# The Joss: A Reversion/Chapter 26
### CHAPTER XXVI.
#### THE THRONE IN THE CENTRE.

Never shall I forget that row in the moonlight. It was one of those clear, soft, mysterious nights, which one sometimes gets in those latitudes, when the air seems alive with unseen things. One’s half shy of talking for fear of being overheard. I’m no hand at description, but those who have been in those parts know the sort of night I mean. I was not in a romantic mood, God knows. Nor, so far as I could see, was there much of romance about the expedition. But I had been brooding, brooding, brooding, till things had got into my blood. As I sat there in the boat I felt as if I were moving through a world of dream.
We had brought a funny crowd. At the back of my mind, and I felt sure at the back of Luke’s, was the feeling that if the thing had to be done at all then the quicker it was done the better. It was a case of taking time by the forelock. The Flying Scud had a ragged crew. The Lord alone could tell what was the nationality of most of them. Out of the bunch we had picked the best. There was the chief engineer, Isaac Rudd. He had shipped with me before. I knew him, and that he wouldn’t stick at a trifle. A man who had had to wrestle with such engines as ours wasn’t likely to. In a manner of speaking he was as deep in the ditch as I was; because if things had gone wrong his share of the blame was certainly equal to mine. If ​there was a chance of levelling up then we were both about as eager to snatch at it. Then there was Holley, Sam Holley, whom I had made second mate. Though he was a fat man, with a squeaky voice, I was hoping there were not too many soft streaks in him. There was his chum, Bill Cox, the very antipodes of himself. A shrivelled-up little fellow, with a voice like a big bassoon. Those two always went together.
Lord knows who the rest were. Though I had a kind of an inkling that Luke had done his best to see there were no shirkers, I had not breathed a syllable about the game we were after. But Luke might have dropped a hint. There was that about the fellows which to me smelt like business. And I felt sure that each man had about him somewhere something which would come in handy to fight with.
Still, I knew nothing about that. The impression I had wished to convey was that we were enjoying a little moonlight excursion, and that if anything was about, it was peace and mercy.
We reached shore. I spoke to them as Luke and I were getting out.
“You chaps will stay here. Mr. Holley, you’ll be in command and see that there’s no roving. Mr. Rudd, you will come with us to the top of the hill. Mr. Luke and I are going to see a friend on a little matter of business. If you hear a double catcall, or the sound of firearms, or anything that makes you think that we’re not altogether enjoying ourselves, you pass the word at once. Then you chaps will come on for all you’re worth. Leave one man in charge of the boat; that’s all.”
We then went up the slope. At the top we left Rudd, with a final tip from me to keep his eyes skinned, and his ears open. Luke and I plunged right away into what seemed to me to be a trackless forest. How he could find his way in it, considering he had ​only been there once in his life before, and then in broad daylight, was beyond my understanding. But there were one or two things about St. Luke which I couldn’t make out, either then or afterwards. Anyhow he forged his way ahead as if he had been used to the place from his cradle up. Never seemed puzzled for a moment.
Presently we reached an open space. The moon shone down so that it was as light as day. Only there was a fringe of outer darkness all around. Luke made a queer noise with his lips. I suppose it was some sort of bird he was imitating. He repeated it three times; with an interval between each. Then something came out of the darkness which took me all aback.
It was a woman.
When she first appeared she had something white over her, head and all. Coming close up to us, drawing the covering aside with a dexterous switch, she stood bareheaded. I stared in amazement. I had not known there were such women in the world. I stammered to Luke—
“Who’s this?”
To my astonishment she answered—in English a thousand times better than mine. It was a treat to listen to her.
“It is I.”
Off came my cap in a twinkling.
“I beg your pardon. I had no idea I was to meet a lady.”
“A lady? Am I a lady? Yes?” She laughed. She alone knew what at. Such laughter! “I am Susan.”
Susan! She was as much a Susan as I was a Jupiter. I said then, and I say now, and I shall keep on saying, she was the loveliest creature I had ever seen even in—I won’t say dreams, because I don’t dream—but in pictures. She was straight as a mast. Carried ​herself as if she were queen of the earth; which she was. Yet with a dainty grace which for bewitching charm was beyond anything I had ever imagined. And her eyes! They were like twin moons in a summer sky. As I looked at her every nerve in my body tingled.
She added, since she saw me speechless:
“I am the daughter of the gods.”
That was better. She was that. The daughter of the gods—as she put it herself. I could have dropped at her feet and worshipped. But she went on:
“You are from the ship? You are the captain?”
“I am Max Lander.”
“Max Lander?” She repeated my name in a sort of a kind of a way which made everything seem to swim before my eyes. “It is a good name. We shall be friends.”
“Friends!”
She held out her hands to me. As I took them into mine, Lord! how I shivered. I fancy she felt me shaking by the way she smiled. It made me worse, her smile did. She kept cool through it all.
“Shall we not be friends?”
“My dear lady, I—I hope we shall.”
Talk about being at a loss for words! I could have poured out thousands. Only just then my dictionary had all its pages torn out, and I didn’t know where to lay my hand upon one of them.
“It is my father you have come to see.”
“Your father?”
I had forgotten what had brought me. Everything but the fact that she was standing there, in the moonlight, within reach of me, had passed from my mind. Her words brought me back to earth with a bang. Her father? Was it possible that I had come to see her father? She, the daughter of the gods; what ​manner of man must be her sire? I stuttered and I stammered.
“I—I didn’t understand I’d come to see your father.”
“He is the Great Joss.”
“The Great Joss?”
What on earth did she mean? What was a Joss, anyhow, great or little? I had heard of joss-sticks, though I only had a hazy notion what they were. But a real live Joss, who could be the father of such a daughter, was a new kind of creature altogether. She offered no explanation.
“He waits for you. I am here to bring you to him. Come.”
She fluttered off among the trees.
“Luke,” I whispered as we followed, “this is not at all the sort of thing I was prepared for.”
“She’s a fine piece, ain’t she?”
A “fine piece!” To apply his coarse Whitechapel slang to such a being! It was unendurable. I could have knocked him down. Only I thought that, just then, I had better not. I preserved silence instead.
It was like a page out of a fairy tale; we followed the enchanted princess through the wood of wonders. The gleaming of her snow-white robes was all we had to guide us. Shafts of light shot down upon her through the trees. When they struck her she shone like silver. She moved swiftly through the forest; out of the darkness into the light, then into the dark again. No sound marked her passing. She sped on noiseless feet. While Luke struggled clumsily after her.
She took us perhaps a quarter of a mile. Even as we went I wondered if Isaac Rudd upon the hill-top would hear us should we find ourselves in want of aid. How help would reach us if he did. One would need to be highly endowed with the instinct of locality to follow us by the way which we had come. A ​rendezvous hidden in a primeval forest, as this one seemed to be, might not be found easy of access by any sailor man.
She stopped; waiting till we came close up to her.
“It is here. Be careful; there is a step.”
It was only when she opened a door, and I perceived the shimmer of a dim light beyond, that I realised that we were standing in the shadow of some kind of building. The darkness had seemed to be growing more opaque. Here was the explanation. If it had not been for her we should have knocked our heads against the wall. Nothing betrayed its neighbourhood; not a light, not a sound. If it had been placed there, cheek by jowl with the towering trees, with the intent of concealing its existence as much as possible from the eyes of men, the design had been well conceived and carried out. At night no one would suspect its presence. How it would be by day I could not tell. I doubted if it would be much more obvious then. It was no hut. As I glanced above me it seemed to be of huge proportions. Its blackness soared up and up like some grim nightmare. What could it be?
Our guide entered. I followed; Luke brought up the rear. It was some seconds before I began to even faintly understand what kind of place it was which we were in. Then I commenced to realise that it must be some kind of heathen temple. Its vastness amazed me. Whether it was or was not exaggerated by the prevailing semi-darkness I could not positively determine. To me it seemed to be monstrous. Height, breadth, length, all were lost in shadows. Wherever I looked I could not see the end. Only a haunting impression of illimitable distance.
The door by which we had entered was evidently a private one. There was only space for one at a time to pass. To such an edifice there must have been another entrance, to permit of the passage of large ​large crowds. Though I could not guess in which direction it might be. Columns rose on every hand. I had a notion that they were of varied colours; covered with painted carvings. But whether they were of wood, stone, or metal I could not say. Their number added an extra touch of bewilderment. One gazed through serried lines and lines of columns which seemed to bridge the gathering shadows with the outer darkness which was beyond.
Until our guide moved more towards the centre of the building, with us at her heels, I did not understand where the light which illumined the place came from. It proceeded from what I suppose was the altar. The high altar. A queer one it was. And imposing to boot. Anyhow, seen in that half light, with us coming on it unprepared, and not expecting anything of the kind, it was imposing, and something more. I don’t mind owning that I had a queer feeling about my back. Just as if someone had squeezed an unexpected drop of water out of a sponge, and it was going trickling down my spine.
There was some fascinating representations of what one could only trust were not common objects of the seashore. These were of all sizes. Some several times as large as life, and, one fervently hoped, a hundred times less natural. They stood for originals which, so far as my knowledge of physiology goes, are to be found neither in the sea, or under it; on the earth, or over it; or anywhere adjacent. The powers be thanked! They were monsters; just that, and would have been excellent items in a raving madman’s ideal freak museum. Anywhere else they were out of place. There was one sweet creature which particularly struck my fancy. It was some fourteen or fifteen feet high, and was about all mouth. Its mouth was pretty wide open. It would have made nothing of swallowing a Jonah. And was fitted with a set of teeth which were just the thing to scrunch his bones.
​These pretty dears were arranged in a semicircle, each on a stand of its own. The small ones were outside. They grew bigger as they went on, until, by the time you reached the biggest in the middle, if you were a drinking man you were ready to turn teetotaler at sight. The hues they were decked in were enough to make you envy the colour blind. Coming on this livening collection without the slightest notice, in that great black mystery of a place, with just light enough to let them hit you in the eye, and hidden in the darkness you knew not what besides, was a bit trying to the nerves. At least it was to mine. And I’m not generally accounted a nervous subject.
The strangest thing of all was in the centre. I stared at it, and stared; yet I couldn’t make out what it was.
It was on a throne; if it wasn’t gold it looked like it. It was large enough for half-a-dozen men. Standing high. Right in the middle, flanked by the biggest pair of monsters, the seat was on a level with the tops of their heads. It was approached by a flight of steps, each step apparently of different coloured stone. Coloured lamps were hung above and about it. One noticed how, in the draughty air, they were swinging to and fro. From these proceeded all the light that was in the place, except that here and there upon the steps were queer-shaped vessels, seemingly of copper, in which something burned, flashing up now and then in changing hues, like Bengal lights. From them, I judged, proceeded the sickly smell which made the whole place like a pest-house. And the smoke was horrid.
In the very centre of the throne was something, though what I could not make out. It seemed immobile; yet there was that about it which suggested life. The face and head were as hideous as any of the horrors round about, and yet—could the thing be ​human? Long parti-coloured hair—scarlet, yellow, green, all sorts of unnatural colours—descending from the scalp nearly obscured the visage. There seemed to be only one eye and no nose. If there were ears they were hidden. Was it some obscene creature or the mockery of a man? There were no signs of legs. The thing was scarcely more than three feet high. Being clad in a sort of close-fitting tunic, which was ablaze with what seemed diamonds, legs, if there had been any, could scarcely have been hidden. There was certainly nothing in the way of breeches. Arms, on the other hand, there were and to spare. A pair dangled at the sides which were longer than the entire creature. Huge hands were at the ends.
While I gazed at this nightmare creation of some delirious showman’s fancy, wondering if such a creature by any possibility could ever have had actual existence, that most beautiful woman in the world who had brought us there turned to me and said, as simply and as naturally as if she were remarking that she’d take another lump of sugar in her tea:—
“This is the Great Joss—my father.”
And Luke, clearing his throat, with an air half apologetic and half familiar, observed, in a sort of husky groan, which I daresay he meant for a whisper,
“Hallo, Ben, my cockalorum bird, how goes it along with you, old son?”