‘There was a bass growl like thunder, and out of the cloud a deep voice spoke. I will have your daughter, it said, and what I offer in payment you will willingly take, for it is beyond your wildest dreams. The greedy merchant looked all around with avaricious eyes that sparkled with the anticipation of wealth beyond his dreams. Where are you? he demanded. Show yourself!’
The storyteller stopped. He let his gaze roam all over his audience, huddling together now, for word had gone round and the market square was packed. ‘And out of the dark cloud stepped a strange figure,’ he said in a soft, awed, yet penetrating voice. ‘Tall, thin and imposing, he was dressed in a long flowing robe with a high collar that stood up around his ears and framed his face. He was clad all in black, save for the faintest ruffle of white at his throat. His grey hair was cropped close to his finely shaped head. He was pale – as pale as death – and the long, straight nose was as an arrow, pointing to the wide, well-shaped, downturned mouth. The eyes were invisible under the heavy protruding brow ridges, and they looked like deep, empty black holes in the stark whiteness of the face.’
A woman, perhaps a girl, gave a little shriek.
‘The greedy merchant stepped forward, his face wreathed in smiles. What will you give me for my daughter’s hand? he demanded. Speak swiftly, for many others are desperate to have her and the bidding is keen!’
The storyteller frowned his disapproval. ‘It was clear that the empty-eyed figure did not like those words. There was another soft growl of thunder, and a sudden chill breeze ruffled the garments of the crowd, as if in the midst of a sunny day a wind had come straight out of a snow-bound, ice-frozen land. As the thunder died away, the figure spoke. In exchange for your daughter’s hand, he said, I offer you my world.
‘A faint cry burst out of the beautiful daughter, who sat cowering on her throne, eyeing the black-clad figure with horror in her face. The greedy merchant ignored it. Your world? he echoed. What do you mean, your world? Which world have you to offer me?
‘The hollow-eyed figure shrugged his bony shoulders. A world I rule, as your kings rule this one, he replied. It was an ambiguous answer,’ the storyteller observed – several people muttered their agreement – ‘but the greedy merchant’s blood was up and he only heard what he wanted to hear. He stared at the strange figure, eyes narrowed as if he was trying to penetrate to the secret heart of the matter. As he stared, it seemed to him that he was cold suddenly, and he thought he saw a few flakes of snow fall and settle on the empty-eyed man’s grey head and black-clad shoulders.’
The storyteller’s eyebrows drew together, rising in a caricature of puzzlement. ‘Snow? On a bright, sunny, summer’s day? But the greedy merchant ignored the sinister warning. Done! he shouted. The crowd – who knew better, and many of whom were already slipping quietly away – gave a low, collective moan of distress.’
I tore my eyes away from the compelling figure of the storyteller. Nobody here was slipping away.
‘The hollow-eyed man moved towards the platform. The greedy merchant, thinking that he had come to climb up, shake hands and seal the bargain, hurried towards the steps to greet him. But the pale man had no need of steps. He stopped right in front of the platform and he began to grow. Taller, taller, till he was as tall as a house.’ Someone gave a moan of horror. ‘Taller, taller, till he was as high as a tree. Then he stretched out his arms, wide, wider, the long, drooping sleeves of his black robe sweeping right across the market square and freezing those who had been too slow to run away even as they stood there, so that they turned to ice on the spot and fell with a ringing chime to the ground. The greedy merchant screamed, again and again and again, belatedly remembering his daughter and scrambling back to protect her, his most valued asset, from instant death.’
He paused for breath. There wasn’t a sound from the rapt crowd.
‘The hollow-eyed figure gave a dreadful laugh. Do not fear for the lady, for she is mine, he said, and he swept her up in one huge arm, easily supporting her frail weight as she collapsed into a swoon. Now the greedy merchant’s terror was all for himself. His mouth opened in a silent howl, for the air was now so cold that his lips, his tongue and his throat were already frozen into immobility. As his eyeballs crackled with frost, he stared up at the huge dark figure towering above him.’
The storyteller raised his own eyes, staring up into the sky, becoming the terrified merchant.
‘And even as he watched that dread figure,’ he said, returning his gaze to his audience, ‘it changed. The black garments seemed to melt away, revealing deadly white translucent skin. Then the skin began to tear, and the shape of head, shoulders, limbs and torso subtly altered… and there before the greedy merchant stood a figure straight out of the most hellish nightmares.’ Several people screamed, not all of them women. ‘It was ice-blue, scaly, with a long forked tail and slender, curving and impossibly sharp horns extending from its head. It held out an arm that curled and twisted like a snake and ended in a huge clawed hand. Then, slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, it extended those dreadful claws and reached for the greedy merchant’s throat. There was a moment of terrible agony, and blood gushed out. The greedy merchant closed his eyes, for death was welcome.’
A pause. ‘But it wasn’t death. The merchant opened his eyes again, to see the devilish figure standing calmly regarding him. Not death, it murmured, nothing so merciful. For I always keep my bargains, and did I not promise you my world?
‘The greedy merchant could not answer, for he had no throat,’ said the storyteller calmly. But abruptly his tone and his very demeanour changed and, in a storm of passionate words, he cried, ‘Then all at once the ice-blue devil’s eyes flashed red fire, and a fierce, terrible anger contorted its entire body. It shouted some words in a strange, unknown, unholy tongue, and at the same time it stamped five times upon the ground. The solid cobblestones of the marketplace opened in a great chasm, out of which both ice-blue and red-hot flames flared up and from which a frightful stench arose. The wooden platform tilted forward and the greedy merchant fell on to hands and knees, desperately trying to cling to the rough planks, but he could get no grip. Slowly, slowly he slid forward. The platform tilted further, further, until it hung right on the lip of the chasm. Then there was a sound as if the whole earth had exploded, and the platform and the greedy merchant were pitched down into the abyss. Flames rose up, roaring, crackling, and from the gaping wound in the greedy merchant’s throat there came a scream that stopped the heart.
‘There was a great crack! and the chasm closed up. In the blink of an eye, the devilish figure and the greedy merchant’s daughter were merged into a vast dark cloud, which evaporated like a teardrop on a hot stone. The surviving townspeople crept out of their hiding places and surveyed the aftermath. Seventeen lay dead in the market square, but otherwise there was not a sign to show what had happened. In shock, they melted away.’
As if in echo, his voice faded.
‘Time passed,’ he went on after some moments of absolute stillness. ‘Memories are long, but this was an event that nobody wanted to recall. Nevertheless, recall it they were forced to do, for the ice devil had enjoyed his taste of life in that fair region, and he came back. Not often: perhaps only once in two or three life spans, and the intervals were long, so that people forgot what lay beneath the disguise and only remembered the black-clad figure. Then the rumours would begin again of the sinister stranger who wandered the dark streets and alleyways by night, looking for a woman as beautiful as the daughter with the sea-green eyes, looking for another merchant so greedy that he would sell his own flesh and blood. It would start quietly… a rat or a cat or a stray puppy would be found in the morning in some out-of-the-way spot, lifeless, drained, its throat torn out. But then the horror would escalate, and next would come human victims. Men, women – for women too can be avaricious and cruel – and then the people would cower inside their homes, seeking what safety they could, for they would know that once again the Night Wanderer was abroad, and he was hungry.’