release the bone. Give up this palace. Leave this home. The doll lunged at Phillymel the fortune teller? Yes, Your Honor. The doll had lunged at Phillymel the fortune teller. There was no question about it. The doll or the soul that was in it considered Phillymel as his foe. At that time, Your Honor, the sword in the doll's hand was not poisoned. Ah, but later on. Yes, later on. Silence. Will the court be quiet? Must I clear it? Now you make a wand, Mr. Hibby. Continue with your confession regarding the murder of the fortune teller Phillymel. When we were done there in the bird shop and we'd drawn the soul out of the doll in time to save Phillymel, we separated. I took my doll, now stiff and wooden, and my shot, placed it on a shelf, and began walking upstairs to bed. I didn't hear the voices until after I'd reached the first landing. He left to hear like this in the dark. He always leaves me like this, Solan. I sit for hours in darkness. I cannot open the window. He nailed it shut. I watched from the street many times, hoping you'd come to it. I couldn't. I know why now. What shall I do, Solan? My life here is a misery. He beats me, treats me like a slave and hates me. Come away with me, Zonila. With you? Yes. Listen to me, Zonila. All that has been said between us are the words and books I've read to you. They were meant for others, those words. But when I said them I knew, I felt that they were mine. What are books to me, Zonila, but sources define my thoughts of you in words? Don't look at me with such wonder and surprise in your eyes, Zonila. Is it a wonder that I should love you? Is it an incredible event that your name should ring like a joyous bell in my brain? For months I've watched your window, hoping to see you appear in it. For months, torturous days, I've loved you, Zonila, loved you, and spoke to you the words of others because I was afraid. You love me, Solan? Me? A poor wretch? No poor wretch to me, Zonila, but the reality of my dream, the personification of my hopes. Me? Me? My love is as wide as the ocean's wide, Zonila, and as deep and as strong and firm as the iron mountains. Solan? Yes. It's so hard to say. So hard. Say it, Zonila. Say it. Dear Zola. You cry. Because a miracle has happened. A miracle. Zonila. I've loved you from the first time I heard your voice, and I thought you were only kind, showing pity, and I needed even that. I never thought you'd love me in my misery. Zonila, come away with me. Something is happening here in this house. It's evil. I felt it. You must come away with me. I want to go, Solan. Will you come now? Yes. Father. And where will you take her? Mr. Hippie. In what volume is this chapter bookworm? Is the escape all planned out for you by some other writer? I don't need their help. Yet you use them to steal her affection from me. Affection? What affection? From her father's loving bosom he would steal her. His light of life. Leave us alone. I'm the brute, eh? The beast who treads on delicate feelings, is that it? We're leaving her together. Without my blessing? Without your curse. Come, Zonila. Leave the girl alone, cockerel. Or I shall smash you even more than I plan. Do you think fool that I shall let her go? After all these years of crossing me, taunting me. Do you think I shan't have my vengeance? Solan. Solan. Cry to your miserable lover. Get out of the doorway. I have plans for you, Zonila. You shall play nursemaid and mother to a doll I've fashioned. A more murderous child you'll never have. It's a gift I've carved for you. To amuse you when you're lonely. Or to haunt your dreams. And have a name for that doll. A fine name. One which will dry your tears. When the real owner of it is no more. It shall be called Solan. Get away from the door. The comedy is over now, Bukwem. Solan, he's coming towards you. That's an alert girl you'll never wed, Bukwem. Come here. Don't, Solan. Don't. No, cockerel, we'll test you. Solan! Solan! You may proceed. I had to strike the girl to quiet her, Your Honor. And when she was still, I bound up Solan. Slung him across my shoulder like a sack of meal. And carried him downstairs to the shop. A plan was already formed in my mind. But it needed the help of the fortune teller, Philomel. I made sure the shop was locked. And leaving Solan there, lying on the floor, I went out. The hour was 9.30. It took me only a few minutes to reach the fortune teller's door. Open. It's I, Hippie the Wondersmith. Coming. I'm an old woman. You, not like the very devils behind you. Come in. What brings you here now? The dull soul. I need it. And why? I have a task for him. Another test. And it must be done tonight. What test, Wondersmith? A human one. Solan, the Bukwem. Will you bring the soul? No. What? Why? Why not? I am not anxious to be carved like roast pork, Wondersmith, by the little devil. He hates me. We were badly met, it seems. But I need the soul now. No. I'll give you half my share of what the dull brings us later. And if I've long been buried by then? Philomel. No. Hippie. I must trap another soul. I won't wait. I won't. Solan must die now. Hippie! Amazing. But I wasn't leaving as early as that, Your Honor. Outside the fortune teller's door, I waited. And when I heard her creak out of the room, I stole in. I knew where she kept the bottled soul. I found it, slipped it in the pocket, and stole out down to my workshop again. Solan was awake now. And as I came in, he watched me. I was pleased that he would be aware of what was going to occur. Who is it? Who's there? Awake, Bookworm. Good. You shall be my audience. Look. Do you see this bottle? Answer. I listen. Let me go, Hippie. Soon. Soon. You shan't be in this world much longer. This bottle. Let Zonila go then, if not me. It's Zonila I want. It's you I've no use for, Bookworm. Look. There's a soul trapped in this bottle. That fits a tight one. Listen how he stares. Hippie. What? What do you want? I'll give you anything. The riches of books? The wealth of fool's wisdom? Have you any gold? No, but... Then we will go on. I have a dull, Bookworm. Let me show you why I am called the Wondersmith. Look. Isn't he a very devil of a fellow? And the sword. It's sharp. Small. But life, they say, hangs only by a thin thread. Yet to make sure, Bookworm, I shall poison the sword. You're mad, hippie. Mad enough I shall kill you. There. The sword's primed. Now watch me. I too can create life. I shall cover the dull. Now, if you please, I shall place this diamond ring upon your chest. My dull needs an incentive. No. No, don't move. Have you pity? Pity is a disease of fools. I've done without it. But no man... Take your ethics to the grave with you. Now, the moment's ready. Watch sharply. I put the bottle beneath the wrapping. Loose the stopper and... On airing shore with devilish heart. Possess this body. Seize this heart. Nerve and muscle and brittle bone. Make them all your very own. Ah, look. It moves. Off with the covering. Off. Now he glares. There's your victim there. Fee him once. Philumel. You fool, I... Philumel. The dull. The dull Philumel. Stop it. I can still see it all clearly, your honor. The shop, the sole on the floor, and the look on the dull's face when he caught sight of Philumel. That was the time I first noticed the gold brooch and the front of Philumel's dress. The dull raced across the floor with his sword held high. Philumel's face fell, and then grew rigid with terror. She tried to back away, but the dull kept lunging and striking. Lunging and striking. And I could see the tiny sword sink in each time. Philumel gasped and streaked with pain each time the sword struck. Suddenly, the fortune teller tottered, and her great body crashed to the floor. There was a sharp splintering of wood. I saw a tiny sword go skittering across the floor. And then I knew the dull. The dull I had fashioned, your honor, had been crushed, and the soul in it freed. I tried to raise Philumel. She was still alive. Oh, I'm sick, wonder Smith. Sick. The sword. You poisoned it, didn't you? Yes, Philumel. Can you do anything? No. You fool. Fool, I warned you. The dull would have turned on you. Where is he? Crushed. You crushed him. So I gave him his freedom after all. He was an angry soul, stubborn for his freedom. The book worm. Alive, but not for long. Let him alone, wonder Smith. Never. You're purchasing a bitter afterlife. As bad as mine will be. Oh, the pain. The pain. No riches. No power for us, wonder Smith. We'll go to the grave, penniless like all the others. Light. Light, it's getting dark. Philumel. I say, let there be light. Oh, I am forewarned of the region I shall awaken. Wonder Smith? Yes. You are my executor. You will find neither gold nor jewels, but a crystal which you must destroy. Where are you? Here, Philumel. You will find it in, oh, a light. Strike a light, someone. Wonder Smith. Wonder Smith. I must have a light. Philumel. Philumel. Huh? You're leaving so soon, Wonder Smith. Well then, good night, neighbor. Good night. It was a fine evening. Good night. Good night. And she was dead, Your Honor. And for a little while, I sat there in the silence, holding her head in my arms. I think, and believe me, Your Honor, it is important that you do. I think I love the fortune teller. In a little while, I got up. The young man was staring at the door. In it, pale, drawn, filled with terror, stood Zonila, a pistol shaking in her hand. I could have taken it from her without danger, Your Honor. But what was the use? Philumel was dead, and I knew it was the end. How can I explain it? The rest, you know. How Solon and Zonila brought me to the police. How I was brought to trial. I am here because I am guilty. I beg no mercy from the court. Only, Your Honor, make it soon. Soon. From the time-worn pages of the past, we have brought you the story, the doubt. Bellkeeper, through the bell.